One pile of shit after another, that all it became after a while. Life at the top is not hat it is made out to be and feels like a thousand pound of stress on your head day after day. I guess it is a lie, it never ends. The money is the only thing that keeps one going. And the husband... where do I begin? It started off great, sex like bunnies every day. Sometimes twice, even thrice. On the table, in the bathroom, in a public pool, on the rocking chair, even at the back of the church. Then it just fizzled out. Sex became a chore and that, ladies and gentlemen, is a fate worse than death. So much for trashy romance novels about happily ever after.

We hardly saw each other. When we did, it was for a less-than-romantic television dinner. Wheel of Fortune became more interesting than him. When we tried to talk, it boiled down to the same thing - bear his children, stop working and iron his socks. No, he wasn't violent or aggressive about it but he kept going on about how Tom, Dick and Harry all had beautiful, submissive wives and 2.5 lovely children, trying to persuade me into doing his will. I got sick. It was tragic but I didn't have the energy to talk to him anymore. So I stopped talking to him completely. My career was at its peak and nothing was stopping me, least of all Jack's 16th century chauvinism.

The last straw came after a long day with a bimbo secretary, pissed-off clients and the boss who just could not keep his eyeballs out of my cleavage. All I wanted was to get undressed and hit the bed when Jack launched into another one of his lectures. I shoved him towards the bed, "You know what Jack, I'm sick of you and your shit. You sound better with your mouth shut."

I was a little surprised at myself. I definitely wasn't a small woman at 38-30-36, but most certainly smaller than Jack. I couldn't believe I had actually used force on him and it worked. He was lying on the bed, with a complete look of shock. It was cute, having a grown man potentially at your complete mercy, and I wanted to eat him alive. The frustration, years of pent-up tension and sexual deprivation drove me crazy with lust and a certain controlled sexual rage.

It did not take me long to be straddling his tummy comfortably, my hands gripping his wrists. I felt a rush through my head and body; a sense of being so alive that had been lost for a long time. I felt slutty, in control and sexy. He didn't resist, even after the initial shock subsided. I wasn't expecting submission and it pleasantly surprised me. I looked down at him and smiled. This was a side of him I never expected and I liked it. I dug my nails into the mattress, pinning his wrists down hard, feeling his pulse and hearing each breath he took. "Like it, huh, Jack?"

His eyes shut, he nodded.

This was uncharted, but exciting territory and I had every intention of making the land mine. "Oh my god, Jack, so you're a dirty little bitch like that, huh? And all that nagging was trying to get me mad enough to do this?"

He nodded again, moaning softly, a pinkish-red colour rising to his cheeks, and I smiled.

I leaned forward, licking his ear lightly, pursing my lips over his ear lobe. The tip of my tongue slid across his cheek, down to his lips. I knew it felt ticklish, made his lips tingle and ache with want when I ran the tip of my tongue along his lips. I had almost forgotten that. His moans got louder and his hard on between his shorts and my panty-clad crotch became more apparent. I cut him short, biting his lower lip a tad too hard, tugging it away from him. The skin between my teeth was at breaking point when I let it go and whispered, "If you even flinch, Jack, it's over. You understand?"

He nodded and I cautiously let his wrists free, observing a little swell on his lower lip. I pushed his shirt up slowly, dragging my nails across his skin as it was uncovered. I left the shirt covering his face. For a moment, seeing him masked by his own shirt, hands above his head, moaning helplessly made me want to hurt him and love him at the same time. I just had to kiss his lips through the cloth. My curious fingers found their way to his tiny nipples and I rubbed both between my thumb and index fingers. Fingertip rubbing turned to nails trapping and pinching the tiny little buttons as I pushed my tongue against the shirt, into his open mouth. I shivered, hearing him moan in pain and pleasure, my crotch subconsciously grinding against his.