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Synopsis:


I’ve been married to Laura for 22 years. 

I’m sure I rebelled against the rigid, authoritarian  attitude of my father. 
The
word sexism did not exist when he used to give my mother the back of his hand.
But sexism it was. I could not construct myself according to this male model
and I became nearly its opposite.  I was a gentle, kind, open-minded male in
the face of women.. Where he was intolerant, abrupt and even violent, I was
kind, patient and understanding.  This might have never changed had my wife not
looked at me one day, one day not long after the birth of our first son, and
said to me, “Why don’t you ever just tell me what to do?  Why are you always
asking?”  My first response to this mentally was that her birth process had
warped her mind.  There was no way I could respond properly at the time;  the
statement was too powerful and stunning.  But I felt welling up inside me a
response that would take some time before it became clarified.. 

I think Danny was two years old, when he was sent for a weekend to his
grandmother’s
to give us young parents respite.  I was alone with Laura for the weekend.
I’d had wanted to properly respond many, many times to the provocative words
that Laura had said two years before. But I could never bring myself to
respond.  Perhaps because we were at last alone and had drunk two bottles of
wine I said to her, “Were you completely crazy when you said to me after Danny
was born that you wanted me to just tell you what to do?” Laura said, somewhat
annoyed, “A woman is a woman, Victor!  Your father was a bastard, but he kept
things in order at home didn’t he?”  Laura
knew quite well how rough my father had been and how much it had
disgusted me, so I was really surprised at this sudden endorsement of his
methods.

“So. What? You want me to be like my fucking father?” 

Laura laughed.  “You’ll never be like your father.  Thank god!  But you might
just
make me feel more secure as a woman, if you’d be clearer about how things
should be between us.” 

My cock was hard and I knew exactly what she meant but I had to ask a cowardly
question. “So you meant the statement that you made after the birth of our son
literally?” 

Laura gave me a look then that, in retrospect, I see was profoundly submissive,
“I meant every word of it.  Sometimes a girl likes to just be told.”

It was frightening in a way how deeply Laura’s words tapped into instinct.  My
own fantasies preserved, in a way, the 19th century, sexist attitudes of my
father  But, here, I was not forcing anyone to do things she did not want to
do.  Laura had asked for it. And she began to get it.

I began to be more and more directive with Laura, within the constraints of
family life with a young child.  I began to assert fuck-rights with her that I
never would have imagined.  Slowly, I began taking her, as pleased me.
I would fuck her in the car or in the back yard on the grass or in the
bathroom.
I no longer observed propriety and had no concern for permission.  Laura
responded to my audacity with incredible passion.  She once whispered in my
ear, “Use me! Just use me!”  Once, when I looked surprised at her obscene words
she kissed me and said, “I’m yours Victor.  I never asked for kid gloves!”

The great irony and beauty of it is that Laura was always meant to be a
slave and I. a Master.  By the time my son was 16 years old Laura was
nearly rightless in the invisible terms of our “middle class” marriage in
a small town. When she spoke to me she spoke to me in ways that I deigned. 
When
she dressed and accoutered it was by my direction.  When she moved,
she moved exactly as pleased me and only me.  Most importantly when
we fucked, it was as, when and how I chose.

It was fortune that my son went across the continent to school when
he was 18. It may not have been so fortunate for Laura.  I was now 46 years
old and Laura was  41.  Because of living in a small community where everyone
knew everyone, there were real limits on the extent to which I could exercise
my control
over Laura.  While Danny was home, too, everything was kept very quiet and
covert.  Laura was very subservient to me, but it was deeply
hidden.  I did choose, for instance, every single garment she ever wore for
sixteen years, but to the outside world she didn’t stand out.  Nearly every
move
she made during the day was also my doing, but there was nothing
that would, with a surprise visit by our son or neighbor, be obvious to
anyone.  We were extremely discreet. 

We greeted Danny’s home-leaving with great anticipation.  Everything was going
to change dramatically.

One month after Danny left home we sold our small-town house
and moved to a beautiful rural house about 40 miles from Chicago.
My business consulting work was now arranged so that I did 80%
of my work electronically or from home by phone.  Things had worked
out financially for us and Laura could continue not to work unless I
wanted her to.  We moved now to a huge country house which
we beautifully appointed.  It was on a rural route about a mile from
a main road.  We both were tremendously excited at the freedom
that this place would give us.  Both of us were now, for practical
purposes, going to be very anonymous, where before we had lived
in the fishbowl of a small town.

Laura had been my “housecunt” for 16 years, never working and
taking care of the house and our child.  Now she would be my
housecunt and slave, completely. 

Laura’s slavery was to become shockingly complete.  But this had been
evolving to this clear and obvious goal for over 16 years.  Part of our
communication, as we began to develop our mutually satisfactory relationship,
was through stories and poetry. I will admit that when Laura first began to
write her intimate thoughts to me it was a jolt.  I had fantasies too that were
very, very elaborate, but I couldn’t believe that there was any woman
who’s mentality could match mine.  It has been the great pleasure of my life
that I married a woman, completely without knowing it beforehand, who fit my
mindset to a tee.  Here was one of Laura’s early poem-notes to me:

Crush this bitch under your boot, MAN
I will give you everything I CAN
This girly girl  is your splay HOLE
Ram it with your manliness and play your ROLE

Laura was a well-educated, independent-minded, “liberated” woman--- or so
I had thought.  She managed to get a Masters in Linguistics by the time Danny
was born..  Nearly nothing in our love life would have prepared me for the
ferociousness of her need to surrender, but then again, she
never would have imagined either, that I would be so committed to being her
Master.  Poetry like this created in me a roaring cauldron of emotion and
desire.  Her passion for submission stoked incredibly my own need to rule.
We inspired each other in our roles as though we had selected each other for
just this,
when, of course, this was not at all the case.

“Your poetry is so fierce, cunt,” I said holding her in my arms after a
marathon bout of using her body. In my passion I had abused her tit nipples
harshly and had put  clamps on her vaginal lips, a gag in her mouth to
muffle the noise.   Having removed the clamps and mouth gag I had taken her in
my arms.  I said, “Isn’t part of this just fantasy? Do you really want me to be
so rough on you? I mean, in an emotional sense.”

“Victor, you know how strong I am at heart.   I have an amazing will.  And I
feel that this is a barrier for me.  A passive girl might just want to be
guided softly, but I am aggressive at heart.  I know what I need.  I need you
to really break my will in a way.  I know it seems radical, but when you hurt
me and take a extremely demanding attitude toward me, I feel the passion just
explode in me.  I need you to be a real bastard and not let up.  I feel
that’s the only way I’ll break through to my core.  I know it sounds so crude
and brutish, but you have to be strong Victor.  I really need to be COMPLETELY
Mastered.”

Laura stands 5’4.”  She weighs and weighed about 160 lbs.  She has always been
chunky, but with very nice curves and good tits.  She has attractive brown eyes
and curly brown
hair.  She is not attractive in a traditional sense, but she has a personality
and
verve that had men had always been drawn to.   Before the change in our
relationship
took place, I had known Laura as a take-charge, quite aggressive female.  I
learned,
as we exchanged our intimate notes and poetry, that this aggressiveness was
more than unconsciously intended to challenge males to dominate her.  It had
not
occurred to me before but Laura did not show the same pushiness with women.  In
note after note Laura poured out her fantasies and views, and it did not take
long
before she drove a stake in the notion that she wanted to be take-charge in our
relationship.  She wrote with passionate frankness and spared no obscenity to
make crystal clear not only her desire for dominance, but her commitment to
abject servitude before the man who would be her Master:

Don’t softball this bitch
Or I’ll spit at you and laugh.
Use the back of your hand or a switch
I need to feel your wrath
If you spare the rod, you’ll spoil this cunt---
so hurt me and teach me what I want



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