Richard Van Dorne: Ravished wife

Hobbling on one leg the fat hairy man bent to pull on one sock, too drunk to try holding onto the bed for support. He struggled, almost falling twice, but finally succeeded and put his foot down with a loud thump. As he looked for the other knee-length black sock he raised his head momentarily to grin at the sleek young girl who lay on the bed watching him.

You fat bastard, Paula Moore thought as she smiled back at him. She was relieved that he had turned his head away in search of his other sock, but not half as relieved as she would be when he left the room, after he put his money on the table, of course. She inhaled deeply on the cigarette she was holding. The money was the important thing, she thought. He can do anything he wants for money… and he had.

Paula could not ignore the burning pain that seared deep into her ravaged rectum. She hadn't been in the business long, but she was quickly learning the ways of "johns" who were willing to pay a girl for any perverted obscene pleasures they desired. This fat ugly man who now sat on the floor had not been the first to demand something unusual of her. Some had forced her to submit to fellatio or cunnilingus, while others had begged her to be cruel to them, beating them with a various assortment of instruments they had provided.

True, he hadn't been the first, but his demands had been the worst, she thought as she watched him crawling around the floor looking for his shorts his huge belly almost touching the carpet. It took an ugly man to do such an ugly thing, her thoughts continued. Paula could still feel the pain of the slap he had given her when he had demanded that she do as he ordered. How terrible it had been, how animalistic when he had turned her over and suddenly thrust his finger brutally into the tight virginal ring of her anus.

Paula tried to force the horrible picture from her mind but could not. She remembered screaming with fear as much as pain when he had first violated her. That was when he had slapped her with his wide flat hand. She had tried to get away, but he had thrown her back onto the large bed and had told her to shut up or she would get even worse.

Worse, she thought. What could have been worse than having that depraved creature force his fat stubby prick into me like that?

The throbbing in her rectum would not relent and she wished that he would hurry and leave. She inhaled again on the long cigarette, watching him pulling on his shorts while he bent over, unable to touch his toes because of the huge mass of flesh that he called his overpaid stomach. Lucky for me, she thought, that his prick hadn't been any bigger, or he might have really hurt me. She nearly laughed as she looked at the tiny bump in his shorts. At least Jed was a man in that respect, but in no other respect.

Paula Moore had experienced many emotions during the first nineteen years of her life, but the strongest was hate. Two men shared the distinction of being hated by Paula. The first was her boss, Wade Jackson, but the second, the one who had caused all her misfortune was Jed Dearborn.

Paula could not forget Jed for a moment, not even while she watched the drunken man hobbling around the room with one leg in his trousers, unable to gain his balance to put the other pantleg over his flabby calf.

She remembered the homespun restaurant in Davenport, Iowa where she had waited on tables and helped clean the kitchen for ten hours a day after her parents had died when she was just barely eighteen. She had received a few thousand dollars from the insurance company, but by the time all the debts were settled she had less than three thousand left and had gone to work so that she could continue her schooling.

But Davenport was so small and so limiting for a young girl who needed excitement. There were no boys her own age that interested her, and the only men that did appeal to her were already married, and therefore taboo to a girl whose strict morals refused her access to them. She was a woman at eighteen and needed a man, but none were available as far as she was concerned.

None were available, that is, until that hot August afternoon when Jed walked through the door and sat down at the counter she was serving. His blond hair was longer than most men's, but it seemed to suit him perfectly. His entire face, perfectly chiseled, seemed to be centered around his deep blue eyes. Paula had tried not to stare when she brought him a glass of water, but it was impossible. He was the sexiest man she had ever seen and she had to look at him, secretly hoping that perhaps she would be able to touch him.

Paula remembered him well, though her memory could not recall any of their conversation. She inhaled the menthol cigarette again and watched the fat man pulling his suspenders over his rounded shoulders. There was no comparison between this ugly man and Jed with his large muscled shoulders and slim hips, she thought, and retreated back to her memory.

It had been Saturday when Paula met Jed, and she got off work at three o'clock. Each word that Jed had said to her had seemed like magic, and for some reason, she had agreed to go with him for a drive. She pointed out parts of the rolling countryside as he guided his new red convertible along the highway, but he hardly listened to her. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was entirely one-sided, his side.

Jed talked incessantly about big cities, about gambling, about the girls he had known and all the money he had. It wasn't long before Paula stopped talking altogether. Despite her intelligence she believed his every word, and hung on his arm, taking it all in as gospel. She had thought he was the most exciting, most interesting man she had ever met, and decided that she could not let him go.

He had talked through dinner and half the night, never touching her, but teasing her with words she had long since forgotten. But by dawn she was completely naked in his motel room, her virginity gone and her whole being fulfilled.

Paula thought about that bright morning as she watched the fat man tie the broad striped silk tie around his bulging throat. She remembered Jed fixing his own tie as she lay nude on the warm sheets, her firm breasts rising with her breath. She remembered running her slender fingers along the supple flesh of her torso, teasing herself with her own touch. It was that morning that Jed had made his proposal to take her to Miami. They could be married as soon as they arrived and live together forever as man and wife.

Paula felt a sharp pain of anger rise in her breasts. That bastard! Jed's promise was as full of hot air as everything else he had said. After she drew all of her savings out of the Davenport Bank Monday morning, they had driven day and night to reach Miami.

For more than two weeks they played in bed and in town. But Jed kept putting off the marriage, saying that his doctor had to run special blood tests to be sure there was nothing wrong with him. Paula had believed him and even felt sorry for him, fearful that something might really be wrong with his health.

All those hours for two weeks, gambling and dining and drinking on her money, Jed saying that he had to wait for a transfer of funds from his San Francisco account, all that time for nothing! She easily remembered that terrible morning Jed had left the room to get a morning paper. When he hadn't come back by noon, she began to worry and by midnight was frantic with fear that something had happened to him.

She had called the police and even gone out looking for him herself, but to no avail. For three days she waited for him to return, drinking and crying the whole time.

Finally, on the fourth morning, the hotel manager came to the door with the bill. He told her she had to pay the balance before he could let her stay any longer. Paula had opened her purse and saw her wallet was empty. Jed had taken every dollar she had hidden in the secret compartment and now the manager was demanding six hundred dollars!