Chapter 2

Terri attended showings at only two salons before she returned home early, sick at heart and seething with rage and frustration. She had been informed so very tactfully and with perfect diplomacy that her charge accounts were closed. Cash payments were now the order of the day... "I'm sure you will understand, Mrs. Marklin ... but Mr. Marklin ..."

She understood, all right. George had cut her off, but why hadn't he the decency to tell her himself? It had been embarassing, humiliating and degrading for her, especially in the shops where she was quite well known.

Going directly to her bedroom, thankful that her step-son, Peter, didn't seem to be around, she stripped herself naked and drew a hot bath. She soaked and luxuriated in the bubble bath, washing away her aches and cares. Not really knowing what to expect when her husband came home, she needed this time for herself. There was bound to be a confrontation. It would probably be ugly. In the short space she had been married to George Marklin, she had learned much about him, but on reflection, she had to admit, she didn't really know him.

Terri had been captured by the silver screen. She was enthralled by the magic and glamour of the people who inhabited the never-never land of Hollywood. She knew that someday that life would be hers, too. Everything she did was aimed at only one thing. She, too, would be a rich and famous movie star; a sex goddess in that almost unattainable Olympus where the legends and myths were manufactured.

It had not been easy. She had, literally, clawed her way upwards. Entering beauty contests of every sort, she had learned how to use her body and face to best advantage, and along the way she had had to defend herself from those who wanted to take advantage of her. More than once she had had to keep some sex-hungry beauty contest manager at bay. She knew that she could have done it differently; other girls of her acquaintance had gone that route ... on their backs, but Terri had decided that that would not be her way. Had success been hers? Yes, it had. She had won two contests fair and square. She was noticed. She did get some small acting parts; finally, she was signed for a supporting role, which she handled adequately. She was known - not famous or rich - but she was somebody in Hollywood. Then came her big chance. She was signed to a starring role. George Marklin was her director, and the whole world was her cup of tea ... for a few months.

George Marklin, director, man-of-the-world, European-born, was like no man Terri had ever met. It was a thrill for her, each and every day that she worked for him. His sure and skillful direction brought out the best in her. The result was well worthwhile. The picture received good notices and good box office returns.

During the course of making the picture, Terri accepted several dates with Marklin. His manners were beyond question. He wooed her in true European style. Finally, he asked for her hand in marriage, and Terri knew that her world was complete. What more could she ask for from life?

Little did she know what life had in store for her as wife to George Marklin. She embarked upon her married life buoyant and full of hope. Fortunately, she was flexible, for she soon learned how far she had to bend. Had she not had this flexibility, she would have been broken and ruined both physically and mentally.

As she soaked in the tub, trying desperately to relax, her mind wandered, and she found herself thinking, again, about her wedding night bed. She wondered now whether or not it had been worth the trouble. Morbidly, she reflected on it. George Marklin was a beast!

Terri had had a beautiful wedding. She had made careful preparations and planned every detail of it. Everything had gone off beautifully. Soon -after the wedding reception, George had whisked her away, driving rapidly into the mountains where he had rented a secluded cabin for their honeymoon. She had had her heart set on a South American cruise, but George had ruled otherwise. He wanted to be alone with her. There would be too many people on a cruise ship. And so it was that Terri's wedding night, a night she would always remember, was spent in a remote mountain cabin.

George had already consumed several drinks during the reception. After unpacking, he nursed a tall highball, standing stockily near the fireplace and watching Terri narrowly as she moved about arranging things to her satisfaction.

"It is time," he pronounced, finally, "to get into bed and consummate our marriage!" He spoke thickly with a slight Italian accent. Terri had wondered about his manner of speech, and before they were married, he confided to her that he had changed his name for professional reasons; however, he did not tell her what his name had been before the change.

"All right, darling ... just as soon as I arrange my clothes in the closet," Terri answered.

"I mean ... now!" he snapped.

Terri looked up quickly, saw the look that accompanied his words and decided that she had best drop what she was doing and attend to her marital obligations. She knew there would be sex. That was part of being married. For that she was prepared. She wanted desperately to be a good wife.

"Yes, of course, George darling... if you insist..."

Louder now, with more authority, he said, "I do insist! One thing you must understand clearly for once and for all... / am the head of my household! What I say is law!"

This authoritative side of her husband had been revealed to her earlier, when they had been working on the picture together, but she was somewhat surprised that he found it necessary to say it to her this bluntly ... on their wedding night.

"The man is always... is expected to lead ... isn't he?"

"Yes! I just want to make sure you understand that!"

"I understand, darling," she said sweetly.

"Then get into bed!" he roared. "I'm going to de-flower you!"

"De-de-flower ... m-me ... ?" she stuttered, "W-what do you mean?"

"Oh, that is from the old country," he said, "Here they call it getting the cherry, I believe," he grinned.

Terri turned away in embarrassment, her "cheeks flushing. She knew she was still virgin ... the memory of that night with Ben tingled through her.

"I'll change into my nightgown... in the bathroom," she said, picking up the garment.

Slamming the highball glass down, he had reached her in two quick strides. He pushed his livid face, the anger flashing from his eyes, down next to her own blushing countenance. She realized, on the instant, that he was drunker than she had thought he was. His mouth worked, roaring and sputtering into her face. "No! Goddamnit! Strip! I'm going to take you right now!"

Unconsciously, she began to back away from him; she was shocked and frightened of his sudden anger, the authoritative manner, and the vulgar way he was talking.

The backs of her knees contacted the edge of the bed, but she caught her balance. George stood close to her, his voice softer now, but more deadly. "You are my wife now! You will do as I say! There will be no arguments!"

His hand shot out, a short, punishing openhanded slap to the side of her face. She fell back sprawling on the bed, a gasp of pain and disbelief escaping her twisted lips.

"Ooooooh! George!"

Then, she saw him stagger toward her, his hands fumbling with his belt buckle. Her breath caught in her throat, and in confused panic, she wrung herself from the opposite side of the bed, gained her feet and dashed blindly for the door. She grabbed the knob and pulled frantically. It - .is locked!

George's hard laugh behind her caused her to swing back to face him. He grinned at her lewdly, his tongue darting out to wet his full, sensuous lips.

"Even if you could get out... where would you go?" he gloated thickly. His eyes blazed. "Strip. I said! Make yourself naked!"

Faltering with fear, she pleaded, "G-George ... please, George ... not this way ... can't you give some time . . t-to ... ?"

"Get your clothes off!" And then he mouthed an obscene word.

"Oh, my God!" she had gasped, revulsed at the sound of the vulgarity; then, she could only watch, petrified and fascinated while her dear husband of only a few hours began to remove his clothes. It suddenly became clear to her that this man was not the same man she had married. There must be some horrible mistake! Could she have unwittingly become involved with some horrible monster - a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Oh, God!

At last he stood block-like before her, his thick, stocky body nudely licentious. She didn't want to look, but inexorably her eyes were drawn back.

"You do find it fascinating ... don't you my dear?" he leered, obviously relishing the shameful torment he was inflicting on her. "I would be willing to bet that you had no idea your darling husband was this well endowed!"

"P-please ... is it... n-necessary t-to?"

He laughed lewdly. "Yes! Just wait - you will fully appreciate it in a few minutes!" Moving toward her, giving the impression almost of a stalking beast of prey... or a hunting dog on the point, he went on with his debasing monologue. "I will tell you one thing ... more than one little bitch has begged for mercy before I got through with her!"

"Ugh!" her cry of revulsion tore from her lips.

Marklin started to laugh, then caught himself. He had had a new thought. "You are a virgin, aren't you?" His eyes narrowed menacingly, "You had better be!"

"There's n-never been anybody ... e-else ..." she faltered.

"And ... another thing you must know about me," he croaked, "never lie to me ... ever!"

Tears began to spill over her eyelids to run down her cheeks. She felt so much on the defensive, and now this, this doubt in her husband's mind about her virginity ... even her veracity. She could stand no more.

"Stop it! Stop tormenting me!" she had Aouted at him, her face paling now with the fury she felt.

He watched the change in her, as her face contorted with anger and repugnance, but he went on with his torment, advancing steadily on her. "Very pretty, my dear! Why couldn't I get a performance like this while we were shooting on location?"

Terri's hypnotized eyes followed his advance. My God! She was terrified of the massive instrument of his manhood ... it would tear her apart!

"D-don't you dare come any closer, George! Don't touch me!" she blurted, the loathing and fear searing her mind and viscera equally. But she knew that words were meaningless and futile. Her husband was going to take her helpless, virginal body no matter how she pleaded with him or begged him for mercy. She was going to be raped! Oh, God! This wasn't the way she wanted it to be ... for the very first time ... She had saved it... fought to save it... for all those years ... for this! Saved it... only to be raped on her wedding night! The irony of it was not entirely wasted on her. But worse ... Dear God! He had a right to take her! It couldn't really be called rape. Were husbands ever taken to court for wedding night rape? She knew the answer. It was a resounding NO!

"Well, are you going to do as I say ... strip off your clothes ... or do I remove them ... in shreds?"

Terri had stood there completely helpless, defenseless, petrified with terror and shock, until he had reached out for her, jerking her body into his broad, hairy chest, a strong hand going behind her head, holding it rigid while his wet, sensuous lips covered hers tightly his tongue lashing deep into her mouth. She was conscious of the burning heat of his maleness even through the layers of her clothing. She did not resist him. After all, if this was the way it was to be ...

Methodically, George began to strip her. She hadn't resisted him, she told herself because she had suddenly realized the futility of struggle. She was his wife. She was his to do with as he chose. God, what a farce! What monstrous irony!

"Let me get you ready now," her husband crooned, "for a loving you'll never forget!"

She recoiled once more at his vileness as he breathed hotly into her tear-stained face, and she was but dimly conscious of his eager, blunt ringers as they tugged at zippers and unfastened snaps, until the cool mountain air flowed over her naked flesh, causing the nipples of her proud, full breasts to harden; then, she felt her panties being pulled down over her soft, rounded contours.

He stepped back to gaze at her admiringly, while Terri closed her eyes and stood with chin held high, desperately trying to control the tears that flooded her eyes. She swayed, nearly losing her balance. God! There was nothing left to her but shame!

"Mother of Christ! You are a truly luscious sight!" he gasped, the Italian blasphemy ripping from him as he pulled her against his lustful nakedness, crushing her softness flat against his hard, muscular chest, his broad, blunt hands slipping behind her to pull her hips tightly into him.

"You are all I thought you would be! Now, I am truly sorry that we did not shoot that scene in the nude. I was jealous of that leading man! God! How I wanted you ... each time that you were in his arms! I wanted to throw you to the ground ... and take you right there! Just spread those beautiful long legs of yours right there ... !"

"Oh, God" she had moaned, almost incoherent, as she rested her face on his, unable to comprehend the rising eroticism his passionate yet obscene description engendered in her. She was allowed only a fleeting glimpse of this arousal. Suddenly, he had caught her hair, jerked her head back and his questing mouth found hers. His tongue burst into her mouth while a clawed hand clutched and kneaded the soft parts of her body without mercy. The pinching and twisting quenched the fleeting sexual thirst of the moment before. Now, there was only pain.

She whimpered against his lips, her eyes flooding with the tears of her shame and humiliation ... and there was the deception of this man who was now her husband ... he, who had been so gentle and gentlemanly and who now was acting so beastly ... almost animalistic in his approach to her. Her romantic ideas of married love had already been shattered. Then, there was the dread, the very present fear in her of that moment - not very far off now - when he would take her virginity.

Oh, my God! What had she done to herself? What had she gotten into? What was she to do? There was nowhere to turn. Np one to whom she could turn. There was nothing. Nothing!

And then, suddenly, he was leading her to the bed! Her husband was taking her to her marriage bed ... and she didn't want to go!

All she could visualize, now, was the pain that would be hers in a few moments. Incoherently, she began to beg, "Oh, please, G-George ... please be gentle, promise me you'll be gentle ... a-and not... h-hurt m-me ..."

Even as she pleaded she knew that her words fell on deaf ears. George moved her around and pressed her down onto the bed before him, his lewd smile of anticipation etched into her memory as she closed her eyes and tried once more. "I've never ... been ... My God! D - Don't you understand? I'm really a - a ... virgin, George!"

He was on all fours on the bed above her. He grinned down at her, drunkenly, lustfully, one knee working itself between her instinctively clasped thighs.

"That makes me very happy," he slurred, "Every man should have a virgin bride! Some places I know about... there has to be a bloody sheet to show the people .. or the bride loses her head!" He made a motion with his hand across her neck to illustrate his point. Terri shuddered, the image in her mind almost too real for her.

"It's time for me to find out if I have been so lucky as to have chosen a virgin bride," he went on, then, abruptly, "Open your legs!"

"Oooh, please, George... be gentle with me ..." she breathed.

"Spread your legs! Wide!" he snarled. There was nothing else that mattered to him except getting into her tender, chaste flesh. It drove him almost obsessively.

Reluctantly, she had obeyed. "Y - you'll be careful" . ? Please don't... h - hurt me!"

Nothing came from him for answer; he only sucked in a deep breath and dropped suddenly down upon her!

"Oh...OOohh, my God..." she had moaned beneath his brutal attack. He held her there immobile on the bed, imprisoning her there with the weight of his heavy body, her head flailing desperately from side to side.

Terror seized her in its awful grasp. She tried to scream and found her vocal cords paralyzed. The agonizing pressure had begun, and for one brief moment she had thought that she could stand it, but it became obvious to her quickly that the disparity of size would never allow a fit. Again, a scream formed in her throat.

"OOOoooooohhhh, Goddddddd! NOOOOOooooooo!"

Her vision spun crazily, Her brain reeled, the keening, cutting edge of fear slicing her reason to ribbons. She heard his vile curses of frustration, then he pressed against her, again, using all his strength of back and legs.

She was nearly unconscious, but in an instant the pain brought her around. Her head flailed, insanely, and she tried to rake her talon-like nails across his face as she writhed and twisted beneath him with the strength of a madwoman in her attempt to escape the cruel and agonizing pain.

Helplessly, she squealed in animal pain and fear, much as a hunted doe that has been run to ground and run through by the hunter's lance as he caught her wrists in a powerful hand and pinned them back over her head to the bed; her legs kicked out in a frantic effort to find relief, but the movement only made her position that much worse.

She screeched and wailed with the almost unbelievable pain. Her incoherent babbling fell on deaf ears as, brutally, he continued his attack, his obvious pleasure revealed in his uncontrolled breathing.

Words swarmed in her brain. She tried to speak, to beg, to say anything ... anything at all that would penetrate to him, but the unformed words stuck in her throat. He had ripped her breath away.

Her husband had not stopped. He didn't give her even a moment to adjust to his sudden invasion. He was like some wild, hungry animal. This whole episode, she realized dimly, was all for his own gratification. Half in shock and pain, half from shame and humiliation, as well as a full measure of heartbreak and disillusionment, she had gaped up hopelessly into his lust-contorted face, attempting to fathom what lay behind that mask.

Her eyes had blurred with tears, more from the mental anguish than from the pain, for slowly the pain had begun to subside. She finally knew that there would be nothing for her but the pain and torture, but for him his only goal was his own satisfaction.

It was ever thus, she decided, it was the age-old heritage of the female: to lie on her back and be dominated by the male ... to be an object only of his lust... for his pleasure. There has to be more ... Oh God, hasn't there? ... And, he had dominated her. Again and again during that awful night, he had sated himself... but never once did he wait for her own need to be fulfilled. For her, it was a sleepless night of sexual horror.

Time, the healer of all things, allowed the pain to pass from her almost completely: it was then that she felt little exciting tingles stir deep within her, fiery tongues of ecstasy had begun to keen through her young, sensitive flesh, and for very brief periods of time she had thought there would be some of the more she had expected.

Uncontrollably, her whole body had begun to react, twitching and writhing beneath him, and she had groaned up into his face with anticipation, shoving her tongue hungrily into his throat and mewling her need of him: quivering as she waited for something, if, to happen ... for that something more to happen to her.

She loved him! Oh, God, yes! She loved this man, her husband! She would always love him ... no matter what he did to her! She knew it at that moment... for she felt it coming! Oh, God! It was coming to her ... at last!

And, at that moment she would have done anything for him ... if only he would bring her to the heights with him. She had nearly begged him for it! Her body-mind screamed for sexual release, for she felt only a hair's breadth away from the pinnacle she had been trying to reach for hours. Only split seconds away from that point in time where she would have been a completely fulfilled woman, he had, again, reached his own tumultous climax and collapsed in complete exhaustion on top of her. In moments he was sound asleep, leaving her aroused, frustrated and wakeful. Her tears ran unnoticed down her cheeks to soak the bed beneath her head.

Terri stirred in the now chilly water of her bath, coming slowly back to the reality of the present. Such had been her wedding night, she mused sadly, and the other nights since. Her mercurial husband had taught her many things, but not, she knew, the one thing that had saved her sanity.

That was her secret. George Marklin would never know, she vowed, as she rose from the tub, stepped into the shower and finished her bath. Yes, she mused, he would never know that he had never satisfied her, sexually, but she had found a way; her satisfaction was never farther away than her own hand!

Refreshed from her bath, Terri dried herself languidly, enjoying the narcissistic sensations she could create in her own body. Then, she combed out her hair, applied light makeup and lay down on her bed, nude, to take an afternoon nap. She wanted to be ready for whatever transpired when her husband arrived home. Experience told her that it would be better to be rested. Her coining ordeal could be ugly... and it might last for a long time; additionally, she knew that would end in the same way: her husband would have his way, sexually, with her. This she knew for certain!

In his bedroom, downstairs, Peter Marklin sat cross-legged in the middle of his rumpled bed. Morosely, he considered the glowing ash of the marijuana cigarette he held carefully between thumb and forefinger, the burning end turned in toward the palm of his hand. He was just beginning to get the effects of it... the sensation of floating, not caring... of time standing still... of more acute awareness, the ability to think with an uncluttered mind. To a casual observer he would look serene, zonked out, but inwardly, he seethed with half-formed images ... images that all involved his lovely young step-mother. She was a fantasy lover, the perfect woman, earth-mother and Aphrodite, all rolled into one package named Terri.

"Groovy!" he said, speaking only to himself, "Groovy ..." He summoned up the vision of Terri, her nylon-clad legs climbing the stairs when she had come home that same afternoon. He had peeped at her from hiding. It was all he could do ... then. God! How he had wanted to conjure up the courage to follow her to her room ... make love to her ... force her, if necessary!

"Groovy, man! Groovy!" he said, again, to himself as his souped-up imagination led to the explicit details of what he would'like to do to Terri Marklin, his step-mother, as he took long drags on the cigarette.

The afternoon wore on, waned, and it was evening. He heard his father arrive ... heard all that went on in the room above him, later that evening, and in the small hours of the morning, before he finally dropped off to sleep, he had formulated his plan, the plan that would get him everything he wanted ... everything he had ever wanted in this world!

Below, out in the garden, another man thought about Terri. His fantasies were based on hopelessness, the unreality of a gardener's hopes in regard to her golden-blonde loveliness. Surreptitiously, he allowed his eyes to wander to the French windows where he had spied upon her that morning. He knew it would be too much of a risk to climb to that vantage point again, especially with young Marklin about the premises. He was pretty sure where the boy was in the house, but he couldn't take a chance that he would stay put.

Finally, overcome by a perverse and persistent longing to see her, again, he decided to scout out the situation, see whether such were possible. He had never tried the gambit in the afternoon; usually, as now, there were too many people around. Mid-morning, just after Terri arose, he had discovered was really the best time to indulge his voyeurism.

Walking casually around the large, old mansion, ostensibly carrying out his duties as gardener, Jack Chavez, peered into windows until he found what he was looking for; Peter Marklin in his own narcotic dream world, stoned on grass, stark naked, sprawled in the middle of his bed.

"Jesus," the Mexican said softly to himself, "The little bastard is zonked out on mary jane!"

He was certainly nothing to worry about, he decided. The kid sure as hell couldn't function in that condition!

Jack hadn't checked the Timex on his wrist, or he would have known his plan was ill-timed.

With deliberate ease he moved around the house to the trellis, carrying his clippers carelessly. He had just begun to climb when he heard the high-powered whine of the engine and the crunch of tires on gravel as George Marklin entered the long driveway.

"Damn!" he spat, aloud, this time. "The boss is coming!"

Moving with deliberate slowness, he moved off around the house, heading for the greenhouse, there he put his tools away, locked up, got into his ancient pickup truck and drove home ... home to his dinky little shack, a couple of beers and an evening of television on his beat-up old set.

As he headed off into traffic, he didn't feel particularly perturbed. Hell! There was always tomorrow. "Tomorrow," he told himself, "I'll get me another look at her! That's some woman!"

George Marklin's thoughts were on Terri also, as he drove along the freeway toward his home. He intended to make her into a very contrite young woman! Several times he had warned her about the mounting expenses for her clothing. It was not that he couldn't afford it; he could, and many times over. Rather, it was a matter of principle. He spoke, and he expected to be obeyed, without question; therefore, since Terri had disobeyed, she must be brought to task, and he had to admit to himself, that he rather enjoyed his role as taskmaster. In the end, he would have his way with his wife, as always, and tonight he had a particularly piquent notion as to how he would take her. Christ! It made him hot just thinking about it!

Of course, Marklin had never told his wife how much money he made. That was purely his own business ... and it was developing into a good business. It was almost foolproof... and to think he was carrying it out right under their very noses!

Pauline Riggs sighed as she finished posting the day's accounts. She hated this chore, but it was one of the small disadvantages she endured as manager of the exclusive dress shop. The advantages, for her, far outweighed these small inconveniences, especially in view of the new arrangements she had just completed. On the surface, at least, it was a workable idea: after it had been thoroughly explained to her, she had been wholeheartedly involved, and now that the plan had been in operation for about three months, affording her ample opportunity to fully realize the potential involved, she was an enthusiastic operator.

The best part of the whole thing was that Pauline got first crack at them, the lovely, unsuspecting things falling into her trap so easily where she could pluck them for herself, almost at will. There were five of them, now ... and the sixth, the most breathtakingly lovely of them all, was soon going to be hers. The only question in her own mind was whether she could pull this one off so circumspectly that the husband would never suspect. Things could blow wide open if George Marklin ever found out that she had lesbian designs on his wife.

Terri Marklin had not called her; no matter, she hadn't really expected that she would. Her approach had been much too direct, but she hadn't wanted to let the chance escape her there in the restaurant lounge.

Sometimes, the indirect approach was better.

She reached for the special engraved forms she had had prepared and addressed the envelope in her own somewhat bold handwriting.