Copyright © 1999, 2000
Some would say Ellen is not beautiful. Some would say she is not even pretty because her features are sharp. Some consider her ass a little broad. But, when she wants to, she has a gleam in her eye which attracts men without repelling women. She is personable and intelligent, easily managing an excellent career and many friendships. She has a passion for life and enjoys everything from cooking to golfing. When she wants to be, she is a world-class lovemaking machine in bed.
To me, she is perfect. However, there was a problem.
Like many women, she did not respect men she could belittle or dominate. With her talents, intelligence and money, she did not respect most men she dated. She had fallen into the habit of browbeating every man who sought a serious relationship with her, and not enduring men she could successfully cower.
Over the ten years since she came back to the city after college, she had been called many things. About the nicest nickname she had was ballbuster.
"Jack, I am having a dinner party Friday. I wondered if you are free?" she said when I answered the phone that night.
Often, Ellen had tried to set me up with this widow or that divorcee, but I was still single at thirty-four in spite of her efforts and those of countless women like her.
"Who's the lucky woman this time, Ellen?"
Did I hear a hesitation, a catch, in her voice?
I had heard a rumor she had driven off the guy who had been living with her, locking him out of the house she bought with an inheritance from her uncle. I was wondering if she would ever call me. Wondering and hoping.
"Shit, no! You are too fucking mean for me."
"Oh, Jack. Cursing is not gentlemanly. Do you curse just because you know it upsets me?"
"You bet your fucking ass, I do. I don't want you to set your sights on me, ballbuster."
She sighed as if she were the martyr bearing her cross and ignored my comment.
"Well, are you free?"
"No. I'm doing my hair."
"I expect you to be here at seven. Dress is casual. And, bring me flowers."
I did not reply. She waited ten seconds and disconnected. Rude? Yes. Typical? Yes. Twice I received messages from her on my voice mail confirming Friday night. Each time, I left her a voice mail message saying, "Not only no, hell no!" Friday at five my phone rang.
"Jack, are you coming?"
"No, ballbuster. I made that clear."
"Please." Her voice was soft and pleading.
"Don't try that 'I'm a sweet little woman' shit on me, you shark!"
"Jack, my table will be unbalanced. It will be socially embarrassing for me if you do not come."
"Make me an offer I can't refuse!"
She laughed sharply. I could see the smirk on her face through the telephone.
"Okay. Bring your toothbrush!"
"Not good enough."
"I beg your pardon!"
Her voice was colder than a January ice storm.
"Not you. I know you're the best piece of pussy in the whole damn state when you want to be. The offer of one night in your bed is not good enough."
"What do you want?"
"I want you for as long as I want you."
She emitted a flurry of little gasps. I heard a sob, then, silence for what seemed an eternity.
"What are you saying, Jack?" she whispered.
"I want you for at least two weeks. And, I want you as my sex slave."
"Sex slave? Sex slave! Oh! You. You. You are hopelessly infantile!"
"Not infantile. Adolescent, perhaps. Perverted, maybe. Your vocabulary is slipping, ballbuster."
"I should hang up on you! You are such an oversexed buffoon!"
"Look, ballbuster. I'm the only man left in the city who has the confidence to take you on. It's you, not me, who has an unbalanced table. You should be nicer to me."
She was silent.
"Anyway, when was the last time you were royally fucked. If you weren't such a stuck-up bitch, you'd admit you want me between your legs, my cock slamming your sweet pussy until you scream. You liked me there very much, as I remember."
The silence was deafening. With each passing second, I was more sure she was going to take my offer.
"What would I have to do?" she said in a soft, little girl voice.
"Whatever I tell you, whenever I tell you. Total, wild, wonderful sex. That part will be easy, Ellen. For you, the hard part will be sweetness and surrender."
"Perhaps not, Jack. I have missed you," she said, her voice teasing and sexy.
"I'm not worried about the first night, ballbuster. Or, the second. I'm thinking of all the days and nights after that. If you fight me, I won't be gentle with you. I'll spank your ass each time you try your ballbusting tactics on me."
"Jack, no man has ever spanked me," she replied coquettishly, obviously enjoying the repartee.
"Then, it is time, unless you can behave yourself."
"Is spanking the way you treat a woman these days, Jack? I thought you were more gentlemanly than that."
"I am a gentleman, unless the woman is a ballbuster. I will treat you as you behave, Ellen."
"How should I behave?" she replied impishly.
"In public, as you always have. In private, as the slutty sex slave you really want to be."
I heard her gasp.
"I am not a slut! God, what an absurd, arrogant, chauvinistic pig you are! You are not even a pig. You are a piglet! You are not mature enough to be a pig!"
"Now, now, ballbuster. Unbalanced table and social embarrassment, or, wild, wanton sex. It's an easy choice, even for you."
"Go to hell!"
I told my secretary to order five dozen red roses, one dozen each from five different florists, and, have them all delivered by seven. In ten minutes, the phone rang.
"All right. Have it your way. I have no choice!"
"Of course, you have a choice. You can tell your guests I was your date and I got sick."
"No, Jack. I want you here. I'll do it."
"Good decision, ballbuster. Write a quick legal agreement saying you'll be my sex slave for fourteen days. Give it to me when I walk in tonight, or, I'll turn around and walk out. Use the words 'unconditional sex slave'. I want it in your own handwriting on your embossed stationery."
"Then, we have nothing to talk about. Have a nice evening, Ellen."
"Wait! Don't hang up. Why are you doing this?"
"You know. Do we have an agreement?"
"Let's talk about it when you arrive."
"I'll be there, but there'll be nothing to talk about. I will walk out if you don't have the agreement in writing."
"You are insufferable!"
"You're delightful and sexy as hell, even if you are the biggest bitch in the state."
She sighed as if burdened beyond the ability to bear it.
"You need to clean up your language with my guests."
I didn't respond. She waited a reasonable time before continuing. That she waited at all was a small miracle.
"I'll see you at seven, Jack. Thank you for coming."
Her voice was soft this time.
"It'll be my pleasure, Ellen," I replied honestly.
When I arrived, Ellen was perfectly dressed in a classy way. She does have excellent taste. She had a naughty twinkle in her eyes as she kissed me on the cheek.
"The flowers are beautiful, Jack. Thank you."
The doorbell rang with yet another floral delivery. I carried the flowers into the kitchen, holding them as she searched for a vase. After she arranged the roses, she handed me a sealed envelope. I slid it into my pocket.
"Not going to read it?" she asked, teasing me.
"When we're alone, ballbuster. Anyway, I trust you."
"Jack, I hate that nickname."
"Then, let's change you so it won't fit."
When a woman looks at a man the way Ellen looked at me, one of two things is going to happen. Either she'll fuck him silly, or, she'll slap the hell out of him. Or, sometimes a third thing will happen. The doorbell rang again.
The party was outstanding. Another thing Ellen does very well is play hostess. The food was superb, the wine perfect for the meal, and the conversation warm and rich. During the dinner, I watched her. Ellen is really a classy lady. However, there was something about serious interpersonal relationships that made her go off center. When she became serious about a man, or, he became serious about her, she changed. She tried to drive him away, or, to break him. No doubt about it, she would be a handful for the man lucky enough to win her.
After all the guests were gone, I pulled my car into her garage so the neighbors would not gossip. The maid finished the dishes while we visited in the living room. Ellen sat on the couch beside me, just an inch out of "personal" range. She was soft and warm that night as we passed pleasantries. I took that as a good sign.
"Tell me about Bozo," I said, referring to the guy she evicted three weeks ago. He had flaming red hair, but the reason for the Bozo comment was he didn't have a real or serious bone in his body.
"He was not the right man for me," she said, watching me over her wine glass. "I need someone special. Someone who understands and loves me."
"Does such an unique man exist?"
"Yes. I know he exists."
She moved closer. Her hand fell to my knee. Her face was intent, her eyes serious.
.... There is more of this story ...