Thinking about that, Susan shivered with the cold little ripple of clamminess that passed over her. She drank from her cup and inhaled the cigarette smoke deeply. Sex, she thought… sex between her husband and herself had been a horror, when she had so innocently expected some thing beautiful. Now, she tried to recall the exquisite loveliness of her mother's words regarding the delicious sexual-love of marriage… but somehow, they choked in her throat, and the beauty of the vision she had endeavored to picture became distorted.
Had it ever been beautiful between them… even good? She couldn't remember a time. Instead, her mind filled with Cal, drunk, his wickedly hard and massive, thick, long male member poised above her unready and unwanting vagina, her legs held high and wide-apart obscenely, knees pressing into her full, erect breasts, while he cradled himself for the impalement… then, the near-unbelievable viciousness of his thrust as he plunged his huge rapacious cudgel into her barely moist, sensitive flesh unmercifully.
Invariably, she would scream, and invariably he would laugh sadistically, ramming the blunt head like a madman from the very beginning, his heavy-veined rod of rigid, swollen flesh sinking to its full depths inside her snug passage and battering her small-mouthed womb and cervix, until the pain would become almost weirdly bearable, even pleasurable in her masochistic, subjugated state, and sparks of excitement would begin to ignite within her; then, it would be over… al ways over, like that… and he would gush into her as she wanted him to… but never, never so soon.