Chapter 1
Janet Reed sat in the living room of her well furnished suburban home, drinking the last drops of whiskey that remained inside the glass. She spilled a few drops, and watched them fall onto the carpet. She normally would have gone to clean it up, for she was a meticulous housekeeper, but today she was not in the mood for cleaning up after herself. She did not really care about anything this particular day, except for getting drunk, and that was something that she was now in the process of doing. This had been her second very strong drink, and since she felt no real effect from the booze yet, she walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured herself another.
Janet was getting drunk, because it seemed to her that her life had reached a crisis point, and she was determined to force matters to a head this evening. She had put up with enough nonsense from her husband, and was going to stand for no more. He was a successful lawyer, and she had married him in the hopes that he would make her something close to totally happy. But that was not the way it had turned out. It had turned into a nightmare, and as she swilled the next drink, a tear came to her eye as she thought of her shattered dreams.
She was twenty-six years old. Her husband was four years older and they had met one day when she came into the office he worked in to train for the receptionist's job. They had taken an immediate liking to each other, and had gotten married after a whirlwind courtship. They honeymooned in the Orient, and came back home to settle down into a lovely home that Philip, her husband, had been given by his parents. Everything seemed ideal. They would live a lovely life together, raise children, and become pillars of the community. It was everything that Janet had wanted.
Or so she had thought. Phil had not screwed Janet before they were married. He seemed like kind of a square, old fashioned type, and Janet had simply chalked it up to that. But on the first night of their honeymoon, he had fallen asleep rather than make love to her. He pleaded fatigue, saying that the long day had worn him out, and that he wanted to be up early for the flight to Tokyo that they were to catch the next day.
During their trip, he had been very romantic, spending lots of time kissing her, massaging her, trying to make her feel comfortable. And yet, he seemed to have very little interest in either prolonging the sex act, or in applying himself very diligently to its practice. Once they had fucked once, he would roll off of her, and resist all of her efforts to start another round of love making. He would always wait until late at night, and then he would fall asleep very soon afterwards. This disturbed Janet to no end. She had been very well experienced sexually, and enjoyed the carnal arts. She was even a bit insulted that this was the case, but decided that she could live with it for a while. He knew that she was more of a pro at it than he, so she even considered that she might be intimidating him.
There had also been the factor of his upbringing. Janet hadn't gotten Phil to discuss his past very much, but what she had learned indicated that his father had been a rather strict disciplinarian. He had never been one to spare his children the lash when he felt that they deserved it, and he apparently had thought they deserved it on numerous occasions. They had been forced by their parents to undergo considerable religious training, and Phil had even been forced into a religious order by his parents. He left after a sympathetic priest had talked with him and told him he felt that Phil had not been cut out for the religious life.
So maybe, Janet had reasoned, he was just shy about sex, one of those men who don't get to learn the full joy of sexual activity until a comparatively late age. She could teach him, she had thought. But nothing seemed to stoke his fires. After their return home, he had hardly fucked her at all. He did at first, but then they fell into a pattern where they screwed only once or twice a week, then once every week and a half, then once a month. It had now been nine months since her honeymoon and Janet had not felt her husband's rock hard cock stuck up her wet cunt in well over six weeks.
Six weeks, she thought to herself. If this doesn't change, I'm going to go crazy.
She had already finished the third drink, and now poured herself another. She was starting to get to the point now where she didn't give a damn about anything, and that sure felt like a good place to be. Maybe the paperboy would come a day earlier than usual, and she could take him upstairs and rape him. What the hell, he was thirteen, and nobody should remain a virgin that long.
She had been willing to take this treatment from her husband, for she truly loved him, and wanted to help him. He had remained very nice to her, and had given her everything else that she might have wanted. It was the most important factor in a marriage that she was missing, however, and it meant too much to her to totally ignore. She had put up with it for a long time, but finally decided that she had to do something to clear the situation up, and the night before, that's exactly what she had done.
She had seen him off to work as usual, and he had left her with the same sterile kiss that he left on her cheek every day. She had been more depressed than usual, for some reason. Maybe it was because her period had just ended, and she was feeling bad that another month, another irretrievable month had slipped so quickly, so sterility, so coldly and cruelly by, and she was again not pregnant. She had wanted to have children right away, and the fact that she couldn't as long as her husband didn't start changing his habits radically was driving her to distraction all day. She went up to the bedroom, and began trying on some of the short nighties that she had purchased in anticipation of the marvelous times that they would be sharing in the sack. She tried on the ones that actually covered her flesh, and the see-through ones. She admired herself in the mirror, looking at her tits, holding them up and squeezing them together, running her hand down to her pussy, and letting the fingers pick up the moisture that was forming inside. She ran them against her clitoris, and fell back on the bed. She turned on the radio, hoping to get some music, but by the time the commercials were over, she was too far into her sexual fantasies to get up and change the station when she found that it was just a talk show. She tried to tune it out, but then a few key words began slipping in, and she began to listen.
The announcer was talking quite unabashedly about sex. He wasn't using curse words, nor did he make any searing comments. Instead, he asked some questions of his guest, a woman gynecologist who would answer occasional telephone calls, and give people advice on how to pep up their sex lives. Janet ceased masturbating, and pricked up her ears.
Most of the talk was technical, concerning various techniques that the average married couple might engage in to prolong orgasms, or prevent premature climaxes. But after a good long while, she related the following incident to demonstrate the relative importance of psychology.
"One patient of mine was a woman who did not feel that either she or her husband were the firecrackers that they used to be, and decided that the reason for this was that they had simply been making love in the same manner for too long a period of time, and that they each could anticipate the others moves to an uncanny degree. This disturbed my patient, whom I'll call Mary, and she decided that she was going to spice up her life a bit. After all, she was only thirty-six, and she wanted to make love more than just five times a week." Five times a week and she wants to spice up her life, thought Janet.
"Anyway, she went out and bought what she knew to be her husband's favorite food for dinner, and prepared that for him. She got a couple of bottles of champagne, and for the piece de resistance, stripped nude, and wrapped herself up in plastic wrap."
Janet could see the light bulb over her head as the idea shot around her skull with the giddy mobility that accompanies delight. What a brilliant idea! She would do the same, wrapping herself up in all the wrap she could find, and greet her husband at the door, stark, raving nude. She would have his favorite meal prepared, and she would set it up for him while he, absolutely tired by a full day at the office, would take a shower, restoring some of his energy, and ridding him of the accumulated grime of a hard day's work. They would devour the food, and then she would slowly seduce him, getting him to unwrap his gift and feast on it.
She immediately ran to the supermarket. She chose Cornish hens, along with the usual vegetable, and got the champagne and put it on ice immediately. She went about straightening up the house, wanting it to look not just clean, but to have it sparkle with a glow that he'd appreciate. She'd clean every nook and cranny, dusted every table top, everyplace where she thought that it might do some good. Then she washed and waxed the floors, hoping that she would be ready in time for Phil's arrival at about six o'clock.
She worked up a heavy sweat working, and finally got everything done at a couple of minutes before five. She looked at what she had done, and decided that it was good. She went to the bathroom, and ran herself a luxuriously hot bath. She would soak every pore, so that she would be in a state of maximum relaxation and openness for her hubby.
She was out of the tub, at quarter to six. She felt both fresh and invigorated. She dreamed of what Phil would do to her. She felt the hand running up her thigh, stopping just short of her crotch, teasing her with a few delightful tickles before withdrawing to a less sensitive part of her anatomy. She watched him in her mind's eye, walking around her, taking the end of the plastic wrap, walking around her, peeling it off gradually, layer by layer, until the last bit came apart, and her skin was freed. She felt her tits, snugly confined by the plastic, pop out into the gorgeously free air, and he took them in his hands, and made her nipples stand out. Then, once she had stripped him nude, she saw his prick come up, grow as she brought him to full attention. Then they would go to bed, and his resistance to any kind of sex would crumble into dust.
She took the wrap, of which she had bought plenty, and starting up around her tits, she wrapped it around her body, encasing herself inside the transparent sheen. She wrapped so that she gradually covered herself to just below the pussy, and then took another roll to add a second layer. It would be best, she thought, to put it on thickly enough so that he has a little bit of trouble seeing what I have to offer underneath. By the time she was wrapped to her satisfaction, a good bit of time had passed. She was usually very clumsy with this kind of kitchen product, and she was beginning to get so excited, she could barely control her fingers. They fumbled with the clingy substance again and again, but she finally managed to fulfill her task, standing and staring at herself in the full length mirror for several minutes so that she looked exceedingly sexy.
She padded about the kitchen, doing what little there was left to do, hoping that no one innocently came by and caught her in this present state of dress. Luckily, no one did. It was twenty minutes after six when she heard the car come into the driveway, and she heard the hum of the electronic garage door opening, giving Phil entry to their domicile.
He came around to the front door, and Janet, wearing nothing but sandals and plastic wrap, positioned herself in front of the door for maximum effect. Phil opened the door, and stared at her. He had the look of a man who had just seen something that was so strange he was convinced it was from another universe. His mouth slowly opened until it reached the position that one would describe as his jaw having dropped.
Janet didn't know what to do. Phil just stood in the doorway, not moving, not talking, not even registering much surprise. This last was what disturbed her. She had expected something like total shock, and had been prepared to come on with some pseudo-tough talk, just something to get him hot and horny. But now she couldn't very well say anything because she was totally unsure as to how he would react. This threw her a little, and the Mae West grin that had been smeared all over her face vanished. She drew back, even changing her hands on hip stance, as she began to feel distinctly embarrassed.
After a painfully long time, Phil snapped out of it, grinned weakly, and looked into her eyes for the first time. "Gee," he mumbled, "that's really weird. I sure never expected to see that." He went upstairs to the bedroom, ignoring her completely.
Janet stood there, completely stunned. She hadn't figured on this kind of reaction at all. She walked into the kitchen, wondering what she was going to do. She decided to give him a chance. He had smiled before going up to change. Maybe she had come on a bit too strong by doing this. She would just have to give him a little bit more time to rouse his libido.
He came back into the kitchen, still wearing the shirt he had worn to work, and his suit pants. "Dinner sure smelled good," he said, sitting down and starting to read the evening paper. "What is it, Cornish hens?" Janet figured that this was a good opening to pursue.
"You've got a great sense of smell, lover boy," she drawled, sitting on the floor so that she could put her head on his knee. "If only you had as good a pair of eyes as you do nostrils." He lifted the paper to look down at her.
"Oh, the plastic you're wearing. I thought you knew that I recognized it, I said something at the door about it. Very original idea." He put the newspaper back in front of his face, abandoning the sliver of conversation Janet managed to begin. She stared at the newspaper in front of her in disbelief. Just what the hell was the matter with this jerk, did she have to wear a sign around her neck saying "I Want To Fuck!" and rape him?
"It's not very original," she told him. "I got the idea off of the radio earlier today. This gynecologist said her sex life was back in high gear by doing this for her husband. She was feeling that her sex life wasn't as vital as it used to be because she had been married for a few years, and her husband and her were used to each other and not as thrilled anymore."
Phil continued to read the paper, not even listening to what she was telling him. Janet stared up at the paper, becoming very furious. "She wasn't getting enough," she went on, willing to do anything to get any kind of reaction to what she was saying. "They only used to screw about five times a week."
Phil kept his eyes on the paper, but a shot of tension ran through his body. Janet could see this by the way that he suddenly gripped the edges of the paper. "Using language such as that habitually now will only make it more difficult later on," he said, his voice beginning to quiver. "When we have children, I'm sure that you won't want them to grow up to be foul-mouthed brats."
"When we have children," Janet said, very evenly. "How are we going to manage that feat? You haven't fucked me in six weeks!" Phil suddenly shut the paper angrily, glaring down at his wife.
"To some people, there are more important things in life than merely satisfying carnal appetites," he hissed. "There are things like building a career, providing for one's loved ones, becoming a respected member of the community ... "
"A hell of a lot of people," she angrily interjected, "manage to do all of those things and still ball their wives every now and then. How the hell do you think you're going to have loved ones if you don't start putting it to the loved one that you have right now?"
Phil slammed the table with his fist, his anger subsiding as he physicalized his rage. "I don't wish to discuss this any further," he told her. "Dinner would appear to be ready. Please put it on the table, as I am quite hungry, and I will go up to the bathroom, throw some water on my face, and try to put this very foolish incident out of my mind." Janet sat on the floor after his exit, the very picture of cool, steely anger. She was suddenly disgusted with everything. What the hell did he think she was, anyway? Just something to clean his house for him and cook his meals? If that was all he had wanted, a maid and cook would probably end up being cheaper than a wife. Loved ones? Watch your language in front of the children? What the hell did he plan on doing, adopt a family? Had anyone bothered to tell him that there was a connection between the frequency and the birth rate? What in God's name was going on here?
She heard him running the water in the bathroom, and got up, practically throwing the dishes and food into place. Well, she thought, she would go through the motions of enjoying her dinner. Maybe she could even manage to have a good time for herself. She was going to pretend that the "very foolish incident," as he had described it, hadn't happened. She had worked too hard this day to be disappointed again.
They sat down and ate in silence. Janet sat regally in her chair, the plastic wrap still on, found it to be a not too uncomfortable fabric, She found it even very pleasant, sensuous, limiting her movement somewhat, but still enabling her to function more or less normally. It was flexible, and she had been generous enough in putting it on herself that it didn't start to unravel, she had feared it might. Of course, she hadn't really thought that she was going to have it on this long.
She poured the champagne. Phil had brought out the newspaper again to have something to read. But Janet got up and paraded over to him. She poured him a glass of champagne, practically knocking his glasses of his face with her plastic encased tits. He was annoyed at this, so she bent over to scratch her ankle, turning her ass up so that it was right in his line of vision. He kept his eyes on the paper, but she wiggled her backside very fast, squealing "Ooh, that little itch on my footsie just won't go away!" She stood up, wiggled her ass one more time, then walked back to her seat, pursing her lips and making kissing noises as she tip-toed rapidly back to her place.
Phil was getting more and more annoyed as he watched this out of the corner of his eye, saying nothing. She could tell that she was having an effect though. He was finding it more and more difficult to just sit still and read. He would turn about in his chair, facing every which way, then going through them all again as they all proved equally unsatisfactory. Janet kept up her silly parody of female seductiveness, leaning halfway across the table, and striking ridiculous poses as she consumed her food and champagne as orgiastically as possible.
She picked one of the drumsticks on her hen and put its rounded end first into her mouth, stopping it just short at first, then greeting it with the tip of her tongue. This wasn't enough to catch Phil's eye, so she moaned a bit. He stared up at her with a jolt, and she cooed, "oh, so fantastic, God only knows how I could have lived so many months without eating it!" She shoved it into her mouth, stripped all the meat off with her teeth, and withdrew the naked bone. She masticated the meat really fine, then washed it down with a gulp of champagne, licking her lips as she did so.
Phil stared at her in something like horror. He shook his head, then returned to the newspaper. Janet grabbed a handful of the meat, and ran it over her face, smearing it around the entire mouth area before taking it and chewing. She swallowed more champagne, and gave another gurgle that caught her husband's glance. She picked up a hand full of the stuffing and swallowed it in the same manner. "God, I need this stuffing, need it so bad, need it to be filled and stuffed myself. I wanna be stuffed with meat, damn, more meat than I can handle!"
Phil stared at her, obviously angry, unsure of the best way to say something without actually acknowledging that he was angry. He finally looked down at the paper and mumbled "I'm sure there are places that will cater to your whims very nicely. It's just a matter of looking hard enough."
Janet suddenly felt an urge to walk over to him and punch him in the balls, if he had any left at this point. The goddam nerve! It wasn't as though she was asking for anything out of the ordinary. She was asking Phil for the most natural thing in the world, a dick up her pussy. She had been able to understand his reluctance before they were married, if indeed he had been a very religious person, but goddammit, they were married! If married people couldn't fuck, how the hell could there be anyone to pass religion on to?
She wanted to make him angry. When he did get angry, he would seldom admit to it. He would stare her down, trying to think of some clever line with which to annoy her, and once he had come out with it, turned away with a self satisfied smirk, going back to whatever it was that he had been doing.
Something occurred to her. She picked up a long bread stick out of the bread plate, and began running her tongue along it in the most obvious and suggestive manner that she could manage. He was able to ignore this, but she began groaning again, suddenly moving it in and out of her mouth very rapidly, making noises as though she was about to come. Suddenly, she stopped, leaving it about halfway in her mouth. Phil was staring in wide-eyed horror. She reached up, took the end of the bread stick in her fist, and snapped the extended piece in half.
Phil flew into a rage. He picked up his glass as though ready to throw it, sending a stream of bubbly that struck Janet as well as flying all over the room. He held it aloft over his head as though ready to throw it at her. She shrunk up into a ball, and shrieked with fright. He stood there, his chest heaving, the breaths coming out in heavy groans. Then, slowly, he composed himself. He sat down, got his breath under control, began eating and reading again as though nothing had happened. He stayed there for a few minutes, then broke into a grin and chuckled at Janet. "You pervert." He said it without even looking up at her. "You dumb pervert."
This was all Janet could tolerate. She began to scream at him, no longer caring what might happen. "Pervert!" she yelled. "I'm a lousy pervert just because I want to go to bed with my fucking husband? Listen, you friggin' creep, I don't have to stand for this. I can sue you for alienation of affection and get myself a very nice settlement, and then I'll be free to run around with people who have a natural craving for my body. I've wasted my time being faithful to you, and for what? So you can drink when you get home, watch all those lousy television shows with the chicks with jiggly tits so you can get off what few rocks you have, and then fall asleep every night? I told you that I wanted a family, goddamit, and how the hell did you think we were going to have one if you didn't screw me?"
"I'm sorry," he said, in the tone he adopted when he had irked her enough to get upset. "I had no understanding, or sensitivity with regards to that, did I?" His tone, sneering and sarcastic, was more than she could stand.
"You sure didn't. And don't you dare pretend that you didn't tell me that a family was one of your top priorities. I got off the pill, did you think I did that because I didn't want to fuck? I want children. I want the thing that people supposedly get married for, I want to be made love to!"
"I think that we have had intercourse on a number of occasions since getting married."
"Yeah, a number of occasions. A number that you can reach by counting your toes and fingers. We've been married ten months, are you waiting for the anniversary night or something? I'm going crazy, you haven't screwed me in six weeks, and on the rare occasions that we do fuck, you do it once regardless of whether or not I've come. What the hell did you marry me for, you impotent asshole?"
He jumped out of his seat when he heard this. He threw his plate across the room by sweeping the back of his hand as hard as he could. His glass flew as well, and a new stream of champagne landed on the rug. Janet again covered her face, scared by the sudden outburst of fury.
"I don't ever want to hear you say anything like that again, do you understand?" he shouted. "I work damned hard to keep you living a very nice life, and the least that you can do is show a little appreciation when I come home after a hard day at work." His face was beet red. She had never seen him this angry. His food had been scattered all over the place, and he'd hurt his hand in banging it against the hard china. He rubbed it slowly, gradually getting himself under control. He walked out of the room, past Janet, she was now reduced to tears. "Take off that idiotic outfit," he called back in. "You look ridiculous."
She sat back down on her chair, and wept openly. It had failed. It had done worse than fail, it had antagonized him, and driven him into a rage for which he would blame her. This would alienate him from her even more, and cause her even more problems. She couldn't believe the situation. What was she doing wrong? How could she get him interested in her? Was there any way to get him interested in her? Or was this the end of the road?
She left the mess on the floor, and wept to herself, crying big salty tears for the better part of two hours. She could hear Phil moving about upstairs. He was watching the TV in the bedroom, apparently not willing to come downstairs for the rest of the night. Janet felt horrible, felt that she was all alone and that there wasn't anything she could do to alleviate the situation. There was just no chance that Phil was going to respond to her at all unless she apologized now.
She began to slip into the sadness that followed fights such as the one that had just occurred. She began to soften her position. She began to see her husband's side of the conflict, and to sympathize with it. He does work hard, she told herself. He does get tired and run down at the office, he does provide for me, and in most instances, he's very sweet, thoughtful, and generous. He must be afraid of sex, she thought. That's the only topic that makes him this angry. Maybe if I just approach him more gently, she thought to herself, he'll come around and start to make love to me. If he's afraid of it, I'll just have to learn to be gentle, and approach him in a nice manner.
She slowly stripped the plastic off her slim and attractive frame. She was so young, and saddled with so heavy a problem. This was something she had figured on encountering when she was in her forties and fifties. Here she was, twenty-six, and saddled with an impotent husband. No, she thought to herself, musn't call him that, that's too threatening a word. He had seemed to get angry when she had used it before. What can I call it? Fear, perhaps. Better yet, she would refer to it as unwillingness, trying to make him see his responsibility, but not hitting in any way at his possible soft spot concerning sexual inadequacy.
She took one good look at the mess in the dining room. This wasn't at all what I wanted, she thought. Not at all. She finished off the bottle of champagne, wanting to be as drunk as possible when she clambered into bed with her pride swallowed. She just couldn't figure out what on earth upset him so, but it was obviously upsetting him, and the sooner they got to the core of the problem, the better off the two of them would be.
Phil was dressed in his underwear, lying back on the bed, watching the television. Janet walked over to the bed and stood at the edge of the mattress. She looked at the husband, but he did not return the glance, just stared silently ahead at the TV screen without even acknowledging that she was there. She crawled into bed with him, pulling the covers over herself, and searching out his arm. She hooked hers in his, and nuzzled up to him as close as she could.
"Darling," she said to him. "Please forgive me. I was kind of mean to you there before, and I didn't mean it. I was just angry. I had thought you would like the surprise that I had prepared for you, and I was disappointed that you didn't. I don't want to hurt you, or make you feel bad. I just wanna make sure that we understand each other, and that we know what the other wants, and that we each do our best to give it to the other. That's all that I want."
Janet liked the sounds of the words that came out of her mouth, but they seemed to have absolutely no effect on Phil. He stared ahead, oblivious to everything that she had told him. Janet had never known him to be this upset that he wouldn't even accept her apology, so she began again and this time she began in all earnest.
"Darling, my dearest, dearest Philip, you're more important to me than anything in the world. I love you darling, I love you madly. There's nothing I'd not do for you, dearest, I love you that much. I want to feel that you love me too. I miss our love making. I want to be made love to very much, I need to feel you inside me, I want you to come into me and make it possible for us to have children. I want to be heavy with your children. Please don't deny me your essence, please don't deny me the thing that every woman wants from her husband. It hurts me that you don't want to make love to me."
Suddenly, a change seemed to come over Phil. He was caught up in thinking about something, and he grinned, looking her straight in the face. "A minute ago," he said, "I without question heard you say that you would do anything in the world for me, is that right?" She stared at him blankly.
"Yes, I remember saying that."
"Well," he added, "you are being given the opportunity to prove that to me, my darling wife," he said, a cutting tone discernible in his voice. "You, my dear, are going to shut your mouth, turn off the television, and clean up that filthy mess in the dining room that you provoked me into making. You'll go do all of that now, and be very quiet about it, because I'm going to go to sleep, right now!" And with that, he yanked the blanket off his nude wife, pulled it over himself, and turned his back on her.
Janet stormed out of the room in a huff. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, wondering whether she should scream her agony to all the world, or smash some dishes against the wall. Eventually, she did neither. She stood there, let the passion flow out of her body, and then walked up to bed, muttering to herself, "Provoked him into it! The stupid prick can clean it up himself if it bothers him that much. I don't give a damn!" She got another blanket, got into bed, and pulled it over herself, shutting her eyes and drifting off to sleep.