With my right knee on the weight bench, I did my fourth set of triceps exercises, feeling the burn in my arms. After two solid hours of working out, I was sweating profusely, but I couldn't stop now. If I stopped, I would remember the letter sitting on my kitchen table. And I didn't want to think about that right now.

As I drove up to the house, I saw the heap that I allowed Michael to have was not in the garage. I figured that he was at the grocery store, getting prepared for my return. After a long business trip, I enjoyed the gourmet meals that he cooked for me, and this had been a particularly long and stressful trip. I had been gone for almost a month, and for the last two weeks, hadn't even had time to call Michael. I caught an earlier plane than planned, and so was not surprised to find him out. But now that I was home, I looked forward to dinner, and I thought about sharing it with him, to show him that I had missed him. I might even let him get on top tonight, the first time anyway. Come to think of it, I couldn't remember the last time I had allowed that. He could look forward to a very nice night, I thought.

As I came into the house, I noticed that it was even more spotless than usual. It seemed that the "motivation" I gave him the night before I left had made an impression.

"Michael, I don't think you are paying enough attention to your housework. You didn't clean the mirrors in the bathrooms. You know how I hate that."

"I'm sorry Karen," I glared at him, "er, Mistress, but I got distracted when the FedEx man came and delivered some papers from my newest client, and-". His sentence cut off as I backhanded him, dropping him like a rock.

"I don't care about your little clients, Michael. Your first job is to attend to my wishes, and my wishes include a spotless house. I think need a little more training on what it means to serve me properly."

With that, I grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head between my thighs, face up, bending his neck back uncomfortably, planting his face in my lycra-covered pussy. "You will lick me now, Michael, as I crush your head. I'm going to put you out, but you had better be licking right up to the end." As many times as I have had Michael in this position, I could control exactly how long it would take to make him pass out. I would make it long enough. "Now lick!" I shouted at him as I tightened my grip on his head.

He groaned in pain, but he did lick, as long as he was still conscious. When I felt him go limp, I dropped him to the ground, and looked at him lying there. He looked very peaceful, and even cute, with my juices all over his face, and I felt a little sorry for him. He actually did quite a good job on the house. I was just in a pissy mood because of my upcoming business trip. I had achieved a very nice orgasm from his licking, but I really needed more to relax me. Knowing that he would be out for some time yet, I decided to take matters into my own hands - or rather, onto his face. I stripped my workout suit off, straddled his head, and sat down on his face.

He started to wake just as my second orgasm hit, and, feeling my thighs around his head, frantically stabbed his tongue up into me. His timing was impeccable - my orgasm exploded within me, covering his face again in my sticky juices. I leaned back slightly so that he could breath, and looked down into his fear-filled eyes.

"That was very good, Michael. You have done your job well. But now it's late, and I have to get up early to catch a plane tomorrow. And you have a lot of cleaning to do while I'm gone, so you'd better get some sleep yourself."

I stood up, and dragged him to his office, and threw his shaking body on the couch. As I closed and locked the door, I whispered "nighty-night, little slave." Upstairs on my king-sized bed, I settled in for a great night's sleep.

In the morning, I went down and unlocked his office door. "Coffee, Michael" was all I said as I headed back for my shower, knowing that he would have my coffee waiting for me on the bathroom counter when I got out, and breakfast waiting in the dining room. He really had been trained well.

But now I was back from the longest business trip I had ever taken. The trip had been very successful, but I was feeling tired from the 14-hour flight. I walked through the kitchen to check on the mail that had come while I was away, and that was when I noticed the big envelope on the dining table, with a small envelope on top. The small envelope said "Karen" in my husband's spidery writing; the large thick one had a printed label on it with my full name. 'What the hell is this?' I thought as I tore open the envelope from my husband.

Karen - To start with, I'm sorry that I have to tell you this in this way. But if the last few years have taught me anything, they have taught me to be terrified of you, and telling you something you won't be happy about is not safe for me. I have the scars and the hospital visits to prove it.

I'm leaving Karen. I can't take it any more - the pain, the humiliation, the loneliness of my life has just overwhelmed me. When we were first married, I was a happy man, with a beautiful, sexy wife whom I loved, and who loved me. Then one day, you started your rise as my dominator, my mistress, but still I loved you, and knew that you loved me. It was strangely exciting at first. Your magnificent body, your strength of both muscle and mind, your absolute certainty that our life was right for both of us... I believed that too, after a while. After you broke me down.

I had fallen into my role as the one who kept the house, who did the dishes and the laundry, who cooked and shopped, and tried to keep my business running at the same time. But it gradually penetrated to me that something was not right, something was missing.

You constantly denigrate my "little consulting business", as you call it, to your friends whenever possible, making sure that they know home much more money you make than I do, how much more important you are than I am, how pitiful my little efforts are. You can't make such comments to my friends, as I really don't have any more. After years of you refusing to allow me to invite them over, and having to blow off their invitations because you had something more important to do, like having me paint your toenails, or beating me bloody, the final straw came when you forced me to blow off Bob's funeral so that I could serve your business associates drinks.

"But, Karen, he was my best man! I'm a pallbearer, for God's sake!"

I looked down at Michael as he lay on the floor in front of me, a trickle of blood dripping from his nose. "I'm sorry that I forgot about your friend's funeral, Michael, but it's really important to my career that I show the senior partners a good time tonight! I would not have scheduled this dinner for tonight if I had remembered Bob's funeral."

This wasn't exactly true - I had forgotten all about the funeral, but since I wasn't going to attend anyway, that was understandable. When the opportunity to have all the senior partners over came up, I would have grabbed it no matter what. My career was on the fast track, this was a great opportunity for me. I don't know why he couldn't understand that!

Michael started to stand up, taking my silence as acquiescence to his going, but I grabbed his arm and put it in a hammerlock, pushing his fist up as far as I could get it to go without breaking it. I couldn't have him going to the hospital again, not when I needed him tonight.

"Dear, you need to go upstairs and get out of that suit. There is a lot of work for you to do down here to get ready for my party, and I don't want you to get it dirty. I think you will look just great in that suit as you serve us!" I spun him around and grabbed his throat. "Too bad about the shirt, though." The blood from his nose had dripped down onto the collar. "Good thing you have more white shirts, eh?"

After that, the few friends I had left stopped calling, stopped returning my calls. For the next few months, I felt terribly alone. You got your promotion, but that meant you were gone from the house more, which meant that my human contacts were limited to the clerks at the grocery store and the dry cleaners. And you, of course, but that generally meant getting beaten, humiliated, and embarrassed, sometimes all at once.

At least when our new life started out, the sex was great, even if I was dominated and more often than not hurt physically. It was exciting, and I had some of my most intense and satisfying experiences under the "new regime". But that kind of sex has become something of a rarity over the last year or so. I mean, you seem to enjoy yourself, but it has become increasingly obvious that I am a tool to be used for your pleasure. To give me, or even allow me, pleasure is an afterthought. Do you remember breaking my nose as you rode my face to your third orgasm? Then you set it yourself, and told me to stop crying and clean up the floor. More often than not, once your orgasm is done, mine is an afterthought at best. I can't count the number of time you dumped me on the couch in my office, wanting to rest after your satisfaction, with me left to my own devices for relief. And after a particularly rough session, I couldn't even move my arms, leaving me stuck, desperately horny and unsatisfied, unable to sleep or help myself.

Was this true? I really couldn't remember. I mean, I remembered a great sex life! I was getting all the oral sex and orgasms that I desired - I couldn't imagine that Michael was unfulfilled. But I couldn't remember anything specific about him. I began to feel uncomfortable, then angry. Wasn't he happy about pleasing me?

And don't try to tell me that you don't turn down the temperature in there so that I suffer all night! Whenever I put a blanket in there, it would disappear before you would lock me in, I don't know why I didn't get it then. My life was not important to you. Only my subservience. You laughed with your neice about how I "helped" around the house more than her father. I almost choked that day - you "help" far less than her father does. Because you don't have to do anything - you make me do it all.

You took the last shred of dignity that I thought I had when you raped me with your dildo the first time, the last scrap of my manhood when you decided to show me that you could beat me with both hands tied behind your back....

"You are such a wimp these days, Michael! I hardly hit you and you are already down and crying!"

"But you have gotten so strong, Mistress! You work out every day, and you don't let me use the equipment in the house. It's hard enough time in the day to get all the housework done to your satisfaction and still keep my business going. Getting time to go to the gym is almost impossible. The only exersize I get is working around the house. So I get weaker as you get stronger, what do you expect?"

"I expect you to be more of a man. Hell, I could beat you with both hands tied behind my back!" And I proceeded to do just that. I grabbed my right wrist in my left hand behind my back, and kicked him lightly in the chest, to prod him. "Come on, wimp, stand up and take it!" I yelled at him. He stood shakily up, and looked at me warily. With good reason, I might add.

I jumped in the air and feinted a kick at his face, which he dodged, not realizing that it was a ruse. His hands, which had naturally been covering his crotch, came up to protect his face. I sneered at him. "And you're slow, too! If I had wanted to, you would have been eating my heel, boy." I lunged at him, and caught the point of his jaw with the top of my head, sending him reeling back into the wall. And then I proceeded to show him what my jiu-jitsu teacher had been showing me about the power of the feet. I never hit him particularly hard, but every hit stung, whether on his face, his legs or his torso. After about ten minutes of this, I was beginning to get a good sweat worked out, a nice sheen going, and Michael was sobbing softly against the wall. When I felt like I had enough, I paused, and leaned back, my arms still clasped behind my back.

"So, honey, what do you think? Are my legs fast and strong enough for you?"

He blubbered as he leaned against the wall, panting and rubbing the places where I had hit him. "Yes, mistress, you are strong and I am weak. Please don't hurt me any more!"

"There, there, Michael, that's ok, you can cry. I know I hurt you." I really knew. My pussy was dripping, I was so hot with the pain I was causing. I was afraid I would come right on the spot. "I understand, you are just a wimpy little boy. I'll stop now." He looked up at me hopefully as I paused, my orgasm beginning to rush at me. "After one more!" As I said that, I let go a quick front snap kick into his balls, and he collapsed to the ground into a fetal position. As I watched him wriithe in pain, waves of pleasure washed over me.

Karen, you have become a bully. You beat and hurt me just because you can, because you got pleasure from it. I grew up with bullies, and learned not to respect them. It takes no great strength to hurt someone smaller and weaker than you. I fear you now, but I don't respect you anymore.

My "little consulting business" suffered terribly in the first years of your domination of me. It's amazing how little energy I had after a night of getting beaten by you and then left to try and sleep, shivering in the cold on the couch in my office. And what little energy I did have was eaten up by your increasing demands on my time, Having to keep this big house clean to your satisfaction, doing the shopping, laundry, gardening.... Your demands for a beautiful garden, for me to learn to cook gourmet meals, and to drop everything when you needed anything left me little time for my work. I lost nearly half my clients before your promotion. Eventually, with you gone more and more on business trips, suddenly I could be assured of a week or two at a time of decent sleep. I was able to concentrate on my work, and more importantly, get some human contact by getting more jobs. I threw myself into my business while you were out doing yours, While it is true that you make considerably more than I do, after two years of this, I am finally making enough to live on. I recovered some of my old clients that I had lost, but most of them stayed away.

This gave me pause. I did know that my husband was proud of his work, and that his clients were very happy with him. He didn't make as much money as I did, but he worked hard, and enjoyed what he did. We had a large house and yard, and a pool, which were a lot of work to keep in the manner I desired, but he still managed to be working. I would never tell him, but I was proud that he could balance all of his responsibilities.

Karen, the final straw came last month when your niece was visiting. When you forced me to have sex with a child. I cannot tell you how I feel about that - I tried, but you wouldn't let me or listen to me when it happened.

"Godammit, Michael, you will go down to my exercise room and do whatever Stacy tells you! And right now!"

"But Karen! It's not right! She's only 15 year old - I am old enough to be her father!"

"But you aren't man enough. So get down there before I beat you and drag you down there. You won't like that at all, I assure you!" When he didn't get up right away, I grabbed one arm in a hammerlock, threw my other around his neck, and dragged him down the stairs. I didn't really want to beat him before she got her chance at him, she needed to see what she was capable of. I threw him into the room where Stacy waited, smiled at her, nodded, and closed the door. I went upstairs to have a glass of ice tea, and to listen to the sounds of my husband's further education at the capable hands of my niece.

It's true that Stacy is the one who actually beat me into having sex with her. You taught her very well, and she's so strong... but I wouldn't have been in that position if you hadn't forced me into it. And do you remember what happened afterwards? She left me passed out on your weight bench, and when I came to, you were astride my face, riding yourself to orgasm. When you came, you hopped off, and smiled at me...

"That was lovely, honey. And Stacey is so happy. She has lost her virginity, and now knows that she can control her boyfriend, and those who come after. Now you better clean this room up, make it spotless! You're getting blood on my weight bench. Stacey and I are going to have a quick shower and go shopping!"

I trotted up the stairs, leaving my bleary husband to his work, and was as good as my word. Stacey and I had a lovely day shopping, and I barely noticed the bandages on his broken nose when we came home that night.

You obviously can't imagine what I went through. I was brought up to believe that children were the precious jewels of life, and should be protected at all costs. Without a doubt, Stacey doesn't need to be protected, at least not physically, but for an adult to have sex with a child is so wrong. I have been beating myself up over this for the last six weeks, I even went to confessional, which I haven't done since I was a child myself. I haven't forgiven myself, and I cannot forgive you either. And it's obvious that I can't trust you anymore. That was it, Karen. As of that moment, I knew that you didn't love me; I was just a slave, a thing to be used for whatever you wanted. My own wishes, wants, hell, my own morality are no longer of any interest to you. The only things that matter in this house anymore are you and your wishes and desires.

I love you, and I fear you, but I can't live in a marriage without respect, without trust. And I must get away from you, or else I fear that I will never regain any part of my humanity.

I rested on the bench, my arms and chest burning from my exhausting workout, my body aching from the stresses of my trip and the jetlag. As hard as I had tried, I could not stop thinking of the letter on the kitchen table.

I have a new client who has offered me a long-term contract in another country, and I am going to take him up on it. I am not going to tell you where, I don't want to take the chance. By the time you read this, I will be well on my way, far from you. I get no joy from this, but I do get a huge sense of relief. I sold my car, and have taken only my clothes, my computer, and my files, I will not ask for anything else. The large envelope contains divorce papers to that effect. I ask for nothing that I don't have with me now, and I have nothing that you need or want, with my pitiful consulting company and it's earnings. I don't make a lot, but I will be doing ok with this new contract. Please sign the papers where indicated, and use the enclosed envelope to send them to my attorney, who will file them, and then you will be rid of me, and I will be free.

Sincerely, Michael

Finally, the tears started to flow down my face, and I got up to look for a pen.