Beetlesmith's Ch. 16

Tears started flowing as she nodded in answer.

Even though she continued to cry, I could tell she thought the worst of my demands were over. It was then that I hit her right between the eyes with all my powers.

"You played with yourself in the shower, you fucking, selfish cunt."

She started to deny it, but when she saw the look in my eyes, she knew she couldn't.

"That's right; I can smell it on you! You used that sponge you like so much, and squatting in the hot spray of the shower, you worked it around until you came. Even after I warned you against touching yourself, you went ahead and did. I can see you're a lost cause..."

"No," she wailed, as she wrapped her arms around my legs, 'I'm..."

I slapped her hard across the cheek, and said with quiet malice, "Don't even attempt to say that phrase again...Ever."

I slapped her again from the other direction to make sure she heard me the first time. I added a third slap, just because mother did it that way—three good slaps followed by her reprimand. It always made us boys listen. It certainly made us learn.

Bright impressions of my hands, glowing red, erupted on both sides of her face. Stunned motionless, torrents of tears smeared her fresh mascara, causing dark lines to run down. Their color mingled with the already flushed, back-drop hue of her injured cheeks—crimson into black.

Karen wrapped her arms about her—seeking comfort from the only person in the room who would give it to her.

I spoke slowly and deliberately, "Are...You...Sorry...Now?"

Karen didn't speak, she didn't even move or flinch—she didn't dare.

"Look at me, bitch...Look at me! I said this isn't a game, and you're all in! I'm not going to tolerate your lies, your smug disobedience, or your slutty, cunty behavior anymore! Now...Think hard...Are you ready to listen to me?"

Between wrenching sobs, she was able to squeak out a 'yes.'

"Thanks to you, I learned a few things during my weeks in hell. It's ironic that now you will be the beneficiary of those lessons.

"You are never to dress. Whether I'm home or not, you will remain as naked as are now. If you need anything from the store, or we need groceries, you will call me and provide a list, and I'll pick them up."

Still sniffing back tears, Karen asked, "What...What if someone comes to the door?"

"I recommend you not answer it, or answer it as you are now. Either way, you are never to cover yourself, not even with a dish towel. The only thing I ever want to see you wearing is my diamond chain around your waist."

She started to whine, again, "What if Linda or Carol drop by...,"

"Jesus, you just won't listen..."

She opened her mouth to say those words again, the ones I've come to detest with the white hot, heat of a thousand suns, but she caught herself when she saw the look I gave. Closing her mouth, she folded her arms into her lap, dropped her eyes from my gaze, and started to cry again.

I waited until her crying jag was over before continuing, "Look at me! You are always to keep yourself clean and fresh, but no perfume. That lovely bath soap or your own natural scent will be sufficient.

"You are always to make yourself pretty and presentable. Your hair will always be done, and you will always wear makeup, but no jewelry except for my chain. You're not even to wear your wedding ring, so give it to me now."

"No, pl..." she cried, but before she could finish the second syllable, I slapped her hard again.

"If I have to slap you again, it's over. Now, give me your ring!"

It took some doing, but she eventually pulled her ring from her finger. When she handed it to me, I said, "You'll get it back when you've earned it, and not before. Is that understood?"

I waited for her to nod in response, then continued, "You will keep the house spotless, and my clothes washed. Don't bother with my suits; I'll take them to the cleaners when needed.

"You will always have a meal prepared when I come home from work. Even if I'm late, or even if I haven't eaten your dinners for several nights in a row, you will always have a nice dinner ready.

"Above all else, you are never to pleasure yourself. That's for me to do and me alone!

"Trust me; I will know if you play with yourself, just like I knew what you did just now in the shower with that pedicure massager."

She looked at me wide-eyed. It was something she'd never done before, never even talked or thought about doing before—using that slowly revolving tool of hers with the soft brush, making it dance all around her pussy as she fingered herself with the sponge—yet I knew.

"Like I said, this isn't a game anymore. If you violate any of the conditions I've set, our marriage is over. If I even catch a whiff that someone else has been in the house, like I did last night with Barbara, our marriage is over. If you leave the house without my permission, then don't bother coming back, our marriage will be over!

"I'm going to take a shower now. I expect that foul stench in the kitchen to be gone by the time I'm dressed."

********

The dishwasher was humming nicely when I entered the kitchen. Karen was at the counter, just finishing the last detail by scrubbing out the sink. When she saw me, she dropped to her knees, and lowered her eyes.

"Come here."

When she started to get up to comply, I roared, "On your fucking knees, bitch!"

My anger startled her. She dropped quickly to the floor with a loud, abrupt cry, and stayed their shivering like a frightened animal.

I softened my voice, "I know the tile is hard. If you need to move about the kitchen when I'm here, you can stay in a squat and shuffle around on your feet."

She did as I said, moving quickly toward me in a squat-shuffle, and giggling happily like an idiot child that I spared her knees from the hard floor.

Kneeling at my side, she asked, meekly, "What time should I have dinner ready, Sir?"

'Sir,' that was a nice innovation by her. I hadn't requested any such formality in my conditions.

"I shouldn't be late. Let's have something light, maybe a salad with some fruit and yogurt. Do we have those things?"

She shook her head.

"What does that mean, we don't have those things or you don't know."

"I...I don't know, Sir."

"Then go look and see if I need to pick something up from the store."

She quickly shuffled over to the refrigerator.

"We have an apple and a nectarine, three oranges, and a whole bunch of grapes."

"That will be fine. Any yogurt?"

She nodded her head vigorously, pleased that we had plenty, and then added, "We only have a ranch dressing for the salad, Sir."

"That will be fine, unless you would like something else."

She hated ranch dressing about as much as I hated her little, 'I'm sorrys,' but she shook her head, anyway. She didn't dare put me out any further by asking for another kind of dressing.

She quickly returned to kneel at my side using that same squat-shuffle.

"Once you've cleaned up the kitchen, I want you to apologize to Lisa for your treatment of Barbara. You're to do this only over the phone. I don't want you seeing her, or anyone else. After you apologize to her, you are to give her permission to fuck me anytime she wants. Better still, you're to say youdesire she continues to fuck me. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir," she answered, meekly, "But what if she won't talk to me?"

"A distinct possibility I'm afraid, given what you did, but keep trying anyway. If she still won't talk to you then I'll say something to her after work."

I kissed her lightly on the forehead and left her naked in the kitchen.

********

I know what some of you are thinking, that it was too quick. It was too easy for me to turn someone into a 'docile,'—into a 'slave,'—particularly an independent, head-strong 'someone' like my wife.

You would be correct, of course, if not for the power I had. It doesn't just affect the sexual realm, my powers work across the entire emotional spectrum, as well.

All I needed to do to help Karen see the wisdom of being more obedient, was push a few, sordid images into her mind: truthful images of her getting fucked over by everyone in the divorce, especially by her weasel-dick lawyer; pathetic images of her unable to find a job having a living wage, because she had no marketable skills; dismal images of the drafty, rat-infested, single-wide trailer, the one sandwiched between a meth lab and a crack house, and the only one she could afford on the shitty alimony I almost never paid; disgusting images of her sucking the puny dicks of fat, greasy, interstate truckers for the price of a cheeseburger; cruel images of her laid out at the morgue from overdose, just another dead, broken-down and toothless crack whore in a city full of them.

Moreover, I projected an all-encompassing feeling of dread and hopelessness with each image, making them more than just depressing illusions, but absolute inevitabilities in her mind if she didn't do what I demanded.

You see, it's easy to bend someone's will in any direction you wish—just give them a glimpse of hell.