Philosophical conversation

James lay naked on his back, in bed, in the middle of the night, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, retracing the prior evening's events in his mind, trying to figure out at exactly which point things had gone so terribly wrong.  At some time, earlier that evening, he had lost every shred of control, every last ounce even of mere equality, in his marriage.  He had arrived home, with his wife, from their double date, very comfortable with his role in their relationship, even confident in it.  He was in control, then.  They were equals, of course, but if pressed, he would confess that he was the dominant partner in his marriage, and that is exactly what he had done. He had assumed, incorrectly it would seem, that his wife felt the same way.


His beautiful wife, Monica, lay next to him in bed, sleeping peacefully, her face lovely, her demeanor serene. Wearing sexy white leotard, she lay on her side, with her head, her silky brown hair, resting comfortably on his shoulder.  Her left arm was curled beneath his head, her left hand resting softly on his opposite shoulder.  Her right arm was at her side, bent at the elbow, with her right hand resting casually on his chest.  


Her full, nude breasts were flush against his side, heaving slightly as she breathed in and out.  Her legs were both curled upward at the waist, wrapped loosely, around his middle, one thigh against his lower back, and the other against his stomach.  As she shifted, occasionally, in her sleep, moving her legs on him ever so slightly, she caused him unspeakable pain, tormenting his middle, which she had so decimated earlier that evening.


James's breathing was labored.  He felt tremendous pain all over his body, as he rested on his back, with his wife of nearly two years, Monica, wrapped around him securely.  He dealt with it, though, as best he could, gasping silently on occasion as she shifted against him. The last thing in the world that he wanted was to wake her. As difficult as the physical pain was, though, it was the humiliation he felt which stung the worst, and the sinking, defeated feeling that his life had changed forever, and that it was completely out of his hands. Monica had dominated him so completely, and with such relative ease, that he saw no escape from what he knew to be true, that his lovely wife had seized total control in their marriage, that he had become her complete subordinate in all things.


Perhaps not, he thought hopefully. Maybe, when she wakes in the morning, things will be normal.  Possibly, this had been to teach him a lesson, but perhaps without expectation of dramatic, long-term change.  Maybe she was just having fun with him, some kind of kinky sex game.  He did have a raging erection, as she lay nuzzled up against him, had continued to have one for practically the entire evening, though he had gone unfulfilled.  Was it possible, that things would be back to normal in the morning?  James doubted it, dejectedly. Why would they be?  Why would she let them be?  She had all of the power, and he had none.  Period, end of story.  Again, he thought back, trying to figure out precisely when he had completely lost any semblance of control in his marriage.


James and Monica had arrived home relatively early that evening, from a double date with Paul and Christa.  Don, Monica, and Paul had expressed some interest in going out dancing after dinner, but Christa had said that she was tired, that she had a lot to do tomorrow, that she wanted to go home.  Rather than trying to convince her otherwise, Paul had given in quickly, agreeing that they should probably go home.  They all decided that they would go dancing another time, some time soon.


Rather than going out by themselves, James and Monica had stopped at the grocery for a bottle of wine, and gone home.  When they arrived there, they had changed into sleeping clothes, and had settled on the sofa with glasses of wine.  Monica wore a cotton white short sleeved leotard, and James wore a tee-shirt and boxer shorts.  James leaned back, resting his feet on the coffee table, and Monica rested her feet affectionately on his legs.


They were an extremely handsome couple, very well-matched. They were the same height, at five-foot-ten, and of similar complexion.  Monica was exquisite, with shoulder-length, straight, brown hair and the face of a fashion model.  Her eyes were large, exotic, a bright hazel color.  Her facial features were small and delicate, cute little nose, taught cheeks, tiny dimple at the chin.  Her complexion was dark, bronze, her skin young, tight.  She had a wonderful, smallish figure, with medium-sized, firm breasts, a small waist, flat stomach.  


Her hips flared out slightly, curving into a round, tight butt, and long, toned legs.  She was in great shape.  She worked out four times a week, and mother nature had helped out with the rest. James was also very attractive, with dark hair, and brown eyes. 


He had a classic face, with square, masculine features.  His complexion was also dark.  He was bigger than Monica, outweighing her by perhaps forty pounds, though he was not taller.  He was thin, but not skinny, with broad shoulders, a slim waist, and muscular legs.  He ran several miles every morning. They sat on the sofa, sipping wine, chatting. Dinner was wonderful," Monica said, stretching, arching her back,  teasingly showing her slim body in white high legged leotard. 


"Yeah," James laughed.  "You seemed to really enjoy it."  He teased her frequently about her capacity for eating. 


"Hey, everyone else finished theirs, too," she said smiling, defensively.


"I know, love," he said.  "You just finished yours first. And you're the smallest of the four of us."


"Well, so I have a healthy appetite," she said.  "excuse the hell out of me.  I have a quick metabolism," she pouted.


James laughed.  "I know," he said.  "I know.  I'm just not sure where you put it all."


"Yeah, well, just never you mind," Monica said.  "I'm in pretty good shape, so you have nothing to complain about.  Besides, I thought at the time that we might go out dancing, you know, burn some of it off."


James frowned.  "Yeah, I did too.  What do you think of Christa?"


"Oh, Don," Monica said.  "I think she's sweet.  And so cute, too.  


Paul is very lucky.  She just didn't feel like staying out late, honey."


"Well, I think she seems kind of bossy, and not very much fun, either," he said, rolling his eyes.


"Don!  I'm sure she's plenty of fun," Monica said, laughing.  


"Why do you say she's bossy?"


"I don't know.  I just hate to see Paul so whipped."  Paul was one of James's friends from college.


Monica giggled.  "Whipped?"


James smiled.  "Yeah, you know, pussy-whipped?"


Monica rolled her eyes.  "Yes dear.  I know what 'whipped' means."


James continued.  "You know, he just seemed to agree with her, to do whatever she said so readily, so easily.  It's kind of pathetic, I think."


Monica continued to smile, saying "Don, honey, she was tired.  


She wanted to go home.  He agreed with her, supported her.  Does that make him whipped?"


James laughed.  "Yeah, pretty much, that's what it makes him."


Monica laughed too, and rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest.  "Oh, now you do not believe that, Don.  What would you have done, if I had been too tired?"


"But sweetie," he said, "you're never too tired."  Monica never seemed to run out of energy.


"Well, okay," she laughed.  "But if I were too tired?  Let's pretend."


"I don't know," he said, already tiring of the topic.  "I would probably try to convince you to go anyway."


Monica considered this, and said, "Yes, I think you probably would.  Why would you do that?"


James looked at her questioningly.  "What?  I don't understand."


"Okay," Monica said, smiling.  "Why would you try to convince me to go dancing if I said that I was too tired, didn't want to go?"


"Wait," James said.  "Have I already told everyone that it sounds like fun, that I would like to go, like Paul did tonight?"


Now Monica looked confused.  "Yeah," she said.  "I guess so, if it matters."


"Well," James said, "that's exactly what happened to Paul.  He said he wanted to go, and then Christa said she didn't.  And we didn't end up going, so it's clear who's in charge in that relationship.  Paul is whipped.  I would not want people thinking that about me, so I would try to convince you to go anyway," he said, smiling proudly at his logical explanation.


Monica returned his smile.  "But, Paul was just being considerate of his wife's feelings, as he should be, above everyone else's.  It has nothing to do with who is in charge of the relationship, for God's sake.  That is not the issue."


James saw that he had hit upon something, and he began back-pedaling.  "No, of course not," he said.  "You're right, honey."


Monica looked into his eyes, then, searchingly, and continued the conversation.  "I'm glad we agree about that, dear.  Now, let's go back to the whole issue of Paul taking charge of his relationship.  I'd like to hear more about that."


James sighed, rolling his eyes.  "Oh, now I didn't mean anything at all," he said.  "I just hate to see an old buddy turn into a big wuss."


Monica smiled thinly, keeping her eyes locked on his.  "So, just let me clarify.  If he isn't in charge, then he has turned into a wuss?  


He's whipped?" she asked.


"Oh, Monica, just forget it, please," he said, a little impatiently.


"Who's in charge of our relationship?" she asked, studying his face with great care.


"Well, no one's in charge, sweetie.  We're equals," he answered quickly, still hoping to avoid any kind of an argument, since he was ever so close to having after-date sex with his wife, which was one of the better kinds of sex to have, and he didn't want to blow it.


Monica smiled skeptically.  "Well, I'm glad to hear you say that, dear, but I'm a bit confused.  Whey would you be concerned about whether Paul is in charge of his relationship with his wife or not, in that case?  And still better, why did you say earlier that you would make an effort to change my mind, to convince me to go out dancing, so that no one would think that I was in charge, so that everyone would know that you were?  Why worry about it if you don't really think that you are, if you believe that we're equals?" she asked, arching her eyebrows expectantly.


"You're twisting my words, sweetheart," he said defensively.


"Am I?" she smiled innocently.


"Yes.  I just wouldn't want everyone to think that my wife wears the pants, that's all."


Monica smiled at his use of the outdated expression.  "But, if we're equals, then it shouldn't matter, right?  Because, when we want different things, we do what you want about half of the time, and what I want the other half.  So people would, on average, see me conceding to your wishes half of the time in those situations, and you to mine the other half.  Right?"


James shook his head, smiling.  "People, especially guys, would remember me doing what you wanted much more than half of the time, even if it were really completely equal.  It's the whole perception thing."


"I don't understand," Km told him


"Because they would not expect to see it," James said.  "It would be much more memorable to them, more jarring to their sensibilities."


"So, people expect for you to be in charge, or more in charge," Monica said.  "And you expect to see the same thing in other couples."


"Right, that's what I'm saying," James agreed.


Monica stared at him in amazement.  "Do you even realize what you're saying?  What it means?"


James's eyes narrowed.  "What are you getting at?" he asked.


"You expect for the man to be in control in other relationships, or at least more in control.  You have expressed concern about wanting for other people to think that you are the dominant partner in our relationship.  You must, therefore, think that you are, and that you should be, more dominant than me in our marriage.  Yet you tell me that we are equals," she said.


"We are equals," he said, earnestly, seeing the whole sex thing quickly disappear before his very eyes.


"Then what about what I just said?  How do you reconcile all of that?"


"I just wouldn't want for everyone to think that I was some kind of sissy," he told her, shrugging.


"And why would anyone think you were a sissy?" she demanded.


"Because I'm the man," he said, matter-of-factly. 


Monica, smiled, but her smile was a bit sinister.  "Thank you. And as the man, you should be in control, or more in control, and everyone should see that.  Is that what you're saying?"


"Well, yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying," he said, again shrugging.


"Good," she said.  "Now we're getting somewhere.  So, as the man, you are more in control in our relationship, and you should be. We are equals, but you are more equal than me.  Is that you position?"


James realized that he was cornered, and decided to forego any further attempts at skirting the issue.  He clearly wasn't getting any sex, anyway.  "That's right," he said.  "if anyone is going to be more dominant, it's going to be me, and it should be," he said firmly, looking at her directly.


"Because you are the man," she said.


"That's right," he answered.


She took her feet off of his legs, sitting up, crossing her legs in her lap.  "And why, as the man, should you automatically be the dominant partner, if one is to exist at all?"


"Because that's the way it is," he said.  "That's the way it has always been."


She shook her head.  "No, sweetie.  You aren't some uneducated moron, and you don't believe that for a second.  History is filled with examples of society's mistakes, which we can now identify as such because we have evolved.  If you feel that your view is the correct one, then you need a better reason than that," she said.


"I don't know," James said in exasperation.  "Because I'm the man, because I make more money than you, because I'm bigger, stronger.  I'm the man," he said.


Monica's eyes widened.  She really had no idea that he felt this way, and she found it very troubling.  "You make more money?" she asked in amazement.


James shrugged.  "Well, yeah, I do."


"What if I made more?" she asked.  "Would I get to be in charge?"


"You don't make more," he replied.


"What if I did?  Would you have a problem with that?  Would it bruise your ego?"


He threw up his hands in exasperation.  "I don't know.  Maybe.  But you don't"


She shook her head in disbelief.  "But your ego would have a problem with it if I did.  Let me ask you this, then.  Is your primary reason for having your current job, and for keeping it, because it pays more than mine?"


"Of course not," he said, sighing.


"Would you probably have that job anyway, or a similar one, if you were still single?  Would you keep it if we split up?" she asked him.


"Yeah, I would have it anyway, and I would keep I anyway.  I would have this job, or one like it, with or without you," he said.


She smiled.  "So, your having this job, which happens to pay more than mine, has nothing to do with me."


He nodded.  "Right."


"Well," Monica said.  "Then it contributes nothing toward your dominance in our relationship, because you can't use it against me.  It's just there, that's all.  If you had married a doctor, she would making more than you."


"Okay," he said.  "I can't argue with any of that."


"Good," she answered.  "And your other reason that men, that you in particular, are more dominant, or so you apparently think, is that you are bigger, stronger, right?"


"Well, yeah, I guess," he said carelessly.


"Are there any others that we haven't ruled out yet?" she asked him.  "Do you think that you are smarter, perhaps, or that men are smarter in general?  That's what they used to think, when women were second-class citizens.  Do you think that?"


"No," he said.  "Absolutely not."


"Well, thank God for small favors," she said.  "Any other reasons why men are naturally superior, why you are superior and should be dominant?"


He thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with any.  


"No, I guess not.  I can't think of any right this minute."


"All right then," Monica continued.  "Unless 'bigger' contributes to 'stronger,' then it really isn't a dominant attribute, in and of itself," she said.  "It does one no good to be big, if someone smaller can overcome that person.  Would you agree?"


He considered for a moment, and agreed.  "Yes."


"Good.  So, what we are left with then, is that you are stronger than me, and are therefore more dominant, and should be more in control of our relationship.  Have you any intention of using your perceived physical superiority over me to seize control?"


"No, of course not."


She smiled, a little coldly.  "Gee, thanks.  But what good is it then, in the context of our conversation?"


"What?" he asked, confusedly.


"How would being stronger contribute to your dominance, if you have no intention of using your strength to dominate me?" she asked, smiling, knowing she had him, almost.


"Well, just because it's there," he answered, shrugging.


"What if it isn't?" she asked.  "What if I take that notion away from you?  What if you aren't stronger?"


"What?" he asked incredulously.


"You heard me," she said coolly.  "What if we find out, definitively, that you aren't stronger?  Then I would be in charge, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it."


"Come on, Monica," he said.  "This is silly."


"No," she said.  "I don't think it is.  I was perfectly happy for us to be equals in this relationship, sharing the control, no one exercising undue power or influence over the other.  But apparently you don't see it that way, and never have.  So I'm saying to you, if you can't handle having half of the control, the power, in this relationship, then you get none of it."


"This is crazy, Monica," he said tiredly.


"Really?" she said, standing up, folding her arms, looking down at him as he sat on the couch.  "You've been walking around thinking that you are the dominant half of our marriage, because you're a man, and you're stronger.  Well, I say that's crap.  If that's how we're deciding who's in charge, then I'm taking over right now. And I'm taking over completely."


"Come on, Monica.  I'm sorry," he said.  "I love you."


She smiled at him, affectionately, but firmly.  "I love you too, very much, and I will always do what's best for us, and I will never ever leave you.  I couldn't imagine being with anyone else.  But I am taking over.  Just try to stop me," she said, leaning forward as she stood above him, surprising him as she clenched her fist and landed a punch solidly against his jaw.


James had not prepared himself at all for the blow, because he had not seen it coming.  He had made no effort to dodge it, or even to brace himself for it, so it connected solidly with his face.  His head, his whole upper body were knocked against the back of the sofa.  He rubbed his hand over his jaw, shaking his head, trying to clear it. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, looking at it. His lip was bleeding. Monica in white leotard stood over him, her hands on her hips, ready, but not moving. She would not hit him again until he was ready. She had only hit him that first time to make him angry, to get him going, to let him know that she was serious.  Otherwise, he would never get physical with her.  She knew that that was to his credit, but getting physical was exactly what she wanted in this situation, and she had to get it started.


"Monica!  Ouch!  What the hell are you doing?  Are you crazy?  My lip's bleeding!  You're lucky you didn't break my jaw," he said, still rubbing it with his hand, looking up at her. "No," she said confidently.  "You're lucky.  For now.  I might still break it.  You had better get up and defend yourself, or I'm just going to beat the shit out of you."


He stood up, facing her, angrily, glaring at her.  "You're out of your mind.  Have you had too much to drink or something?  You can't just go around hitting people."


Monica punched him in the stomach, connecting solidly, knocking the wind from him.  "Oh yes I can," she said.  "Are you going to stop me, or what?  I told you, I'm taking over, and when I'm through, there will be no ambiguity surrounding the issue of who is in charge around here."  She hadn't wanted to sucker punch him again, but he still wasn't taking her seriously.  She had to do it. He doubled over from the blow for a moment, then straightened, regaining his breath, and his composure, his eyes narrowing.  "If you think I'm just going to let you keep hitting me, you're crazy. I would never raise a hand against you, Monica, out of anger. But you aren't leaving me any choice. I have to defend myself. Just remember that you started this."


She stood with her hands on her hips, ready, alert.  "Actually, you started it, by what you said.  I'm just going to finish it.  For good. And don't worry about hitting me.  I understand that you have to defend yourself, if you can."


"If I can?  Monica, this is outrageous.  I'm clearly much stronger than you.  I don't want to hurt you," James said, struggling to control his anger.


"Yeah, well, it isn't clear to me that you are much stronger," she said, throwing another punch at him.


He was ready, this time, and blocked her punch solidly with his forearm, taking her by the shoulders, pushing her, throwing her to the ground.  She landed on her back, grunting, and quickly got back up.

"I'm sorry," he said.


"Stop apologizing," she said coldly.  "You won't break me.  I'll be just fine."


She put her hands on his shoulders, trying to push him down.  He held his ground, though, and put his hands on her shoulders, so that they were pushing against each other, testing one another's strength. She was surprisingly strong, and he could not push her backwards. They each held their ground, pushing against one another.  After a moment, Monica lowered her resistance, letting him move her backwards, letting him come at her, so that he was off balance.  Then she started pushing again, suddenly, firmly, as he was off balance, and she easily forced him back, pushing him harshly to the ground. He got up quickly, angrily, charging at her with his arms outstretched, trying to get in close quickly, before she could hit him.  She waited until he was nearly upon her, and then she sidestepped him, extending a leg beneath him, tripping him.  He again fell to the ground.  She kicked him solidly in his side with the ball of her foot as he lay on the ground.  James screamed furiously, and quickly got up again.


They circled one another cautiously, each watching intensely.  She kicked him in the stomach, causing him to gasp, and landed another punch to his jaw while he was disoriented.  He shook his head to clear it, and then charged her again, catching her in his arms, throwing her to the ground.  She kicked him in the shin, as she lay on the ground.  As he pulled his leg away from her, swearing at her, she grabbed his other leg, by the ankle, with both hands, and yanked it out from under him, tripping him to the ground next to her. Monica quickly climbed on top of him, as he lay on his back, before he could get up.  She straddled him, her strong body, nude but for her leotard, against his abdomen.  He put his hands on her, trying to throw her off of him.  Monica caught one hand by the wrist, then the other, holding them tightly, firmly, as he tried to shake them free.  She pinned his arms to the floor near his head, leaning forward, using her hands on his wrists to hold them still.  He bent his legs at the knees behind her, planting his feet on the floor, trying to lift his body off of the ground in an effort to throw her, or to roll her off of him. She lifted herself up slightly, and then brought all of her weight down on his midsection, forcing him decisively back to the floor beneath her.  She leaned forward, laying face down on him, as he continued to struggle angrily.  She spread her legs, catching his in between them, bringing them together forcefully, holding his legs between hers, planting her knees on the ground to hold her position.  She dug her elbows into his shoulders, pinning his upper body to the floor, holding his hands firmly to the ground above his head.  She arched her back, pressing her pelvis and torso against him, pinning him, holding him steady, looking down into his face. Infuriated, he struggled to get her off of him, as she looked mockingly down into his eyes, her face just above his, keeping him pinned flat on his back beneath her.  He screamed obscenities at her, trying in frustration to get her off of him, to get up, but he could not.  She held him that way for several minutes, just to see if he would eventually be able to break free, which he did not.   She was surprised at how easy it had been to pin him, at how little he could do as he lay beneath her to free himself. Eventually, she released him, and quickly stood up, knowing that pinning him had served its purpose, that holding him there longer would do her little good.  He rolled over onto his stomach, quickly, swearing, getting to his hands and knees, preparing to stand all the way up.  Monica did not let him get all the way to his feet, however, instead driving an elbow sharply into the small of his back, with incredible force, as he rose from the ground.


James fell back to the floor, grunting, shouting angrily, rising to his hands and knees again.  Monica came around to his side, and again drove her elbow sharply into his back, causing him to howl.  She lifted her bare foot, and drove her heel solidly into the small of his back, driving him all the way to the ground, face down.  She jumped up in the air, and landed on her knee, in the middle of his back, hearing him grunt as she crushed him to the floor, knocking the air from him.  She allowed herself to bounce back up, off of him, onto her feet once again.  He tried to push himself up, propping his upper body on his hands, and Monica leapt up again, coming down on his upper back with both feet, driving the balls of her feet into his shoulder blades, forcing his body flat, face down, once again.


Before he could move to get up again, Monica sat roughly on his back, hearing him grunt as she brought her full weight onto him, smashing his stomach against the ground.  She straddled him, letting her legs and feet stretch straight out in front of her on either side of him, kicking his arms out of the way, and extending her legs under them, close to his body.  He struggled with his arms and legs to get up off of the ground, nearly lifting her with him, but she leaned forward, catching his head by the hair, pulling it back towards her firmly as he screamed and swore at her. She readjusted her hands on his head, gripping him around the forehead with first one hand and then both, locking her fingers together, pulling back roughly, sharply on his forehead, forcing his whole head back towards her as she continued to straddle his back with her full weight.  He tried to release himself with his hands, but Monica held his head tightly, and continued to pull it back with great strength, leaning her whole body back on him for leverage.  She pulled his head back towards her, forcing his shoulders, then his entire upper body off of the floor, as she bent him backwards, pulling him by the head, sitting on his lower back. He screamed at her and thrashed about angrily, but he could not get any leverage, as she continued to bend him backwards.  Monica let her legs sweep beneath his upper body, which she held suspended off of the ground by his head, and she wrapped her legs around his back and his sides, digging her heels into his chest, hugging him firmly against her body with her long legs, pulling his back flush against her crotch as she yanked his head up and back.  She hugged him tightly with her legs, boring her heels into the front of his body rudely, feeling him wriggle desperately beneath her, becoming aroused as his attempts to escape proved fruitless. She continued to hold him in that position, feeling him growing tired, noting his struggles subsiding just a little.  She unwrapped her legs from him, bending them behind her, kneeling on the ground as she continued to straddle him, and to pull his head back. He screamed obscenities at her, and threatened her.  She moved her knees up from the floor at his sides onto his lower back, one at a time, so that she was now kneeling on his back, rather than straddling him between her legs, still pulling his head back, still holding his shoulders and upper body off of the ground with her powerful hold.  He tried to use his arms to swipe behind his back at her, but could not reach her effectively. 


James shouted threats at her, and tried to roll her off of him, now that she was on her knees, rather than straddling him.  She powered his head back forcefully, though, and began hopping up and down on his back cruelly, driving her knees into him, smashing his stomach against the floor, forcing his air from him in tremendous gasps. 


"God damn, it Monica!  Get off of me!  You are going to be so sorry!" he screamed at her.


Monica laughed, and bounced on his back nastily, driving her knees into him, mashing him against the floor, bending his body.  "I really don't think I'm going to be sorry, darling," she said, crushing him under her knees.  "In fact, it kind of seems as if I can do whatever I want to with you, and you can't do a thing about it.  Which is just about how I thought it would be."  She laughed at him tauntingly, letting go of his head suddenly, when he was ill prepared, sending him sprawling forward, flat on his face. Before he could react, Monica reached forward and caught his hands, first one wrist, and then the other.  He screamed at her and tried to shake his hands free, but she laughed, holding them firmly.  She stood up then, getting off of her knees, and standing on his lower back, walking across him, planting her feet on his shoulders and upper back, forcing him flat to the floor with her weight.  


She began stretching his arms then, and twisting them slightly, leaning back on her heels, holding his arms tightly, as if she were water skiing.  He screamed in pain, as she stretched and twisted his arms, boring her heels into his back and shoulders.  She tortured him, ignoring his screams, swearing to herself that he deserved this, that it was for the best.  She controlled his screams, easily making him shriek as she pulled back on his arms, and twisted them, ever so slowly and patiently.


Eventually, she tired of this, and dropped his wrists.  His arms fell to the ground.  He was able to move them about, but they trembled, and were fairly limp.  He tried to use them to lift himself up onto his hands and knees, but they would not support him.  He gasped in pain and rolled over onto his side, trying to sit up without using his arms.  Monica stood over him, with her arms folded, watching him, feeling power surge through her in waves. James was finally able to position himself so that he was sitting upright, though it was very difficult, because he could barely use his arms and hands.  Monica stood, with her arms folded, watching him sit up.  Once he was sitting all the way up, she lifted her leg, and casually placed her bare foot flat against his chest.  She easily pushed him flat on his back with her foot, laughing as he swore at her, holding her foot on his chest, pinning him down for a moment once he was flat on the floor.  She easily pushed him down and pinned him with her foot, as he was unable to use his arms or hands to support or propel himself.


Monica sat down on him again, on his chest, as he lay facing upward, straddling him, looking down at him, feeling more and more in control.  He slapped at her with his injured arms, but she casually, easily caught his wrists, and forced his arms to the floor at his sides. She bent his arms at the elbows, placing his hands near his shoulders, palm side up, and she knelt on his hands, pinning them easily to the ground, causing him to shout in pain and frustration, as she straddled him, high on his chest.  He tried to buck her, using his legs for leverage, but he was unable to budge her, as she sat on him, kneeling on his hands, looking down at him triumphantly.  "It seems that you're in a little trouble, my husband," she said sternly.


"Damn you, Monica!  Stop it.  You've made your point.  You're much stronger than I thought.  Now get the hell off of me."


She smiled, enjoying her position, sitting on him, his hands pinned helplessly beneath her knees.  "Oh, I don't think I'm ready to stop," she said, slapping his face lightly, teasing him, because he could do nothing about it but swear at her.  "I'm glad that you realize that I'm stronger than you imagined, but that's only step one.  I'm not through making you scream.  Then there's the crying, the begging.  We haven't even gotten to those yet.  I'll know when I'm finished, because you'll be doing exactly as I say, unquestioningly," she said, smiling, tingling all over.


She heard herself speaking, and could not believe what she was saying.  She had set out to teach James a lesson, to bring him down a notch.  But now, having seen how easily she had dominated him, how completely she could overwhelm him, she was overcome by arousal. She really could seize all of the power, really could turn him into her complete inferior, her subordinate, and by God, she was going to do it. He was already her husband, but she would make him hers in totality. He would simply be hers.  


"Damn it, Monica.  Get the hell off of me!" he snarled at her.


She laughed, pinching his cheeks roughly, saying "I give the orders around here, husband, not you.  Do you feel that you are in a position to give orders?  We'll just have to do something about that, won't we?  When I'm through with you, you won't even dream of telling me what to do.  And you'll do as I say, always, and without question."  She ground her knees into his hands for emphasis, and he screamed from the pain, as she sat on him, looking down at him, taunting him, nude but for her leotard, her crotch and buttocks against his chest, her breasts clearly visible, nipples erect, heaving beneath her cotton white leotard. Monica looked down at him.  She had him pinned beneath her, and he could not move, could not get her off of him.  "Who's in control now, my husband?" she asked, laughing at him.


He began to say something angrily in response, but Monica cut him off, leaning forward, putting the palm of her hand over his mouth, and pinching his nose shut between her thumb and forefinger.  "I don't like your tone, my love," she said, looking down into his eyes, which widened as he realized that she was suffocating him, that he could not breathe, that he could not do anything about it, was subject to her whim.


She looked down into his eyes, her facial expression reminding him that she had all of the power in this situation, as she straddled him, his hands pinned helplessly beneath her knees.  He struggled for breath, of which she continued to deprive him with one of her delicate, feminine hands, sealed firmly over his nose and mouth.  Monica watched him struggle weakly beneath her, surges of arousal pulsing through her unlike any she had ever felt.  She was controlling him, his very breath. 


She and she alone would decide when he breathed again. She held her hand over his nose and mouth until his eyes closed, until his little struggles ceased.  She withdrew her hand then, allowing him to breathe, checking to make certain that he did so. She continued to straddle him, sitting atop his body, which she was so easily defeating, dominating.  Monica swayed her hips back and forth, slightly, rocking her butt, her crotch, her thighs softly on his torso, moaning as she used his unconscious body to get herself off. She gasped as she climaxed, pressing herself roughly against his chest as he lay beneath her, suffocated to sleep by her.


When James awoke, he was sitting up, on the floor, and he could feel Monica's body all over him.  She sat behind him, his back flush against her body.  He could feel her breasts, firm and erect, through their clothes against his back.  Her right arm was curled firmly beneath his chin, against his neck, and her legs were wrapped around his middle, crossed in his lap, with her calves loosely against his stomach, his back pulled tightly in against her crotch. As he awoke, and regained his faculties, he immediately began struggling to get away from her, again shouting at her angrily.  She handled him easily, though, tightening her arm around his neck, pulling it up against his chin, bending his head back on to her shoulder, and simultaneously tightening her legs around his middle, slightly, holding him still, feeling him squirm.  As his struggles grew more intense, Monica simply tightened her hold on him, letting him feel her holding him still, effortlessly. Monica used her free hand to take hold of his face, firmly by the chin, turning it to the side, so he could see her, so she could look into his face.  "Nice nap, husband?" she said, smiling, letting her fingers dig into his face as she held it tightly, despite his struggles.


"Damn it, Monica!  Enough all ready.  Let me go," he said, though his speech was distorted, as she held him by the face with an iron grip.


Monica smiled, amused, and pressed her face to his, kissing his nose, his forehead.  "It's enough when I say so, my love.  And I'm not through yet.  I already told you.  I'll be through when your obedience to my wishes is total and complete," and she searched his eyes for reaction, holding his face roughly, kissing him with her soft, wet mouth.


"You're out of your mind," he said, humiliation and fury both evident in his voice.


"We'll see," she said confidently, her lips against the side of his face.  "I think you'll change your tune shortly.  This is the part, husband, where you cry and beg," she said, her lips, her breath warm against his face.  She released his face, and he turned it away from her, resuming his struggles to break free of her.


She tightened her arm around his neck, capturing it in the crook which formed at her elbow, settling it snugly against him, until she heard him choke.  She tightened her legs around his middle, her thighs against his sides, and her calves crossed over his tummy.  She heard him gasp as she increased the pressure, squeezing him between her legs, contracting his stomach with her calves, crushing him against her body.  She pulled his head back with her arm, choking him occasionally, for her own amusement.  Her arm was wrapped tightly around his neck, and she needed only to flex the muscles in her arm to cut off his air flow.  She let him breathe as she wished, and continued to crush him between her legs, pulling her calves inward and upward against his stomach.


He screamed and choked and gasped, as she dominated him, holding him still, having her way with his body.  She used her free hand to take his own hand by the wrist, and to guide it over her body, letting him feel her calves, her thighs, her tensed hips and buttocks, as she crushed him.  She pulled his arm roughly behind his back, using it to caress her breasts as she squeezed him between her legs, and held his body still with her opposite arm around his neck. Monica released his hand, and he pulled it away from her, back in front of himself, screaming in pain as she continued to pull her calves in against his stomach, and to press her thighs tighter and tighter against the sides of his body.  She slid her free arm under his own arm, and around to the front of his chest, then releasing her arm from his neck, and wrapping that one around his chest as well.  She hugged his back tight against herself, and she clasped her hands in front of him, against his chest.  He tried to use his own hands to move hers away, but the mobility in his arms and hands was still very limited, and she punished him immediately, driving her calves forcefully into his stomach, squeezing the air from him.  He quickly let go of her hands, letting his own fall to his sides.


Monica tightened her arms around him, hugging him to her powerfully, and she lay down on her back, pulling him with her, so that he lay on top of her.  She let the back of his head rest on her shoulder, while her chin rested on his opposite shoulder, her face and hair against the side of his neck and face.  She kept her legs bent around him, her calves crushing away at his middle, and she began contracting her arms around his chest, hugging him against her, feeling him squirm, hearing him scream from the intense pain. She kissed his neck from behind, and whispered in his ear softly.  "Can you imagine a more humiliating position?" she asked him, continuing to speak, with her lips against his neck.  "I'm squishing you between my legs, making you all weak, crushing you in my arms, as you struggle and scream, and you are not able to do anything about it.  Who do you think is stronger, now?"  She squeezed her arms, and her legs, tighter still, eliciting new gasps, new screams.  


"Looks like I am, my husband.  And I'm the girl, the soft one, the weaker sex, the wife.  How humiliating for you.  Can you do nothing about it?" she said, pulling her calves towards herself, digging them into him, crushing him, feeling his body give way, feeling him getting softer, and beginning to tremble, as he screamed desperately. She felt the tension in his body as she hugged him tighter and tighter, pulling her calves into him, feeling his body pressed so tightly against her crotch that she felt certain that she would break him.  He did not break, however, though he screamed in desperation as he felt his middle becoming defenseless against her, his muscles becoming totally exhausted from resisting her.  She felt this, too.  His muscles, in his sides, his stomach, became exhausted, worn down.  She could have continued to hurt him just as badly by decreasing, or perhaps maintaining the same level of pressure on his body with her thighs and calves at that point, because he was no longer able to defend himself from her.  Savagely though, hungrily, she squeezed him even harder, once she sensed his utter defenselessness. She relished the feel of him, soft, weak, squishy between her powerful legs, and she took full advantage of his weakness, contracting him between her legs, forcing her calves up into his body as far as they would go, depriving him of breath, compacting his body with horrific force.  His screams became frantic, and quickly turned to sobs, as Monica ravished his body cruelly with her powerful, sexy, feminine legs.  She smiled as she heard him weep, marveled at how wonderful his tears felt as they ran down his face, onto her neck and shoulder.  Rather than show mercy when he began crying, Monica braced her body and squeezed harder, hugging powerfully at the same time, and he lost all control, sobbing like a beaten little child.  


Monica continued to crush him, once he started crying, for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes more, showing no mercy, not relenting, savoring the sound of him weeping, the feel of his sobs wracking against her body.  She climaxed against his back, as he sobbed convulsively, squeezing him tighter still during her orgasm, taking away practically his entire breathing capacity, with his stomach collapsed beneath her calves and his chest hugged tightly in her arms.

 
She held this position, even after she had climaxed, listening to him weep, hearing his quick, short little breaths, whispering in his ear. "That's it, my sweet husband. Cry. Struggle for breath. Your pain, your frustration must be tremendous. I've practically flattened you with my legs, and you have no room to draw in breath. Your stomach muscles have completely given way, and my calves are wreaking havoc on your poor defenseless tummy and your squishy internal organs.  And to have to suffer these indignities at the hands of a woman, a woman much smaller than you, your wife, no less.  And to so clearly not be able to do anything about it," she hugged her face against his neck, feeling his tears on her lips, smiling against his neck, crushing him all the while. She held him crushed between her legs, squeezed within her arms, defenseless, sobbing, beaten, letting him feel how hopeless his situation was, how helpless he was against her.  He sobbed harder and harder as the pain became more and more difficult to bear. "Beg me to stop," she said softly, sternly against his neck.  "Beg me."


He begged her immediately, without a moment's hesitation. 


"Oh, please stop, Monica.  I beg you.  Please stop hurting me, oh please!"


She smiled, but did not stop.  "Tell me that I am stronger than you, that I have defeated you, and beg me some more."


Again, he did as she said immediately.  "You are stronger, Monica.  You have beaten me convincingly, totally.  Please, please stop. I beg you.  I'll do anything if you just stop hurting me."


She smiled again, and loosened her legs and arms, not letting go, instead holding him against her loosely, possessively, like property.  She held him there, with her arms and legs wrapped around him casually, as he continued to weep.  She could feel his erection against her calf, as she loosened her hold on him.  She helped him roll over, so that he was facing her, and she held him in her arms as he cried against her chest.  Monica thought to herself that she could happily spend the rest of her life first making him cry, then holding him, comforting him as he wept against her breast like a little boy.


When his tears had subsided, Monica helped him sit up, and she sat in his lap, facing him, straddling him.  She wrapped her legs around his waist snugly, but without squeezing.  Her head was slightly higher than his, as she sat on his lap, and she looked down into his eyes.  "Do you realize what's happened?" she said softly, looking directly into his eyes.  He said nothing, and she adjusted herself on his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist just a little more snugly, smiling as he gasped.  "Do you?" she repeated.


"I ... I don't know," he said, averting his eyes, bracing himself.


She did not squeeze him, just held him within her legs firmly.  


"Before tonight, my husband, I always assumed that we were equals in our marriage, each having different, but equivalent responsibility and authority," she watched his eyes, making sure that he heard her.  "You, on the other hand, assumed that, though we were somewhat equal, when it came right down to it, that you were in charge.  Your reason for that assumption, was that you are the man, and you are stronger," she searched his face, drinking in his humility greedily.  She tightened her legs around him, ever so slightly, and he again gasped.  "Isn't that right?"


"Yes," he said quickly.  "Yes, you're right."


"But, before tonight, you had just been assuming that you would dominate me physically, because we had never had occasion or reason, so I thought, to put such a thing to the test."  She put her hands on his face, forcing him to look into her eyes.  "But now," she said, "now, we know.  Both of us.  I am much stronger, able to easily inflict pain on you, and bring you to tears.  Now that we know that, I am no longer satisfied that we be equals, particularly since you were not satisfied with as much before."


She tightened her legs just a little bit more, making sure she had his attention, ignoring his gasp.  "From this moment on, I am superior in our relationship, in every way.  You will do as I say, bow to my wishes, on every issue.  You will obey me without question, no matter what I demand.  You will not argue, and you will not hesitate.  Every time you do so, I will punish you severely."  She studied his face.  He said nothing.


"Do you understand?  From this day, you are not simply my husband, but you are mine.  Period.  Do you understand?" she asked him.  He said nothing, trembling.


Monica contracted her legs quickly around his middle, ignoring his screams, looking firmly into his face.  She easily brought him to tears, his body wracking with sobs as she squeezed him between her thighs, looking directly into his face as she did so.  "I told you," she said, taking his head on her shoulder, petting it affectionately with her hand.  "No hesitation.  Now," she said, squeezing him still harder as he sobbed on her shoulder.  "Do you understand me?"


"Yes," he sobbed.  "Yes, I understand.  I will obey you in all things, Monica.  Please don't hurt me anymore," he sobbed on her shoulder as she squeezed him firmly, her legs wrapped around his middle.


She smiled, and loosened her legs again, petting his head as he sobbed dejectedly, humiliated, on her shoulder.  "Good," she said, feeling wonderful arousal, tingling all over with power.  "That's a good boy."


She kissed his cheek, softly, letting his tears subside, feeling his weakness against her sex, against her body.  "Now," she said.  


"You will show me your obedience.  Do you want to do that?"


"Yes," he said quickly, earnestly, fearfully.


"Good.  How are your arms, your hands?" she asked.


"They feel much better," he said against her shoulder, still sniffling. 


"That's good," she said tenderly.  "I'm going to stand up now.  I want you to move to your hands and knees quickly then, and kiss my feet, kiss each of my toes.  Do you understand?" she asked, snuggling her legs around his middle again, just slightly.


"Yes," he said quickly.  "Yes, I understand."


"And you will obey me?" she asked him.


"Oh, yes," he answered, looking into her eyes earnestly.


She smiled and stood up, looking down at him, placing her hands on her hips expectantly, shifting her weight from one beautiful leg to the other.  Her husband, Don, quickly positioned himself on his hands and knees, and brought his head down to her foot, kissing it tenderly, lovingly kissing each toe as she watched him.  He moved to her other foot, obediently kissing it, pressing his lips to each toe.


When he moved to lift his face from her feet, Monica leaned forward, placing one of her feet on his shoulder, saying "Continue until I say that you are finished, my love."  He lowered his face again to her foot, kissing it gently, as she rested her other foot, the weight of her body, on his shoulder in a position of comfortable ownership.  She curled her toes upward, off of the floor.  "Suck my toes, husband," she told him, and he obediently obliged, sucking each toe, completely submissive.


She took her foot off of his shoulder, and said "Now, you will kiss my butt, husband.  Get up onto your knees."  He did as she said. "Now," she continued, "put your hands on my hips, and bring your face against my butt."  Again, he did as he was told.  "Now, kiss my butt, husband," she said.  "That's it, kiss the left buttock.  Now the right.  Lick my ass, dear.  That's it, use your tongue.  Use your hands to move aside a gusset of my leotard, spread my buttocks, and lick me in between them.  Go on, do it."  James followed her instructions, licking her ass in total obedience.  She stood with her arms folded, and made her husband lick her butt for perhaps half an hour, letting him see just to what degree she controlled him, feeling her blood pulsing through her body, tingling all over.


When she was satisfied, she said "Now we will go to bed, my husband.  You will carry me to bed, on your back.  I will ride you," she said, walking around behind him, sitting on his back, straddling him with her legs, which she brought around him, letting her heels dig into his stomach slightly.  "Now walk," she said, pressing her heels to his tummy, causing him to gasp slightly.  He did as she told him, crawling to the bedroom, with Monica on his back, holding on to him firmly with her legs wrapped around his body.


Monica stepped off of him when they reached the bedroom, and said "Now get into bed.  Lie in the center, flat on your back, my dear."  


She watched him quickly obey her.  "You will pleasure me now, husband," she said.


Monica climbed into bed and on top of him, sitting on his chest, straddling him so that she faced away from his head, towards his body, so that he saw her back, her ass, high on his chest.  She moved back on him, letting her knees pin his arms firmly to the mattress, letting her ass rest on his neck, smiling to herself as he gasped at her weight on his neck.  She brought her upper body down on him, so that she lay flat on his chest and stomach, her breasts against him, her hair and face soft against his body.  


"You will lick me now, and suck me, my ass, my sex, until you have satisfied me.  You will do it because I tell you to, because you have no choice but to do as I say.  You will show me that I have no need to beat you more tonight."  Monica lowered herself onto his face firmly.  "Now lick me, my obedient little husband."


James quickly obliged her, as she ground herself on his face, licking her ass, putting his tongue into her body, as she squirmed and bucked herself roughly, carelessly on his face, on his body.  She used his body thoughtlessly, digging her hands into his stomach, smiling, licking her lips as she heard his pained moans from beneath her ass.  She saw that he was still hard as a rock, and felt new waves of power rush over her.  


He would not be satisfied tonight.  He would be satisfied, from now on, only when she decided that he would be, and she could use sex to hurt him, to humiliate him just as she could use physical force.  He obviously found her domination of him very arousing, in spite of himself, and this satisfied her greatly.  She could beat him soundly, make him cry, beg, and he would only want her more.  Yet it would be she who decided if and when he would have her, and in what capacity he would have her.  She had the power now.  All of it.


"That's it," she said, moaning in a voice brimming with femininity.  "Lick me, husband.  Put your tongue in me, put it in me as far as you can stretch it.  Make me happy.  Please me.  You live to make me happy," and she ground her body into his face, pressing firmly against him, forcing his head down against the mattress, bringing him into her as far as he would go, moaning.  "Oh, yes.  Suck me.  You belong to me.  You are mine."


As she came against his face, Monica let her body go limp, letting all of her weight rest on him, on his face, his chest, his stomach.  When she finished, she did not move off of him, instead just rested comfortably on top of him, recovering at her leisure.  He lay beneath her silently, submissively, with no complaints.  Monica lay on him casually, breathing deeply, feeling her control, letting him feel it, too.  She considered falling asleep on him in this position, with her crotch, her ass on his face, her soft body all over his, but she wanted her legs around him again.  She loved having her legs around him.Monica crawled off of him slowly, letting her breasts, her crotch, her butt move over his face and body.  She lay on her side, next to him, with her arm under his head, her hand resting on his far shoulder.  She rested her head softly on his near shoulder, nuzzling her face against his neck.  She slid her lower leg beneath his body, bending it at the hip and straightening it underneath him, against his back.  She curled her upper leg similarly, on top of him, against his stomach.  She smiled contentedly against his neck as she squeezed him lightly between her legs, easily causing him to gasp, quickly bringing him to tears.  She drifted off to sleep with her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, her legs wrapped snugly around his body, as he quietly wept and sniffled from the pain she so easily inflicted on him.


When Monica fell asleep, with her body relaxed, the slight pressure in her legs disappeared, as her body went slack.  The pain became bearable for Don, and he stopped crying, though it still hurt him to breathe, and he gasped in pain silently, on occasion, when Monica shifted peacefully in her sleep, nudging him with her legs.  He did not sleep, could not sleep.  He was in tremendous pain, and he had a raging erection, as his gorgeous wife slept nuzzled up against him, wearing a sexy leotard, her body wrapped possessively around his.  He lay awake and wondered how he could have avoided the initial argument, and how he could possibly have lost all of his independence to his pretty wife so quickly, so easily.  And he wondered what things would be like in the morning. When Monica awoke in the morning, she saw that James was awake, and assumed that he must not have slept at all that night. She smiled to herself, as she snuggled her breasts against his side, and stretched her legs against him, causing him to tremble and wince in  pain.  She knew his middle must be very tender, because she had abused it horribly the night before.


"Good morning, my husband," she said softly, stirring against him.  He said nothing.  She frowned, and said "I wish to bathe now. You will assist me."


"What?" he asked.


"You will bathe me," she said softly, sternly.


"Monica, this is crazy.  You've made your point, but come on, now," he said, turning his head to look into her face.


She smiled at him, sadly, and tightened her legs around him, instantly feeling him tense from the pain, hearing him moan and gasp.  


"This is not a temporary situation, husband."  She squeezed him, felt him squirm between her thighs.  "I have beaten you, and will continue to do so, as I see fit.  Your only hope of appeasing me, avoiding being beaten, crushed, is to obey me, and to do so without question."  She squeezed him sharply, letting him scream for a moment, and then released him, climbing out of bed, to her feet.


"Now," she said.  "You have questioned me, and you must be punished.  And every time you hesitate, when I give you a command, you will be punished," and she walked quickly from the room, returning with a yardstick.


James saw her coming back into the bedroom with the yardstick, and quickly got out of bed, coming towards her, reaching to take it away from her.  Monica shook her head disapprovingly, and took him firmly by the shoulders, lifting her knee into his stomach, bringing him instantly to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.  As he struggled to stand up, she positioned her legs on either side of his head, facing his body, and she caught his head firmly between her legs.  She leaned down, wrapping her arms around his middle, and hoisted him onto the bed, keeping his head locked firmly between her thighs.Once his body was in front of her, on the bed, Monica reached behind her back with her hands, and pulled his head firmly upward, flat against her crotch, and her lower butt, and she crossed her ankles, squeezing his head and neck firmly between her thighs.  He struggled with his hands to pry himself loose, but she held him very tight, and only squeezed harder when he struggled.  He began screaming from the pressure she applied to his head and neck, as she leaned forward, pushing his boxer shorts down on his body, so that his butt was exposed.


She held his head tightly between her thighs, feeling his neck between her legs, the back of his head against her butt, as he squirmed desperately to escape, though she knew he had no chance of doing so.  She brought the yardstick up, and began beating him with it, slapping it against his exposed ass, bearing down on his head and neck with her thighs.  He screamed in pain, as she quickly raised welts on his butt, turning it bright red as she beat him with the stick.  She whipped him mercilessly, crushing his head between her powerful thighs, as he screamed and pleaded, finally stopping only when she heard him begin to sob shamefully between her legs, feeling his tears running down her thighs, her calves.


Monica maintained her powerful hold on his head with her thighs, but separated her ankles, and began taking small steps backwards, pulling his entire body with her, by his head, as she held it firmly between her legs.  She pulled him all of the way off of the bed that way, letting him drop to the floor, releasing his head as he fell.  She stood towering over him, her arms folded over her leotard covered breasts, ignoring his pained whimpers.


"Now," she said.  "You will bathe me.  Stand up, this instant, and come with me into the bathroom.  Any further disobedience, even hesitation, will be dealt with harshly, my husband."He quickly got to his feet, following her meekly into the bathroom, pulling his boxers back up over his tender, beaten ass.  Monica handed him her toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste, and said, "Now, you will brush my teeth.  Stand behind me, that's it.  Now brush them.  And be thorough, but do not cause me any discomfort, or I shall beat you."  He obeyed her quickly, brushing her teeth carefully as he stood behind her, feeling her semi-naked buttocks against him, particularly when she leaned over the sink to spit.  "Draw me a glass of water, husband," she said, and he did so.  She leaned her face forward, motioning for him to lift the glass to her mouth, which he did immediately, careful not to spill any on her.  She again leaned over, letting her butt press against him as she spit the water into the sink.  She noticed that he was still very hard for her.


Monica turned on the water for her shower, and opened the stall to get in.  Turning to Don, she said "Come on.  You're going to bathe me now.  Take off your clothes, and get in."  He complied silently.  They stood in the shower, nude man and his leotard clad wife, water spilling over them.  Monica handed him her shaving cream and razor.  "Get on your knees," she said, "and shave my legs.  Cut me, and I'll thrash you.  Understood?"


"Yes," he said quietly, dropping to his knees, applying shaving cream to her fantastic, powerful legs.  He shaved them carefully, and she smiled as she stood above him, again feeling rushes of power coming over her as her husband knelt beside her in the shower, shaving her legs, legs which had injured him severely, had brought him to tears so easily.


After a few moments, she backed her face away from him, looking into his eyes, feeling total power over him, knowing that he belonged to her.


"Kneel before me, husband, and lick me clean," she said, as the water spilled down on them.  He dropped to his knees in front of her, and she pulled aside a gusset of her leotard then took his head in her hands, pulling it against her crotch, arching her body against his face as he began licking her obediently.  She pushed his face against her, looking down at him as he put his tongue in her.  


Monica soon felt herself growing aroused again, as waves of power surged through her body, feeling him lick her, and she knew she would soon climax again, against his face, with his tongue deep inside of her.  She would require additional cleaning, then, she thought to herself, smiling just slightly.  It was a bit of a vicious circle, because having him clean her with his tongue in this fashion only drove her to muss herself again.  She was not concerned, though.  She could force him to clean her all morning long, if she wished, and all afternoon.  It was going to be a lovely day.

Women vs men mixed martial arts is the sexiest of UFC actions in the world! When clothed woman beats a naked man it looks funny, sexy and really cool! Any gymanst, ballet dancer or female swimmer is a perfect athlete, let ballerina put her dance leotard on and we will see who is stronger - woman or man! Especially if they are colledge teens who fights each other in high school combat arena. Female advantage is her outfit, long sleeved gymnastics leotard or onepiece racing swim suit with t-back, it protects her feminine body and makes a girl more confident when her male opponent must fight nude, he has no chances against lady clad in sexy legless bodysuit. Female fighter defeats him with easy, just one swift kick in the balls and big muscle strong male begs her for mercy, scrambling under her feet like a real whimp! What a power of female legs - he can't resist and must worship and lick a feet and combat boots of his mistress who have defeated him with ballbusting attack!

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