My Almost Divorce
After nearly thirty years of marriage, some years better than others, I became more and more tormented by the inescapable realization that I had minimal relationship with my husband. I spent my time doting over my trophy house and a few socially acceptable diversions like six drink lunch at the club with my friends. My husband had his own diversions; the newest green lawn mower, hunting, and every sport with or without a ball.
His vintage corvette had long been a higher priority than his family. On some rediculously shallow level, we had a working marriage, but examination beyond possessions revealed nothing else. I was quite aware there were worse ways to spend the second half of one's life, but I couldn't stand the thought of emptiness until nothingness. Empty, contrived, passionless interaction certainly didn't lead to a spicy sex life, or any sex life for that matter. Suicide seemed almost acceptable, but ultimately I lit on divorce as a solution I could live with.
I planned my divorce meticulously with my secret attorney over about six months. Partly limited by the attorney's time, but mostly limited by my ability to extract twenty thousand dollars from our finances, undetected ( ten thousand for my lawyer, and ten thousand in secret stash to start over). I had lists, inventories, documents, and plans.
I was all but ready to give my lawyer the clearance to proceed, but I wanted some cleaning done in the basement and garage, generally moving enough things from the house to the lake home for my husband to make an instant move when I filed. I politely asked my husband to tend to some of his things, and thought I'd ask for more work later. How could I have anticipated that water fowl season didn't allow for my request?
When Macon explained he couldn't do as I asked because of hunting season, I guess I was enraged or frustrated, but without thinking I began slapping him across the face, perhaps five or six hard swipes. I didn't realize what I'd done until I saw the bewilderment and fear in my husband's eyes. As I heatedly retold him to clean, he seemed to flinch and cower which further emboldened my demands. I made demands I hadn't even planned to make, and was almost shocked he immediately began to vigorously comply with my demands.
I left him to his tasks and went shopping to settle down, and returned to considerable progress. I was somewhat surprised and pleased and felt some arousal. I told him he could stop for the evening until Saturday, and that he was doing pretty well. Off he went to shower, and when he was done I told him we were eating dinner out. I felt awakened and powerful for the first time in years. I was feeling satisfied and fulfilled telling my husband what I wanted. We discussed how Macon was doing well at his task, and I noticed how the little praise livened him up. Dinner went well, and I felt some connection that was unfamiliar. My new found interest very well could have been due to the fact that I enjoyed at least six drinks, and I very Uncharacteristically told Macon I wanted him to give me oral sex when we got home.
At home I made my way to the study expecting Macon to follow, but was displeased to hear sports center on in the den. I was feeling too good to get angry, but had no inhibitions demanding oral pleasure. So I called Macon, and was surprised how quickly he presented himself. I reminded him that I wanted oral sex now, and I'd let him know when he was finished. I found it fulfilling, the more I demanded, the more compliant Macon became. From cleaning, to eating, and now sex, after all these years of marriage, I was shocked by how good it felt to make demands of my husband and his willingness to comply. We had wonderful sex, and I almost let him fuck me. But after several orgasms and so much alcohol I was in a perfect state to sleep.
The next morning was Friday, and while Macon was at work, I spent the day thinking about how much I enjoyed the previous day's events. At this point, I was still invested in the divorce, but really enjoyed how things had gone the previous day. I decided to tell Macon I didn't approve of his sports center habit; he could listen to sports center driving to work but not watch it on tv at home.
He said, "uh, ok."
I said, "you're damn right it's ok, I said it."
And he shocked me by saying, "right, I got it." For the love of platinum, I should have done this years ago. Then I said we'd be going to bed early tonight, "I want more of what I got last night."
He was licking my pussy when I rolled over and said "lick my ass." I was thrilled by his passion licking my ass to orgasm, and ended the night that way.
The next day was Saturday, and Macon cleaned most of the day. I came down and told him what needed to go to the lake home, what we needed to give to our son, what needed to be given to his brother - and just like that the mess in the basement was fixed, and the more charge I took of Macon, the more he obeyed. I toyed with my new authority in ways unimaginable, and Macon simply became more obedient.
I had sex when and how I wanted it; I had every chore tended like a mission. I decided as long as this subservience lasted, divorce was out of the question. I kept expanding my demands just to test my authority and Macon's servitude, and was shocked by my power. I no longer cleaned anything. My husband spent the allowance I restricted him to, on bath oil and flowers for me. Sex was wonderful. This devotion only deepened over the next year, and I told my lawyer to keep his retainer, but I no longer needed his service. Two years have since elapsed, and I have daily sex and pampering. I shudder how close I was to a divorce, and smile about my alternative.
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