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Stories - Domestic Discipline

the perfect martini
(submitted by: Mistress Syn [website])
(written by: syn [email])

it's about those olives, man,,,,

the perfect martini

"Shaken, not stirred. Shaken. NOT STIRRED!"

You donít know how I grew to hate those words. That one tiny phrase represented the whole bit of super-suburbia I had grown to loath. For years my mother had tried to teach me the ways of the perfect housewife. Every day after school Iíd get these Susie Homemaker lessons. How to be the ideal companion to a man, his genteel behind-the-scenes, seen and not heard little woman. Lessons in how to act demure, distressed and dependent. She lectured me to no end on how to make my future husband a happy man. How to starch his shirts, and how to iron the pleat in his pants just so. She did manage to make a good cook out of me, although I wondered why I had to cook a four course meal every night of the gosh darn week. "If you keep their stomachs happy", she always said, "it keeps em quiet.. Keeps the peace." All I know is that full, happy stomach, and that full martini shaker kept my father plastered to the Lazy Boy, hand-down-his-pants, happy face smile plastered to his creaky visage. When she wasnít busy doing some stupid chore for my lazy assed father, she sat there many nights, my mother, neurotically wringing her hands, Watched his fat ass snoring away. "Keeps the peace," she continually muttered under her breath. " Keeps the peace." At least he wasnít barking orders.

Wring hands. Mutter. Look for your Valium mother.. Did I mention she won Miss Congeniality in the Miss USA pageant? I grew up hating that plastic smile and everything that it represents. Everything it represses for that matter."Not me, " I thought to myself, "I Ďm not going to be like her. Marry a man I canít stand and be a slave to his whims for life? Stand and smile, always smile? Dope myself up and nod- Ďuh-huh dearí for the rest of my life. No way!" If the world would spin only me, but no, fate and family paved the way towards my doom. My mother found me a good man, a junior partner at my fathers law firm. They both practically shoved him down my throat. He was cute, a hunk actually, all dark and handsome, with the greenest of eyes. Sweet as ripe watermelon, and just as juicy. Ah well....

Let the wedding bells ring... The first year w/ my husband every thing was grand. All my years of Susie Homemaker lessons paid off. Our home life was picture perfect, straight out of Better Homes and Gardens.. Betty Crocker would have kissed me smack on the lips, for all the great meals I was concocting... But then, he got a promotion and changed our lives for ever after. He became more aggressive, more unhappy, more loathsome I felt like I was becoming his slave, his verbal whipping post, I was certainly not his sweet lover any more. Smiling for him was beginning to be difficult. Pretty soon it was unbearable. Then it was awful. I started stealing Valiums for my mother, and thatís pretty low.!!

Then IT happened. We were throwing a sizable cocktail party at our home for some of my husbands clients. I was standing by the bar mixing cocktails, chatting with several of the other wives, when my husband asked for the perfect martini...Boasted how his little woman sure could please his palate, when it happened. I was so engrossed in the conversation with the girls that I stirred his martini. Well I couldnít really help it. My friend Betty Ann was talking about how she had trained her man to follow her orders around the house, and it was fascinating. So I was preoccupied as I handed him his drink. AND I forgot and gave him two olives, not his customary three. I dutifully walked the drink across the room to him, where he sat waiting like a king for me to serve him. All the room was watching. I handed him his drink and as he took the first sip, his eyes bulged and within milliseconds the martini came spewing out of his mouth, all over my practically see through silk gown. He stood up shaking, and yelled, "Two olives, bitch? You know I want three! Not Two!! And whatís more, you know I like my martini shaken not stirred. Shaken. NOT stirred!"

I couldnít help it but I cracked. It was that phrase from my youth. Iíd had enough. Quite enough. I walked up to my husband, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked him off his chair. I pushed his forehead to the ground so that his cute ass in the tuxedo pants was facing up to the sky. "Shaken not stirred," I seethed through clenched teeth, "I'll give you shaken, you pathetic man you!" With that I proceeded to spank his bottom, there in front of all his clients, and partners and wives. It was a sight, I tell you and every ones face had dropped to the floor. The wives eyes were gleaming, well aware that they too, could try this at home. All the men looked extremely frightened knowing this could now become their fate. This was priceless. Rebellion in Leave it to Beaver land!! I felt the power take me. I had full control, of the situation just as it should be. I wasnít the one serving now. NO more plastic smile on my face, oh no.

"Oh no, " was all my husband could moan. I wasnít finished with him yet. I gathered up a linen napkin off the buffet and shoved it in his mouth telling him "No complaints dear, just as was expected from me! Now give me that plastic smile or Iíll spank you harder and harder. Look around at all your friends. Everyone is watching me make you my perfect martini!! " So I shook him up some more. I tied his hands to one of the legs of the buffet table with two more napkins, tying them in such a way that I could flip him from back to front so I had access to all of his lower torso without hurting his fingers. I proceeded to pull down his pants exposing his bottom, and spanked him some more. Ď You will never demand anything of me again," I yelled in his ear, "you will do all the cooking, and cleaning, and stupid chores I detest. You will serve me my martinis and any thing else I demand. Iím the head of this household, honey, so get used to it!"

I had an idea. I flipped him over and had Betty Ann bring me the martini shaker, vodka, ice, strainer and olives from the bar. I poured a generous helping of vodka in the shaker added some ice, and with a giggle, grabbed his member and dipped it in the chilled, and chilly, vodka. I used his member like the ultimate stirrer, giving my martini the perfect spin. I quit the spin at the precise moment, and left his frozen organ in the shaker for a few extra moments while the vodka settled back down. I poured that vodka through the strainer to remove the ice chips, grabbed some olives and threw them in. I held up the finished creation for the whole room to see. I spoke proudly to the awe struck crowd, "Behold, the perfect martini. Stirred not shaken. Get it. Stirred. NOT shaken! No more shaken and not stirred at our house, honey. Get it? All of you are invited back anytime for five o'clock cocktails, and this is how the drinks will be served from this day forward. My darling husband will be stirring martinis to please, seven days of the week!!! " Ah, to see my dear husband quivering like a pathetic lump on the floor while all the women in the room began to laugh in glee, I knew I had it made. " Oh, and honey," I said as I walked back over to my martini man and flipped his legs in the air, " I think I know just where I can put the olives!!"

Isnít it divine? The perfect martini.

by the wonderful mistress SYN

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