MORE!'
He was pistoning his cock in and out feverishly now and she opened wider, thrusting her cunt up to meet the force of his penetration, and his prick dove deeper and deeper into her, closer and closer to the core.
As they flicked deeper and faster, he lifted her ass from the blanket, bearing down on her with his cock. He lunged the hard, thick meat deeper and harder into Sally's wet and wild well, sucking furiously on her tits at the same time.
Karen knew, by the gurgling sounds coming from Sally's throat, that she was having an orgasm. Not just one! But a series, coming in like the waves on the beach, one after another, until his prick finally quenched the fire with the spray of foamy cream from his balls. Then their bodies went limp and they settled into a huddle of flesh.
Watching their wanton act did little more than satisfy Karen's curiosity. Or did it? she wondered. Was the ache in her own protruding nipples a sign that her body was capable of responding the way Sally did? Would she ever reach that evasive orgasm she desperately needed? But the questions only tormented her more, because she didn't have the answers.
When Sally wiggled out from beneath her boyfriend and got between his legs to suck his limp cock again, Karen slipped quietly from her hiding place. Enough was enough, she thought as she headed back to the apartment. But as she put distance between herself and the couple on the beach, her thoughts lingered on the prospect of duplicating the scene with her husband. She could almost see Allen's flabbergasted expression if she initiated the sex act.
First you have to stick it up my asshole, Allen, she heard herself tell him. Here, I'll bend over the bed and you get behind me… NO! Wait! You have to dip it in my pussy first to get it all mushy.
In her mind's eyes, she saw herself bending spread-eagle, with Allen panting uncontrollably behind her. But when he drove his cock into her yielding cunt and withdrew it – it came up dry! It always did, she told herself. She couldn't see herself suddenly flush with passion the way Sally did. At the same time, however, she wanted to see this thing through, and found herself telling him, Here, let me wet it in my mouth. Allen's knees buckled at that suggestion, which she found amusing, until she saw herself eye-to-eye with this thick cock. Everything was more vivid now, because she had actually seen Allen's lust-hardened prick from close range, the eye of it dripping a clear liquid and the putrid odor stinging in her nostrils – not a memory, she could actually smell it now. Ugh! Not me! I don't know how she could do it. Or… Or is there something wrong with me?
CHAPTER TWO
She was tired of telling him to leave her alone – didn't he understand? The message was there in the shapeless, sexless, flannel gown she wore to bed instead of the thin, filmy garments she might have assumed.
'Oh, baby, come here,' he pleaded, dragging the small blonde woman into his arms. His hands pushed the long, matronly looking gown up from the delicate ankles, over the shapely calves, past the full, creamy thighs. 'Don't say no this time,' ho whispered urgently.
What good would it do? she wondered bitterly, not moving, making her husband work to get the gown over the plump buttocks. Her flesh turned to ice wherever his fingers touched her.
'Oooh, baby,' his large dry palms cupped themselves over the firm, hard-nippled breasts. Even after four years, their size didn't cease to amaze him. 'Beautiful…'
Fear sent chills down her spine and caused the small pink tips of her large breasts to harden even more. She wondered if her husband could possibly believe that it was passion that distended her nipples. The thought made her wait to laugh, but she couldn't, not with him grabbing her legs as he was doing. She knew just what would come. He never altered his routine in any way. Each attempt at lovemaking was a duplicate of the last. It was a recurring nightmare – without the reality of awakening to minimize its ugliness. If it has to happen, the young woman pleaded silently, at least make it different this time!
His breathing was coming faster, as it always did when he began. He loved this sensation of her loveliness and warmth. He was unaware of uncertainty, his awkwardness – even his own lack of experience. Nothing mattered but the moment, and the moment was his!
This act, she thought achingly, this wonderful act which was supposed to mean so much! Would she never get used to it? Where was the pleasure? All she ever felt was pain, searing, degrading pain. Suddenly it was too much. She tried to control herself, but decided that it was much easier to just let it happen. Her resistance would only bring his resentment the next day. But even this awareness was not enough to make her lie still. Gritting her sharp, white teeth, the girl shoved at the flushed face, the lean driving hips. As many times as this had happened before, it always caught him off guard. Her strength was no match for his, but her determination and pain made her invincible.
'No! God damn it, no!' He fought against the pressure of her hands drunkenly. 'Not again!' He reached out for the slim legs, but it was too late. They were clamped together. He rolled off her, wanting to kill her, wanting to clamp her to the bed and at last get all he could take of her lovely frigid flesh. But he couldn't stand for her to know how badly it hurt, this denial of her love.
They lay next to each other in silence, knowing that neither had the strength to rip at the other. Yet, there would be time for that tomorrow. There was always time for that… Hate rather than love, frustration rather than peace, coldness rather than warmth, those were now the emotions that bound them together, and they had never felt further apart.
CHAPTER THREE
Karen Martin, her full breasts heaving below the tear-stained pretty face, glared at her husband. She was too angry and hurt to speak. His stubbornness angered her, but his calm during these all-too-typical fights infuriated her.
'All I'm saying, Karen, is that I'm getting sick of your excuses.' Allen's soft voice was its usual steady tenor. He looked like what he was, a busy young man with a number of things on his mind. He looked at the wonderful curves of his wife's young body. Wanting her had become an ache. He couldn't afford that kind of ache. There was too much he had to do. Working all day, going to school evenings, and studying whenever he found the time, drained too much out of him. He sighed deeply. 'What is it you want of me, Karen? Just tell me, and I'll try to understand.'
'That's the trouble,' Karen answered bitterly. She choked on her tears. She was tired of crying over her marriage. She was, she admitted to herself, just plain tired of marriage. 'I shouldn't have to tell you.'
Allen gathered up his books with his usual efficiency. He knew what the problem was, but it baffled him. He sorted the books carefully, then looked at the girl. At twenty-one Karen looked like a fine-boned, big-eyed, big- busted teen-ager. Her waist was unbelievably tiny. Allen longed to wrap his fingers around the small middle and lift the girl into his arms. But he hadn't the time. Besides, even with time, all such a move would produce would be more tears.
God! I'm sick of the tears! he thought, rubbing his eyes wearily with his free hand. 'Look, baby, I've told you before, and I'll tell you again: I love you. I really do. Only when people have been married a while, it's natural that they sort of take each other for granted a little. Why can't you understand that?'
Karen's large, round, brown eyes flamed again. 'If you'd only try to be a little more sensitive…'
'Sensitive!' Allen interrupted, at last jarred out of his matter-of-factness. 'I swear to Christ, Karen, if I hear that word one more time, I'll go off my nut!' He laid the books down for a moment, glanced at the clock and picked them up again. 'You talk like a sixteen-year-old who's been reading too many love stories!'
He started for the door, his slim, Ivy League-suited body and tired face making him look years older than his twenty-three years, but turned toward his wife again. 'Karen, sex is a normal, natural and, hopefully, pleasant act. But it's no damn testimonial of love! Sure, it's a part of it, but just because I won't kiss your feet or something
