by Cyan
Copyright 2002 by Cyan
All Rights Reserved; No Redistribution.
"Yes," said Tara. "You are definitely coming along." She smiled an encouraging smile and I felt slightly strange about the manner in which I felt upon receiving her good words. I judged her about five years younger than me and reasonably felt it should be she looking up to me instead of the other way around.
But I couldn't help myself. It was an organization that Barbara and I had joined, a kind of sensitivity self-help group specifically to work on relationships. We divided along gender lines into two rooms and talked about the "male-female dynamic" and what men and women want and need from each other. Our men's group was facilitated by Tara which actually worked out kind of well: she was a good sport no matter what subject we dove into and she could give us the female perspective on any question that came up. I remember noticing her smile on occasions when some man made a statement about how women felt: I came to think of her as a valuable BS detector.
She also seemed to know us well, I'll admit: she seemed to be able to describe my feelings down to a tee, and I could see the others often had the same reaction. "You often wonder what they are thinking," she said: "they can be sort of mysterious and even awe-inspiring. You feel the need to protect them, but you also feel the strength of their love for you which is something that fills a deep-seated need in you." I marvelled at the way she put it into words and consequently my respect for her grew.
"I saw you thinking," she told me afterward and I realized she must have been referring to my reaction to her words.
"I just thought... you stated it well," I said. I remembered simply looking at Barbara as we drove home that evening, Tara's words ringing in my head. Barbara was quiet as she often was on the way back: I gave her a little space as I often did after these gatherings and wondered what thoughts had come up in her half of the meetings. She never talked about them: I guess neither of us did, but that didn't mean things weren't changing. I did feel a closeness and growing respect for Barbara, not that I hadn't respected her before, but I was certain my appreciation was improved. I noticed she'd grown a little more quiet and thoughtful, but I also thought I might have simply grown more sensitive to her moods.
"Noticing more about your wife?" asked Tara during the break at our next get-together.
"I suppose so," I said.
"Now what's wrong?" she said, just as if she'd read my thoughts. I tried to explain: it seemed that ironically Barbara was talking to me less rather than more. "Well, she's due thoughts of her own, you know. Such things happen often during the process. Do you ever simply wonder what she's thinking?"
"Sometimes," I admitted.
"Well, that's her privilege," Tara said. It was then that Tara paid me the compliment of coming along and I'd marvelled at this young woman whose approval I found so satisfying. "You know, I think you're pretty serious about improving your relationship," she added.
"Well naturally," I said.
"No, I mean beyond all this," she said, indicating our group. "We have another group for men who feel such a greater commitment."
And I found myself talking to Barbara about switching to Thursday meetings. Barbara was amenable even though it naturally would be a different group of women and I found myself being introduced by Tara to another group of men. This meeting was facilitated by another woman introduced to me as Kali and Tara left after a minute. Kali operated the meeting a bit differently, basically talking to each of us in turn, taking opportunities to make points to all of us. She questioned each of us about how we treated our wives and the men reported the things they'd done to show their wives they were respected and to make their wives lives easier. Kali also questioned them on their feelings while they did these things, mentioning it when one of us reported a good feeling from treating our wife well.
It was changing our life: I'd come to notice the regular work that Barbara always did to make our home life pleasant and managed to pick up some of it by beating her to it. Her confidence seemed to be improving and I did grow to enjoy the mere fact that I'd taken action to make her life easier.
Kali heard about it all. Her interrogations were careful and complete. "What else did you do to make her life easier?" she'd ask until we had no more answers. I knew I was growing more sensitive because I felt so guilty when I had no more to tell her. I suppose Barbara had come to see the imbalance in our lives too because she had grown all the more quiet. When I saw her face I wanted to do anything to make her life easier and I found myself wanting to talk to Tara about it. Kali wasn't so approachable as Tara had been, but eventually I felt I should do my best to catch her after the meeting and just talk: it was so hard to say everything I felt in front of the group.
"You're seeing the challenge of learning to treat her right," stated Kali after I'd stumbled over trying to explain things to her.
"Yes," I said.
She seemed to consider me. Then she said: "That's good: it's a step in the right direction." She said nothing for a moment and I found myself wondering if she expected a response though I'd thought she was going to continue. She finally spoke again: "If you really mean it, we have another group truly dedicated to... improving things. I think that's what you want."
Another group? I was a little taken aback that I didn't know better how this organization worked. Once again Barbara and I switched week nights and I found myself in a group of three men with a woman named Vesa. "You three are new to this group and I'm here to orient you," she said. "We work a bit more in this group, on how to treat your wife as well as women in general. A lot is deportment and a lot is attitude. And a lot is simply little things that you can do, little habits you can learn."
Vesa ran a tight little ship and I learned a lot about how to show some respect, but much of it seemed like simple etiquette and I wondered how much it was really worth. We didn't discuss that issue other than that Vesa told us we wouldn't understand everything this meant. She drilled us at opening doors. And more so: she drilled us until she could walk in the room and without saying anything, silently choose where to sit to have her chair smoothly placed in exactly the right spot. She taught us how to look at a woman: "Not at the breasts! And don't stare her down either: a glance to acknowledge her is adequate."
Then there were exercises which she explained were to help us practice suppressing the instinctive assumptions we make about women: that in any male-female situation that we would take the lead. I could see how they aimed toward the objective, but they were a bit weird: things like sitting, standing, and walking on Vesa's command, or one of us standing still while she slowly circled us, looking us over. She explained how this gave us a taste of the other side, not in the literal sense, but giving us the feelings women felt. She also said it was good self-discipline, something we'd need in a correct relationship.
I practiced my deportment at home with Barbara and sometimes I felt she noticed. I could see our relationship was in transition: she was even quieter than before and often expressed her desires in just a couple of words or so. We hadn't had sex in quite a while which was a bit frustrating which was something I found I wanted to ask Vesa about.
"Do you love her?" asked Vesa when I finally got her alone and expressed my doubts.
"Yes, of course." She looked at me as if I'd been wrong to assume she should have known. "Yes, I do," I added, trying to sound sincere.
"She's... assuming a degree of independence: becoming wholly human so to speak. It's natural that you should worry, but it's only right. If you really desire to do something about it, you can..."
She trailed off and after waiting for her to continue I said "Yes?"
"It'll take tremendous commitment on your part."
So I was introduced to Mara on yet another night of the week. "You're truly committed to this?" Mara asked.
"Yes," I answered. Her question had seemed almost a demand.
"Our exercises are a lot more stringent, and seem perhaps more arbitrary than what you've been doing. Understand that?"
"Yes."
"OK: stand perfectly still." Well, she seemed to want to test me and I did my best. She circled me and looked at me closely, sometimes pulling at my clothes as if to position them correctly. She actually touched my face as she looked closely at it. "You are to understand that this... was nothing compared with what will be expected of you. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Put your hands on top of your head." I did it. It was weird, kind of like being a prisoner of war or something. She came around and stood in front of me looking up at me. In my attitude, I found myself standing as if at attention. She reached up and took hold of my chin, then suddenly patted my cheek, nearly slapping it. I guess it was a slap though not hard enough to hurt. I was flabbergasted, but didn't move: somehow it didn't seem right. "Good," she said, "You have some discipline.". Then she added: "There will be more: much more."
* * *
I stood stock still, one of a row of five. Mara had been right: there had been a lot more. The nudity had been something to get used to, and something I'd worried about, what with Barbara. Barbara didn't talk to me anymore at home and even though Mara sometimes explained to us that this was natural, I still felt misgivings. What would she think of her husband in these exercises?
Then there was the paddlings: just sort of a light test at first, then gradual increases to improve, as Mara explained, or discipline: anyone who could take a hard swat or slash of the crop she later adopted was demonstrating a significant improvement in humility and discipline. And Mara brought in other women whom we were to treat equally well: she said we needed to learn to transfer the respect we were learning for herself to other women. I only recognized one: Tara'd come in one night. I saw no indication that she recognized me.
Then one meeting Mara said we were going to be visited by someone important and had better perform well. Our hands were bound behind us, something else that Mara had trained us to. It was hard to see the woman in the position we were required to maintain, but I could tell that Mara was following her as if the woman had Mara's future in her hands. The woman looked at all of us, stopping in front of me to look me up and down. She held out her hand and Mara placed a whip in it. She walked around me and suddenly my rear was searing with pain. I held my position as Mara had taught me and the woman returned to view. Then she came closer and I felt the whip touch my cock as if she used it to lift it. "Good," she said. "They're ready." Then she walked out.
Mara marched us in the manner that we'd been drilled, out a door into a larger room and we found ourselves standing at attention. "OK," said Mara, "This is show time: discipline and humility."
We stood there. Finally a door opened and women came in: a bunch of them. I saw Barbara and wondered what she would think of me like this. There must have been twenty or more women, and they came up and looked us over just like Mara often did. Barbara and another woman came directly over to me and Barbara stood right in front of me. Suddenly she slapped my cheek, hard.
It hurt like hell, but I kept my discipline. But I couldn't understand why she did it. Still standing in front of me she smiled at me, but I was afraid of the way her smile looked. "Whip him!" she said, sounding almost gleeful. Hands grabbed my arms. "Then take him with a strap-on!" She continued: "Then the men!" I didn't understand. She turned and left with the woman she walked over with. They were holding hands.
* * *
I was back in the line where I'd been. I couldn't believe what had just happened: I was used to whippings though this one was longer and harder. Then the strap-on: something I'd never expected. But after that, it had been a cock in my mouth and another one in my ass: I'd been given no choice in the matter. Then I was unceremoniously thrust back to the line to find more women looking me over. "You're coming with me" said a voice in front of me.
She was short: much shorter than Barbara. And blonde. She ordered my clothes brought and led me out to her car. "Bitch!" she said: "You didn't deserve that."
I followed the woman into her apartment. "You let Suzy take care of you," she said. "I know what you need." She wanted to know if I was sore. She told me to undress and lay face down on her bed, and then she produced salve that she put on my rear. "You don't deserve the nasty things that witch did to you," she said. She kept talking like that all evening and I ended up sleeping naked on my stomach. She slept next to me, her arm over my back.
"Wake up," I heard in the morning. "I'll have toast, juice and coffee," she said. I found myself propelled into the kitchen, not even wearing anything, then she was gone. I looked around the kitchen, then figured I might as well. When she came back, I had two places set. When she returned she looked at them strangely for a moment, then suddenly sat down cheerfully. "Don't worry, I'll teach you," she said. "I know potential when I see it, unlike that 'piece of work'."
* * *
I cooked for her. I kept her apartment clean. I did all the things I'd never done with Barbara: well, I'd started doing a few of the chores, but never so much. Suzy was always encouraging: "You can do it: you're coming along fine. Come let me give you a hug."
I often found myself sitting on the couch, Suzy on the arm next to me. She'd pull my head to her chest and hug me against herself and it felt so good the way she treated me. I felt so right, like I was doing so well. I felt like I was succeeding this time where I'd failed before.
And she'd taught me to lick her: how she liked it. And we'd done it too: she'd tie me spread-eagle to the bed and lower herself on me. I loved the look of her body as she felt my cock enter her. She always had me keep absolutely still while she took her sweet time. It was exquisite torture.
She'd retrieved my things from Barbara's and my apartment. I didn't see Barbara again until weeks later: she showed up at Suzy's door.
She looked different: I realized she'd lost weight and cut her hair shorter. She didn't say anything to me, but her look: it was one I hadn't seen in months. I'm sorry it said. I saw Suzy watching her. "Too late," said Suzy, coming to stand place next to me. "You blew it and he's mine. You know the rules." Barbara left again when Suzy gave her an emphatic goodbye, but then Suzy indicated I should be quiet. We heard nothing outside the apartment. Suzy went over and quietly opened the front door. Barbara was leaning against the corridor wall.
Suzy grabbed her wrist and pulled her in. "Katie dropped you, didn't she?" she said. Barbara said nothing. Suzy walked up to her and looked up at her. Barbara seemed gawky by comparison. "Perhaps I'll let you stay," she said. "Understand?"
Barbara looked down at the floor and nodded her head yes.
Suzy moved away from Barbara and then even though she looked at Barbara, I realized she spoke to me: "I'll make it your choice," she said. "If she stays, you both follow my orders: that's a given. But you must decide if she can stay. And if you let her, you have a choice: you can both simply obey me; or you can obey her too. Or she can obey us both."
Barbara didn't say a thing. "Right, Barbara?" said Suzy. I'd never heard her so businesslike before. Barbara nodded again, her eyes still on the floor. "OK," said Suzy, "decide."
Cyan Stories
Erotic fiction, sex stories, for erotica lovers.