Viola James - Getting Hubby Promoted

"Christ, Jill, you're not going to unpack now, are you? I thought we were going down to the bar for a drink?"

"If I get it done now, it won't be any trouble later on," answered the beautiful young woman standing by the edge of the bed.

Tom Parker sighed with impatience, looked around the luxuriously decorated living room of the small resort cottage, and then lowered his tall, muscular frame into an armchair in the corner of the room, watching as his wife opened their suitcases and began to unpack. Tom's throat was parched after their long drive to Hidden Valley Resort, and he was really looking forward to that drink. His wife had been frustratingly disagreeable the whole trip, and this last bit of petulance only served to increase Tom's own irritation. He would have much preferred to leave his young wife at home for this week's trip, after all, it was supposed to be a business conference but Harry Sommers, Tom's boss, had insisted that he bring Jill along and there had been nothing he could do. It was going to be a terrible week, Tom decided, and that unpleasant thought made him get up from the armchair and begin to pace the room impatiently.

"Look, Jill, it's hot as hell in here. We'll turn on the air conditioning, and by the time we get back, this place will be bearable."

"I'd rather get it done now, Tom," said Jill, in a tone that clearly showed her own impatience.

"But we agreed that before we did any unpacking, we'd go down to the bar…" Tom began with overbearing exaggeration.

"You go down to the bar if you want to," Jill said testily. "I'm going to unpack. And I want to get a shower and change clothes."

"What the hell do you have to change clothes for?"

"Because I want to! Is that all right with you?"

Tom stood staring at his wife, and then turned abruptly toward the door. "Jesus! This week is getting off to a fine start!" he said angrily.

"Well, that's not my fault, damn it!" Jill shot back at him. "Maybe if you tried treating me with a little.

"Oh, for God's sake, Jill, don't start, all right?"

"You're the one who started!"

Tom felt the blood rush to his face as he really became angry now, and he felt the tension from the long, five hour drive to the resort that day begin to escape his control. Before he lost his temper completely, he moved quickly to the front door of the cabin.

"I'll be down in the bar… but don't hurry down or anything!"

"I won't," Jill said, but her words were cut off by the slamming of the front door. As the sound of the footsteps on the gravel walkway died away, Jill sighed, and then moved across to throw herself into the armchair her husband had just vacated. She passed a hand across her face and then leaned wearily back into the softness of the plush armchair.

Jill Parker was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that. She was medium height and on the slender side, with breasts slightly larger than usual for her build, boyish hips, and long, finely sculptured legs. Her feet were small and her waist was waspish, highlighting her firm young breasts even more so. Her face was oval and had high cheek bones, a pert, upturned nose, and almond shaped eyes with very dark, very deep pupils. Her lips were naturally full, red, rarely needing much lipstick, and they were relatively thin, although her lower lip curved outwards and down in a constant mock pout. Her satin textured skin was of a golden hue as though she had a tan the year around, and her honey blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders to cameo her face in its silken softness. There was an air of independence in that face, and at first glance one might take her as being headstrong, impulsive, and full of the love for danger.

However, the surface appearance of Jill Parker was different than the young woman beneath. For all her functional, no-nonsense ways, there was still the child inside who needed to be comforted and tenderly encouraged and, yes, even protected. Jill Parker had fears and inhibitions and restraining ties which had made her life one long series of taboos. She couldn't do this, she didn't like to do that, she refused to do another. She was afraid of herself, a fear that dated back to her earliest childhood when her mother had raised her with the insistent use of a willow rod on the backsides, and father had gruffly rejected her tentative feelers for affection, since he hadn't wanted the girl in the first place.

In the hands of a kind, gentle, patient man, the childhood damage to Jill could probably have been undone in time. That man could have become a replacement father for the one she never had, and she could have trusted him and believed in what he directed her to do. Her mental legs, so long undernourished, would have been weak at first, but with care they could have grown strong until she would have been able to stand on her own two feet. But Tom Parker, for all his good points, was too young, too barren of experience, too impulsive to take that needed time. He only saw the surface, and consequently was distressed, hurt, and confused when she could not respond the way he had expected her to.

Yet who could blame him for not seeing his wife's weaknesses? She hid them well under a hard surface, and denied vehemently that she was anything, save what she seemed. Ironically, it was this same undercurrent of frailty which was both wrecking their marriage and keeping it together, for she fought for her marriage when a more independent woman would have decided that the marriage wasn't worth saving any longer. She couldn't afford to admit failure, not after the unconscious feeling that she had failed miserably as a child. For included in her fear of losing Tom was also the fear to really change into the full-blooded woman he desired. It was a vicious circle, and one that she hoped could be broken for good by going to Hidden Valley Resort.

Jill had been overjoyed that she'd been invited for this week's conference along with her husband, and had looked forward to it with eager anticipation. Tom's company, the Jamieson Advertising Agency, had reserved space in the luxurious resort for a whole week and Tom, as one of the agency's newest and best young account executives, had been invited to the conference over a month ago. He hadn't been happy about bringing his wife along, Jill knew; but Harry Sommers, the president of Jamieson, had insisted all the executive's wives be present, and he'd had no choice. But all during the long drive up to the resort, Tom had made it clear to his beautiful young wife that he would much rather have used the week as a vacation from the tensions and general unpleasantness of their marriage.

They hadn't talked much on the five-hour drive, and when they did speak, it was to pick up on the small, petty quarrels that seemed to fill their days together now. Tom had been tense, and she had been unwilling to grant him the satisfaction of venting his irritation on her with impunity, and so they'd sat silent for the greater part of the trip, rather bearing that uncomfortable silence than taking the risk of another argument. And besides, nothing had to be said; their marriage had deteriorated to the point where words were useless vestiges and used more to hurt than to communicate. She had learned her husband's ways well enough to know what his irritability would mean for her tonight. She knew the scene which would happen as it had happened so many times over the last three years, and she dreaded it.

She knew that tonight, in the privacy of their room, Tom would come at her like an uncontrolled animal, demanding sex rapaciously, tearing into her with his lust-hardened penis without thought to her requirements or wishes, but only to use her as a receptacle for his scalding male seed. And she also knew of her complete inability to respond under such horrible, animalistic circumstances. She froze in terror at times like that, her vaginal passage always woefully unprepared and her legs locked in rejection. No, there was no tenderness, no affection, no "love" in it. It was. what was the word Tom used? Yes… it was fucking… and that lewd word described exactly the nightmarish act of perversion which he perpetrated on her defenseless genitals.