Carla was sympathetic at first when Simon lost his job. Not easy, after all, for a man in his mid-forties when that happens. Though a dozen years younger than her husband (she'd been just 19 when they married), Carla was in any case the main breadwinner – a high flying corporate lawyer, recently made partner, whereas Simon was a fairly low grade civil servant – and so the couple's finances weren't dependent on Simon earning money. Just as well because after a year of trying he'd gotten nowhere and had pretty much given up.
Forced (in his view) onto the scrapheap, Simon's self esteem took a tumble. Which was when Carla's sympathy started to evaporate. It's hard for a woman to have respect for her husband (isn't it?) when all he does is loll around the house and moan about how life isn't fair.
In truth, Carla had realised for quite some time that she'd married below herself. In both looks and intelligence, she far outstripped her husband. At 33, she was in her prime both professionally (going from strength to strength at work, pulling down top dollar) and as a woman. She'd never felt more confident in herself ... she was smart, sexy, and she knew it. When she looked in the bathroom mirror after showering, she liked what she saw - a woman of medium height with a full sexy figure, dark wavy hair, smooth olive skin, a lovely face whose Italian ancestry shone through in the cheekbones, the flashing eyes, the full sensuous lips. She had long, shapely legs – very sexy – and perfect breasts. Her ass was the sort of ass men dribble over.
Yes, Carla knew she was gorgeous and she revelled in the fact. The only fly in the ointment was Simon. Being stuck with an unemployed deadbeat husband, now totally dependent on her, had never been part of the plan.
Life was great for her these days, of course, the whole thing had worked out very nicely, but for a time she'd been angry and frustrated at the situation. And once that wore off she found herself bored. Bored with her marriage, with Simon, with everything about him. She couldn't remember why she'd married him. He had no spark, seemed defeated, utterly ground down.
Physically too, he no longer appealed.
His hair was thinning. He'd developed a double chin, a pot belly, a general look of middle-aged and out-of-shape unattractiveness. Carla may have fancied him once (although it was difficult to imagine) but she certainly didn't now. At work, at her legal firm, she was surrounded by young, good looking guys who looked at her appreciatively, occasionally flirted with her even knowing she was married, and this only reinforced her growing lack of sexual interest in her husband.
The loss of desire was not reciprocated, unfortunately. Simon still had the hots for his gorgeous young wife, it was about the only thing he was still good for.
Trouble was, Carla didn't want HIM anymore and she started to turn him down more often than not. This was a further blow to Simon's ego. He knew that in Carla he had a wife who was out of his league and the fact he still had her, made love to her on a regular basis, was what just about kept him above water.
As the sex dwindled to once or twice a month, and he realised even this was more than Carla wanted, so the little self-respect Simon had disappeared. It was devastating for him. Carla knew this (couldn't fail to since he was forever whimpering about how bad it made him feel, how sexually frustrated he was getting etc etc) but she was past caring about Simon's feelings. The more depressed and mopey he got, the more contempt she felt. God he was SUCH a loser, she thought, increasingly comparing him in her mind's eye to some of the hunky guys at the office and finding him wanting.
Deciding that sex with Simon once or twice a month was once or twice too many, Carla cut him off entirely. They still slept together but sleep was all that happened.
Or Carla slept, rather. Simon spent a large portion of the night either tossing and turning or laying there stewing and feeling sorry for himself. He did pretty much all the housework these days (Carla had made it clear she expected this, given his lack of a job), virtually never went out apart from shopping and running errands (ditto), had no money other than the (small) weekly allowance she gave him; the least she could do, in his opinion, was put out once in a while.
His wife was turning into a proper little bitch, Simon thought, but he well realised his dependence on her and so didn't feel able to confront her about it. He did try once but she just sneered, told him he could leave if he didn't like it.
Which of course he couldn't.
He'd be on the streets and penniless. Carla had the income and the money, owned their house, their car, everything. She held all the cards and they both knew it.
"Guess you'll just have to suffer in silence, won't you?" she smirked.
"Given it looks like you'll be sticking around. You know, living in MY house."
"Okay, Carla," he mumbled, hating the amused look on his wife's face. Hating himself for being such a wimp.
And Carla WAS amused. It was starting to strike her that this scenario might not be so bad after all. Might be rather a giggle, in fact. She was already noticing the benefit of having Simon around as a kind of unpaid domestic help – it was good to be free of all that crap herself – and seeing him now so abject, she felt an enjoyable sense of power.
So why not have some fun with the situation?
Simon's life got steadily worse from this point onwards and Carla's a whole lot better.
With her husband under her thumb, Carla started to revel in her control over him, to amuse herself at his expense. Simon protested now and again at the way she treated him ... kind of a cross between slave and lapdog ... but whenever this happened she would either totally ignore him, or laugh at him, or just raise an eyebrow and smirk and point mockingly at the door. All these outbursts did, in fact, was egg his wife on, feed her growing appetite for cruelty, for tormenting and humiliating him.
It seemed the more miserable he was, the more she relished making him miserable. He was powerless. He was at Carla's beck and call and there was nothing he could do about it.
Probably the hardest thing for Simon wasn't the non-stop drudgery, or the demeaning things she was always making him do, or the way she bossed him around the whole time as if he were a servant ... although all this was bad enough ... no, the worst thing was being cut off from sex. Simon still had a strong sex drive and it was frustrating in the extreme that he could no longer make love to Carla, especially given he found her as desirable as ever. More desirable, in fact, because not being able to have sex with her only made him want it more.
Nights in particular, lying in bed next to his wife but not allowed to touch her, were torture.
Carla knew this, of course, and just as Simon's acute sexual frustration was the thing he found hardest to bear about his unfortunate situation, so for Carla it was the aspect she most enjoyed. As much as she got a buzz out of ordering him around and generally treating him like a dog, this knowledge that being starved of sex was driving him crazy was what amused her more than anything.
After a few months without it he was desperate, could hardly think of anything else.
It wasn't quite so bad during the day, Monday to Friday, when Carla was at work (since he could always find time out from his chores to beat off ... three or four times was the norm) but when she was at home it was another story. Sexually relieving himself was virtually out of the question then (she'd told him it was a kicking out offence if she caught him, or even suspected) and furthermore he was faced with Carla's presence, with non-stop close proximity to the very thing he lusted for but was being denied.
Carla noticed the way he looked at her around the house - like a hungry animal drooling over the sight of food – and she found it hilarious. So funny how worked up he got whenever she wore, say, a short skirt or a revealing top.
And it was incredibly easy to tease him!
Carla did this all the time. Indulging her sadistic streak, she teased poor Simon without mercy. Sometimes she was subtle, pretended she didn't know what she was doing, and at other times she was quite blatant about it – just depended on her mood.
She drove him absolutely crazy, basically, and she loved every minute of it.
Carla particularly enjoyed it when Simon, crazed with desire and inflamed beyond reason by her teasing, would occasionally 'lose it' and he'd start pleading, begging her for sex.
"Please, Carla, PLEASE," he'd whimper. "Please Carla, just a handjob even. I can't stand this anymore!"
But she would just smile mockingly and shake her head. Would make fun of him.
"Aw, poor Simon. Poor, sex starved hubby. You only get to look at me now, don't you? And I'm such a tease too, aren't I? No, no handjob, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait till tomorrow when I'm at work. Give yourself one. You can kiss my toes, though, if you like. In fact, I insist – come on my little pooch, kneel down and kiss my tutsies. Tell me how pretty and sexy I am, while you're doing it."
Cue a giggling fit from Carla as her husband did as he was told.
She knew he hated being called 'pooch', a name she'd come up with a while ago and made a point of using relentlessly. As well as teasing her poor husband, she now loved to humiliate him.
.... There is more of this story ...