"No, Frank! We've got to talk now."
He didn't listen to her. Instead he moved to her sleeping bag. "I'm your husband!"
"And I'm your wife," she said. "Doesn't that mean anything? I'm more than just a hole for you to put your prick in when the mood strikes you. I'm a person, a human being, a woman who feels! Until we get our problems worked out…"
"I'm your husband!" He glared at her, reaching out and pinning her shoulders to the ground. "And I demand a husband's right with his wife!"
"No, Frank! I don't want to, not now."
She struggled to get away from him, but she was a small woman. He held her there without effort.
"I'm your husband. You owe me this, it's mine!"
"It'll be rape." Mona stared up at him. "Is that the way you want your wife?"
"A husband can't rape his wife. She's his and her body is his!"
"Is that what you believe? Is that what you really think?"
"Yes," his voice was low and deep, like the growl of an animal. "And I'm going to get what's mine!"
Suddenly, she went limp beneath him, tears welling in her eyes. "All right, Frank. If that's the way you want it."
Then she was silent, staring up to the roof of the tent, her eyes never turning to him. He didn't care. All she had to do was just lie there.
Reaching down, he hiked her nightgown up around her waist bunching it there. She was naked beneath it. The muff covering her cunt was shining black, the pink lips of her sex under the furry covering. It wasn't the soft, light brown moss of Karen's pussy, but it would serve to relieve the burning fires of his groin.
He fumbled with the fly of his pajamas. The hardened length of his prick sprung out, jerking in the air. Gripping the blood-engorged shaft, he lowered himself atop his wife's body. She didn't move, but just lay there completely still.
In the next instant, he pressed the glans of his rod against the lips of her cunt. His hips jerked, knifing his lance into the socket of her belly. Mona cried out under the brutal entry, then she was silent again.
She felt different to him. The warmth and moisture he was accustomed to finding within her body were missing. She was dry. He didn't care. He hunched into her, drilling his rigid shaft into the depths of her cunt.
His testicles were burning. Fire consumed his loins. He took his wife, fucking her while in his mind he ravaged the body of his teenage daughter. Harder and harder he pumped himself into the furrow of his wife's sex, until at last he found the release of his lust.
Hot and thick, sperm and semen gushed from his balls. He emptied himself into the motionless socket of her cunt. Blast after blast of sexual cream fountained from the end of his prick, filling Mona's pussy with his seed, filling her as he wanted to drain his lust into Karen's tight, pink-lipped twat.
He shuddered and moaned under the fiery force of his release. Then he lay there atop the limp body of his wife, sated. When at last his cock deflated, he lifted himself from the woman under him and moved back to his sleeping bag.
Without a glance back to the woman he left there, gown still crumpled around her waist, he pulled the top of the sleeping bag over him and rolled over. Frank Stivers was asleep within minutes.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mona was unsure just how long she lay there. She stared at the roof of the tent, feeling the wetness of her husband's release trickling from the lips of her vagina and running down her thighs. She shuddered.
For the first time in her life, she felt used and degraded. The fluids of Frank's climax felt dirty on and within her. Never had she seen sex to be anything but a beautiful experience shared by a man and a woman. Now… now… she felt no better than a whore. No, not even a whore; at least men seek prostitutes for pleasure. Frank could have found no pleasure in the way he used her body, only relief. He could have used his hand for that!
She became aware of the heavy snoring within the tent. She rolled her head to the side and stared at the man sleeping across from her – her husband. She shuddered again. Husband! Never had that word seemed so strange, so alien. Always the word husband had brought warm feelings to her. A husband was a man to share a life with, someone to love.
Had she ever loved Frank?
Yes, she had loved him. After Tom's death, she had thought she would never be able to love another man. But when Frank came along, he was so gentle and tender. He filled a hollowness within her. She gave him her love, a love he professed to share. And he had asked her to marry him. Six months ago, they had taken the marriage vows. For better or worse.
It had only gotten worse.
The first few times, she had considered Frank's love-making to be caused by the newness of her, his excitement. But after the honeymoon nothing changed, except that Frank approached her but once a week. And then it was only to mount her and sate himself. It was like the old joke about the rabbit – wham-bam, thank you ma'am. She had once thought that was funny. Now it was only frustrating.
For six months she had clung to the hope that things would change. But nothing did. No matter what she tried, Frank was the same. He entered her body, came, then pulled from her only to roll to his side and go to sleep.
Never once were there preliminary kisses, gentle caresses, exploring each other's bodies. Never whispered words of endearment or even a "thank you" when he had finished. It was simply on and off, leaving her aching for sexual release – for love.
And tonight – tonight had been the worst.
Mona choked back her tears. Tears would only be wasted on Frank. In their six months together, she had done more than her share of crying. It never helped anything. Never. Frank didn't even notice.
Something had to be done. But what?
She didn't know. Everything was too confusing.
Frank continued to snore. Anger and frustration grew within her. She pushed up and stood. To remain in the tent with him was too much for her to endure. She had to leave, get away by herself until she could think this out and hopefully find a solution.
The air was cool outside, cool and clean. Yet it did nothing to remove the dirty feeling she had. Quietly walking from the camp, Mona moved toward the river bank. She stood there a moment watching the gentle current. Then hiking her gown, she stepped into the water.
She waded out until the water washed around her knees. Then reaching down, she scooped out handful after handful of the chilly water and bathed herself. Carefully she washed the silvery sperm tracks from her thighs, then cleansed the matted hairs of her public mound. Last of all, she washed out her vagina as best she could, removing every trace of Frank's ejaculation, washing out the dirty feel of his seed.
She felt better now, cleaner, free of Frank. Standing straight, she slowly walked back to the shore and stared at the tents. To go back now would be too much. She couldn't endure the thought of returning to Frank. But where could she go?
Nowhere!
There was nowhere she could run to escape Frank. She was amid one of the largest wilderness areas in the country and there was no place she could lose herself.
The thought was too much for her. The past six months and all she had endured came rushing back to fill her brain. She dropped to her knees and cried.
The sound of sobbing invaded Jason Jefferies' sleep. For a moment he lay there half-awake, wondering if the crying was something left in his mind by an unremembered dream. Then he realized the sobs were real; a woman was crying.
Sitting up, he glanced to his side. Liz was nestled within their sleeping bag. The warmth of her naked body was assuring. Easing back the top of the sleeping bag, he quietly slipped out. In the dark, he managed to find his blue jeans and pull them on without too much difficulty.
The crying was still there. And for some reason it sounded familiar. However, he was sure the sobs didn't belong to his daughter Linda. He had nursed her through too many adolescent heartbreaks not to recognize the sound of her crying. Yet somehow he knew the sound of those tears.