She'd had enough. The revolver she kept in the closet was loaded with six bullets before she stepped to the mirror, covering the latest red mark on her neck with make up. Yes, she'd kill him this time, she told herself, it can't go on. As she strutted out onto the drive of the big house his wealth had brought her, she felt a strange but undeniable pleasure in the power her mood and intent gave her; yes she'd spend the rest of her life behind bars - if she was lucky - but seeing him dead after the months and years of abuse, somehow excited her sexually, her cunt was wet as she thought of seeing him drop. She got into the Thunderbird, tied the scarf around her hair and donned her sunglasses, and after lighting a Lucky Strike she clicked the radio knob on. With Bobby Vinton's 'Blue Velvet' not assisting in reducing her urgency, she drove off to her husband's office.
Patti Payne knew what a pig Lloyd Garner was, his openly broadcast chauvinism was legendary at the office where he was a director, and she a department head - a rare thing indeed where women were concerned in those days - and the rumours of his womanising were too frequent for some not to be true; he'd not tried anything on with her of course, as she was a good twenty years older than the sort of women he preferred; juvenile, shapely, and never too intellectual - in 1963, that kind of adventurous and loose female was becoming increasingly easy for moneied jerks like Garner to pick up. It came as little surprise when his beleaguered wife Joyce appeared from the elevator doors, looking furtive, her face heavily made up and sunglasses covering her eyes, but the marks of abuse still evident to the keen eye.
Patti had just finished a conversation with a colleague by the water dispenser opposite when she saw her; the prim woman looking flushed, and looking about her to recall the way to her husband's office, which she rarely visited. Patti watched her progress to the end of the hall, then grapple for something in her bag. She dropped her paper cup in shock, on briefly seeing a revolver emerge from the bag, then returned to the cover of the bag with Joyce's hand still on it. As she motioned to move to Garner's office, Joyce felt the grip of Patti's hand on her arm, and felt herself being pulled away to her office.
"No... there's a better way, I can't let you do this." Patti looked at the pretty face full of exasperation, her sexually attractive figure one that any male would die for, increasing her own hatred for the misogynistic male who had no need for any other woman. She could also feel the sexual thrill that her intent to kill him had brought out in her, her nipples standing hard through her thin bra and soft blouse. Patti closed the door behind them, the incident only noticed briefly by a couple of women in the typing pool before they entered her office; they'd say nothing. Joyce raged with passion.
"I want him dead!... it can't go on, I want to put him where he belongs and have everyone know a woman did it!" Patti calmed the seething beauty, stroking her hair and already warming to her dark desire which was at least partly powered by an eroticism which Patti's private life could assist her with.
"The dead don't suffer... and I'd like to see him taken down as much as you... and then perhaps disposed of at your whim." Joyce's eyes illuminated away from the red mist, though the sexual desire that reinforced it remained as she listened.
"Put a hole in his head in public, and where does that get you? Life behind bars if you're lucky, the death penalty if the judge is a typical male..." She smiled wickedly as she sat her in a chair, calming her rage further.
"...and the thrill of ending him that way is so short, so clinical... you deserve to get more pleasure from it than that." Joyce watched the long legs with seamed stockings and firm arse tight in the business suit dress, strut to the window and look down to the office where Garner continued his arrogant existence, for the time being. She noted there was no picture of a man or children on her desk. The tenderness she'd been shown and Patti's obvious desire to see a male punished alarmed her slightly.
"You're not... not.. a lesbian are you?" Patti crossed her arms, held her head back slightly and laughed.
"Oh no.. I like men as much as you do... I just like to have them firmly under my control... yours is a thought shared by many here - I'm often left apples and other tokens of affection by sweet young typists - swells my ego but nothing else." Joyce gasped, her cunt tingling at her tone.
"You're... a dominatrix?" Patti gave her a warm smile as she sat on the chair opposite and crossed her legs, wagging a sleek black stiletto contentedly.
"That's the archaic term that's used to describe women like me... and most women who realise their inner desires, but yes, I get great pleasure from dominating men, it comes most naturally and as you can see from my position, it has other benefits too. How else do you think a simple out of town girl like me has managed to become Head of a department?" Joyce began to ease into a sexual euphoria as she imagined Patti with a whip, her husband at her feet; she so wanted a part of that. Patti wrote her address on a piece of paper, and handed it to her.
"Now you take that gun home and lock it away for ever. I'm as keen to see your husband taken down, humiliated, crushed... and possibly erased from the face of the Earth by you, but I think you should enjoy doing it.. I know I'll enjoy helping you. Come and see me at home later, and see how you can have your domestic life just as you want it - about seven o'clock?" Joyce stood and peered through the window, giving his office door a cynical smile.
"Oh, I'd like that, he can entertain himself this evening." Patti gave her a wry smile as she walked to the door.
"I'll open your eyes as to how things should be for any woman... perhaps stay for a few days, that'll wind him up nicely when he turns up at home and you're not there, and I can keep an eye on his movements here on Monday, giving me a chance to bait a trap." The abused wife strode quickly to the elevator door unnoticed by anyone, in complete contradiction to her original intent; her descent within it, the antithesis of the ascent she'd soon experience.
Joyce packed a large bag of her favourite items and left it at the door, a thought entering her head before she left. She strutted to his study and pulled one of his prized Havana's from its decorative box; it"s phallic resemblance and the pompous masculinity it added to his facial expression when smoked in the company of his cronies, symbolised everything she hated about him. She smiled wickedly as she dug in her red manicured thumbnails, halfway down its length, and broke it as though snapping his cock. Leaving it satisfyingly emasculated in the middle of his desk, she left.
Joyce was impressed with the generous suburban home that Patti owned; the large Art Deco house with it's green tiled roof cast an imposing shadow, its white rose clad perimeter walls keeping its sizeable grandeur secluded from the outside world. Parked outside, a cream coloured Studebaker Hawk, no doubt Patti's daily use, was parked across a black Pontiac Catalina, its notable size poking from a covered port which kept its black leather interior cool. Joyce parked and ascended the steps to the door, the sweet smell of the many roses permeating the air, and something about the feel of the place had her aroused even before the door was opened. Patti stood before her with a broad smile, her large breasts prominent through a black silk kimono, tied at the waist and expressing her womanly curves admirably.
A maid, slender in shape but as tall as Patti, stood with an expression of servitude upon her heavily made-up face. She wore a tight French maid's outfit, the skirt high with a frill which barely hid the tops of her shapely thighs, her long legs perched on agonisingly tall stilettos. Patti pointed her to Joyce's luggage.
"Case. Upstairs where you've been shown, then back to attend us in the lounge, immediately." Joyce faltered a little, surprised at the sharp attitude that the normally easy-going Patti had with her maid, who took the case obediently and wiggled to the large curving staircase on her tall heels. Patti gave an even broader smile and placed her finger against her cherry red lips as the maid ascended.
"All will be revealed in the lounge... I told you how you'd like my lifestyle, and I intend you enjoy the same... you're certainly well set up for it." Joyce eased as she followed her through the expensive property to a large lounge facing a pool.
"You're certainly well set up too... I take it they're both your cars outside?" Patti grinned as she sat and crossed her legs, the black silk complementing her generous thighs, which Joyce saw her squeeze as she sighed with a soft excitement at revealing some of her secrets.
"The Hawk suits my working persona, not too ostentatious, just the sort of car that our chauvinistic male colleagues think a lady should be seen in. It lulls them into a false sense of superiority, and helps me remain the delicate flower in their eyes. I use the Catalina when I'm being myself... when a target has been selected, and the processing has begun. It makes them feel nice and small when inside and travelling back here, or elsewhere, having let their guard down and admitted or shown signs of submissiveness." She leaned forward and picked a cigarette from the table, her nipples prominent in the black silk as the material tightened against her large breasts, and on lighting it she leaned back and inhaled provocatively through pursed red lips before exhaling with a satisfied smile
"The tinted windows and black leather seating are wonderfully effective in making them feel small, I've had many bound and naked men lie on that back seat... some of whom who've left a little something to contrast with the upholstery whilst riding on to unknown punishments or destinations." Joyce's arousal increased at the thought of having a male disgrace himself that way, at just the threat of feminine authority; the idea of it giving her a spiteful excitement, her carnal desires warming to Patti's dominant lifestyle with a sexual keenness to know it herself. The maid who had been chided by her earlier, then tapped meekly at the door. Patti smiled at her guest, and let the servant wait for a few moments.
"Oh... you will never look back once you've experienced the power you can have over a male, and we'll soon have you knowing that privilege." She looked to the door.
"In!" Joyce watched, still a little perplexed at Patti's attitude to another female, as the maid entered meekly and stood before her mistress, Patti's face developing a curt smile.
"Lift your skirt girl, show or guest your pleasure in being my servant." Joyce looked at the heavily made up face, the eye liner, lipstick, and rouge applied in a fashion that would normally be unbecoming for a maid, and saw the face redden visibly despite the cosmetics. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth to hide her smile as the lifted skirt revealed no underwear above the stocking tops, and there at the front was a cock and balls, smartly caged in a cruelly tight steel device. Despite the cruel restriction of its shiny steel harness, Joyce could see that the cock within was bulging in an effort to erect, the wearer internally thrilled with being humiliated before a female guest new to his shame. Patti allowed Joyce time to take in the sight, and for the maid to fully appreciate the humiliation, then snapped her fingers.
