At one time, I was a normal man with a normal life. I was highly successful with a beautiful wife who had been at my side since we were in our early twenties. We moved in the higher circles of society. My wife and I had a good relationship and together we amassed a huge fortune. With that said, my wife and I were always frugal with our money, buying very few truly luxury items.
All was right in my life until I reached my mid-forties. At that time, my wife had established herself in several charities that kept her busy. I was very good at my job. So good, in fact, that I was bored to death with it. Somehow, we both got so caught up in making money and being successful, that we stopped caring about our marriage. Also, I woke up on the morning of my 45th birthday and realized that I didn’t want to be middle aged with my life half over. There were things I still wanted to do.
It had been so long since my wife and I had had a meaningful conversation that I didn’t think asking her for a divorce would even faze her. We live separate lives, so what if we just made it official. I wasn’t far off predicting my wife’s reaction. She didn’t cry or scream. She just suggested we get different lawyers. And we did. The divorce was quiet and contained. While I was waiting for it to be final, so I could go on a sabbatical to the South of France, I went down to Florida to soak up the sun on my yacht and drink straight Scotch.
It was on one such trip to the liquor store that I met my second wife. She was a twenty-one year-old cashier at the time. A community college dropout, she was toying with a career move to stripping. She was definitely pretty enough. She was a cute little blond with a quick laugh. I told her she was much too pretty to be a cashier in a liquor store. She smiled and asked me if I was going to be her Prince Charming, come to sweep her off her feet and take her away from her drudgery. I laughed and shook my head and told her that I didn’t know about sweeping her off her feet, but I could take her to dinner. She agreed to go with me and the rest is history.
What can I say? She made me feel young again. She laughed at my stupid jokes (unless they referenced things she was too young to have experienced) and she was fantastic in bed. In addition, she acted like she really wanted me and enjoyed my company. She made me feel cool in a way my first wife never did. We dated for six or seven months and then moved in together for about a year.
Yes, there were problems that came from the age difference, such as her wanting to blast rap music all over the house all day long. Or her insisting on dressing like her favorite trashy pop singer when we went out to dinner. I passed them off as minor and thought she would mature. There were other warning signs that I ignored, hoping that she would wake up one day a proper and frugal lady when we went out together, but remain the dominant hellcat she was in bed.
As it turned out, it didn’t happen that way. We married last year. The wedding was an elegant affair and I could tell my new wife was on her best behavior. I had thought that I was being more than accommodating when I allowed her to plan a bachelorette party for her and all her friends. That was, until I received the bill a month after we got back from our honeymoon in Paris.
I was very angry when I saw that she had spent over $80,000 on this party and I confronted her about it. She was angry, too, at first and said that she didn’t know why I was so upset. “It’s not like we don’t have the money, baby,” she said, putting her arms around me and kissing me. I told her that that was not the point. That’s when she began caressing my cock and I forgot the point that I was trying to make.
And so that’s how I found myself in this messy marriage to a spoiled princess who doesn’t know how to do anything but spend my money. I will never again let my cock overrule my better judgment. Until she asks me for something else.