Whipped wife

CHAPTER ONE

Diane Hathaway crossed her long, tapered legs and pushed her ass cheeks against the back of the living room couch as she rubbed the tall, cold glass slowly over her flushed cheeks. The blonde was trying to fight down the hot, mushy feeling between her legs. She lowered her eyes to the green carpet and tried to appear as if she were completely unconcerned with what was happening around her. But the way that man's eyes were zooming in on her body for a close-up! The way his stares seemed to burn through her clothing and sear across her flesh made her skin crawl with excitement. Diane's fingers trembled, making the ice rattle against the sides of the glass as she took another long sip of her drink.

"And that's it, ladies. My company's willing to take a chance on you if you'll take a chance with us," the tall, black-haired man said breezily as he flashed another hot glance at Diane. The nervous blonde felt her pussy stirring with the kind of hot excitement and lust that she swore she'd never give in to again. Diane knew only too well that it was this kind of feeling that got her into trouble every time. She lost her cherry to the high school football team captain because she couldn't keep her twat under control that night of the senior prom. God! The way they fucked and fucked that night under the stars on top of his tuxedo jacket, staining the white material with cum, blood from her ruptured hymen and sweat, made Diane think that that dream would never end.

It did. The next week good old Jim Byron pretended as if he never knew her. His regular girlfriend had made up with him, and he didn't want the bitch to know that he'd been fucking around.

"Diane, isn't he handsome?" a short, attractive young woman with long, shiny black hair sitting next to the blonde asked softly as she kept her eyes riveted onto the speaker's muscular body.

"Mmmm," Diane answered with a low hum, surprised at how husky sounding her voice was. The blonde shook her head slightly, pushing several strands of stray blonde hairs away from her face. Even that careless movement had a certain dignity, almost regal quality about it that attracted attention. In fact, everything about Diane Hathaway seemed to attract attention from every normal male near her. The proud, almost stiff way she carried herself about; her golden, long hair that she wore parted in the middle of her head and hanging down beyond her shoulders; her sparkling, dark-blue eyes that were surrounded by long, black lashes; her pert little ass that jounced back and forth under her clinging slacks whenever she walked; those melon-like, high-riding titties jiggling against each other with each step she took – everything about her made men's breaths quicken and their cocks stiffen up with hot blood!

"I'd sell myself for a man like that," the girl said under her breath, reaching over with her right hand and pinching Diane teasingly on the right arm.

"Oh, stop it, Sharon!" Diane whispered as she took another drink. She was sorry she ever came to this demonstration. She should have been at home cooking dinner for Matt.

Matt! That was another mistake in her life. After the football captain business, Diane swore that she'd never fuck with another man until he slipped that magic ring on her third finger. It was hard to keep her pussy quiet, especially in college when every coed around her was yakking about how big so-and-so's cock was, or how so-and-so made her suck him off in the back seat the night before. Diane pretended that talk offended her. But the blonde envied all those girls. She secretly wished that she could be in their places at least once, feeling a strong, hairy, masculine hand prying open her reluctant legs and stroking her inner thighs while… while… Diane blocked the rest out of her mind. She knew that if she thought about it, she'd go crazy in her dorm room while her girlfriends were out there in the fields fucking like butterflies in heat.

"Don't forget your samples and the sample booklets, ladies," the big man said, flashing a white, gleaming smile at Diane as he passed out the shiny pamphlets to the crowd of giggling women.

"Too bad you're married, Diane," Sharon said as she started to get up. "I think he's making a pass at you."

Great! Diane thought to herself as she drained the glass of the vodka and tonic, then placed it down on the end table on her right. That's how it started out with her and Matt. He seemed to be quiet and mature. They met in Art History I at UCLA. Matt wasn't like the rest of the men at the university who started conversations out with something clever like: "Don't you think Gauguin was influenced by the pre-Romanticist movement in German – wanna fuck?" He seemed to respect her body as well as her mind. They'd walk for hours in the Sculpture Garden next to the Graduate Research Library and talk about various art movements, the situation in the visual arts today, and other academic subjects. And he didn't even once try to take her hand, let alone try anything more suggestive. At first, Diane thought that he might be gay and wanted just a sister-type figure around him all the time.

That kind of thinking went out the window one evening after they attended a concert of Baroque music at Royce Hall. Matt escorted her out of the hot, stuffy auditorium after the last notes died away into the still night. He was strangely quiet that evening, fidgeting in his seat while the tiny amateur string orchestra sawed bravely through Bach's early ensemble music. Diane sensed that Matt's mind was somewhere else. But until they strolled into the dark, deserted Sculpture Gardens that night, she had no idea exactly where it had been hiding.

After several minutes of silent strolling, Diane felt Matt's right hand grip her wrist tightly and spin her around.

"Matt?" Diane asked in a questioning, slightly nervous voice as she looked into his eyes. The full moon lit up the tall pines and shrubs around them with an eerie silver light. In that same bright moonlight, Matt's face looked savage and twisted. His deep-set eyes looked like holes in a death-head. His nostrils quivered nervously, and his lower jaw moved spasmodically. "Matt, come on. What's wrong with you?"

"I-I," he stammered, still staring at her. Then before she knew it, the blonde was being dragged off the twisting concrete path into a cluster of tall bushes some ten feet away.

"Matt! Please, don't!" Diane cried all the way through the rape, clawing at the boy's flushed face as he ripped away her blouse, bra, skirt and panties. It all happened so quickly that Diane didn't even realize that Matt had blown his wad in her pussy until he collapsed on top of her violated body. He kept his dick embedded in her snatch for several minutes, hunching spastically into her while he covered her mouth with his right hand. When he was sure that she wouldn't scream any more, he took his hand off and started to apologize.

"You filthy animal!" Diane hissed, reaching up and pushing him off.

That horrible night! Diane wanted to forget it. "We have a lot of success with women like you, Mrs. Hathaway, who go out into the field and sell our products," the man said, handing the blonde a box of the printed pamphlets.

"Thank you, Mr. – uh…" Diane stammered as she pressed the box against her protruding tits.

"Jack. Jack Moore," the man said, taking Diane's hand in his and pressing it tightly.

"It's attached to me," Diane said after several long seconds went by. She pulled back gently but steadily, feeling a thrill flash through her box as Jack kept on smiling at her.

Just like Matt, Diane thought sourly as she turned and walked back to the couch. After that night in the Sculpture Gardens, the blonde didn't hear anything from him for several days. He wasn't in class, and didn't bother trying to call or see her at the dorm. That was fine with her. He'd purposely led her into believing that he respected her. Then slap, bam! Into the bushes and into her cunt!

When he finally did show up at her door some two weeks later, it was with a proposal of marriage! Diane couldn't believe that he was serious!

"I want you for my wife! I really do!" Matt insisted, practically sweeping her off her feet. She knew she should have been offended. Here was a man who'd raped her. And now he was asking her hand in marriage. It was crazy! It was absurd!

One month later they were married at the university chapel in front of their immediate families and close friends. There was something gentle, yet overwhelmingly powerful about Matt that finally led Diane to accept his proposal. There was also something in her that responded even favorably to that brutal rape in the Sculpture Gardens. That was something she didn't understand and didn't want to explore. All she knew then was that she was in love with Matt Hathaway and wanted to be his wife.

Their marriage went along well for the first five years. Matt went on for his master's in Art History, then his doctorate, while Diane taught part-time at a local Catholic girls' school. When he received his Ph.D., he managed to land a teaching job at USC. Money and status came quickly. But then something went wrong. Diane didn't know exactly what it was. But things started to take a nasty turn in their marriage. Matt started coming home later and later, oftentimes not staggering into the bedroom until dawn. Diane was sure that he was having an affair and often asked him about it. But then he started getting violent, sometimes hitting her and shouting that she should keep her big mouth shut.

Gradually, the blonde learned not to ask Matt about anything. Now, in the eighth year of the marriage, there was a kind of uneasy truce between the two of them. Though they slept in the same bed still, Matt hardly touched her any more. And Diane was grateful for that. His lovemaking was brutal and overbearing, resembling a wrestling or boxing match more than an enjoyable fuck session. But most of the time Matt just came home whenever he wanted to and collapsed exhausted onto the mattress. She'd often thought about divorce. But in spite of everything, Diane hoped that they could still salvage something out of their marriage.

"Diane. You know the way Matt treats you, you really should try to cultivate something like that," Sharon whispered to her as Diane slipped her sweater on.

"Sharon! Don't! You know I wouldn't cheat on Matt!" Diane said under her breath as she bent down and picked up the box of pamphlets that lay on the couch.

"Why not? He does it to you," Sharon said softly.

"Please," Diane pleaded, fighting back the hot tears that sprang to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, honey. But you've got to face the facts. I asked you to come here to get your mind off your problems. But look at what's come your way," Sharon said sympathetically, nodding toward Jack Moore.

"I'm not footloose and single like you, Sharon," Diane said, glancing over at Jack Moore and feeling her nipples tightening up and pressing against the stiff material of her cotton blouse.

"You don't have to be single to enjoy something like that, honey," Sharon said, pressing Diane's right arm as she walked toward the door to say good-bye to some departing women.

Diane looked around and saw that she'd forgotten her box of jewelry samples. This whole affair had been Sharon's idea from the start.

Sharon Dennis was Diane's best friend and sympathized with her concerning her marital problems. Diane had quit her job at the girls' school several months ago and was lying around the house, just feeling sorry for herself. Sharon was a part-time distributor for Jackson's Jewelry Products and convinced Diane that she should come over to her home one time for a demonstration party. Diane kept refusing, feeling a little ridiculous at the idea of her becoming something like an Avon lady. But after Matt's latest blow-up, the blonde decided that she had to do something, or she'd wind up slicing her wrists open. This was the first time she'd been over at Sharon's for this kind of gathering, and already she was sucked in. But with someone like Jack Moore staring at you like that while he talked, who wouldn't give in to his sales pitch?

"Uh, Mr. Moore. My samples?" Diane asked hesitatingly as Jack was explaining something to two plump, middle-aged women in blonde wigs.

"Of course. And here's my card in case you need me for anything," Jack said, handing a foot-square box to Diane and smiling meaningfully at her.

"Thank you," she murmured, refusing to look back at him as she tucked the box of samples and the box of pamphlets under her arm and walked toward the door. She could feel Jack's eyes burning the back of her neck as she said good-bye to Sharon and stepped out into the warm night air. Matt wouldn't be home. That thought ran around and around in her mind as she walked quickly to her car. In a way, it was a blessing. At least there wouldn't be any fighting and shouting to amuse the neighbors with again.

Diane unlocked the car door and placed the two boxes in the rear seat. Sliding in quickly, she slammed the door shut, then inserted the key into the ignition.

"Damn!" Diane muttered as the engine refused to turn over.

"Trouble, Diane?" Sharon called out from the doorway as she folded her arms tightly across her belly.

"I can't get this thing going!" Diane shouted back after she rolled down the window.

"Just a sec," Sharon said brightly, turning around and walking back into her house. Diane sighed deeply and waited. There'd be towing charges, then anything the garage decided to slap onto her. Matt used to take care of things like this for her. Now, she was on her own.

"Let me try," Diane heard a deep, masculine voice roll out suddenly next to her. She turned around and saw that it was Jack Moore, bending down and peering at her from outside the car.

"I think it's dead," Diane said mindlessly as she slid over to the passenger's side. Jack climbed in and tried to get the engine to turn over. After several attempts, he jumped out and walked to the front of the car and raised the hood.

"Looks like somebody walked off with your starter," Jack said after several minutes of examining the engine.

"What?" Diane cried out, sliding out and running over to Jack. She peered into the dark pit and smelled the stale odor of gasoline and burnt oil. There was a gaping hole to the right of the big engine, and several wires dangled loosely into it. "Who? Why?"

"Kids, probably," Jack said, shaking his head and slamming the hood. "Say, I kind of feel responsible for this. Could I give you a lift home?"

The words rang out like a cannon shot in Diane's ear. What woman in that living room wouldn't have sold her own children for an opportunity like this?

"I don't want to put you out of your way, Mr. Moore. I'm sure Sharon…"

"Don't think about it. I'm not doing anything more tonight. Come on," Jack said, smiling broadly at her as he took her by the arm and led her back to the door. Diane grabbed her samples and walked briskly toward Jack's 1976 Monte Carlo while the big man explained what had happened to Sharon. The blonde glanced quickly at her friend and saw Sharon smirking as Jack explained the situation.

The bitch! If she thinks that I'm going to do anything… Diane thought to herself, throwing the samples in the rear seat of the big black car, then sliding into the passenger's side. But then she couldn't finish the sentence. As she sat there nervously twiddling her thumbs and waiting for Jack, Diane couldn't really tell herself that she wasn't hoping for something to happen between her and the salesman. All the frustration and disillusion that had been building up in her marriage seemed to be breaking loose all of a sudden. She felt adventurous and horny tonight. And there was this vital, big man coming up to the car. Her husband wouldn't be home for hours. As Jack opened the car door and slid in, Diane dug her fingernails into her palms as she tried to quiet herself down.

"Okay, where do you live?" Jack asked as he started the car and backed out of Sharon's drive.

"Just a few blocks down that way," Diane said, forcing her voice to be steady and even as she pointed down the street.

Jack didn't say a word as they cruised slowly toward her house. In a way, Diane was disappointed. She was hoping now that he would make a pass at her. Of course she'd refuse. She wasn't the kind of woman who spread her legs whenever a man whistled. But it would be nice if he'd just…

"Mr. Moore! What are you doing?" Diane cried out as she felt his hand suddenly slide onto her knee.

"Come on, Diane. I know your type. I know what you want," he said in a husky voice, sliding his hand slowly up her thigh as he kept his eyes on the road and his other hand tightly clamped on the steering wheel.

"My type! Ohhhh, let me out here!" Diane cried out indignantly as she slapped his hand away and opened the car door.

"Hey, are you crazy? Stop that!" Jack called out, taking his left hand off the wheel and reaching out toward her. The car swerved crazily on the street as he struggled with Diane.

"Let me go! Let me go, and get your damned hands on the wheel!" the blonde cried out as she pulled herself back in the car. The idea to jump out was impulsive, and now Diane realized it was a little crazy too. The car was going thirty miles per hour, and she was thinking of leaping to the sidewalk?

"Look out!" Jack shouted as he pulled her back in and took control of the car again. Diane jerked her head forward just as she slammed the passenger door shut again and saw that they were headed for a large willow tree standing in the middle of a lawn.

"Aiyeee!" the blonde screamed, covering her face with both hands as she pushed down with her feet and braced for the crash. Diane felt the brakes clamp shut and heard the squealing tires. Then there was a more powerful lunge forward followed by a crunching sound as Jack's Monte Carlo slammed into the tree.

"Are you all right?" Jack asked after several quiet seconds went by.

"I-I think so," Diane stammered, reaching up and rubbing her forehead. She was a little dazed from all the excitement. But the blonde had managed to keep from slamming against the windshield. "Ohhh, great!" Diane groaned as she focused her eyes and looked at the tree. It was her neighbor's!

"Something wrong?" Jack asked softly.

"You just plowed into my neighbor's front door," Diane said sarcastically as she threw open the door and jumped out. The blonde ran around to the front of the car and examined the damage. Jack's right front headlight was shattered and a chunk of the side of the tree was missing. "That old bitch next door thinks more of this tree than she does her kids," Diane muttered as she looked nervously around to see if anyone was looking. It was late, and miraculously no one was peeking out of their windows or standing on their porches.

"I'll have to call my insurance tomorrow," Jack said, standing next to Diane and looking at the broken glass in the headlight compartment. "By the way, I'm sorry about that pass. Guess I thought you were an easy mark," Jack said apologetically.

The old humble I'm sorry routine. I won't fall for it. I won't! She thought.

"That's all right. You want to come in for some coffee?" Diane heard herself asking as she brushed back her hair. She saw Jack's sullen face slowly break into a smile as he nodded, then ran back to the car to pull it off the lawn. Why did I give in? Why? Diane asked herself as she walked up to her front door.