Richard Mountbatten - Up, boy, up!

The alarm went off with its usual piercing scream. At first there was no reaction from the two blanket-covered forms in the huge bed, but then a slender shapely arm appeared out of the tangled mass of bedding and began to grope blindly across the bedside table, knocking over the alarm clock as numb fingers managed to still the racket. The arm collapsed back onto the bed and for several more minutes silence reigned in the room.

Then two big blue eyes blinked open, half hidden by a thick mass of blonde hair that spilled in a golden cascade over one of the pillows. Jill Andersen focused foggily as she stared at the clock, shook her head and focused again.

"Oh, for God's sake, Bob," she said, "something must be wrong with the clock. It went off a half hour early." Her eyes slowly closed.

"Mmmmm, yeh," her husband murmured in a sleep-thickened voice. "I set it that way." He moved over closer to his wife and slid an arm around her, cupping one of her firm young breasts in the palm of his hand. "Gives us time for a little conjugal bliss before I run off to slave at the salt mines."

Jill's big blue eyes flew open again, filled with apprehension this time. "What?" she said anxiously. "B-But Bob, we made love just last night." The dull throbbing ache up between her thighs wouldn't let her forget that.

"Last night was last night," Bob replied, his voice sounding more awake now. His hand squeezed her softly resilient breast a little tighter, and she could feel a slight growing pressure underneath his pajamas where his loins pressed against her buttocks. A sick feeling shot through her. Oh, not again. Not so soon, she moaned to herself. God, it was only hours ago that I forced myself to lie patiently beneath his sweating body. And now so soon again? It's just too much to ask!

"Now stop that!" she ordered as his other hand began to slip up underneath her flimsy nightgown. She tried to wiggle away from his insistent touch but his arms were too strong.

"Come on, baby," he said, his hot breath blowing against her sensitive ear lobe. "It's a beautiful morning. Let's start the day out right with a little loving."

"No, no," she said, struggling harder. "I-It's not right! It's not even dark. I-I just can't do it when it's light like this. It's sick!"

She felt his body stiffen at her last words, and his grip slacken around her. Sensing his gaze on her, the young wife turned her head quickly around, and saw that his eyes were cold.

"I think you're the one that's sick," he said in an icy voice. He rolled away from her and got out of bed. "Maybe you could make my breakfast, if it won't make you sick that is." His back was to her as he spoke, shoulders rigid in surpressed anger. He went on, talking almost to himself. "Might as well go to work a little early. Maybe I can make some points with the boss, even if I can't make points at home."

"Oh, honey, don't talk like that," Jill said with tears in her eyes. "You know I don't want to hurt you. It's just that it's so hard for me"

"Well it's not so easy for me either," he snapped turning towards her as he spoke. Recoiling inside as she saw the bitterness in his eyes, the tortured young wife turned away with a sob and buried her face in the pillow. She heard her husband mumble a few more angry words, and then the bathroom door slammed behind him.

The sobbing blonde lay facing the wall, wishing the day didn't have to start this way. Maybe there was some truth in what her husband said! Maybe there was something unhealthy in her that kept her from responding fully to his male advances! But he bore some of the blame too, she thought defiantly to herself, and her mind automatically went back to their wedding night.

Jill Andersen had been very carefully, very repressively raised by her parents. Her mother was a dried up defeated woman, plowed under by her domineering husband. Jill's father had spouted bible, sin, and hellfire to her ever since she could remember. He particularly raged against the temptations of the flesh and forbade her to go out unchaperoned with boys. It had been a shock to Jill when one day at the tender age of eleven she discovered his secret cache of pornographic pictures. The young girl had stared in horror at the strange positions and lewd postures portrayed by the people in the photographs, and her confused mind had tried to match them up with the grunts of male pleasure and the desperately painful pleadings of her mother that issued from behind her parents bedroom door night after night.

And then when she was fourteen years old her father had unexpectedly made her sit on his lap one night. His brutal hands had ranged over her budding young body, lingering on her already lusty breasts while he had warned her what God would do to her if she let boys touch her here or here or here and all this time her mother was in the same room, watching, her face constantly changing expression as shame for her daughter battled with hate for her husband.

Jill had blossomed early. When she was sixteen she looked twenty, with high proud breasts, sleekly swelling hips and long graceful legs. The amateurish pantings and gropings of her young male classmates had only intensified her already deeply rooted fear of sex. What a relief it had been then to meet Bob. It had been her freshman year in college, and Bob was several years older than her, already a senior. Jill was swept off her feet by his suave, sophisticated manner, and even more by his obvious kindness and consideration for her. In particular, he had been patient and gentle with her right from their first date, never pressing her sexually, always stopping at the first sign of her resistance.

Soon Jill found herself for the first time in her life kissing a boy and enjoying it. And as time went on she was amazed at the sensual little flutters that raced through her body when Bob's strong hands caressed her excitedly throbbing breasts, always through her clothes of course.

And then one night, one warm summer night, she and Bob were lying out on the grass under a full moon. They both had consumed some champagne at a party earlier in the evening, and Jill found that her head was slightly giddy so that somehow the feel of his hands stealing over her body was especially vivid, almost electric. Her dreamy mind did not notice when he reached back up under her sweater and released the catch on her brassiere, or when he slid the sweater up in front of that the white shimmering mounds of her full naked breasts were presented to his hungry gaze. Then, almost in a trance of excitement and uncertainty, she felt fingers up under her skirt, sliding over the smooth material of her bikini panties. A low moan of half-conscious pleasure broke from the young virgin's wetly parted lips as she felt the first delightful pressure against the sensitive mound up between her legs and her thighs fell limply, automatically, open to give easier access to the caressing hands that were sending sharp little darts of wild pleasure through her fire-washed body. Bob's patient fingers were at the leg-band of her panties, worming under the confining elastic as the tip of his outstretched index finger dipped like a burning knife into the moistly heated channel up between her legs. Jill moaned with the knowledge that she wanted that finger deep up inside her hungering young vagina, wanted to be made love to!

She looked over at Bob, love washing over her like a tidal wave, and then her heart froze within her as she saw the look of sheer lust that was twisting his features, making him look almost like her father that evening when he had forced her to sit in his lap.

The frightened young girl tore herself away from his grasp and quickly forced her passion tortured mind and body back under control. It hadn't mattered to Bob, who just thought of it as virginal shyness, after all, they were going to be married in a month anyhow, and he could wait. And Jill buried the episode in her mind, attributing her resistance to normal modesty. As it was, she loved the handsome student so much that nothing could have kept her from marrying him.