Chapter 1

The late afternoon sun was low and sinking fast behind the shopping center, leaving a spray of glowing color in streaks across the luminous sky. Bette Jean lagged behind the hurrying bag boy and turned to look at the coral streaks. Brilliant wavy flags billowing across the sky like gossamer silk. She stood for a moment, warmed by the color despite the nip in the air. At last she turned and followed obediently to the rear of the pale blue station wagon where the boy was loading her groceries.

"There you are, Mrs. Lyons," he said panting, then slammed the rear door and turned to her grinning. "All loaded up and ready to go."

"Thank you so much." Bette Jean pressed a coin into his hard young palm. The tall youth blushed in confusion and tried to put the money back in her hand.

"Aw... no... you don't have to do that. It's a pleasure to load your groceries and stuff... I mean... well... I like doing it for you..."

Bette Jean insisted and in the fumbling he held her hand far too long, blushing and embarrassed. She felt a tiny little thrill chase up her forearm from the contact and then she too was embarrassed. Oh dear. The boy wasn't much older than her son, Gary. A stab of fear shot through her then. Would Gary start acting like men always acted around women? He was sixteen now but she didn't want him to start acting like a snorting bull in a china shop. "Thank you again... sorry to be so much trouble..." Bette Jean almost whispered in confusion and slid into the driver's seat quickly, slamming the door behind her. The bag boy grinned and waved, wheeling the cart back toward the supermarket.

Driving home Bette Jean tried to sort her thoughts. It had been a difficult day. The doctor still hadn't been too sure about her symptoms. Mostly he'd patted her and reassured her... and now that she thought about it, grinned at her just the way that grocery boy had done. But then men had always grinned at her fatuously ever since she was fourteen. If he had a few beers too many, even Lester, her own husband, grinned at her that way.

It had something to do with her being small and having curling chestnut hair and large innocent blue eyes. Every male in sight thought he had to protect her. Well, the only thing she wanted protection from now was male attention. It was time they left her alone. Certainly it was past time for Lester to leave her alone.

At his age and hers... with the children all gone from home now except Gary... it was almost indecent the way Lester wouldn't leave her alone. Though she couldn't prove it, Bette Jean thought that surely must have something to do with all her headaches and fatigue lately. Couldn't Lester see that she was too old for all that nonsense? At forty after four children she was just plain tired of sex. It was dull and useless and ridiculous.

Bette Jean shook her chestnut curls out of her eyes and her mouth straightened in a line of determination. The doctor hadn't actually said she was not to sleep with Lester... but he had asked a lot of questions about her sex life... wanting to know how often and if she had orgasms... and he had said she was not to overdo. Well, that was enough. She'd been trying for a long time to find a way to have separate bedrooms. Not that she wanted to hurt Lester's feelings but she had her health to think of too. Certainly he couldn't willingly want her to get worse.

By the time she'd put all the groceries away and folded the brown paper bags neatly out of sight, Bette Jean was exhausted. It was familiar exhaustion she experienced often these days and had gone to several doctors about. They hadn't actually laughed at her but they hadn't taken her problem seriously either. At least Dr. Madson had given her those pills and told her not to work so hard. He was better than the rest of those quacks. They just didn't understand female problems. How could they? They'd never been females.

Bette Jean sat down for a minute at the shiny white Formica table. She just had to get her breath. And there was still dinner to think about. Wearily she pushed the curls up off her collar. Gary wasn't home yet either and then she remembered. Lester had given him permission over her protests to spend the night with Jimmy Herter. So there'd be only the two of them for dinner tonight.

She fought down a little shiver, knowing from experience that Lester never failed to get amorous when Gary was out of the house... not that Gary's presence really stopped him. Sometimes she just lay there dying of embarrassment when Lester was venting his animal passions on her helpless body, knowing that their son Gary could be lying awake listening and maybe hearing every sound through the thin walls. A four-bedroom, housing-development house was not made for privacy.

Still it was a nice house. She looked around appreciatively. The new wall-to-wall carpeting made it look even larger, the soft celery green pushing the walls further apart. Lester was a good provider and she should be ashamed of herself for not appreciating him more.

But with her head beginning to ache and this awful fatigue settling on her like a plague, she didn't feel very appreciative. She wondered what mischief Gary might get into at the Herter boy's house. Gary was such a good boy most of the time, but he did need handling. He was shy and sensitive like her. You'd never even know he was Lester's child except when he flew into those unpredictable rages now and again.

Bette Jean forced herself to get up and change her clothes before starting dinner. It wouldn't do any good to get her new beige suit dirty making dinner. She hung it up carefully in the bedroom closet and started automatically to put on her old blue wraparound... but a chance glance at herself in the mirror stopped her.

It seemed a shame to cover herself with that old thing. For a stolen moment she allowed herself to look at her reflection. She did look younger than she was. The face smooth and unlined and youthful. Her skin was still flawless and creamy, the chestnut hair curling softly around her pretty face, the blue eyes wide and innocent, framed with thick lashes. Even after four children her body looked exactly the same as it had when Lester was courting her except that her breasts were even fuller. They almost spilled out of the pale, nude-colored brassiere but her waist was still very tiny and her hips trimly curved, her legs slender and shapely. She did look young and pretty and at her age she should be grateful, but looks had never brought her anything but lecherous glances, Lester's awful pawing and lusting and four children in almost as many years. She'd raised them and nursed them and now they were all gone except Gary. Damn it. It was time she had some peace, some time for herself, maybe even some night courses to keep her occupied.

She turned back to the closet and fingered the clothes. The habit of wearing slacks around the house had never appealed to her. Finally she settled on a pink flowered cotton blouse and skirt. At least it was permanent press so it could be washed if something spilled on it. If she was going to convince Lester of anything she'd have to look halfway presentable. Bette Jean cinched a wide pink leather belt around her tiny waist and went back to the kitchen.

As she bent to peer into the refrigerator to check the leftovers she felt the uncomfortable clamminess of her panties. She straightened and shivered delicately. Those awful examinations at the doctor's always left her feeling unclean. That terrible Amy jelly they used when they had to examine a woman inside. Some of it always oozed out and dampened your panties. Bette Jean went back to the bedroom. Holding her skirt up she shed the dampened panty hose and underpants, washed herself thoroughly and slid on clean white panties.

The enameled clock over the oven stated unemotionally that it was five o'clock. Lester would be home soon and still nothing even started for dinner. Bette Jean flew. The pork chops. Yes, they would do. Easy, and Lester liked them.

Just as she was sliding the chops into the oven along with a pan of sweet potatoes and a cottage pudding, Bette Jean heard Lester's truck lumber into the driveway. Suddenly her heart was pounding violently. No. She mustn't get panicky now. He would bellow but he'd just have to get used to the idea that she wasn't going to put up with his lust any longer. Her health was endangered. She was sure of it. Why her heart was almost pounding out of her breast right now and she felt faint and queasy.

Lester Lyons climbed wearily from the truck. Hell, he guessed he was getting old. Just didn't seem to have the old snap somehow. He went into the utility room, sat down on the little bench and untied his boots. Bette Jean gave him hell if he walked on her clean kitchen floor in his boots. He took them off and dropped them.

He looked down at his big sock-covered feet for a moment. Lord he was tired. Boiler making was hard work, there was no doubt about that, but it never used to bother him. Lately he was tired all the time. Shit. He was beginning to sound like Bette Jean. She complained all the time lately, kept buying bottles of this and that, running to doctors all the time.

Lester rose and stretched. God damn it, there wasn't anything wrong with Bette Jean and there wasn't anything wrong with him. They just weren't getting enough fucking. He frowned, trying to remember just how long it had been since he'd gotten to her. Hell, must be at least three weeks or more. That god-damned woman could think up more excuses. Her head ached, she wasn't feeling well, his hands were too dirty. Hell. He looked down at his hands now. They were hard and grimy and callused.

Hell, he'd just take a shower before he went on in. Quickly, Lester shed his dirty work clothes. That's why he'd put the shower in the utility room anyway. He stepped into the hot spray and let the water course over his tired body. Soaping up and scrubbing he began to feel better.

Gary was over at the Herter boy's, so there was going to be no God damned excuse tonight. Christ. He was so horny the hot water and the feel of his own hands washing his cock made it jump a little in anticipation.

Bette Jean could hear the shower running out in the utility room. Lester was good about not tracking up her spotless kitchen floor. She set the table in the kitchen and put the coffee maker on so it would be all ready. Things had to look nicer than usual. Lester grumbled when she made him pick up but secretly she knew he liked the way she kept the house all shining for him.

A bowl of marigolds on the white table looked just right with the gold place mats. She adjusted the knives and forks slightly and stood back, pursing her full lips. Now what had she forgotten. Oh, of course. Lester liked homemade applesauce with his pork chops.

She stirred a lump of butter into the pan. Fortunately she'd made some yesterday that only needed to be warmed with some butter. Turning the fire very low, she adjusted the lid and wiped her hands on her apron. Abruptly she heard the shower cut off and a nerve jumped in her stomach. She could see in her mind's eye Lester's hard body, still lean and muscular at 40, hairy and masculine. She stared down at the stove and tried to calm herself. Just the thought that Lester might touch her these days was enough to get her jumpy and nervous. That, if no other reason, was enough to insist on separate bedrooms. It wasn't as if they were kids anymore. Even as kids when they were married, she'd never really cared anything about it. It was Lester.

At first she hadn't thought she could stand it. Aunt Dee had tried to make her understand and help her but Uncle Alf had made it clear that she couldn't come back home to live. He'd sided with Lester and said she was a married woman and she'd have to act like a married woman. So she made the best of it. A few years later, there was Bette Jean's baby sister, and there'd never been any money. The folks killed in that car accident leaving her a baby sister. It still embarrassed her that her sister was younger than three of her children. Aunt Dee and Uncle Alf had been so good to take the baby since Bette Jean had her own little ones to care for. Lester had been a miracle. Even offered to adopt the baby, but Uncle Alf and Aunt Dee had solved the family problem. Wanda was still with the folks, the aging aunt and uncle who'd been so generous.

"Hi honey... what's for dinner?"

Bette Jean whirled guiltily and tried to smile. The smile froze on her face at the sight of Lester, clean and shining, his grin crooked and familiar, dark hair combed, naked except for a bath towel twisted around his lean waist. He was standing in the kitchen, like that, grinning. "There won't be anything if you don't get some clothes on Lester Lyons! Honestly! Suppose the neighbors just happened to glance over this way! They could see you right through the kitchen window!" Bette Jean burst out nervously.

"Well, that's sure as hell easy to fix if that's what's worrying you." He went over to the window and jerked the shade down, drawing the crisp curtains over that. "Now." He turned, grabbing Bette Jean's hand and pulled her to him.

"Oh, Lester. Honestly!"

"Yeah... honestly, I need a kiss and a little more when I get home tired."

Bette Jean fought the sudden clenching of her stomach as he bent and caught her Ups. She tried to wrench away the moment his lips touched hers but he strained her to his hairy chest, grinding his lips into hers. She could feel his hard white teeth beneath the flesh bruising her mouth, his big hands seeking her buttocks, pushing her belly right into the bulge of his thing under the towel.

This wasn't the way she'd planned things at all! Why did Lester have to continue to act like an old goat? Her head was really aching now and she Rushed futilely against his nakedness. He was as hard and demanding and male as always. What was worse, his nakedness was sending unexpected little thrills chasing under the surface of her skin where the big brute held her. She could feel the big hands crushing the softness of her rounded buttocks under her skirt, her, breasts mashed into the hard chest, mouth captive under his punishing Ups and his hot poker tongue darting in between her teeth. Small as she was, she tore herself finally from his arms and stood panting and disheveled against the counter edge.

"Stop it, Lester! Stop it this instant! Leave me alone. Just leave me alone so I can get the dinner on the table. You've given me a terrible headache... and you're acting like a maniac! I just... don't know what's gotten into you." Her hands patted her curls back into place and then smoothed nervously down her apron. They fluttered up to button her blouse even higher against her throat.

"I'll tell you what's gotten into me, woman! I'm horny as hell! You haven't let me near you for weeks. A man's got to have some fucking or he's no man at all!" Lester roared, wheeling and rummaging in a cabinet. "Where the hell's the booze? God knows, I need a drink!"

"It's right here, Lester. Here... I'll get it for you." Bette Jean pulled out the bottle of bourbon. Anything was better than having to endure his kisses and what came inevitably afterwards. Distract him. That was a better tactic. Maybe even get him a little drunk. Then maybe he'd want to watch television and would fall off to sleep.

God damned bitch! Acting like he was some kind of animal every time he touched her. Shit! What the hell was he married for anyway if she was going to act like some damned prig. A man couldn't even touch his own wife anymore.

"Where the hell's another glass?" he roared.

"But I just gave you one." Bette Jean answered meekly.

"I know that! I need two. You're going to have a little drink with me, baby. Maybe that'll loosen you up a little!

"Oh, Lester, you know I shouldn't. The doctor said I should take it easy." Her voice trailed off as Lester poured the glass half full and chunked two ice cubes after the liquor.

"Here... maybe that's what you need, baby. Loosen up that clenched ass of yours!"

"Oh, Lester... please don't talk like that... I thought we were going to have such a nice evening... I have a good dinner in the oven... it's pork chops the way you like them... and... I thought we'd talk after dinner... I went to the doctor today... that new Dr. Madson I told you about... and..."

"We are going to have a nice evening, baby... just you and me... drink up... come on... down with it..." Lester held the glass to her lips and forced her to take a big gulp. She sputtered and spit as usual but she got it down, her big blue eyes blinking back the tears. She looked so helpless and little, but he'd had enough of her innocence. By God, this was one night she wasn't going to get away with it!

"Now... that's better." He drank thirstily, watching his meek but terrified wife over the rim of his glass. He felt the liquor hit his gut in burning satisfaction. That's what he needed too. It was crazy the way he'd let this woman browbeat him. Bell, she made him feel so guilty if he did the slightest little thing. She looked so little and frail but she'd given him four healthy kids with no trouble and worked like a demon to keep the house shining and spotless. He liked it that way but there was no reason to use all her energy on the house and the kids, which was what she'd always done. He'd begun to realize recently that she'd used him for years just to bring home the bacon. Unwillingly she'd acquiesce when he wanted some tail. Well, by God, those days were over. Hell, he was forty years old. Time he had some decent fucking and a little respect around here. Shit, if he didn't get some soon... why maybe he couldn't after a while, even when he wanted to. The thought made Lester's hand shake slightly as he poured out two more stiff drinks and watched grimly while Bette Jean drank a little more.

"Did something happen at work today, dear, to make you all upset?" Bette Jean inquired softly. "I mean... I certainly didn't mean to make you so mad."

"No... nothing happened at work! I told you what was the matter, woman. Why don't you believe me when I talk to you. I need a good fuck... and so do you..." He slugged down some more of the amber liquid. Jesus. It felt good. Lester watched as Bette Jean looked in the oven and poked the chops. His eyes traveled over her trim figure. Shit! Every time he'd even looked at another woman, he'd been comparing her to Bette Jean and hell, none of them could stand up to her. That waist that he could span with his two hands and those breasts that looked like big melons, juicy and ripe, the curved hips and tapering legs. For a little gal she was one hell of a lot of woman. Not only that but she had the face to go with it. Pretty as a picture. She made some of those movie stars look cheap and overdone. But by God, he was just about ready to put it in anything that was hot and hollow! Twenty years of fighting about sex was just too God damned much. Life was too short and he'd been more than patient. No, by God, he'd been a fool... that's what he'd been... a hen pecked fool!

Lester drank steadily and insisted Bette Jean keep up with him. Somehow she got the dinner on the table though she felt rather fuzzy and relaxed. Her headache had miraculously disappeared and she tried gently to steer the conversation to topics that she thought would calm Lester down. He even grinned fatuously at her and kept patting her hand. He still hadn't dressed and she thought she'd better not make an issue of it even though every time she looked at his naked hairy chest across the table she felt a little faint.

"Lester..." she said softly as she was clearing the dishes from the table. "The... ah... doctor thinks we should have separate bedrooms for a while... just a little while till he finds out exactly what's causing my headaches and the fatigue... and feeling so done in all the time... I thought you could take Donnie's old room... it's close to the bathroom and it'll only be till I'm feeling well again..." her voice rose to a shriek as she felt herself lifted off the kitchen floor into Lester's big arms.

"Don't give me that shit, baby... not tonight! Running around to those God damned doctors making like you're sick all the time... I'm tired of paying the damned doctor bills... I'm tired of being used... I'm tired of never getting to fuck my own wife... and I'm tired of having no rights in this fucking house at all!"

Bette Jean felt every roaring word through her body as Lester carried her unceremoniously into their bedroom and dumped her in a heap on the bed. The tears rose to her eyes. He didn't care. He didn't care one bit about her feelings... he didn't care if he hurt her or made her sick. He was a monster!

"All right, Lester... you win... you always do eventually..."

"Like hell I do!!"

"Just let me bathe quickly. I'm still all sticky with salve from the visit to the doctor today... I won't be a moment."

Her mouth trembled, the big blue eyes were wet with unshed tears yet she spoke softly with stiff dignity as Lester looked down at her smallness.

"All right... but be quick about it, woman!"

Lester stalked back to the kitchen when be heard the shower start, heedless that his towel had long ago fallen off. He'd have one more belt while she showered and then by God there was going to be one hell of a fucking in that bed.

... But, while he waited, he drank. Bette Jean insisted on absolute cleanliness. They had to go through the ritual of a bath, before she would even consider having sex. There were a lot of things he had learned to put up with in this marriage business... too God damned frigging many!

Drinking at the kitchen counter he realized the shower had stopped and he didn't know how long ago. Then, he went into the bedroom, expectantly, and there she was with her nightgown on, covered up and asleep... or feigning sleep. Christ! She had pulled that on him too damned many times, already.

He crawled in under the covers, naked and furious. Reaching out for her, he said, "Bette Jean... ?"

There was no answer.

Turning on his side, he moved up close to her supine body and reached out to cup a softly resilient breast in his hand. She stirred, turned to her side, her back to him, legs drawn up, curling herself into a ball, and settled, comfortable, into the mattress.

It had happened this way, too often! Frustrated anger rose in him, spilling over, acidly, as he growled, "God damn it... I know you're awake... and you're just trying to put me off... again! I told you, bitch!"

Roughly, he reached down, grasped the hem of her nightgown and jerked it up above her whitely glowing hips. There was a ripping sound of seams giving way. Her thighs were exposed, nakedly, his hand going in over the swell of her hips to the softly curled down of her pubic mound, worming its way down into the deep triangle of her loins.

"You don't have to tear my nightgown off!" she complained, giving up the pretense of sleep.

"Things like that wouldn't happen... if you'd just act like a normal wife!" Lester fired back. "You knew I wanted it tonight! I told you a million ways."

"... But, I don't!" Bette Jean snapped, attempting to writhe her genitals away from his searching hand.

"Look... why don't you let me work you up to it... really get you ready for it... so you'll enjoy it more..." he coaxed.

"You've never made me enjoy it... yet!" She was caustic and hurt and smarting from his callousness.

"Damn it... honey... you've never let me do the right things!" He pointed out. "You hardly ever let me use my hand on your clitoris... and if you'd just once let me use my mouth on your cunt... you'd find out what you've been missing!"

"I'll never let you do that filthy thing... with your mouth... either!" she flared. "And... you know I don't like you to use those dirty words!"

"Damn it, baby... it doesn't have to be this way... an argument and a big hassle... every time I want to fuck you!"

"I told you I don't like those words!" Her voice was cold, deadly.

"There's not much chance I'll stop, now!" he gritted. One more jerk and the nightgown came off in ruined shreds.

"Why can't you wait until tomorrow night? I've been to the doctor. I don't feel well."

"Tomorrow... and tomorrow, again! Christ! I want it, tonight! I've got a big, aching cock... and I've got to use it... on you... because you're my wife! That's reason enough!"

"Go douse some cold water on it!" she told him.

"Yeah... I could do that... but I'm not! You God damned bitch, I could jerk off, too... but I won't do that... either!" he roared. "But there's one thing I've been tempted to do... and I may do that, yet!"

"Wh-What's that?"

"Find another woman... that knows how to fuck!"

"You... w-wouldn't... ?"

"I sure as hell will... if this keeps up much longer!" It was a flat statement. He meant every word of it. "I've had twenty hellish years of hassle and I'm God damned tired of it!"

The startled wife turned toward him, panic beating hard in her. "You mean sex is so... important to you... you'd be unfaithful t-to me... ?"

"I sure as hell would!"

It had never occurred to Bette Jean that Lester, in his dissatisfaction, might turn to other women for sex. She should be used to his demands by now, but she wasn't. She was tired of being used by his hard body. There was nothing to do now but give in-- but tomorrow...

Turning over on her side, facing her husband, now, her reluctant decision made, she said, "All right, darling... if you really have to have it... all that bad... and can't control yourself..."

Lester choked out, "Come here, bitch!" His arms jerked and pulled her close, the hardened shaft of his wildly pulsing cock prodding into the soft flesh of her abdomen.

It was the sexual side of love she didn't understand. To her it was messy, sometimes painful... but never really enjoyable. It was something she had to endure--even more so, now--to keep her marriage intact. Lester's admission of a temptation to stray had frightened her... She didn't want that!

It was as a dutiful, submitting wife, she allowed her smooth, tapering thighs to spread, allowing his hand to rummage there, between her legs, his finger searching for and finding the still flaccid tip of her clitoris, hidden down between the soft fleshy folds of her pussy.

"Lester, please be gentle!" the unwilling wife said, but she caught her breath as he suddenly leaned over her, his mouth closing over the shivering nakedness of her ripely full breast. His arms held her tightly to him as his tongue rolled around and around the quivering pink bud of her hardened nipple, and his teeth nipped at the sensitive tips, sending chilling promises of pleasure through her tense body. For the moment, she was breathlessly absorbed by the sensations, and she was hardly aware of his clawing fingers digging into the tenderly rounded flesh of her buttocks.

"Oohh! Ooooooohhhh! Darling, please,... we..."

Lester had little time for playing games. She had put him off too long, too many times, and now he was going to have her this way! He was going to fuck her until the teasing little bitch begged him to fill her belly with every ounce of cum in his body! Pulling at the offending sheet, the aroused boiler maker got the tight wad stripped down away from the smoothly round cheeks of her buttocks, feeling the warmth of her shrinking naked flesh against his hand. The crevice dividing the two cheeks felt mysterious and deep, but shit! he couldn't wait for any foreplay now. All that mattered was getting her legs spread wide and his throbbing urgent cock in deep.

"Nooo! Lester! Not this way... Pleaseeee!" She screamed as his mouth on her breasts suddenly felt like it was sucking her inside out, his teeth biting cruelly at the quiveringly aroused nipples, leaving tiny indentations as a symbol of his enraged lust. Bette Jean was on her back with Lester on top, pinning her helplessly beneath his strong body. She couldn't even twist out from under him as he locked one knee between her whitely straining thighs. Lester paid no attention, continuing his mauling as though he didn't hear her protests. Her dreams had gone long ago but this was the very last time, she vowed.

Above the roar of blood in his ears, Lester could hear her frightened cries of protest, but his anger was unbounded, his pride refusing to give heed to anything but complete and total possession of her still young and gloriously sexual body. The liquor in him hadn't dampened his emotions in the least, but inflamed him to a screaming rage of blind lust! He wasn't himself anymore! He was a wild man, hungry for the loins that had been denied him too long, that were rightfully his! Feeling the silky smoothness of her resiliently curling pubic hair, Lester slipped his middle finger down into the softly quivering flesh of her pussy, searching desperately for the tightly clenched opening he had to have! Oh Jesus, yes!

A helpless confusion engulfed her recoiling consciousness as she felt her husband groping for her naked vagina. Bette Jean tried to clamp her legs together, wanting nothing but to close off access to her helpless body, but he had her unwilling thighs locked wide apart. In spite of her futile efforts, she felt her pussy being lewdly touched as her husband's middle finger probed into the defenseless hair-lined lips, seeking to invade the narrow passage to her womb. She felt nothing but anguish, even when his finger brushed across her slowly awakening clitoris, hardened now but mostly from terror.