Chapter 3
"Please, darling, do it better, please. Don't be afraid."
"I'll hurt you, Jennifer. I can't-"
"You won't hurt me. Please now. Squeeze them hard."
"Jennifer, be still. Don't spoil this for us."
Jennifer Wagner bit down on her lower lip and damned up the stream of verbal abuse that threatened to flow from her mouth to her husband's ears. Tears welled in her beautiful blue eyes as she silently cursed her mate for his stubborn refusal to pleasure her as she demanded to be pleasured.
What was wrong with him, she asked herself. Why wasn't he man enough to satisfy her gut-jumbling need for rough, no-holds-barred sex? After eight years of marriage he was still treating her with such revolting respect, handling her in bed as if she was a rare and fragile ornament to be fondled with the utmost care and not a flesh and blood woman who could be slapped, sucked and screwed silly.
Any other man would jump at the chance to show her who was boss, forcing her to respond to cruel, bone-jarring thrusts of a rock-hard penis that meant business. The man she conjured up in her fantasies were real men. Bold and charming, aggressive, no-nonsense studs with cocks they used like sledgehammers to pound a pussy into quivering submission.
These men knew what a female was all about and they revelled in that knowledge, taking full advantage of her secret yearning for a fuck that was as painful, as demeaning, as it was satisfying and pleasurable.
But her husband, innocent that he was, refused to believe that she could be turned on by pain, by a thick prick crammed unceremoniously into her mouth or cunt or behind. To him she was an angle, a goddess to be worshipped, an object to be fondled with tender, loving care lest it break into a thousand pieces.
Seeing him now, trailing his lips over her naked body as he ever so gently caressed her breasts, carefully testing their resiliency, one would think that he was preparing to break in a virgin. So cautiously and with such reverence did he go about the business of arousing her that it was almost laughable.
And it was the same story every time they made love. She would undres and slip under the covers, her naked body more than ready for a forceful fucking, for the sweet, soul-searing punishment that only a hot, blood-filled cock smashing repeatedly into her vagina could adminster.
But never were her prayers for a brutal banging answered. She would lie almost immobile on the bed, as she was doing now, and suffer for the meek, ineffective attempts of her husband to prepare her for the entry of his cock, one which, when finally eased into her sex cavity, proved to be totally inefficacious.
Her pleas for a harder, faster fuck would fall on deaf ears. Kevin, ignoring her coldly, would slowly, rhythmically, stroke his organ in and out of her cunt, adding insult to injury by asking if he was pleasing her, if she was enjoying the feel of his gently thrusting tool.
Why couldn't she make him understand that what she needed, what she craved, were nightly sessions of fierce, degrading sex? Why couldn't he forget when making love that she was his wife and the mother of his two children and treat her like a sassy slut in need of a wildly thrusting, pussy-stretching, punishing prick? Did he always have to be so damn considerate, so pathetically afraid of saying or doing something that would offend?
Kevin Wagner swirled his saliva-wet tongue across the smooth, flat plane of his twenty-six-year-old wife's warm tummy, his hands gently holding her beautiful breasts as he worked his way down her body toward the inviting patch of golden pubic curls surrounding her sex clit.
He dipped his tongue into her navel, teasing that wrinkled indentation for a brief moment before moving on. For fifteen minutes he had been laving Jennifer's succulent flesh, starting at her face and then inching downward, his lips and tongue sliding sensuously over her neck, then her breasts, then her belly.
Within seconds he would reach his goal. Once again he would rub his face into that nostril-tickling nest of soft, crinkly pubic hair and inhale the intoxicating scent emanating from Jennifer's pulsating vagina. How he loved to lick her there, to saturate his senses with the delicious taste and musky aroma of her femaleness, to lose himself completely as he worshipped at the altar of his wife's sex.
"Kevin, put it in me now," Jennifer said unemotionally. "You don't have to eat me first."
"But, darling, you usually enjoy it when I kiss you here," Kevin argued, lifting his head from his spouse's lower belly.
Enjoy? That wasn't the word, Jennifer thought. What she did was tolerate her husband's worshipful mouthing of her sex. Were he to eat her with some passion, if just for once he attacked her snatch with a vengeance, licking it lustily, hungrily, using his tongue to plummel her sensitive clit to throbbing submission, then she might enjoy his cunnilingus.
"I don't want it tonight, Kevin. Now please, just get on me and put it in."
"But are you ready, Jen. I mean-"
"I'm ready, Kevin," Jennifer broke in sharply, frustration and bitterness at her mate's fawning threatening to overwhelm her. "Just stop talking and take me. Give me your cock, Kevin."
"Alright, alright. If that's what you want." Yes, anything to make me happy, Jennifer thought. Don't argue with me. Don't curse. Don't slap me around and demand that I lie still while you chomp on my cunt. Don't tell me to shut up and don't threaten me with a severe beating if I refuse to obey your every whim. Don't do any of those things that would make me so very, very happy.
Disappointed at being refused the chance to show his love by performing cunnilingus on his luscious blonde wife, Kevin crawled up the bed and positioned himself over her outstretched loveliness so that he could administer a loving missionary style.
What a beautiful creature she was, he thought, looking down at Jennifer. Her sea-blue eyes so perfectly complemented her silky-smooth, shoulder-length blonde hair, fanned out now on the pillow around her head. There was nothing about her that didn't spell total perfection.
It was as if she had been lovingly created by a master craftsman, one whose sense of beauty permeated each and every detail of his work. Her breasts were full and firm, twin globes of gelatinous flesh that sat proudly on her chest. Her posterior was smooth and taut, composed of two spongy half-moons of flesh separated by a narrow, almost hairless crack; her smooth thighs tapered to well-formed calves, that led gracefully to small, well-turned ankles.
Even though eight years had gone by since the consummation of their marriage, he still found himself marveling at Jennifer's naked beauty, eyeing her physical charms when she wasn't looking and giving thanks for his good fortune. He didn't know what he would do if ever she left him.
"Please, Kevin, stick it in," Jennifer said impatiently, wanting to get the whole thing over with now. "What are you waiting for anyway?"
"Alright, darling. Just a second now."
Oh, this was unbelievable, Jennifer thought miserably. He was funnelng his cock into her cunt as if afraid a too-hard thrust would do irrevocable damage to her vagina. Why didn't he just rear back and smash his bloated bone into her dry canal? Why didn't he make her scream with pain from the viciousness of his sadistic entry?
"There, darling. It's in you. Now you have it."
"Move it in me, Kevin. Work it deep."
Lying atop his wife, his hairless chest pressed warmly into her taste-tempting mammaries, Kevin began the slow, methodical motion she found so unsatisfactory, so horribly frustrating. Without imagination he plowed Jennifer's golden-haired pussy, his taut buttocks bobbing lazily up and down as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, one smooth and steady stroke following another.
"Harder, Kevin, harder," Jennifer breathed, her hands pressing down hard against her spouse's back. "Do it faster, lover. Make me feel it."
"Easy, sweetheart, easy," Kevin cautioned, his voice thickening with passion.
Tears of anger and frustration began welling in Jennifer's beautiful blue eyes. It was at times like these, when her strait-laced, unimaginative husband was servicing her vagina, that the idea of packing up and leaving him for good always crossed her mind.
Why must their mating always be so mechanical, so devoid of real passion, she asked herself for the thousandth time. Wasn't Kevin capable of a strong, unbridled lust, one that would find him shedding the cloak of respectability he wore with such annoying, unnerving pride?
Couldn't he fuck her, at least occasionally, with something resembling the gut-jumbling fury and savage determination of a man kept from women for many months? Why did he have to dick her with such decorum, with so little real enthusiasm?
Were all accountants such stuffed shirts, Jennifer wondered. Was it impossible for them to really let loose, to perform the sex act without the conservatism, the attention to detail and the arrogant restraint that marked their work? Didn't they ever feel like breaking free from the corral and galloping at full speed toward the sunset, their nostrils flared and their sweat-slick bodies in hot, excited quiver?
So colorless, so impervious to lust, that was Mr. Kevin Wagner, the man to whom she had vowed her love and obedience, the one she had chosen to live with for the rest of her life. But of what significance were those vows now? How could a wife respect and admire her husband if he constantly failed to satisfy her natural need for stimulating sex?
But she had loved Kevin once, Jennifer reminded herself, moving nary a muscle under her mate as he continued his uninspired, business-like probe of her sex cove. The very traits she now found most annoying had drawn her to his side eight years ago. His gentleness, his kindness, his heartfelt concern for her well-being, his unwavering devotion, his basic 'goodness,' had appealed to her then, touching her heart and filling it with compassion, making it easy enough for her to reply in the affirmative when he asked for her hand in marriage.
Worthy of appreciation too had been Kevin's physical attractiveness. He had been, and still was, a good-looking man, one who possessed the even, well-defined features of a youthful scholar, of the dedicated intellectual too busy with books to expose his face to the sun's tanning, skin-toughening rays.
In his stocking feet he stood six feet two inches tall. He weighed somewhere in the vicinity of one hundred-ninety pounds. His eyes were brown, the same color as his hair, which, despite her prodding, he refused to wear long.
Yes, Jennifer concluded, it would be difficult to find much fault with her husband's appearance. His body, although unaccustomed to strenuous exercise, was as strong and as pleasing to the female eye as she remembered it being on their wedding night. And Kevin was still capable of exuding a boyish charm, the same charm that had set her heart to fluttering during their courtship.
Now only if he would learn how to fuck a woman.
For a full minute more Jennifer suffered her spouse's methodically, carefully-timed thrusts, and then, oh an impulse, her frustration and impatience boiling over, she emitted a strangled groan of disgust and pushed Kevin off her body.
"Jenny, what are you-"
"My way," Jennifer stated firmly, swiveling atop her stunned mate. "We're going to finish my way."
"But-"
"Keep quiet, Kevin. Damn you, just keep quiet."
Positioning herself so that she was squatting over her husband, her twat hovering over his loins, Jennifer reached down with her right hand for his tumuscent tool and brought it quickly to her sex hole.
After wedging the bulbous head of Kevin's cock inside her vagina, she started to squirm down on it, allowing the six-inch column of flesh to worm its way up into her belly. Not many seconds later she had it all.
She rested a moment, impaled on the warm prick now stuffed balls deep inside her vagina, savoring the feeling of fullness afforded her by the imbedded erectile. Then, a look of determination etched on her beautiful, clear-complexioned face, she started using Kevin's pecker to obtain the orgasm he seldom managed to give her when he was in the driver's seat.
No sooner had she leaned forward to place her hands on the bed next to her mate, one on either side of his supine body, then she was posting merrily on his manhood. Braced now on hands and knees, darts of desire pricking her every nerve end, Jennifer bounced her bottom up and down over Kevin's thick pecker.
"No, darling," Kevin husked. "Don't-not so fast, Jenny."
"Grab my tits," Jennifer ordered. "Squeeze them hard."
"Please, Jenny."
"Do it!" the luscious blonde shouted, slamming her cunt down over her husband's blood-filled manhood.
"I won't hurt you," Kevin declared. "I can't."
"Do it, you bastard. Pinch my nipples. Make me cry."
A pained expression washed over Kevin's smooth, unblemished face as his wife continued to plead for the cruelty she craved. It was at times like these, when Jennifer begged for the brutality he found so despicable, so impossible to administer, that he became convinced of her need for psychiatric help.
He longed for the return of the old Jennifer, the woman he had married and the one who, up until about eighteen months ago, seemed perfectly content in her role as his wife. How was it possible for a woman to change so drastically, to be transformed from one who recoiled from violence of any kind to one who wanted to wallow in the mire of masochistic ritual?
"C'mon, damn you," Jennifer spat, "maul my tits, you fucking jerk. Make me scream."
"Jennifer, will you please stop this madness? I just can't hurt you. I can't."
Tempted to spit in her husband's face, Jennifer continued rocking wildly on his turgid tool, time and again impaling herself on his fleshy spear. She was rapidly losing all control now, sliding crazily down hump-hill toward the awaiting orgasm.
Up and down she bounced, lifting and falling in hard, jerking motions, her lustrous golden tresses swirling about her face as she rode her mate's manhood with a demonic enthusiasm. Eyes wide, burning brightly, she looked down at Kevin and with a contemptuous expression mocked his weakness, his stupidity, his unwillingness to perform those painfully pleasurable acts that would catapult her to heaven's gate.
And then Jennifer was coming, coating her spouse's hard cock with a warm, gooey flow of sex juice as she emitted a deep-throated moan of pleasure. She dropped down onto Kevin's chest, her breasts flattening against his chest and her face twisting into a demented scowl.
She shut her eyes tight, her fingers digging deep into the pillow under her husband's head as she pushed down once again onto his manhood in a feverish attempt to suck even his hairy balls up into her quaking vagina.
Through it all Kevin remained inert, arms at his sides, his mind filled with worry for the woman he loved and could not bring himself to hurt. What was he going to do with her, he wondered. To whom would he go for help if Dr. Latham's therapeutic sessions with Jennifer proved unsuccessful?
When it was over, a panting Jennifer rolled off her husband and onto her side next to him. Very slowly she brought her legs down, stretching herself out on the bed as some of her come began oozing out of her cunt. Breathing hard, her chest heaving, she looked up at the bedroom ceiling and once again silently berated her mate for his total ineptitude where sex was concerned.
It was several minutes before Kevin said anything to his wife. All of Jennifer's wild gyrations, the almost painful way she had squeezed his stiff prick with her greedy, clutching cunt while posting passionately on it, had failed to bring him to orgasm. And now his organ, wet with Jennifer's juices, was resting up against his stomach like a large, fat worm in repose.
His failure to come did not surprise him. It had happened before. On other occasions, more than he cared to remember, his pain-hungry spouse had succeeded in making a mockery of what should be a tender physical expression of emotional love.
Rapidly would he lose all interest in sex when Jennifer began her pathetic pleas for pain. Oftentimes, as was the case tonight, his prick would begin to shrivel while still inside her vagina, becoming almost flaccid while she immersed herself in the dizzying splendor of an orgasm.
"I hope you're satisfied," he now said softly, looking not at the woman at his side but up at the ceiling.
Jennifer said nothing.
"Do you realize that you spoiled it again for me, Jenny?"
Jennifer sighed deeply. "I still have a long way to go before I match the number of times you've ruined it for me."
"You can't mean that?"
"Can't I?"
"Lovemaking should be tender, an expression of-"
"Please, Kevin, spare me that stupid lecture. Save it for our daughters when they reach puberty. Maybe they'll appreciate your opinion on the subject. Personally, it turns my stomach."
Kevin swallowed hard, his wife's words tearing at his gut. Again he wondered what loathsome spirit had entered Jennifer's soul to change her from a loving wife and devoted mother to a foul-mouthed wanton seemingly bent on her own destruction.
"A little less talk," Jennifer continued, "and more action. That's what I'd like to have from you, Kevin. Maybe if you'd keep in mind that I'm a flesh and blood female and not some breakable doll that-ohhh, what's the use. You'll never change."
"But you have, Jenny. And for the worse."
"So you say."
"You're sick, Jennifer. I'll never understand just why or how it happened, but you've become a monster. A raving maniac where sex is concerned. I hardly know you anymore."
"Maybe you never really knew me, Kevin," Jennifer said, her thoughts beginning to stray, to zero in on Dr. Paul Latham, her passion-filled psychologist. It was a shame that she had to cancel her appointment with him this afternoon. Fortunately, she'd be seeing the good doctor tomorrow, and it was highly un-likely that the school nurse would summon her two days in a row. Sweet little Melanie, she would never know just how inopportune was the bad sore throat she had suddenly developed while in gym class, and how miserably disappointed it had made her mother.
"I knew you when we married," Kevin insisted. "You were a wonderful person then, so full of hope and-"
"Look, let's not talk anymore about it, all right?" Jennifer broke in sharply. "I think the less we say to each other the better off we'll be."
"That's no way to run a marriage, Jenny."
"It's the only way for us. If you won't cooperate and do the things I ask, then I see no-"
"Cooperate. Is that what you call it? How in the name of all that is holy can you expect me to derive even an ounce of pleasure from degrading you? Only a savage, a sadist, would willingly perform those depraved acts you now crave from me."
A small, almost evil smile began creeping across Jennifer's face as she remembered her last session with Dr. Latham.
"Do you still love your daughters, Jennifer?" Kevin asked, for the first time turning his head on the pillow to look at his beautiful wife.
"Of course I still love them. I'll never stop loving them and you know it. Your question reaches the heights of absurdity."
"But you no longer love me, do you?"
Jennifer hesitated, then, "I can't love a man I can't respect. You're my husband, Kevin. You're obliged to tend to my needs, physical as well as emotional, but you're falling down on the job. Instead of the wild, fulfilling sex I need, you give me lectures on the meaning of marriage. I need brutal lovemaking, Mr. Wagner, not a barrage of meaningless words more suited to a virginal teenager than a twenty-six-year-old mother of two."
"You're disgusting, Jennifer," Kevin said softly, seething inside.
"And you're a fool," the luscious blond snapped back. "A stupid, stuffed shirt of a fool. You know as much about sex and what makes a woman tick as a eunuch would be expected to know. Probably much less."
"I could strike you for that," Kevin hissed, glaring at his wife.
Jennifer whipped her head around on the pillow to lock eyes with her husband. "Do it then, Kevin. Don't just promise and then not deliver. You're angry now. Stay angry. Hit me, baby. Whack the hell out of my ass. Please Kevin, punish me good."
Kevin suddenly pushed himself off the bed, flipping onto his side and raising his hand almost in the same motion. Anger burned brightly within him as he glared down at his wife, whose voice had trailed off as she watched him bolt upright and make as if to smack her face.
Then his face softened, a sudden surge of disgust dispelling the unbridled anger that had prompted him to raise his hand to his wife for the first time in his life. He held his hand over his left shoulder for several long seconds, then, emitting a groan of despair, brought the hand down and fell back into a reclining position on the bed.
Jennifer remained in position, unable to bring herself to look at the man she considered spineless, so pitifully weak. Even in anger he would not hit her, she thought miserably. He was indeed a coward, a foolish, perfectly useless excuse for a man. He had no more backbone than a jellyfish.
"I pray with all my heart, Jennifer, that Dr. Latham will be able to help you," Kevin said finally. "If a man trained in the art of curing sick psyches can't work a change in you, then I don't know what Ffn going to do."
"He's helping me, Kevin," Jennifer said, an almost satanic smile coming to her face.
"Are you sure of that?"
"Very sure."
"It's too early to tell. Dr. Latham has been treating you for less than two months."
"Much can be accomplished in two months," Jennifer noted.
"You're going to be under the doctor's care for some time to come, Jennifer. A full year of therapy might be required."
"Do you think so, Kevin?" asked Jennifer, restraining her laughter.
"I don't care how long it takes or how much it costs," Kevin said. "What's important is that you continue seeing Dr. Latham until he's satisfied with your mental condition."
"You really do think I'm crazy, don't you?"
Kevin hesitated, then, "Let's just say that I think you'll be a happier, more self-assured person after a year in analysis. Dr. Latham will help you put things back in their proper perspective. I'm sure that in his career as a psychologist Latham has helped a number of people like yourself. How it is that a perfectly normal individual can suddenly turn masochistic is a mystery to me, but of course the doctor is far more experienced in these matters than I am. He must think you'll respond to therapy or he wouldn't keep you as a patient."
"Oh, I'm responding all right, Kevin," said Jennifer. And then she started to giggle.
"What's the matter with you now? Why are you laughing, Jennifer?" Kevin again pushed himself to a sitting position and looked at her.
"Oh, Kevin, you silly clown," Jennifer laughed into the hands covering her face. "You're such a damn idiot."
"Maybe I should phone Dr. Latham," Kevin said, his expression one of serious concern.
"Yes, do that little thing," Jennifer said, barely able to sneak the words in between her chuckles. "He's what I need right now."
"Jennifer, will you please stop this insane laughter?" Kevin said loudly, grabbing his wife by the arm and trying to shake her back to her senses.
Her husband's touch was like a white hot flame to Jennifer. She recoiled from it immediately, a last laugh choking in her throat as she stared up at her worried spouse. Seconds later she was twisting away from him, propelling herself to the side of the bed and then getting to her feet.
"Where are you going now?" Kevin asked, as his wife started out of the bedroom.
"To check on the children, do you mind?"
"Wait a minute, Jennifer. I want you to explain to me what was so funny. If you don't, then I'm going to call Dr. Latham first thing in the morning and ask him about it."
Jennifer stopped and turned around. A wicked smile formed on her beautiful face as she placed her hands on her hips and advanced slowly to the bed. He deserved this, she thought. Because he was so unbelievably naive, because he was such a boring clod, he deserved this.
"What would you say, my holier-than-thou husband, if I told you that Dr. Paul Latham, the psychologist you suggested I see because of his excellent reputation as an analyst, has been fucking the shit out of me once a week for the past two months?"
Kevin greeted the revelation with stunned silence. Refusing to believe what he had just heard, his mind unable to fully grasp the numbing perversity of it all, he very slowly worked his way off the bed and then to his feet. He moved over to where his wife was standing.
"So how does that grab you, darling?" Jennifer asked, staring her husband square in the face.
"You're lying, Jennifer," Kevin said coldly.
"I'm not lying, Mr. Wagner. My weekly sessions with the good doctor are simply thrilling. You were absolutely right about Latham, darling. He knows just how to treat a patient like me."
"I don't believe this. I refuse to believe it."
"He fucks me, Kevin," Jennifer hissed. "Did you hear what I said? He fucks me. He fucks me like a man should fuck a woman. And he knows how to administer the pain I crave, too. He's an expert at making a girl scream."
"Jennifer-"
"You're so surprised, darling. Well, isn't that a crying shame. Maybe I should tell you about my last session with Dr. Paul Latham, psychologist extraordinaire. That should make your hair stand up."
"Bitch-you bitch," Kevin breathed, clenching his fists at his sides. She was telling the truth, he realized angrily.
"My last visit to Latham's office was a really exciting one, Kevin. He made me undress and then beat on my poor ass with a riding crop as I lay draped across his desk."
"Stop it, damn you."
"When he grew tired of swatting my ass, he yanked out his big stiff cock and-"
"Jennifer!"
"And fucked me in the ass!" Jennifer shouted. That's right, Kevin my love. Dr. Latham rammed his fat old cock way up inside my dirty rectum and then pounded hell out of my bottom. And I loved it, do you hear? I screamed with joy and begged him to never stop screwing my behind."
"You disgusting, foul-mouthed, deranged little tramp," Kevin hissed, glowering at his wife.
"You should consider yourself lucky, darling. Latham is the only man with whom I've commited adultery. So far, that is."
"You're not to see him again, do you hear?"
"I'm seeing him again tomorrow afternoon."
"No!"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"
It was at this point that Kevin, a monstrous anger churning up his insides, the claws of frustration ripping at his heart, gave his mocking wife what she had been asking for, demanding, for such a long time. He drew back his clenched fist and sent it thudding into Jennifer's beautiful, grinning face. She fell face first onto the bed, her moans partially smothered in the mattress.
"I could kill you," Kevin rasped, advancing slowly toward the bed, his fists still balled tightly.
He looked down at his sobbing wife. For the first time in his life he had the urge to maim and murder, to use his bare fists to pummel another human being into unconsciousness. He wanted to strike out at something, somebody, and by so doing relieve the painful ache in his heart.
Jennifer sobbed softly into the mattress for a full munute, then slowly rolled over onto her back to reveal a jaw already beginning to swell. Although he realized now that there was no limit to the number and variety of degradations his wife was willing to subject herself to in her quest for pain, Kevin was still unprepared for the faintly mocking smile he saw creep across Jennifer's tear-striked face.
Nor was he fully prepared when she asked, "Is that all, darling? One punch and that's it? Wouldn't you like to box my pretty ears now?"
He just stood there. He felt totally numb.