The name’s Tom and I’ve learnt the hard way that life is a bitch if you work hard and play by the rules. Many years ago, I was a bright-eyed thing leaving university with a 2.1 BSc(Hons) in Mechanical Engineering. After several years I had worked my way up to a well-paid position in the engineering department at British Steel. I enjoyed pitting my brains against the challenges we faced and was proud to be making a contribution to British industry. You’re probably thinking steelworker, big burly type but you’d be wrong. I’m 5’9” medium built and my job largely involves sitting down in the draft office, no great physical effort required.

Unfortunately I am rather introverted and lacking in self-confidence, which makes it difficult for me to make friends or talk to women. Having moved away from home to take this job meant that I was increasingly lonely and depressed when I got back to my small maisonette after work. I didn’t get to meet many women at work and was too shy to approach any I saw in the street that I might take a shine to. Finally I joined a dating agency. In those days that was very shameful unlike Internet dating today. It was a social admission that you were an utter loser. The experience was painful and humiliating. I had all but given up hope when I finally met someone who I seemed to get along with. Sheila was an ordinary uneducated working class girl, which didn’t seem to make a difference at the time; she was from a family of agricultural workers. She wasn’t slim or pretty but I liked her. With mousy blonde hair that naturally bleached blonde in the sun, Sheila was about an inch shorter with a plain face featuring intriguing green-grey eyes, a large Roman nose, small mouth and chubby cheeks. Her body was broad and sturdy. Big boned she called it. She was naturally tanned from working outside. Sheila had strong sturdy arms and legs developed by hard manual labour. In fact, her legs first caught my attention being thick and shapely, developed from cycling several miles to work and back each day. I also found irresistible her large full 42-inch bust that I couldn’t keep my hands off. Along with her smooth strong legs and incredible ability with her tongue on my face and neck, she could give me such an incredible hard-on, that in retrospect this probably fuelled my desire for the relationship to work despite our different backgrounds and 6-year age difference.

I never suspected what I know now but there was one clue when I picked her up once from her parent’s house for a date. Her father made some joke about putting into practice those self-defence lessons from school. That got me excited because I had a fetish about strong women and women who could do martial arts. This was in the days before the Internet and I thought that I was the only weirdo to have such perverted fantasies. Sheila dismissed it saying that her dad was getting senile in his old age.

We continued to date and then the worst happened. Thatcher declared war on the unions and smashed British industry in her vengeance. My works were closed down and I was forced to relocate to Sheffield or be deemed to have resigned and not entitled to a penny redundancy. I really didn’t want to move, as I liked where I lived but there was no other work locally, even though I looked hard. Sheila was happy to move with me, but we didn’t like the busy crowded town and we could only afford an ex-council house on a rough looking estate. As if the stress wasn’t bad enough, Sheila was pressuring for us to get married before we moved because her parents didn’t drive. The stress of getting married and moving to a place I hated wasn’t a good way to start a marriage.

At least I managed to realise some of my filthy perverted desires. Sometimes I would persuade Sheila to flex her biceps for me and she would notice how hard my cock got as I felt how big and firm they were. They were like two large smooth hills, not peaked or defined like someone who worked out but they were enough to get me going. She quickly realised that she was much stronger than I was, lifting me easily and beating me at arm-wrestling. Sheila would press my arms down to pin me helplessly to the bed while her amazing tongue licked my face until my aching erection was ready to explode and I was begging for her to ride me. She also had thick strong legs with a hint of muscle in her calves but I couldn’t get her to scissor me unless I stuck my head between her legs and licked her pussy. Then she would clamp her slabs of meat around my head and squeeze tightly until I couldn’t move, apart from my tongue. It could become quite uncomfortable and she wouldn’t let me go until I had serviced her to her complete satisfaction, but the feeling of helplessness and feeling my wife’s big strong legs as they squashed my head made me very hard indeed. With my head trapped firm wedged up against her wet love nest she would use her tongue skilfully on my erection until I shot my load. That pleasure became rarer then stopped completely when we had kids.

But Thatcher hadn’t finished with the working classes yet, again she smashed us, closing down British manufacturing and I found myself unemployed. I found myself skilled yet unable to get a full-time job. With my redundancy money quickly dwindling, unemployment ground us down and I began to despair and get very depressed. We had frequent rows and I would turn to drink to drown my sorrows. Sheila was not the kind of woman to back down in an argument and there were times when I thought that she really would hit me and was in no doubt who would come off worse.

Then a chance encounter with a former colleague got me a post as a security guard at a very secretive location in London. Okay it was hardly skilled work that befits someone who had gone to university but it at least paid the bills. In fact as I discovered, it actually paid quite well although I suspected that was to keep our silence and loyalty. It meant that we could afford to move to a fairly ordinary semi in semi-rural Bedfordshire where I could commute on the train and where our children could have a better standard of life. I wasn’t allowed to tell Sheila the truth and was shown what happened to those who disobeyed. I still have nightmares to this day of that poor man, his wife and baby daughter swinging from the gallows while bankers monkey grunted while they twitched and died.

I often stood at my guard post with a gun that I was too afraid to use. It was odd to think that up there would be business men and women enjoying the small green at Finsbury Square. If the weather were nice they’d be sitting in deck chairs during their lunch breaks listening to the music from the bandstand totally unaware of a completely different world beneath their feet.

The things I saw turned my stomach and made me depressed, sending me back to the bottle to wash out the memories. That so many people could be slaves in modern Britain in this day and age was bad enough. Then there were the Reivers, a bunch of lowlife scum who preyed on the slaves and the occasional newbie. But it was the rich bastards who ran the place who were the worst; free to indulge in any perversion they wished. Sheila moaned that I drank too much but she didn’t understand what it was like to see the faces of distraught parents on TV pleading for whoever had taken their precious little child to return them when I knew exactly where they were and could do nothing about it. Even when the plight of a little girl became a National cause we were warned to keep our mouths shut unless we wanted our love ones to disappear. It wasn’t just the men, what that female head of a powerful financial institution was doing to that young boy made my stomach churn. Yes, I drank to forget and you would too if you’d seen the things I had. Sheila kept moaning but I didn’t dare tell her the truth because I’d knew they’d kill her and the kids.

As I drank I became more irritable, the slightest thing setting me off. Sheila kept spending on the credit card even though I told her not too. I knew it was a con and didn’t want to be beholden to those bankers but every time the bill came the amount outstanding had shot up so it was almost at the credit limit. On this occasion we were in the living room, one kid having gone off to Uni and the other at College. Sheila always preferred to wear skirts and today was no exception with a white skirt that fell just above the knees and a matching white blouse. Her legs were bare, she didn’t like covering her legs and I admit that I liked the way this showed off her strong calves. However today I was in no mood to appreciate that, I had downed a few glasses before coming across the credit card bill where she had hidden it from me. “We sent 300 to it last month and it’s still at its bloody limit” I yelled. “What the flipping heck have you been spending on it? How will we ever get it down? No wonder we’ve never got any money for ourselves” I shouted getting really worked up. “Its all your fault, I get so lonely at home with nothing to do and you know I can’t get a job at my age” she moaned as I confronted her. “Oldies and British need not apply that’s what they keep telling me”. That led to a stand-up blazing row. I don’t honestly know what came over me because one moment I was screaming at her, the next my open hand was driving towards her cheek to slap her hard.

But my slap didn’t hit. Suddenly her hand clamped tight around my wrist. With a look of unbridled anger Sheila raised my hand high in the air, stepped underneath while turning her back to me then swung my arm down quickly in an arc. WHAM! I went spinning head over heels until my back slammed into the carpet. It all happened so fast that for a moment I couldn’t understand what had just happened.

“Wha-what was that?” I stammered sitting on the floor dazed as in disbelief I looked up at my wife of 25 years. “That was me kicking your sorry ass” Sheila roared, her face red with fury. “How dare you raise your hand against me? How dare you? I’ll teach you, come on get up so I can beat the crap out of you” she yelled. I wasn’t that drunk to know that Sheila was stronger than me and that I wouldn’t stand a chance if she started punching me. “What the hell was that? How did you do that?” I shouted heatedly as I got to my feet, embarrassed that she had pulled some kind of trick on me.

A cunning smile spread on her lips, which make me uneasy. “No Tom. Not at all. Here let me show you” she said. Before I knew what was happening, Sheila grabbed my right arm, slipped an arm around my waist then moved her lower body in front of me while turning her back on me. I felt her bend then my groin slid over her big backside as my feet left the ground. “Wha...” I cried powerless to stop myself riding over my wife’s hip in a controlled manner then tumble through the air. WHAM! My back hit the floor so hard that it momentarily drove the breath out of me. Stunned I looked up at the thick bare legs of my wife as she stood by my head. I felt an excited tightness in my groin. My wife had thrown me! I couldn’t believe it; my wife had actually thrown me, not once but twice. My wife had thrown me twice! “You will never take a hand to me again, Tom” she told me looking down into my eyes as I lay on the floor. “And for your information that was Judo and I’ve a good mind to show you some more of it”.