I remember exactly when I made the decision to do something about my husband. I mean, after all it's not exactly a moment that you're likely to forget is it....

Terrence, that's my husband, was always something of a bully. At first I thought it manly, him taking charge, that sort of thing. But it gradually became more than that. And his affairs! I was constantly worrying that one would become serious and I'd be discarded, like yesterday's newspaper. Although approaching middle age, I always keep my figure trim, toned and looking good in a swimsuit. But the reality is, you can't entirely beat the effects of gravity on your body can you. The children had flown, Terrance was always busy in his executive job, away at conferences. And yes, I realised what that so often meant!

Then Joy moved in next door. Late thirties, or maybe a well preserved early forties. A real head turner in the male world - and female if it came to that. She lived alone, apart from a string of girl friends. I guess it was inevitable that we would eventually become friends. I envied her lifestyle as a fashion consultant. I'd listen with undisguised awe at her accounts of trips to Bloomingdales, in New York. Or the fashion houses of Paris. Even more local haunts like London sounded exotic the way she described them.

"You must get out more!" She exclaimed one day. And stroked my cheek. I felt a fleeting tingle of anticipation before conformity prevailed and I pulled away, standing quickly, blushing.

"I don't do so badly." I stammered, adding pathetically. "We're off to Corfu soon."

Joy pouted pityingly. Her hazel eyes narrowed and she flicked her matching coloured draping hair over her shoulder. I allowed my gaze to wander to her breasts, her crisp white blouse had the top three buttons open which displayed bold cleavage. I lowered my eyes, but that only took them to her shapely legs. With her pencil skirt rucked up they were long and slim, encased in sheer stockings. A stocking top was just visible and I had a sudden mental image of her white thighs above. Her pout transformed into a teasing smirk as I twisted away, clearly embarrassed by my voyeurism.

She stood, and placed her hands on my shoulders, pulling me to face her. I took a sharp intake of breath as her soft palms cupped my cheeks then, she tenderly leaned forward and gave me a light affectionate kiss on the lips. I bathed in her heady fragrance. I had an aching urge to wrap my arms around her and it shocked me into frozen immobility.

That was the first time she showed any personal intimacy. I was flattered. Well, actually, it also kindled a craving in me that I'd long thought dormant. I'm not gay, or even bi. Actually, the truth is, I'd never considered myself as such. But do you know what it's like to have someone who actually desires you? Their whole presence exuding pure longing? After Terrance's indifferences, it was a pretty potent aphrodisiac.

We didn't immediately embark on a lust laden affair. It was much more measured than that. None of your steamy bodice ripping action, tongues down throats, hands groping intimate places. No, it matured like a fine wine. A kiss here, a caress of the hand there. A hug that lasted just a little longer than would be normal. And my heart trip, tripped each time, just wanting us to progress that wee bit more. I found that her scent would make my stomach tighten. I'd be aware of my stare following the sway of her hips as she walked. We'd sit sipping chilled chardonnay, her hand resting on mine, listening to the beautiful crystal strains of Celtic Woman, whilst rain cried down the large bay window.

When Terrance appeared, his chauvinism, brusque demeanour and lip curling sarcasm came as icy water on a hot day. The last time it happened, I shivered. It was the same week that I steeled myself to flip through his hidden stash of pornography. I wondered how anyone could possibly find the lurid coarse gynaecological displays in any way erotic? Women sucking on a hairy tattooed man's penis? Leering plastic grins of the models. I shoved them back in distaste.

The following day I made a disparaging remark about his choice of wank mags, as I'd once heard them described. He seized my arm, swore, slapped me across the face and called me a dried up old hag. I smelt drink on his breath. When later, he apologised, it sounded as though he'd merely forgotten to sugar my coffee.

Joy was incensed. Her lips were a red slash and her stare pure flint. "Oh God, you poor dear." She cried.

Surprised, I saw her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Do you love him?" She asked flatly.

"I, I'm not sure." I thought carefully, until honesty intervened. "No." I spat. "I stopped loving him years ago. We... coexist. It's very... convenient." I whispered. "It's a marriage of convenience."

Joy nodded thoughtfully. We didn't speak for a while, just sipped our drinks. Joy refilled her glass. "You could leave him." She said, her head tilted to one side, an eyebrow rose.

"No." I replied, "it's not worth the trouble." I shuddered at the thought of pouring money into lawyers pockets. Fighting for alimony. Explaining to the children. The list was endless.

"Then take control." She growled.

I looked up. "I don't understand?"

"Men are animals. Treat them as you would a disobedient dog. He's out of control so, what would you do with that dog?"

I snorted. "Well, first I'd have it doctored." We both tittered. "But, seriously, I suppose I'd have to think of training it properly." I took a sip of my wine, the dry fruity tang was fresh on my throat.

"Actually my dear, you were right in the first instance." Joy, looked up at the ceiling and her tongue moistened her crimson lips.

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

"Emasculate him as a dominant, take the reins."

"What?"

"You don't want sex with him under his rules do you?"

"No." I said, swallowing. "But I do occasionally enjoy it..." I started, but Joy waved me down.

"Of course, but wouldn't it be better under your terms?"

"Absolutely".

"Would you like him totally your...." She frowned for the right phrase. "... Submissive". She finished.

I nodded. "By the hell, it would make up for all the years he's dominated me. The bastard".

"Then he's got to fear you more than you fear him. It takes time, and patience but if done properly you can gradually bring him under your control." She frowned. "Does he still enjoy sex with you?"

"I know his hot buttons. He adores me in stockings, basque that sort of thing. It drives him wild at times."

"God, you fool." She threw back her head and bellowed. "You've already got him by the balls and didn't realise it!"

I sat in silence, digesting Joy's suggestion. She came and sat beside me. I stared at her, owl like. She grinned, leaned forward, and kissed me, our teeth briefly colliding. My heart thumped, I was a breathless teenager. Her tongue flitted into my mouth and months of unrequited desire exploded in my mind. My hand slipped into her bra and I felt the hardness of her nipple. She groaned and, separating, she eased up my skirt. She gripped the top of my panties and purposefully yanked them down, slipping them over my feet, freeing me. We slid off the sofa onto the thick pile carpet. I closed my eyes, gasping in suppressed excitement. I felt her tongue on my stomach, and I whimpered like a puppy. She made little biting marks as she eased her way down. I opened my legs, wide, wider. As though the width indicated the extent of my surrender.

At last, her tongue entered me and I almost screamed as she massaged my clitoris. She was supreme, her skill sublime. My fingers dug into the carpet with the vigour of hanging on a vertical rock face. An orgasm. I shrieked. Then started sobbing, then laughing, with unrestrained euphoria.

"Hush, dearest Eleanor." She whispered into my ear. I clung to her. I pulled her towards me as I would have my child. I smelt her hair, kissed her neck. I wanted to be her. I envied men their sex, able to penetrate and cursing them as to how they so often degrade the privilege of doing so. If I could have fucked Joy, I would have done so. I rolled the word in it's verbal usage around my mind. I murmured into her ear, "I love you Joy, I love you so much."

And so, it was as we talked over a coffee, calmer in our post coital sensibility that I made that decision. Not on the spur of the moment, but in an instance of rational clarity.

"How do I go about it?" I asked. "Making him totally submissive to me". I was still in doubt that she actually meant it.

Joy smiled indulgently. "Leave it to me." She patted my hand, as would a reassuring mother. "But it's only the first step to training him." She paused until certain she had my whole attention. "It's the - how - that is important. We don't want him to feel he is the victim, though that of course is the case."

I nodded slowly, surprised at my own determination to see it through.

"We'll lure him into an improper situation, apparently illegal and grossly embarrassing. I've friends. They'll sort out the detail. There's a twenty five year old who could pass for fourteen. If he's as susceptible as you say, then he'll take the bait. We'll get explicit compromising photos, or video". She frowned thoughtfully.

"And?" I prompted.

"He'll be duly caught at it, by who he thinks is the mother and her friends. They'll be appropriately outraged at him having sex with an underage girl. Then give him the option of being handed over to police, or face their version of justice. If he plumbs for the authorities then they'll find ways to persuade him otherwise. And he won't notice they are surprisingly well prepared".

With that evidence and photos, videos you'll have total leverage over him."

"When do we start?"

"Soon. It'll take about a week to organise."

"Good." I with finality.

"He'll come creeping back to you, knowing you are part of his rehabilitation, so to speak". A rare chill had entered her voice, giving me a glimpse of Joy that I'd not seen before. I rather admired it.

She continued. "But as I said before, it's only a start. We'll then need to train him. It will take time but I can help you. You'll tell him that you've been duly notified by the mother and have a copy of all the documentation. But then tell him you must now punish him for the disgrace he's brought on to you".

"He'll never stand for it." I cried, imagining Terrance's rage.

Joy's laughter tinkled. "Oh my dear, you've no idea. Oh yes, he'll be angry at first, but I'll be with you. We'll insist that first he strips naked or, we'll say a copy of the video goes to the Police. I'll then discipline him for you, you can watch. I'll use the switch I think." She frowned thoughtfully. "Break him in slowly. Not too hard, just painful enough for him to regret his action. Then the second time, harder. So he knows it's progressive."

My mouth dropped open. "You, You've done this before?"

"Of course. Men! You'd be surprised how many women have rebelled. We have it to a fine art. Then we'll give him small tasks. If he does them well, you'll reward him." Her expression was mischievous, " I'm sure you can think how to do that?" I nodded, understanding perfectly. She went on, "age old carrot and the stick, and don't spare the stick, understand?"

I nodded, taking deep breaths at the first stirrings of excitement.

"And if he doesn't do as he's told - as we'll make sure he won't occasionally - then it's discipline time." She smiled to herself. "After a while, it will become the norm and he'll slip into domestic slavery almost without noticing."

She lifted my chin. "The compromising photos of him will give us tremendous leverage. Oh yes, he'll dance to our tune all right." She smiled in self satisfaction. It was infectious. And I noticed the reference to 'our' tune.

"I don't know how to thank you." I shook my head.

Joy took my hand, and squeezed it. "He's not the only one..." She added meaningfully.

I raised my eyebrows.

"You." She said.

"Me?"

"I think I'll also have to see to your training..." She grinned. "Personally".

I blinked. "Train me, how?"

"How?" She raised my hand to her mouth, and sensually slid a finger between her lips. She sucked, then removed it, adding... "By the Joy of loving.... How else?

© Jocelyn Z. July 2011