Like my "Spousechat Archive" series, this is an attempt to salvage some valuable FLR writings that have vanished from Cyberspace. In fact, “Vivian’s Domain,” a website originally hosted on Geocities.com, is not, alas, even retrievable by the wonderful Wayback Machine.
Did “Vivian’s Domain” simply vanish when Geocities itself went away sometime in 2009? If any of my readers know, please post a comment. And if the pseudonymous “Vivian” herself responds, I would be delighted—and, of course, I will remove this “homage” reprinting upon her request.
In the meantime, I am offering excerpts of the text file that I had downloaded from her “Domain” years ago. “Vivian” addressed herself to wives, especially those seeking to recapture the romance in their marriage. (Her site was also called “Better Spouses Website.”)
Her prescriptions for accomplishing this transformation will sound familiar to readers of this blog, or of Lady Misato or Around Her Finger or Elise Sutton. But I think her voice is uniquely persuasive for the quality of her perceptions and the emotional honesty of her approach.
(From “Vivian’s Domain” / “Better Spouses Website”)
Studies have shown that men think about sex hundreds of times per day (many times more than the average woman). When I first heard about these studies I had a hard time believing them. I wondered how my husband could be thinking about sex these hundreds of times a day but only showing a sexual interest in me once or twice a month. Then I read another study that said the average man ejaculates anywhere from a few times a week to once a day or more. In the beginning of our marriage, I remembered, my husband was one of those geared toward the daily end of that spectrum. I wondered how his biology could have changed so drastically in the last seven years.
My husband seemed to barely notice me at times. I realized that while he was at the center of my thoughts, I was barely on the periphery of his. I became angry at this thought, then I became curious. The first thing I had to rule out was an affair. I help out at my husband's office, which is only a couple blocks from our house, so it was easy for me to verify that he was at the office on those nights he said he was working late. Then I started poking around looking for clues to an affair. What I found in his office startled me. PORNOGRAPHY!
Most of it was the usual—beautiful naked women with firm breasts and jutting butts. I hated looking at them. I had borne two of his children and although I considered myself moderately attractive I was no match for the toyish women he was obviously fantasizing about and comparing me to. It almost made me hate him. To think that there I was devoting my whole life to our marriage and our family and he, somehow, preferred these little candy girls who did nothing but look good. I'd have to work out 2 or more hours a day to even begin to compete with their looks. And why should I even have to think about competing with them? I was rearing his children, keeping his house, and cooking his meals. Meanwhile, he was wasting all his sexual energy on shiny photographs of women who did nothing but bare their asses to him on the pages of sleazy magazines.
I'd had preconceived notions about the kinds of men who bought those kinds of magazines. My husband didn't seem to fit. He was well respected in the community, intelligent, athletic, hard-working and protective of his family. He seemed to have high moral standards and was, at one time, very active in our church. He was the kind of man a woman is proud to be married to. Although I lived with him and experienced the wicked temper, laziness and neglect he sometimes displayed around the house, my image of him had never included what I imagined as I flipped through the pages of those magazines.
I was seized with despair until I got to the bottom of the pile. There I saw two magazines that were different from the others. They featured dominant women (dominatrices) and submissive men in pictures and stories. Some of the women pictured were tall, beautiful, Amazon types like Xena, the Warrior Princess, but some were not that attractive at all, some not as attractive as I am. Many of the stories and pictures depicted the men serving these women in ways I wouldn't mind being served—cooking, cleaning, giving massages—and being punished if their services did not meet the expectations of these implacable women. I could live with that!
I wasn't sure what to do about the situation. Part of me was angry and wanted to confront my husband and make him explain himself. Part of me wanted to forget that I'd found them. I was too embarrassed to confide in anyone about this. I put the magazines back and spent the next few weeks trying to figure out what to do.
Thank goodness for the Internet. I started my research there. It was anonymous and full of information. I found that my situation was not that unusual and that my husband's behavior was not that unusual either. On the Links page you will find some of the sites I found helpful. In the next paragraphs you will find how I solved this problem and made my husband a better spouse.
The things I learned surprised me. As I formulated my plan I often doubted myself. I thought it would never work on my husband. He's too macho, too strong, too independent. Then I'd remember those magazines and everything I'd learned in my research. I remembered my anger at the way he had treated me, taken me for granted, and cheated me out of his affection. I was ready.
One Saturday evening, as he was sitting on the couch waiting for me to make his dinner, I drove the kids to my sister's and dropped by his office to pick-up those magazines. During dinner I told him I had something important to discuss that required his undivided attention. I told him to meet me in the bedroom when he finished dinner. He asked what it was and I told him we'd discuss it upstairs. I used a rather stern voice and was delighted to see the nervousness on his face. He neither protested nor argued.
Once upstairs, I told him to sit on the bed. I stood. I wanted to look down at him. I looked him in the eyes and said, "I think you have a problem that is affecting our marriage and we're not leaving this room until we do something about it. He started to say something. I raised my hand to cut him off. "Do you know how often the average man ejaculates?"
It was just a split second but I saw him lower his eyes and blush. Then he pulled himself into an indignant posture and said, "What in hell are your talking about?" I raised my hand again to stop him and walked over to the other side of the bed where I had put the magazines. I dropped them on the bed next to him.
"Explain these to me." I demanded. "And don't even think about lying." He was speechless. For a moment I almost pitied him. I almost relented. Then I decided to let myself enjoy his discomfiture. I bent down and pointed my index finger directly in his face. "Well, what do you have to say?" Again nothing. I stared down at him for another long moment and said, "Okay, I'll give you an easier question. How often to you masturbate?"
He looked up at me and tried to say something. He couldn't. His mouth dropped open and his face was beet red. He was breathless. It reminded me of an evening when we were first dating. I had bought a new evening gown that, I must admit, I looked stunning in. When he had come to pick me up and saw me standing there in that evening gown he was breathless and speechless and his mouth had dropped open that same way. It was a look of awe and helplessness I hadn't seen since then. And now, nine years and two kids later, there it was again. I felt a power I hadn't felt in years. It was strangely exciting.
I decided to go a little softer on him to help him talk. I sat down on the bed next to him, took his chin in my hand and gently told him it was okay to tell me; that I needed to know in order to improve our marriage. He took a deep breath. "Maybe once a month or so," he whispered. I lifted his chin and looked directly in his eyes.
"Tell me the truth." It took a while, but he finally got his number to a couple of times a week. I still wasn't sure I could believe that, but it was a number I could accept for the time being. I told him I could no longer tolerate this from him. I told him God had ordained this marriage as the legitimate outlet for his sexual energy and his habit of masturbating was in violation of that sacred bond. Then I delivered the line I knew would inspire his total submission to me on this issue. "What would people think if they knew about this?"
"You wouldn't tell anyone." He begged.
I stood up and put my hands on my hips. "Well something needs to be done about this." I paused. "Don't you agree?" He only nodded.
This was the moment of truth, I thought. I had come this far and everything had gone pretty much as planned, even better actually. I pulled his chin up toward my face again. "You need to be disciplined, don't you?"
There was that helpless, open mouth again. It sent a shiver down my spine and into my groin. I told him to stand up and I went to my bureau to retrieve the wooden hairbrush I had recently purchased for this very purpose. I sat back down on the bed and told him to stand next to me. "Take down your pants." He hesitated. "NOW!" I demanded. He undid his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. "Underwear too." I told him.
The whole thing felt strangely inevitable, to both of us I think. He didn't protest. He didn't tell me I was being ridiculous. He simply lowered his underwear and blushed a deeper red.
"What is happening here?" I asked him. He was erect.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," he stammered.
"It won't be like that for long," I assured him. Then I patted my lap with the hairbrush. He tried to look confused. My confidence began to wane. Then I looked at him standing there looking so silly with his pants around his ankles and simply tapped my lap with more authority. He took his position over my lap without a word.
My first few smacks were tentative and didn't elicit a sound from him. I took a few harder strokes. He whined and I could feel his erection dwindling away. There was nothing pleasant in this for him now.
I let myself think about the way he had virtually ignored me over the past couple of years; ignored me while stroking himself regularly with those pictures. I let him have it! Four dozen more hard strokes. His butt was a brilliant red all over and welts were taking shape. He squirmed ineffectually and begged me to stop. It was cathartic for me. All the anger I had stored up was coming out.
Finally, he started crying. I stopped and told him he could get up now. His erection was long gone and his eyes were watery and red. Almost as soon as he stood up he knelt down and hugged my legs. He knelt there, apologizing profusely, as I ran my fingers through his hair.
With my anger abated, I loved him at that moment in a stronger way than I had in years. All the frustration, anger and doubt I had felt toward him were washed away and no longer stood between me and my love for him. I felt an urge to pull his face into my groin and make him please me with his tongue (he hadn't done that for me in years). I restrained myself. That would come later.
I told him to get up and stand facing a corner of the room and think about what he has done and what has just happened here. He did so without a sound. He tried to cool his buttocks with his hands. "No," I told him, “keep your hands at your sides.” He really did look cute standing there with his butt bright red, obeying me without protest. "Now don't you move," I said. "I'll be back shortly."
I went downstairs and made myself a cup of tea. When I returned I found him exactly as I'd left him. I sat in our wing-backed chair and took a few sips of my tea. He stood silently. I put the cup on the nightstand.
"Come here Patrick," I ordered. He walked over and stood in front of me. His hands were covering his genitals.
"Can I put my clothes back on?" he asked.
"No honey." I answered. "We need to talk about the rules first. Get your hands away from your crotch." He gulped and, of course, obeyed.
The significance of this evening did not fully dawn on me until that moment. The power dynamics in our relationship had taken a sharp and sudden turn. Like many women, I had lived in fear of losing my marriage. Consequently, I had put much more energy into the marriage than he did. There was an injustice about it I had come to resent, but accepted as my reality, something I couldn't do anything to change. During the weeks before this watershed night I began to think that maybe I could change things. I was mentally prepared to lay down the law and had my list of rules written down. The power I felt as he stood naked before me waiting for his "new rules" made me emotionally ready as well.
I cupped his scrotum and penis in my hands and told him, "This does not belong to you alone, Patrick. I don't know why you didn't understand this before, but when you made your wedding vows you promised to be faithful to me. That means your sex belongs to me and this marriage. Do you understand that now?" He nodded silently. "Tell me you understand," I commanded.
"I understand," he said through a dry throat. His penis was stiffening again so I knew I had his undivided attention.
"Okay, here are the new rules:
1. You are not to ejaculate without my knowledge and permission. Do you understand?"
"2. You are not to lie to me or in any way try to deceive me. Do you understand?"
"3. I am going to keep these little magazines of yours hidden away just in case you ever need a reminder, but you are never to look at pornography again. Do you understand?"
"4. You are going to be a better husband than you have been. You are going to pay more attention to my needs and the kids. Do you understand?"
"5. I will be the judge of your performance as a husband. It will be your highest priority to win my approval of your performance. Do you understand?"
"6. You will do your share of work around this house and you will do it without complaining or being nagged. Do you understand?"
"7. When you meet my expectations, you will be rewarded, when you do not, you will be disciplined. You will accept that discipline without rebellion. Do you understand?"
"Okay," I told him, "those are the general rules.” I couldn't help myself at that point and gave him a kiss. "We'll talk about the details later." I told him to pleasure me with his mouth. I told him his goal would be to keep me on the edge of orgasm for half an hour before making me cum.
It was the sweetest he's been to me in years. Since there was no way for him to see the clock with his face buried, he took me way beyond the half hour. When I was satisfied I let him up. I stroked his genitals softly. "That was good Patrick," I told him, "but you will not have an orgasm tonight. In fact," I said as I gently touched him, "it might be a while before I think you've earned one."
He just moaned. When I stopped touching him he kissed and hugged and cuddled with me like he hadn't in years. I told him we had some details to work out before we went to sleep. I showed him the chart I had made for him and explained its system of merit and demerit points. He made no protest. I went to sleep as he caressed and massaged my back. It was a wonderful sleep. I finally had my marriage back.
(To be continued… with more of "Vivian's" insights on “Domestic Discipline.”)