Ex-Wife's Revenge

This story is by and for those reders who admire and worship cruel and domineering women. If you do not share this personal attraction to such female villains, please do not read on. If you do, you will be offended and confounded. But for those of us that absolutely do worship cold, sexually manipulative females as goddesses, I hope you will find my true-life experience with one to be enviable.

After 14 years of living with a totally obnoxious, bossy wife with anger-control issues, I finally took the plunge and managed to execute a divorce. The wife was too arrogant and proud to oppose the divorce. Seething with rage at my rejection of the marriage, she sneered contempt for my decision, not on grounds that it would inconvenience her, but that I didn't know what I was letting myself in for.

First a little background. We got married when we were just out of college -- early twenties. She was a desirable beauty, fit and buffed through indulgent self-attention and exercise. I always found her irresistibly sexy, with her straight-up, platinum blond, punk-style hairdo. It gave her a look like a female version of Billy Idol. She knew that men adored and were intimidated by women with heavy eye makeup, and so she wore a lot of mascara and false eyelashes all her waking hours. She had a special thing for stiletto high heel shoes which she said granted her automatic authority. I have to admit that in all of this, she was accurate.

Although she had been a difficult person to date, and our marital situation had gone from one fight to another, I never had the gumption to break free. Anyhow, whenever I brought up my desire to break off the relationship, she would go into one of her temper tantrums and hurl insults that made me feel terrible -- so terrible, in fact that I became totally conflict averse with her. Many times I abandoned by efforts to break out of the relationship (marriage.) But the arguments continued.

Consequently, before the divorce was to occur, I had been transformed into what you would call a wimp -- a pussy-whipped husband who had no say in the running of the household. She told me where to go and what to do -- and I just did it. When it came to sex, I was forced to cooperate while she pleasured herself with dildos and vibrators to say nothing of prolonged oral servitude toward her -- what she called -- her sacred pussy. I was lucky to receive a crude and careless hand job, administered with her hand behind her back as she lay turned away from me, on her side, fully satisfied after the prolonged attention I had given to serve her physical desires.

As part of her strategy to keep me married, she had ordered me to start going for psychotherapy. I guess it didn't have the effect she desired, because after a year or so of counseling, the counselor persuaded me to consult a lawyer and got all the paperwork together to execute a lightening-quick divorce.

When the divorce went through, she stood by the door, arms folded, with a sneer on her face as I sheepishly and apologetically packed myself out of the marital home. One thing the counselor hadn't shown me was how and where to live on my own. My now-ex wife was joint owner of every account I had in the bank and on credit cards. So after I moved out to temporary quarters at the local motel, she quickly emptied these accounts and cancelled the credit cards, opening new ones in her name only.

There was really nothing illegal or unjust about it. I was her money anyhow. As part of our marriage bargain, she was the breadwinner, holding a high position at a prestigious law firm in the big, nearby city. I had been persuaded to quit my job at the local supermarket, and now there was another loser having taken my place, closing that opportunity for the foreseeable future.

I soon learned that I was left a pauper when I received word from the motel front desk that the credit card I had used to pay for my room was expired and no longer valid. One thought that I didn't have was "How could she do this to me?" I knew perfectly well that she was fully capable of inflicting such a miserable fate upon me. It was her cruel, indifferent personality that had attracted me to her in the first place. That was why I had married her. Now that marriage no longer existed. I hadn't even the status of a wimpy spouse. I was completely at her mercy. Needless to say, I contacted her as soon and as apologetically as I could.

"Dear Mavis (that's her name)" I pleaded when she answered the phone. "Please, please take me back. I have nowhere to live. I have no means of support." She laughed a hearty, cruel laugh and replied. "Good for you. I hope you find yourself forced to live in a homeless shelter." With that she hung up.

Much as her response caused me grave consternation, it also reminded me of some of the most exciting sexual moments I had experienced during our time together. What's more, I had been so preoccupied with my miserable predicament that I had neglected to even masturbate for some weeks now, leaving me in a state of ambivalence regarding Mavis's mistreatment of me. As her harsh words echoed in my thoughts, I began to picture my ex-wife in all her sexy glory: standing tall in 5-inch high heels with platform soles, her beautiful, slender legs exposed below a tight, black leather miniskirt; hands on hips in a defiant posture, bright red lipstick emphasizing her cruel sneering smile, her platinum, spiked hair adding to her towering over me, her heavily mascara'd, bright blue eyes glaring scornfully down at me.

I began to experience an erection -- the first one in several weeks. I struggled with the impulse to relieve myself by masturbating in spite of the inappropriateness of such a response to the phone conversation of a moment ago. As sexual desire began to surge within my loins, I tried to dismiss the ambiguity of my feelings. My god! I thought. I really need her!

Totally on impulse, and without any regard for rationality, I practically flew out of my dreary motel quarters and down the steps to the street. Like a mindless animal without will or reason, I started trudging as fast as my legs would carry in the direction of our former marital home, now the exclusive stronghold of Mavis, my ex. My erection had escaped through the fly of my boxer shorts and was pushing straight into the coarse denim fabric of my jeans, jostled abrasively with each pounding step that I took in the direction of the woman who I would beg to relieve my imperative need of a climactic relief.

In very few minutes I was at her door. I began ringing the doorbell with an urgency that was totally craven. Peeking through the door's glass panes and the intervening lacy curtain, I could see Mavis sitting, casually reading some kind of periodical on her lap. With each sound of the doorbell, she took her eyes up from the reading material and glanced ever so briefly in the direction of me at the door, a smile of smug satisfaction passing over her face each time. I continued to press the doorbell button, aware of how pathetic and desperate it made me appear. I would have pressed the button using my erect penis if it were physically possible. Finally, she came to the door.

Opening it, she stood holding open with one hand while resting the other on her hip and stared me in the face. She was wearing an ankle-length black, silky robe that was parted completely wide-open, revealing and contrasting with her pale, soft woman flesh, parts of which remained concealed behind a black bra and full black panties.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with sincere curiosity. "What do you want?"

"Mavis," my voice was trembling. ""I...I need...you...Mavis..." With that, she let out a heart laugh.

"Aren't you pathetic," she declared. "Look at you, youl sniveling weakling. Come back to beg for something?" she added. I lost my my voice when I tried to reply.

"Get in!" she ordered impatiently. I eagerly rushed though the foyer and into her living room. I was trying to think what words of conciliation, nay, words of surrender, I would use when I regained control of my voice. I tried to avoid staring at the cleavage formed between her plump breasts that were squeezed out above her bra; and her delicious soft tummy and smooth perfectly contoured thighs and calves. I didn't want it to appear that my motivation for returning was out of sexual desire.

After letting me in, she stood in the middle of the living room, surveying me from top to bottom with a look of consternation. She crossed her right arm across her chest and rested her left elbow on it, bringing her left hand so she could rest her chin upon it.

"So _ are you going to tell me what you're here for? What brings my little failure of a husband to come crawling back here to me?" she asked. I had tears beginning to well up in my eyes. My stooped posture and trembling hands gave away my utter surrender to her.

"Speaking of crawling," she went on like a bright idea had come to her. "Why don't you get down on all fours and show me how you can crawl around at my command. Go ahead. Get down. Right now. Down! Down, I said!"

I was quick to comply, dropping to my knees and then down on all fours. I was uttering little whimperings as I took in each breath, intentionally displaying my broken-hearted willingness to succumb to whatever she demanded of me. From that position, I gazed fixedly at her feet, shod in back-less, open-toed high heels with a wood-grained platform sole that lifted her foot inches off the floor, and brought her perfectly red-lacquered toe nails to about the elevation that invited kisses of adoration.

"That's okay. I know you want to kiss them You always did. I don't know why you ever thought you could give that up. I used to make you so happy. Go ahead. Kiss my feet. Kiss my toes. Like you used to. Kiss, kiss, kiss, you pathetic little beggar. And don't think I didn't notice that bump in front of you pants." With that she gave a derisive laugh. "You know what I'm talking about. Did you arrange your little pee-pee so it made a little tent in your pants to show me?"

The head of my penis was chafing harshly against the abrasive interior of my jeans, especially the thick denim fabric and metal zippered area of the fly. I had left it that way when I rushed to get to her, consciously or unconsciously intending for Mavis to notice and perhaps take pity.

"Come on. Now that you're down there and can't get any lower. Speak up. Why are you here? Tell me. No, don't stop kissing my feet. Tell me with tour lips on my toes."

"I...I wa-wa-wanted..." I was too excited and ashamed to express myself. I didn't know how to put my answer into words. "I need you! I Need you Mavis! I LOVE YOU!"

"Oh. I see. You 'need' me, is that right? What do you need? I think I know. You always needed me, didn't you? But you didn't want to admit it. And now you do. And that bump in your pants is how you show your need? Isn't that the case? You need me to take care of that thing of yours that's become so hard and you want me to do something for it. As I remember you always found it possible to forget your 'need' for me as soon as I 'fixed' your little problem. Well that's okay, little whimpering baby. I'll take care of it for you. But we have to come to an understanding. So let's just settle down and work this out on my terms."

With that, Mavis stepped back and sat on her easy chair. She beckoned me with a finger and pointed to her outstretched foot which she extended, resting it back on the stiletto heel, the platform sole and toes raised up at an angle from the floor.

"Bring that little bad boy right up here and press it against the toe of my shoe." I crawled on my knees and brought my crotch against the toe of her shoe. I pressed the pants' bump as firmly as I could against Mavis's upthrust toes. I made a motion to start unzipping my fly, when she called out to stop me.

"Stop that!" she snapped authoritatively. Leave it in your pants. You haven't earned anything more than that. Just rub yourself on the toes. That's it. Like a good little doggy. That's what you are, you know. A little doggy. I'll decide what you're allowed to do. Just keep rubbing. I have somethings I need to make clear."

The sensation was glorious! I gladly withstood the burning and chafing that accompanied the exquisite pleasure of rubbing my denim-clad erection against cruel Mavis's generously offered toes. It was not, however, satisfying -- in the sense of moving in the direction of a much needed orgasm -- because of the way friction was being being delivered in the wrong way and to the wrong part of my anatomy. Still, I was hopeful that Mavis was going to accommodate my needs momentarily.

Instead she began to lecture me:

"I sent you to that "shrink" (Mavis's derisive term for a psychiatrist) so that you would learn to stop fighting me all he time, not for you to come away thinking you'd be better off without me, asshole! And so what did you wind up doing? Tell me. What did you do with the therapy I sent you for?"

"I filed for divorce."

"And now what? You want me to take you back? After all my friends saw you leave me? After I was pitied as an abandoned woman? Well, let me just lay down some terms. If you want to come back here and even hope in your wildest dreams that I will tolerate your presence, this is the way things are going to be.

You're not going to be a husband in the sense of having any status whatsoever in my home. You will sign up for the work that I find for you. There will be no more arguments or challenges to my authority. Is that clear. No talking back. You will speak only when spoken to, and agree to everything that I say. Is that clear?"

"A friend of mine has a restaurant where they need a lowlife like you to wash dishes and mop the floors. I'm sure she will accommodate you. That way you can bring home a check every week. You will turn it over to me. Every last cent. You will have no need for an allowance since all your free time will be spent housekeeping for me. No need for a wardrobe. You're not going to be allowed out. You will have no social life. Don't even think about seeing your friends or family. That's all over. Done. Finished. You will remain here, in this house to attend to my needs and carry out my orders. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mavis," I replied with a whimper, continuing to focus my efforts on rubbing my crotch against her toes and the tip of her wooden platform shoe sole.

"And it's good you've decoded to come back at this time. I'm going to have need for your services. My mother is coming to stay with us. I don't know for how long, but you are going to be responsible for hosting her in every way that she requires. You will recall that it was her strict upbringing that taught me to be the strong woman that I am. Other family members used to call her the "castrator" because of the way she kept my father under her thumb. I don't think that 'castrator' is the right term for Mom. I prefer to think of her as "emasculator," because she sure knows how to take a man down a peg or two with her sharp eye for faults and her sharp tongue for criticism. You'll benefit from her commentary on you. Are you prepared to remain and accept the terms I've laid out?"

"Yes, Mavis," I replied, this time more clearly. "Yes. Yes. Yes to everything. Only please! Please help me. Please...I need... please."

"You are truly pathetic," she replied. "Okay. Open your fly and take your 'thing' out," she said with a smug tone.

All I cared about was getting the relief that I sorely needed. I opened the fly of my jeans and wrestled my inflamed, chafed erection out. Mavis leaned forward from he sitting position on the chair and reached down to take my penis in her hand. Her half-exposed breasts rested atop my head. She began to fondle it in a random, casual and indifferent way. Within seconds I began to shake and make thrusting movements pushing my member against her soft hand. When I did, she wrapped my manhood in her strong fingers and gripped it tightly. That was all I needed and a began to spurt cum all over her ankles and into her hand. I let out cries of ecstasy and pain as I reached an explosive climax, then fell face forward on to her lap, my nose ending up within the soft canyon of her smooth, creamy thighs. She let me stay that way for a while while she giggled with scorn and satisfaction. Then she spoke.

"Now get down there and lick up every bit of you cum wherever it wound up spilling. I don't want a drop to remain on my legs, my shoes or my floor.

(To be continued)