I Asked for It

Even through the pain I'm feeling at this moment, and the pain that I'm going to feel in a couple of minutes, I know that my husband was right that I asked for this. I don't just mean that I deserve it for how I've treated him for the last 13 years either, I mean that I actually told him this was what he needed to do to me in order to get the sex he needs to be happy. The sex I should have been giving him, instead of the things I've been doing to him. And, even though I know this week will be pure hell for me, based on the last two hours, and he thinks I'll file for a divorce as soon as this week is over, I don't think I'll do that. Because I didn't just ask for this, I've been secretly begging for him to treat me like this, for the entire 13 years. For you to understand this, I need to start at the beginning, and I don't mean just the start of our marriage, because what makes me the way I am, started long before that.

When I was growing up, all the men in my life, my father, my uncles, and my older cousins, were typical "tas firin erkekler", meaning they had old fashioned views on women. A woman's job was to run the house, cooking, cleaning and taking care of the children. When she wasn't doing those things, her place was in their bed, making more children. I thought this was normal because it was also the way men acted in our movies and on TV. And the women not only accepted being sort of slaves to their men, they were happy to be like that, because they knew they were loved and even more importantly, they were needed. Because that type of man never learned how to do the things their women did, and would starve without them. But, as I grew older, I started to see the downside of the men depending on a woman to survive, because my father got a job that required him to be away from home for weeks at a time. And, he'd need a temporary wife, to take care of him while he was gone, meaning he cheated on my mother a lot. So, when I decided I finally wanted a man in my life, I ignored the types of men I'd always thought were sexy, and instead looked for someone as unlike my father as possible.

Since my father's kind is the normal type in our culture, I went looking for a man that wasn't from this country, and found that man in my husband. An American who'd lived in this country long enough to learn the language and customs, although not long enough to act like a typical Turk. It was great at first, because he treated me like a queen, and did everything he could to make me happy, in and out of bed. But, even though he was the first man to ever make love to me, and he drove me crazy with his tongue, there was something missing from our sex life, because his tongue was the only way he could give me orgasms. And, not long after our son was born, I started losing interest in sex, and began making excuses about why I wasn't in the mood. I would have kept on thinking I was one of those women who couldn't have orgasms from fucking, if my husband hadn't convinced me, around our third year of marriage, to try swinging as a way to bring excitement into our bed again.

To be honest, I had a good idea of where the problem was, long before that, and all the swinging did was prove I was right. Because my fantasies, when I masturbated, were always about the same subject, my husband, or some other man, making love to me the way they did in the movies I grew up with. In other words, rough sex, where the man took what he wanted from me, without asking, and made me do things that only real sluts would do. Hell, that's how we ended up swinging in the first place, because my husband caught me and one of my old teachers sending sex messages, where he promised to use me the way the men did in those fantasies. And how that proved I was right about what was wrong in our sex life, was that when I finally had sex with him, I had those orgasms that I hadn't been having when my husband fucked me. I didn't tell my husband though, because me telling him that would only make him think it was because I wanted my teacher more than I wanted him. Instead, I hoped that by showing him how I liked to be treated, he would try to do the same things with my teacher's lover first, then treat me the same way later, and start giving me those orgasms himself.

Except, none of that happened because he didn't take the hint, and ended up feeling that way anyway, because the things I did with my teacher were all the things I'd always refused to do with him when he asked. And, I made it worse, by not explaining that he needed to be more aggressive before I'd be horny enough to do those things with him, because I was ashamed of the fact that I wanted him to treat me like a cheap slut. On top of that, because this was his first time swinging too, and we were trying to get him to be aggressive, which was also something new for him, he couldn't stay focused enough to perform as well as I knew he could. That, and the fact that he kept trying to make love to my teacher's girlfriend, instead of just fucking the shit out of her, made them decide they didn't want to do it again with him. Yes, I lied to him about that part, saying they'd had a fight of their own, but he knew right away that I was lying to keep from hurting his feelings, which just made him feel worse about himself. Then they added an even bigger insult, by giving my phone number to another guy, and telling me they did it because I obviously needed a real man in my life, which ended our friendship.

Partially to make up for what had happened, and partially because I had an idea of how to fix things, we went looking for another couple on the internet. I mean, if he saw me doing the same things with a different guy, he might understand it was the aggressiveness that got me to do those things, not just that I'd wanted to do them because of feelings I'd had for my teacher. But, I had to end it before we ever got together, because even after warning him several times, he kept trying to be romantic during his chats with the girl. And his answer that he couldn't act like my teacher, and if I wanted that I'd have to get it from him, just made me decide he'd never be ready to swing and I gave up the whole idea. Things went downhill from there, because I lost even more interest in sex, and he correctly guessed the reason for that, even though I tried to deny it. Of course, him believing I didn't consider him a real man, caused him to become depressed, and dig deep into his darkest fantasies to find a way to get some sex back into our lives. At least, I hope that's why he offered to let me see other men, and lick both of us clean if I wanted him to. Because if he really did turn bisexual, like one of my friend's boyfriends, I don't think I could have stayed married to him. Thankfully, neither one of us acted on his dark fantasies, and they slowly went away, leaving just an empty love life for both of us.

I have to give him credit for not giving up on us and for coming up with an idea that actually could have worked. I'd just gotten into photography, and the lenses were very expensive, around $2,000 each. Because he wanted sex, and I wanted them, he made a deal that I could pay for them in bed, at $50 a pop, and couldn't get the next one until I'd paid off the first one. Except there were two things wrong with his idea, that kept it from working. One was that even though he was paying me for sex, he was still treating me like his wife. Had he treated me like a prostitute, at least by ordering me to do the things he was paying me for, that might have been enough for me. Instead, he acted just like his old romantic self, and who gets romantic with a prostitute? The second was that he gave me another way to pay off my debts, by cutting $250 off my bill for each special day, like my birthday, Valentines Day, or our anniversary. So, since he couldn't even treat me like the whore I was supposed to be, I stopped paying with sex, and paid my debts by giving up my birthday and Mother's Day presents.

Now it was my turn to come up with an idea, that was to get him so pissed off about sex, that he'd finally do something. That was for me to get romantic a few hours before bed, and tell him how much I wanted him to fuck me later that night. Then, when he wanted to collect, I'd push him away, and tell him that I wasn't in the mood anymore. When he finally understood that I was going to turn him down every time, I told him what he needed to do, and that was to rape me when I said no. He did try a few times, but like all the other times he did everything wrong. He'd start, then as soon as I'd start fighting back, he'd stop and just roll over and go to sleep. I'd even try to help him, by telling him in the morning, that he hadn't gone far enough. Or, if he did go far enough, he'd apologize in the morning for doing that to me. And it really pissed me off, because he should never apologize for taking what was his, even though I never told him that because he should be man enough to know that without me telling him. Eventually though, I stopped playing that game, because it wasn't working, and he'd just ignore me when I played it.

The only time I actually did something wrong, was when I wanted to have our second baby, because I openly lied to him then, promising things we both knew I'd never do. That's how bad I wanted that baby, that I was willing to say whatever it took to get it. Even though he knew I was lying, he finally gave in and gave her to me. But, I realized something after that, I was losing him, and I needed to find some way to keep him, even if it didn't get me the kind of sex I needed. That was for me to learn how to suck his cock, because being on my knees in front of him at least let me fantasize that I was his sex slave. Besides, he came a lot quicker that way than he did when he tried to fuck me, and anything that got the sex over with faster was a good thing. That's how it went for the next few years, me giving him a blowjob every month or so, after he ate my pussy, until the phone call with his friend.

We'd already been fighting when his friend called, because giving him the blowjobs no longer thrilled me like they had, and I dropped from once a month to once every two or three months. When the call came in, he went to the bathroom to talk, because he had to take a shit, although I thought it was so they could talk without me hearing. I mean, he was going out with his friend every Saturday, and if he was going to cheat on me, that would be a perfect time to do it. So, when his friend said something about some girl being wet for him, and he said he wasn't the one making her wet, all I heard was the last three words, and immediately assumed he was seeing this bitch, whoever she was.

There was a difference in our fight this time, because instead of him telling me he could never cheat on me, he admitted that he'd thought about accepting this girl's offer and was still thinking about it. He also admitted that he knew he didn't make love to me the way I wanted him to, and probably never would. So, the only real options for us, were to either get a divorce, or open our marriage to get the kinds of sex each of us wanted. I'd get to go out once a week, to get the rough sex I needed, and he'd do the same to get the romantic sex he needed. I obviously liked the idea of fucking other men, but him getting romantic with another woman scared the shit out of me, because he could easily fall in love and end up divorcing me. Instead, I agreed to do it, as long as I was there when he fucked the girl, to keep that from happening. And he accepted that, provided I did more than just watch, and fully joined in by doing things with the girl too. That also meant I'd have to find the girls for him, since they'd have to be girls I wouldn't mind making love to myself, which I also agreed to because I was scared of the other option. Although, I did get him to agree to wait until after our trip to America, using the excuse that I wanted to wait until the next photography class to find my first guy, rather than try to pick up men in bars.

By the time we got back from our trip though, things had cooled down, and I knew that he wouldn't divorce me if I backed out of the agreement, and because I didn't like the idea of finding women for him to fuck, that's what I did. Then, to keep him from bringing the deal up during our pillow talk, which he did the next time we had sex, I avoided having sex with him again for the next 6 months, hoping he'd get tired of that and finally rape me for real. Except he just gave up trying, and when I'd gone as long as I could, and wanted some sex myself, he actually turned me down. Yes, he'd told me no before, when he was sick or in pain, but this time he wasn't either of those he just wasn't interested unless I was willing to promise him sex on a regular basis from then on. Not that I wasn't tempted to make him that promise, I was, especially when he told me there would be a penalty if I broke it. I just wasn't ready to have him rape me while my sister was visiting, and told him I'd make that promise after she left. Then, when she did leave, I made that promise, and broke it the next week, to force him to punish me for it.

Naturally, as I already knew, he didn't punish me, by raping my asshole the way he'd said he would, he just went back to saying no, when I'd start to get romantic with him, even if I did it after the kids were asleep, meaning that we could make love right then. And, he refused to accept any promises I made, because I'd lied to him too many times, and I knew it was just a matter of time before he divorced me. Then a few months later, months with no sex at all, he surprised me by wanting us to go on sort of a second honeymoon for a week without the kids. He'd rented a small house, where we'd be all alone, and could work on fixing things, an hour's drive away from home. So, after I got my mother to take care of the kids for us, we set off on our little vacation. Of course, to make it the kind of vacation I wanted, I told him no when he tried to get romantic that night. And when I woke up in the morning, tied face down on the bed, I knew I'd finally get my wish.

When my bitching about being tied up, let him know I was awake, he sat on the edge of the bed and said he was sorry this wasn't going to be the kind of vacation he told me it would be. As a matter of fact, it was going to be hell for me, because he planned to spend the whole week hurting me the way I'd hurt him for the last 13 years. Then he told me not to waste my breath threatening him with a divorce or the police, because he was already sure we were getting a divorce after this, and it didn't scare him anymore. As for the police, nobody lived close enough to hear me if I screamed, which I definitely would, and how he planned to hurt me, wouldn't leave any marks that I could show to them later.

I told him he was wasting his breath, if he wanted to scare me, because we both knew he didn't even have enough guts to spank me, let alone cause me any real pain. He told me I was right that he couldn't spank me with his bare hand, because it would leave bruises on my ass, and his belt might draw blood if he used it on me. Then he picked up a fly swatter that was laying on the table, and said this was what he was going to use for my spankings. When I started to laugh, he said he'd felt the same way when he was a kid, and his stepmother used it on him the first time. But, he'd quickly learned that while it didn't hurt when you had clothes on, it hurt a lot on bare skin, and he'd guarantee that I wouldn't be laughing when he was done with me.

He was right too, because I started screaming right away, as soon as he pulled my panties down, and hit me with it. He waited a good 10 seconds, for the pain to sink in, before he hit my ass with it again, even harder than he did the first time. And when I started begging him to stop, and promising to do everything he wanted me to from now on, he said it wasn't going to be that easy. Like he told me, he had 13 years worth of pain to pay me back for and one of the ways was to spank me three times a day, morning noon and night, for 13 strokes each time. As for me promising to do all the things he wanted, he'd stopped believing my lies years ago, so he was going to do what I kept telling him, take everything he wanted from me, whether I gave it willingly or not. Then he had me count out the strokes with him, by threatening to add a stroke for every time I refused to count along with him, which made this one 15, before I counted they way he wanted me to. After that, he told me he was going to go smoke, and then he was going to rape my asshole and shove his cock down my throat for me to lick clean. That was music to my ears, because although it would hurt at first, once he started fucking me roughly here, it would be easy to get him to keep doing it when we got home.

Except, when he came back, he was different, and instead of getting behind me and shoving his cock in my ass, he started untying me. Then he threw my clothes on the bed and told me to get dressed, because he was taking me home. He didn't speak again, until we were on our way, and when he did, it was like as if he punched me right in the stomach, because he said we needed to make an appointment with a divorce lawyer as soon as possible. When I told him I didn't want a divorce, he continued as if he hadn't heard me, and said he'd had a lot of painful things he'd planned to do to me this week, that would either force me to get a divorce, or make me his willing sex slave. But, he couldn't go through with it, because he'd never be able to hurt me that way. He hadn't gone outside because he needed a cigarette, he'd gone there to try and psyche himself up for what came next. I mean, if the idea of raping my asshole didn't excite him enough to get his dick hard, how the fuck could he do it?

Even knowing how badly I wanted it, which was obvious by how I'd raised my ass up for him, when he came back inside, didn't help. That's why he ended our little "vacation", and why we should get divorced, because he wasn't the kind of man who could do those things, and he never would be. Before I tried to argue about the divorce part of it, he said I needed to look at the past 13 years and tell him why I'd done the things I did. I did them because I hadn't been happy with the way he made love, and I'd tried to force him to be the kind of man I did want. So, since he'd never be that man, he needed to get out of the way, and let me find the kind of man who would make me happy.

Then he said that the part that saddened him the most, was that he could have become that man, if I'd helped him change instead of trying to force him. If I'd told him what I wanted, and how I wanted it, not made him try and guess all the time, he might have been able to learn. Like, if I wanted him to rape my ass, all I had to do was tell him that after we were in bed, that while I wanted him to fuck my ass, I wasn't going to let him unless he was enough of a man to take it from me. Telling him that two hours beforehand, gave him too much time to think about it, so that he thought there might be other reasons I was saying no. But for me, it had to be all or nothing, that either he forced me to become his sex slave, without knowing if I really wanted that, or he wouldn't get any sex at all. So, because he'd loved me, and didn't want to hurt me unless he was sure I wanted him to, he couldn't do those things to me, and couldn't make me the slave I wanted to be. I asked him, if what he just said was true, then why couldn't he have raped my ass when I raised it for him a little while ago. He said that even then there was some doubt about whether I really wanted him to do that. Like maybe I was afraid he'd use the fly swatter on me again if I didn't let him fuck me there. Or maybe I'd wanted it then because I was horny, and would be mad at him later, like I'd done many times before.