angela146
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2003
- Posts
- 1,347
So... I decided to write a story from a man's perspective, one that would encompass several themes that I enjoy (to erotic effect) but explore them from the other side - the masculine side.
The plot is simple:
Husband comes home, finds that his wife is dressed like June Cleaver, cooking his favorite dinner with candlelight illuminating two place settings in the dining room. Pretty lingerie is, no doubt, waiting under her skirt, blouse and apron to be revealed after dinner, heralding a night of passionate wife-surrenders-to-husband lovemaking.
Husband, naturally, is infuriated that his formerly-feminist equal partner, soul mate and beloved intellectual thorn-in-the-side has metamorphosed into a Stepford wife.
He pulls a kitchen chair from the table, sits down, pulls her over his knee and expresses his rage in a way that an obedient housewife of the middle of the last century might understand - using the wooden spoon that had, until recently, been employed in stirring the sauce.
She cries pitifully, begging him to forgive her - or at least tell her what she has done to deserve such terrible punishment. He ignores her pleas and continues to thrash her bottom with nary a word of chastisement nor explanation of her offense.
Then, full of newly inflamed - and transformed - passion, he carries her to the bedroom and violently rapes her, re-awakening the lioness inside her. She resists, struggles, wrestles him onto his back, mounts him and attempts to claim her due in eye-for-an-eye retaliation. But, alas, his superior strength allows him to turn the tables back on her and complete his conquest.
Mutually satisfied, and with her pre-feminist attire in shreds (symbolizing the tearing-away of her identity-facade), they sit down to dinner and enjoy the lasagna which, magically, has been kept warm in the oven without burning.
...
I'm 1,200 words into the story. I have a wonderful description of their pre-married life, her subterfuge at his request that she cook him lasagna, their wedding reception where she, her aunts and her grandmother reveal the ruse and their honeymoon when she finally prepares his favorite meal for the first time - having forced him to wait until after marriage to sample her expert culinary talents.
Naturally, this includes soliloquy from the grandmother about the spiritual nature of Italian cooking and the traditions of passing same from mother to daughter across the generations. Also, of course, there is the section on the unique flavors that the wife adds to her tomato sauce and how they incorporate her father's French/Spanish heritage while preserving the old-world authenticity received through her Godmother's tutelage.
I'm finally at the point where the husband has entered the kitchen with the smell of lasagna in his nostrils.
Perhaps I may have done too much "scene setting". Maybe I don't need to go into this much depth to explain why the smell of lasagna is about to trigger such an intense reaction in a loving husband.
But, then again, this is the kind of stroke-and-diddle story that I like, so maybe it's OK.
I'm just concerned that the feedback might be a bit... oh, I don't know... negative. It's possible that some readers might not have enough patience to savor the foreplay before diving into the sexual narrative.
What do you think?
The plot is simple:
Husband comes home, finds that his wife is dressed like June Cleaver, cooking his favorite dinner with candlelight illuminating two place settings in the dining room. Pretty lingerie is, no doubt, waiting under her skirt, blouse and apron to be revealed after dinner, heralding a night of passionate wife-surrenders-to-husband lovemaking.
Husband, naturally, is infuriated that his formerly-feminist equal partner, soul mate and beloved intellectual thorn-in-the-side has metamorphosed into a Stepford wife.
He pulls a kitchen chair from the table, sits down, pulls her over his knee and expresses his rage in a way that an obedient housewife of the middle of the last century might understand - using the wooden spoon that had, until recently, been employed in stirring the sauce.
She cries pitifully, begging him to forgive her - or at least tell her what she has done to deserve such terrible punishment. He ignores her pleas and continues to thrash her bottom with nary a word of chastisement nor explanation of her offense.
Then, full of newly inflamed - and transformed - passion, he carries her to the bedroom and violently rapes her, re-awakening the lioness inside her. She resists, struggles, wrestles him onto his back, mounts him and attempts to claim her due in eye-for-an-eye retaliation. But, alas, his superior strength allows him to turn the tables back on her and complete his conquest.
Mutually satisfied, and with her pre-feminist attire in shreds (symbolizing the tearing-away of her identity-facade), they sit down to dinner and enjoy the lasagna which, magically, has been kept warm in the oven without burning.
...
I'm 1,200 words into the story. I have a wonderful description of their pre-married life, her subterfuge at his request that she cook him lasagna, their wedding reception where she, her aunts and her grandmother reveal the ruse and their honeymoon when she finally prepares his favorite meal for the first time - having forced him to wait until after marriage to sample her expert culinary talents.
Naturally, this includes soliloquy from the grandmother about the spiritual nature of Italian cooking and the traditions of passing same from mother to daughter across the generations. Also, of course, there is the section on the unique flavors that the wife adds to her tomato sauce and how they incorporate her father's French/Spanish heritage while preserving the old-world authenticity received through her Godmother's tutelage.
I'm finally at the point where the husband has entered the kitchen with the smell of lasagna in his nostrils.
Perhaps I may have done too much "scene setting". Maybe I don't need to go into this much depth to explain why the smell of lasagna is about to trigger such an intense reaction in a loving husband.
But, then again, this is the kind of stroke-and-diddle story that I like, so maybe it's OK.
I'm just concerned that the feedback might be a bit... oh, I don't know... negative. It's possible that some readers might not have enough patience to savor the foreplay before diving into the sexual narrative.
What do you think?
