A Fountain Of Youth Pt 04

From a lack of anything else to do, the two of us collectively decided to take a two week vacation. We were trying frantically to buy time, about out of ideas. Fortunately, we at least had the ability to schedule a break in the action, as we'd been frugal with taking time off for a while. This was, however, no real solution and we knew it.

Hiding from public view could only be effective for so long. Friends and family would inquire as to our whereabouts. Money and income would have to come from somewhere. My wife was frantically formulating an elaborate system of disguise. She would cut her hair short, buy new clothes, apply makeup liberally, and do literally anything else that came to mind.

While I had the time, I decided to put as much in motion myself as humanely possible. Maybe I wasn't as powerless as I first thought I was. I chose to be optimistic in the face of a possibly insurmountable foe. I didn't want to be my wife's enemy, but she'd stepped over the line.

Sometimes lessons have to be learned the hard way. Who was really in control here? I had no way of knowing for sure, but I hated that it brought out the worst in me. This much power brought out the worst in both of us.

Taking no chances, I pulled some strings with my urologist buddy and got the vasectomy swiftly scheduled. It was performed and brought to completion in record time, from start to finish, a mere two days after booking the appointment.

One never gets priority medical attention like this ever, for any reason, even for presidents and kings. This was a testament to how much my doctor friend really owed me one.

As I'd hoped, my wife bought the excuse hook, line, and sinker. I managed the discomfort for the time being. While I was healing, I decided to strike while the iron was hot. What would it take, I wondered, for the universe to do my bidding the next time around?

I'd initially thought that this mysterious force was a malevolent source for evil. Following that, it seemed almost plausible that my wife had sole control over the process, leaving me with none.

The more I researched the subject, I found that I was wrong on both counts. This peculiar energy had no real allegiance for anyone. It was there for whomever could harness its energies. It had no conscience, no sense of right or wrong.

I started meditating heavily and keeping a dream journal. Within days, I awoke, once more, with specific instructions in my head. I'd preserved a blank page of the journal for just such a desired outcome. Operating from a very basic premise, I decided that if my wife wanted to force me into decisions against my will, it was only fair for me to even the score.

Now morning, I knew she'd be in the kitchen waiting for me. To tempt me, she'd made a recent habit of walking around only in underwear. Sometimes she didn't wear even a stitch of clothing.

She bent over frequently, very unnecessarily, to give me full view of any seductive angle she might like to show. It was nice eye candy, but it always came with a very unsubtle ulterior motive. Naturally, I knew I'd look at her. This treatment always gave me an erection, but I had a greater purpose to perform.

Looking her directly in the eyes, I aimed to distract her from this game. I spoke to her with authority, or at least the best authority I could manage.

"Now that you have this new hot body, it's time to show it off in front of everyone. Wouldn't you agree? I want you to do a few things for me. Get pierced."

I received belligerence and resistance from her, which I had anticipated.

"Hell no! I make the decisions about my body. I'm not your slave."

"Not yet."

My face took on the same confident leer she'd once used on me.

The cockiness and composure once so prominent a few seconds before gave way to fear. I could see her legs wobble a bit, her whole body now a little off-balance. I'd thrown a sucker punch she hadn't been expecting.

"What have you done?" Her lip trembled. "What the fuck have you done?"

I was calm. "You'll see."

And, rest assured, she did.

Thirty minutes later, the two of us were headed to a local head shop in the bohemian part of the city. All part of the greater plan. Sitting in the driver's seat, I began a list of specific demands.

"I want your tits pierced, then your belly button, and then your clit."

She started crying. I pressed even harder.

"This is my turn. All you had to do was come to me like a decent human being, but you had to go behind my back. How do you think I feel?"

She said nothing.

Arriving at the destination, she made a point to wipe away tears, trying to seem presentable in front of strangers. At the front, I indicated the reason we were there. We were ushered to a line of chairs outside a walled-off portion of the store. There, we waited for a while until the piercer was ready.

When he appeared, I made note of the fact that he was a heavy-set man with multiple tattoos and a prominent septum piercing. He was at least my age. Wearing the clothing of a much younger man, the effect threw me completely off. I was expecting someone much closer to my wife's new biological age.

His presence emoted confidence and trust, an old pro at the business who had done and seen it all. I could tell that he put everyone at ease.

"I see you've brought your daughter with you," he noted, making small talk, as though this was the most normal thing any person could do.

I didn't correct him. I still hadn't determined how I was going to explain my wife's current form to anyone, even a complete stranger.

"Most of our customers do this without their parents knowing. College kids are our best clients. Now that they're away from home, no one can tell them what to do anymore. You're pretty understanding, I gotta tell you."

She wasn't looking at me, still fuming. She was barely looking at him.

"I want to supervise," I said. "I want to be in the room with her." The piercing guy didn't object, but it was clear that this didn't happen everyday.

"Whatever you want, friend." And then he went straight to work.

"We're going to do your breasts first, okay?"

The procedure itself wasn't too complicated. We were assured that it wouldn't take more than a few seconds from start to finish. I myself was watching closely for an anticipated and expected response.

If I'd done the mind control portion of the energy work properly, the piercing process would produce heavy arousal and possible orgasm. As the needle passed horizontally from one side of the nipple to the other, I observed her thighs tremble and her breath grow more shallow. She thrust her lower torso upwards with a brief, but noticeable contraction.

The piercer pretended not to notice. It was clear that she was turned on and humiliated at the same time. She began blushing heavily, confirming that I'd succeeded.

The navel piercing followed next. I saw her close her eyes and bite her lip to keep from crying out, not in pain, but in something far different. I'd chosen the absolute worst for last.

Obligingly, she slid her pants and panties halfway down. Gripping each side of the piercing table, she braced herself to receive the orgasm that she knew was coming.

I've never seen a person put up such a fight. She kept herself steady quite successfully, but it didn't prevent all the tell-tale signs. In particular, her eyes rolled back in her head as needle passed through. A small silver hoop was placed in the flesh tunnel that remained. Her vision still blurry, she pulled up her pants and underwear. We were headed home.

It was over. The process hadn't taken more than five or ten minutes from start to finish. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Is this what our relationship had become? Would she retaliate or did this fight end here?

I'd enjoyed wresting control from her, more than I had any right to feel. The element of humiliation and the lack of control had given us both more sexual pleasure than we'd ever thought imaginable.

I understood why people enjoyed BDSM, but had to concede that their passion was a consensual one. Ours was not. Ours was about opening wounds and reveling in the discomfort of the other.

I can't keep doing this. I have some ethics remaining, some elements of morality and basic decency. I'm not really an emotional sadist. And neither is she. It's time to return to how things started out, to embrace reality as it is.