Fi And Martin Ch 01 06

Chapter 1

"What's she like then?" Fi's question is directed at her friend, Ellie, but her eyes are fixed on her husband, Martin, as he performs odd jobs in the garden. Well, at least he's supposed to be being useful but in reality it looks as if he's doing a good job of looking busy but not getting much done. He seems to be spending most of his time checking his phone. At least that makes sense now.

"I don't really know, Fi" returns Ellie, trying to manage her friend's bruised self-esteem. "I suppose it..."

"Is she younger?" Fi cuts her off, "Slimmer?". The question is pointed, her disdain for his motives laying itself bare. Her eyes fixed on the continuing show of ineffectiveness outside.

"I think she is, yeah. But this isn't about her..." Ellie continues before being stopped in her tracks again.

"Why, Els?" Fi turns to look at her friend standing behind her in the kitchen, the forgotten coffee in her hand now cool. "Why? What's wrong with..this?" gesturing to the length and breadth of her body, her bright hazel eyes and bemused expression begging for an answer.

45 years old with a moderately successful career, two kids (away at university) and a comfortable, tastefully decorated (by her) 1970s detached house, Fi lived an outwardly comfortable life. Her gesture had been directed at a person of about 5 foot 8, a brunette crop matched to an attractive face that held those bright eyes and belied her increasing age. The lines outside her eyes spoke of a life enjoyed (with her friends, anyhow). She was right to beg the question, though, as Martin was certainly punching above his weight: she carried her Rubenesque proportions lightly. Too much wine and cheese had left her with a BMI that was probably too high, but she was rightly proud of her full, toned thighs, shapely hips and imposing chest. She still drew lingering eyes from men - including younger ones - and women alike.

"You're more woman than he could ever handle, Fi." reassured Ellie, adding resignedly "I can't explain why men do these things, but they do".

But Martin? Fi returned her gaze to the bespectacled figure in the garden who by now had taken a seat and was back engaged with his device. That bloody phone. Martin. Martin with his phone. Martin with his geeky friends. With his depthless, absent-minded conversation. With his love of comedy (English, middle-class and white). Martin with his t-shirts and ill-fitting jeans. Martin the father who had...at least been there, she supposed. She didn't doubt he loved their kids, but he wasn't the - possibly idealised - father figure that she'd wanted their children to have.

She simmered at the temerity of his behaviour. The opportunities she could herself have taken! Martin. Martin with his limp dick. She'd put it down to lack of libido, or maybe his prostate. But this news brought those comforting thoughts into question. Martin. With his receding hairline and his new little paunch, probably from his love of real ale or whatever he called it.

Some of it did make sense though. There was the younger woman from work whom he had mentioned a couple of times. Fi had wondered why he'd felt the need to crowbar in the fact that she was in a relationship into a story where that really wasn't a relevant detail. From how he'd described her she also sounded a bit like the science presenter on the TV that he clearly fancied. That would be it. It all made sense.

Martin with his skinny wrists, arms and legs. Her eyes narrowed and jaw stiffened as her eyes continued to bore into him. "I could snap him like a twig." she thought, "And maybe I will".

Chapter 2

Fi didn't raise it with Martin right away. Ellie had been pushed out the door after requesting perhaps too much reassurance that Fi "was going to be OK" (don't lay it on too thickly, Els) and Fi continued outwardly as if nothing was amiss. She made dinner for them both with the meat she had brought back home from the farm shop she managed (she, as always, had the larger portion). Inside though, her anger festered away and she plotted how she would exact what had now become her vengeance.

She didn't talk to friends about it (although certainly more than just Ellie knew by now). Her hurt centred around the absolute cheek of the man - centring around her perceptions of his physical inferiority to her. She'd long known - and been many times told - that she was more attractive than him. Now she added to that a growing contempt for his physical weaknesses. As they'd go about their business she began sizing him up.

She would engineer little 'accidents' and tests. A bump from her shapely hip as she passed would send him clattering into the cupboards (she pretended not to notice but afforded herself a little grin as she walked away). She maybe shouldn't have done it as often as she did though, that was a bit cruel.

She'd notice how he would roll towards her side of the bed due to the greater depression on her side of the mattress, pulled into her orbit. She didn't know either of their weights specifically, but imagined she by now had 30-odd pounds on him at least, despite giving away a couple of inches in height.

She noted with a predatory satisfaction how, when standing behind him in the kitchen and taking his hands to show him how to correctly slice an onion, her form enveloped his as she did so.

She scrolled through photos of them on her phone, and comparisons from this perspective served merely to confirm her thoughts yet further.

She was surprised how easily she not only was able to snatch his phone off him, but how simple it was to fend off his suspiciously fraught attempts to get it back (he only relented after she tucked it into her bra to keep it out of reach). Two years of circuit training had probably served her well here, even if it hadn't shed the weight she'd hoped.

In all, she was assessing him with the instinct of a lion attuned to singling out the weak from the pack before attacking. And she had planned her attack.

Chapter 3

Several nights later, Fi slipped into bed first, adorning a red silk negligee that clung softly to her shapely form beneath. The delicate fabric accentuated her curves, highlighting her confident femininity. She lay there, a blend of anticipation and impatience, waiting for Martin to join her. He spent ages in the bathroom (on his phone, presumably - ugh! that filthy phone), but he eventually arrived. She lay facing him as he approached the bed, fiddling with a new smartwatch as he approached. She drew the blanket back to welcome him in and invitingly patted the bed with a smile. This threw him a little as it was not normal behaviour. Still, he obliged. She extended her thigh towards him so that it lay perpendicular to her body and invited him to lie on it with a friendly "c'mere". This was something redolent of the earlier days in their relationship, before the nighttime apathies had set in.

Again he dutifully did as he was asked. The small of his back met the soft inner of Fi's right thigh and he felt it pillow out pleasingly as he let it take his full weight. Once fully down the thigh covered most of his lower back. Outwardly she wore an unflinching, inviting smile but deep inside Fi buzzed excitedly. The trap was set, her unsuspecting prey now caught within her web, igniting an eager anticipation within her.

She pulled the quilt back over them both, and they made small talk "this is nice", "is that OK?". Martin's intrigue had been pricked, but he was intent to go along.

Fi then slowly and deliberately drew her other leg up so that it lay across Martin's stomach, eliciting an "oo!" and a nervous giggle from him as she did so. Then, to his confusion and annoyance, she calmly removed his glasses. She then extended both her legs out beyond him and crossed her ankles so that they locked. The lock was secured with shapely, full calves that had developed during years of dancing and gymnastics and had never really gone away. She'd executed this move when both of his arms were down by his sides. Had he paid attention he'd have noticed her hardened nipples clearly visible through her red silk negligee. "Martin, we need to talk".

Chapter 4

Despite her gentle tone, it sounded ominous. Her words seemed to change the atmosphere instantly. Martin felt the heavy thigh across his stomach. One arm - that nearest Fi - was held fast. The other he gently wiggled free.

"I need you to be honest with me, Martin." she continued "And if I get the sense that you're not being completely clear with me, I will let you know and you can rethink your answer.". At this she tensed her thighs and drew them slightly together.

The sudden increase in pressure came as a shock to Martin who issued an involuntary gasp as his diaphragm was compressed between the two now rock hard thighs. This confirmed Fi's suspicion - she'd barely even tried and it looked like he was already in trouble.

With his free hand he pushed ever so gently at the thigh that lay over him to see if it would yield. Fi registered this inwardly with a slight thrill and outwardly with the merest shake of her head.

"What's happening Fi, what's this about?" he asked, doing a passable impression of bewilderment.

"Who is she, Martin?" came the measured reply.

"Who is who? I don't know what you're talking about" the last word was exhaled as the thighs suddenly tightened their grip on him once more.

"Stop playing dumb, Martin. The woman from your office. The one you've been so chatty about," Fi's voice was steady, but her gaze was piercing, searching for any flicker of dishonesty in his eyes.

Martin, genuinely confused, squirmed uncomfortably under the pressure of Fi's thighs. "You mean, Sarah? She's just a colleague, Fi. We work on the same project. That's all."

Fi's expression hardened. "Just a colleague? Then why the need to mention she's in a relationship? Seems like you're trying too hard to cover something up."

Martin sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I mentioned that because I know how you get, Fi. You've been jealous before. I thought it would ease your mind."

Fi scoffed at his explanation. "Ease my mind? Or ease your guilt?" Her tone was accusatory, and the grip of her legs tightened ever so slightly, a physical manifestation of her growing suspicion.

Martin's face showed a mix of pain and exasperation. "There's nothing to feel guilty about, Fi. Yes, I like Sarah. She's smart, funny, and we get along well. But there's nothing more to it. I love you."

Fi's eyes narrowed. "Love me? Then why the constant checking of your phone? You're always so engrossed in it. Is it her you're messaging?"

"It's work, Fi. You know how demanding my job is. And yes, sometimes it's Sarah, but it's work-related. I swear." Martin's voice carried a note of pleading, hoping to convince her of his innocence.

Fi remained unconvinced, her mind whirling with doubt and hurt. "You expect me to believe that? After all the secrets and lies? I see the way you light up when you talk about her. It's never like that with me anymore."

Martin, feeling both trapped and misunderstood, struggled for words. "Fi, you're reading too much into this. It's not like that. I value our life together, our history. Why can't you see that?"

Fi's grip on Martin remained unyielding, but within her firm hold, there was a subtle but profound transformation. Her dominance over him wasn't just a means to an end; it was awakening a latent desire within her. The power she held in this moment began to thrill her in a way that was unexpected.

Martin, under the increasing pressure, looked up at Fi with a mixture of apprehension and perplexity. "Fi, what's going on?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of fear under the strain of her physical dominance and the charged emotional atmosphere.

Leaning closer, Fi's whisper was laced with a newfound excitement, an excitement that was as much about her dominance as it was about seeking the truth. "I'm not just looking for answers, Martin. I'm discovering something about myself" she said, her voice a sultry mix of command and exhilaration.

Martin's feeble attempts at freeing himself were futile against Fi's assertive hold. He could see a different light in her eyes now, one that spoke of a deep-seated excitement at the control she exerted. "Fi, please, let's discuss this reasonably. I've been honest with you," he implored.

Fi's gaze was unwavering, her grip not just a physical restraint but also an assertion of her newfound authority. The power she wielded brought a flush to her cheeks, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and determination. "I'm done discussing, Martin. It's time for you to start confessing."

Martin, clearly rattled, tried to maintain his composure. "Fi, there's nothing to confess. I've told you the truth," he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation.

But Fi's mind was already racing ahead, her thoughts clouded by suspicion and the intoxicating rush of dominance. "You've always been good with words, Martin. But now, it's your actions that will speak. You can't hide the truth from me."

Martin's concern was now palpable, his eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. "Fi, you're scaring me," he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his voice.

Fi leaned in closer, her breath warm against his face. "Good. You should be scared, Martin. Scared of what happens when you betray my trust." Her words were soft but carried a weight that pressed down on him, both physically and emotionally.

The moment was charged with an electric tension. Fi, emboldened by her newfound sense of control and the erotic thrill it brought her, was poised on the edge of escalating the encounter further. Martin, trapped and bewildered, was at her mercy, his fate hanging in the balance as Fi savoured the power she held over him.

Chapter 5

In the dimly lit room, Fi's silhouette shimmered in the red silk negligee, her presence over Martin both commanding and undeniably sensual. She observed him with a calculating gaze, her control over the situation as evident as the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

For a brief moment, Fi loosened her grip, allowing Martin a fleeting sense of relief. His chest heaved with a deep breath, his eyes searching hers for some hint of softening. However, this respite was short-lived. With a sudden, calculated movement, Fi jerked the thigh under him, tossing his body further into the vice of her legs. The action, repeated a couple more times, was reminiscent of a crocodile manoeuvring its prey, each movement drawing him deeper into her domain.

The sudden closeness to Fi revealed two startling truths to Martin. Was that hair he felt against his hip? She wasn't wearing underwear. More disturbingly, the unmistakable signs of Fi's physical arousal became evident, pressing against him in a way that left no room for doubt.

The atmosphere in the room thickened with an intense, almost palpable charge. Martin, in a state of shock, was acutely aware of their intimate proximity. Fi remained unflinchingly focused, her breathing controlled, her gaze unwavering and intense.

Martin, driven by a mix of alarm and desperation, began to struggle against her. His movements, however, seemed to only fuel Fi's arousal. She gave an involuntary moan, then watched him with a mix of amusement and excitement, her voice tinged with mockery. "Go on, Martin. Struggle harder. Please struggle harder."

Each of Martin's movements against her served to escalate the situation, heightening the sense of power and control Fi felt. Her response was not just a reaction to his physical struggle; it was an embrace of the raw dominance she now wielded over him.

Fi's transformation was complete. She was no longer just a wife confronting a husband; she had evolved into a figure of formidable power and sensuality. Her every move, her every breath, spoke of her complete dominance over the moment. Martin, caught in this turbulent tide, felt his usual defences crumbling, his composure eroded by the overwhelming force of Fi's commanding presence.

In the dimly lit room, the power play between Fi and Martin took on an almost ritualistic quality. Fi's dominance was as undeniable as the moon's pull on the tides. With a practised ease, she used her thighs to manipulate Martin's position, each movement deliberate and inevitable. Her control over him was both a physical and psychological tapestry, woven with precision and intent. As he was slowly drawn downward, his head descending past the commanding sight of her silk-clad form, a palpable tension filled the air.

In this charged atmosphere, the unspoken truths of their relationship came to the fore. The distance that had grown between them, particularly in their intimate life, was now being bridged in a way Martin had never anticipated. Fi, in her current state of commanding arousal, was an embodiment of both their unfulfilled desires and unspoken frustrations.

The descent was a dance of control, with Fi orchestrating each movement. Her thighs, strong and unyielding, directed him steadily, inexorably. As she moved him lower, a mocking tone of surprise laced Fi's voice, coupled with a feigned expression of gratitude. "Oh, Martin, what a pleasant surprise," she cooed mockingly. Her tone then shifted, becoming stern, a warning evident in her words, "Try anything funny and I will pop that head off those scrawny shoulders.". The air left his lungs as she squashed his chest again to drive her point home.

He was drawn down until his head disappeared between her thighs. This was not just a physical manoeuvring but a reclaiming of intimacy, a wordless declaration of Fi's unmet needs.

For Martin, the intensity of the moment was overwhelming. Her scent, her warmth, the undeniable reality of her physical arousal -- all of it enveloped him, leaving no room for denial or escape. As the two walls of flesh parted momentarily he heard a simple command, "Tongue", and a strong hand forced his face deep into her before his world closed in again. The hand continued to work his head and she ground against his nose until the rhythm reached a crescendo and a shudder signalled she'd got what she wanted.

Chapter 6

Fi's demeanour shifted as she effortlessly hauled Martin back up by his armpits, her strength and control over him as evident as ever. With a swift movement, she repositioned her thighs around his waist, locking him once again in her unyielding embrace. A mocking thank you escaped her lips, dripping with irony and satisfaction. "Thank you, Martin," she said, her voice laced with a taunting edge that left no doubt about who held the power.

Martin, now with his arms free, was consumed by a mix of humiliation and rage. He spat out insults, each word a venomous attempt to wound her. "You're sick, Fi!" he accused, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation. In a frantic effort to regain some control, he pushed against her thighs, only to find them as unyielding as iron clamps.

His frustration boiling over, Martin lashed out physically, his hands flailing in a futile attempt to strike her. But Fi was prepared; her reactions were quick and precise. She caught his wrists mid-air, her grip firm and unrelenting. With a swift motion, she subdued his attempts, her laughter filling the room. It was a sound that mingled triumph with a hint of warning. "Oh, Martin, you're making a big mistake," she chuckled, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and threat.

In response to his aggression, Fi tightened her thighs with a sudden and powerful squeeze. The strength in her legs was unmistakable, and Martin's face contorted in pain. His attempt at defiance was quickly replaced by a very real sense of fear. The physical discomfort was a sharp reminder of Fi's dominance and his vulnerable position.

Fi leaned in, her face close to his, her breath warm against his cheek. Her voice was soft but carried a stern undertone. "Naughty, naughty, Martin. Seems like you haven't learned your lesson yet." Her words were mocking, almost playful, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness in her tone. "But don't worry, I have just the thing to teach you. You're going to be punished."