Wicked Wife

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.

"Mmm that's nice, Simon, keep going. Aw, poor little poochie. I shouldn't treat you like this, should I? It's cruel of me, I know. Thing is, pooch, I enjoy it. I enjoy it way too much to stop. This is all you're ever going to get, Simon, isn't that just sooo depressing?"

Depressing it certainly was for the hapless Simon.

His self-esteem always hit rock-bottom after one of these begging sessions. He hated himself for doing it; so demeaning to plead for scraps, to be called names, to be forced to grovel at his wife's feet, kiss her toes and tell her how gorgeous she was. Then to lie there later in bed, cock hard, desire raging and unfulfilled, to lie there next to the sleeping Carla, to the forbidden fruit ... this didn't make for a restful night.

And she always slept naked, the evil bitch. Oh god.

As for his wife, she was having a whale of a time. Because Carla herself certainly wasn't sex starved; Simon didn't know it (yet ... it was amongst the horrors to come) but his wife was getting all the action she could handle.

Which was an awful lot.

Somehow, the way she'd effortlessly turned her husband into a submissive wimp had liberated Carla to pursue sexual pleasure elsewhere, and looking the way she did, she was soon finding plenty of it.

Carla felt good about herself and she started to revel in all the male attention she got at work. She dressed now in a way which provoked and inflamed ... her skirts got a little shorter, her tops a little more revealing ... and she enjoyed the affect this had on the guys in the office, enjoyed how they ogled, how they stepped up the flirting and tried desperately to impress.

It was fun just teasing and flirting with the guys (and she did plenty of this) but Carla wanted more. No sex with Simon was one thing but no sex at all wasn't an option for a woman who loved it as much as she did. No longer wearing her wedding band, and talking quite openly now about being sick and tired of her "useless" husband, Carla signalled her availability and was soon deluged with offers.

That so many hunky young guys wanted to date her and take her to bed was a thrilling boost to her ego, affirmed her as a very sexy and desirable woman. The guys competed with each other to win her affections and Carla egged them on for a while, loving being the object of such male lust and desire. She accepted several lunch invitations from several different guys and flirted outrageously over the pasta and white wine. She was tempted to start multiple affairs but was conscious of how this might compromise her position at the firm, she was a partner after all, and so she selected the guy she fancied the most ... Mike, also a partner, unmarried, a virile and handsome high flyer in his early thirties ... and they began having hot and steamy sex in the afternoons, using Mike's city centre apartment. It was close to the office and it was easy to slip away there for a couple of hours on most days.

Mike was a great lover, passionate and inventive, far better than Simon had ever been, and Carla lapped it up.

She told Mike about Simon, what a wimp he was, how she treated him like dirt and never had sex with him, and Mike found the whole thing hilarious.

He particularly loved the idea of Carla deliberately teasing poor Simon and the two of them would often lie in bed, laughing fit to burst about that. Carla would regale Mike with tales of how she'd tantalised and tormented her unfortunate husband the previous night ... how she'd made him watch her take a slow sexy shower, for example, or maybe a bath ... how he'd been forced to pat her naked body dry with a towel ... how they'd then gone to bed and she'd 'accidentally' brushed his erection with her fingers before turning away and going to sleep, leaving him burning.

Mike loved to hear all this. It turned him on no end that he was fucking this hot married woman and that her poor husband was getting nada. His cock would harden as Carla related the latest details.

"Oh you are such a bitch, baby. The poor little bastard," he'd chuckle.

Carla would giggle.

"Yeah, aren't I just. Poor guy is absolutely gagging for it! And here's me teasing his brains out and getting all the great sex I want from my hunky lover. Life's not fair, sugar, is it?"

All the time stroking Mike's cock, loving the full and hardening feel of it in her fingers, how turned on he was getting, looking forward to it going between her legs again very very soon, thrusting into her dripping wet pussy.

She enjoyed feeding Mike's ego and belittling Simon to him.

"Mmm feels sooo good, Mike honey," she'd moan. "You've got a MUCH bigger and better cock than my husband, baby, have I ever told you that?"

"Only about a thousand times, Carla," Mike would grin, feeling like the king of the castle and getting even harder.

"Fuck me now, Mike baby. I wanna feel that lovely big cock inside me. Oh yeah baby, fuck me hard. My husband can't have it but YOU can, lover. Take me, sugar. Fuck me fuck me fuck me!"

Yes, life was now pretty much perfect for Carla.

And Simon? Well quite the opposite. He'd noticed a couple of things and both weren't brilliant from his point of view.

First, that Carla was now dressing and acting very sexy. Seeing her strutting around in short skirts, tight jeans, flimsy low-cut tops ... it drove him wild!

Second, and he sensed related, she'd become ultra confident in herself (maybe because she was looking increasingly gorgeous and clearly knew it) and was becoming ever more mean and capricious in how she treated him. Her teasing, for example, was getting downright malicious a lot of the time -- she'd even started actively tormenting him in bed, toying with his poor hungry cock, getting it hard, making it throb, deliberately inflaming him.

Then things worsened significantly.

One morning, after a particularly cruel and frustrating night of tease and denial and very little sleep, Simon was helping Carla shower and get dressed, as was now part of their daily routine.

She put on a sexy little skirt and got Simon to zip it up. She made him put her bra on for her (this was especially tantalising for poor Simon ... oh god, those fabulous tits!) and then she slipped a blouse on and ordered him do up the buttons, working bottom to top.

"That's enough, pooch. Leave the rest undone. We want the guys at the office to get a nice view, don't we?" she giggled.

She loved taunting him like this.

Now her legs. Carla stood there in her short skirt and the naked Simon had to get down and massage cream into her long, luscious legs. This set his poor, frustrated cock on fire.

Carla chuckled at the sight of his erection, gave it a maddening little tickle with her toes.

"My legs really turn you on, Simon, don't they?" she smirked.

"So tell me that, my little poochie poo. Come on, I wanna hear it. Tell Carla how much her little poochie pie loves her long, sexy legs."

"Oh god Carla, your legs are so sexy," he had to say, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

"Mmm I know, Simon, I know. All the guys at the office think so too. You should see how they ogle! All I have to do is sit there and cross my legs and I've got about a dozen guys' complete attention. And I love it, pooch, I love it. I just love having men drool over my sexy legs. That's why I wear these short skirts. Do I look sexy in this short skirt, poochie?"

"Yes, Carla," he mumbled, feeling lower than a worm.

"What about the guys at work? Do you think they'll get horny, looking at me all day? Do you think me wearing this short skirt and this sexy blouse to the office will turn all those hunky guys on?"

"Um, yes, Carla."

Carla was enjoying this immensely. She decided to activate an evil little plan she'd been brewing up.

"And Mike. What about Mike, poochie? Is he gonna get sooo horny, looking at me in this sexy little skirt and this sexy little blouse, that he's gonna take me to his place and fuck me senseless all afternoon? ... Like he usually does, in other words."

"Mike?" stuttered Simon, feeling wretched as the meaning of her words sunk in.

Carla burst out laughing.

"Yeah, Mike. My lover. He's the guy I'm fucking, Simon. You didn't think I planned to live without getting laid, did you? It's only losers like you who never get laid. Aren't you happy for me?"

Simon couldn't speak.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Carla, still laughing.

"And you should be happy for me, Simon, because I'm your wife, right? Right. I'm your hot, sexy wife and I'm getting deliciously fucked every day, made love to by a gorgeous, hunky man who really knows how to satisfy a woman. Mike's got a great cock, Simon, much bigger than yours, and he knows exactly what to do with it. The sex is fabulous. God, poochie, Mike is such a good lover. Oh and he's a partner at the firm too, same as me. He's rich and successful, pooch. Got a great job. He's everything I want in a man. Yeah, I guess that's the thing ... Mike is a MAN, Simon, not a little lapdog like you."

Simon was blubbing. He knew he ought to kick against this, that if he didn't he'd be utterly lost, but he found that he couldn't. He remained kneeling before his wife and said nothing. Carla's power over him had grown and grown and was now absolute. They both knew it.

Carla gazed down, grinning, savouring the sight of her crushed and abject husband, revelling in her total control of this wretched man.

"Anyway, look," she continued, "next week you can meet him. That'll be nice, won't it? I'm hitting the town with him on Friday, straight after work, and then I'll bring him back here and he'll be staying the weekend ... right through to Sunday, I hope. So is this okay with you, my little pooch? Just nod."

Simon nodded.

It wouldn't be 'okay' of course, he dreaded it, but what could he do?

At which point, Carla told him to fetch her shoes. Ready to go now, she mockingly blew him a kiss and sashayed off to work, reminding him to pick up her dry-clean.

** ** ** **

She got the hoped-for reaction from Mike when she told him the plan.

To say he was all for it was understatement of the century. The biggest, most shit-eating grin spread across his handsome and slightly cruel face ... he looked like a wolf contemplating his prey, thought Carla (approvingly) ... and he started to chuckle.