Chapter 1
Marcia Addison, age thirty-four and feeling like ninety, all but dragged herself up her front walk and into her spotless suburban home. So what if it was exactly like every other split level ranch on the block and much too similar in its Early American interior as well? After a long and boring day at her dead-end job, it was a refuge to her now.
She was glad to see that Jack, her husband of ten years, wasn't home yet. Goodness only knew she certainly needed some time to herself. Nothing in her life was going the right way for her, and something within her own self surely had to be at the root of it all. There was no use in denying it to herself any longer.
Walking to the bar, Marcia fixed herself a martini ... something she rarely did, especially when alone. But her nerves were jangled, she had had very little sleep the night before or the one before that, and if the martini didn't help, then she didn't know what would.
Marriage hadn't, and the job as assistant office manager in town hadn't helped either. The vague restlessness, the hunger that food or drink didn't seem to satisfy, and the sense of desperation she always felt just after her husband Jack had intercourse with her. It seemed that all the strange symptoms remained with her no matter what she tried to do to alleviate them.
Well, it certainly would help if she knew what was causing them. But she had been working on that question for some long time now, and hadn't been able to come up with a concrete answer yet. Her marriage, if not spectacular, was a sound one, and the job wasn't all that difficult. Just boring. Could it be that she was getting old?
Marcia kicked off the smart navy leather pumps she had purchased especially to show off her long shapely limbs. They had helped to secure her job for her, much to her anger. Then she ran up the stairs for a really appraising look at herself in her full length mirror.
She took a few full turns in front of it fully dressed and decided that for a woman her age, she really didn't look half bad. Maybe some would have thought her loose blonde hair worn tumbling in curls about her face and shoulders might be a little too much, but she knew that men's expressions seemed to light up whenever they looked at it. They seemed to be so much more cooperative with someone attractive, Marcia had noticed.
Her complexion was still in pretty good shape, creamy and healthy looking, and her eyes still sparkled their azure blue, especially when she curled up the corners of her full mouth, And the body wasn't too bad either, even to her own discerning eye. Her 34DD breasts looked even bigger than they actually were because of her relatively slender frame, and they didn't sag a bit, Marcia was proud to note.
They certainly made a magnificent pair above her slender waist and gently curving hips. The pale blue, soft knit dress she was wearing showed them off to advantage. All in all, quite a tasty package, as her boss always told her when he would make a grab for her bottom and she would sidestep him just in time.
What was it about men that made them think of bedding every woman who looked even faintly appealing? Marcia was certainly glad that she made an attractive appearance, but if she came off to them as being sexy, this was a purely secondary factor with her.
She certainly wished she could make her husband understand that, and her boss as well. Being a sex-object was not her main purpose for living, any more than being a household drudge was. Marcia was too good for that ... in fact, probably even too good for men. Jack should feel himself lucky that she had put up with his self-centered ways for so long.
There could be no doubt she was doing her duty in bed with him, and he could hardly complain as she never refused him. It wasn't her fault if he had a sick and disgusting mind and wanted more than what she considered to be the only normal method of intercourse.
Just what was so great about all that sex business anyway? It was a pleasant, tingly feeling to have a man's arms around her, to be penetrated by him, and one of the few things that warmed her toes up. But a warm bath and an electric blanket would have done pretty much the same, Marcia thought.
No, sex wasn't all that sensational, at least not what she had experienced of it, and even that comparatively meager experience was all at the hands of Jack alone. She could easily do without it if she had a choice. No, sex couldn't be the answer to her restless cravings.
Lust was for animals and tramps, and she was miles above that level. Marcia promised herself now, as she had so many times in the past, that she would never sink that low. Jack just didn't know what he was talking about when he claimed that her insomnia was due to self-imposed sexual frustration. His solution for everything including the common cold was a f My God! Marcia suddenly thought. She had almost said that awful word. Even if only in her mind, it was still so dirty.
"Marsh? You up there?"
Jack was home. It was as if she had uttered a blasphemy and the devil walked right in through the front door.
"Marsh?"
"Up here!"
She was just thinking about dashing into the bathroom and running the tub to appear too busy for a good evening kiss when Jack bounded up the stairs and straight into a clutch with her.
"Well, look at the pretty lady!" he chuckled in good humor as he opened his arms wide to take her into a tight bear hug.
Just a good-natured slob ... at least most of the time. Jack-was usually pleasant and treated her well. But when he got into a sexual mood, which was just about every night, then all hell broke loose and he turned into a sadistic monster, as Marcia saw him. She really hated him when that happened, but she submitted to his passionate needs without question as long as he asked for nothing more than normal intercourse.
Oh-oh! There was that old familiar gleam in his eye. Jack was in the mood for a romp in the sack, and Marcia was fresh out of plausible excuses. Now would begin the same silent battle she had been fighting with herself since her wedding night, the one in which her moral conscience always seemed to wind up the loser.
"Hey, honey," he began. "As long as we're up here, what would you say to a little matinee before dinner?"
Before she could even say a word. Jack's hands were all over her. Maybe he didn't mean to be so rough, and it was his passion taking over his good sense, but Marcia still felt emotionally bruised by the way that he was handling her now. Why couldn't he go at it like more of a gentleman ... if he had to go at it at all.
His hands were already fumbling with the long zipper at her back, beginning to undress her as if it never entered his mind that she might not be willing. And she certainly was not willing!!
Then why didn't she just open her mouth and tell him so? Already a warm little trembling sensation was crawling around her skin wherever his fingers touched her. Marcia tried to fight it, but couldn't succeed.
Damn you. Jack! she thought in a silent rage. You're doing it to me again.
The dress was off her shoulders and sliding down to her waist now. When he had it down around her knees, Marcia stepped carefully out of it, then stood there submissively while her husband finished his task of undressing her.
The dress was off her shoulders and sliding down to her waist now. When he had it down around her knees, Marcia stepped carefully out of it, then stood there submissively while her husband finished his task of undressing her.
Marcia couldn't deny the heat she was starting to feel all over her body, although she would certainly have liked to. But Jack was still stripping her down, and as long as his hands were on her body, that tingling heat would continue to rise, then rise some more until all her dignity had melted down to nothing but molten desires that she didn't even understand or care to.
Even with the dress off, she was still a vision in blue, from her robin's egg lace bra to her matching silk slip and all the way under to her pale blue French garter belt with little ruffled garters and under it, the tiniest wisp of baby blue lace panties. The lingerie had been purchased more as an indulgence for herself than for Jack, but they certainly had an invigorating effect on him just the same.
His eyes were blazing at her now and his nostrils flared above a mouth that looked like it was just about to drool. Even the touch of him seemed hot and Marcia could feel that heat shooting right through her body. She gritted her teeth to keep from moaning. It would have been awful if Jack knew that he was actually getting to her, and moaning was not very lady-like.
Jack was working on the back hooks of her bra now, but was going at it clumsily because he was using just one hand. The other was busily occupied with the still encased left breast, as by then Jack was so horny that he couldn't even wait to get the damn thing off before filling his hand with her succulent white meat.
Breathing hard against her neck. Jack bent her nearly backwards now as he reached around with both hands to finally get the bra off and toss it to the carpet. Marcia saw it drop with dismay. She could have been wearing cheap black satin for all the animal knew.
"God! What terrific jugs," he muttered, and Marcia knew that it wouldn't be very long now before the heavy action began.
When Jack started getting foul-mouthed, she could be as sure of his battle readiness as if he had his pants off and she was staring straight into the eye of his organ. About the best she could hope for now was that it would be over quickly.
Once again Marcia tried to muster her dignity and appear cool as Jack tugged her slip down her hips, then unhooked the garter belt and let it fall on its own. Marcia shuddered. She felt a rush of cool air from the open window waft over her nearly naked flesh, and this sensation coupled with the hot friction of her husband's rapidly working hands, shot a thrill right up her spine.
She clenched her fists and forced her body to remain rigid, but this was not possible for very long. Jack's hand was already between her knees and he was sliding it upwards, spreading her thighs out as he went. She could feel herself flushing, and her legs began to quiver. The heat, as it pervaded up into her pubic region, brought a sweet moistness to her crotch, and by the time that Jack's hands reached this furry point, he found the baby blue lace to be quite damp.
He couldn't help chuckling at this, and Marcia blushed even more deeply. That crotch of hers was always a dead give-away.
"All right, love," he said quietly, but with a strong tone of authority. "Step out of those wet little things and come to bed like a good little wife."
"Yes, Jack," she whispered and then could have bitten her tongue for answering so submissively.
But dutifully she did slip the panties down her shapely thighs and placed them on top of the pile of her lingerie which lay at her feet. If she had her way, Marcia would have gone right to the bathroom with them and rinsed everything out. But duty was calling in the form of a now naked man, lying on his back with a furious erection which he was coaxing to even greater vigor with both hands.
Marcia stared down at the brave bone, swaying in its upright position as her husband labored over it. She wished with all her might that she could look anywhere else in the room than straight down at his hairy crotch, but her eyes were drawn there as if magnetized, and once fixed she simply could not pull them away.
"Look what I've got here for you, sweetheart," he leered. "Come to big daddy and play with it."
What Marcia wanted to do was turn and run while she was still close enough to the door, but what she actually did was walk zombie-fashion to the bed and lie down by her husband's muscular side. Jack was a good-looking man, maintained an athlete's body, and with black curly hair and blue eyes should have been a turn-on for any woman. She had been romantically in love with his looks for years before they were married.
In clothes she thought that he looked fabulous, but naked he was reduced to a lusting animal, a beast, and she could honestly say that he looked truly obscene to her right now. No grown man should be lying in bed, especially in the company of a woman and sensuously be masturbating himself as Jack was. It was positively perverted!
If this was so, then why was her heart pounding so loudly in her chest and her mouth suddenly dry as cotton? She even knew where that moisture had gone. It was dripping from the plump blonde mound that was throbbing between her quaking legs.
Why, oh, why couldn't she have better control? What sin had she committed in some past life to be such a weakling now?
She was just lying there with her hands by her side, their bodies barely touching at hips and shoulders, and there wasn't an ounce of clam or resolution left in her. Her hands were balled into two little fists, as this was the only way that she could keep them from wandering across to Jack's body and doing the sort of dirty things he had taught her, the sort that she always hated herself for performing when the session was over.
Maybe she was just one of Pavlov's dogs and it wasn't her fault at all. She had been trained over the years to perform certain sexual duties when she was in bed with her husband. Nothing more than that, a simple learned action. Hardly based on any need of her own at all.
If this was true, then she didn't have to think about it anymore and simply perform the function that she was expected to as part of her marriage vows. With no conscious wish involved, there was really nothing to keep her from her work.
Get him so hot he had to move, get him on top of her, and then count the seconds until it would be blessedly over. And if her body should heat to tinder, vibrate so that it made her dizzy, then she would just have to hope that somehow she would survive until she passed that danger point. That point was the awful blackness when she felt herself going off the deep end, dropping to a pit of molten lava from which Marcia feared she could never escape if she ever allowed herself to sink that far.
For that was where her passion lay, and it was a world where she feared to explore. A valley of indescribable sensation from which she might never leave.
Get your mind off it, Marcia, her instincts warned. Dwell on the truth and all will be lost. You'll be just like Jack and all the other dirty animals who live for nothing but sex.
"Come on, baby. Get your soft little hands busy over here. Don't make me do all the work myself."
His hand was on her wrist, guiding her to the task at hand and everything seemed to take on a surrealistic coloration. Marcia felt as if she were stepping out of her conservative skin and into the one that her sensualist husband had created for her.
His aura had that magic and when she entered it by closing her hand around the throbbing shaft of his hot meat, the erotic sparks charged her up to her very soul.
Marcia was treading the path down to that valley, and this time as with all others past, the struggle to withhold that ultimate surrender was going to be a mighty one.