CHAPTER ONE

 

Celia was the archetypal mother-in-law from Hell, at least as far as Jonathan Broadman was concerned. She had never made any effort to conceal the fact that she did not think he was good enough for her beloved stepdaughter. Like a vulture, she had waited for him to prove her correct. It had taken three years of marriage for him to do just that.

She arrived at the house, looking like she was ready to eat him alive. Another man might have found the plump woman reasonably attractive for her fifty-seven years, but to Jonathan, she was a vision of feminine bestiality. Her grey streaked black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and gold framed spectacles lent an additional severity to her features. Her slate grey skirt suit and white blouse buttoned to her throat completed the stern schoolmistress demeanour.

"Celia, where's Karen?"

This was the second time Jonathan had spoken since opening the front door. In the two minutes they had stood facing one another, Celia had not uttered a word. Her icy glare said it all.

"Celia, please, what's going on?" he cried.

He did not notice the movement of her right hand. Her open palm caught him across the left cheek and sent him staggering backwards into the hallway. As she slammed the door shut, she struck him with the back of her hand. With a cry, he reeled back against the wall, a crimson shower erupting from his nose.

"Jesus, what ...?" he gasped, raising his hands to protect his face as she closed in on him again.

Celia struck him in the belly with her right fist and seized his throat with her left hand. He tried to fight her off, but her grip was like iron. His eyes bulged and his breath whooshed as she brought her right knee crashing up into his crotch. She kneed him twice more in the testicles, then allowed him to sag to the floor, retching and gasping for air. The entire assault had taken less than ninety seconds, giving him no time to react. In that time, she had not said a word.

As he writhed on the floor like a man in his death throes, she kicked him several times and slammed the spiked heel of her right shoe into his chest. When he attempted to fight her off, she seized a fistful of his dark blonde hair and banged his head so hard against the wall he almost lost consciousness. Still holding him by the hair, she backhanded his face half a dozen times, before throwing him back to the floor. She then calmly strolled into the living room and made herself comfortable on the couch.

Twenty minutes later, Jonathan staggered into the room. He looked as though he had gone several rounds in a boxing ring. His face was swollen and bloodied and the front of his white tee-shirt was spattered with crimson. Unable to stand fully upright, he clutched at his aching groin with one hand, his dripping nose with the other.

"Celia, have you lost your fucking mind?" he gasped.

"I've always wanted to do that," she replied. "You should be careful how you speak to me, unless you want more of the same."

"Where's Karen?" he demanded, slumping into an armchair.

"Where she's been for the past week - with me," his mother-in-law snapped. "Stand up, you bastard! You'll sit when I say so."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he shouted, his rage finally surfacing. "This is my house. I'll sit when and where I like."

Even as he spoke, he was rising to his feet again.

"I'm a concerned stepmother." Celia's voice was cold. "Karen came to me last Thursday night, devastated because she found out you'd been having an affair. For three days, she cried almost constantly. Does that make you feel any better?"

"I tried calling her," he protested.

"I kept the phone off the hook," she said. "You're fortunate you didn't have the guts to try visiting her. I would have castrated you with a razor blade, you miserable shit."

"I have to see her," he pleaded.

"She has been discussing her future with me," said Celia. "Somewhat belatedly, she now accepts that mother knows best. If she'd listened to me in the first place, she could have found a man who was fit to marry her, rather than one who is scarcely suitable to lick dogshit from her boots."

"You turned her against me," Jonathan cried.

"You turned her against yourself, you cretin," she snapped. "Bad enough that you should be screwing another woman, but to bring the bitch into your wife's bed! If she hadn't left that earring behind, Karen might never have found out what you were really like."

"The affair is over," he said. "I realise how stupid I've been, but I love Karen and ..."

"You've never loved Karen," Celia retorted. "You just used her to wangle your way into the family business. The instant I set eyes on you, I saw you for the opportunistic tosser that you are. Unfortunately, Karen was blinded by your charm and good looks. Well, she's not blind any more."

"You're fucking mad!" he yelled. "This is between Karen and me and ..."

With lightning speed, Celia sprang from the couch and knocked him back into the chair with another backhanded slap across the face. She leaped on top of him, seized a clump of his hair with one hand and wrapped the other around his throat.

"If you ever speak to me like that again, I'll knock your fucking teeth out," she hissed, jamming her right knee into his crotch. "Now, if you're serious about wanting to see my daughter again, you will do exactly as I tell you. There will be no negotiating, no alternatives and no second chances. Karen and I have planned this together, so she knows exactly what's going on. Are you prepared to submit to our conditions?"

"Yes, anything," he croaked.

She smiled. "Good. Open wide."

Jonathan obeyed. Celia cleared her throat, then spat directly into his mouth.

"Swallow it," she told him. "That's right. No need to make such a face. It's only saliva. Now, I want you to take my cases out of my car and bring them upstairs."

"Your c ... cases!" he blurted, a horrified look crossing his face.

Celia sighed. "Don't test my patience, little man. When I tell you to do something, you simply do it. No questions asked. If we're going to be living under the same roof, you shall have to get used to taking orders."

 

***** ***** *****

 

At any time, sharing a house with his mother-in-law would have been an unpleasant experience for Jonathan. Under the present circumstances, it was a living nightmare. He quickly realised that her violent arrival had been a mere foretaste of what was to come.

After he had taken her three heavy suitcases upstairs, she ordered him to clean himself up. A few minutes later, a loud knock sounded on the bathroom door. He drew back the bolt and Celia burst in, a studded leather strap gripped in her right fist. She had removed her jacket, undone several buttons of her blouse and rolled up the sleeves.

"You do not lock the bathroom door again," she told him angrily, striking his bare chest with the studded side of the strap. "The days of you having any secrets from me are over. Take the rest of your clothes off."

"What?" He yelped. "Ouch!" The studs cracked his knuckles as he tried to fend off the blows to his chest.

"You heard me," she snarled, lashing him across the face with the strap. "Either you get those clothes off this instant, or I tear them off."

Though he had always been in good physical shape, Jonathan had never been a fighter. Even a seasoned brawler would have wilted under Celia's unrestrained fury. He trembled like a frightened puppy in the corner as he hurriedly removed the rest of his clothes. When he was naked, she ordered him to raise his hands above his head. His scrotum was swollen and bruised from the earlier assault and his penis was shrivelled to the size of his thumb.

"Karen certainly didn't marry you for your cock," Celia sneered. "Come on. You have work to do."

Grabbing his cock in her right fist, she led him to the bedroom next door.

"Right, let's have your dirty mags," she barked.

"My what?" Jonathan cried.

He should have known better than to make her repeat herself. She sent him crashing to the carpet with a slap across the face and a bone jarring kick to the right shin. He howled and cursed, until her right foot came down on his throat. He grabbed her pale stockinged leg with both hands, but she merely increased the pressure of her spike heel on his windpipe.

"I could crush you this instant and Karen would not shed a single tear," she rasped. "Is this how you want to die, you worthless scumbag?"

"No, no!" he croaked, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.

"Then you will do as you're told," she said. "There will be no more warnings."

Just when Jonathan thought he was about to pass out, she lifted her foot.

"Get up," she snapped, kicking him in the side. "I told you to do something, so do it. Now!"

Gasping and clutching at his bruised throat, Jonathan staggered towards the closet. As he slid open the doors, Celia kicked his backside. He reached into a far corner of the large double closet and withdrew a brown cardboard box. Tears of pain and humiliation rolled down his cheeks as he emptied the contents onto the bed.

His magazine collection consisted of high street top shelf glossies, featuring attractive girls in soft porn poses. Celia seemed disappointed that he did not have anything more hardcore.

"Is that it?" she demanded.

"Th ... that's the lot," he croaked.

"It had better be," she warned. "I shall be turning this place inside out and if I find even one more dirty magazine, may God help you. Right, count them."

Jonathan meekly obeyed. The total was thirty-four.

"That translates into thirty-four lashes," said Celia. "Karen told me about your grubby little stash, in case you're wondering. Bad and all as it is that you should screw another woman, I find the idea of my daughter's husband wanking like a schoolboy over this kind of thing even more repulsive. Was she unable to satisfy you, is that it?"

"I ... I can't really explain it," he stammered. "What did you mean by thirty-four lashes?"