Jon Reskind: The unholy Master

The voluptuous young woman with the strikingly beautiful face and shoulder-length, golden-blonde hair was the vivacious new bride that all aboard ship were buzzing about.

What breathtaking loveliness!

And the handsome young husband was Paul Arden, son of Cornelius Arden of the brokerage millions, enroute to Paris where he would accept a diplomatic post with the American Embassy.

A dashing young man, ruggedly so… sort of Errol Flynn-ish, if I may.

Such unions must be made in heaven.

On the contrary, in a Board-of-Directors' chambers, I'd venture. She is of the Boston Clintons, you know… oil.

You are not a romantic soul, M'sieu'.

I'm a practical soul, Phillipe.

Ahhh, what a marvelous way to spend one's honeymoon… five glorious days… and nights at sea.

Hmmm, the marvel is the lovely Madame's legs, Phillipe. Have you ever in your whole existence laid eyes on such splendid specimens?

Frankly, I am an eye-man, M'sieu', and the enchanting creature has those long, almond-shaped, sea-green orbs that invariably throw me into ecstasy.

You both must be suffering from a hardening of the wrong arteries, I swear. Have you not yet swooned at the sight of her gorgeous hips and magnificent breasts?

Ah, then… but here she comes tripping along the deck… and I do believe I detect a trace of haughty anger to her step… yes, and a tear-stained cheek…

Janet Arden had been injured more mentally than any way else, she finally concluded, as she quickened her pace past the three old lechers ogling her from their deck chairs. Not that his horrific battering and pummeling hadn't bruised her physically… and of course, she had bled with an alarming profuseness, but it was the psychological damage that was almost more than she could bear.

She had not spoken to Paul in twelve of the last twenty-four hours, and their marriage was little older than this. Her whole delicate and beautiful world had been rent asunder it seemed, and for hours she had actually contemplated thoughts of leaving him forever. Dear God! What a horrible first night together! The way he had come at her! It was just inconceivable for her to imagine that her gentle and lovable Paul could have transformed into such a brutal sex animal; yet, he had, and as she continued her quickened step toward the quarters of Doctor Leduc, the ship's acting physician, the shockingly repulsive nightmare flashed through her pain-filled mind again and again.

What had done this abhorrent thing to him… brought on such a vile metamorphosis? She tried to think, to put events together prior to their little embarrassing departure from the lounge when he had hustled her off to their stateroom. He had been so sweet, so gentle, so loving all day, constantly touching her, his handsome smile almost a perpetual expression when he looked at her. Dear God, she had never been so happy in her entire life.

She recalled that they had just met Doctor Leduc and joined him with some of the other passengers to toast a glass of champagne in celebration of their embarkation, when suddenly Paul had whisked her away with hardly an apology, the group's knowing little smiles and winks following after them and causing her to blush. Even so, she had gone with her new husband readily, filled with the excitement of anticipation her own self.

The time had come and she trembled with elation inside. She had truly looked forward to this first night with him, preparing herself mentally for weeks to make certain she entered the marital relationship with the proper attitude. She loved her Paul so very, very much. She knew that he resented her not giving herself to him before marriage, that he insisted it just wasn't being done anymore, but she had vowed that theirs was going to be a canonically ideal union in the true time-honored tradition. It was that important to her… that they should share a mutual respect and understanding for one another from the very onset, and above all, that he entertain no doubt but what he alone was the only man ever to possess her.

God knew, as did Paul Arden, that it could never be any other way with her. Her proper, religious, New England upbringing had served to save her the first few times he had nearly broken down her resistance. And Lord above, it was not as if she hadn't been tempted, hadn't wanted him so badly she ached with her desire for hours after they parted of an evening. She trembled when she thought of how close they had come those times… and secretly, she knew that had he persisted she would have eventually given in to him… She loved him so much… so much.

Last night, she had been as anxious for the consummation as he… and it would have been so beautiful had he only shown a little understanding, preparing her gently for the assault on her virginity. She shuddered now as she thought of it. The tips of her swollen nipples were so raw and sore that she could barely stand the touch of her bra against them. Her whole body ached from his savage rape. He had used her for nothing more than a fleshy receptacle to gratify his vile lust, without a thought toward her desires and pleasures. He had been an animal… a… a gross, carnal beast…!

Tears puddled her slightly reddened eyes as she hurried along the passageway of the French luxury liner, St. Croix. What was to happen to them now? Yes, she still loved him… of course, she loved him. He was her husband, but the mere thought of him touching her naked body again sent quakes of angered revulsion coursing through her violently. She had lain awake for hours after he was done with her, even as he had begged for her forgiveness, not answering him, only weeping in her agonized repugnance. At last, Doctor Leduc had come into her tortured mind and she recalled how impressed she had been with his suave, sophisticated manner, the gentle movements of his long, delicate hands suggesting an air of confidence and understanding to her. He was returning home from a medical convention in New York to his practice in Paris, he had told them, and quite timely so it seemed, for the ship's regular physician had suffered a sudden heart seizure and had been hospitalized in New York. The debonair Frenchman had agreed to act in his stead for the crossing.

Sometime in the midst of the early dawn hours she had made up her mind to consult him. Paul had finally fallen asleep and she had cuddled up in a chair, a blanket around her, dozing half-heartedly until the sun had risen well above the beautiful, calm Atlantic. Then, while he still slept, she had quietly bathed and dressed, slipping from their stateroom without his knowing. And now, for some inner reason, she had every confidence that the genteel doctor would in some way be able to help.

Paul Arden awakened with a start. Cool air from the opened porthole played across his naked, well-built body, and he sat upright to see that he was alone. He hopped from the bed and did a quick turn about their quarters to assure himself. Janet's things were there; but she was not!

Damn, he thought miserably. What a hell of a way to start a honeymoon.

He lighted a cigarette, grabbed up his robe and went to stare out the porthole. His brow was lined with his deep thought.

God! What've I done? And where's she gotten to at this time of morning?

He'd lost his head completely; there was no denying that. But in Christ's name, what could she expect? He'd quarreled with her the entire year of their engagement over her giving in to him… had even tried to explain to her that virginity was as outdated as silk-hatted diplomats. A young couple in love no longer waited for marriage; they relied upon their love and trust of one another, not some legal hokus-pokus or the presence of a ring on third-finger-left-hand. Naturally, she hadn't listened to him, and she had always managed to squelch his attempts at the last minute, leaving him in a state of aching madness. He had come so close to possessing that luscious body of hers time and again that his control had been damn near annihilated completely, and he wasn't about to make excuses for that.