Chapter 2

It certainly is true that getting involved with a younger woman gives you a new outlook, thought Edward Tarrington III feeling exuberant and sexy as he guided Carrie by the hand toward their new home in the Berkeley Hills. He squeezed her playfully as he lifted her slender, feather-light body in his strong arms, feeling younger than he had in twenty years as he carried her over the threshold.

It was a lovely home, situated on the eucalyptus shaded hillside with a panoramic view of San Francisco stretched out like a post card below. The living room was a Danish modern masterpiece, tastefully and expensively furnished with a fireplace at one end large enough to roast a deer.

When Carrie exclaimed that she wanted to sit out on the balcony and stare out over the misty waters, he hid his impatience behind an indulgent smile. As far as he was concerned, the tour of the house could wait until tomorrow morning; there was another tour he would rather take, and that was straight up Carrie's smooth young leg!

Hold your horses, Edward! he cautioned himself. You've waited two years to take Carrie as a wife, and now you can wait another few minutes. Remember, she's an innocent little thing. . . not like those cheap-assed whores in Durban.

"Would you like a blanket to wrap around yourself?" he smiled at the lovely moppy-curled bride. "It's going to be nippy out there." Carrie declined and headed through the black and white kitchen to the back screened-in porch.

Not wanting to let his shy virgin see the humiliating, pulsating bulge in his tailor-made suit pants, Edward remained strategically behind her as they stood out on the balcony staring out over the splatter of distorted city lights and listening to the monstrous roar of city energy that seemed so distant yet so threateningly close. Edward pointed out the orange ribbon of lights that marked Telegraph Avenue, then guided his finger to point out the Carillon Tower on the Berkeley campus.

Fog slapped against her face, but Carrie stoically braved the inclement weather while her eager husband stood by, taking in the voluptuous silhouette of her heavy young breasts as high and proud as her morals. Edward's impatient virility gave another painful jerk against his boxer shorts and, with a moan of passion, he moved toward his new wife.

His words tempered the uncontrollable passion he felt: "Come inside, darling," he murmured, taking her arm and pulling her close to him. "You'll catch a chill."

Carrie's head whipped around so sharply that her silken chestnut curls brushed tantalizingly against her husband's shaven cheek. Intoxicated by the floral fragrance of her hair, Edward threw discretion to the winds and pressed his hungry lips against her soft ones in the most intimate kiss he'd ever dared to give his chilly bride.

It took every ounce of willpower Carrie could muster to keep from pushing him away and releasing her mouth from his bruising kiss. But when he pressed closer to her and she felt the undeniable throbbing bulge hidden like some hungry animal between his legs, a chill shudder crawled up her spine, and the ears of her memory reverberated with her mother's helpless sobs.

"It-it is awfully cold," she shivered with a nervous little laugh, deliberately making her teeth chatter and crossing her arms over her breasts. "I think I'd like a hot bath, all right?"

"Anything you want," answered Edward with painful chagrin, feeling his penis throb in true misery behind the trap of his zipper.

Thank God for little favors, thought Carrie, relieved to find the master bedroom had a private bathroom which, judging from its pink and white marble decor, she assumed was hers. At the risk of seeming rude, she locked the door behind her and ran the bath tub full of hot steaming water and climbed in. If only I never had to leave this tub, she thought fleetingly as the womb-like warmth of the water bathed her fevered sensual fears and lapped at her chin.

Outside in the dimly lit master bedroom, Tarrington paced the floor in his Gucci shoes, sipping at a double scotch up neat which he'd found in the well stocked bar. He wondered with a flush of embarrassment if his forty year old hard-on had frightened his bride and he hoped, with panic, that she wouldn't pull one of those typical head-ache excuses on their first night together.

"Take it easy," he muttered into his Chivas Regal. "Act natural.. . be tender . . . she'll eat it up." He wished it were some kind of wind-up toy that responded on command rather than jutting out to stab his beloved in the stomach every time he tried to get close to her! He knew that it was tenting his pants right now and with a grunt, he slammed his scotch glass down on the bedside table and slipped into his black silk pajamas.

His fingers were struggling with the last pearl button on his pajama shirt when his bride, looking like Aphrodite herself, emerged from the bathroom in a virginal white lace nightgown that looked like it belonged to a twelve year old . . . except for the delicious mounds of her full, milky breasts that bounced with every step, swaying from side to side like a well-oiled gate. When he squinted, he could make out the berry tips of her puffy nipples and he drew in his breath, his mustache twitching nervously. For a second, he wondered who was the virgin . . . Carrie or him!

Inexperienced Carrie sucked in her breath in relief at the sight of her pajama clad husband whom she'd feared might be waiting in the nude for her, stretched out on the huge bed like a Playgirl centerfold . . . his big thing pointing up to the ceiling flagpole-like. Nevertheless, she timidly avoided his ardent gaze that seemed to probe into her mind, demanding an explanation.

"My darling, can I get you a drink?" Edward's blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. "I had a bottle of fine champagne chilled waiting in the refrigerator. May I?"

Keeping her long-lashed hazel eyes glued to a painting hanging above the bed, she nodded, forgetting her distrust of mind-numbing alcohol and the deleterious affects it had on her father's psyche. Had Carrie followed her self-preserving instincts, she would have followed her husband into the kitchen, but the thought didn't occur to her fevered mind until he returned with a glass of bubbling liquid in his hand. Edward gestured toward the bed and Carrie sat down next to him. He made no attempt to grab at her half naked body and, as the calming alcohol mixed with her fevered blood, she felt a wave of relaxation waft over her. She even managed to laugh at Edward's diatribe against Berkely radicals and left-wing professors.

Three times he'd sauntered off in his slippered feet for the kitchen to refill her glass, and on the fourth go-round he came back with the bottle in an ice bucket. Maybe, she reflected as the champagne gurgled out of the bottle and into her glass, Edward just wants companionship instead of a bedmate.. . somebody to mate his socks and tag along to boorish professors parties and discuss the Regents' policies. That fallacious rationalization boomeranged when she caught his burning sidelong glance crawling up her silken calf to where her nightgown gaped open to reveal the creamy flesh of her inner thigh.

Edward reacted like a mouse caught biting at the cheese in the trap. He lunged toward her and planted his mouth firmly against her rosebud pink lips. Disregarding her shocked gasp and the quivering resistance of her tautly compressed lips, he tried to snake his hungry tongue in between her lips.

Dread, scorching as a burning torch, raced through Carrie's body, firing her with adrenaline-inspired courage. "Ed-Edward! What are you trying to do," she choked in an angry tone as, with unexpected force, she raised her knees in a natal position and springing them, pushed him away.

Edward's salt and pepper mustache twitched with treachery and his eyes narrowed to two blue slits. What the hell. . . didn't he have a right to kiss his own wife? What he thought and what he said took divergent paths as he said: "Darling, you have such succulent lips I couldn't help wanting to kiss them."

Something tight in her husband's voice frightened Carrie. Not only did he look like a stranger, but he sounded like a stranger and his normally gentle eyes flashed with firecracker sparks of bestial lechery. Somehow the intellectual man at the podium had transformed into a Marquis de Sade of the bedroom! God, why did I get married? her spinning brain wailed, as with a lewd groan, the six foot male grabbed her roughly and pressed her slender body beneath his black silk frame, pinning her to the mattress.

"No . . . no . . . noooo . . . please NOOOOOOO!" she whimpered, her mind still echoing with her mother's voice through the bedroom wall. "I. . . I'm not ready for this! Oh, please . . . don't scare me . . . don't hit me!"

Edward panted with confusion. Hit her? Did she have a loose screw in that Vassar brain . . . if so, it wasn't from too much screwing . . . that was obvious. He spoke to her like a teacher instructing a pupil. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Carrie. Besides, we're married. Remember this morning in your parents house in Boston . . . Do you remember vowing to love me?"

His forehead wrinkled with impassioned anguish before he took another lunge to silence her protests. His mustache tickled her nose as he clamped his wetly heated mouth against her naked one. Catching her in a moan, he succeeded in snaking his long, rough-velvet tongue deep between her cringing cheeks and the timid virgin shivered in disgust as he teased at her teeth and the sensitive walls of her mouth.

Making love to a reluctant virgin was not Dr. Tarrington's forte. His first marriage, which had lasted all of four months, had been to a well-bred slut in Durban; his father had it annulled and wiped out all record of his son's plummeting morality. In the ensuing twenty years, he'd devoted his talents and energies toward scholasticism and ivory-towered academia which left him no time for hanky-panky . . . except for an occasional discreet call girl. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the delicious task of arousing a terrified twenty-two year old virgin.

Nothing like the direct approach, he mused, steeling his stomach muscles himself for another knee in the gut as he took the heaving mounds of her round, cantaloupe sized breasts in his hands and squeezed the warm pliant flesh until it oozed out between his fingers like bread dough. She'll like it in a second, he rationalized, his own grunts blocking out her whimpers. They all love it. . .

Even though the heater was blasting out clouds of warm air, Carrie's five foot six body froze in icy dread as her impatient husband kneaded her sensitive breasts and ground his hips against her quivering upper thighs, wedged open by his grinding pelvis from which the bloated rod of his thrashing penis dampened her nightgown protected flesh with the first pearl of semen oozing from its single eye. Carrie felt the champagne bubble in her stomach and for a second she feared she might be sick.

To heck with marital duties and gentle affection! Wrenching her lithe loins out from under his squirming body, she clawed at the bedspread trying to gain leverage to scramble off the bed. The champagne had dulled more than her mind . . . it had dulled her reflexes and with a shrill wail of despair, her knees crumpled under her and she collapsed like a rag doll on the thick-pile carpet. On her hands and knees, she darted with frightened mouse speed toward the bathroom, but muscular arms grasped her around her slim waist and dragged her squealing, writhing body back up onto the bed, inching her knee-length lace nightie up above her full flaring hips in the foray. Carrie's feline green eyes faded with fright as she gaped horrified down at the shamefully immodest sight of her exposed thighs and white nylon panties. She screamed with fear and outrage as Edward, the suave professor, yanked the nightie all the way up over the jewel of her navel.. . up over the strawberry tipped mounds of her breasts.

"Ohhhh . . . ohhhh! You beast!" she shuddered, her stomach goose bumping with humiliation as his twitching mustache tickled her belly while his tongue darted into the dimple of her navel.

Her whimpers fell on deaf ears, for the frustrated bridegroom grappled at her silken skinned bosom, his snaking penis squirming in the open fly of his pajamas. Marriage vows, hopes and dreams for the future, decorous propriety were all water under the bridge as the floodgates of his passion burst and swept him along in the age-old tide of male lust.

"Beautiful. . . perfect. . . lovely . . . " he groaned in lecherous ecstasy as though he were staring at a naked centerfold. "You've got a perfectly proportioned body," he said matter-of-factly.

So he's really a dirty old man at heart! Carrie's mind spun dizzyingly. He dreams about his students being naked! Why. . . oh. God, why did I marry him?

There was no time for psychoanalysis as the well-built professor wedged his thighs between her fear paralyzed legs and his manicured hands dragged her demure white nightgown over her tousled dark hair giving it an unceremonious yank that tore it from her quivering body. Ignoring the tiny shivers of unwanted excitement that shot from her titillated nipples to every nerve ending in her subjugated body, the fearful virgin let out a plaintive wail.

"NOOOOOOOOOO . . . NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The young woman's screams reverberated through the pitched ceiling bedroom in an eerie, unholy way, but Edward Tarrington paid no heed. He was busy stripping off his black silk pajama bottoms with his left hand while the right one remained glued to his wife's heaving breasts, and the blood was pounding in his ears as it rushed through his brain to circuit through his heart and charge on down to his loins to bloat his engorged penis another lustful inch.

For two years I mamby-pambied around talking about Anglo-Boer Wars and Soweto uprisings . . . and I was a perfect gentleman. I don't want a student. I want a wife! He exalted as he fastened his mouth on the tiny pink button of his bride's spiking breast. I gave her A's and plumped up her ego . . . and now it's time to pump her full of something else!

Edward Tarrington III was far from the violent type, but had he seen himself he wouldn't have recognized that mild mannered man who paid his parking tickets, contributed to charities and helped ailing people open heavy doors. Yet, now, as his hands and hungrily salivating lips squeezed and licked and sucked at Carrie's every ripe young curve as though she were a ripe pear to be nibbled from its core, he would have been truly shocked. Not only was he scaring her, he was hurting her.

Deluding himself into believing that Carrie's panic-stricken whimpers were purrs of delight, and that her frantic thrashing and squirming under his weighty body were expressions of her insatiable desire for his penis, Edward eased himself into position where his blood-throbbing thickness was poised spear-like above his curvaceous naked bride's sparsely curled femininity. A prideful spasm shot through him as he leered down at his manish blood infested cock. He'd never seen his penis this big before! Certainly little Carrie would be pleased . . .

Pleasure was the furthest thing from the Irish bride's mind as she, too, stared with glazed eyes at the thick veined hunk of male flesh wagging before her eyes in an obscene hello. Fleetingly, she wondered if her father's penis was that big and if so . . . no wonder her mother cried in pain. Her terror tripled.

Oh God, I don 't want that ugly thing inside of me! It won't fit! Nothing fits up there!

The middle-aged professor guessed wrong again when he mistook his wide-eyed bride's open-mouthed gape as an expression of admiration for his engorged manhood. Despite his advancing years and dignified position, he felt fantastically wild and virile as a young African savage ravishing his first maiden, and his thick rigid cock grew even longer and harder as he feasted his sex starved eyes on the tantalizing, curl fringed slit up between his wife's whipped cream thighs. When she moaned and writhed beneath him, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the delicately pouting coral-pink cuntal lips.

"Please, Edward. Pleeez!"

But the professor pressed on . . . until she grabbed him by the hair and yanked hard, bringing his well-bred senses back to life. He paused while her fingers slipped from his silky gray hair and his wildly throbbing cock poised so it just grazed the silken strands of her pubic hair. Edward blinked and swallowed his anger.

Again he sounded like the professor: "Don't be scared, darling. It'll only hurt a little at first and when you see how good it feels you'll love it! . . . you'll learn to love it!" he put it in a cruel aside, clenching his teeth.

Carrie stared up at the perspiration-beaded male face hovering close enough to her own. He was blinking rather stupidly, she thought, and his harsh breathing reminded her of horses she used to ride as a girl. Disregarding his athletic physique, she shuddered at the vulgar coating of sweat which glistened over his bulging muscles. Squinting with pain and hatred, she let her eyes rest on the disgusting, squirming sight of his baseball bat cock poking up between his thighs.

"NOOOO!" she let out an involuntary shriek that threatened to shatter the crystal champagne glass on the bed table. "Don't you dare touch me with that thing!" she spat up at him.

The last thing the professor wanted was to rape his wife. What if she humiliated him by demanding an annulment? Wouldn't her senator father make him pay for that! Or insisted on one of those barren marriages where the couple had separate bedrooms? Both possibilities were horrifying, and Edward moved a token inch away from his naked bride.

"Carrie, darling, you're being irrational." The words fell rather stiffly from his parched lips. From the way his wife stared at his proud erection as though it were s snake in a zoo cage, it was making him feel most unconfident in his husbandly role.

"It's normal for married people to express their mutual affection through-harumph-sexual intercourse. Of course I don't want to hurt you.. . but we have to do it sometime."

The growing lump in Carrie's throat seemed to melt at these words. Now this was the Edward she knew and trusted.. . not the grunting animal who'd ripped off her nightie minutes before. If that ugly penis hadn't been wagging at her, she might have believed him.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered. "I-I don't know how to be a wife . . . that's all.. . " She sniffed. "Maybe in a couple of days . . . "

A couple of days! Edward's mind shouted in frustration. Hell, I'll have to lock myself in the bathroom and shoot it against the wall by then!

"I can't wait, darling," he gasped as the sperm churned into smooth butter in his fuzzy testicles. Almost unconsciously, he began massaging his purple knobbed penis, pushing the rubbery foreskin back to reveal the Cyclops-like eye from which the fluids oozed in pearly drops. "I need you now, darling."

Recoiled from the renewed tone of brutality in her husband's voice, Carrie involuntarily clamped her thighs together to shut out the menacing male weapon that hovered a scant inch above her fearfully cringing vagina. At the same instant Edward's long pent-up lust grew too urgent to contain a second longer and he jerked his hips back down toward the enticing rose pink cuntal slit half hidden beneath her foresting pubic curls.

"Ohhhhh!" yelped the shocked wife as her naked upper legs trapped the blood engorged cock shaft making it throb between her clenching muscles. To her amazement, the penis felt warm and smooth, instead of cold and slimy, as she'd expected.

Carrie's high-pitched exclamation was drowned out by a frenzied groan from Edward. The massaging quivering of her inner thighs squeezing at his turgid cock set the sperm churning wildly in his lust bloated balls, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. It gushed out hose-like, squirting over Carrie's creamy belly to run down the crevice of her buttocks.

"OH, SHIT!" he bellowed in impotent fury as his pent-up semen gushed in thick white jets. "NNNN-OOO!"

He was ejaculating before he'd even deflowered his virgin bride, cumming all over her naked loins like some dumb thirteen year old kid! Furious shame intermingled with the ecstatic sensation of physical relief, and he cursed in incoherent frenzy as his spasming penis splashed its fiery load over Carrie's fear-stiffened body. Finally, totally spent both emotionally and physically, he collapsed like a limp sack of potatoes upon the virgin's cringing figure, nearly knocking the wind out of her as he fell.

For a few panicky moments Carrie lay unmoving beneath his panting body, her brain reeling dizzily and her flesh crawling as the sticky fingers of sperm dried on her pure unsullied flesh. Too shocked to move, too bewildered to weep, she lay there staring up at the ceiling while the sperm trickled in lewd running streams down onto her burning cunt lips where it cooled and dried.

At last, when Edward's harsh breathing had evolved into deep snores, she slid out from under him and headed directly for the bathroom. In the full length mirror she caught a naked glance at her reflection and hastily filled the tub. Sperm had dried in disgusting white rivulets; her dark pubic curls were matted with the sticky cum and there was a bruise on her left breast which would be an ugly black-and-blue souvenir by tomorrow morning.

Feeling as if a million lustful bugs were crawling over her demeaned body, she lowered her aching frame into the warm tub and scrubbed furiously at her sperm-splattered flesh until her stomach and legs were red from abrasion.

But she still had her virginity!

Carrie almost smiled until she realized that Edward would still be naked and maybe he'd want to violate her in the middle of the night, catching her off guard while she slept.. .

At last, when the tub water turned icy, the shivering brunette climbed out of the tub, dug another nightgown out of her suitcase and tiptoed into the master bedroom. She snapped off the overhead light, and turned on the bedside lamp, deciding to leave it on all night, should Edward decide to repeat his disgusting performance. Edward snored on top of the covers, sprawled out with his limp balloon maledom half hidden between his hard muscled thighs.

Carrie was about to yank down the covers and slip into bed when she paused, a quizzically curious expression wrinkling her satin forehead and she stared unblinking for several seconds at his harmless deflated penis as one would a sleeping snake in a glass cage, waiting for the first perceptible movement before jumping back in fright.

Hunkering down and bending her knees, she examined it from every possible visible angle, biting her lips nervously as she took in the wrinkled, rubbery flesh with the pinhole slit in the middle. Daintily, her fingers loosened their hold on the blanket, letting it flutter from her hand, and slowly she pointed her index finger at the withered flesh and a scant quarter inch away from contact. Then, rebuking herself for that rash impulse to touch Edward's penis, she quickly crawled under the covers and tried to think of anything but nasty sex to fall asleep.

Counting all the sheep in Australia wasn't enough to distract her from thinking about tonight's torrid ugliness . . . and not enough to ignore the presence of the wheezing male body occupying her bed.

Before drifting off into a restless, nightmare-sprinkled sleep another horrible thought pierced her numbed mind:

What about tomorrow? What about when we go to bed mid he takes off his pajamas and that ugly thing is all big and hard again? What then?