CHAPTER ONE

 

Diane Hathaway crossed her long, tapered legs and pushed her ass cheeks against the back of the living room couch as she rubbed the tall, cold glass slowly over her flushed cheeks. The blonde was trying to fight down the hot, mushy feeling between her legs. She lowered her eyes to the green carpet and tried to appear as if she were completely unconcerned with what was happening around her. But the way the man's eyes were zooming in on her body for a close-up. The way his stares seemed to burn through her clothing and sear across her flesh made her skin crawl with excitement. Diane's fingers trembled, making the ice rattle against the sides of the glass as she took another long sip of her drink.

"And that's it, ladies. My company's willing to take a chance on you if you'll take a chance with us," the tall, black haired man said breezily as he flashed another hot glance at Diane. The nervous blonde felt her pussy stirring with hot excitement and lust that she swore she'd never give in to again. Diane knew only too well that it was this kind of feeling that got her into trouble every time. She lost her cherry to the high school football team captain because she couldn't keep her twat under control the night of the senior prom. God, the way they fucked and fucked that night under the stars, on top of his tuxedo jacket, staining the white material with cum and blood from her ruptured hymen and sweat, made Diane think that the dream would never end.

It did. The next week good old Jim Byron pretended like he'd never known her. His regular girlfriend had made up with him and he didn't want the bitch to know that he'd been fucking around.

"Diane, isn't he handsome?" A short, attractive young woman with long, shiny black hair, sitting next to the blonde, asked softly as she kept her eyes riveted on the speakers muscular body.

"Mmmm," Diane answered in a low voice, surprised at how husky her voice sounded. The blonde shook her head slightly, pushing several strands of stray hairs away from her face. Even that careless movement had a certain dignity about it, attracting attention. In fact, everything about Diane Hathaway seemed to attract attention from every red-blooded male near her. The proud, almost stiff way she carried herself; her long, golden hair that she wore parted in the middle of her head and hung down beyond her shoulders; her sparkling dark-blue eyes surrounded by long, black lashes; her pert little ass that jounced back and forth under her clinging slacks whenever she walked; those melon-like, high-riding titties jiggling against each other with every step she took - everything about her made men's breaths quicken and their cocks spring to life.

"I'd sell myself for a man like that," the girl said under her breath, reaching over with her right hand and pinching Diane teasingly on the arm.

"Oh, stop it, Sharon!" Diane whispered as she took another drink. She was sorry she ever came to this demonstration. She should have been at home cooking dinner for Matt.

Matt! That was another mistake in her life. After the football captain incident, Diane swore that she'd never fuck with another man until he slipped that magic ring on her third finger. It was hard to keep her pussy quiet, especially in college when every co-ed around her was yakking about how big so-and-so's cock was, or how so-and-so made her suck him off in the back of the car the night before. Diane pretended that it offended her, but the blonde secretly envied all those girls. She secretly wished she could be in their places, at least once, feeling a strong, hairy, masculine hand prying open her reluctant legs and stroking her inner thighs while ... while ... Diane blocked the rest out of her mind. She knew that if she thought about it, she'd go crazy in her dorm room while her girlfriends were out there in the fields fucking like bitches on heat.

"Don't forget your samples and the sample booklets, ladies," the big man said, flashing a white, gleaming smile at Diane as he handed out the pamphlets to the crowd of giggling women.

"Too bad you're married, Diane," Sharon said as she started to get up. "I think he's making a pass at you."

Great, Diane thought to herself as she drained the glass of vodka and tonic, then placed it down on the end table on her right. That's how it started out with her and Matt. He seemed to be quiet and mature. They met in Art History 1 at UCLA. Matt wasn't like the rest of the boys at university who started conversations with something clever like: "Don't you think Gauguin was influenced by the pre-Romanticist movement in German - wanna fuck?" He seemed to respect her body as well as her mind. They'd walk for hours in the Sculpture Garden next to the Graduate Research Library and talk about various art movements, the situation in the Visual Arts and other academic subjects. And he didn't even once try to take her hand, let alone try anything more suggestive. At first, Diane thought he might be gay and wanted a sister-type girl around him.

That kind of thinking went out the window one evening after they'd attended a concert of Baroque music at Royce Hall. Matt escorted her out of the hot, stuffy auditorium as the last notes died away into the still night. He was strangely quiet that evening, fidgeting in his seat while the tiny amateur string quartet played through Bach's early ensemble music. Diane sensed that Matt's mind was elsewhere, but until they strolled into the dark, deserted Sculpture Gardens that night, she had no idea exactly where it had been hiding.

After several minutes of silent strolling, Diane felt Matt's hand grip her wrist tightly and spin her around.

"Matt?" Diane asked in a questioning, slightly nervous voice, as she looked up into his eyes. The full moon lit up the tall pines and shrubs around them in an eerie silver light. In the bright moonlight, Matt's face looked savage and twisted. His deep-set eyes looked like holes in a skull. His nostrils quivered nervously and his lower jaw moved spasmodically. "Matt, come on, what's wrong with you?"

"I-I," he stammered, still staring at her. Then before she knew it, she was being dragged off the twisting concrete path into a cluster of tall bushes some ten feet away.

"Matt! Please, don't!" Diane cried all the way through the rape, clawing at the boy's flushed face as he ripped away her blouse, bra, skirt and panties. It all happened so quickly that Diane didn't even realise that Matt had blown his wad in her pussy until he collapsed on top of her. He kept his dick embedded in her snatch for several minutes, hunching spastically into her while he covered her mouth with his hand. When he was sure she wasn't going to scream again, he took his hand away from her mouth and started to apologise.

"You filthy animal," Diane hissed, pushing him off her.

That horrible night. Diane wanted to forget it.

She came out of her reverie when she heard her name. "We have a lot of success with women like you, Mrs Hathaway, who go out into the field and sell our products," the man was saying as he handed her a box of pamphlets.

"Thank you, Mr. uh..." Diane stammered as she pressed the box against her tits.

"Jack. Jack Moore," the man said, taking Diane's hand in his and pressing it tightly.

"It's attached to me," Diane said after several long seconds. She pulled back gently but steadily, feeling a thrill flash through her box as Jack kept smiling at her.

Just like Matt, Diane thought sourly as she turned and walked back to the couch. After that night in the Gardens, she didn't hear anything from him for several days. He wasn't in class and didn't bother trying to see her or phone her at the dorm. That was fine with her. He'd purposely led her into believing that he respected her and then slap, bam, into the bushes and into her cunt.

When he finally showed up at her door two weeks later, it was with a proposal of marriage. Diane couldn't believe he was serious.

"I want you for my wife, I really do!" Matt insisted, practically sweeping her off her feet. She knew she should have been offended. Here was a man who'd raped her and now he was asking for her hand in marriage. It was crazy! It was absurd!

One month later they were married at the university chapel in front of their immediate families and close friends. There was something gentle, yet overwhelmingly powerful about Matt that had finally led Diane to accept his proposal. There was also something in her that responded, even favourably, to that brutal rape. That was something she didn't understand and didn't want to explore. All she knew was, that she was in love with Matt Hathaway and wanted to be his wife.

Their marriage went along well for the first five years. Matt went on for his Master's in Art History, then his Doctorate, while Diane taught part-time at a local Catholic girls' school. When he received his Ph.D. he managed to land a teaching job at USC. Money and status came quickly, but then something went wrong. Diane didn't know exactly what it was but things started to take a nasty turn in their marriage.

Matt started coming home later and later, sometimes not staggering into the bedroom until dawn. Diane was sure that he was having an affair and often asked him about it. Then he started getting violent, sometimes hitting her and shouting that she should keep her big mouth shut.

Gradually, the blonde learned not to ask Matt about anything. Now, in the eighth year of the marriage, there was a kind of uneasy truce between them. Though they slept in the same bed, Matt hardly touched her anymore. Diane was grateful for that. His lovemaking had become brutal and overbearing, resembling a wrestling or boxing match, more than an enjoyable fuck session. But most of the time Matt just came home whenever he wanted and collapsed exhausted onto the bed. She'd often thought about divorce, but in spite of everything, Diane hoped that they could still salvage something out of their marriage.

"Diane, you know the way Matt treats you, you really should try to cultivate something like that," Sharon whispered to her as Diane slipped her sweater on.

"Sharon! Don't! You know I wouldn't cheat on Matt," Diane said quietly as she bent down and picked up her box of pamphlets.

"Why not? He does it to you," Sharon replied softly.

"Please," Diane pleaded, fighting back the hot tears that sprang to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, honey, but you've got to face the facts. I asked you to come here to take your mind off your problems, and look what's come your way," Sharon said sympathetically, nodding towards Jack Moore.

"I'm not footloose and single like you, Sharon," Diane said, glancing over at Jack Moore and feeling her nipples tightening up against the stiff material of her cotton blouse.

"You don't have to be single to enjoy something like that, honey," Sharon answered, pressing Diane's arm as she walked towards the door to say goodbye to some of the departing women.

Diane looked around and saw that she'd forgotten her box of jewellery samples. This whole affair had been Sharon's idea from the start. Sharon Dennis was Diane's best friend and sympathised with her over her marital problems. Diane had quit her job at the girls' school several months ago and was mooching around the house feeling sorry for herself. Sharon was a part-time distributor for Jackson's Jewellery Products and tried to convince Diane that she should come to her house for a demonstration party. Diane had kept refusing, feeling a little ridiculous at the idea of becoming something like an Avon lady. But after Matt's latest blow-up, she decided that she had to do something or she'd wind up cutting her wrists open. This was the first time she'd attended one of these gatherings and already she'd been sucked in. But with someone like Jack Moore staring at you while he talked, who wouldn't give in to his sales pitch?

"Oh, Mr. Moore, my samples?" Diane asked hesitantly as Jack was explaining something to two plump, middle-aged women in blonde wigs.

"Of course. And here's my card in case you need me, for anything," Jack said, handing the box to Diane and smiling meaningfully at her.

"Thank you," she murmured, refusing to look at him as she tucked the box of samples and pamphlets under her arm and walked towards the door. She could feel Jack's eyes burning the back of her neck as she said goodbye to Sharon and stepped out into the warm night air. As she walked quickly to her car, she thought, at least Matt wouldn't be home and that was a blessing. There wouldn't be any fighting and shouting to amuse the neighbours with tonight.

Diane unlocked the car, placed the two boxes on the back seat and got in quickly. Putting the key in the ignition she muttered "Damn," as the engine refused to start.

"Trouble, Diane?" Sharon shouted from her doorway.

"I can't get this thing going," Diane shouted back from the open car window.

"Just a second," Sharon said brightly, turning around and walking back into her house. Diane sighed deeply and waited. There'd be towing charges, then anything else the garage decided to slap her with. Matt used to take care of things like this, but now she was on her own.

"Let me try." Diane heard a deep, masculine voice roll out suddenly in her ear. She turned around and saw that it was Jack Moore, bending down and peering at her through the window.

"I think it's dead," Diane said mindlessly as she slid over to the passenger side. Jack climbed in and tried several times to start the engine without success, then jumped out and raised the bonnet of the car.

"Looks like somebody walked off with your starter," Jack said after several minutes under the bonnet.

"What?" Diane cried out, sliding out of the car and running round the front. She peered into the dark pit and smelled the stale odour of gasoline and burnt oil. There was a gaping hole to the right of the engine and several wires dangling loosely. "Who? Why?"

"Kids, probably," Jack said shaking his head and slamming the hood. "Say, I sort of feel responsible for this. Can I give you a lift home?"

The words rang out like a cannon shot in Diane's ears. Which woman in that room wouldn't have sold her children for an opportunity like this?

"I don't want to put you out of your way, Mr. Moore. I'm sure Sharon ..."

"Don't even think about it. I'm not doing anything else tonight. Come on," Jack said, smiling broadly at her as he took her arm and led back to the door. Diane grabbed her samples and walked briskly to Jack's car while he went and explained to Sharon what had happened. The blonde glanced quickly at her friend and saw her smirking as Jack explained the situation.

The bitch! If she thinks I'm going to do anything, Diane thought to herself as she slid into the passenger seat of the big black car. But then she couldn't finish the sentence. As she sat there, nervously twiddling her thumbs, waiting for Jack, Diane couldn't really tell herself that she wasn't hoping for something to happen between her and the salesman. All the frustration and disillusion that had been building up in her marriage seemed to be breaking loose all of a sudden. She felt adventurous and horny tonight. Now there was this big, handsome man coming over to the car, and her husband wouldn't be home for hours. As Jack opened the car door and got in, Diane dug her fingernails into her palms to try to quiet herself down.

"Okay, where do you live?" asked Jack as he backed out of Sharon's drive.

"Just a few blocks down that way," Diane said pointing her finger and forcing her voice to be steady and even.

Jack didn't say a word as they cruised slowly towards her house. In a way, Diane was disappointed, she was hoping he'd make a pass at her. Of course she'd refuse. She wasn't the kind of woman who spread her legs whenever a man whistled, but it would be nice if he'd just ...

"Mr. Moore, what are you doing?" Diane cried out as she felt his hand suddenly touch her knee.