Milton Granby - Four to a bed

Hardly daring to breathe, he had guided her over to the bed, gently raising the hem of her long nightdress, revealing to his excited eyes for the first time the full glory of her perfect body. He remembered, as he sat in the darkness of his cell, how his eyes had widened at the first glimpse of the sculpted ivory of her shapely thighs, the enticing triangle, of her quivering little pussy with just a glint of moist pinkness shimmering through the golden wisps of her trembling outer lips, further up to where her lovely young body was surmounted by twin peaks of exquisite firmness, capped by roseate nipples already turgid with her rising passion. He had no idea she’d be so lovely! He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and his mouth longed to cover every inch of her beautiful flesh with hot burning kisses.

Take it slow , he reminded himself again as he lay her back on the soft coverlet of the bed, completely naked now. She was mewling in a low hoarse voice as his hands crept over her tingling flesh, and every nerve ending in her virginal young body seemed to be alive with intoxicating delight.

Then her small slender hand had reached down and with almost childlike curiosity, had brushed against the swollen flesh of his erectly throbbing penis. Her touch was like a firebrand on the hotly palpitating flesh, and he couldn’t suppress a moan as her fingers tightened around the pounding circumference sending shoots of red-hot pleasure darting through him. Her touch sent off the spark of animal passion lurking beneath the carefully controlled exterior of his measured actions. Red demons seemed to dance a lewd waltz before his swimming eyes, and his body, of its own volition, swept aside his rational caution, bent on satisfying its own raging lust. With a harsh animalistic groan, he had swept aside the slender columns of her thighs, revealing the open slit of her quivering pussy, a deep luscious furor of pink virginal moistness. He could remember clearly now as he thought over his wedding night, the look of pure horror and fear that had come over his young bride’s passion-softened features as she suddenly realized what was happening. But he couldn’t help himself. His body was out of his control, and he himself was swept mercilessly along on the tide of his bestial lust.

“No! No, please, Noooo…” Her piercing scream had reverberated throughout the cabin, and Harry felt sure it had resounded in the woods outside as well. Even now, two months later, he still believed he could hear that soulful scream cutting him to the marrow, instilling a self-loathing inside him which he felt would never be erased. But on his wedding night, his mind was blunted by his desire and her fear and Sandy’s fingers had tightened even more around the hot throbbing pole of his prick, inciting him to further abandoned passion.

Without regard for her pleas, he had guided the huge thickness of his penis towards the tiny cringing hole of her petal-shaped vagina, and without a moment’s hesitation, had rammed forward with all the strength of his brutal lust, splitting his bride’s virginal young flesh aside in one hymen-ripping stroke as his gigantic cock cleaved through her tight futilely resisting cuntal passage. He remembered that her first terrified scream had frozen on her fear-contorted lips as paralytic disbelief took over, turning her tortured body to ice, distorting her face into a mask of numbed horror. But his lust was a cruel tyrannical master, driving him on relentlessly, and he couldn’t help himself, so great was his need to pound himself to completion up inside the virginal sheath between her lovely open thighs.

It was all over quickly. The urgency of his frenetic lust, the tightness of her unaccustomed cuntal passage, the numbing unreality of the whole act, all converged and turned him into a raving caricature of himself. After a series of hard deep thrusts, he felt the rumblings of his sperm as it clamored for release, and with a snarl, he began to empty the hot thick liquid deeply up into his wife’s open belly, filling her with the supreme offering of his manhood, spurting jet after jet of heated white semen into her penis-filled depths.

When at last he slumped over her inert body, it was a moment or two more before he realized what he had done. There was no sign of life in her pale tear-stained face, and her delicate young body seemed somehow soiled and sullied by his brutal attack.

A consuming sense of regret pervaded him as he stared open-mouthed at the crumpled hurt body of his lovely bride, and a flush of shame enveloped him, crimsoning his face.

“Sandy… oh baby, what have I done?” he’d whispered desperately, searching for some sign of consciousness in her still face. After a long moment she had opened her eyes, and Harry felt he would never forget the look of reproach and disgust, yes, disgust which was reflected in her dark smoldering gaze. What happened after, Harry didn’t like to think about. He had begged her forgiveness, assuring her it would never happen again. He blamed himself completely and promised to make up to her. If she had screamed out at him, told him she hated him, he could have borne it. In fact, he would have felt better. But instead, she had heard his self-recriminations with calm indifference, telling him to forget about it, that it was over now.

That was what hurt most, he reflected now, as he settled himself back in the narrow bed, wishing for sleep to come. Her resignation to his brutal action, her obvious acceptance without demur of his callous behavior, as if she expected no better of him!

They had never referred to that night again, but Harry knew that it was on her mind, as it was certainly on his each time they made love. Not that they did it that often, because there was just no pleasure in it for either of them. It was his fault, of course, for starting off on the wrong foot, and he was never again able to bring her to anything approaching the swoon of passion she had experienced before he had lost control of himself. Now, she just lay inert and unmoving with her legs limply spread, obviously wishing it was all over with, waiting for him to empty his sperm into her before falling asleep. In other respects, their marriage was perfect, and Harry was continually amazed and impressed at his wife’s homemaking skills. Every day she seemed like a different woman to him, always exciting, mysterious.

Things have got to get better between us in bed , he thought desperately, or I'll go crazy! He knew things were reaching an impasse whereby his continual sexual frustration coupled with his self-disgust because of what he had done, would make him do something irrevocable.

His thoughts bitter and jumbled, he fell into a light sleep, tortured by horrifying nightmares in which Sandy was lying on the bed, encased in a block of ice while he, chained and manacles, desperately tried to reach her, shrieking wildly:

If only I could melt that ice …

Sandy Pitt put the phone gently back in its cradle, tears brimming to her eyes. He was coming home! They had released him already! At 9:00, and it was now 9:30! Any minute he’d walk in the door of their apartment.

A feeling of tremendous relief rushed over the sobbing young wife as she gave vent to the terrible feelings which had convulsed her ever since she had received Harry’s constrained phone call from the police station on Friday night. The weekend was like a nightmare to her! There was no one she could turn to. Her parents were far away in Detroit, and the one or two friends she had she felt she didn’t know well enough to tell them what had happened. The hours seemed interminable. She had forced herself to eat, but had given up after a few mouthfuls. She couldn’t sleep, and had desperately tried some mild sedatives, which somehow only seemed to make her more jumpy than ever. Several times she had called the police station, but they firmly refused to let her speak to her husband.