Always Under Self-Control?

Like a playbill in a stage production at a high class theater, right at the beginning I'll set forth the cast of characters in this saga.

I'm Ryan Battle, 43 years old, an engineer and COO of a Russell 3000 company that makes renewable energy products and components.

Michelle Battle, 43, is my wife of twenty two years. She is a marketing account executive at a medium size firm.

Michelle and I have two kids, 19 and 20, who are away at college.

Celia Benson is my older sister, married to Henry Benson. They live within a few miles of Michelle and I. They have three kids, only the oldest of which lives nearby.

Jack Benson, 26, is Celia's oldest child. He is both a tennis professional (mostly instructing although he does play in satellite tournaments) and a salesman for a sports equipment manufacturer.

Simone Benson, 26, is Jack's wife. Simone is an elementary school teacher. Simone delivered a baby boy, Zane, about ten months before the most significant scenarios in this tale arose.

*****************

Probably the most important character virtue to me since I became a teenager is to maintain self-control under all circumstances and in all situations. I'm not positive what experiences early in life led me to this outlook, but it became important to me when I was thirteen, and has gotten more important as I have matured. Because of this outlook I don't drink alcohol (at least not more than one beer at a time), never take drugs, and practice tai chi.

At least before the events portrayed in this chronicle I was proud of being successful in maintaining self-control even under some really challenging and adverse circumstances. Some examples where I maintained self-control can be found in athletic participation, personal relationships, and business dealings.

When I played tight end and linebacker in football there were many situations where players on the other team tried to get under my skin. Despite receiving several illegal blows in different games I never retaliated illegally since that could draw a penalty or ejection and hurt my team. I did retaliate legally, however, and while still under control said things, or made gestures, that drew, over time, a dozen penalties for, and two ejections of, my opponents.

When I came across jerks or insulting individuals in interpersonal relationships, rather than losing self-control and going off on them (either verbally or physically), I simply distanced myself from them.

When married, in circumstances where I could have easily lost self-control I maintained it despite being blatantly hit upon by three really hot women (one of whom was plasma hot and who was hard to purge from my mind).

Perhaps the closest that I came to losing self-control in an interpersonal situation was when some at least half drunk asshole at a bar insulted Michelle (before we got married). In a strong -- but under control -- voice I asked him to apologize, which he did. [I have to admit, though, that his apology may have had more to do with the look in my eye and the fact that I was six inches taller and forty pounds heavier than he was rather then my in-control request.]

In business, there were many meetings and/or dealings with suppliers and customers where things got testy, and others lost self-control. I was almost always able to diffuse the situation, or at least suspend discussions or actions until loss of control was no longer a serious concern.

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I had always liked Simone from the time that Jack first started dating her. She is cute, perky, and pleasant, and loves to tease and harmlessly flite. I've never really heard her say evil things about anyone. Simone often wears glasses -- I conjecture just because she likes to cultivate her school-marm look (she's justifiably proud of her profession), although maybe she really does need them to see well -- I've never inquired. Simone's about five fee three inches tall, and I doubt that (when not pregnant) she registers even 100 pounds when she steps onto a scale. She's much smaller than Michelle or any other woman I dated before marriage.

While Simone is cute and pleasant, I never had even the least bit of lust for her. I did really respect her drive, however, especially when she fully regained (maybe even surpassed) her figure within five months after delivering Zane. I and my family rented a couple of beach houses for ten days with Celia and her family when Zane was five months old; Simone wore a bikini like a petite fashion model during that trip, causing both Michelle and Celia to humorously complain that no one should look that good with a five month old.

My problem started about three weeks after our families got back from that beach vacation, and the local schools were in session. I was meeting with a customer in a large restaurant-bar with a dance floor on a Friday evening when Simone walked in with a few other women her age. When she passed my table she called out to me "Hey UR, fancy seeing you here." ["UR" is what Jack has called me since he could talk, and Simone has picked up on that and has called me UR ever since I met her.]

I introduced Simone to my customer, she introduced me to her three friends -- all elementary school teachers -- and we chatted for a while before they went back toward the dance floor. During our chat I determined that Jack was taking Zane with him while going to register for a satellite tournament about an hour's drive away, which tournament was coming up in a few weeks.

After they left my customer -- eyes wide open -- said, "That's a mega-cute niece you've got there Ryan."

I thought for a moment, a little surprised by his wide eyes, and then replied, "Yes, you're right." A flashback of Simone in a polka-dotted bikini at the beach disturbingly flashed into my brain, but it was only fleeting. Then we resumed our business discussions.

My customer left about 9 o'clock. I went to the washroom and was paying the bill when I noticed a young guy holding Simone's arm and moving toward the exit. She had a glassy look on her face. I signed the credit card slip and then intercepted them. Looking at Simone with my peripheral vision I confronted the guy, who was about my size. "Say dude, it looks like this woman is a little out of it."

He seemed like he wanted to give some smart-alec retort, but then apparently decided to play it cool. "Yeah, my girlfriend had too much to drink and I need to get her home."

"Your girlfriend, huh? What's her name?" I asked.

"Susan -- what business is it of yours," he snapped.

"I guess it's not," I said as I took a step pretending to move out of his way. Just as I hoped he let his guard down an instant and I lost self-control for the first time in my adult life.

I swung my right elbow at his nose. I was spot on. His nose clearly broke and blood spewed out. On the backswing my elbow hit him in his right temple and he collapsed like a deflated balloon. When he let go of Simone she almost hit the floor herself, but I grabbed her before she did. Through glazed eyes she slurred, "Hi UR; what's up?"

I yelled for a bartender who had been warily watching us to call 911 for both the police and two ambulances, which she immediately did.

A waiter came over to us. I implored him to find Simone's table and asked him to get her girlfriends over to us to help me with Simone. He ran off and returned with two of them a few minutes later.

In my discussions with Simone's friends I determined that the knocked-out asshole had been hitting on Simone for a while, and she constantly shot him down. I surmised that when she went on the dance floor he spiked her drink, and then when her friends were away from the table started leading her toward the front door.

I almost lost self-control again when the cops and EMTs arrived because they wanted to treat the asshole first. Apparently the cops concluded that it wasn't worth fighting with me about it, and talked the EMTs into taking Simone first. One of her girlfriends rode with her in the ambulance since the cops insisted that they interview me -- I had no problem with that since they let me call Celia, Jack, and Michelle before they did. A cop also rode in the second ambulance with the asshole, handcuffed to his gurney in view of my initial report backed up by her friends, and Simone's condition.

The cops took me to the station and interviewed me for about an hour -- more than twenty times longer than the length of my confrontation with the asshole. They released me as soon as someone from the hospital called and told them that Simone had been drugged with a date rape chemical.

Simone was released from the hospital the next day, with a prognosis that she would not have any lasting effects from being drugged. The family was beyond pleased with my intervention, and when I told Michelle that I was embarrassed that I lost self-control and should have just held onto Simone and not disabled the asshole she only laughed. "You're weird," she chuckled. "You did the right thing now don't think for even a minute longer that you didn't; I, and the entire family, are so proud of you. In fact, you're going to get the best blowjob of your life tonight."

I smiled at that. "OK," I chuckled.

Sunday, Jack, Simone, Zane and Celia came over to our house. Jack was almost tearing up when he thanked me; Celia was tearing up. Simone squeezed her little body against mine, while she lightly sobbed, for a good two minutes. I didn't like my body's reaction to her hug; I hoped that she hadn't noticed what was going on at my crotch, but I wondered how she could not have.

***************

That incident started an agonizing time for me. That night when I made love to Michelle all I could think of was making love to someone else -- something that had never really happened to me before. More disturbing was who that someone else was -- Simone.

I started to think about Simone at random times during the day, and dreamt of her every night. The dreams weren't G or PG rated; they were X-rated (I guess NC-17 now days).

After about two weeks of that, where Simone was invading my mind more and more, I went to see a psychologist, Dr. Mary Wilson. I didn't bother with giving her much background -- merely that I had never had these thoughts before, what happened at the restaurant, and what was bothering me now. She came up with a diagnosis after asking me only half a dozen questions, including asking to see a photo of Simone (which I happened to have with me -- from our beach vacation -- what did that say about me?).

"You have what's called 'Paladin Syndrome,' Ryan," she authoritatively stated.

"What the fuck is Paladin Syndrome?" ran through my mind, but before I could say anything she continued.

"You're probably wondering what Paladin Syndrome is; while it has many facets in simple terms -- as it relates to your case -- your rescuing of Simone under the conditions that you encountered triggered some primeval lust for her that was never in your conscious mind but existed in your id," she stated with even more authority.

"But...but...I...never until now lusted after her," I moaned.

"You didn't in your conscious mind; but as I said, you did in your id," she responded.

"Uh...I don't want to seem stupid; but what is the 'id'?"

"As Freud put it -- and there is debate in the medical community about whether or not he had things right, but in this case I do believe that he did -- the id is the primitive and instinctual part of the mind that contains sexual and aggressive drives and hidden memories," she replied, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "While I didn't really need confirmation, the fact that you happened to have a photograph of Simone -- in a bikini no less, and a striking young woman she is -- on your person confirms my diagnosis."

I gulped hard, thought for a few seconds, and then asked "What can I do about it?"

"That's the real question, isn't it," she ruefully smiled. "There's no simple answer to that question. The only thing that seems to be universally successful is to avoid contact with her to the extent possible, especially -- and I can't stress this enough -- one-on-one contact."

"How in the fuck do I do that with our families so close?" flashed through my mind, but I didn't express it out loud.

Dr. Wilson continued to espouse a few more platitudes -- but I can't say that I was listening. They seemed like happy horseshit to me. When she indicated that time was up -- it had been up as far as my mind was concerned after she said "avoid contact" -- I paid her and shuffled out of her office. Though it seemed like a sunny day outside to me it was gloomy.

Over the next couple of days I tried to scheme about how to avoid contact with Simone, but I couldn't come up with any universal excuse; I guessed that I'd have to play it by ear. My plans were dashed when a day after I came to my conclusion Michelle announced "Simone, Celia, and Jack don't think that you've been properly rewarded for your heroism. Therefore Celia is having a get together at her house this Friday late afternoon, early evening, in your honor."

I gulped. "I thought that you were going out of town Friday through Sunday to visit your parents."

"I am, but you don't need me to lavish praise on you. The rest of the family will do it just fine," she giggled.

I tried to protest with both Michelle and Celia. I tried to get the date changed -- told them that I didn't want a party and was embarrassed -- even faked a conflict. They wouldn't waver.

I finally convinced myself to "grin-and-bear-it.," and thought maybe it won't be so bad.

Wrong!

****************

While the event was nice enough, it was disturbing because Simone wasn't wearing her school-marm glasses, had her long brunette hair down, and was dressed in an outfit that made her boobs look bigger than I had remembered, and her legs as sleek and sculptured as I had remembered. I spent a great deal of time repressing a stiffy, especially when she often gave me one of her intense thank-you hugs. Things got worse, however, when Jack left the party for an out-of-town satellite tournament starting the next day and Simone -- while putting her hand on my chest -- in a sultry voice said/asked, "You wouldn't mind giving Zane and me a ride home would you UR?"

With Celia standing right there, smiling, what could I say? I gulped a barely audible "OK."

It was only about 9:30, with Zane already passed out like babies do, when we got to Simone and Jack's house. Especially because of the reaction of my traitorous crotch I would have loved to just drop her off, and lay rubber out of there; but of course paladin that I am I was required to bring in the travelling furniture and toy stores that accompany Zane almost everywhere. By the time that I brought in the last load Zane was asleep in his bed and Simone was waiting for me with a determined and sultry look in her eye.

As soon as I set down the travelling play pen she was face-to-face with me.

"Don't fight it Ryan," she growled, calling me something aside from "UR" for the first time since I met her. "You know damn well that you want to fuck me; so do it."

If the extent of my losing self-control the night at the restaurant was a bathtub, the loss of self-control that I experienced then was an Olympic size swimming pool.

I grabbed Simone, lifted her up, and we exchanged a kiss so hot that it had to have raised our body temperatures at least ten degrees. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, I was in such a purposeful daze, but soon my pants and boxers were around my ankles, I was holding her up by her thighs with her ass pinned against a wall of her living room, and she was feverishly trying to move her panties out of the way with one hand, and trying to jam my cock into her vagina with the other hand. Her obvious passion -- and continued attempt to burn my lips with hers -- made her job difficult, but she persevered and soon my cock was completely buried in the snuggest, warmest, wettest place it had ever been.

As we both grunted like old water wheels it only took a dozen reciprocations of my impossibly hard cock in her ridiculously cozy snatch before I injected what seemed like a liter of cum into her pussy. I would have been afraid that I came too quickly, except for her banshee scream and how her pussy clamped even more firmly on my cock.

Her scream turned into low moans after the last salvo had exploded in her cunt, and I continued to leisurely stroke. After a passage of a period of time that was completely indeterminate since I was almost passed out on my feet, Simone lightly bit my ear. "Now that the primitive animal fuck has been taken care of, why don't you carry me to the guest room so that we can sixty-nine and then fuck some more."

"Sounds like a great plan," I mumbled.

Shuffling to her guest room with my pants still around my ankles was difficult, but her house isn't that big, so I made it without tripping. Once in the guest room we both quickly completely disrobed, she lay down on the bed with her legs splayed apart and growled, "Get your lips on my cunt and your cock in my mouth."

I hesitated because I couldn't remember eating a pussy right after fucking it, or having my cock sucked right after an ejaculation, but it was clear that she wasn't taking "no" for an answer when she barked, "Now!" So I got with the program.

I wish that I hadn't injected such a large load into her pussy, because I didn't really want to lap it up and it was leaking out of her tiny slit. I was able to spread most of the leaking cum on her killer thighs, and didn't mind what I encountered while licking her labia and sucking on her clit, or burying my fingers.

Her sucking my juice-covered cock felt really nice too. But it didn't last long. The woman was obviously really sensitive and multi-orgasmic since I had only sucked on her clit for a couple of minutes before she had to stop sucking my cock, and had a rip-roaring second orgasm.

I didn't let Simone come down from her orgasm before I had turned 180 degrees and buried my cock once again in the coziest, warmest, wettest place on earth.

We banged each ferociously as she yelled curse words and dug her fingers into my back while I sucked on the nipples of her surprisingly bulbous and supple tits. This time our simultaneous climaxes were even more intense than the first time -- like we had climbed Mount Everest!

As we lay in post-coital bliss -- every once in a while experiencing an orgasmic aftershock -- I had never felt better in my life. We exchanged expressions of contentment and satisfaction as I gently twisted and sucked on her nipples and she played with and massaged my testicles.

Suddenly she broke away from my attention to her breasts and while still manipulating my testicles started sucking my cock. While it was hard to understand her when her mouth was full of cock I swear that she said something about "lubricant" and "asshole" as she pointed toward one end table.

Without disturbing her fellatio I reached into the end table drawer she had pointed to and pulled out a tube of "Anal Pleasure." Once I could feel my cock at full mast I turned Simone on her hands and knees and unscrewed the tube cap. With her head buried in a pillow she spread her tiny asshole wide with her hands. I lubed her rosebud up, lubed up one, then two, then three fingers, and gently but purposefully penetrated her butt. Once I was on the third finger she was making little squeaking sounds of pleasure. That was my key to lube up my hog and gently start to insert it.

My cock met stiff resistance from her sphincter muscle. I was wondering how I would ever get past it without hurting her because the muscle was so strong and her asshole so tight when she moaned, "Just shove your fuck tool in -- it will only hurt for a few seconds."