Michael Malone - Weebly

swelled up in her, and, bent double, she started to gag
in quick, dry heaves. Already thrusting, he was shoving
her down onto the flat expanse of ottoman and sofa.
The stubbly velveteen prickled her back and buttocks.
Her senses, despite her effort to escape them, were
alive; her body had betrayed her. It had pulled her back
inside it. She started frantically to will herself to
disappear while he wriggled on top, but she could feel
his fingers down there. Then the pressure started,
widening, pushing. Suddenly lunging, he jabbed up
through her and the pain was hot up her spine, with
fragments bursting at the back of her head.
It was going on too long. Judith kept promising
herself in a hypnotic litany, "This will end, this will end,
this will end." She could not pull her mind away from
what was happening there inside her.
Her mind had not dulled sensation, but horribly
focused and sharpened it; her senses so concentrated
that time ballooned out of proportion, filling each
inescapable instant. All his sad, false smells assailed her
—the medicinal mintiness of his mouth, the raw, spicy
odor of aftershave on his cheeks, and worst, the smell