This story is by and for those reders who admire and worship cruel and domineering women. If you do not share this personal attraction to such female villains, please do not read on. If you do, you will be offended and confounded. But for those of us that absolutely do worship cold, sexually manipulative females as goddesses, I hope you will find my true-life experience with one to be enviable.
After 14 years of living with a totally obnoxious, bossy wife with anger-control issues, I finally took the plunge and managed to execute a divorce. The wife was too arrogant and proud to oppose the divorce. Seething with rage at my rejection of the marriage, she sneered contempt for my decision, not on grounds that it would inconvenience her, but that I didn't know what I was letting myself in for.
First a little background. We got married when we were just out of college -- early twenties. She was a desirable beauty, fit and buffed through indulgent self-attention and exercise. I always found her irresistibly sexy, with her straight-up, platinum blond, punk-style hairdo. It gave her a look like a female version of Billy Idol. She knew that men adored and were intimidated by women with heavy eye makeup, and so she wore a lot of mascara and false eyelashes all her waking hours. She had a special thing for stiletto high heel shoes which she said granted her automatic authority. I have to admit that in all of this, she was accurate.
Although she had been a difficult person to date, and our marital situation had gone from one fight to another, I never had the gumption to break free. Anyhow, whenever I brought up my desire to break off the relationship, she would go into one of her temper tantrums and hurl insults that made me feel terrible -- so terrible, in fact that I became totally conflict averse with her. Many times I abandoned by efforts to break out of the relationship (marriage.) But the arguments continued.
Consequently, before the divorce was to occur, I had been transformed into what you would call a wimp -- a pussy-whipped husband who had no say in the running of the household. She told me where to go and what to do -- and I just did it. When it came to sex, I was forced to cooperate while she pleasured herself with dildos and vibrators to say nothing of prolonged oral servitude toward her -- what she called -- her sacred pussy. I was lucky to receive a crude and careless hand job, administered with her hand behind her back as she lay turned away from me, on her side, fully satisfied after the prolonged attention I had given to serve her physical desires.
As part of her strategy to keep me married, she had ordered me to start going for psychotherapy. I guess it didn't have the effect she desired, because after a year or so of counseling, the counselor persuaded me to consult a lawyer and got all the paperwork together to execute a lightening-quick divorce.
When the divorce went through, she stood by the door, arms folded, with a sneer on her face as I sheepishly and apologetically packed myself out of the marital home. One thing the counselor hadn't shown me was how and where to live on my own. My now-ex wife was joint owner of every account I had in the bank and on credit cards. So after I moved out to temporary quarters at the local motel, she quickly emptied these accounts and cancelled the credit cards, opening new ones in her name only.
There was really nothing illegal or unjust about it. I was her money anyhow. As part of our marriage bargain, she was the breadwinner, holding a high position at a prestigious law firm in the big, nearby city. I had been persuaded to quit my job at the local supermarket, and now there was another loser having taken my place, closing that opportunity for the foreseeable future.
I soon learned that I was left a pauper when I received word from the motel front desk that the credit card I had used to pay for my room was expired and no longer valid. One thought that I didn't have was "How could she do this to me?" I knew perfectly well that she was fully capable of inflicting such a miserable fate upon me. It was her cruel, indifferent personality that had attracted me to her in the first place. That was why I had married her. Now that marriage no longer existed. I hadn't even the status of a wimpy spouse. I was completely at her mercy. Needless to say, I contacted her as soon and as apologetically as I could.
"Dear Mavis (that's her name)" I pleaded when she answered the phone. "Please, please take me back. I have nowhere to live. I have no means of support." She laughed a hearty, cruel laugh and replied. "Good for you. I hope you find yourself forced to live in a homeless shelter." With that she hung up.
Much as her response caused me grave consternation, it also reminded me of some of the most exciting sexual moments I had experienced during our time together. What's more, I had been so preoccupied with my miserable predicament that I had neglected to even masturbate for some weeks now, leaving me in a state of ambivalence regarding Mavis's mistreatment of me. As her harsh words echoed in my thoughts, I began to picture my ex-wife in all her sexy glory: standing tall in 5-inch high heels with platform soles, her beautiful, slender legs exposed below a tight, black leather miniskirt; hands on hips in a defiant posture, bright red lipstick emphasizing her cruel sneering smile, her platinum, spiked hair adding to her towering over me, her heavily mascara'd, bright blue eyes glaring scornfully down at me.
I began to experience an erection -- the first one in several weeks. I struggled with the impulse to relieve myself by masturbating in spite of the inappropriateness of such a response to the phone conversation of a moment ago. As sexual desire began to surge within my loins, I tried to dismiss the ambiguity of my feelings. My god! I thought. I really need her!
Totally on impulse, and without any regard for rationality, I practically flew out of my dreary motel quarters and down the steps to the street. Like a mindless animal without will or reason, I started trudging as fast as my legs would carry in the direction of our former marital home, now the exclusive stronghold of Mavis, my ex. My erection had escaped through the fly of my boxer shorts and was pushing straight into the coarse denim fabric of my jeans, jostled abrasively with each pounding step that I took in the direction of the woman who I would beg to relieve my imperative need of a climactic relief.
In very few minutes I was at her door. I began ringing the doorbell with an urgency that was totally craven. Peeking through the door's glass panes and the intervening lacy curtain, I could see Mavis sitting, casually reading some kind of periodical on her lap. With each sound of the doorbell, she took her eyes up from the reading material and glanced ever so briefly in the direction of me at the door, a smile of smug satisfaction passing over her face each time. I continued to press the doorbell button, aware of how pathetic and desperate it made me appear. I would have pressed the button using my erect penis if it were physically possible. Finally, she came to the door.
Opening it, she stood holding open with one hand while resting the other on her hip and stared me in the face. She was wearing an ankle-length black, silky robe that was parted completely wide-open, revealing and contrasting with her pale, soft woman flesh, parts of which remained concealed behind a black bra and full black panties.
