Chapter 1
Carolyn heard her parents come home from University President Jefferson's party shortly after two a.m. and tried not to listen as the familiar argument started once again.
"John, please ... not tonight. I'm worn out," her mother's voice came distinctly, even though there were two rooms separating Carolyn's bedroom and her parents.
"Not tonight ... not last night ... not tomorrow night . . . not any night, if you have your say." John Dunn's deep baritone was bitter.
"I've given you my permission to turn elsewhere."
"Big deal, as my students say. Big deal! Well, I'm not interested in other women. I want you . . . Her honor, Superior Court Judge Margaret Dunn . . . my wife."
Carolyn heard her mother's sigh of resignation. "All right, then. But do hurry. I'm tired, and I have a full calendar of cases tomorrow."
The bed creaked as weight shifted, then there was the sound of a low groan from her mother as naked flesh slapping against naked flesh began.
Carolyn tried to shut out the lewd wet sounds of intercourse, but it was impossible; she could have heard them in her mind even if she covered her ears with her hands.
What was wrong with them, she wondered? Her father, Mid-State University professor John Dunn, was only thirty-eight. He wasn't stupid; on the contrary, he was considered one of the nation's top marine biologists. Yet he acted as if he knew absolutely nothing about pleasing a woman. He certainly had all the right equipment, Carolyn thought, remembering again that warm night last summer when she had been awakened by a strange noise from the swimming pool and, going to the window, had seen her nude father stepping like some god of the sea out of the swimming pool and padding across the lawn. Oh yes, he had the equipment all right . . . and the sight of his huge masculine penis shining in the full moonlight had brought a pounding flush of forbidden excitement to the young girl.
As for Mother! With that ripe, lush figure - almost the same shape, coloring, and features as Sophia Loren - she just couldn't possibly be frigid; yet, the 36-year-old judge had been rejecting sexual advances from her husband from as far back as Carolyn could remember. There was another reason why it was difficult to believe her mother was-cold and unfeeling, because Carolyn knew that she, herself, wasn't; she was a passionate young girl and had known it long before Charlie Webb's fingers, lips, and tongue had brought a pulsating life and warmth to her breasts and vagina.
Since meeting the tall, blonde, athletic Charlie for the first time two and a half months before, the two young people had gone just as far as they could go without going all the way. First it had been necking - kissing that graduated from simple kisses to long, drawn out French kisses with tongues swirling like maddened dervishes as lips sucked hungrily, wantonly at each other's mouths. Then had come the first awkward fumblings at her breasts, followed three dates later by the removal of her bra and subsequently his hot hungry lips fastened like a leech to her strainingly aroused nipples. At first, she had fought the attempt to caress her dampened little cuntal slit through her nylon panties. After two more dates, she finally gave in to her own sensations and let him do what he willed - as long as he did not attempt to remove her panties. Then, a few nights later, it was she, herself, who had taken off the skimpy nylon cloth covering her feverishly excited vaginal cleft. She had done it in a service station restroom, without telling Charlie, as they returned from a basketball game. She knew he would be surprised, but of the two of them, she was the one who probably was most surprised because of the intensity of the feeling. She had thought her body could not possibly experience more sensation than it already had, but when his middle finger had made the first searing wet contact with her pussy lips she had let out a low moan of immediate surrender and fell back helplessly against the seat. Charlie had finger-fucked her to orgasm within two minutes; her first orgasm and one that had left her weak, shaken with emotion, and uncertain.
The following night he had done it again, and then after an hour had done it once more. There was a difference this time, however; Carolyn had sought to repay him in some way and had caressed his penis through his Levis. Finding this unsatisfactory, she had clumsily unzipped his pants and timidly reached inside his trousers. The first contact between her fingers and the hard throbbing shaft between his legs had been akin to an electrical shock. Just holding it, not knowing exactly what to do, had increased her own sensations ten-fold. Charlie had soon shown her what to do and how to do it ... and his throbbing penis became a jerking, wildly ejaculating, living thing under her fingers.
That had been two weeks ago. Since that time, like a dope addict needing a stronger "fix," Carolyn had found the mutual masturbation less and less satisfying . . . seeking something more powerful . . . knowing the remedy, but afraid to put it into words.
Charlie had no compunctions about saying what he felt, and only this afternoon for about the twentieth time in three days, had said, with voice husky in desire, "I've got to fuck you or I'll die, baby."
Carolyn had been strangely quiet. She knew her body had to have the rest of it, but knew also that what he proposed and what she needed was an irrevocable step, once taken too late then for regrets or second thoughts.
And now, lying in bed listening to her father's groans echoing down the hallway, feeling the fevered dampness seeping from the scented walls of her cuntal opening down between her thighs, she knew that she could no longer deny her body, or Charlie Webb, the thing they both needed most. "Tomorrow afternoon," she said aloud. "Tomorrow." It would be safe then, if the sex education books were right, for her period was due to start in four days. . .
Down the hall, John Dunn gasped in pleasure as his white hot churning semen finally was propelled through the thin tubes of his jerking testicles and began spurting wildly into the unresponsive womb of his wife. The second he rolled off Margaret, she turned on her side and said, "Good night."
"Good night," he said, woodenly, trying to keep the anger from his voice. Instead of feeling relaxed, he found his muscles tense - his spinal cord stiff as a crowbar. Nothing he did, nothing she would permit him to do, could crack that cold judicial reserve. She was as unfeeling and emotionless as her law textbooks, he thought bitterly, and had been for the last eight years - ever since discovering he had gone to bed with one of his graduate students, a hot blooded little redhead who fucked like a rabbit and, unlike Margaret who had difficulties and had to work hard for each orgasm, came about as quickly and frequently as a rabbit.
Unknown to any of the three people residing in the Dunn residence, it was a night for decisions. Carolyn had decided to go the route with Charlie. John, unable to face his mounting frustrations any longer, decided he would ask Jean Pepper, his secretary, to accompany him on the Baja California expedition in two weeks - and down there under the hot skies of the Mexican desert, he would fuck her silly. Beside him, her body just as tense as her husband's, Margaret Dunn decided that tomorrow she would move once and for all into the guest room, and John would never again be permitted to inflict his gross, bestial demands upon her. If necessary, she would divorce him, even though it would be a blemish on her otherwise spotless record. There were people in high circles who said that Margaret Dunn would be the nation's first female Supreme Court Justice within eight or ten years. Divorce could hurt her chances. The Supreme Court! That was the only dream she had - a dream with enough substance and strength to make her put up with this adulterous stranger lying in the same bed who used her just as he might a whore off the streets.