A
Second Confrontation: Sandy’s View
I have no idea exactly what happened when I got home. I seem to remember Don yelling something at
me and then in my drunken haze I swore he was on his knees in front of me doing
something to my boots. Damn, I hate it when I drink too much. Not only do I feel like shit the next day but
I burn so many brain cells that my memory goes as well. I was just praying that I had not made too
big a fool of myself in front of Don.
The room was flooded with sunlight by the time I forced my
eyes to open. My head felt like a two
thousand pound gorilla was doing the mambo in it. And everything around me reeked of cigarette
smoke. I slowly dragged myself off of
the sofa and then it dawned on me. What
was I doing on the sofa? Did we have
such a huge fight that he did not even want me to share our bed? I then had a
feeling that whatever conversation we were about to have would not be of the
short and sweet variety.
I forced myself to climb the stairs and into my
bathroom. I was thankful that at this
point I had not had to face my husband.
He might be somewhere else in the house waiting to pounce but at least, he had vacated the bedroom. With much effort, I managed to get out of my
clothes and into the shower, thanking the good lord that someone had invented
the hot water heater. Between the nearly
scalding water flowing on the back of my neck and breathing the hot steam into
my lungs, I soon began to feel almost human.
I even managed to wash my hair although I did not have the energy to dry
or put it up in rollers so I wrapped a hand towel around it, wrapped a bath
towel around my body and got out of the shower.
Another 15 minutes of ablutions and I was ready to throw on my robe and
go face the beast. And I prayed that the
beast had made coffee.
As I entered the kitchen, Don rose from the breakfast bar
and turned to face me. “Are you feeling
better, this morning? I thought you
might die of alcohol poisoning last night.”
“I guess I will live, I notice you were not so concerned for
my welfare that you bothered to help me
to bed.”
“Yeah, it is a little difficult to get a passed out drunk up
those stairs. Are you sober enough now
to tell me what you did last night?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” I asked. There may be some things that you would be better
off not knowing.”
“Like what?” He
asked.
“Well, it seems that there are a lot of men besides you that
really like a woman in leather. How did
you put it, my fuck me clothes?”
“So, are you telling me that you went out, got drunk and
then got laid?”
“No, maybe I went out, got laid and then got drunk.”
I could see the veins begin to stand out on his forehead and
I realized that I might have carried this a little too far. But I was not going to back down at this late
stage of the game.
“Damn it, Sandy, tell me exactly what you want from me. I know that you are just trying to punish me
for not paying enough attention but acting out like this is going too far.”
“And exactly how am I supposed to get your attention?” I
screamed. “All you think about are your
video games, your jack off sites on your computer and your drinking with your
buddies. Oh, and once in a while putting
in an appearance for a weak fuck with your wife.”
“What do you mean a weak fuck?” I asked.
“Look, maybe we need to drop this before your feelings
really get hurt,” I stated.
“Too hell we will,” He spat.
I swore a little bit of his spittle flew across the room towards
me. “I want to know exactly what you
meant by that last remark.”
I don’t know why but for some reason at that particular
moment I wanted to hurt him and so I said.
“You never were particularly good in bed. That little bitty weenie of yours just
doesn’t reach all the places a real man’s cock would. But at least,
in the beginning of our marriage, you
were willing to spend a little time with your tongue. You don’t even do that anymore.
Maybe I should lock it up in a cage the way some of the women on your
dominant sex sites do to their men.
Would you like that, having your cock locked up so that only I could allow
you to cum?”
And then I looked at his face and saw the truth of what I
had just said written all over it. “You
would, wouldn’t you?” I asked. “Tell me the truth right now. So you want me to put you in a chastity
device? Answer me, damn you?”
Don hung his head, trying to avoid my blazing eyes. “Yes, I would like to try having you control
my orgasms.”
Dear God, this was way better than anything that I had
imagined. He actually wanted me to lock
his cock up. And I had read countless
websites where they swore that once a man was safely locked away they would do
absolutely anything to be allowed out long enough to achieve an orgasm.
And it just so happened that one of the things I had
purchased at the sex party was a nice sturdy metal cock and ball harness with a
small padlock. It was made with a curved
metal tube that his cock would fit in and then was secured behind his ball sack
and locked in place. Once it was on he
would be able to achieve a semi-erect state but would not be able to do anything
about it. And another thing I found
amusing was because of the shape of the curve he would have to sit down to
urinate. And my evil mind could conjure up all kinds of humiliating images.
“Well, my dear misguided husband. You and I are going to have a wonderful
little experiment starting this very day.
You can pour me a big cup of coffee then fix me some bacon, eggs, and toast and then we will take a little
ride and I am going to make all your dreams come true.” “Or at least,
all of mine,” I thought. For his it might just be the start of his
worst nightmare. I don’t know why that
thought was causing my juices to flow.
Thank the lord; I had a thick terry robe around me. And for some reason,
my hangover had completely disappeared.
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