I looked at my own face in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were red, mascara running down my cheeks with the river of angry tears I wished desperately weren’t there. Blackened drops had rained down onto my cleavage which was very much exposed in the low cut jumper I’d worn for his benefit.
After weeks of tension, arguing, making up, more arguing and general chaos, I was getting heartily sick of this latest period of his “issues”.
I’ll back track and explain. My husband, the love of my life, suffers from depression. He is one of those people who is incredible, strong, intelligent and capable, until something hits him and he goes… well kind of wonky. Mostly he just retreats into himself, but because he has a job, a wife and now children, he can’t keep doing that all the time.
He tries hard to be even and okay with us, and to his credit, when he is angry or sad, he’s never violent. I don’t think he has it in him to hurt any of us physically, and I know that when he does hurt us mentally, the guilt just drives him further into the depressed state he’s fighting.
He is a beautiful man on the inside and outside. He just doesn’t see it. There’s a long and complicated history to that, but suffice it to say, when he does go through a period of depression, it usually lasts between 3 and 9 months, and it happens maybe once every 2 to 3 years.
We’re in the midst of one of those phases now, but it was only really 2 years ago that he finished up with the last depressed period, and during that, he basically had a complete mental breakdown. I held everything together the best I could. I became rather messy myself. It was just too much to ask of me, as much as I wish I had the strength to deal with it all and still stay sunny for him.
In the end, he changed jobs, did some therapy and hopped back on track. We’ve lived quite happily for those 2 years. Happily of course, barring the jolt in trust I’d suffered and the fact that I managed to develop myself a bit of a negative attitude as a result of always having to be the adult and always having to be okay, or else everything became ‘my fault’.
I know that he doesn’t really think that, but my man, lets call him Joe for the sake of this, tends to blame others (ie: me) when he’s hurt or upset. He knows I’m a safe person, I’m not going anywhere, so it’s okay for him to blame me when things aren’t okay. When he feels better, he gets the guilts over hurting me, but in the last few years, he’s forgotten the art of actually apologising. He doesn’t want to revisit our fights, he just wants to move on. Frankly, I’m so tired of the upset that I after a little while, I just want to move on too. Sometimes I get angry with myself for not demanding an apology, but really, that would just spark another fight, and who has the energy for that. When we’re moving forward, he’s reasonable, rational, loving, smiley, even a little silly. I’d rather just enjoy those times.
This time, as things started getting to him, Joe had stopped wanting sex. I am in my mid-thirties, so I’m enjoying a huge surge in my drive. I want sex all the time, and I’m doing all I can (in the midst of the sometimes wracking exhaustion of our daily life) to keep things going. It is probably true to say that I haven’t always pulled out all of the stops, but I’ve suggested, stroked, kissed. I have tried to strip off at the end of the day in a nonchalantly seductive manner. It’s usually lost on a man who is already reading a book.
In amongst it all, I miss the sexy, dirty man Joe was. He’s still in there. When we do have sex, it’s basic but it is still good. He knows my body quite well. I think the thing I miss the most is when he’d talk to me. He used to know by instinct what to say. He kept it simple and told me how beautiful I was, how delicious my tits were, that he wanted to stretch my pussy with his cock. When we were having sweet, love making type sex, he’d keep it clean, respectful and sweet. He’d make me feel like a princess. I’d come over and over just at the sound of his beautiful smooth voice panting that he loved me.
Life changes around us, and we forget to see each other. I suppose that’s what has happened to some extent. I know that to my best girlfriend, I’ve said regularly lately that Joe has his head firmly shoved up his ass. He can only see what is going on in his world. Unfortunately, because I know him, and have watched him go through this awful pain, I can’t blame him. I love him and I would do anything to take it away. However, because I’m not a depressed person, I often find it hard to relate to the notion of not just picking yourself up by your bootstraps and getting on with things, or at least seeing the people around you, those who love you.
The experts assure me that depression is an illness, and I understand and accept that. I have no more chance of curing him than I do of curing cancer, so I have to work out how to live with it. The hard thing is, where do you draw the line between “He’s guarding himself because he is unwell” and “He’s being so self involved that it’s self destructive”?
This week, I’d been working on trying to amp up our sex life. I figured I was the one with the need, I should take responsibility for getting things happening. I didn’t want to rest on my laurels and whine about what I wasn’t getting, so I had a little think, and decided that a bit of pornography might just get his juices flowing.
I had found a website with a tonne of sexy stories and I had spent some time during the week reading them. There were some that didn’t really do it for me, but others that added to the mounting sexual frustration that I have been living with.
Honestly, since I hit 35, I’d be delighted to be good and fucked at least once a day. There are days where sitting in my office chair is enough to head me toward an orgasm.
I enjoyed reading these stories and getting myself off when I could get time away from Joe and the kids. That wasn’t nearly often enough for me, but it did hold me over for a few days. I broached the subject with Joe and he seemed to be happy. He’d said, “Yes, well it would be nice to know what you want in bed.”
I must admit, even that comment had pissed me off. I’d been telling him all along! Mrs Sarcasm took over inside my mind and I just wanted to blurt out “Well it would help if you’d extract that huge cranium from your rectum! Perhaps then you’d hear what I’ve been telling you!” Of course, I didn’t say that. I knew myself enough to know that that wasn’t going to help. I was just angry and I needed to get the hell over it if I had any hope of making things better.
Let me sidetrack again. I promise, I’ll get to the good stuff soon! I need to make it clear that I didn’t want to have an affair. I know that some people would suggest leaving or screwing around, especially if they could take a quick look into the size of my libido. Those were not solutions I was happy with.
For all of his faults, Joe is truly a lovely person. He and I have enriched each other far more than we’ve hurt each other. I am still attracted to him physically and I know full well that what I want is sex with HIM. I am also by no means perfect, and I believe when you choose to spend your life with a person, have children with them, you do everything you can to make that work.
Walking out is just not an option for me unless he gives up on trying to get better, or the situation is too toxic for the kids. I may have promised him “in sickness and in health” but they didn’t get a choice, and we’ve agreed that our children have to come first.
So back to why I stood in tears, studying mascara stained droplets on my boobs, angry as all hell and wanting to do something about it.
I had shared some stories with Joe, stories that turned me on, some that I thought might work for both of us. We had sex a couple of times over the week which was more than it had been. I was happy, he was happy. We’d even thrown in the odd new move which was fantastic. I still needed more orgasms than I was getting, but I figured that that was my problem, and as long as we were happy, connected and having a bit more sex, I was content.
I asked Joe to share some stories with me that he liked, and he had spent a few days looking through what the website had to offer. Then he found one that he wanted me to read, and sent me the link.
I waited until the kids were safely in bed (I’m not good at reading sexy stories while the kids are around. It’s very hard to sit there pretending to be a proper Mummy when you have rock hard nipples and are dripping wet inside your panties).
I started reading the story Joe had sent me. I knew it was a Bondage type story and that didn’t particularly bother me. We’d experimented at home a little with tying each other up, light spanking and similar things in the past. It was good. I was happy to have a bit of that in our relationship. I’m certainly not the raunchiest woman alive, but I am not afraid of trying a few new things. I would rather do that than have my sex life become stale.
The story started to take a few turns I didn’t like particularly. Though it had been written from the perspective of a woman, clearly it was written by a man. His knowledge of what certain acts actually felt like was a bit dodgy to say the least. I know some people really do get off on pain, and I myself don’t mind a bit of dancing around that pleasure/pain line, but there’s a point where it goes beyond titillating and heads straight toward downright painful.
The female star of the story spent the majority of the story as the submissive, but she didn’t seem to know what she was getting into in the beginning. Now, I may be new to the scene and naïve, but as far as I could tell, you can’t just throw someone into full blown bondage and have them respond. They need to be interested in it. They need to have the right elements in their psyche.
I’d also personally been through a couple of close encounters with people who weren’t trying to have me join the Bondage lifestyle so much as literally hurt me, humiliate me and abuse me. I am not someone who enjoys being at others mercy for real. I’m aware that sometimes I am at Joe’s mercy emotionally in my marriage, but then, to some extent, most people in relationships are. I had also made that choice myself to allow some of it in an effort to keep the peace and keep my husband relatively happy.
So, I tried to read, I really did. I paid attention to the parts of the story where the female lead was having her pussy licked and fingered, I imagined some of the voyeuristic elements of the story with some enjoyment and I even didn’t mind the anal portions of the story. I don’t mind a bit of anal, as a matter of fact, I invite it willingly from time to time.
Unfortunately for me, there were some parts to the story I didn’t like. There was blackmail, threats of rape, emotional turmoil and some plot twists that I just couldn’t believe enough to enjoy.
Everyone finds stories they don’t particularly get off on. I knew Joe wouldn’t mind if this one didn’t do it for me, but I guess, I was tired. I guess I was surprised at the level of humiliation and pain featured in this story. I knew Joe had meant this for me. I didn’t know how much, but I guess I was shocked and incensed at the thought that he might want me hurt, humiliated or even gang raped for the sake of his pleasure. I couldn’t believe he’d really think this way.
At a certain point he became aware that I’d stopped reading. He’d been watching TV, and I’d had my laptop out to read the story near him. “Well? What did you think?” He asked, obviously anticipating a happy response.
“Sorry Honey, I don’t understand.” I started, a little dazed. “This is awful! Did you actually read it all?”
“To be honest, I only read the first couple of pages. Why? What bothered you?”
I started to explain, and there was most definitely a distressed edge to my voice. A swirl of thoughts from my immersed brain came tumbling out of my mouth before I’d had the chance to consider how to frame them for him. As I spoke, I could see his eyes grow cold, his expression became stone and he faced the TV silently.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t…” I started to try to soothe things.
“Forget it! I won’t share this kind of stuff with you in future if that’s the reaction you are going to have.” He was obviously furious.
I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. There was nothing wrong with me telling him that some of the story wasn’t to my liking, but I’d allowed my shock to take over. That kind of lapse in my emotional control was a total no-no in this phase of Joe’s depression. He was just too sensitive to take any criticism from me, even if it wasn’t directed at him. In this case I guess he took it personally because he’d tried to share a sexual fantasy with me and it had bombed out so terribly.
“I am sorry…” I stammered. “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just shocked!”
“No, forget it. I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice was hard and controlled.
I felt powerless. I felt terrible that this man, whom I loved with every part of me, could be so hurt by me, and that it seemed that part of him wanted to do things to me that would leave me in pain and humiliated. It wasn’t what I knew of him at all. I was so confused that I felt physically weak.
My insides ached knowing it was the beginning of another fight. We’d had a few good days, but we’d been fighting a lot, and I hated it. I couldn’t sit around being a doormat, but when he was angry with me, I felt like Joe could shut down, like he would just walk away from me, like I was out in the cold and the longer I left it, the less he’d be inclined to ever listen to me and help me fix things.
I pressed on. I couldn’t leave it like this. “I just don’t understand what part of that story you liked. I want to know what part turned you on.”
“I don’t feel like talking about it right now. Maybe later I’ll discuss it with you but I’m too angry at the moment.” All the while Joe looked at the screen flickering in front of him. He really didn’t want me to be there, that much was obvious.
I sat in the lounge chair for a few moments, gathering my resolve. I wanted to stay and fix things with him, but I knew he wasn’t ready anyway, and I also had the urge to flee. I needed to burst into tears and get some of this sick feeling out. I breathed deeply, committing myself to walking out of the room and going to bed to have a good cry.
As I stood and walked across the room I heard him open his mouth to speak. I expected him to say something to reassure me that we would fix this, that he still knew who I was and that he was still my Joe. Instead he said “I thought you were more tolerant and worldly than this.”
He may has well have slapped me. The derogatory tone was palpable. I don’t, to this day, know if Joe has any idea how he sounds when he speaks to me this way, but it kills me every time. To be such a loving devoted husband and father, to know how to make me feel treasured and honoured and trusted, and then to turn on me like this. I know to some this doesn’t seem like much of an insult, but to me, at that moment, I felt misunderstood, tired and … victimised.
So I stood there in the bathroom adjoining our bedroom as Joe continued to watch TV. I suddenly realised as I looked up from my low cut top, worn with the sole intent of gaining Joe’s attention, that there was a tired old looking woman staring at me. Her makeup had worn off. Her hair had been thrown back into a bun at some point in the afternoon to keep it out of the way, and she was, frankly a little on the chubby side.
She looked fucking pathetic. She wasn’t me, she couldn’t have been. This worn out pathetic woman could not possibly be the strong, striking redhead I knew I was, at least on the inside.
My self esteem wasn’t always perfect, but I know that I’m worthwhile, relatively attractive (I have great tits for a mother in her mid thirties, they still sit up and take notice). I also know that other people like me and have positive opinions of me. I have no ‘daddy issues’. My parents loved and still love me, my family are good to me and I have friends. I also have Joe who fought hard to get me in the beginning and has, for the most part, been a loving and caring partner, and we have our children who are good and sweet and say lovely kind things to both of their parents. With all of that evidence at my disposal, I am usually fairly sure of myself in life.
This pathetic woman did not match up with the image I had inside of myself, and for some reason, a switch had been flipped. Suddenly, I was boiling over with rage. I realised I was feeling like a victim and the very thought made me furious!
My reddened eyes narrowed. I believe if I’d been another person looking at my own face, I’d have been a little afraid. ‘Fuck this!’ I thought to myself. ‘This is not going to go down like this!’
The anger was building and I was forming a plan. There would be no walking out, no tyre slashing, no screaming. I was going to take matters into my own hands. I was going to not only reclaim myself, but take back my husband and the life I had worked my ass off to build.
I knew that what I had in mind could go either way. He could either be putty in my hands and things could be put back together, or he could lose his shit at me, and, I suspect, that might just be the end of us. Again I thought ‘Fuck it!’
I had visions of slapping the shit out of Joe, continuing harder and harder until I felt better or he begged for forgiveness. The vision didn’t shock me. I frequently use my mind as my playground and live out things I would never do there. It’s a safe way of dealing with feelings that need to be dealt with. But as I thought this way, I realised I was, to use a man-term, losing wood.
I didn’t like the feeling of loss of control that my unbridled anger was fuelling, and the thought of true violence has always sickened me. First and foremost, I knew that I actually do love this man with everything I am, and so I could never hurt him this way deliberately. I didn’t want to hurt him, I was just utterly pissed and I didn’t want to be hurt anymore. I wanted the respect he used to give me. So it was time to take it.
I started by washing my face and removing the last of the worn, smeared makeup I had left on. I moisturised and applied a whole new face. Smooth even skin, carefully applied blush, darkened, well-lined eyes. Then I rooted around in my makeup bag for the darkest shade of lipstick I possessed. I applied it carefully and perfectly on my full lips. I wanted my makeup to look crisp, pristine and just a little severe.
I went hunting in my bedroom drawer and found some lingerie. A one piece suit in pink that had black lacings up the front, ending just under the breast. The cups of the outfit were wired but there was no fabric over them, so my breasts would be supported and perky but completely bare. Perfect!
I went back into the bathroom and took off the low cut top, jeans and underwear that I had been wearing. I slipped into the outfit, (I guess you’d call it a teddy), which was very high cut at the bottom, and the crotch split in two. The crotch part was all so narrow, you could easily see the lips of my pussy either side of the fabric. It was sort of cradling my clit, gently rubbing it. Had I have been calmer, I’d have purred like a kitten and relaxed into the sensation, but the ‘Fuck this’ attitude had taken over and I had things to do.
I had been messing around in the drawers in our room, trying to find the things I needed and then I’d gone into the bathroom and locked the door. Joe must have heard because he came into the bedroom and tried to open the bathroom door.
“What the hell are you doing?” I suspect he thought I may have been packing my things and was probably puzzled when he came in to find the room unruffled. I’d been careful to shut all of the drawers as I’d made my preparations.
“I’m going to the toilet!” I retorted, lying. The annoyance in my voice didn’t really have to be faked.
“I heard drawers. What’s going on?” He asked, still upset, but a bit softer.
“Nothing! I’m just tidying up and getting changed” I replied. There was no way I wanted him to suspect what I was up to. He was so angry that I knew if he had an inkling, I wouldn’t be able to get him to comply.
Joe left the room and went into the rest of the house. I peeked out of the bathroom door to check that he was gone, then snuck into our walk in robe to find the skirt I was after. It was almost a belt, it was so short, but it was perfect for what I wanted. If I even began to bend over, it would show my ass. I could have just kept with the teddy, but I wanted some semblance of an outfit. I wanted to look like I was in control, because I was damn well about to be.
Finally, I unwrapped my long red hair from the bun it was swept up in. My normally straight locks hung in curls. Even better! I looked wild and horny. Joe liked my long hair. It hung down below my breasts and I had a feeling that with it all curly and tousled, he’d find it a turn on. I needed the visual element. I had to be able to get his attention at the right time, and this would be the way.
I put on my fluffy robe over my outfit. I knew the lipstick would be a giveaway of sorts, but I decided to just rely on the idea that he would either not notice it, or would have no idea what it meant. In my fluffy, housewifey disguise, I called Joe from the bedroom door. “Can we talk?” I asked. I had a feeling that, because he’d been in to check on me earlier, some of his fury would have dissipated and he’d probably agree to talk to me. If not, I’d have to think of something else.
Fortunately, my instinct was right. Joe walked into the room and sat on the bed next to me. He found me in my dressing gown as I am guessing he’d expected. I could tell he was expecting me to start talking because that is usually the way these things go. I’m definitely the wordier of the two of us.
Instead I reached out and gently tried to take his hand. He half pulled away, but though he didn’t really want to hold my hand, I could tell he didn’t have the heart to be too ferocious about taking his back. I wordlessly turned to my bedside cabinet and reached into the top drawer to pull out one of his old business ties that I’d stashed in there. I wrapped it around his wrist, and tied it in a double knot.
The knot had no finesse about it. The tie was fairly tight there. I didn’t care. Right now this was not about being seductive or sexy, it was about control and I wanted to make sure that he couldn’t get away without actually having to physically fight me, which I was fairly sure he wouldn’t do. I was pissed about the order of the world, and I was all about setting it right.
“That’s not going to turn me on.” He said. Clearly he’d thought that I was going to tease him and please him. I ignored him. He’d soon be fully aware of how things were going to be. “Look, I’m not in the mood…” he started. I could hear the anger ramping up again.
“Shut Up!” I commanded. I didn’t yell, but I used my firm voice. It’s the voice I pull out when I am being ‘Bossy Mum’ to my children. It’s the voice I use when I’m telling off the plumber or arguing with a business to get a better deal. I use it because it works, and it works because I believe in it. I use it when I am determined that I will get my way.
Joe was quiet. He looked annoyed. He complied very unenthusiastically when I tied his hand to the end of the bed with equally inelegant knots. I picked up his legs and swung them onto the bed. He complied, all the while with a look of pissed off boredom. I tied the other hand to the other side of the bed end. I knew him well enough to understand that his plan in response to this was to stay lying there while I probably got up and ground around on him or something and when I worked out that he wasn’t interested, I’d get up, release him and pout. He’d then get to walk off until I was ready to beg his forgiveness for hurting his feelings with my intense reaction to the story he’d shared with me.
I think he’d expected that I would be wearing nothing, or maybe one of the tiny silk nighties I owned. Something sexy but easy to deal with. I removed the robe and he saw my outfit. The surprise on his face was definitely there, but with pursed lips, he stubbornly tried not to let me see it.
I pulled out a blindfold from the drawer and walked around to his head. I started to put it on him, then reconsidered. I needed him to see everything that was happening for the full impact. “No, I said quietly. I think I’ll let you look… for now.” I sauntered back to the drawer and put the blindfold on top.
Then, standing next to the head of the bed, I picked up the foot closest to me and stripped the sock off. I began to massage his foot. I know that is kind of strange for someone to do when they want to take control, but I know Joe and I do understand him better than he thinks. I can read that beautiful face of his, and I know how far I can go before his arrogance takes over and the stubborn streak shuts me down.
Usually I use this perception of mine to try and avoid an argument or keep him from shutting down on me when I’m trying to make a point with him. I’ve known for quite some time that I could probably do more with it. I don’t mind admitting it was thrilling to finally be able to more to keep him on his toes.
Joe is a commanding person. He is known for being forceful and if people don’t have to go up against him, they’d rather avoid it. Being extra intelligent, he suffers from the problem most clever people do, he stresses too much about things. At work, he has to manage some very complicated things and people, and with his own issues, this adds to the stress. His life, his personality is all about trying to manage being in command of things, particularly himself. I suspected that my taking control of him might be a welcome change for him if I could do it just right. If not, well we were already fighting and at odds, so I’d just have to deal with the fallout.
Joe was relaxing into the foot massage I was giving, standing there in my outfit, my bare D-cup breasts pointing at him. He closed his eyes and his breathing settled. I dropped his foot unceremoniously. His eyes opened surprised, but I simply picked up the other foot and stripped off the sock. I rubbed for a minute or two. I wanted him to like the feeling, but he wasn’t here to get a treat.
I dropped the other foot, and then went for his pants. Unbuttoning and unzipping them I slipped them down so that he was left on the bed in his T-shirt and briefs. The jeans sailed through the air and hit the top of the laundry basket in the corner.
He smiled. I could see that with the mildly abrupt treatment I’d given him he was now up for sex, but not yet aroused. At least his mind was in the game. Unfortunately for him, he had some lessons to learn before he’d get anything fun out of this.
I straddled him and he half smiled. At this point, it was expected that I would start kissing and fondling. Instead I leaned in close to his face my expression became serious and cold. I spoke to him softly, keeping my voice even and smooth. “You, my love, are a brilliant man. You are intelligent, accomplished and handsome…” I leaned in and brushed his lips with mine. “However, If we’re going to play these games, you are going to learn some things…”
As I spoke in low tones to him, I began to grind my pussy through the split crotch of my teddy against his groin. Inside his briefs, I could feel him getting hard. Joe has a magnificent dick and it has never had any problem responding to me.
“I am not your slut.” I said, my voice dripping with honey. “I am not your bitch. If we ever play these games and you tie me up, it will be on my say so. Do you understand?”
Joe’s chiselled chin jutted out slightly in defiance. He had a bemused look in his eye. He thought we were still playing and that he’d have a choice.
“Okay then.” I said, equalling his look with a smirk of my own. “If that’s the way you want it.”
With that I dismounted him. I grasped his briefs and tore them down roughly, allowing his semi hard dick to slap against his stomach. I lifted his leg up and climbed on the bed so that I was between his legs with his knees raised. With a full view of his cock, balls and asshole available to me, I had my pick of what to do next. I pushed his legs up as though he were in stirrups at the gynaecologists. He strained a little, but I forced the issue. Then I slapped his right ass cheek hard. It certainly wasn’t as hard as I could do it, but it was intended to give him a light sting. I could tell from his jolt, that I had succeeded.
He was surprised, and I watched his face for the reaction I expected. I didn’t have to wait long before I could see the defiant look start to creep back again, so I slapped again in the same place, harder this time. His jolt was more pronounced.
“I said, Do you understand?”
“I …um…” his eyes closed, he was enjoying this. I wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t the part of the bondage that I had had a problem with, and it certainly wouldn’t have upset him either.
WHACK! I spanked him a third time, even harder. My hand tingled with it, and he yelped a little as I connected. “Yes, yes I understand.” He replied, clearly turned on by my taking command.
“Good. Now, you’ll do as you are told.” I said evenly. “This is not for you until I say so. If you learn your place and behave yourself, then I will see about giving you some of what you want.”
Joe wriggled happily. He still thought I was going to get sweet at some point. He had no idea that I meant what I said. I was determined to regain our balance and to me, that meant that he would quit the arrogant shit act, apologise for making me feel crappy, and get it that I deserved to be made to feel beautiful. He needed to get it that he was fucking lucky to have me, just as I adored him, and that he should damn well tell me so.
I suddenly spied his cock, about three quarters the way along to a nice hard on. I grasped it roughly. I know my way around his penis quite well. I have mastered giving him good head, I can give him a gentle or firm hand job that gets him to come pretty damn hard. This wasn’t about that. I wanted my prize. I wanted him to know that I had control of even his biological urges.
My hand squeezed and rubbed, with the other hand I grasped both balls and began to tug. When they’d warmed up and become a little looser, I encircled the sack just above his balls with my fingers, effectively separating them away from his dick. I’d done this dozens of times. Done well, Joe finds it quite arousing and it is a great helper to a good hand job. This time I tugged. I pulled hard enough that all of the tension was out of his skin. I was sure that I was getting close to some discomfort for him, and I continued to masturbate him roughly, milking him.
After a minute or two, I saw the glisten that I was waiting for. “There it is. That’s what I wanted.” I said. I bent down and wrapped my mouth around the head of his cock, tasting the salty pre ejaculate. My tongue circled around the head and bobbed in and out of the slit, licking up all of the semen it could find. Then I sucked. I was firm with my suction, bringing his cock into my mouth deeper and deeper. I dug my nails into his thighs to stop him squirming. I wanted to taste him, and I wanted him to beg for more, or possibly to beg me to stop.
By the time his cock was completely hard in my mouth, he was squirming with pleasure. “I wish my hands were free so I could hold your head” he said, trying to take back the reins.
Instantly, I brought my mouth away. He couldn’t hide the disappointment. In previous scenarios, we’d swapped back and forth between being in charge, but none of the being in charge was actually real, we were both in it for the thrill, and happily sharing the experience. Not this time.
I stood back up next to the bed with my hands on my hips in full schoolmarm glory, my now fully aroused nipples jutting out at points. It wasn’t hard for me to put my firm look back on. I truly felt this way behind my mask, and I had little left to lose, so I was going to play hard until I heard what I wanted to hear from him, until I saw true surrender.
“No, you still need to apologise to me.” I said firmly. He lay back and looked at me and I could read the brazen twinkle in his eye. “Okay then” I said merrily “You’re soooo fucked now!”
I all but skipped out of the room. By this stage I think he may well have thought I’d taken total leave of my senses. In some respects, he wouldn’t have been far wrong. I went into the fridge in the kitchen and searched through the crisper drawer. Finding the item I was looking for, I returned to the bedroom.
Joe spied the rather large continental cucumber in my hands and his eyebrows raised up. There was a thick round end, and a smaller tapered end. I toyed for a moment with the idea of shoving the thicker end unceremoniously up his butt making sure it hurt like hades. In my little “mind-playground” evil me giggled at the thought. I then thought better of it all and decided that while I was still heartily pissed off, hurting him wasn’t the aim.
I sat back on the bed again between his knees. I arched up my own legs in the opposite direction so that I was facing him, and I forced each of his feet up onto my shins so that his ass was exposed to me. I then spanked him a couple more times, hard. Each time my hand connected, he flinched. He’d stopped fighting me, but he was enjoying it. I didn’t care, as long as he figured out who was boss, he could enjoy it all he liked.
I lifted up his balls so that I could see his perineal area, and I laid a slap right there. I am quite sure it stung a bit. His ass was looking nice and red by this stage. Using my middle finger, I circled his hole gently, scraping the delicate skin with my nail. I have moderately long acrylic nails which I knew would give him a lovely tingly sensation. I then plunged in, knowing the nail would be a bit sharp and would sting. The jolt was obvious and his cock throbbed upward as he sucked in a deep hissing breath.
I pushed my finger in as deeply as it would reach and moved around. His hips writhed with my movements and I knew he was ready. Retracting my finger, I took the cucumber and unwrapped the plastic shrink wrap from it’s entire length. The look of alarm on his face was mildly amusing. He’d stuck it to my ass on many occasions, ramming away with abandon, so I was rather entertained at the thought of him being worried now.
I had some lemon oil on my bedside and I rubbed a little of this over the cucumber. Taking the tapered end, I placed it against his hole and pushed. His slightly loosened up ass allowed a little of the end in, but he was resisting. I withdrew and braced his legs upward, and in one swift hard motion, slapped the entire width of his ass with the cucumber. He yelped.
“You’re fighting me… and you’re not going to win.” I said sternly. “Let me into your ass like a good little slut.” Again I pushed the cucumber into his entrance, harder this time, and I made it to the end of the taper to where it widened out. He was definitely warmed up and ready.
I started to move the cucumber in and out, fucking his ass. He was panting and whispering “Oh God”. I was loving every minute of it, pushing further and further into him. I stopped fucking his ass for a moment and said “so tell me, do you have anything to say to me yet?” He remained silent, but the ends of his mouth curled up giving him away. He wanted me to continue, he wanted to have me keep fucking him.
Instead, I whipped the cucumber out, raised his legs and slapped his ass twice in quick succession, as hard as I could without snapping the vegetable. He cried out. “What do you have to say for yourself?” I demanded firmly.
“I…” he faltered. He tried to resist a few moments longer, but I was not going to tolerate it. I brought the cucumber down hard two more times. A red welt was forming across his right butt cheek. The waxy skin made a perfect slapping sound against his skin. The hitting didn’t turn me on at all but it was easy to see from his long solid cock that he was really enjoying being turned upside down by me.
“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” He whimpered excitedly.
“And?” I asked
“I Love you.” He panted readily
It was a good effort, but not good enough. I’d seen him get to the point during our lovemaking where he had really yielded to it and to me.
As an aside, let me just say that it’s not that I think I’m the most fabulous woman that ever walked. I’m quite sure I’m nice, attractive and a whole bunch of other things that make me a good wife and partner. It’s just that I knew that Joe had really surrendered to me in the past. He’d made love to me and been obviously wrapped up in me many times, but it was at this moment that I realised that this is what I had been missing.
I could make him throw his head back, eyes shut with pleasure fairly easily, but I hadn’t seen him see me and treasure me in a good long while. So was the extent of his self-involvement, or rather his involvement with his Mistress, depression. I knew that amazing sex wouldn’t win him back entirely from his depressed state, but maybe he could have a short holiday from it. Maybe for a moment he could be back with me, seeing me, throwing himself at me again so that I knew I wasn’t just here to support him, that this marriage hadn’t become a one way street.
“I need you to tell me something good about me” I said, sitting back. He was waiting for more. He clearly didn’t know what ‘more’ was, but he wanted it.
“I wish I could see this side of you more often. This is amazing.” He said.
“No, I need to hear something nice about me.” I said petulantly, instantly annoyed at myself for betraying my emotions.
Joe lay there and looked at me. To his credit, I was well aware that his silence wasn’t because he didn’t love me or think nice things about me. It was merely because he had not the faintest clue what exactly to say to make me happy right then.
“Oh come now,” I said smirking. “I can’t be that much of a bitch.”
“You’re not a bitch at all.” He said, suddenly looking concerned for me. He was finally getting it. As much as this was to show him what I could do for him, it was also so that he could show me he was still connected to me and could occasionally take his head out of his own ass long enough to communicate it to me. Call me needy if you will, but every wife in the land needs to know that her husband wants and cherishes her. I am definitely no exception to that rule.
“Tell me what I want to hear then.” I stated, deadpan. I slid the cucumber gently back inside him and his eyes closed with pleasure.
“You’re beautiful…” he gasped as I gently pushed harder. “And sexy…” he continued. I pushed harder again and he groaned.
“Are you lucky to have me then?” I questioned, playing with him a little. He was oblivious to my mild sarcasm, wrapped up in the jolts of pleasure he felt as I eased inside him inch by inch.
“Oh God yes! Very lucky!” he sighed.
“And what would happen if I went away?” I asked.
“I’d be very sad.” He replied in a whisper
“How long for?” I was going to string this out for just a little longer.
“Forever.” He said. His answer stunned me. I guess I should have expected it, but I think I must have just been expecting “for a long time” or maybe for him to snap his eyes open and tell me to “Cut the crap.”
I can’t fully explain how charged the air was, suffice it to say that his honesty was both obvious and disarming. I still wanted to retain the upper hand, but he was due a reward for his compliance.