Chapter 1

Her name was Marianne Roche and she was milquetoast. The family pronounced it "roach" so even that bit of individuality was taken from her as well. At least the two syllable pronunciation would have afforded her a much needed bit of flair, perhaps even a claim to a French background. But, alas, her family tree was seemingly filled with nothing but middle European ancestry of undetermined origin and no particular accomplishments. Her ancestry contained nothing but blue collar nobodies of low income and societal rank and often questionable character.

Her father was no exception having spent his life doing heavy menial labor. Cruel and abusive, a three pack-a-day smoker right up to the moment he died of lung cancer at the age of fifty-two. Her mother was a wretched woman, heavy and ugly and totally unforgiving of a life which had condemned her to taking in washing and cleaning the houses of the well-to-do which only served as a constant reminder of her status in life and the fact that it would never be any better.

Both her parents were unhappy in what seemed a weary existence, but each possessed neither the intelligence nor the drive to do anything about it. Instead they often fought with each other and, more often than not, took out their frustrations on Marianne, a pleasant looking girl, the only lovely thing in their lives. Perhaps it was her comparative beauty which reminded them of their own physical and spiritual ugliness or perhaps simply the fact that she was theirs, a possession with which they could heap abuse, degrading and debasing her constantly, destroying any sense of self worth the girl might have possessed as compensation for their own dreary existence.

The small rural mining town had once been a thriving community but when the mines played out many had left, leaving dirt farmers who scratched out a living from the poor clay soil and a few who timbered although most of the good timber was gone with nothing but second and third growth scrub left. Times were tough. No wonder her father was such a bitter, cynical man, and no wonder she often found herself being punished, sometimes for offenses she hadn't even committed.

It would have been difficult to determine which of her punishments hurt her the worst. At times she was beaten. Other times found her locked in a closet or relegated to the hallway outside the small and cramped apartment. Her need for human attention outweighed the pain of the beatings and she came to prefer them to the isolation of the closet or hallway.

Marianne grew up believing she was a stupid, ugly and useless burden. She became timid and withdrawn. Her teachers were at a loss as to how to bring her out of the shell into which she had retreated. She was compliant -- overly so, doing virtually nothing unless directed to do so. She was seen to brighten briefly when she gained the approval of her teachers and seemed to live for the brief moment when she had followed directions and gained their approval (approval at home was never forthcoming, no matter how hard she tried to please her parents). Yet she also seemed to expect the same kind of verbal, if not physical abuse, which was the norm at home. When she got an answer wrong or did anything which could be construed as incorrect she would hang her head and wait for the inevitable chastisement and, strangely, seemed almost disappointed when it failed to materialize.

Her teachers tried appealing to the parents who took interest in neither her academic nor personal development. In fact, parent-teacher conferences were regarded as yet more inconveniences to be suffered because of the child who both seemed to hate even more as time passed. Gradually she grew into a normally bright if severely introverted young woman.

At fourteen she had actually been asked out on a date, something her parents were at a loss to understand. How, they wondered, would any self respecting boy want to date a girl so ugly and stupid. When the boy briefly kissed her goodnight and she came in the house flushed, her father immediately accused her of being a slut and proceeded to give her the flogging of her young life. There were no more dates and the girl withdrew even further, convincing her parents they had been right about her all along.

Only a week after her fifteenth birthday (for which there was not even a mention in the Roche house) her father returned one night sporting a smile and in an unusually good mood. Both Marianne and her mother were anxious to learn the cause of the husband's sudden and unexpected demeanor.

"Get your things together," he told his daughter. "You're leaving."

A quizzical look from the girl was followed by an impatient explanation. "You're getting married." Marianne said nothing as was the rule in the Roche household, but there was fear in her young eyes as her father continued. "Cornelius Welby's wife died a month or so ago and he's looking for a new one. He's seen you at church and told me he's willing to take you off our hands."

"But Cornelius is... what... sixty-five or... ?" asked the wife.

"Seventy-one, but what does that matter? He's willing to take her off our hands and give us three hundred dollars to boot. He gets a wife, slut though she may be, and we get enough to start living like we deserve."

The wife smiled. Her husband, it seemed, had indeed struck a very lucrative deal. They would be rid of the girl with more spending money than either had seen in a long time.

"He actually wants Marianne?" she asked incredulously.

"I couldn't believe it either. Maybe his eyesight is going or maybe he's just not very picky. At any rate I took him up on his offer before he had a chance to change his mind," said the husband. "Now git your things, girl. You're gittin' a husband."

The fear in Marianne's eyes spoke volumes, but even now, having been virtually sold into a marriage to which she would never have consented, she said nothing. She glanced at her mother, but the look of the ugly woman told her there would be no opposition voiced, so slowly she rose and began gathering together her meager possessions: a few clothes, a locket she had found in the park last summer and her doll, dirty and worn, her only companion. Her father, however, yanked away the doll, tore off the doll's head and threw it in the garbage.

"You're gonna to be a woman now... or at least try to be. Time you gave up such childish nonsense. Now come on, I'll drive you over to Cornelius'.

Marianne was silent during the thirty minute drive to the house of her new husband-to-be. The car pulled into the driveway of a stately home which had obviously seen better days, but for Marianne's parents, seemed the epitome of wealth. Using the large metal knocker her father announced their arrival.

"Now stand up straight and throw out your chest. God knows you've got damn little to offer, so make the best of what little you have."

Marianne was no raving beauty, but she did possess a pleasant face, devoid of the scowls of both her parents. Her complexion was smooth and darker than most, her long black hair, deep brown eyes and small mouth but pouting lips accentuating her other features which were pleasing if unremarkable. Her figure was still developing with small breasts, and legs and hips still straight and unshapely. And she was short, standing only a little over four and a half feet tall. Overall, she more resembled a twelve year old than her actual age of fifteen.

The large wooden door creaked open and Marianne almost gasped when she caught first sight of her husband-to-be. Cornelius Welby was old. Cornelius Welby was ugly. Cornelius Welby was a lecher. His withered face and emaciated body stood practically salivating at the sight of the young girl soon to be his. Most of his teeth were missing and those he still possessed were green and yellow with neglect. Neither did Cornelius bother to bathe as regularly as he used to and his body odor wafted from the tattered silken bathrobe which was all he wore except for a pair of worn house shoes.

"I've brought her," said Marianne's father as they stepped into the large foyer and the old man closed the door behind them.

"Now she cooks and cleans real good..." started the father but the older man was interested in Marianne's other attributes.

"Well, well, well. You're a pretty thing aren't you? Rather small, I must say," snickered the old man, a hand slipping through Marianne's hair. "I've caught glimpses of you at church, but this is the first time I've had a chance to take a really good look. You a virgin, girl?"

Marianne looked into her father's eyes, pleading.

"Go on. Tell him. Tell him the truth!"

Her eyes lifted haltingly to those of the old man.

"... No, sir."

"Who got it from you?" he demanded.

Again her pleading eyes met those of her father.

"Tell him!" demanded the parent, a slight smile on his face.

"... Daddy," she said, her voice so low as to almost be inaudible.

The older man looked to the father.

"Yeah, it was when she was twelve. Now I don't want you to think badly of me, but the truth is she deserved it. Always parading around trying to get those young boys attention." Marianne's mouth dropped open in shock and disbelief but she said nothing. "So, one night, I admit I got a bit liquored up, I just decided to teach her a lesson -- show her what to expect when she goes around asking for it!"

Marianne's mind replayed that fateful night. Hearing her father drunkenly enter the apartment, then the door to her room opening and him standing over her bed. She had cowered, sure she was to receive another whipping for some unnamed offense. Instead, however, the covers had been ripped from her and before she could utter a scream his heavy, calloused hand had gone across her mouth, the smell of stale alcohol on his breath. With the other hand the tee shirt in which she slept was pulled up and his rough voice, low and menacing whispering that she had better be silent while the sound of his zipper opening forecast his intent. She had tried to struggle but a young twelve year old was no match for the brute who lay atop her. He roughly groped her, then slapped her twice to make sure she would offer no resistance and utter no sounds. Marianne shuddered slightly as she recalled the pain of his entry, her small body forced to admit something much too large and powerful for a small child. Her conscious mind had suddenly left her, unable to stand the horror and pain. She lay, a limp rag doll, a small warm hole for him to do with as he pleased. And finally there had been the utter humiliation as he withdrew and then forced his erection into her mouth where she was forced to swallow the copious amount of semen as it spewed from the throbbing snakelike weapon. Unfortunately for Marianne this lesson was only the first.