Chapter 3
It wasn't long after their twentieth wedding anniversary that Pamela was placed in an institution where she could be looked after. Her drinking had gotten too terrible.
Also, since there was a depression in the country, the family wasn't in the same condition it had been in when Pamela and Douglas had been newlyweds. The house no longer had a look of luxury. With two grown children there it had a look that was rather a mess.
Because her mother was 'away for a rest' as it was euphemistically worded in those days, Gwendolyn didn't have much of a wedding. It was a small affair in the front parlor of the house, a room that looked as if it were going to crumble into dust at any second.
Her husband was a quiet man. He was a few years older than she. The girl was only nineteen. She had been out of high school for a year and hadn't yet worked a day in her life. Her father was so ambivalent about raising her that he was driving her crazy.
On the one hand, Douglas had really felt the pinch of the economic depression and money problems were very severe for him. On the other hand, he had old-fashioned notions about decorum. He had certain notions about a woman's proper place in society.
It would have been to Douglas' advantage if Gwendolyn had gone to work behind the perfume counter at the five and dime store. That was the only job she was offered in the course of that year. But, he wouldn't hear of it. Even though his cuffs were all frayed and his salary was lower than it had been ten years earlier, he couldn't stand the thought of his daughter in that menial position.
So, the girl ended up as her father's housekeeper, a position even more menial and degrading for her.
She didn't love Horace Kramer. He wasn't an especially handsome man. But, she married him because it was the only way she could see of getting out of her father's house. She gritted her teeth over everything that happened to her. The day of her wedding she never smiled. Her fury at her father for the seedy affair he gave her as a wedding could not be placated.
Horace was nearing thirty and he still lived with his parents. He had also seen the sense of marrying Gwendolyn. It would be a chance for him to have a home of his own. She knew how to care for a home since she had taken her mother's place in the house.
But, there was also something else that he felt for Gwendolyn. He couldn't exactly call it love. Of course he had never had sex with her prior to their marriage. He had never dared. But, what he felt for the girl was a great degree of lust.
He didn't care that she never smiled. He didn't care that she always seemed as severe and as unpleasant as her father did. Other people would have looked for merriment in a girl of nineteen, but not Horace Kramer. He was excited over her pouting look, thrilled by her tensed chin and her lowered brows. She disapproved of everything. He was turned on by that.
On the day of the wedding the girl expected that her father would present her with some sort of wedding present to start off her married life. He called the newly married couple into his library and he sat, leaving them both standing before him.
The girl knew that he had some money in the bank and she wanted to get it. She figured that he could come across with a few hundred to start them on their way.
Instead the man began, "I've decided to get rid of this house. Now that you're leaving and it's just your brother and myself I can't see the sense in keeping this big place."
"But, surely, sir," Horace said, meekly, "I was hoping that your wife would be. . . "
"That's a subject I'd rather not discuss." It was easy for the man to intimidate Horace. It was easy for anyone to intimidate Horace Kramer. Douglas continued, "Even now, before I've sold the house, there are things here that are not needed. I've decided that, as a wedding present, I'm going to give you the bedroom set from your mother's. . . "
Gwendolyn turned and walked out of the library, slamming the door as she left.
The two men were silent for a moment. Horace turned red. Somehow he always felt to blame for embarrassing circumstances. "I really appreciate this gift. It's wonderful. It'll really help the two of us start our married life right, sir." Horace shook the man's hand.
And so, Gwendolyn and Horace moved to an apartment that was closer to the city, closer to Horace's job. The bedroom set was much too large for the apartment. Gwendolyn was quite unsentimental about selling the dressers and night tables and lamps to a junk dealer. But, when she found that she couldn't get a good enough price for the bed, she kept it.
It was, after all, an especially beautiful bed. There was a new mattress on the bed and, once the girl got a little cream for the brass and polished it up, it looked like new.
So, the dingy apartment of this newly married couple had the completely incongruous brass four-poster in the bedroom. It was the one article of furniture that seemed so fine, so elegant compared to everything else in the place.
Gwendolyn kept the apartment spotless, since she was compulsive about that.
If she was compulsive about anything else, it was her complaining and bitching.
"Look at this shit. I can't even buy a decent dress for myself."
"There's a depression going on, honey. Everyone's in the same boat and. . . "
"Well, I don't like the boat. Keep your hands off me if you can't do better than that."
"Wh-what are you saying?" Horace's eyes grew large and moist and round.
"I'm saying that I don't feel like performing my wifely duties unless you can perform your duties as my husband. Don't stare at me as if you didn't understand, Horace. If you want sex with me you can just go ahead and earn enough money so that I'm more inclined to give it to you."
The man couldn't believe what he was hearing. Gwendolyn slammed the bedroom door. She had been a virgin when she married Horace. She hadn't had a mother to help prepare her for married life. Horace was clumsy and inexperienced. It was an awful honeymoon.
As for Gwendolyn, the only thing she knew was that it didn't feel good to her. She didn't like the pressure. She didn't like the sensations involved. Horace didn't know anything about foreplay. He didn't know about working his wife up to a wet frenzy so that she could take his cock in her pussy. He just pushed it in and worked it around and around, pulling at the tender flesh inside her slit as he tried to fuck in and out of her hole.
The girl had been touching herself from an early age. She had felt urges in her body. She had felt desires even before she was old enough to understand those desires. Now that she was older she understood them. She knew that she longed to feel a man inside her body.
But, the dreams that she had when she shut her eyes and touched herself all seemed pale when she was together with Horace. She had no desire to see his naked body. The feeling of his penis inside her body didn't thrill her even as much as the feeling of her own fingers.
Sex, for the young married girl, didn't seem to be worth the effort.
And so she put it in the form of an ultimatum to her husband. If he could earn more money then she would let him into her bed. There was no lock on the bedroom door, but when she shut the door, Horace didn't dare push it open. That was not his nature.
Gwendolyn was content with fingering herself. Even though she had been married for only a matter of a few months she enjoyed her hand more than she enjoyed her husband.
Their relationship took on a decidedly chilly edge. He came home from work. She fed him. He brought her his paycheck. There was little hope of his making more money. He worked as an accountant for a firm downtown. He was making the same salary that the rest of the battery of accountants made. It wasn't much. He knew that if he asked for more they would either laugh at him or kick him out. There were others who would take his job fast enough.
In April, he thought to himself, people would need help with their taxes those who made enough money to have to pay taxes. But that would mean a dollar here and a dollar there. That would be very little money indeed. And, in the meantime it would be a cold winter.
Horace wasn't a man with many friends. He had no friends close enough to discuss his private affairs. There was no one who knew about his wife's unpleasantness toward him.
This was his secret and it ate away at his brain. It had been a month since he had fucked his wife. He had always been rather apologetic from the time he had first had sex with her on their honeymoon. That was his nature and that made him odious to her.
Gwendolyn hated weakness. Her mother had been weak and, deep down, the girl hated her mother for that flaw. If her mother hadn't been weak then she might have been raised differently. If things hadn't been the way they were, she wouldn't have been so miserable with her father.
Now that Gwendolyn realized the flaws in her husband, she didn't have anywhere to turn. Divorce wouldn't be any good at all. She wouldn't be able to support herself. She didn't have any skills that would have allowed her to work. She hated Horace, but at least she had a place to live, she had a home, she had the outward appearance of a marriage.
It was rather sad that a girl who hadn't even reached the age of twenty should settle for so little.
She also had the large brass four-poster bed. That came to mean something to her. She came to value the bed. It was elegant, the only elegant thing in her shabby life.
And then, a month after she had kicked her husband out of the bedroom and onto the lumpy sofa, she was in for a surprise. Horace had been growing more and more silent to her as the days passed. He had been acting in more and more of a surly manner, less apologetic for his behavior.
She responded with her own unpleasant demeanor. She had more experience at being unpleasant than he had. He came home for dinner and she slammed the plate down in front of him without a word. She could tell that, as he ate, he was deep in thought.
The two of them had not even had the decency to exchange a hello that evening.
When he finished dinner, she did the dishes. He stood behind her and softly said, "I would like to have a talk with you, Gwendolyn." His voice seemed to be quivering.
"I have to do the dishes," she snapped without turning to look at him.
"After you finish the dishes, I would like to sit down and talk." He was being firm.
"After I finish the dishes," she said, as if that final comment gave her the upper hand.
The man felt awkward, trying to fill in the time while she did the dishes. He had already rehearsed just what he wanted to say to her, but now the words became a jumble.
When she slowly took off her apron and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, she turned to him and waited for him to speak. "Please, sit down. Please," he said, pointing to the couch.
She sat on the couch. He turned to her and said, "That couch isn't very comfortable."
He waited until she responded. But, she didn't say a word. She just looked at him with that same glare that he had come to know so well, the glare that made her lips very thin and made her eyes into narrow slits. Her jaw line was set and hard as granite.
"The couch isn't comfortable," he repeated. "And it's been difficult for me to sleep on it."
"Buy a new one," she said in a low and mean voice. She knew she was needling him.
"Now, Gwendolyn, you're not being fair to me. You knew before we were married what I earned. You knew the kind of apartment we could afford. Look, this depression can't last forever and. . . what the hell do you expect of me?" He screamed the last line at her.
Her eyes went wide, shocked that he had raised his voice that way.
She stood up and snarled, "You can't use that tone of voice to me."
Then she turned toward the bedroom, but just as she was about to go into that room the man grabbed her upper arm and pulled her. She looked at him and hissed, "How dare you?"
"You're my wife, that's how I dare!" he announced, a wild look in his eyes.
She remained perfectly cool, at least in her outward presentation. "Let go of my arm."
"No!" he said, tossing his head back. "You're my wife and. . . "
Gwendolyn spit in his face before he could finish the sentence. That really caught Horace off his guard. He started to stammer. He tried to organize his thoughts. He tried to respond to her. But, he couldn't think of anything to say. He slapped her and she pulled away from him.
She ran toward the bedroom. That had always been her sanctuary. She didn't stop to think, this time, that there was no lock on the bedroom door. It hadn't occurred to her that her husband, when he wished to, could just push the door open. This was the first time he had dared to push the door open that way. She was on the far side of the bed.
"You get out of here! Do you hear me?" She waved her hands at him. "Get out."
"This is my bedroom. You're my wife. I pay the rent on this apartment."
"You're a shabby little man and it sickens me to think that I ever let you put your hands on me in the first place. Do you hear me? It makes me sick to think that you ever touched me."
"Well, I'm going to make you even sicker because I'm going to touch you again."
He leaped over the bed and grabbed her before she had time to move. He pulled her onto the bed and he slammed his weight down on top of her. She kept trying to scream. He slapped her and she bit his hand as if she were trying to bite a piece out of it.
"You little bitch. You married me, you little stinking bitch. You married me."
"No-o-o-o! Get your filthy hands off me, you worm. Get away from me."
"My hands are filthy?" he howled at her. He pushed her dress all the way up and his fingers pressed hard against her pussy lips. He jabbed his fingers against her cunt lips.
She pushed her legs together to try to push his fingers out of there, but she couldn't.
"I'll show you!" he said, as he looked at the headboard of the brass four-poster.
Holding her down on the bed with the weight of his own body, he reached over to the side and he grabbed a dirty pair of his wife's stockings. She screamed when she saw what he was holding. "Those are my best. Those are my only silk ones left."
But, he ignored her cry. He wrapped the stockings firmly around both of her wrists, intertwining them and tying them around one of the vertical bars of brass that made up the headboard of the bed. She struggled to pull her hands free, but the stockings had been pulled taut and turned into a silken rope that held her hands in place.
She could feel the coolness of the silk and the chill of the brass against her wrists.
Once her wrists were tied like that, over her head, the man pushed her dress up on her body and revealed her panties. She wasn't wearing any stockings or garters that day. She had just been in the apartment, cooking and cleaning and listening to the radio.
He pulled down her underpants. She spread her legs so that it would be difficult for him to pull the satin garment down her legs, but the man ripped the cloth and pulled it right off her legs. When he did that, Gwendolyn really became frightened.
Her husband was not the sort of men who would rip articles of clothing. He was the sort of men who always apologized for everything. He apologized for fucking her. But now he was not being at all submissive and gentle over the fact that he had ripped her underpants.
The way he was touching her pussy lips was always quite different for him.
From the time of their honeymoon, he had always touched her cunt lips as if he were frightened to touch her there, as if he fully expected that she would tell him to take his hand away from there.
But now his fingers were digging right up against her flesh. He was pressing both hands against her cunt lips. His fingers were digging right into the tender flesh of her pussy. f
Her legs spread. She couldn't help herself. She opened up wide apart.
The man on top of her pulled one of her legs up in the air. She was wearing shoes with ankle straps. He quickly opened the ankle strap and then he pulled it around one of the vertical bars of the brass headboard. He reclosed the ankle strap. Now her right leg was up in the air and helpless. Her left leg was flailing around. She didn't want to give.her husband a chance to get that leg also. But, without any other limbs to defend herself, there was little she could do.
He pulled her left leg up in the air and performed the same bit with that ankle strap, attaching that foot to the brass headboard. The girl was doubled over and her ass was jutting out, bare, toward her husband.
She still had all her clothes on except for her underpants. But, her dress and everything else was pushed up above her waistline. She was sweating because it was so heavy there.
With her ass jutting out toward him, her husband slammed his open palm across the cheeks.
Gwendolyn clenched her ass cheeks together and cried out in pain.
"How can you? You beast! You animal! How could you do this to me?"
"If you'd been spanked as a little girl maybe you'd have grown up right."
That really made Gwendolyn freeze up in response. She had been spanked by her father. Horace was acting self-righteous and was diagnosing her. His diagnosis happened to be completely wrong. It was tenderness she had missed, not spanking!
His open palm kept on slamming against the bare cheeks of her bottom. She kept turning her head from side to side, trying hard not to cry out. She was determined that she would not beg him to stop. She wasn't going to be brought to the point of begging him.
So, again and again his hand slapped against her ass cheeks. The flesh on his palm was already tingling because of the constant battering that he was giving her. But, at the same time, she was feeling the pain all the way into her bones.
It seemed as if the pain were vibrating and reverberating through her body as he spanked her.
His open palm slapped in one direction and then in the other direction.
Horace felt a thrill as he watched her ass turning bright red under the attentions of his slapping hand. He felt the blood rushing to his cock and he knew that he wanted to finish this punishment in a sexual way. He knew that he wanted to hurt her with sex.
This was a new notion to him. Actually, it had been tucked away in the back of his mind from the first time he had been aware of sex. He had often thought of sex as a mean and hateful thing. That was what he was taught as a child. It was dirty! It was nasty!
But this was the first time he was ever acting on that impulse. This was the first time he was actually pushing forward and doing what he wanted to do, letting his impulses and his emotions take over, flaring out at his bound wife with all his anger.
With all four of the woman's limbs bound to the brass headboard, and her ass cheeks glowing red from the pain of his spanking, the man slid back off the bed and started to strip out of his clothes. He had always been so shy, even after marriage, that she had never actually seen him completely naked with all the lights on.
But now she got quite a view. He dropped his pants and shorts and revealed that, although his hair was receding and his face was very stark and white, his body was very trim and well-muscled. He was a well-built man and his cock was already long and threatening.
He pounced on top of her and pressed his dick against the lips of her pussy.
"You pig. You disgusting pig," she snarled as she turned her face to the side.
He felt the rush of tension that passed through her body as she struggled to get her hands and legs free. That rush of tension made her even more appealing to him.
Reaching down, he spread her cunt lips open and pushed his hard prong between them. He could feel the moist lips wrapping themselves around the head of his cock as if they were made of warm clay that was forming a perfect mold of the flared glans.
Then he pushed forward. The mushroom head of the cock pushed right up against the delicate interior lips of the pussy. He could feel them spreading open in front of his thrusting attack. He pushed forward and then he felt the full length of his boner sliding all the way inside the hot pussy. He brushed his cock past the clitoris and slammed the head of it against the depths of her hole.
Then he started to stir around and around. He wasn't fucking her yet. This was what he usually did. She wasn't wet enough. He couldn't actually pull out of her hole and push back in because there just wasn't enough lubricant. He was just pushing his cock around in the hot hole.
But, before he had done that for two minutes, the pressure of the pussy flesh around his hard-on was enough to bring him off. He stopped all movement and started to shoot in her hole.
Gwendolyn was really disgruntled then. Not only was she furious about the fact that she was tied to the bed, but now it appeared that she wasn't even going to get her sexual satisfaction.
She felt the cock pulsating in her cunt. She felt the hot cream that was covering the walls of her tender pussy. And then the staff of the prick started to push in and out of the hole once again. The cock was sliding in the tightly clinging hole.
Gwendolyn was amazed. Her husband had just cum but he was starting to fuck her again. Apparently the bondage was something that really turned him on enough.
That thought passed through her mind quickly and then she let it go away.
There were other things that concerned her. She felt a tingle each time the cock pulled back out of her pussy. She felt the way it was sliding against the delicate flesh along the bottom of her hot hole. Then she felt a slamming that took her breath away when the cock pushed back into her.
The man also enjoyed it when he pulled out of her. He could feel the moist flesh that massaged against the bottom of his cock head. He pushed into her only to pull back out.
Back and forth and back and forth he was working his hard dick. His own hot cum was serving as a lubricant for the fucking he was giving her hot box. He was spreading the steaming gism against the walls of her spongy pussy flesh. The juice of her body was mingling with the juice that had splashed out of his. His cock was harder than it had ever been.
She had kept on pulling on her arms and legs and trying to get them free. Finally one of the straps broke on one of her shoes. Her right leg came free and she flailed it in the air.
Gwendolyn slammed her heel down against her husband's rapidly moving ass cheeks. He slammed his dick in and out of her and he felt even more encouraged because of the pressure of her heel against his ass cheeks, digging into him and pushing him on to a more rapid fuckin tempo.
Then he slammed forward and he tossed his head back as he felt the cum shooting up the length of his dick.