Douglas McCallister

Rich man, poor man

CHAPTER ONE

"Well, my lovely wife, here we are in one of the finest French restaurants in the city," John Whitmore commented to his lovely wife. "Do you know what you'd like yet?"

Penny's pert face peered out from behind the huge menu. "I dunno," she said.

"Well, can I suggest something?"

"What?"

"Perhaps some pate de foie gras to begin with…"

Penny shook her lovely head and her glistening red lips formed themselves into a grimace of displeasure. "Oh, not liver," she protested. "I just can't stand liver, it makes me want to throw up."

John shuddered. Jesus Christ, did she have to express it in just that way? He knew how she felt about liver, lots of people did, but they were more polite about their feelings at least! But John said nothing to his wife. They had gone through too many unpleasant scenes after he had made some attempt to smooth her rough edges. It never did any good, the edges remained as ragged as before, and only lead to more of the mutual dissatisfaction they felt towards one another. He thought for a moment of suggesting caviar, but remembered only too well her reaction to that. "Fish eggs, yuk!" Which was true in a sense, although he considered them one of the great delicacies of the world.

John had to say something to his wife, that was obvious. They couldn't just sit there across the table, staring at one another in silence. He called the waiter and ordered onion soup, then handed him back the menu. With a false bright smile, he took a sip of the fine red wine and asked: "Well, my dear, did you like the play tonight?"

Penny let forth a raucous laugh that grated on John's nerves and made others near them in the restaurant turn and stare. "Trash," she said. "That's what it was."

John stared at her in silence. How on earth could she have said such a thing? Didn't she understand the significance of the play? The subtle beauties of it, the profound depths of feeling, the startling ideas? Apparently not. But he knew he could never explain them to her and so he merely said at last, "Why do you say that, Penny?"

"Because there were those garbage cans on stage," she answered emphatically. "That's why."

This time John felt obliged to protest. "But garbage cans on stage don't make the whole play 'trash' as you so elegantly express it." There was just a hint of irony in his voice.

"It does to me," Penny said, shrugging her lovely shoulders and turning to stare around the room. "Oh, look," she said suddenly, pointing to a couple who had just come in and were now being seated against the other wall. Once again John blanched. Why did she have to point at people? He saw that others, attracted by her strident voice, were in turn staring at his wife.

"Yes, Penny," he said quietly. "Look at what?"

"That woman over there. Did you ever see such an awful dress in

your life?"

John closed his eyes, wishing that he could disappear. Why, why did Penny always have to make such a spectacle of herself? He answered the question himself. Because that was the way she was; there was no other explanation. And there was no way to change her, either. He knew that from long experience. And then the other question, the basic question that nagged at him came to his mind. Why had he married her? The answer to that, he supposed, was that he just didn't know any better.

She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, that night when he had first set eyes on her at the old Dewitt Theater. She was in the chorus, third from the end, as he still remembered, and he had sucked in his breath in awe at her loveliness when she first danced onto the stage. And he had to admit that he hadn't taken his eyes off her all evening!

Penny didn't really dance well, he thought now, although she certainly moved with an exquisite grace. But to John Whitmore, still in college, she represented a whole new world of excitement and intrigue. She was alive, vibrant, her world, the real one, he had thought. The university, where he was a senior, with its shaded walks, its discreet and even modest red brick buildings, its musty books arranged on the shelves of the huge library was remote, unreal, dead compared to her.

That first night he had seen Penny, John had had a date with a wealthy debutante who was studying art, and he'd not had the courage to ditch her in order to go backstage and meet the lovely brunette chorus girl. But he'd bought a single ticket for the next night's performance and had hurried around to the stage door immediately after, only to find that someone else had got there first.

But, John had gone back a third time, and his persistence was rewarded. He not only met this gorgeous creature but took her out to a late dinner after the play. He was dazzled by her beauty. Her skin was like alabaster, white and smooth as marble. Her features were finely chiseled, her big blue eyes set wide apart in her lovely face. Her nose was, perfect, that was all… and her lovely lips parted to show a row of equally perfect teeth. And her figure was absolutely breathtaking!

She had firm high breasts that her chorus girl costume, and later the low-cut dress she wore showed off to the fullest advantage. Her waist was tiny and flared into firmly rounded hips and thighs. And her legs, even now John caught his breath at the thought of them, her legs were superb, the best he had ever seen; long and slim and tapering into curves that were simply indescribable!

So John had been dazzled. He had sat and stared at the raven-haired beauty, ignoring both what she said and how she expressed it. She was perfection, at least in appearance, and that was enough for him. He pursued her ardently, and in spite of the objections of his aristocratic family, he offered her marriage.

When Penny accepted, the two hurried off to a Justice of the Peace; when they emerged from his dingy office, she was Mrs. John Stewart-Linden Whitmore IV. After a brief honeymoon and an even briefer visit to John's parents, who were not in the least impressed by their new daughter, Penny went back to the chorus line, and John went back to school.

Somehow he managed to get through the rest of the year, seeing Penny as often as possible, and he even managed to pass his exams and graduate with the rest of his class. He refused to go into his father's firm, though, and found a job on his own, while Penny quit hers. They took a small apartment and lived happily, blissfully, ideally, not ever after but for a few months, anyway. And then, in spite of all of Penny's considerable charms, John began to get bored… very bored.

Oh, God! She was still great in bed and just thinking of Penny even at work was enough to send shivers up and down his spine, make his young cock lurch with passion and swell beneath the tight cloth of his trousers until he was embarrassed to stand up to greet a client. He would hurry home after work to find her waiting, dinner on the table. They let it grow cold, never noticing, while they headed for the bedroom, John stripping off his own clothes while they went, pulling off Penny's once they were inside it.

She helped, wriggling out of her short, skintight dress that had already revealed her ripe young breasts, the sensuous curves of her undulating buttocks. And then he would slip his hand beneath the soft nylon mesh of her brassiere, fumbling clumsily with the fastening at the back of it with his other hand, until at last he pulled the two ends free and the quivering mounds of her milk-white breasts sprang forth.

He would run his hands down her soft warm flesh then, down to the waistband of her little panties, hook them beneath it and ease them down over her throbbing hips and thighs. And then she would stand before him, naked and lovely, sending shock waves of passion to rock his body… after he had pushed her down on the bed, he would hover over her, his

body alive with the excitement that was almost electric. He would fuck her then, his thick hard cock ploughing deep up into her warmly clasping little vagina. At last, satisfied, surfeited, exhausted, they would fall asleep… but it gradually dawned on John that at other times his life with Penny was as dull as dishwater. He found her friends impossible, their interests limited to local gossip and the cost of their clothes. He tried to start conversations with them, tried to discuss the latest political scandal, the state of the world, the question of war or peace. But they merely shrugged, uncomprehending.

He brought home the newest books, hoping that she would at least glance at them, that they could at least talk about those. But it was hopeless, as hopeless as their visits to the theater or to fashionable foreign movies. And as for museums! John gave up on those at almost the beginning of his marriage.

Even now, sitting across from Penny at their table in the restaurant, he blushed at the memory of the night they had gone to an opening of an art show at one of the top modern galleries in the city. He himself had been enthralled at the work of a new young painter, at the broad brush strokes in bright colors across the stretched canvases, the lights and shadows and shadings. But Penny had laughed, had opened that perfect little mouth of hers and let loose a howl of derision that had shriveled John's skin.

"What is it?" she had demanded, pointing at a picture. "What's it supposed to be?"

John had had no plausible answer and had only been aware of the amused glances of the others in the gallery. They had left hurriedly, with Penny complaining all the way home that her evening was ruined. "Why do we have to rush off?" she had repeated over and over. "Why? Are you ashamed of me or something? Is that it?"

"No," John had assured her. "No, not at all," And he hadn't been. But he had wished -oh, so devoutly -that she could learn something, meet him on his own level, could talk to him! But she hadn't, and she still couldn't.

He glanced across the table at her now, watched as she sipped her soup. He wished to God he could think of something to say to his wife, wished to God she would think of something to say to him. But nothing happened, and they ate in silence.

Finally, when they were both well into their canard a I 'orange, he again brought up the subject of the play they had seen. "I thought the man who played the lead tonight was pretty good, didn't you?"

But Penny's mind was far away, across the room again. "Oh look, John! That woman over there! She's wearing a dress just like the one I almost bought the other day."

John Whitmore gave up at last, watching his still beautiful wife as he chewed thoughtfully on his steak. There was no point in talking to her, he realized. There was only one thing they had in common. And for that they might as well go home. He waited patiently until Penny had finished the chocolate mousse she had ordered, God, how could she eat things like that and keep her fabulous figure? Then he paid the bill, and they left. They had nothing to say to one another in the taxi, nothing to say to one another when they reached their large and luxurious home. In the living room John at last suggested a night-cap and poured a brandy for himself and Penny. "Cheers!" he toasted, holding his glass out to hers.

"Oh, cheers, John. Cheers!" Penny tipped her glass and drained it. "I'm going to bed," she announced then. "You coming up?"

"In a minute, Penny."

He watched her as she turned and went out of the room, and a thrill went through him in spite of everything. She might be dull and depressing to be with, and she was, he admitted, and she was, but oh, God! Just the sight of her softly undulating buttocks, her long slim legs as she crossed the room was enough to excite him, to make his penis stiffen and throb, his loins ache with desire for her.

John took another drink, pouring it into his glass with a trembling hand, and sipped at it. It felt warm going down and good. He put the glass down, thinking of Penny upstairs in the bedroom. He heard the shower running then and imagined his wife standing beneath the streaming, steaming water, imagined her soaping her voluptuous body, lingering over her ripe full breasts, touching the tiny buds of her nipples, teasing them until they stood erect. And then her hands would wander down to the small triangle of curls there at the base of her belly, parting them, parting the hair-lined lips of her soft pink pussy…

The sound of the water running stopped at last and John took another drink, tossing it off quickly. And then, already unbuttoning his shirt, he headed for Penny's bedroom.

She was standing before the mirror wearing a nightgown so transparent she might have had nothing on at all. Through it John saw the warm glow of her soft white flesh, the fullness of her magnificent breasts, the cock-stirring curves of her hips and thighs.

He stepped forward, seizing her by the shoulders, digging his fingers sharply into the soft flesh, spinning her around to crush his chest against her until the hard little tips of her nipples seemed to bite into his own flesh. His hands slid down her back, trailing across it, ruffling the thin material of her crepe de chine nightgown as it went. Suddenly he bent down and seized the hem of the flimsy garment, lifting it high above her quivering ass-cheeks.

Now he placed his palms on each of the two round half melons, cupping them to pull her close to him. His loins crushed against her pelvis and his straining cock lurched again inside his pants, sending bolts of lightning-like fire coursing through his blood.

"Take this off," he commanded suddenly, his voice hoarse with his rising passion. He tugged again at the fragile fabric of the nightgown, almost tearing it.

"No!" Penny protested, and a sudden chill struck his heart. Oh, Christ! She was going to be coy tonight, play hard to get, just at the time when his own loins were on fire, his penis already rigid with lewd lust. Tonight of all nights! Didn't the woman understand anything?

"Take if off!" he ordered, his eyes narrowing in anger, his lips twitching cruelly.

"No," she teased.

"Damn it all…!" His hand shot out to seize one narrow shoulder strap and then he wrenched at it. There was the sibilant sound of ripping silk and then the gown fell in shreds to the floor.

"Oh, now look at what you've done!" Penny wailed. "Just look!" But John merely shrugged, then began to tear at his own clothes, pulling his shirt off and dropping it on the floor, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers and dropping them to the floor, stepping quickly out of them. And then his shorts came off, releasing at last his thickly swollen cock that already jutted, rigid as a pole, from his aching loins.

He stood facing her, his eyes roving lewdly over his raven-haired wife's nakedly trembling body, stopping first at her voluptuous breasts, then descending over the slight swell of her belly, down to the sparse triangle of dark pussy hair there at the base of it.

They ran the length of her lovely legs, her slim ankles. And then he reached out to her, swooped her up and dropped her unceremoniously onto the large double bed.

"Oh, John," she whimpered. "What on earth did you do that for?" There was a hint of fear in her eyes, a glint of shock. She gasped, covering her mouth and then demanded, "John, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to fuck you," he said suddenly, ashamed of using the obscenity and yet aware that it was one of the few things his wife would understand. "I'm going to fuck you, Penny, until you scream… fuck you

silly…"

"John!"

Oh, God! He hated himself for this… hated treating his wife this way. But goddamn it, she had asked for it! She'd begged for it, hadn't she? So she'd get what she wanted, what was coming to her! He dropped to the bed beside her, stretching the full length of his body out alongside hers. He turned his head, then fastened his hot mouth over hers almost brutally. His

tongue shot out, prodding at her warm and glistening lips, prying them open at last. And then it sank deep within, while Penny gasped for breath.

She flinched a little as his hands moved down to her heavy swollen breasts and began to knead them, his thumbs stroking the small buds of her nipples, coaxing them again into taut and stiff erections. He went on, rubbing the jewel-hard tips between his thumbs and forefingers now, while Penny whimpered in fearful delight. He was hurting her, she thought with a wave of self-pity. Hurting her! It was just like him… the bastard!

Then, he lifted his head, staring scornfully at his wife for a long moment. An instant later he had flicked it forward again, and now his mouth closed over one upright, button-like nipple and his tongue laved it voluptuously. He began to suck on it, nibbling at it delicately, while Penny stiffened against her husband's uncaring assault.

His hand trailed the length of her belly again, making Penny moan in frightened anticipation. She hadn't wanted it to be like this – hadn't wanted it at all!

She felt an irrepressible excitement as he traced the soft curves of her vulnerable body, but it was mixed with anger, too. And then, as John's hands moved along the line of golden belly fuzz that ended in the strands of silken pubic hair there between her legs, she squirmed beneath him. He reached the warm moist slit of her cuntal lips at last, running his middle finger up and down along the tender hair-lined flesh, probing it as his tongue had probed and pried at her mouth before.

Penny jerked back involuntarily at his touch, wanting her husband and yet at the same time denying him -feeling the need to deny him. There was a sudden sharp pang as his middle finger snaked deep in between the fleshy outer lips of her pussy, working its way upward into her narrow cuntal channel, and she sucked in her breath. And then as she felt him finger-fucking deep up into her open cunt, she relaxed, lying back to enjoy the thrills of pleasure that seemed to wash over her. In spite of herself, in spite of her resentment of the way in which he was taking her. Why the hell did he have to act so damned superior? She let herself reach out to take his desire-stiffened penis in her small and slender hand, letting her fingers curl around it, massaging it gently, pulling the foreskin back.

He groaned in pleasure, encouraging her to tickle her fingernails over the smooth rubbery head, to draw them beneath the aching shaft, to tease her fingertip around the tiny parted hole at the tip. And then she cradled his smooth sperm-laden balls in the palms of her hands. But once again, the brunette former chorus girl stiffened in resistance to her husband. Damn him! she thought. He was treating her like a whore, acting as if she wasn't as good as he was! Well, she was, and she would show him!

She began to move beneath him, pretending that she enjoyed it, just the way a whore might have. She writhed and turned as he continued to work his finger into her wet and smoothly throbbing passage. He withdrew it then, with a soft lewd sucking sound, and once more as his hands were all over her, clutching and squeezing at her soft, sensitive

flesh.

Abruptly he rolled over between her thighs, and his hand shot down to stroke briefly at the moistened flesh there before he spread her legs wide apart. He hovered over her then, the blunt bulbous head of his fleshy shaft poised above the tender lips of her vagina. With his middle finger he found her clitoris and began stroking maddeningly at it, sending unwanted excitement shooting through his wife's still resistant body.

John began to massage the tiny nub with the lust-hardened tip of his swollen penis. "I'm going to fuck you tonight like you've never been fucked before," he said crudely. And then, as a cruel afterthought, he added, "at least not by me!"

Penny shuddered at the implications -oh, God! She had been faithful to John! She had! And once more her resentment of him rose to overwhelming proportions. What a bastard, she thought! What a bastard!

She tensed once again, resisting him just as his lust-bloated penis pressed brutally hard against the small elastic opening of her little cunt. He lunged forward with all his might and his iron-hard penis plunged through the taut little ring of flesh, plunged up deep into the narrow channel of her cunt.

Penny half-screamed, squirming as if she had just been impaled on the sword of some barbarian. "Don't… Don't… oh, God…"

But John was beyond caring. He thrust once more, ploughing deeper, and Penny recoiled, feeling as if her cunt were being torn to bits. She wasn't ready… she didn't want it to be this way!

But there was nothing she could do. She felt his huge cock plunging in to the hilt, felt as if it would split her helpless little belly in two. Oh, Jesus! She thought he had reached the limit, but he was still pushing deeper, forcing the warm, yet unreceptive walls of her vagina in rolling waves before his throbbing thick penis.

"Oh, John!" Penny moaned. "John!" "John who?" "Oh… Oh…"

"Oh, fuck, Penny…" And once again he lunged forward, once again ploughed deep up between her narrowly clasping cuntal walls. His rock-hard penis smacked against her cervix this time, bringing a muffled scream from her tightly compressed lips. And then she suddenly took fire, set aflame by this invasion of her soft moist vagina. She was sore and burning, but somehow vibrantly alive in spite of the pain. She squirmed

her buttocks down into the mattress as John sawed his blood-engorged penis roughly in and out, and she squirmed and thrashed beneath him. A low moan escaped her lips, a slight whimper of pain.

John ignored it, fucking forward again, feeling the smooth sheath of her clasping cuntal walls cradle his raging cock. He groaned in his own excitement, and then at last his balls slapped hard against her whitely rounded ass-cheeks as his aching cock sank to unplumbed depths.

A shock of sudden pain, cruel and unexpected, shot through Penny, and she twisted on the bed beneath him in an effort to escape it, but John only thrust harder, impaling his wife on his thick hard cock, skewering her like an animal on a spit. Staring down at her, he felt a surge of sadistic pride in subjugating his woman in this way. Christ, he thought, it was the only thing she was good for!

He ground his loins deep into her quivering flesh, and then Penny strained back under him, her own loins arching upward to meet him and then to match his deep and vigorous thrusts. Her mouth was open now and her head flailed from side to side as her lust-inflamed husband buffeted her about in his desperate passion.

Penny moaned ceaselessly beneath his pounding body, almost, but not quite, enjoying the pain, the humiliation to which she was being subjected. And then she realized with a shudder of horror that John had reached under her between her buttocks and was drawing his middle finger up along the now wet crevice there. Oh God, no! she thought. He wasn't going to… he couldn't… he wouldn't…

But suddenly he found the tiny little opening of her anus, moistened by the warm wet rivulet seeping from her cock-spread pussy, and he probed at it experimentally for a moment. He pushed hard and felt the tight nether ring give way, while his finger slid in up to the first knuckle.

Penny's body contracted in a spasm of excruciating pain and she screamed, "Oh God. it hurts… it hurts!"

A flicker of a smile played across John Whitmore's lips at her anguished outburst. Good! he thought. Great! He thrust again, sinking his finger in still another inch.

Penny screamed again, but in spite of her pain she began to move against his finger as it rotated around in the warm fleshy depths of her rectum. Through the thin membrane separating the two passages, he could feel his cock sliding in and out of her pulsating vagina, and he began to fuck into both ravaged passages in a quickening rhythm, his strokes longer now, faster, deeper.

Once again Penny screamed and the sound was music to John's ears. He could feel his cock growing, burgeoning deep up inside his wife's quivering belly, could feel the tension mounting in his sperm-bloated balls

that smacked against her upturned buttocks. Oh God! He was near the end -near his final explosion that would send the ultimate joy shooting through him when at last he emptied his sperm deep up inside his wife's belly! And he knew that Penny, too -in spite of her pain, her resistance to his fucking he was inflicting on her -was about to cum. Her face was contorted with her lust, her eyes half closed, but filmed with her passion.

In a sudden involuntary movement, her legs jackknifed up tight., and she pressed her knees back against her breasts until the whole of her moist vaginal slit was offered up to her husband for his complete pleasure. She locked her ankles over his shoulders now, still squirming beneath his pounding body, his thrusting cock. And then she let out a long low wail, and he felt his own climax as his white-hot sperm shot the length of his rigid member to spew forth into the farthest depths of her cock-filled belly.