Rehabilitating Lena Ch. 01

She sighed and rolled her eyes. She thought it was subtle but enough to get the point across. He punched the pillow next to her head then locked himself in the bathroom. It was going to end up in another fight. He knew it, she knew it.

She banged her head against the pillow. "Damn." His cum was smeared over her cunt and close to leaking onto the bed. She put her pajamas back on that lay in a pile on the floor and trudged to the bathroom door. "Keith...please..." she whined like a puppy wanting to be let in.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I made you mad. It's just that..."

The door flew open. "What? You can't get off and that's my problem?"

"Well, if you last longer..."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I'm fine! It's you and your fucking fantasies. You don't share them and blame me for your unhappiness. I can't keep up with you. Guess what, sweetheart, you can spend all the time you want on your computer reading smut and getting off from your videos." He pushed his way around her to get back into the bedroom. "Or better, you can find someone else to always put you first in sex. I'm done." The duffle bag came out from under the bed. It was the dreaded sign that the argument was taken too far. She was the one who usually packed her things in a rage then came home sulking two hours later.

"No...please..."

"Don't bother begging." He rummaged through the dresser drawers and threw random pieces of clothing into the bag.

"I need you. You have no idea what I'm going through!"

He flung the closet doors open and grabbed several shirts, one of them he put on. "You're right. I don't." He snatched his jeans and shoes from the floor and finished dressing. "And I'm sorry you're bipolar is acting up. Another thing I can't take anymore..." The last possessions he packed were his laptop and power cord.

Tears of resentment streamed down her face. "This IS a part of my illness."

"If I hear one more excuse about your damn illness..."

"Fuck! I'm a sex addict!" He stopped zipping his bag and stared at her. Her voice dropped to a hushed tone. "I was diagnosed yesterday."

The disgust on his face broke her heart before his harsh words did. "Then I really can't be with you. Addicts don't care about their loved ones, just their addiction." He flinched at the word 'addiction.'

She saw the reawakening of painful memories in his eyes as he stared at her, seeing someone else. "I'm not like your mother was. I care about you. I love you." She moved close to hold his hands. "We can get through this together."

He recoiled and put the bag on his shoulder. "No, I don't want to." Before the tears could fall from his eyes, he bolted from the room. "The wedding's off."

There was no chance even if she tried to chase him. She fell to the floor and listened to his car drive away.

~~~~~

When she was depressed, she clung onto his pillow and wept. In an instant, she would be up and pacing the house. The mania lasted no more than a few hours. Then, she would collapse back in bed and watch her phone. Every hour, she would call him. Sometimes twice an hour. She left tearful voicemails or ones of indecipherable screaming. She drank and brought out the razor blades. But the blade only hovered over her wrist, never drawing blood.

Four days after he left, she woke up but didn't reach for the phone. Her forearm lay across her throbbing head. She rubbed her scalp and felt her greasy hair. It was a debate for which one first: a shower or breakfast. Her rancid hair and the dirt under her fingernails convinced her that getting clean was the most important concern at the moment.

The hot water calmed her mind and slowed it enough for her to think clearly. She scrubbed off the filth of her dysfunctional and dependent life and stepped out of the shower as a brave and capable woman.

She fixed herself a bowl of cereal, the kind with cartoon mascots on the box, and grabbed a legal pad. She made plans and back-up plans for living arrangements. She budgeted her disability income and created a list of what possessions were technically hers, even though she was willing to give up anything to avoid a fight with Keith.

When she was done she opened the blinds to all the windows, illuminating the dreariness inside. It was a beautiful and sunny summer day. She felt the need to be caressed by the sun's warming rays for at least a few minutes. The trashcans were overflowing and the mail needed to be brought in. It was a good enough excuse to get some fresh air. She carried the trash outside and collected the mail that was almost falling out of the box. As she walked back, she carefully shuffled through the ads and envelopes. Nothing needed to be opened right away. She dumped it on a stand in the entryway.

Her next task made her hesitate. She stood in front of the door, biting her lip and whimpering. Reluctantly, she poured a glass of milk and went to her nightstand where she kept her pills. The four bottles stood waiting for her after several days of being ignored. As much as she hated the reminder that she was sick, she knew their reason was to make her better. She took the morning dosage and rinsed out the glass.

She went to her desk and turned the computer on. Instead of checking her favorite dirty story and porn websites for new content, she went straight to her private blog. The last entry was two months ago, the day they were engaged. She clicked the 'new post' button and started typing. A half an hour later, she read over the apologetic love letter to Keith. She wrote about her willingness to get better, her sexual fantasies, how she improved over the past year, and why she wanted to be his wife. She titled it: 'To my sweet husband who never will be.'

For the first time that day she broke down. With her face hidden in her hands, she whispered, "Keep moving." She clicked 'publish' and started to clean the house. After a couple hours of work, she packed her bags and got ready to leave the next day. Sleep came quicker to her that night.

~~~~~

When it went to voicemail, she moaned remembering her parents were vacationing in Hawaii and wouldn't be back until the next week. Scowling, she called her sister, her back-up plan. Even though it was a love-hate relationship with her, she was desperate. Her sister was sympathetic and invited Lena to stay with her.

She ended the call and studied the gleaming diamond on her hand. It was worth rent money if she chose to sell it. But she worked it off her finger and placed it on the kitchen counter for him to find it. She juggled the phone, picked it up and set it down. "Get it done and over with." She pressed the call button next to his number. As it rang, she rehearsed the simple, emotionless message she would leave. But the third ring was interrupted.

"Lena?" There was undeniable fear in his voice. The shock left her silent. "Lena, you there?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm here." The only sound on his end was a few shuddered sighs. "I just wanna..." She sniffled as softly as she could. "I just wanna let you know that I'll be out of the house by this afternoon. Ok, umm, bye."

She heard a "Wait!" as she took the phone from her ear.

"I'm here," she said as she quickly replaced it.

"We need to talk. I'm coming home."

A smile of hope broke through her tears. "Alright."

"Lena?"

"Yeah?"

"Please tell me you didn't hurt yourself."

"I didn't."

"I was scared that..." He sighed. "We'll talk when I get home. Bye."

"Bye." She set the phone down and paced around the dining table for twenty minutes until the front door opened. She went to the living room but didn't rush to him. He shut the door and dropped his bag. He took off his sunglasses; his eyes were red and swollen. They stared at each other, his hands nervously juggled his keys, her hands repeatedly straightened her shirt and brushed her hair behind her ears.

He nodded to the couch. "Let's sit." They didn't embrace or even touch each other and sat apart as if strangers. "I'm sorry I left without talking about it."

"You had a reason to leave."

"I was angry and I'm sorry I didn't call. I just didn't want to admit that I was an asshole. And I started feeling guilty and was waiting for a call..." He swallowed and hid his face. "For someone to call to tell me that you killed yourself." The thought created fresh tears. He brushed his hand under his eyes. "You promise you didn't hurt yourself?"

She stuck out her unmarked forearms. "Promise."

"Sleeping pills?" She shook her head. "You look good. You look ok."

"I managed. But not at first."

"Have you been taking your meds?"

She cringed. "Only yesterday and this morning."

"Are you manic?"

"I don't think I am."

"Depressed? Wanting to kill yourself?"

As rough as his interrogation, she stayed strong. "Depressed, yes. Suicidal, no." She could tell in his eyes that he believed her.

He broke away from her gaze and observed the room. "It looks nice in here." Her head dropped, hiding a blush from a rare compliment. "I'm gonna get something to drink." He went to the kitchen and took a glass from the cabinet. As he set it down on the counter, he noticed the ring.

"Fuck," he whispered. He carried it in his palm to the living room. "You're ready to let me go? You've given up already?" He thrust his open hand in front of her face.

"No! Of course not! I didn't want to seem needy. You don't deserve me. I realize that. I couldn't hold you back."

"No, baby, don't say that. I can't live without you, even how cliché that is." He sat and put his arms around her. "We'll get through this, just..." He pressed the ring into her hand. "Don't give up."

Minutes later, their sweaty, naked bodies were crushed together on the floor. His slow thrusts teased her at first, but when they continually hit the right angle, she cried out each time he pushed into her. Her eyes rolled back as her legs quivered from an overdue orgasm. Her calves gripped his sides, pulling him in closer to her. He responded by pressing his chest tightly against her breasts. He laid his head next to her; his warm, shuddered breath sighed in her ear. She felt his muscles tightened up against her as he expelled an immense load into her saturated pussy. He lay next to her and petted her head which lay on his chest.

"Lena?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. I wish it could always be like this."

"It will be."

"No, you're an addict. It won't." He was more sorrowful than mean. She propped herself up on an elbow. "If we're gonna be together, you're gonna have to follow my rules." The determination in his eyes and the sternness of his words sent shivers down her spine. "If you want to be my wife, then I expect you to work hard. We'll work on your addiction and getting you healthy again."

"Umm, rules?"

"Until you're functioning again, you will listen to me." Physically, he was the same Keith that she knew just a few minutes ago. But his eyes grew darker, and his lips were no longer fixed in their normal natural smile. He raised his eyebrows when he spoke with authority. Suddenly, he became more seductive.

"But what if I break them? I can't be perfect."

"I'm not expecting perfection. Bad days happen even if you're taking your pills properly."

"I know, but you didn't answer my question."

The corner of his mouth turned up a little. "I have some ideas...based on the post you wrote."

"How did you..."

"Did you forget? I get an e-mail whenever you write in your journal. I've read each post. Though you never talked about your addiction."

"I didn't think it was a problem until recently."

"Now I know everything about your dark secrets. You poured your heart out in that entry."

Her face rapidly turned crimson. "Well, they are just stupid fantasies. You know...just curious...that I might want to try those things just once."

He laughed. "Don't even try that. And don't be embarrassed. We all have perverted fantasies." He cleared his throat; his demeanor switched quickly. "I will give you the rules tomorrow." She put her head back on his chest. She felt his heart beat as fast as hers. "I had no idea you craved pain that much. Does that explain the cutting?" She inhaled sharply and didn't answer. "From now on you will not hurt yourself. If you want pleasure from pain, it will be my job to give it to you."

Her moist pussy was crying to be fucked again. "I need to use the bathroom." She got up to take care of her problem. The noise from the smack scared her more than the swat itself. She jumped and faced him.

"Make it quick," he said with a wink. She gulped and smiled nervously. As soon as she was out of sight, her fingers started attacking her clit. She faced the bathroom mirror and watched herself working her soppy cunt. She turned to observe the red handprint on her ass. Her fingers stroked herself harder and faster as she stared at the mark.

He heard her gasp then moan from the bathroom. He chuckled then brought his attention back to his plan for the next day.

~~~~~

"Wake up," Keith called to her. In her drowsiness, she couldn't tell if she was still dreaming. "Up, Lena." Her eyes were still shut, but she was slowly waking up. "Lena, wake up now!" She jolted and opened her eyes.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"It's time to get up."

Her eyes adjusted to the dimness. He was standing, arms crossed, next to the bed. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and turned it on. 6:04 AM. "It's six."

"I know." He whipped the blanket off of her.

"What the hell are you doing?" She reached for the sheets.

He pointed a finger at her. "You will not speak to me that way. Get up. You're not sleeping in until eleven anymore."

"Ok! Geez..." She stumbled to the bathroom and tried to keep her eyes open. She pissed, then stumbled back out, yawning and groaning.

He handed her a glass of water. "Start drinking." Too tired to object, she started sipping. "Get dressed. We're going for a walk."

The simple task of putting her clothes on was too painful to do quickly. Her joints felt the aching. Her head felt dizzy. And balancing was a problem. But as she stepped out of the house, the frigid air hit her wide awake. Forty minutes later, they were back from what she felt to be a strenuous walk. Her lungs stung from breathing in the morning chill and her legs started to get sore. She sat at the dining table, head bowed and two hands gripping her glass of water. While she struggled to breathe normally, he made himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table.

"Why didn't you get me any?"

"Because you're no longer guzzling caffeine every morning. No more coffee."

She stared longingly at the cup. "Why not?"

"Rule number one: Don't question me."

The last thing she wanted to do was listen to anyone when the weariness put her in a bad mood. "I don't want to do this."

"You don't have a choice. Go take a shower, dry your hair, brush your teeth, put on makeup, and wear something decent including a bra." She stayed rooted and mocked him with an exaggerated eye roll. "Lena, do as I say." His eyes turned dark. "I'm warning you," he spoke with a deep, unnerving growl. The fear got her moving in an instant. After each task, she took a small break and let her mind wander to her fantasies. That voice he used, that new and demanding tone was making her curious. And turned on. She flicked at her clit a little, wishing that she could ignore his demands and indulge herself.

When she was decent, she went to kitchen. He was in front of his laptop at the dining table. In one hand was his third cup of coffee, the other was clicking and scrolling the mouse. His eyes were concentrated on the screen.

She stood closer to get his attention. He looked up at his beautiful fiancée. Her long blonde hair was blow-dried and soft with a bit of a natural wave. Her button-up shirt was plaid and purple with a few ruffles. The top three buttons were left undone. The denim skirt she wore was tight and seductive, but not overly suggestive. Her makeup was simple. She never needed much. Just a touch of color to her pale face and a coat of mascara made her a goddess.

He hid his smile and nodded in approval. "Good. Now get started on breakfast. We'll both have eggs and toast."

"Not cereal?"

"Not the kind you eat."

"Umm, what kind of eggs? You know I don't know how to cook them any way. But toast I can do."

He handed her a paper with numbered instructions.

"Scrambled."

She skimmed the detailed recipe meant for beginners. But the intimidation was still there. "I can't do this. I'm too stupid to..."

"Rule number two: don't put yourself down." His eyes narrowed again. She gulped and nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, she had divided the scrambled eggs to two plates. She shook as she set one in front of him.

"Thank you," he said, still absorbed with his laptop. He took a bite. When he swallowed without wincing, she sighed. "Overdone but edible. Toast?"

"Oh, I forgot." She toasted and buttered the bread quickly while holding onto her growling stomach. She served them with two pieces each.

It was a quiet meal. He was still on his laptop, and she stared at the back of it while she ate her eggs slowly. She was waiting to crunch into a shell. Or worse, waiting to throw up in case she gave them food poisoning. She picked the dishes up and tossed them in the sink.

He caught her before she could leave the kitchen. "Wash the dishes."

"You know you're really starting to annoy me." They stared each other down. He got up and in a flash, moved his chair away from the table. He raced to her and tried to grab her. Her hands went up in surrender. "But I'll clean up anyway." The warning was clear. He raised an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. With a single nod, he went back to the chair and put it back at the table.

While she scrubbed the food off the dishes, she tried to guess what his intentions were. Like why he pulled the chair far from the table and tried to grab her. It was a similar instance to one of her favorite naughty videos. A pissed off boyfriend is sitting at a table, takes the armless chair a few feet away, grabs his defiant girlfriend, and throws her over his lap. Lena gulped and trembled as she put away the last dried dish. The images of the video were stuck in her head. She repeatedly saw his hand land across the ass of his wailing girlfriend. His arm stopped high in the air each time before he struck her. It looked painful, sounded painful, but she wanted it.

She realized she was lost in her thoughts and staring at the kitchen sink, but he didn't notice her daydreaming. "Alright, I'm done."

"Make the bed and get your purse."

"Why?" It wasn't meant to be an impertinent question; she was curious. But when he gave her a sharp look, she relented. He waited in the living room as she scrambled to make the bed and search for her purse. Then, he led her to the car, and they started driving toward downtown. "Where are we going?"

"To buy some things..." he said with a devilish smile. "For your training."

"My training? What are you talking about?" But she knew and tried to bluff him with innocent eyes.

He shook his head. "I told you I've read what you wanted. And it's gonna happen, now. I think it's the only way you'll listen to me."

"Wha...what's gonna happen?"

"We might as well make it fun for us both. I kept dreaming about it last night. You, tied up, red-bottom and sulking. The collar around your neck...I just wanna cum all over your face."

They both left reality for a second to savor the fantasy. "So, I'm gonna be your slave?" She tried but couldn't keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.

"When you have your collar on, yes."

She stared at him as her pussy began to throb. Her converted fiancé was taking to the dominant position well. "Will I have to call you Master?"

"We'll talk about that later. We need to focus on getting the right equipment."