Pathetique

"Pathetique!"

Jim could hear his mother-in-law snarl the word as he moved down the hallway past the living room. He didn't pause to find out what had sparked her disapproval; he already knew. It was him. He'd overheard several conversations between his new wife and his mother-in-law since her arrival from France. Not only was it clear that she disapproved of her daughter's marriage, but it was clear that she felt that Monique had shortchanged herself in life experiences.

"You need a man who will take control of you, Monique, not some milquetoast American who gives you whatever you want. You don't know the wonder of having an orgasm forced out of you, while your man takes control of you and makes you his salope. Once you give yourself fully to his control, it's la magie, the wonder. It's the way nature meant it to be! You give yourself to him and your whole body responds to him!" Jim almost laughed when he overheard my mother-in-law haranguing his wife with her theories of human relations.

"But, Maman, Jim gives me many, many orgasms, and he's wonderful. He's kind, and understanding, and..." his wife tried to respond.

"Then he should understand that you need a man who will take you, who will possess you, not kiss your joli cul every time you bend over!" Her mother sounded almost indignant at the thought of a man worshipping his beloved.

Jim had met Monique in Vietnam on his second tour as a 96C, an interrogator. His Queboise mother had taught him French, and the Army had spent a year in Monterey, CA trying to teach him Vietnamese. Jim didn't feel confident in the Asian language, but he had proven himself an ace interrogator in English and French. Monique had worked in the French Embassy in Saigon, and she and Jim had been introduced by a mutual friend. By the end of his tour, they were set to wed.

It wasn't until they returned Stateside and were settling into their quarters at Fort Holabird, MD, that he found out that her mother in France had expressed disapproval of their marriage, when she was notified, after the fact. Jim offered to pay for his mother-in-law's travel expenses to come visit her daughter, sure that once she saw how happy her daughter was, she'd rethink her disapproval.

He didn't understand when that didn't happen. If anything, it cemented her disapproval and disappointment in her daughter.

"Jim, Maman is very much a soumise, someone who needs to be dominated. I used to worry very much about her, because men use and abuse her, and then cast her aside. My father, whoever he was, put her in the hospital when he found out she was pregnant, and left her there. She still weeps for him. She tells me he was the strongest man she ever knew, and still feels she belongs to him." Monique shook her head at her mother's fetish.

Jim laughed. "She's nuts!" He didn't worry as her mother spent her time trying to convert her daughter to her way of thinking. Jim figured if Maman hadn't succeeded by now, everything was going to be fine.

Then Jim was informed that his particular talent was required again in Saigon, and he agreed to another six-month tour, even though it meant extending his enlistment by a full month. He'd planned to take his discharge now that he was married, feeling he would be able to better support his wife and eventual children as a civilian.

Monique's mother volunteered to remain in the States with her daughter while he was gone, and since that seemed to make his wife happy, he agreed. Besides, Sofie had found someone to dominate her on post, a Sergeant Major Jason Stroud, out of the battalion S-2. He seemed like a real bastard to Jim, and although he didn't like the way Stroud ogled his wife, her mother seemed to be able to control him. I did worry about the bruises that were evident on Sofie's arms and every other area of displayed flesh. I was concerned that I might have to step in, something that one attempts at their peril with Sergeant Majors.

"No, no, no," Monique tutted me. "Maman is very happy. This is what she loves. I don't know -- I've never understood it no matter how much she tries to explain. You go, do your duty. Don't worry about Mamie and me. We'll be fine."

So, Jim went to Saigon, and did his tour. He and Monique corresponded, and she always assured him that things were fine, that she loved him and couldn't wait for him to return. "I miss your loving," she would close each letter.

Jim had entered the service in Oakland, CA, and returning from Vietnam, he was shipped to Oakland for out-processing. Once done, he headed home to Holabird, ready to move his wife and her mother out of the base housing.

At the airport, Monique ran to him, jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. Their kiss was passionate and seemed to go on forever. Finally, they moved on to baggage to retrieve Jim's duffle and grip.

When Monique bent over to pick up his grip, her sleeve moved upwards on her arm and Jim saw three round bruises on her arm. She had been gripped and gripped hard enough to bruise. Jim grabbed her arm and pushed the sleeve all the way up to see the bruises. They weren't the only ones he saw. Monique stared back at him, then reached up and pushed her sleeve back down.

"Don't worry, Jim, everything is fine." When he went to question her, she shook her head and said, "We'll talk at home."

It was a quiet ride home. Scenarios ran through Jim's head, foremost being the expectation that Maman's Sergeant Major had grabbed his wife. Anger festered in Jim's brain. By the time they were home, he was ready to kill that bastard Stroud.

Inside the house, Jim instantly dropped his duffle and spun his wife around to face him. "Okay, now tell me."

"Jim, I love you. It's okay. Let's sit down." Monique pulled him over to the couch and sat, then waited for Jim to join her. "Jim, I love you. I love the way you make love, but" she paused, with a look of guilt that froze Jim's heart. "But Maman was right. There's something about being taken..."

Jim jumped up. "Did that bastard your mother submits to touch you?", he yelled.

"No, no. Mamie would never allow that." Monique nervously smiled. "But he has friends..."

The plural pierced his heart. He picked up his duffle and his grip and staggered out to his car. Monique pursued him, swearing she still loved him, and that Maman assured her that this wouldn't affect their marriage.

Jim controlled himself by squeezing the keys in his hand until they cut into his flesh. He wanted to kill his wife, her lovers, and her goddamned mother. He raised his hand swiftly but stopped its downward movement as his wife cringed. He got into the car, and quickly drove away.

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Monique had ignored her mother's urgings to go out and have fun for the first four months of Jim's tour, but finally gave in one night. She was bored. She didn't really like any of the other Army wives, and without children or a job, had nothing to occupy her time. What harm could a night out cause?

It turned out, plenty. Maman's lover brought a friend, "to escort her", was the excuse, and he became her dance partner. It did feel good to have a man hold her. She really missed her Jim.

As the drinks flowed freely, Monique let her hair down, with her mother encouraging her. Her dance partner's hands roamed wildly over her body, and again, it felt good. When he suggested that they go outside to cool off, she agreed. When he kissed her, it didn't seem like much. When he pushed aside her bra and caressed her nipples, they sprang out and hardened, sending shock waves through her body. What happened next was fuzzy, but suddenly her sergeant was ripping off her panties and she was pushed over the fender of a parked car. As he entered her, her first thought was that she was being raped, but then she wondered -- she had been making out with him, enjoying his caresses... Had she said "No" at all? Had she, somehow, agreed?

Then her body began responding. Jim never abused her like this. No one ever had. He was slamming into her, hitting her cervix over and over again, slapping her on the ass, pulling her hair. When he slammed into her and held it as he ejaculated into her womb, her orgasm hit, and hit big. She was not a vocal person during sex; or rather, she never had been. Now she howled. She pushed back and howled as aftershocks sent her reeling.

As she came down from her high and felt the cum leaking out of her, her "lover" zipped up his pants and slapped her on her exposed ass again. "Come on, babe, let's get back in."

She felt guilty, and tried to object when both Sergeants accompanied her mother and her into the house when they went home. Her mother laughed as she was dragged back to the bedroom. Her mother laughed even more in the morning, recalling to her daughter's embarrassment the howling she had heard throughout the night.

After that, she found the joy her mother found in submitting. She loved Jim, but her body responded to dominance. It excited her to be treated like a whore. Over the next two months, Stroud and Maman brought over different men, all of whom dominated the young wife. Sometimes there was one, sometimes more than one.

Her mother's Sergeant never had her sexually, but Stroud would have Mamie tie her down naked and then he would whip her. It hurt, but somehow it impassioned her. She would lie, desperate for release after they had finished whipping her, still tied down as the two lovers frantically coupled. Watching them added to her desperation, and when they would bring in the men, she would orgasm, again and again, until they released her. Then she would submit to whomever they brought in.

She knew she wasn't thinking right. She knew she loved Jim, but even his sweet lovemaking couldn't coax climaxes like these from her, certainly not the rolling series of them she experienced after a good whipping. She allowed Maman to convince her that Jim would understand; that her milquetoast husband would want her to be happy. Everything would be fine once she explained it to Jim.

Now Jim was back from Vietnam, but when she tried to explain, he was gone.

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Jim had his mustering out pay and had a destination in mind. He had no family -- he was an only child and his parents had died during his first tour. He had inherited their home in the Oakland Hills and had rented it out to a childhood friend and her family. He called ahead from St. Louis and Felice assured him that the guest room was always open to him.

He couldn't figure out what to do. His wife admitted cheating on him, but he had no proof, so could he divorce on the grounds of adultery? He didn't think so. On the other hand, they didn't have any assets, other than his parents' house, which he had had before their marriage, so there was no pressing need for any legal action. Monique and Sofie could go to hell. Let them figure it out.

He settled into the guest room and soon seemed like part of the family. He was willing to babysit Felice and Mark's two girls, who at 6 and 4 loved climbing all over their "Uncle Jim". He used the GI bill to re-enter college (he had two years in before the service) and California's state college system was cheap enough that the GI bill payments were enough for him to live off, with rent from Felice added to it (although he discounted the rent since they were putting him up). He'd always wanted to study engineering, and he finally had the chance.

He didn't date, although Mark and Felice kept encouraging him, up to and including inviting beautiful women over to dinner. He would explain that he was still married, and it wouldn't be right.

When Felice asked about divorce, he explained not having any proof of adultery, and at this point didn't really care enough to pursue it. He thought (hoped) that eventually Monique would file for abandonment. In the meantime, he didn't want her to know where he was.

Felice shook her head. "You're not in Maryland anymore. You're in California. Reagan signed the Family Act Law in 1969. You can divorce here based on 'irreconcilable differences', which could be anything, and doesn't require any proof."

Using his Army contacts in Maryland, he was able to track down Sofie, who was still living with her domineering Sergeant Major. From there, it was easy to find Monique, who was shacked up with another fellow sergeant. He had her served with divorce papers there.

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Monique cried when she got the divorce papers. She had hoped that someday, Jim would realize that he loved her and come back to rescue her. She'd wanted to fight the divorce, but her master, Marty, put a stop to that. "You be mine, bitch. Let the cuck divorce you."

The excitement of being dominated and treated like a whore had dissipated after Jim had left. She'd been pounded into the mattress by another "lover" to whom Stroud had gifted her, when she realized that he hadn't even spoken to her, didn't care about her feelings, and had not even tried to get her moist before taking her.

She realized she wasn't being dominated; wasn't being treated like a whore; she was a whore. Someone who now spread her legs for anyone who cared to make her. She had determined then and there that she would change, she would work to get back with Jim, whatever it took. How could she have been so stupid as to give him up. She laid on the bed and cried, weeping for what had been and what should have been. She could still feel Jim, still feel what the world had been like with him. There should be a way to reach back before all the stupidity and reset, some way to get back to Jim.

But then Marty showed up. She had "dated" him a couple of times. He was more forceful and more physically endowed than her other "lovers." When she tried to explain to him that she wasn't available anymore, he'd grabbed her by the hair and slapped her silly. She'd thought that was just an expression. Turned out it wasn't.

Marty forced her to move in with him. He was now her dominant, her "master", as he insisted, she refer to him as. She was his; she even had a tattoo on her pubis attesting to that. He was clear -- he didn't love her -- he owned her. She was his to use however he wanted; his to share however he wanted; his to abuse in any way he wanted.

She dreamed Jim would save her, until she received the papers.

Now, she was destroyed.

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When Jim graduated from California State College in San Francisco, his best graduation present was his final divorce decree. He decided that before settling down, he'd backpack through Europe. He understood that the Eurorail pass was inexpensive, and that by staying in hostels, he could see Europe on the cheap. He packed up the minimum he needed, kissed his adopted family goodbye, and flew out of San Francisco International.

Two months later, he was in Amsterdam, almost out of money and ready to return to the States. Europe had been an adventure and the hostels had been filled with girls from the US (and other countries) who were on their own adventures and were willing bedmates. His new bachelorhood was well and truly started, and he was emotionally ready to pick up his life again.

He'd bought his return ticket, leaving tomorrow. He'd been out shopping with the last money he had (saving just enough for last night in the hostel and a bus ride to the airport in the morning). What he had left he had spent on presents for Felice and the girls. Toy windmills, Miffy dolls and cheese balls were about all he could afford, but he knew that the girls would be happy with them. He juggled the bags as he strolled by the canal.

Suddenly, he heard a scream. Across the water a little girl had pushed her toy scooter too close to the edge of the canal and had overbalanced, tumbling down the stone embankment into the water.

Without a thought, Jim dropped his bags and shrugged off his jacket as he ran across the bridge to get closer to the girl before leaping off the bridge into the water.

The bridge was higher and the water less deep than Jim had anticipated, and he plunged through the water into the mud on the bottom. His legs sank and the mud clung to him as he struggled to free himself and get to the girl. He finally broke the suction and began rising, leaving one shoe in the mud. As he reached the surface, he found himself next to the girl, who was face down in the water. As he turned her over, he saw that she had hit her head on the stone wall and was bleeding. He pulled her to a landing, where an old man was calling out in panic. Hands reached down and took the girl from him. Before he got out, he saw the scooter slowly sinking, and swam over to retrieve it. Hands reached won to help him out.

A chauffer was carrying the girl up the stone steps, with the old man limping up the stairs behind them. As Jim watched, they piled into a limousine and drove off. Jim smiled and left the scooter with the people on the landing and went to retrieve his packages and jacket.

They were gone. Gone with his plane ticket, wallet, money, and passport. He leaned against the bridge railing and wondered how he was going to get home. The only thing he could think of was going to the US Embassy and seeing if they could help. But he didn't know -- was the Embassy in Amsterdam or the Hague? Was there a consulate, maybe? He decided to head back to the hostel to pick up his backpack and see if he could at least shower there. As he limped along, he realized that among his other problems he needed a shoe. How do you get a shoe with no money?

Now he wished he'd gotten one of those new credit cards, the BankAmerica card or the Mastercharge, but he'd never felt the need before. He hated the idea of going into debt, of buying things he hadn't yet paid for. But then he laughed. Even if he had gotten one of those cards, it would have been in his wallet, in his jacket, and would have been stolen with his cash.

As he limped and dripped along the sidewalk, he became aware of a car pulling up next to him. It stopped and a man in chauffeur livery stepped out. He addressed Jim in Dutch, and Jim shook his head. "English or Francaise", he responded.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur, Are you the gentleman from the canal?" The chauffeur used both languages in his response.

Jim laughed. "How did you find me?"

He laughed back. "They told me to look for someone with one shoe, dripping wet."

"Well, that's me."

Jim was reluctant to get into the limousine, not because he had no idea who belonged to, but more because he was still dripping filthy, stinking canal water. He really just wanted to get back to the hostel and shower before he ended up with pink eye or some other infection from the polluted water. But Aldert, the chauffeur, insisted. He would drive Jim to the hostel to pick up the backpack, and then to his employer's house for a shower and dinner. Since the fact that Jim had failed to include dinner in his budget had been made moot by the theft of his money (in the stolen jacket), Jim agreed to the plan.

When Aldert pulled up into the sweeping driveway, Jim realized that this wasn't a house -- it was a palace. It was a single, large, detached residence, complete with surrounding gardens. Jim hadn't thought such luxury existed in Amsterdam. On the steps of the main entrance, stood the old man who had been with the little girl. As Jim exited the car, the old man approached and gathered him into a hug, despite of Jim's reluctance. Apparently, the Dutch weren't bothered by stinking canal water.

The man started out in Dutch, when Aldert gently coughed and said, "American." Then with ease, the old man switched to English.