Better Licking through ChemistrybyCyanlot©
Oral sex is fine, Chris thinks, as long as he is the one getting. He definitely does not believe that it is more blessed to give than to receive.
He's always been that way, even before we were married-even when we were having raucous, no-holds-barred sex (well, obviously, almost no holds barred sex). Chris has always been up (so to speak) for any kind of sex, straight or kinky, except licking my clitoris. In fairness to him, he did sort of try it once or twice, half-heartedly and only for a few seconds. Then he dismissed it as "not his thing". (It wasn't his thing I was worried about; it was my thing.)
As our lives together progressed-he, finishing an MBA and I, a pharmacy degree-we had a pretty good life together. Even the sex was pretty good most of the time-except for that one little thing that was being neglected. But that one little thing (the issue, not my clitoris) got bigger and bigger. Things came to a head (again, I guess I should say, "so to speak") when I began refusing to suck his cock. I thought what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. Chris didn't see it that way.
For the first time in our relationship, he forced himself on me. He tried to act like it was a playful forcing, but I wouldn't go along with it. When we were lying in bed one night, he began hinting that I give should give him a blowjob. I ignored the hints-pretending not to get them. When he was explicit, I mocked him by saying that oral sex "wasn't my thing." I guess he didn't like the mocking-or maybe he was just hell-bent on getting his cock sucked. He pushed me down by the shoulders and, the more I resisted, the harder he pushed-and the more serious the whole situation became.
Chris is a lot bigger than I am. At 180 pounds, he has a good 75 pounds on me and none of it is fat. When he put his hands on the sides of my head, I couldn't control my head at all. He forced me down to his crotch and pressed my face against his cock. Still, he couldn't make me open my mouth. And I resolutely kept my jaw locked.
He started demanding that I open my mouth and suck him. When I didn't respond, he began twisting my ears and digging his fingers into the sides of my head. I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn't want to do this and that if he forced me to do it, he would be sorry. I told him I wasn't kidding. He said he didn't care and he doubted that he would be sorry. He was pretty sure that it would feel great.
When the pain on my ears and head were too much to bear, finally, with tears running down my cheeks, I opened and let him enter my mouth. Never had I given him a more indifferent blowjob. In fact, all I did was let him use my mouth. He didn't care-the pig. He fucked my mouth for several minutes, progressing slowly, but inevitably, toward an orgasm. All the while, I was finding refuge in the certainty that somehow I would make him pay for this. Finally, he exploded in my mouth, filling me with his cum.
His hands dropped to his side as he entered his post-orgasmic stupor. For the first time, I didn't even try to swallow his cum. I opened my mouth and let it run out over his cock-spitting out the last of it. He was too expended to stop me or even to complain. I rushed to the bathroom and gargled with mouthwash far longer than necessary to clean my mouth. But that wasn't the point, really. The point was to show him how much I detested what he had done.
As with many abusers, he was deeply, profusely apologetic later. He swore that nothing like that would ever happen again-that he would never force me to do anything that I didn't want to do and that if I didn't want to have oral sex with him, that's just the way it would be. But I'm not a particularly forgiving person. Anyway, I knew that the cycle of abuse, apology and further abuse was the most likely course unless I took control of the situation. Chris was certainly right about one thing, though: nothing like what had happened that night would ever happen again-to me.
I'm a planner and, so, I set about to formulate my plan-not just for revenge, but for control. I already knew what my goals were, so the first practical step was analyzing my strengths in this situation to determine how I could achieve those goals. Chris is much bigger and stronger than I am, so physical power wouldn't help me at all. He's also plenty bright enough that I couldn't control him simply by outstripping him in the smarts department. I resolved to bring my professional expertise to bear on the problem and to use a little psychological judo.
Judo, of course, is a technique in which you use your opponent's strength against him: he lunges at you and, with minimal effort, you re-direct his force at himself. Chris was dominating both physically and sexually, and he was quite proud of this. But his pride would be his undoing-with a little help from modern pharmacology.
It's not hard to find drugs that interfere with a man's ability to get an erection. This is a side effect-typically considered to be an unfortunate one-of several common drugs. The trick is to find a drug that will produce erectile dysfunction without producing other effects that, for my purposes, would be side effects-chief among these would be any loss of sexual appetite. I didn't want Chris impotent and sexually indifferent-what I wanted was him seething with desire but completely unable to perform. Another requirement made my homework assignment tricky. Ideally, I wanted something that could be counteracted quickly and very temporarily.
So, I had to do my research carefully. But I'm a good student and it didn't take me very long to find something you can think of as anti-Viagra. Viagra works by relaxing a certain type of blood vessel so that the penis can engorge more quickly. My discovery was that there was a class of drugs, available to a pharmacist, that were known to constrict exactly these vessels. I picked the most benign form of anti-Viagra and figured out a dose that should be effective on someone Chris's size, but shouldn't produce many noticeable side effects.
I decided to keep Chris on a sufficient dose of anti-Viagra so that he was completely unable to get an erection at any time of the day. This required giving him the anti-Viagra two to three times a day. Here, again, I would engage in some psychological judo-using his own psychology against him. For years, Chris-vane man that he is-had been taking a special mixture of vitamins and minerals that I mixed up for him and put in capsules. He thought it would keep him young and, no doubt, potent. Alas, for the poor dear, these pills would soon have just the opposite effect on his potency.
So, less than a week after he raped my mouth, I had the poor dear on an impotency cocktail that meant that his cock wouldn't be getting any tail unless I said so. And, I could say so very selectively. Viagra can be combined with a carrier that is absorbed directly into the skin, which results in very fast, temporary reversal of the chemically induced impotence. Chris was my puppet; I controlled him, not with strings, but with I controlled him nonetheless for that.
Once, several years ago, when Chris was really drunk, he tried to perform and fizzled. It rattled him until he had rebuilt a solid track record. This time, though, there would be no excuses for him, and there was to be no reestablishing of a track record.
It is Friday morning when I start him on his anti-Viagra regimen. I'm home early making a special dinner. With few exceptions, I've been cold and distant to him. This is Chris's "everything's okay now" dinner. I hear the door open and he walks into the kitchen, where I'm almost finished with dinner.
"What's the occasion?" he asks hopefully.
"No occasion," I reply. "I just thought it was time we buried the hatchet."
"How about if we just sank the spear?"
Clever guy! "You won't be sinking you spear anytime soon," I think. But I just smile.
Dinner goes fine. We make small talk; he touches my foot underneath the table. After dinner, we clean up and he leads me to the bedroom for an early bedtime. He grabs me masterfully and kisses me deeply. He has no hint that the evening isn't going to go as he hopes. But it won't.
I let him go through the ordinary preliminaries, trying not to act differently than usual. After he has most of my clothes off, he starts taking off his clothes between kissing and fondling me. Poor, dear. I still don't think he has a clue that anything will go wrong.
When he has us both undressed and I'm giving a first class show of wanton horniness, he begins stroking my clitoris. I realize that I'm really excited. In a way, it's a shame things aren't going to work as Chris is planning tonight, but maybe part of what is making me so excited is knowing that the entire evening is going according to my script. He is just a puppet in my plan. And, I'm going to cut one of his very crucial strings tonight.
He is running his hand through my lips, spreading my wetness around in preparation for entering me-or so he thinks. I'm pulling his mouth to mine and opening my lips to draw his tongue into my mouth, putting a big "welcome mat" out for him. Judging from the confident way he rolls on top of me, I still don't think he has the slightest concern about his ability to perform. But once he is on top of me, I see that he realizes something is wrong. His cock, which is usually hard and throbbing between my thighs by now, lies limp and withered on my crotch. The thrusting of his hips does nothing but roll around a useless lump of soft flesh.
He rolls off to my side again and begins stroking himself-trying to do it casually, as if I won't know what he is doing. But it's not working, and the harder he tries, the softer he gets. He is now in a downward spiral. What the anti-Viagra didn't do directly, it is doing indirectly by completely undermining his confidence. Now, he is not just limp, he is tiny and shrivelled.
I move my hand down to touch him, but he moves my hand away. Maybe he doesn't want me to know there is something wrong. If so, this strategy doesn't last for long. He apparently decides that he might be able to get it up with a little help from my mouth. Certainly, that's never failed in the past. Part of me wants to go along with him, because for him to fail when I'm sucking him would be the ultimate failure for him. Maybe I'll do that sometime in the future. But for now I have to punish him for forcing himself on me before.
When I resist, he is torn. He has promised he will never force me again-and, of course, I wouldn't let him, anyway. But, he really wants to get hard and fuck me, and he thinks that this might be the only way.
Finally, the gentleman in him wins and he rolls over, frustrated, and sputtering apologies. There is nothing better to do at this point, I figure, than to pretend-but not too convincingly-that I think it might be my fault. I suggest that I was putting too much pressure on him by making the romantic dinner and making it obvious that I wanted us to have sex. He contests this whole line of thinking, and I defer to him, but in a tone that makes it clear that I now believe his manhood to be fragile.
We lie in bed drifting off. After a while, I reach over and slide my hand down to his crotch. He doesn't stop me-maybe he's hoping against hope that this will work. I stroke his floppy little dick for a while, trying to appear helpful and optimistic. The anti-Viagra is working quite well, though. He remains completely flaccid despite my stroking. I hold him for a second between my first finger and my thumb. Somehow this makes me feel like I'm making him feel very small.
Through out all of this, he has remained silent. Maybe he is planning to pretend that he is asleep if it doesn't work. I know he's awake though so, as I pull my hand away from his cock, I give a barely audible, disappointed sigh. Then, after a while, when it is clear he is pretending to be asleep, I reach down and begin touching myself. I'm doing it forcefully enough that he is sure to hear it but gently and quietly enough that he can think I'm trying not to wake him.
He just lies there, listening to me as I stroke myself to a very satisfying climax. I might have gotten a little noisy just when I came, but I wanted him to be sure I was satisfied. I drift off to a peaceful sleep.
Later, he accidentally wakes me as he is getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. I know he isn't just going to take a piss. He wants some physical relief, too. After I hear him finish pissing and flush the toilet, he's in there a good 15 minutes. Judging from his exasperated sigh when he gets back in bed, I figure he had about as much luck with his hand as he did with me. Good! He deserves it.
The next few days, we don't talk about this at all. In fact, we don't talk much about anything. I keep him on his dosage of anti-Viagra so I'm pretty sure that, if he is trying to whack off, he's getting a confidence deflator every time. Still, I figure he will need a couple more failures with me before he is completely crushed.
I continue to play the devoted, supportive spouse throughout his troubles. I pressure him by making a show of refusing to apply any pressure. Finally, a week after his first failure, he decides it's time to take a try again. Maybe he'll have more luck now. After all, he's never had any serious problem before. Surely, he must be thinking, this is just a passing phase.
Of course, this time doesn't go any better than the last. But this time, I decide to do everything I can to be supportive. This time, I'll even suck his cock to get him hard. When he has no luck getting hard by fondling me and rubbing against me, I start to go down on him without any prompting. He is surprised at first and puts his hand on my head-maybe to stop me. If so, he thinks better of it and lets me move my head down to his crotch.
I don't take him in my mouth right at first. I look as his small, limp dick first and hold it between my fingers. I figure that this reinforces for him his impotence and my awareness of it, but he can hardly complain because I'm just about to suck his dick. When I take him in my mouth, I make a big show of sucking passionately. Anyone would think, and Chris surely does, that I am encouraging him in every way I can. Indeed, I might even seem a little desperate. This, I figure is good. Let him think that I am a little desperate. It will just put more pressure on him.
It's odd to suck his cock when it is limp. I've done it before, of course, but only for a few seconds as he was hardening. He doesn't harden now. He remains limp and tiny. He can tell that there is no reaction and he tries to stop me at one point. I persist. It looks more supportive-and more desperate-if I keep trying. Like a surgeon over the operating table of a dead patient, I won't give up. As if my will alone can bring Chris's cock back to life, I fight on. But, of course, it is no use. When I finally give up, I am the dejected, but valiant fighter. There is no hope. The patient is lost.
I cuddle with Chris and tell him, unconvincingly, that it is okay-that it doesn't matter. I tell him this with an intensity that shows how much it does matter. I make all of the excuses for him-he's tired, he's under a lot of pressure, and all that. None of it reassures him, of course. None of it is really true. He has no excuse for his impotence-none I'm going to offer him, anyway.
Before I really put my plan in action, I decide to wait for him to make another attempt and have another failure. Weeks go by and I almost give up on the plan to have a "three strikes you're out" approach. But finally, after over three weeks, he decides to try again. This time, I guess he thinks that a little alcohol will loosen him up. It does make him go at it with more self-confidence, but the self-confidence turns out to be entirely unjustified. His once proud cock, lies between his legs-a useless flap of flesh.
This time, when we talk afterwards, I try to get him to talk about what we can do to fix the situation. He mentions Viagra, but I tell him that there are things we can try first. Over the next several months, we try negligee, role-playing, light bondage (both ways) and porn. Nothing works, alas, and Chris grows increasingly insecure and self-condemning. My frequent resorts to self-pleasuring leave him feeling inadequate. Finally, under the pressures of not being able to satisfy his wife any other way, Chris tries, clumsily, to go down on me. I let him kiss his way down to my pubic area, but then pull him up. He asks what's wrong and I tell him that it just doesn't feel right. He never wanted to do that before and for him to do it now just underscores the fact that he is impotent and can't satisfy me any other way.
I think this is a good way to say it. I'm sacrificing the pleasure I could get from his tongue and lips. That makes me good. In so doing, I highlight the fact that he is inadequate without ever criticizing him for his inadequacy.
When he asks me about Viagra again, I tell him that it is very successful for some men-especially if there is a medical cause of the impotence. He needs, of course, to get a physical and a battery of tests to make sure that it is okay. He wants me to just grab a few pills from the pharmacy, but I tell him I can't do that. He has to go to the doctor because I can't be sure that Viagra is safe for him.
Going to his doctor isn't safe, either. For years Chris has gone to a family friend for all his medical check-ups. It was primarily a cost saving decision since our friend, Hal, didn't charge Chris. Now, I insisted, he had to go back to Hal because Hal had Chris's medical history.
It took Chris weeks and another failure in bed with me (and no telling how many failures with his hand) before he was willing to do that. But finally Chris went to our friend Hal and spilled out his story of sudden and complete impotence. Hal was understanding, of course and ordered all of the appropriate tests. At Chris's next visit, Hal prescribed Viagra for Chris and Chris promptly asked me to fill the prescription.
Now, Viagra is a wonderful drug for many men. And, Viagra, in large enough doses, would certainly counteract the effect of my anti-Viagra drug. However, the placebos I filled Chris's prescription wouldn't have helped a rock stay hard. Chris was set up for more failure-but he didn't know that yet.
Hal told Chris to start with 50 mg. of Viagra first. Not wanting to take chances, Chris takes 100 mg. for his first trial. He's optimistic and ready to test himself with his new-found crutch. Alas, the crutch doesn't even begin to work and Chris limps back to his side of the bed-despondent and desperate. I tell him again that it doesn't matter. He isn't convinced of course. His belief that it does matter to me is reinforced when I quietly masturbate to a very nice orgasm while he is pretending to be asleep. Alas, for his confidence, just as my orgasm breaks, I quietly, but passionately moan, "Oh, God, yes!...Oh, fuck me hard!" Chris can't and he is beginning to believe that there will never be a time when he can.
Chris tried the "Viagra" again once, but only half-heartedly. He didn't believe it would work, but he didn't want to risk missing a cure by rejecting it too early. It didn't work, of course, and with that failure we stopped even trying to have sex.
Over the next few weeks, I began talking to Chris more as I would to a girlfriend. I started with little things: touching him in ways I would touch a girlfriend, telling him things I would not normally have told him. Little by little I begin talking about men with him-a new pharmacist at work, an old boy friend I ran into at the store, and so forth. Defeated as he was, he just listened without protest or the slightest show of territoriality.