Visa Versa

Those of you who are familiar with my previous stories will know just how dominant my husband is, always persuading me or cajoling me to do the most outrageous things in public and always taking the lead in our bed. Or to be more correct, wherever else he wanted to make love to me. Well, this story is something very different; he was hurt in an accident and lost his desire for both sex and taking the lead. In fact he seemed as if he wasn't interested at all. This is a true account of how I tried to win back my masterful husband - because despite not always liking being the slave in our relationship, I missed it like hell.

I was shopping in town when the call came to my mobile phone. It was the hospital, telling me my husband had been involved in an accident. They wouldn't give me any further details over the phone, except where he had been taken. Forgetting about shopping I ran to the car park and, driving my car much faster than I should have done, I raced to the hospital. My mind was in turmoil; he is my entire life. As I said in the preface, he is everything to me. He's my lover, my husband, my tormenter, my sexual guide and my master. Yes, as I said, my entire life is entwined with his. I kept wondering whether something really bad had happened.

Reaching the hospital I ran to the ward. He had just been transferred from casualty and was sitting propped up in bed, a neck-collar on and his head swathed in bandages. Although the accident hadn't left his body with many cuts or bruises, he had hit his head rather badly. I was told I could only stay a short while as they had many more tests to do.

At first glance he looked like a refugee from a war zone and I wondered just how bad it really was. I kissed him gently on his lips not wanting to arouse his desire for me, just wanting him to know how much I loved him. I felt sick to my stomach looking down on this man, the strong man who had dominated my life for so long. I don't know if he fully knew who I was. He looked confused and so helpless. My biggest fear was he might never recover to his self assured masterful self. I wanted him back whole again.

To cut out the weeks he was in hospital, as they bear no relevance to this story, he came home able to walk and do everything for himself. But he always seemed to be in a sort of daze. The specialist called it post trauma stress syndrome, but he was home and that was the biggest step. We went to bed that night with me expecting him to be the sexy randy man I had lived with for the past ten years or so, but I was completely wrong. He just turned over and went to sleep. Never before had he not at the very least fondled me. Usually we made love before falling to sleep in each other arms.

I laid there unable to sleep, wondering what had become of my oh so masterful husband. Would he ever get better? I needed him so badly.

Eventually I managed to get to sleep and when I awoke the next morning we had a long talk. He couldn't remember anything about our sex lives at all. In fact there were huge chunks of his memory that were missing. We had an appointment with our GP later in the week so I decided to talk to him. He's a great doctor and I'm able to ask him anything. After another two nights of no-contact sleeping I was so frustrated and getting angry with Andrew. It wasn't his fault, but it didn't make me feel any better.

Our visit to the doctor came. I was determined to ask him what was wrong and he suggested I came back alone later in the day when he had more time to discuss my problem.

On my return, and a little reluctantly at first, we talked about my sex life. As I said, my doctor is so easy to talk to.

"You see," I started slowly, "Andrew has always dictated where and when we should have sex."

After a few minutes of telling him the how's and why's and where's, Dr Jones smiled at my blushes because I think I might have told him a bit too much. I described our forest walks and how Andrew would strip me naked and make passionate love to me outside in the woods, often with strangers watching from behind trees and even coming close to see as much as possible of my getting oh so well fucked.

Dr Jones read through the hospital report.

"It seems that the consultants think the damage to Andrew's brain should be temporary, but it's too soon to tell exactly when things will return to normal."

I was quite relieved to hear that.

Dr Jones continued, "It's not uncommon for patients to lose a lot of confidence until the brain rights itself," he added, "But you might like to try and take the lead in bed. I'm sure it will help Andrew to regain his confidence when he finds out what he's been missing."

I was beginning to feel much better. Dr Jones seemed think that, as Andrew had always been so self-assured, time would bring back his confidence and abilities to please me.

He went on, "Try to take the lead in bed. If you want to make love then you must make it happen. It certainly won't do him any harm and it could trigger some of his memory, helping his recovery. It's up to you Chrissie," he said, "You will have to change the way you have behaved since you married Andrew. I know just how forceful he can be but now you must lead him. Strange as it may seem, that's the only way you can ever get your husband back."

For me to say I was in a quandary is an understatement. I have never ever started our lovemaking. Andrew has always been the one who touched me, fondling me at every opportunity. Just a stroke across my bum as I walked past was usually enough to get me interested. How would I, the little wife, get this big strong man to react to my sexual urges? God, how I wanted him! My need was so great I had difficulty in concentrating on much else. Even playing with myself hadn't given me much relief; what there was lasted only a few hours, then my desire for him started again getting stronger every day.

One evening at bedtime I dressed in the sexiest outfit I owned, which he had bought for me only a few weeks before his accident. It was nothing more than a few strands of ribbon holding together some tiny triangles of sheer material, made to titillate rather than hide my charms. I had carefully shaved my pussy as he always loved it smooth, and I had a long soak in the bath. I used my special perfume, the one that always made him horny.

He got into bed and said, "You smell nice darling," then promptly turned over to go to sleep.

I just had to do something. He couldn't ignore my efforts like this. I cuddled up behind him, my body following the shape of his as he lay on his side. My hand reached around him, finding his limp cock. Even that was a shock; I so rarely felt it limp, as it was always ready for action - never soft, but semi-rigid as if ready for action is the best description I can give of usual its former state.

He moaned something as I gently, teasingly, stroked his cock. Feeling a response gave me the encouragement to slip his boxers down. He had taken to wearing them since he had come home, and he was no longer the naked hunk I was used to sleeping with.

I so wanted him to take me in his arms and make mad passionate love to me, but he just lay there like an old man. This was definitely not my sexy hubby. He drifted off to sleep with my hand still stroking his soft penis. I was so frustrated; I love him to bits but this was the first time I had ever felt his cock go limp in my hand.

It was devastating. Was it just his accident that had caused this, or was I losing my touch? I waited until he was in a deep sleep and crept to the bathroom like a naughty schoolgirl. Sitting on the loo I just had to get some relief from this ache in my pussy. It was difficult though and, despite insistent and prolonged rubbing against my smooth sex, it just wasn't the same as having my ultra-randy husband to pleasure me.

I tried night after night to get him in the mood for lovemaking. Some nights, just as I thought Andrew was beginning to respond and harden to my soft touches, he suddenly began to go limp again .... And as every lady knows, a limp cock is of little use at all.

At first I tried to be upbeat about it but I was always unsuccessful. I think I must have played with myself more those weeks than ever in my life. I was so frustrated; while he was in hospital it didn't enter my head. Lying alone between the sheets of our big king-sized bed just wasn't sexy at all, but with him beside me my body screamed for his touch, his fondle, his caress, his insistence that I did his will; and yes, his big hard cock. It was so alien to not make love before we went to sleep. It was a very rare occasion that we didn't, and ever since those first halcyon days of newlyweds the one thing that never paled was our sex life. It was still just as exciting and fulfilling now as those honeymoon bedroom antics.

I even took one of the big dildos he had bought to please me with into the bathroom, pretending it was him thrusting deep inside me. But it didn't really work. It helped a bit, got rid of the frustration, but the most important ingredient was missing: the love we have for each other makes every fuck - no matter how outrageous -- lovemaking, just not fucking.

As a perfectly matched couple we just didn't seem able to just fuck. Our love transcended everything else. We walked the dogs every day, passing so many places where he would normally pull me off the path and take me, plunder my body with his huge thing, driving me so high I would scream out in pure lust as he drove me over the top time and time again. This was usually with an audience but now, when we walked out, he didn't even glance at the sites of our wonderful lovemaking. It seemed as if his sex brain was dead. How could I make him my man again?

Even the dirty old men who followed us most times we went walking in the woods seemed confused. They had obviously missed us walking the dogs, if that's the right description for what we mostly did in those woods, but they had obviously missed us for weeks because I didn't take the dogs out into the woods at all while Andrew was in hospital. Poor things had to make do with a run around the garden as I got myself ready for yet another hospital visit, but the garden is quite big so don't waste your sympathy on our dogs as they're spoiled rotten most of the time.

I phoned my doctor again asking him how to go about making Andrew want me again. He suggested all sorts of ideas and he's the very best doctor a girl could have. He understands and cares about his patients and he seems to have a bit of a soft spot for me, perhaps it's because he has been involved with me since I was a baby. He actually delivered me, so we go back a long way. He prescribed my first birth control pills and told me my mother would never get to know from him, so I felt quite comfortable talking to him about my sex problems, even if this was the first major problem I had ever had with sex. It's always been so wonderful, so fulfilling and great, but now I know what other people must feel like when their partner isn't compatible with them in bed.

"You must take more control of your life, Chrissie," he said, "You have always left the decisions to Andrew but he may never want that responsibility again. If you want it, you have two choices: go and take it, or go without."

I stuttered a bit. He had never spoken so direct to me and I was a little shocked.

I answered, "But I can't do that."

With a laugh sounding in his voice, he just said, "How did you ever get to be the wonderful wife you've become? If I wasn't so much older, and your doctor, I would come over and take care of your needs. But that not possible. So if you want your man back you must go get him girl. It's only you that can do this, but if you need help I can suggest a therapist to help Andrew, although you are more likely to succeed than any outsider. Keep trying and he will come back, I'm sure."

With those words of his, and the longing for the wonderful exciting lovemaking we enjoyed so much filling my head, I was determined to make it work. Dare I ask Andrew outright to make love to me? He wouldn't refuse me, I knew that, but I had never asked him in our entire time together.

You can't imagine how difficult that is when you have been totally mastered for so many years. I never needed to ask, if I wanted him all I had to do was flirt just a little and he was on me like rash. Just wearing one of his favourite outfits was more than enough to turn him into a sex maniac, and using the words "Please make love to me," was hard enough for me to contemplate. But that's not what I wanted. What I needed was to be fucked, really fucked hard and long, made to quiver from head to foot by his masculine strength and his total command of me, body and soul.

Yes, the thrills that I thought were his turn on, the men watching peeping from behind trees and bushes watching as he drove me to heaven and back (or was it actually hell and back?). I'm not sure, but was quite confident I missed it like hell; the thrill the naughtiness and, yes, the fear of him letting them take turns at me.

I was pretty certain that would never happen as Andrew's too possessive of me to share. But he talked about it so often, letting other men fuck me while he videoed the whole thing, keeping me on my toes so to speak. I was never quite sure that he wouldn't let it happen, knowing I would comply with his wishes if he said "Suck that man," or "Bend over and let him fuck you," I would just have done as he told me to, that's the sort of command he has of me. I was quite happy to do whatever he wanted me to, for love, oh and a bit of lust thrown in for good measure. But the constant fear that it might happen one day was just part of the thrill of being made love to in the woods, with other men and occasionally another woman watching and getting off on the show we were giving them, probably not knowing the big kick it gave us to be watched.

Oh how I missed our outrageous life style, our unbridled sex, the lust we had for each other. I knew the doctor was right - it was up to me. I hate the idea of a consultant therapist interfering with our marriage, so that wasn't really an option. If I was going to resume our way of life it was entirely my responsibility and it had to be done my way.

The thought of taking him out into the woods and persuading him to make love to me was about like the chances of winning the lottery, millions to one. I built myself up, but the slightest thing ruined my confidence so many times over the next few days. Time after time I made up my mind to drag my husband kicking and screaming if necessary into the woods and make him want me in the old way, the naughty way we had made our own, only for some silly little thing to break my resolve. Things just like a dog barking were enough; anything that made me stop and think spoiled my resolution.

I dressed every day in his favourite clothes: sexy stockings with suspenders showing under my mini skirt, low cut tops and no bra, all the things that would have made him hunger for me in that wonderful uncontrollable way, trying everything I knew to inflate his passion. It just didn't work. Day after day of frustration, I made the supreme effort for no response at all, he just wasn't interested. It felt as if I was living with a monk, a sexless man who had no interest in me other than to cook and clean. What could I do? I was the typical little woman who had allowed her husband to take the lead in almost everything in her marriage from the very beginning. I was as near to being his slave as makes no difference .... but suddenly I had no master!

I thought of nothing else for days on end, wanting him so much but not knowing how to inflame his desire for me, and not really knowing how to make him want me. I had never experienced this disinterest before. He was so sexy, so adventurous, so demanding; honestly I had never ever needed to start anything as he was always at least one step ahead of me. This was the lowest point of our marriage so far and it was up to me to make it right. Dare I actually make him love me? Dare I actually get on top of him ride him like a cowgirl? I really didn't know if I had the courage.

After about four weeks of constant worry and so many secret visits to the bathroom to relieve the tension in my pussy, I decided I should take him for a long walk in the woods. Yes, the woods where he had so often stripped me naked and made love to me -frequently with an audience. "We need to take the dogs for a long walk," I said one afternoon.

He agreed, and I went up to the bedroom and changed into the clothes he loved me to wear on our walks: a ridiculously short skirt and a tee shirt. That was it except for my long high heeled boots, the white ones he bought me only a few weeks before his accident. They had wedge heels so I could actually walk on the soft ground but they were almost five inches high. He loved to see me tottering along in those silly boots, never intended for long forest walks, but I was determined this time to make him remember our sexy walks.

We walked for about an hour, several men following us getting closer and making comments on my attire, or the lack of it would be more precise.

I could hear them saying things, like, "Do you think he's going to drag her into the woods and ravage her like he used to?" And, "Is this the day we get to fuck her?"

All the things that inflamed his ego made him want me with an uncontrollable passion, but it was like water off a duck's back. He didn't seem to hear them at all. If he did then he certainly paid no attention to their lewd and suggestive words. I was getting seriously overloaded, my pussy was so wet. If he didn't want me then perhaps I should invite those dirty old men to have me; at least it would get rid of the frustration I was feeling. It would give me time to see things in perspective, but no, even in my wildest dreams it wasn't going to happen. If they ever had me it would be on his instruction, never mine.

It certainly didn't help to know they weren't going to fuck the ass off me, nor was my hubby either. What the hell could I do? Dare I drag him into the woods and do it to him, just kneel in front of him and take that wonderful cock in my mouth? Suck it until he came in my mouth then beg him to fuck me like he used to, oh so often? My confidence rose for a few seconds then faded like a mist in the first rays of the sun, a figment of my imagination. That didn't help me either. We came to the end of the track where the Ministry take over the forest. No entry past this point. We turned back, and the men at least had the god manners to drift away into the woods so I didn't have to face them. We walked almost back to the house before my patience snapped.

The last spot I knew where he had ravaged me was only a short distance away. Dare I drag him into the little glade; make him want me so much he actually fucked me like old times?

I took a deep breath and pulled his arm towards the tiny track leading to one of the sites of previous sessions. He didn't resist, just followed me like the two dogs, as if I was his master. Some hope of that! The blind leading the blind came to mind as I followed the little path into the glade. I knew so well from our pre-accident activity when he would lead me into one of the many similar glades; tell me to strip knowing we were being watched and order me to my knees. His big hard cock was always awaiting my attention.

Oh, what I would give at this moment for those words to come from him, "On your knees girl, my cock needs sucking."

It would have been music to my ears, but there was no comment at all. We reached the glade and stood there for several moments. He just looked at me as if we were just friends and not the crazy lovers we were. If it was going to happen it was going to be me alone that got it going. If I started, would he remember and take over, or would I have to brave it out all the way?