Sleep Of The Guilty free porn video

Jimmy Boyd was a hard man. Towering over most people at six feet tall his casual persona hid the physical, threatening and violent tendencies that earned him his reputation.

The long white scar running across the left side of his neck was given to him by a nightclub doorman, just before Jimmy got the better of him. After Jimmy had finished with him his injuries were so bad an ambulance had to rush him to the nearest hospital.

Jimmy had an opinion that was without compromise. You either agreed with him or you were wrong. He drank his whiskey by the bottle rather than by the glass and if you were to ask him how he ever managed to get through life, he would be the first to tell you that he had a lot of help from his best friend, Jack Daniels.

Some people called him ‘the butcher.’ Others called him ‘scar face.’

But nobody would ever dare say it to his face.

Frank Brand said Jimmy was a fearless maniac and probably the reason why he had his blood-type tattooed on his right arm, the day he joined the British Armed Forces.

Jimmy’s wife, Sandra never used any of these names. She just called him, ‘that fucking arsehole.’

Before joining the army, Jimmy lived with his parents in a modest council house in a working class area of Gateshead. He was only fourteen when his father fell to his death whilst erecting scaffolding on a multi-storey building. After the funeral he refused to go back to school. He told everyone that he would get a job and look after his mother.

Jimmy never lived up to his mother’s expectations.

From the age of fourteen he spent most of his teenage years in and out of young offender’s institutions. Although most of his offences were for minor thefts and ant-social behaviour, when he was eighteen he spent nine months in prison for GBH.

Like most young offenders he avoided rehabilitation and acquired a hatred for authority. When he was inside he spent most of his time either boxing or pumping iron in the gym.

The only three things that prison gave Jimmy Boyd was independence, a reputation and an amazing physique.

The night Frank Brand called into his local pub and offered a lending hand to Jimmy Boyd, it forged a bond of friendship between the two men.

Jimmy was already punching and kicking at two men on the floor while a third man swung punches at the back of his head. And even though he was outnumbered, he fought like a man possessed.

That’s when Frank decided to make the fight a little more even.

After placing a firm arm around his throat he pulled the third man away, dragging him like a rag doll until he was clear of the action.

After feeling the brutal force of Jimmy’s violent temper it wasn’t long before the three defeated men escaped through an exit door at the side of the building.

After an exchange of hands and a beer at the bar, Jimmy told Frank that the three men had bullied and beaten him through his early school days. Lifting his glass to his mouth he confessed that being a skinny kid with a stammer and his hands and face covered in warts, he was a prime target for bullies.

Fortunately, by the time he reached his teens his stammer had gone and so were the warts.

Jimmy Boyd had suspected for some time that his wife was having an affair with someone she worked with at the local council office.

Desperate to find out the truth about his wife’s infidelity he constantly racked his brain, hoping he could resolve the situation before the army sent him on his next tour.

There were lots of rumours and speculation about Sandra’s infidelity. Jimmy was a little naïve at first, but after a little snooping, he soon discovered that his suspicions were correct.

Sandra was having an affair with her boss, a married man in his mid-forties. In his remit as Housing Manager he was responsible for the maintenance, allocation and subsequent letting of all council houses, so there was no surprise when Sandra and Jimmy were unexpectedly offered a fully modernised council house, only a few hundred yards from his mother.

Not long after they were married, Sandra fell pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy.

In the early years of married life they struggled emotionally and financially but there were times when the strain became unbearable and after too many arguments and physical abuse their future together looked increasingly doubtful.

Jimmy had blackened Sandra’s eyes so many times you rarely saw her without dark glasses. But for the sake of their son they made the best of a volatile relationship. They gave up sharing a bed together and although they slept under the same roof, they both led separate lives.

Jimmy first became suspicious when Sandra started to wear sexy underwear and about twice a week she would go out in the car and wouldn’t return until the early hours of the next morning. Whenever Jimmy questioned her, she always had a reasonable explanation and a girlfriend that was always willing to provide her with a watertight alibi.

Although their marriage had reached the end of its life and a divorce offered the best solution, Jimmy’s male chauvinistic attitude wouldn’t be compromised until he knew the truth about Sandra’s affair.

He also knew that the only way he was going to know for sure was to catch her red-handed with her lover.

And that’s when Frank Brand came up with a brilliant plan.

Mark Brand had just turned eighteen and like all open-minded teenagers the availability of money was at a premium, so when his brother Frank offered him a substantial amount of cash for a few hours of his time, he immediately accepted.

On a blistering hot August evening, Jimmy Boyd opened the boot of his wife’s car and helped Mark to crawl inside. The plan was that he would remain inside the boot and hopefully catch Sandra having sex with her lover.

Lying on his side in the foetal position he tried to adjust himself to his new environment. Jimmy smiled and threw a packet of chewing gum, hitting him on the side of his head.

“It’s going to be a long night, so put it in your pocket in case you get hungry later,” he sniggered sarcastically, closing the car boot. “And good hunting.”

The sound of the engine followed by a squeal of rubber confirmed that Sandra had pulled out of the drive on her way to her liaison.

Aware that he probably had a long night ahead of him he tried to manoeuvre his body in an attempt to get as comfortable as possible, although he quickly realised that the boot of a Ford Cortina Mk1 was never designed for human cargo.

It was dark, hot and uncomfortable and there was that distinctive smell of engine oil and exhaust fumes that you always associate with garages.

As he shifted his weight in the tight enclosure a sense of claustrophobia suddenly fed his panic. He knew he had made a wrong decision.

But it was too late. It had gone too far. There was no going back.

He nervously chewed the inside of his mouth.

After travelling for about twenty minutes the car pulled to a halt. The sound of the passenger door slamming shut and the muffled sound of a male voice signalled that their night of misbehaviour was about to begin.

As he willed his eardrums to capture a slight hint of their conversation the doors suddenly opened and they both stepped out of the car.

In the uncanny silence he held his breath, listening for sounds, trying to figure out why they had left the vehicle. His only thought was that they had decided to go for a drink until it was dark enough to prevent any unwanted spectators.

As the minutes crawled by with tedious trepidation he cursed himself for his stupidity.

After almost an hour of muttering profanities, the ensuing silence was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the driver’s door opening. Only this time Sandra was alone.

Clouds of cigarette smoke began to drift inside the boot and although the unhealthy environment urged him to cough, he made sure he resisted the temptation.

With her heart beating at the speed of sound and her foot pressed hard against the accelerator pedal, Sandra followed her lover to their final destination.

When the car pulled to a halt the door opened and a man climbed into the passenger seat. They talked for a few minutes but again their conversation was vague.

Their night of passion quickly got underway, two impatient voices groaning out their pleasure through a fanfare of squeaking springs, breathless gasps and muffled promises.

A detached observer alone in the darkness, a packet of chewing gum his only companion, breathing in air through his nose, a furtive voyeur waiting and listening, easing into his dutiful role as private investigator,

After a brief moment of unnerving silence the rear doors opened and they both climbed into the back seat of the car. This time the action really got heated.

In no time the car was rocking back and forth to the motion of two people fucking through a chorus of pledges, promises and crude obscenities, Sandra’s pleading voice echoing in curses inside the car.

“YES! YES! Fuck Me Harder. Fuck Me Faster.”

“Yes. Yes,” he echoed silently, shifting his weight and reaching inside his pocket for the packet of chewing gum, the pretence of conspiratorial smugness lifting the corners of his mouth, knowing that when he gives Jimmy his PI report it would surely get him a well-deserved bonus.

Their lustful passion and vocal persuasion quickly gathered speed, the increasing momentum of give and take tossing the vehicle from side to side, a sudden movement throwing him against the metal container, breaking him from his mental spending orgy.

The unexpected collision forced a gasp and a deep intake of breath. He swallowed the gum. It was caught in his throat and blocking his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. He was hyperventilating. He was going to choke to death. He panicked.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE...! GET ME OUT!” he shouted, launching into a fit of choking coughs and breathless gasps, banging his clenched fist hard against the inside of the car boot.

“What the hell’s going on?” Sandra barked, holding the boot open as he scrambled out and fell to the ground in a gasping heap.

Kneeling on all fours with his arms outstretched in front of him, his face turning a deep shade of crimson, frantically sucking in air through his nose, a choking sensation in his throat threatening to stop him breathing, knowing that if he couldn’t get oxygen into his lungs he would pass out.

A faceless man suddenly appeared from the shadows, the urgency to straddle over his limp body with his arms wrapped firmly around his stomach signalling his intention to undertake the Heimlich manoeuvre.

Puffing and panting and pulling hard on his chest, the sustained pressure on his lungs forcing a reaching gasp, the blockage miraculously spilling from his mouth, the sticky substance dropping to the ground in a stream of choking saliva.

The car door slammed shut, tyres spinning over tarmac, clouds of exhaust fumes spilling in his wake, a clear sign that the faceless man was in a desperate hurry to leave.

He coughed and wheezed through a lingering trail of choking exhaust, removing strings of saliva from his chin, blinking his eyes in the smoke, mindful that a good private investigator would have taken his registration number, shaking his head in defeat, his future as a PI evaporating in the fumes.

Sandra shot him a ‘now you’re in for it look,’ and pointed a finger. “Get in the fucking car,” she barked, her eyes narrowing with uncertainty, her face suddenly growing serious. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

He nervously chewed the inside of his mouth and followed her instructions.

Over the next twenty minutes the story unfolded and he had no option but to give her a detailed account of the cunning plan devised between Jimmy and Frank.

But when he told her that Jimmy would probably beat the shit out of them when he finds out, her mood unexpectedly changed.

After muttering something under her breath that sounded like, ‘that fucking arsehole,’ she rolled the car window down and took a packet of cigarettes from her handbag.

After removing two from the pack she lit them both and offered him one of the cigarettes.

He raised his hand at the offending weed. “No thanks, Sandra. I don’t…”

Before he could finish a thin smile tugged at her lips. “I know you don’t, but this is probably a good time to start.”

They talked for a while, mainly about her volatile relationship living with Jimmy.

Sandra said that his arrogance and uncaring attitude was the main reason which ultimately led to her affair with the faceless coward in the fast car.

She confessed that when she found out Jimmy was playing around with other women she felt used and humiliated. She said there was one occasion when she overheard Jimmy telling Frank that he wouldn’t let a wedding ring get in the way of a good fuck.

In a nervous voice she told him that Jimmy had knocked her down so often there were times when she thought she would never get up again.

After searching his face, hoping to see a trace of understanding she sighed and pulled on her cigarette, her voice choking back anger and pain.

“The act of infidelity and the danger it brings seems to be so exhilarating at the time,” she declared, through a fog of smoke. “We try to convince ourselves that it’s nothing more than two people having a bit of fun, trying to bring a little excitement into their dull lives.” Wiping a tear from her eye, she forced a smile. “Love sometimes demands that we take risks, but we all know life is never that simple.”

Rolling the car window down just enough to drop his cigarette through the gap, he couldn’t stop thinking about his eventual encounter with Jimmy and the inevitable outcome for Sandra when he offers his explanation about his wife’s unfaithful conduct.

A long silence of suffocating uneasiness consumed the air before Sandra’s questioning voice broke the apprehension.

“That’s the first time I’ve fucked with an audience,” she whispered, raising both eyebrows, her serious face growing into a surreptitious smile. “Were you having a wank in the boot?” she mockingly asked, the boldness of her statement sweeping away the tension, changing the mood to cheerful laughter.

The cheerful mood quickly faded into an apprehensive silence. In the claustrophobia of disquiet he casually cleared a layer of condensation from the inside of the glass and glanced at his watch. He was surprised to see it was only eleven thirty.

A voice of caution broke the silence.

“I won’t say anything, if you don’t Mark... We don’t have to tell him anything. Fuck Jimmy,” she said, fumbling nervously with a packet of cigarettes. “We both know he’s nothing but a fucking arsehole,” she added, nibbling on a finger nail and handing him another cigarette, all the time staring into his eyes to gauge his reaction.

“What… I... I don’t understand... What will I say?” he stuttered, choking back a lump in his throat, his eyes seeking reassurance. “What will I say when he eventually opens the car boot to let me out?”

Sandra chose her words carefully. “It’s simple,” she said, reassuringly. “You just tell Jimmy that the voice you heard inside the car was female. I’ll tell him that I met a friend and we went clubbing together. Don’t worry... I’m a very good liar,” she smiled, an outstretched hand with a cigarette breaking his concentration.

He pulled on his cigarette, the anguish and uncertainty joining the miasma of nicotine inside his lungs, a smile and a nodding head blowing away the clouds of uncertainty.

“I think that’s a reasonable explanation,” he answered. “But will it convince Jimmy?” he muttered, coughing into his hand.

She smiled at his nervousness and casually flicked her cigarette ash out the window, her voice and demeanour growing in confidence. “And don’t forget you’re supposed to have been in the boot of the car for about seven hours, so when Jimmy eventually lets you out you’ll have to give an Oscar winning performance.”

She held his hand and looked into his confused eyes. “If we both stick to the story, Jimmy will never find out,” she said, with the conviction of a barrister.

Removing a compact mirror from a bag and tracing a finger over an eyebrow, the reflection throwing back an image of a defiant and scornful woman, a petulant sigh forcing its way between tight lips, “Fucking arsehole,” she uttered.

He closed his eyes and stretched his legs as far as they would go.

There was a long silence before he heard Sandra’s voice.

“It’s only just turned midnight, Mark…The nightclubs don’t close until two in the morning... So we can’t go home too soon?”

As he waited patiently through another agonising pause the aroma of perfume and the warmth of her breath blowing soft kisses over his neck and an eager hand squeezing his sleeping monster made him jump nervously in the seat.

“CHRIST! Sandra,” he barked. “What the fucks happening… And where’s your blouse and bra?” he asked, shuffling nervously on the seat and lowering his voice slightly.

“I thought any issues I had with Jimmy were resolved and now you’re half naked and you’ve got your hand on my…”

“Cock,” she answered for him, lowering her hands and flicking up the hem of her skirt in a flirtatious gesture, the dark bush easily visible against the smooth white flesh of her thighs.

“I’m not wearing any panties either,” she offered, with mocking tease. “There in my bag,” she said, rather matter-of-fact. “And they can stay there until I’ve finished with you.”

Shifting her weight on the seat and leaning over, peppering warm kisses over the soft skin of his neck, a confident whisper sweeping away caution.

“Remember what I said. Life sometimes demands that we take risks.”

The kiss was warm and passionate, the pulse of her lips marking a warm wet trail from his ears and across his forehead, kissing his eyes and his nose, spilling hot air into his mouth, pressing her breasts against his chest letting him feel the softness and the weight, letting him feel the emerging heat of passion, the growing arousal of a wanting woman.

Pulses throbbed and heart beats raced, heads swimming in a sea of emotional confusion, chemicals charging hormones, a visceral surge of adrenaline flooding to genitalia, the closeness and familiarity of intimate suggestion, lust flirting with curiosity, an inquisitive hand finding the growing lump inside his pants, the acquaintance of touch, the gestures of impulsive movement, the spontaneous reaction of two people desperate for physical contact no matter what the retribution.

Expectation sweeping away caution, mouths connecting, lips flirting, hands groping and fondling, hips moving in a simulation of coital foreplay, tongues dueling in a flirtatious dance, sweeping over teeth, wiggling and dancing, swirling and sucking, feasting on the intoxicating heat of each other’s breath.

“Lift up a little?” she whispered, her fingers fumbling impatiently with his zip.

A pause and a sigh, hesitancy turning into submission, leaning back in the seat, raising his bottom just enough to slide his jeans and underpants over his thighs, the white veined column springing free from the fabric, her eyes wide open, staring in disbelieve, a breathless gasp and a choking lump in her throat reminding her to breathe.

The impossible urges of expectation, her fingers closing in a firm grip around the threatening limb, the warmth of her hand working the meaty length with eager enthusiasm, his hips moving to the persuasion of touch, quick strokes, slow strokes, back and forth, fisting and pulling, gripping the fleshy object on the way down and easing her grip on the way back.

A helpless mouth stumbling over a chorus of gasping moans and choking groans, a mind plagued with guilt and uncertainty, images of Jimmy’s violent temper when he finds out he’s been shagging his wife, finding their way inside his head.

The Hospital… The Surgeons… All working tirelessly trying to repair his battered face… ‘But Jimmy would never find out. Sandra would never tell him… would she’?

He was in uncharted waters, swimming in a sea of emotional tides and turbulent currents, riding the waves of an unpredictable storm and wasn’t really sure what to do.

There was a great deal of nervous excitement and an apprehensive tension at the true reality of what they were about to undertake.

‘But there was still time to stop this.’

Concerned for his wellbeing, part of him wanted to end it now but another part of him was drawn to the danger, excitement and the emotional challenge of a sexual wanting woman.

The warmth of her sensuous mouth sliding down his throbbing flesh eroded any indecision from his mind.

“Fuck it,” he sighed, aware that hormonal turmoil had now taken control of his senses, purging his brain and making it impossible to think logically. He knew he was sinking fast but he had convinced himself that Jimmy would never find out.

A whisper of hair brushing over his thighs, the persuasion of an eager head and a hungry mouth brought him back to reality.

She worked the long shaft like a talented artist, sucking him in and swallowing him deep, feeling it touching the back of her throat, easing him out, dragging her teeth on the way back, wiggling her tongue inside the small eye, tasting his sticky arousal, bathing the glistening head in a wash of saliva until her jaw ached and she had to let him slip from her mouth to take in air.

This was Sandra’s new toy and she was going to play with it.

Gripping the meaty length with both hands, moving in slow measured strokes, pulling the foreskin in an upward action, watching the loose white skin sliding over the smooth head, easing her grip on the downward stroke, up and down, fast and slow, pulling and releasing, staring at the bulging veined beast throbbing in her hand.

Sandra adored her new toy and she had no intentions of letting it slip from her grip.

A familiar moistness pooling between her legs, her radiant eyes filling with raw lust, a heart slamming inside her chest, every nerve in her body charged with electric pulses, an urgent desire to have his long thick cock filling the depths of her inner core.

Grunts and moans followed pants and gasps, hips moving to persuasive urges, the sticky substance oozing from the swollen eye and coating her fingers, his legs stiffening, euphoric mutterings and gestures of movement indicating that his body was preparing for ejaculation.

An insistent voice echoed in his ear.

“Don’t you dare come… I want fucked tonight.”

The authority in her voice made him shuffle in the seat, confusion rattling around inside his head, searching for words of apology… The right words… Any words.

“Okay,” he replied, casually lifting his shoulders. “Do you want it in the front… or in the back... or shall we…?” he mumbled, his voice fading against a serious face staring back at him and an uncompromising voice demanding action.

“I want you inside me,” she snapped. “I don’t care where it happens. I just want fucked.”

Two hearts beating in a frenzied rhythm of lust and expectation, two heads flooding in a sea of hormonal urgency, frustrated sighs following impulsive gestures, clothes cast aside with reckless abandon.

By the time they hit the back seat they were naked, overheated and primed for action.

In the dark enclosure the vision before his eyes exceeded his wildest imagination.

Moonlight shadows played over milky white skin, outlining a delightful curvy body, a peach shaped bottom, smooth long legs and an amazing pair of tits that couldn’t be ignored. Parting the soft fleshy lips of her labia, sliding a finger between the slippery flaps and folds, moans and groans and gasps of encouragement hissed through clenched teeth.

“That’s so fucking good. How many fingers have you got in there?” she asked, an impatient order quickly following.

“More fingers,” she pleaded. “And push faster and deeper,” she insisted.

Slipping two fingers inside her burning heat, followed by a third and then a forth, fingers knuckle deep inside her inner sanctum, stretching her body with brutal force, moving her hips and thrusting forward, swallowing greedily, fucking his hand, moaning and groaning, puffing and panting, gasping and wheezing, the sloppy wet sound between her legs increasing her stimulus and bringing her body to life.

Sandra was hot. She was wet. She was ready for cock.

Discomfort giving way to necessity, the vinyl seat cool against his buttocks, the feint slithers of moonlight casting phallic shadows inside the car, her eyes drawn to his more than ample length and substantial girth, wondering if she would get it all inside.

She was going to find out.

Shuffling on the seat and straddling over his thighs, hovering precariously on both knees, opening her legs and adjusting her body for entry, lowering a hand and gripping the fleshy limb, a guiding hand easing him in inch-by-inch, lifting and lowering in a chorus of moans and groans and breathless pants, her inner walls opening, making way for the gruesome muscle to slide inside her warm entrance.

There wasn’t a lot of flexibility in the back seat of the car, the confined space forcing them into unfamiliar territory, making the sexual act frustrating and sometimes a little clumsy.

The muscles of her vagina embraced the length and gripped the girth like a vice, her body moulding to accept the brutal entry, his overexcited cock slipping out occasionally, an eager hand quickly guiding him back.

Sucking in short gasps of air through tight lips, a body trembling in shock waves of blissful sensation, lifting and lowering over the perilous length, easing him in and easing him out, twisting and wriggling, up and down, joining and separating, growling through a throaty wheeze, the brutal force stretching and filling the vaginal vault, probing and penetrating the parameters, reaching the limits of her inner heat.

A mutual connection of coital intimacy, the persuasion of movement, bouncing up and down with increasing determination, lifting and lowering, easing him in, easing him out, all the way in and all the way out, thrusting her hips and wriggling her bottom, embracing the awesome length, rejoicing in the exceptional girth, her pendulous tits swinging recklessly from side to side, reaching out with his hands, cupping one and squeezing the other, kissing one and sucking the other, fingers teasing nipples, pulling and tugging, twisting and nipping, her painful cries of pleasure lost in the heat of passion.

Impaled on the fearsome object, sucking in air through her nose, her eyes watering, the rapture of euphoria flooding inside her body, moving her hips in a seductive rhythm of pleasure, snorting in curses and breathless gasps of encouragement, shifting her weight, making sure she was receiving everything he had to offer.

A frustrated sigh of discomfort, her legs unable to support her weight, an impulsive movement lifting up slowly and letting his penis slip from her body, no words just persuasive gestures motioning him to change position.

It was difficult at first but with a little adjustment she managed to kneel on the seat on all fours, with both hands gripping the car seat.

She turned her head and looked back, her watchful eyes following a trail down his chest and over his muscular abdomen, gazing in lustful admiration when she reached her playful toy. Opening her legs and gritting her teeth, shuffling on the seat and bracing herself for action, a chorus of verbal demands and filthy curses brushing away formality.

“Fuck me until I tell you to stop,” she barked. “You don’t have to be gentle. I want to be fucked fast and I want to be fucked hard.”

One foot on the floor and a knee hovering precariously on the car seat, one hand gripping his cock and the other holding her waist to give him leverage, breathing in the musky smell of sex, easing the throbbing flesh between the warm wet folds of her vulva.

Pulses throbbed, heart beats raced and senses buzzed and hummed, a libido in overload, his teenage stamina unrelenting and delivered without mercy, thrusting his hips back and forth in a wild and ferocious shafting, the obscene length reaching places she didn’t know she had.

Grunting out their pleasure in an exchange of filthy curses, pushing in and pulling out, two bodies joining and separating, entering and retreating, in and out, hard and fast, skin smacking skin, beads of sweat dripping from his brow, disappearing between the cheeks of her bottom, a merciless and unforgiving fuck, a canine demonstration of brutal force, a bruised and battered body ravaged without remorse.

A body responding to euphoric sensation, a surge of blissful euphoria consuming her body, helpless cries joining a collective rhythm of whispered moans and breathless pants, an outburst of crude profanities lost in the echoes of their carnal arena.

Almost in tears, each moan, each cry and every sound adding to her moment of pleasure, her body twitching, jerking and stiffening, spasms of euphoric bliss flooding through her tortured body, reaching every nerve and stimulating her senses.

Hanging on a precipice of orgasmic heights, pushing back to meet the force, driving him deeper and deeper, grunts suffocating moans, words pleading through tight lips.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME....FASTER! FASTER! HARDER! HARDER! FUCKING HURT ME!” she screamed. “I’m Fucking Coming… I’m.... I’m Coming... I’m Coming,” she gasped, the mantra repeating in a chorus of piercing cries, moans and groans joining the momentum of give and take, muscle contractions vibrating before exploding in an ocean of pulsating waves, a violent cascade of ultimate release consuming her body, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Fluids of passion spilling in rivers down her thighs, the flaps and folds wet with arousal, the entrance warm and welcoming, two bodies fused in perspiration, moving back and forth to impulsive urges, buttocks clenching and relaxing, skin against skin, genitalia embracing genitalia, thrusting faster and harder, pushing deep, sliding in fast, pulling out slow, in and out, hard and fast, battering and bruising her body with brutal determination.

Groaning out his pleasure through grunts, curses and breathless wheezes, reaching the summit of no return, his boiling testicles exploding in a crescendo of uncompromising force, firing a copious amount of molten hot lava from his balls and into his straining organ, erupting from the eye with the force of a volcano, sending a tide of white sticky ballast shooting indiscriminately against the inner walls of her most treasured place, flooding the cervix in a never ending torrent of continuous bursts until his precious reserves were empty and his softening penis slipped from her body.

Peeling away his sweat soaked body, collapsing in a heap on the back seat of the car, pooling in each other’s perspiration and breathing in urgent gasps, two hearts beating franticly in the darkness, trying to get precious oxygen into their lungs.

A crippling silence and the aroma of overheated sex filled the air with haunting trepidation. No eye contact. No gestures. No words. Just grunts and sighs as they fumbled nervously in the darkness, gathering clothes from the floor and forcing smiles that quickly faded.

It was almost two in the morning when she drove the car out of the sea front car park. Neither of them said very much, but it was evident by the contented smile on Sandra’s face that one of them had enjoyed their night of betrayal.

The guilt and deceit hung like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. He frowned and sighed but he couldn’t smile. In fact, he didn’t think he would ever smile again, especially after Jimmy Boyd had finished with him.

Tracing a finger over his face, touching his nose, his eyes and lips, wondering what kind of shape they would be in after Jimmy gets through with him.

He took a moment to study his reflection in the car window.

‘How can you smile when you have no teeth?’ he thought.

A whispered voice and an outstretched hand with a cigarette broke the silence.

The first intake made him cough but that didn’t matter. He had other things on his mind. ‘Fuck it, every condemned man is granted a last request. After all what more had he got to loose. The nervous tension and anxiety had probably set him on the path to becoming a confirmed smoker. And now he was heading home to confront a man who he had just betrayed. And that man was Jimmy Boyd, a self-confessed homicidal maniac, a man who enjoyed inflicting pain on people before beating them unconscious.

He nervously chewed the inside of his mouth.

About a mile away from the house, Sandra pulled the car to a halt and cut the engine.

The haunting reality swept through his body in a suffocating nausea, beads of sweat forming on his brow and on the palms of his hands, his face twisting in a contorted mask of dread, the contents of his stomach threatening to make an appearance,.

“Don’t worry, Mark,” she said, with assurance, kissing the side of his face. “Remember what we talked about. Follow the plan and everything will be fine....Trust me.”

The kiss and her words of assurance didn’t make him feel any better and neither did the inevitable confrontation with Jimmy.

The option of joining the French Foreign Legion suddenly looked promising.

A comforting hand squeezing his thigh broke his reverie.

“As soon as I’ve parked the car on the drive, I’ll go straight to my bedroom. Once Jimmy knows I’m home, he’ll let you out of the boot.”

A glance in a compact mirror, refreshing her bruised mascara and lipstick, a confident smile forming words he didn’t want to hear.

“It’s time to get back in the boot.”

The ominous sound of the key turning in the lock and the haunting click of the boot opening made his entire body tremble with fear, bringing hundreds of small goose-pimples surfacing on his arms and legs. He was no trained actor but he knew as soon as Jimmy opened the car boot he would have to give the performance of his life.

Even in the darkness surrounded by a million stars he could still make out the shadowy outline of Jimmy’s threatening physique staring down at him, his penetrating eyes ready with questions and a bitter face demanding answers.

“Help me out, Jimmy, for Christ sake,” he cursed.

Once he had his feet firmly on the ground he quickly slipped into character, feigning a limp and shuffling his feet in a comical Charlie-Chaplin-like-walk, stumbling around with theatrical exaggeration, holding his chest with both hands and faking a pained expression.

“Never again Jimmy... Never again,” he croaked, glancing at his watch.

“What a waste of time that was. Seven fucking hours, cooked up inside the boot of a car just to find out Sandra was meeting another woman.”

He lowered his head trying to avoid any eye contact with Jimmy, but for some reason he couldn’t prevent looking up. It felt like his eyes were being drawn to his under some kind of hypnotic trance.

Jimmy looked at him suspiciously, his half smile and cold eyes indicating disappointment.

“You’d better get yourself away home. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

With the relief of getting away with all his teeth intact an exhale of air spilled from his lungs. But just as he turned to walk away he felt a strong hand gripping his arm.

“Just one more thing before you go,” Jimmy said, squeezing his hands together, cracking his knuckles and pulling him close until their faces were almost touching.

“Have you started smoking?”

Mary Boyd had never been a beautiful woman.

She was only in her mid-fifties but she carried another ten years on her shoulders.

Her eyes were deeply hollowed and her face was heavily lined with fatigue, no doubt brought about from years of smoking and living a life of pain and suffering.

Mary had every right to live on her nerves. Suffering from anxiety disorders, she had no trouble getting through a bottle of vodka and three packets of cigarettes a day. And if it wasn’t for the repeat prescription of valium and the many other pills and medication keeping her alive, she would have probably ended up in a mental health institution.

It had been a long time since anyone had seen Mary Boyd smile.

Everyone was looking forward to the New Year’s Eve party. Mary had spent most of the week baking food and preparing the house for her sons coming home party. After finishing a short tour in Northern Ireland, Jimmy was back in the North East on two weeks home leave. Although Jimmy and Sandra’s marriage continued to be estranged, for the sake of their child they continued to live under the same roof but still slept in separate bedrooms.

Most people who lived on the council estate rarely set foot inside the local pub, but for some reason they always felt an obligation to show their faces on New Year’s Eve.

Smiling faces with outstretched hands greeted people they hadn’t seen for years but didn’t like anyway, buying drinks and cursing at the prices, wishing they had stopped at home in front of a warm fire and the TV.

After pushing their way through a human tide of spirited people, Mark and Frank were immediately confronted with Sandra and Jimmy in a heated exchange of abusive language. As the argument gathered pace it quickly became apparent that Jimmy had discovered the name of the faceless man who had been shagging his wife.

After Jimmy had finished with him his injuries were so bad he had to be rushed to hospital. He would spend the rest of his days getting used to a wired-jaw, four missing teeth and a disfigured nose that bore the unmistakable trademark of most professional boxers.

It was fast approaching midnight when they arrived at Mary Boyd’s house.

Mary made everyone welcome with a drink, including a couple of strangers who were staggering around clearly unsure of where they were or how they had got there.

As the coloured baubles and silver glitter on the Christmas tree twinkled in the glowing coals of the open fire someone announced the countdown to the New Year.

As Big-Ben chimed the departure of 1967 and the arrival of 1968, desperate off-key renditions of ‘Auld-Lang-Syne’ chimed around the room. After the usual protocols of shaking hands and too many overenthusiastic kisses, everything was back to normal.

It was time for drinking and a change of music.

Under the watchful eye of Mary, he lifted the lid of the record player and removed four pieces of vinyl held on the vertical chrome support, the labels informing him that the records belonged to Mary. After carefully slipping the four Elvis Presley records to their respective covers and placing a Procol Harum record on the turntable he was a little surprised to see a half-smile on Mary’s face.

Humming quietly to ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale,’ he headed to the kitchen to get a drink.

Jimmy was so drunk he could hardly stand on his feet.

He had fallen over so many times the situation had reached the point where he was becoming a nuisance to others trying to enjoy the New Year celebrations. And after insulting some of the guests with his constant use of foul language he was beginning to embarrass everyone, including his mother.

After falling through the kitchen door and crashing against a table bringing several glasses spilling to the floor, Frank decided it was time for Jimmy to go.

He wasn’t overjoyed when Frank asked him to help Sandra with her drunken cargo, but nevertheless he reluctantly agreed to the task.

The journey to Sandra’s house wasn’t considered a long walk, but when you’re carrying a dead weight he knew it would be some time before they were able to return to the party.

There was an uncanny stillness to the sacred night and the season’s first snow.

A flurry of snowflakes danced in the wind like large white moths, flickering past the street lights, falling to earth leaving a light covering under foot.

With Sandra clutching one arm and Mark the other they dragged Jimmy’s lifeless body along the slippery footpath. Apart from the occasional grunt from Jimmy followed by Sandra’s usual response, ‘fucking arsehole,’ the journey was silent and slow.

Getting Jimmy to the house and opening the front door was the easy part. Dragging him up the creaking stairs and into bed was more of a challenge.

He wasn’t surprised to see an overflowing ashtray, a few empty beer cans and a whisky bottle littering the bedroom floor, but he was surprised to see his Royal Northumberland Fusiliers uniform hanging proudly on a coat hanger and his boots gleaming like a mirror on the floor by the bed.

Lying on his back with his eyes closed and a trace of drool running from the corner of his mouth, Jimmy lay motionless on the bed. After removing his shoes and making sure he was reasonably comfortable there wasn’t much more they could do.

It was time to get back to the party.

Stepping back from the bedroom, the force of her lower body pressing urgently against his buttocks and her heaving breasts flattening against his back prevented his retreat.

The warmth of her breath and the pulse of her lips peppering soft kisses along the back of his neck and a hand stroking his thigh and squeezing his testicles suddenly fed his panic.

Shuffling uncomfortably on his feet and craning his neck to look over his shoulder, shooting her a look of disapproval and silently mouthing, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ snorting a nervous gasp when it came out in more of a whisper.

Moving away from the bedroom door to the refuge of the landing, the floorboards creaking under their weight, glancing back to check on Jimmy’s semi-unconscious status, the relief that he hadn’t moved forcing a nervous sigh and a reminder for caution.

There was a new intensity to Sandra’s demeanour. She hadn’t forgotten her playful toy.

She was hot. She was dirty. She was impatient. She wanted fucked.

A whisper of movement, the fire of passion sweeping away the need for caution, a wanting woman driven by irresistible urges, a woman craving for fulfilment, an impatient woman desperate to feel his awesome limb filling her body again.

Impulse flirting with expectation, excitement courting danger, the closeness of two bodies coming together stimulating arousal, her eyes glaring with erotic threat, her breathing increasing, her breasts rising and falling, impatient fingers tugging and pulling at the buttons on her blouse, two weighty tits defying gravity, tumbling out in front of his eyes.

Senses buzzed and heart beats raced, pulses fluttered and throbbed, hormonal chaos fuelling a burning obsession, a surge of blood firing to vital organs, a lethal cocktail of excitement and danger, both losing control of any rational thinking.

Faces met, lips parted and mouths crashed together, tongues colliding in oral combat, twirling and probing inside each other’s mouths, sweeping over teeth, sucking and licking, breathing in the searing heat of passion.

A brief pause, breaking from the kiss, short shallow gasps and breathless sigh fading into silence, feeling his hardness pressing urgently against the burning inferno between her legs, impulsive urges stimulating arousal, hands moving to persuasive gestures, fumbling blindly in the darkness, tugging and pulling, cursing and swearing until the zip finally yielded.

Before her knees had touched the floor she had his cock in her mouth.

With a well-practiced skill she sucked him in and blew him out, sweeping her tongue over the swollen helmet, pulling him in and swallowing the length, bobbing her head up and down, feeling his balls bouncing off her chin, giving them a gentle squeeze before dragging her teeth over the loose foreskin on the way out, feeling a surge of warm blood running through the thick blue veins along the meaty shaft, pausing when she felt the soft texture of his pubic hair brushing against her nose.

Lifting from her knees and glancing into the bedroom, making sure she could see Jimmy’s bitter face looking back, a muted curse escaping through tight lips, ‘fucking arsehole.’

Leaning against the stair banister and gripping the handrail with both hands, her bottom perched in the air, her legs open, the floorboards creaking in quiet protest, a furtive whisper hissed through tight lips. “Fuck me from the back.”

The guilt and betrayal....The painful uncertainty... The haunting Images of the faceless coward in the fast car weaving their way inside his head. The man who had saved his life... The man lying in a hospital bed trying to eat his food through a wired jaw.

‘You’ll be sorry when Jimmy finds out you’ve been shagging his wife.’ A virtuous voice whispered a word of warning from somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. Fuck Jimmy, he’s nothing but a fucking arsehole.... Give her a damn good fucking. A sinful voice quickly replied.

Probing in the darkness, one hand opening the wet flaps and slippery folds the other hand gripping his swollen cock, shuffling on his feet, flexing his buttocks and thrusting his hips, the gruesome muscle stretching the entrance, forcing its way inside her body.

“Oh my fucking god,” she cursed through pursed lips, the brutal force almost splitting her apart, his muscular thighs smacking against the soft cheeks of her bottom, opening her legs a little further and pushing back to meet the force, embracing the flesh, reaching a plateau of steady momentum, glancing back over her shoulder and searching his face, listening to the sloppy wet noises echoing off the stairwell walls as he entered and retreated from her body.

Whispered moans, whimpering cries and muted curses of encouragement growing louder and louder, narrowing his eyes and distorting his face, as if this physical gesture would help to calm the situation, a sudden movement on the bed and a throaty gurgling noise stopping him in his tracks like a burglar caught in the act.

Eyes wide open in panic, his heart beat increasing by the second, his mouth dry, his stomach churning, waiting nervously, watching his every move, swallowing a lump in his throat and chewing the inside of his mouth, waiting, listening and watching, as if he was expecting that at any moment Jimmy would wake up and jump from the bed in a violent rage.

Sandra’s demanding voice broke him from his mental turmoil.

“Fuck me harder,” she whispered. “Oh my God... Fuck me... More... More,” she begged, wriggling and swaying her hip, rocking back and forward and pushing back, easing him in in captured momentum, making sure she was getting it all inside.

The tired timber banister squeaked in an overture of painful noises, the old floorboards moaning and groaning under the weight of their feet. But Sandra had given up worrying about husband, and she couldn’t give a fuck about the creaking floorboards.

The length, the girth, the deep penetration, entering and retreating from a body swimming in a sea of euphoric bliss, moans joining a chorus of groans, curses turning into words of endearment, whispers growing into agonising cries, a wanting woman reaching the heights of euphoric bliss, hovering on a summit somewhere in heaven, the floodgates of passion exploding, taking her over the orgasmic cliff.

“I’m coming. she moaned, her head thrashing from side to side, her face twisting in a paroxysm of euphoria, a teeth clenching release, the searing heat of passion spilling down her thighs, a muffled orgasm celebrated in silence.

Firing on all cylinders his balls erupted, spurt after spurt of sticky white ballast spewing from the open eye, filling her innermost depths with his endless seed of life.

With both hands gripping the handrail as if her life depended on her never letting go, a tired and exhausted body flooding in an ocean of ecstasy, breathless pants joining wheezes and gasps, a burning vulva bleeding sticky fluids down her thighs, fingers slowly losing their grip, the handrail protesting against the strain, her limp body sliding helplessly to the floor in a crumpled heap.

It was getting late but the party was still going on when they slipped back into Mary Boyd’s house, relatively unnoticed. Some of the guests were in the kitchen drinking and eating the remains of the buffet. Those that had drunk too much had fallen asleep on the sofa. Others were showing off their dancing skills on the living-room floor.

After pouring two drinks he headed to the buffet table to join Sandra. As he raised his glass to his mouth he felt his shirt being pulled.

“Is everything okay with Jimmy? What took you so long?” Frank questioned his brother, suspiciously.

He lifted his drink to his lips and spoke into the glass.

“Its heavy going dragging a lifeless body around the estate, especially in the snow,” he answered, unconvincingly. “Jimmy’s okay. We’ve put him to bed,” he added, moving away from the buffet table, trying to avoid further questions.

But Frank prompted him again. “I expect you put him face down on the bed?”

He lifted his shoulders and shook his head, pointing a finger at his mouth indicating that he couldn’t answer because his mouth was full of food.

To avoid any further interrogation from Frank he picked up his drink and emptied the glass. It was time to go.

It was just after five in the morning when he crawled into bed. And with his bloodstream fuelled with alcohol it only took a couple of minute before he was fast asleep.

He wasn’t sure whether it was the calling of nature or the telephone ringing that woke him from his sleep, but he knew he had to empty his bladder.

Taking the stairs two at a time, ignoring the hammer banging inside his head and the painful ring of the telephone he headed for the toilet.

The telephone was still ringing when he came out of the toilet, so he picked it up.

“Hello?” he barked into the mouthpiece, glancing at his watch, the timepiece telling him it was eight-thirty in the morning, an eerie silence at the other end of the phone prompting him to repeat the question.

“Hello whose there…?” he enquired.

“Mark, it’s me, Frank…” he answered, his voice fading into the mouthpiece.

“I’m with Sandra at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital, in Gateshead...” There was a long agonising pause before he spoke again. “Jimmy’s dead Mark... He died last night.”

Frank choked back a lump in his throat before continuing. “The police are asking a lot of questions to establish if there were any suspicious circumstances surrounding his death. They know that you and Sandra were the last two people to see him alive.”

There was a deathly silence again. Frank’s statement had rendered both men speechless.

Struggling to think through the miasma of alcohol and sleep deprivation, sighing into the phone, his mind filling with irrational speculation, an imaginary voice inside his head telling him that Sandra must have murdered Jimmy while he slept.

“What happened, Frank….? How… How did it…?” he stammered through the mouthpiece, his brain unable to function properly, his mouth opening and closing, trying to find words, but nothing was coming out.

Frank’s final words held a despondent sadness.

“Jimmy fell asleep on his back and died in his own vomit.”

Dropping the phone into the cradle, a resounding nausea lying in the pit of his stomach, his head spinning in chaotic turmoil, his mind plagued with guilt and betrayal, climbing the creaking stairs and crashing on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, looking for forgiveness, biting the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood, hoping this gesture of self-pity would be a fitting punishment for his deceit.

In the black gloom he closed his eyes, hoping he could hide from the world.

He slowly fell into a troubled sleep... The sleep of the guilty.