Unconventional Therapy Ch. 01

Is Mark actually at the golf course this morning? Or is he with her again? Donna began to panic as her thoughts turned to paranoia.

"Say something!" Donna frantically urged as Maddie's silence dragged on, worried she didn't want to get involved or take sides in a spousal battle that would likely get messy. And possibly end with a vicious court fight.

"Who else knows about this?" Maddie hesitantly asked, at long last breaking the silence but not getting an immediate response because Donna had slipped back into preoccupation with thoughts about harming her cell phone.

"Donna? Donna?" Maddie repeated before checking to see if they were still connected. "Are you still there?"

Deciding to catch the mobile device in her right hand as it raced down the shoulder and across her chest before launching from the left breast like a tiny skier, Donna decided the proposed questions about which type of damage might occur wouldn't get answered for now.

"Sorry, I almost dropped my phone," Donna replied almost inaudibly, after barely rescuing the top-of-the-line device before it crashed onto the floor. "Can you repeat that?"

"I'm so sorry to hear there's yet another instance of this," Maddie said slowly, stringing the words together in a prolonged exhale, deciding not to ask if Donna was sure that Mark's having an affair a second time.

"That's it!" Donna exploded while using just one hand to fumble with the edges of another micro-thin produce bag. "That's all you have to say?" She asked while pushing back hard against the thought of visiting the seafood section and dropping her phone into the lobster tank with a picture of Mark illuminating the screen.

Awaiting Maddie's subsequent response, Donna once more found herself romanticizing whether the phone could survive another brush with first-degree murder. Or would it get rescued a second time? She contemplated, growing more obsessed with the lobster tank finale. The manufacturer says it's waterproof for 30 minutes. I can test that claim, Donna debated.

"I just confided that my husband of 16 years is having another affair, and the only commiseration you can provide to console me is to say that you feel sorry about hearing it's happening another time?" Donna decided to ask before Maddie could formulate her next reply.

Donna felt remorseful as soon as the harsh words departed her mouth. But it made her angry when people apologized for things they shouldn't be saying they were sorry for in response to events beyond their control.

"Maddie, I apologize for saying that," Donna impulsively uttered, realizing too late that she had no right to be angry with her friend. "I should not have expected you to be able to do or say anything that can help with this or make me feel better."

While Donna braced for Maddie to tear into her this time equally, she received an unexpected retort instead.

"No, don't apologize." Maddie fired back decisively. "You have every right to be angry about what's happening in your life."

Donna unexpectedly found herself at a loss for words as a brief quiet period between them took over the call. She'd already narrowly escaped angering Maddie and was choosing her remarks carefully now. But she didn't need to worry because her friend led the conversation.

"I don't know if it's the direction you'd like to go with this shitty husband problem, but I've heard gossip about a therapist that fixes bad men."

The bit about fixing evil men left Donna baffled. But she was intrigued by possibly getting revenge on her spouse. After all, Maddie was privy that Mark had physically, mentally, and sexually abused her for years.

"Go on," Donna prodded Maddie with piqued interest. "I'm listening; tell me more." With things taking such an unpredicted turn, she peered nervously around the store, anxious to ensure that no one was overhearing a conversation turning possibly criminal.

"I don't even know if she even truly exists," Maddie blurted out, following more hesitation. "But there's supposedly a woman on the city's east side that scorned wives can send their husbands to see in these instances if they want to save their marriages."

Donna found herself getting incensed but was unable to contain it. And she needed to find out if her marriage was worth saving.

"Maddie, what in God's name are you talking about?"

Getting the brunt of a second angry outburst triggered Maddie to spit out further details more quickly.

"She's a combination of a female dominatrix and therapist!" Maddie defensively responded in a raised voice before lowering her tone to elaborate on how wives like Donna can use this woman to punish and rehabilitate their husbands.

"It's pretty simple," Maddie continued before Donna could get fired up again. "You give Mark an ultimatum."

Donna quietly tried to understand where this was heading as Maddie finished providing the particulars.

"Mark either agrees to see this therapist and get his bad behavior permanently corrected," or you will call the cops about his actions, get a restraining order, file for divorce, and ruin his career."

For the first time in ages, Donna felt a glimmer of hope.

"I love it!" Donna cackled giddily, momentarily forgetting where she was before looking up at the security cameras and returning to a quieter and more sedate voice.

"But I don't have any hard evidence," Donna disappointedly told Maddie, temporarily causing her mood to hit another low point.

"Well, you'll have to begin gathering some while I research her contact details," Maddie urged to raise Donna's spirits and signal an endpoint to the conversation.

"Okay, sounds good. But before I go, be sure to relay my gratitude to Tyler for his assistance yesterday." Donna remarked, reluctant to stir up any discussion about him.

So this therapist-slash-dominatrix woman possibly exists, Donna hopefully thought as she thanked Maddie for the information and pressed the button to end the call.

Heading for the checkout lanes, Donna couldn't wait to pay for her items and return home. But once in the parking lot, after starting to put the car in reverse, she quickly changed her mind and selected drive instead.

"What do you think about this, mister don't-do-this-and-don't-do-that?" Donna roared while releasing the brake pedal and lurching forward until the lower front bumper of her 4-door sedan began to buckle and crumble.

Like the cell phone, Mark also lectured her incessantly about the dangers of wheelstops in parking lots.

"He gets an expensive sports car. I get a cheap, nondescript sedan." Donna emphatically remarked while gunning the vehicle in reverse to get it back over the scarred concrete parking block.

Spying the older gentleman out of her peripheral vision, who sometimes bags her groceries, running towards her, Donna put the car back in park and rolled down the driver's window.

"Is everything okay, ma'am?" Pete asked in a concerned voice, trying to catch his breath. "Don't worry. It's not the first time this has happened."

"Just peachy, Pete." Donna sarcastically responded while watching him shyly figure out how to be helpful. "Good thing I didn't go through the front of the store, too, huh?"

At first, Pete awkwardly stood beside her front fender with both palms on the front of his thighs, surveying the damage. But after feeling the intensity of Donna's gaze, he moved to a crossed-arm position with one hand on his chin.

"Did I get it freed, Pete?" Donna innocently asked, enjoying how the scene was playing out. Suspecting there was nothing the helpless man could do to fix the car or otherwise make himself useful.

For once, Pete had a confused look on his face instead of the one she'd gotten accustomed to seeing. A hungry leer that gave off the vibe that he would do anything to get a peek at her privates before getting summoned to meet his maker.

"It looks pretty bad in the front," Pete warned, doing the man thing. "Should I call a tow truck?" He worriedly asked before moving away to bend over and peer beneath the front bumper.

Taking advantage of Pete being temporarily distracted, Donna wiggled inconspicuously in the driver's seat, intending to hike her denim dress up enough to reveal some bare thigh and crotch to torment the old geezer. But in doing so, she soon realized that her teasing had a pleasant but unintended consequence after discovering her outer labia were massaging the clitoris as her thighs pressed tightly against one another during the jiggling movements.

Caught up in the moment, Donna was conscious that showing off parts of her body that she'd always regarded as belonging to Mark was out of character. Nonetheless, doing so left her feeling dizzy with excitement she'd never experienced. Pete's been wanting to get a peek for years. I might as well give the old bird the show he's been craving while I'm pissing off my husband, she chuckled.

"Some parts are dangling down under there." Pete cautioned after reappearing from inspecting under the front end, momentarily returning Donna to the reality of the situation. "Some fluids are also leaking."

"What does this persistent yellow thingy in the instrument panel mean, Pete?" Donna asked excitedly, pointing at the icon that resembled a tiny engine, growing more confident that the vehicle would have to get towed.

"That's the check engine light," Pete stammered as he leaned into the vehicle to get a look at the gauges, startled to discover Donna's reddish brown pubes peeking out from the sides of her sheer purple panties as she opened her legs as wide as she could within the confines of the vehicle.

"Thanks, Pete!" Donna said with a smile, leaving the older man bewildered by her carefree attitude. "I can handle it from here. I'll call a towing service."

He probably thinks I'm drunk or on drugs, she giggled. But at least he got to see what he's always wanted to, Donna reassured herself smugly.

The determination behind what she'd set in motion got tested as Donna waited to complete paperwork at the body shop when two text messages from Mark popped up on her phone in quick succession. The first one demanded to know where she was, and the second complained about her not answering the home landline earlier. At first, Donna decided that a reply would have to wait, no longer caring if it angered him. But after contemplating it, she typed "check the tracking app" in response.

High on exacting vengeance, Donna thumbed another response to anger Mark further before he could reply. "Busy, can't talk," she typed defiantly, thinking about how the video clips might be illegal because she hadn't consented to be recorded or letting them get uploaded to porn sites.

Arriving home, Donna hastily parked the rental car the body shop had arranged for her. Then she marched into the kitchen and set the shopping bags on the countertop.

"I ran over a stop-block at the grocery store," she proudly told Mark, who'd been angrily waiting for her, staring him down. "They had to tow the car. It's at the body shop."

"You stupid little bitch," Mark erupted, seizing Donna by the throat. "I've fucking told you repeatedly to pay close attention and not to park close to those things!" He shouted.

Struggling to breathe and unable to talk, Donna rose onto her tiptoes as Mark lifted her higher and higher, using an outstretched arm to walk her to a nearby wall and pin her against it with a death grip.

"I should bury your worthless ass in the backyard under one of your pretty rose bushes," Mark taunted, releasing her only after Donna's lips began to turn blue. "Do you know what that stupid move will do to our insurance rates? He demanded to know.

"You're going to jail, motherfucker," Donna faintly mouthed in a choked voice while sliding to the floor in plain view of a security camera.

"We'll see about that, you dumb cunt," Mark sneered. "I know damn near every cop on the force. He added while Donna lay at his feet gasping for air. "I'll tell them I had to hold you like that because you were swinging wildly and trying to punch me. And they'll Baker Act your psycho ass into the loonie bin for 72 hours of observation." His voice trailed off as he headed for his den.