"I'm sorry honey, but there's nothing I can do about it."
Susan Jameson sat at the small telephone table in the front hallway of the attractive suburban Chicago home she shared with Tim, her young husband, and listened anxiously, the phone pressed against her ear, while Tim informed her he wouldn't be coming home that Friday night because of an unexpected airline strike.
"It all happened at the last minute," he was saying, "the ground crews just walked off the job, and the pilots are supporting them. So until it's settled, nothing flies out of Boston. Believe me, if there were any way I could get back tonight., I'd do it."
"What about the trains?" his young wife inquired nervously.
"Trains are impossible, you know that, honey. It'd take at least two days. No, I'm just going to have to sit it out in Boston until it's settled. They're negotiating now apparently, so it could be settled any time, but the grapevine says probably not before Sunday night. To tell you the truth, I can use the time to make contacts with some of the guys here. Some of the top insurance people on the East Coast are hanging around the hotel, and if I can make a good impression, I may be able to pull off a promotion when I get back."
"Oh, Tim, I was really looking forward to seeing you this weekend. You've been working so hard lately, we've scarcely had any time together. And I wanted to… to make up for what happened before you left."
There was a short silence over the phone, and Susan waited anxiously for her husband to reply. They had had a violent quarrel just before he'd left for the convention on Monday, culminating in a brutal sexual encounter. It was a scene that had left a bad strain on their three-month marriage, and the pretty young housewife was desperate to smooth things over with her young spouse.
"It's… it's okay," he said finally. "I was drunk and feeling low… I never should have said those things… or done those things to you. I'm sorry, honey."
"Oh, Tim," Susan said, biting nervously at her lip and struggling to keep the tears from erupting from her eyes. "I'm sorry too… I haven't been a good wife to you, I know that. But I'm trying. Please be patient with me, darling… I get so… so frightened."
"There's nothing to be frightened of, honey. Look, you just relax tonight, and I'll call you tomorrow afternoon and let you know how things are going here. With any luck they'll settle this thing soon. Meanwhile, you just take it easy, okay?"
"Okay… I'll do my best."
"Oh, and if you get a chance, call that kid from down the street – you know, the Carson boy – and, have him mow the law and rake up a little. I was going to do it this weekend, but since this strike's come up I won't have a chance."
"I don't think the Carsons are home… they went on vacation this month."
"Oh damn. Well, hell, just leave the yard as it is and I'll get to it sometime. Look, I'd better hang up now and see what's happening. You just take things easy, all right? We'll straighten everything out when I get home."
"All right… all right darling. I love you."
"I love you too, Susan. And I'll call you tomorrow afternoon. Take care of yourself."
"I will. You too…"
"Okay… good-bye."
"Good-bye."
The young wife listened numbly as her husband hung up the phone in his Boston hotel room. She had wanted badly for him to be with her that weekend, so that they could patch up the terrible rift that was growing between them. Now he might not be home until Sunday night and she would have to spend that time alone with her anxieties and fears. With a deep sigh she rose from the chair and walked into the living room to find her cigarettes.
As the troubled bride passed the hallway mirror, she stopped momentarily to look at herself. At nineteen, she was an exceptionally attractive young woman with light brown hair that flowed softly around her shoulders in a page-boy style and framed the delicately molded features of her face. She had hazel eyes that sparkled like diamonds, a pert nose that turned up slightly and full, sensual lips tinged a bright pink. Her facial complexion was as clear as white Carrara marble, and her cheeks glowed with a natural rosy bloom.
She was dressed that day in a light summer frock of bright yellow that clung snugly to her full upthrust breasts, tapered down to her tiny narrow waist, then flared out in a wide circle around the slender shapeliness of her legs. Although the garment was of modest design, it in no way concealed the fact that she was a very well proportioned young female, with a petite but spectacularly curvaceous figure that never failed to win attentive male glances when she walked down the street. Yet, strangely, she eyed herself with contempt as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. The young wife didn't like getting so much attention from men. It made her uncomfortable and tense when they whistled at her, as if she were some kind of freak. Her ample breasts seemed to jut forward in almost obscene swells, no matter how demurely she dressed herself. And yet the troubled young girl knew that she should be proud of her figure, pleased at the admiring glances it elicited, but she was possessed by a terrible paradox, a paradox born of her childhood training.
"The Lakeside Orphanage for Young Girls," she murmured aloud as she stood before the mirror. Her mind flashed suddenly back to the childhood days when she had been sent to the huge institution outside Chicago after her parents were killed in an automobile crash. She was only five years old then, and she had hated the cold gray building from the moment she had first seen it. An icy chill rippled through her body as scene after scene of life in the orphanage where she had spent her entire girlhood invaded her mind with vivid clarity. Being forced to get up early on freezing winter mornings, standing in line in the drab cafeteria with a metal tray waiting for a bowl of thick tasteless oatmeal, boring classes, endless chores… and worst of all, she remembered, the pinch-faced bitter old maiden-ladies who ran the place. Particularly Miss Whitfield – Miss Whitfield who took such pains to lecture the girls on sexuality as they approached adolescence, warning them of the dangers and heartache that came from love with a man.
"If you marry, girls," she would say, "you must be very careful. Men can be beasts, filthy beasts with nothing but carnal lust on their minds, and a lady, a real lady, never submits to such things. It is your duty, of course, to procreate. That is the burden that God has given to women. But you must never let yourself be touched by animal sensuality or let the man know you enjoy it in any way, or you will burn in the fires of hell as surely as I'm standing before you. I have never married, and I am proud of that fact. I hope you girls will follow my example and take up meaningful social work instead of flinging yourselves into the arms of drooling filthy men."
Although the young wife knew in the back of her mind that Miss Whitfield and the other women were overly frustrated and that their attitude toward sex and men was wrong, those early lectures had had a tremendous effect on her. Night after night in her narrow boarding school bed she had had terrible nightmares about men… men who were intent on raping her, grinning lewdly, leering like degenerate madmen, ripping her clothes from her body! She woke up crying and screaming from such horrible dreams more times than she cared to remember and, as a result, her fears were cemented deep in her unconscious now, so deep that she found, after three months of marriage to Tim, that she might never be able to break through them.
Tearing herself away from the mirror, she moved into the living room to the coffee table where an opened pack of cigarettes lay amid the neatly stacked magazines. Sitting on the couch, she lit one and leaned back, inhaling deeply, trying to relax and ignore the tormenting thoughts that ran through her brain. There was a photograph on the coffee table of her and Tim on their wedding day, and the pretty young wife gazed adoringly at the image of the attractive slender young man she had married.
He was tall, nearly six feet, with a lithe muscular body and a rugged handsome face topped with thick sandy-colored hair. His eyes were deep blue, blue as clear lake water, and there was a gentleness in his expression that she had loved from the minute she first saw him at the insurance office where she had gone to work as a secretary soon after leaving the Lakeside Home. To the naive young girl, Tim Jameson seemed like a prince from a story book, gentlemanly and courteous, nothing at all like what Miss Whitfield had said, and she had found herself falling hopelessly in love with him. Within a year they were married, and it seemed to Susan like a dream come true. Tim made a good salary at the company, and they were able to move into their beautiful suburban home right away. After the spare, ugly environment of the orphanage, having her own house was like a gift from the gods. She had taken great pains to furnish it just like the pictures she saw in the magazines, spending hours selecting the right furniture and accessories. Now she let her eyes wander over the attractively designed living room, lingering over the colonial chairs and tables, the little figurines she had purchased, the vases of flowers, the pictures on the wall. Everything was neat as a pin and perfectly arranged, just the way she liked it. She was happy here. She liked being surrounded by such lovely things. Her life was almost perfect except… except for one thing.
The attractive young housewife took another deep puff on her cigarette and then leaned back against the sofa and shut her eyes, trying to blot out the ugly feelings that suddenly surged forward from her subconscious. She remembered the afternoon before Tim had left for Boston, Monday afternoon, when he had… raped her… yes, raped her in the cruelest manner possible. Her petite frame shuddered from head to foot as she once more saw her young husband lurching angrily toward her, stark naked, his… his huge penis angrily erect and leering at her like a menacing vision of obscenity. She hated the way it looked. It was ugly and shameful. She had always begged him to turn out the lights when he wanted to… to take her. But that afternoon he had been drinking – oh, it wasn't his fault, she knew – they had been quarreling for two days and he was frustrated with her constant fears.
"Oh God," she murmured, as hot tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "Why does it have to be like this? Why is it so awful? So shameful?"
She loved Tim, loved him with a passion that nearly overwhelmed her at times. He was so handsome… so loving. Sometimes when she was alone, just thinking about him would make the skin along her arms tingle excitedly and her loins would grow strangely warm, as if a tiny fire had started there. And sometimes, though she tried desperately to resist it when it happened, her vagina would grow involuntarily moist… so moist sometimes that the thin material of her nylon panties would grow damp from the mysterious secretion that flowed from the aching walls of her private interior. Yet, whenever this happened, she grew frigid with fear, and the words of Miss Whitfield would roar at her from inside her head – fierce warnings against "carnal lust" so strong that the tips of her fingers would grow immediately cold as ice.
The troubled young wife knew in her heart that it was wrong to react like that. She had read enough to know that sex could be a beautiful, wonderful experience between a man and a woman. But sometimes Tim wanted to do strange things to her, even… even put his lips to her… her vagina… and lick it with his tongue! Though her conscious nature told her there was nothing to fear, an increasingly deep sense of shame and humiliation washed over her now when they made love.
In the beginning it hadn't been so bad, and even though she had lain in near total passivity while her young husband made love to her, Tim had seemed to be satisfied. He said she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, and he didn't care if it took her a while to break through her fears, because she was worth it. Yet things had gotten worse, not better, and lately he had begun to demand the more she resisted until, after two months, she shook with fright whenever sex was mentioned. She had even gone to a doctor, a medical doctor, to see if there wasn't something wrong with her. He had been kind, and talked of relaxation and letting yourself experience pleasure and of orgasm – something she had never known. She had felt nothing of what he had described, and now she was afraid she never would, thanks to Miss Whitfield. She knew if she could just let go completely, she might be able to break through her anxiety, but she just didn't know how.
And time was running out. She had never seen Tim as angry with her as he was that Monday. They hadn't had sex for a week, and he'd wanted to make love before leaving for Boston. She had wanted to… oh, she had wanted to desperately, but Sunday night she had begun to cry pitifully when he touched her, and they had quarreled. The next morning, Tim had started drinking wine as he packed his suitcase for the plane trip, angrily muttering to himself. Susan was shocked to see him drinking so early and fully realized the extent of his frustration for the first time. She had gone into the bedroom to try and calm him down, but they had quarried again, and then… then…
The young wife held her breath as she sat on the couch in the living room and vividly remembered the terrible scene that had taken place. She could hardly believe it had actually happened, but it had, and the memory of it haunted her now like an obscene hallucination. Monday… ten o'clock in the morning… when she went into the bedroom…
"Christ almighty," Tim Jameson mumbled to himself as he clumsily jammed a small suitcase full of clothes for his impending trip to Boston. "I've got the most beautiful wife in the world and I can't lay a goddamn hand on her! Three months of marriage and it seems like three years. Hell, I'm half-drunk and it's only ten o'clock!"
His quarrels with Susan over her frigidity had been coming more and more frequently lately, and the previous evening, when he had tried once more to make love to her, she had responded like a scared little girl, crying hysterically and freezing up like cold stone. Her young husband was tired of placating her now, tired of listening to a million excuses and tearful references to her girlhood at the orphanage. He needed release – a full sexual male release – soon or he'd go crazy with the inner tension.
"Maybe she needs to see a damn psychiatrist or something," he growled, throwing some socks into his suitcase, "or maybe I do. Hell, if I don't need one now I will soon at the rate I'm going." He paused for a moment and went to the nightstand next to the bed and took a deep swallow from the half-full glass of red wine he had left there. He sighed as the potent liquid coursed down his throat. Although he didn't like the idea of drinking so much so early, he had to admit it relaxed him and gave him the strength he needed to cope with his mounting marital problems. "Maybe I'll end up being one of those suburban alcoholics," he mused bitterly, "just like the old man Carson down the street, half drunk all the time. Ah, who gives a damn anyway."
He stiffened noticeably as he heard the bedroom door open. He knew it was Susan, and he could feel his inner tension begin to mount again rapidly as she entered the room. Keep hold of yourself, man, he cautioned himself, knowing he was growing quite drunk. Don't say anything you'll be sorry for.
"Are… are you finished packing?" his young wife asked timidly as she approached the bed. "Can I help with anything?"
"No… no, I'm fine… just fine," he muttered in a low voice, avoiding looking at her.
"You've… you've been drinking," Susan said nervously as she eyed the half-filled glass of wine on the nightstand.
"Yeah, I've been drinking." Tim struggled to keep his composure, but he was well aware of the thinly disguised note of disapproval in her voice. Goddamn uptight bitch.
"Tim, it's not good to drink so early in the day… don't you think…"
"No, I do not think," he said abruptly, cutting her off mid-sentence. "I just need a drink to relax me, that's all. God knows I'm entitled to it after what you've put me through."
"Tim," Susan exclaimed, her eyes watering with hot tears, "don't say that. I know it hasn't been easy, but I'm trying, you've got to believe that."
He wanted to believe her, he wanted to once again take her in his arms and comfort her and tell her everything was all right, that he could wait as long as necessary for her to get over her anxieties. But he knew it would be a lie. He was sick and tired of waiting, sick and tired of having no sexual outlet, tired of being the dutiful husband. He glanced at her. The look in her eyes was pitiful, like a lost child begging for help. How could he be angry with her when she looked like that? He couldn't, for the plain fact was that he still loved her, loved her so deeply that it made his frustration all the more difficult to bear.
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," he said finally. "I just don't know what to do anymore. The job's got me down, the bills are piling up… I'm going crazy, I guess."
She looked so vulnerable standing next to him, so forlorn and scared that the handsome young husband was surprised to find himself suddenly enfolding her supple form in his arms and embracing her tenderly.
"Tim… oh, Tim darling," she whispered as she pressed her head against his muscular chest. "I don't want you to go away angry at me. I love you so much."
"And I love you too, honey…" The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils like a potent aphrodisiac, heightened because of his wine-sodden state. How good it was to hold her close like this and to feel the firmly rounded mounds of her breasts pressed against his lithe body. His arms circled her petite frame and, to the tipsy young husband, it was like holding a delicious bundle of female delight in his arms. It would be so nice, he thought, so nice to have a really good fuck before I leave. He wanted to take her to the heights of pleasure and burst through the wall of defensiveness and fear that kept her locked in her tower of terror.
Why not? he thought. Why not try it another time? She seems willing, and God knows I want her.
Slowly he began to increase the ardor of his embrace, to hold her tighter and kiss her lightly on the hair. Then he took her face in his hands and with infinite tenderness he bent down and kissed her warm pliant lips, trying to communicate the love and male passion he felt for his beautiful bride. To his delight she responded openly, lovingly to his kiss, and it confirmed his intention to try once more to make love to his ravishing wife before he left. Slowly, still holding her in an ardent kiss, he let his hand travel gently down the tapering line of her back until it came to rest on the curving half-moons of her buttocks, covered by the thin cotton of her dress. His palm slid across the light material and he became pleasantly excited as he traced the outlines of her tight panties beneath the dress encasing her firm rounded ass-cheeks. His passion mounted as Susan made no attempt to pull away from his sensual caress. His penis began to stiffen in the tight sports slacks he wore and pressed hotly against his thigh as it grew thicker and longer by the minute.
Susan, although trying desperately to respond lovingly, found herself again growing tense and alarmed as her young husband rubbed the contours of her buttocks. She nestled her body against his, still kissing him, struggling with every ounce of strength at her command to return his warm caresses in kind, but inside, her mind was a seething torrent of terrifying images. Vivid pictures of the drooling nightmare-men who raped her in her childhood dreams once again leered up at her from the murky depths of her unconscious, and her body began to stiffen with a vast unnameable anxiety.
Oh please, she screamed inwardly, please don't let this happen again. I want to love him, and want to be a good wife!
But it was useless. Tim's hand was sliding along her leg now, at the same time pulling her dress upward. In the next minute he had slipped his fingers under the hem and was inching them up beneath her dress toward her panty-covered vagina. She was shaking with fright now, and insect-like twinges of humiliation seemed to crawl over her skin as her fingers crept closer and closer to her most private area. She broke the kiss and buried her face in his chest, trying to keep from screaming in agony. His hand was getting closer and closer… it was crawling up her inner thigh like a spider, a huge spider! Oh God! It was horrible! Horrible! No… nooo!!
Involuntarily, the terrified young wife suddenly pulled fiercely away from her amorous husband, her face twisted into a shrewish expression of contempt, and in the next moment, without realizing what she was doing, she slapped Tim full on the face. Her young husband reeled back drunkenly, utterly surprised.
"You bitch!" he shouted, as he recovered his senses, "You Goddamn bitch!"
Susan trembled with terror. She hadn't meant to do that, she hadn't. It had just happened, completely out of her control. But it was too late now to figure out why it had happened, for she could see a murderous glint in her husband's eyes, and she began to back away from him in fear.
"Tim, oh Tim, I'm sorry… I'm sorry."
But her enraged husband was past caring how she felt now. Her sudden slap had made his alcohol-fogged brain broil with anger. She was making a fool out of him, a damn fool, and he wasn't going to take it another minute! He wanted her, and if she wouldn't respond to gentleness, then he'd try another method. He didn't give a damn now what she thought or how frightened she was. His cock was aching like thunder in his pants, aching for triumphant orgasm, and he was going to have it! NOW! Lunging toward her, he reached out, grabbed her by the arm, and began to pull her roughly to the bed.
"Tim!" she cried, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I didn't!"
But her outraged husband only responded with a snarl of animal lust. His entire body was vibrating with a sadistic mixture of throbbing desire and seething revenge. Brutally he threw her down on the bed, then fell on top of her furiously resisting body and began to cover her face and neck with harsh kisses. As she groaned out her protest, Tim began grinding his hips into her futilely resisting abdomen. His long thick cock pounded angrily in his trousers, pulsing like a drum against his thigh. He was consumed in a torrent of raging barbaric passion, heightened by the excess of wine and the burning sting he still felt in his cheek where Susan had slapped him. He was through with waiting now! He was going to fuck the living daylights out of her, and this time she wouldn't be able to get away! She was his wife, and he was due his rights as a husband!
Cruelly he pressed his searching mouth onto her trembling lips, kissing her like a frenzied beast while she struggled, helpless beneath him. Forcing her clenched jaws apart, he suddenly rammed his rigid questing tongue deep into her mouth, twisting and rotating it lewdly, causing his squirming young wife to gag. Still pinning her down, he snaked his hand up between their tightly pressed bodies and began to unbutton the front of her dress, ripping at whatever buttons would not open easily, and the material fell away from the front of her body, exposing the brassiere-encased melons of her breasts. Reaching behind her, he undid the clasp and yanked the confining garment away from her fearfully twisting body. Her firm young breasts grew tense and goose pimply as their areolas quivered into agonized erection under his leering gaze. With a low groan of drunken hunger, he moved his mouth down to the milk-white pliant mounds and began to voraciously suck and bite on her nipples while Susan moaned in terror-ridden helplessness.
The touch of her warm sensual body, denied him for so long, sent spasms of desire surging like hot swords through the young insurance salesman's hard-muscled frame. He felt he could never get enough of her full lush breasts, and his gaze shifted avidly from one to the other, while his tortured young wife sobbed beneath him, pleading for him to stop. But he was completely deaf to her cries as his sex-denied body crushed down on her petite frame, pinioning her to the wide double bed while his lips pulled greedily on her pliant golden flesh.
Wave after wave of unbearable shame swept through Susan's trapped body as the full force of her childhood fears took hold of her! Rapid images of Miss Whitfield and the bogey-men her vivid imagination had conjured up for her flashed through her mind and made every part of her smooth white body cringe in terror and humiliation. She pleaded for Tim to stop then, seeing it was no use, she clenched her hands to her sides as her lust-driven husband held her firmly in place and sucked drunkenly at her glistening breasts. Ripples of searing pain, curiously mixed with a strange tingling sensation she could not identify, coursed through her chest. Knowing there was no escape, she gritted her teeth and waited tensely until her drunken spouse had had his way with her.
Tim was shaking now with pent-up desire, and he was taking an almost sadistic pleasure in the torment he was inflicting on his terrified young bride. His lewdly working lips slid in one flowing motion from her heaving breasts down to the pale skin of her abdomen. He ran his tongue snake-like along the velvety softness of her flesh until his hotly questing mouth reached the material of her dress where the buttons had ended. He pulled away from her, his eyes glazed with a demonic mixture of lust and drunken revenge.
"I want to see you naked," he growled thickly.
"No, please, Tim, please!" his cowering young wife groaned.
But he was not to be stopped. With a snarl of impatience, he reached out and twisted her body around, at the same time yanking the thin summer dress from her arms and pulling it roughly off her body until it slid free of her lithe tapered legs. Susan sobbed in futile resistance, her entire being quaking now with ice-cold twinges of fear and shame. She lay helpless on the bed, protected only by the flower-print panties she wore, while Tim eyed her hungrily. Never taking his eyes from her appetizing form, he slowly began to remove his own clothes, first unbuttoning his starched white short-sleeved shirt so that his strong tight-muscled chest and shoulders were completely naked. Then, tossing the shirt aside, he began to unbuckle his belt and unzip the snug slacks while his wife watched, her eyes widened in alarm. Finally, he stepped out of his pants, and stood before her dressed only in the white cotton shorts that bulged obscenely from the formidable stiffness of his hardened cock jutting out like the mast of a ship perpendicular to his loins.
The look of fear on his weeping young bride's face only increased his passion. He was going to take her by force no matter how she protested or pleaded for mercy! The mere thought of at last satisfying his long-suppressed sexual needs caused his desire-thickened penis to jerk frantically against the thin material of his shorts. With a lewd grin at Susan, he began to pull down his shorts so that the full potency of his eagerly lurching cock and cum-swollen balls was presented naked to her frightened gaze. The sight of his hard lusting staff lurching out so menacingly in full erection made his wife gasp in alarm, and she instinctively shut her eyes to banish the terrifying sight from her view.
Seeing her respond with loathing to the exposure of his virilely pulsing hardness made Tim even angrier than before. Leaning across her prostrate form, he reached down and grasped the tight crotch band of her flowered panties, and with one cloth-shearing tear he yanked the fragile garment down so that the fearfully trembling mound of her pubic triangle was revealed defenselessly before him. The sparse cuntal hair shone a tempting golden-brown and the sight of his wife's creamy nakedness sparked uncontrollable flames of lust in Tim's hotly burning body. With a few vicious jerks he pulled the nylon panties down her sleekly contoured legs while Susan moaned in agony from the sting of the tight elastic scraping against her smooth flesh. Finally, she was completely naked.
"Oh God," she moaned, trying to cover herself with her hands, "Oh God, help me!"
"Shut up, bitch!" Tim snapped drunkenly, tossing the torn panties aside. "Stop whining! I want a woman for a change, a real woman!"
The roused husband grasped his wife's tightly clamped legs and forced them roughly apart so that the moist pink flesh of her vaginal slit was revealed to his drunken gaze. With a snarl of animal passion, he lowered himself onto the bed between her splayed limbs and, spreading the soft cushions of her vaginal lips apart with his thumbs, he obscenely buried his face in her defenseless pussy. Abruptly he flicked out his tongue and ran it wetly up and down the length of her warm perfumed pussy furrow.
The shock of this sudden action made Susan jerk back involuntarily in humiliation. It was unthinkable to her that he could inflict such a thing upon her, and she tried desperately to squeeze her legs together to prevent her passion-crazed husband from exploring her private regions so crudely. But she was powerless against the onslaught of his alcohol-quickened desire.
Roughly he flicked his tongue up and down her blushing red slit, each wet assault sending fresh stabs of shame and anxiety throughout Susan's tortured young body. His eagerly questing mouth soon found the fleshy little bud of her clitoris, and with salacious relish he began to suck and bite on that tender nub, trying to make it harden, hoping to rouse his frigid wife into a state of wild throbbing desire that would match his own. The little phallus-like button involuntarily grew hard from his insistent oral probes, yet Susan experienced only a deeper feeling of debasement. She could not and would not submit to his animalistic attack! It was too humiliating! She began to resist his attempted rape with more determination, and suddenly her hands reached down to clutch fiercely at his sandy-colored hair. She pulled at his locks angrily, wanting to hurt him for his attempted subjugation of her.
Tim howled in pain and pulled away from her, his fury mounting with volcanic force.
"Damn you," he shouted wildly, "Goddamn you, you ice-cold bitch!"
His mind seethed with uncontrollable anger now, and the last traces of tender human sentiment fled his mind. If she was going to pull tricks like that, treat him like a dog, then he'd show her he had a few tricks of his own! His massively pulsating cock jerked in excited need for release, and, with an evil gleam in his eye, the outraged young husband suddenly got a hard grip on his wife's hips. Almost before she knew what he was doing, he had roughly forced her to turn over on her stomach. Then he slipped his forearm under her belly and pulled her loins upward so that his uncomprehending young wife had to prop herself up on her elbows.
Treat me like a dog, huh? Tim thought darkly as he gripped the throbbing thickness of his frantically lurching cock. Well, baby, two can play at that game. If I'm a dog, then I'll fuck like one, then maybe you'll respond like a bitch in heat for a change!
His eyes glazed with anger, Tim grabbed the trembling globes of her buttocks harshly, his fingernails digging into the resilient white flesh, sending stabs of pain through his wife's naked young body.
"Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!!" she screamed, shuddering in agony from head to foot. "It hurts."
"That's nothing, baby, believe me, that's nothing," he snarled down at her.
His mind whirling with rage, he began to trace his middle finger down the crack between her ass-cheeks and over the tight brown hole of her anus until it found the firmly clenched entrance to her vagina.
A cruel drunken smile of anticipation played across his lips as his hand slowly began to explore her pussy from behind.
Susan shuddered from head to foot, mortified with the overwhelming shame of her situation. Tim had forced her into the most humiliating position imaginable, propped on her elbows and knees like a cowering pathetic animal. A beast, just like Miss Whitfield had said, a panting, lustful beast! This was the man she had married! Slowly his extended middle finger began to worm its way up into her tensely contracted vaginal passage, and she quivered in trepidation as she felt it burrow inside her burning cunt. With a gasp of horror, she realized that he was going to take her this way, from behind, like a drunken savage. In the next second she cried aloud as Tim shoved his finger all the way inside her dry tight cuntal depths and began to prod and rotate it mercilessly to lubricate his entry.
"Please stop!" she cried in agony. "Stop! Pleeeeaaasssee!"
But Tim was fiercely determined to punish her for keeping him at bay so long, and he rammed his rigid middle finger hard up into the farthest recesses of her bruised and aching vagina as his tortured young wife moaned in pain, beads of perspiration breaking out on her forehead. Desperately she tried to pull away to escape the pain and humiliation but Tim easily tugged her back, gripping her tightly by the shoulder with his free hand while he began to brutally finger-fuck her with the middle finger of his other hand, in and out, in and out, until finally the tortured walls of her cunt began to widen and release involuntarily their warm vaginal fluid.
Satisfied that she was wet enough, he withdrew his finger from her vaginal depths and took hold of his huge distended penis, pulling back the soft foreskin to reveal the red swollen cock-head, and then guided it carefully between her ass-cheeks until it was poised directly at the tensed waiting entrance of her cuntal sheath.
"Oh Tim," she mewled piteously, "please don't do it, not this way, oh please!"
But it was no use. With a savage cry of passion, the lusty insurance salesman thrust his hips forward with a vicious jerk, burrowing his eager cock halfway up his wife's tightly clenched cunt. The force of his scathing entry sent Susan's body hurtling forward as tears of shame and hurt began to roll down her hotly flushed cheeks. She was being totally degraded by her own husband, taken in the most debased manner she could imagine like a gutter prostitute, forced to kneel before him, helpless to ward off his drunken intrusion!
Tim leered down in glassy-eyed triumph and then lunged forward again so that his lewdly throbbing penis penetrated up to the hilt into her wet cringing pussy. Her fiercely tightened vaginal muscles clasped around bis hard-driving cock in a vain attempt to expel the cruel invader, but it was totally useless. Slowly, Tim started to fuck her, in and out, each painful thrust stretching the fear-ridden walls of her pussy wider and wider.
Susan hung her head in shame, her light brown hair falling forward damply over her face as Tim began to drive into her in a steadily increasing tempo. Her submissively kneeling young body was wracked with an agonizing mixture of pain and humiliation, and she sobbed in defeat as she felt his huge swollen balls swinging and slapping against her cruelly buffeted hips. She could hear his lewd groans and heavy breathing behind her as he rotated his pelvis sadistically, forcing his rock-hard penis in and out of her helpless ravaged pussy.
The tortured young bride was nearly unconscious now, almost overwhelmed by the pain and shock of her husband's brutal rape. But just as she thought she could endure no more, a strange thing began to happen. Unable to resist his powerful onslaught, she began to surrender, and as she did, a totally new feeling started to ripple faintly through her impaled young body. Unbelievable as it seemed, out of the depths of the burning shame there arose a strange warmth and excitement that grew in her loins like a rose unfolding in spring. She had never experienced anything like it before, not even in their gentlest lovemaking. It was as if her newly awakening body was beginning to melt in warm waves of undulating pleasure that, mixed with the brutal pain of his sudden rape, produced an irresistible gnawing of unfamiliar desire deep inside the cock-skewered young wife. For the first time in her life she wondered if she could experience the real pleasure of sensuality the way the doctor had hinted when she had spoken to him. Perhaps… perhaps she might even have an orgasm.
"Oooooohhhh…" she moaned as the thrilling new feelings began to envelop her, "Ooooohhh…" Despite her shame, her naked young body's needs began to force her to grind her hips back against Tim's forward-thrusting penis. She dug her knees into the mattress and gritted her teeth, less in torment than in the beginnings of blind overpowering passion. Her mind still struggled, terrified of letting go so completely, but her servilely kneeling body, jolted out of its long passivity and fear by Tim's traumatizing attack, began to move involuntarily in a slow inexorable rhythm as it sought satisfaction of its basest instinctual hungers. Every inch of her ripely contoured young frame was tingling now with steadily mounting lust and she began to moan like a woman possessed, her body thrashing out of control in an unexpected wave of demonic sensuality.
"Oh Christ!" Tim groaned, feeling her squirm beneath him, for the first time returning some measure of his excitement. "Oh yes, that's it! Oh, honey, you're beautiful, beautiful!"
He became triumphant as her moans slowly changed from pain and self-pity into sighs and grunts of obscene arousal, for he realized his unexpected rearward assault was actually beginning to break through her icy coldness. His thickly swollen penis became charged with rampant lust as he drove deeper and deeper into her wantonly heaving cuntal interior. White-hot sperm began to surge in his bouncing testicles as he rammed into her with the fury of a jackhammer.
Kneeling before him, her body jerking in perfect sensual rhythm with his, Susan began to experience velvety warm flashes of heat galloping wildly through her writhing loins. Her ravishing young body trembled with raw animal passion as delirious thrills consumed her for the first time in her life. Her wetly throbbing vaginal passage grew unbearably hot and pounded with an incredible need. She felt herself on the edge of a staggering sensual precipice, about to fall over the brink into a bottomless sea of irresistible, forbidden delight! She thrilled with happiness to think that at last her moment of complete release was suddenly here, despite everything! At last she was going to fulfill herself as a woman!
But in the next moment Tim began to cry out with the approach of orgasm.
"I'm cumming," he moaned wildly, "Oh fuuuccckk… I'm cuuuummmiiinnggg! Uuuuunnnggghhh! Fuuucckk!!!"
Susan was shocked back to reality by his obscene excited cries, and her body quivered fearfully when, in the next minute, his raging load of thick hot semen exploded in convulsive spasms into her violently clenching pussy.
It was happening too fast! The young wife suddenly found herself completely disoriented, and the ecstatic pleasure she had felt only moments before suddenly fled as quickly as it had come. He's an animal, a voice cried out in her head, an animal! Miss Whitfield! No…nooo! She felt as if boiling lava were squirting into her loins and spreading throughout her body! Bogeymen! Cummmiiinnggg! Inside of her body! Suddenly she was seized with blind terror as she had been so often in her childhood nightmares.
"Nooo!" she cried, protesting against her returning fear as much as the torrent of hot cum her triumphant husband poured into her from his rapidly jerking penis, "Nooo!"
Tim rammed his massively ejaculating cudgel back and forth until its rhythm abated naturally and the last drop of his white sperm had jetted into her. Then, slowly, he pulled away as Susan fell forward in an exhausted heap on the bed. Something had happened at the last minute, something he had been too excited to comprehend. She had been responding incredibly and then at the moment of orgasm… What was wrong?
"Susan?" he asked softly. "Susan?"
"Oh, Tim…" she moaned, her face buried tearfully in the coverlet of the bed, "it's no good… it's no good…"
Tim's face soured into an expression of deep disappointment and anger as he realized once more that his efforts had been in vain. He had fucked her, yes, and had a full release, but now, seeing his wife once more shuddering in fright on the bed, the momentary galvanic excitement he had experienced quickly fled, replaced by the old feeling of resentment and frustration.
"Christ," he said wearily, rising from the bed. "What's the use?"
Susan Jameson sat absolutely still on the sofa, her mind slowly returning to the present. Tim had left for Boston a half hour after their unhappy encounter, and nothing was settled. Things remained at an impasse so that it looked as though their marriage might fall apart completely. Yet she also knew that something had happened to her during his cruel rape, for she had experienced, at least for a few rapturous moments, a sensual awakening the likes of which she had never known before. Maybe, with a little more time, she could really let herself go and experience an entire orgasm. With surprise, she realized that the crotch band of her panties had become moist, probably because of her detailed recall of what had taken place on Monday. Quickly she got up from the sofa, feeling a little embarrassed, to change into a fresh pair.
But as she started up the steps to the second floor of the house, the doorbell rang.