Different people look for different things when buying a house. Some people want good transport, but those good schools in the area but for me privacy is the most important thing.
So when my wife and I saw this place with hedges around the property twice the size of me and trees and shrubs bucking the view of all windows from the road, we knew this was the place.
Not long after we moved in disaster struck; I lost my job. With the credit crunch I suppose it was inevitable, my department was reorganized and there was no place for me or three others. We aren’t in too much trouble though. My wife is a freelance journalist and earns plenty enough to pay the mortgage and the bills.
What I didn’t realise was the effect the loss of my job would have on my wife and her attitude towards me. About three days after my last day at work, while sitting at the dinner table my wife began speaking.
“Darling,” she began. “I think while you’re unemployed, some changes need to be made.”
“Oh yes?” I replied. “How so?”
“Well, for a start, you can do all the housework. All the cooking, cleaning, ironing, washing up, dusting, polishing, vacuuming. Everything.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do.”
“And what if I don’t?”
She smiled at me. “You will.”
“I don’t think so,” I said getting up. “I’m going to the pub.”
Which is what I did. I went and sat at the bar in my local and drank until I was ready to go home. I was angry and stayed until I’d calmed down.
When I got back in, it was late so I came in as quietly as I could manage, smiling to myself as I passed through the dining room to find the meal things cleaned away and everything looking tidy. I’d showed her!
Heading into the living room, I was surprised to find my wife, still up, sitting on the sofa, glass of wine in one hand, with her other, playing with a necklace. It looked just like her regular chain with a key on it.
“Still think I should do all the housework?” I asked, filled with alcohol bravado.
“Shhhh,” was all she said as she put her glass down, took my hand and led me to the bedroom. Once there, I started looking under the covers and the pillows for my bedclothes.
“Where are my pajamas?” I asked my wife.
“Oh them? I moved all your clothes into the spare bedroom.” I headed off there, only to find the door locked. Calling my wife, she appeared in our bedroom doorway playing with that key.
“Gimme that key,” I said as I headed towards her. In my drunken state, I was no match for my wife who regards her martial arts training as the best exercise there is! She pushed me down on the bed, forced an arm behind my back and cuffed it with a pair of handcuffs she must have been hiding on her. As I struggled to get her off with my other hand, she grabbed that arm and cuffed that too.
“Get of me you bitch!” I yelled at her but instead of doing so, she grabbed her dressing gown cord and started tying it around my ankles. One swift pull and I was rotated on the bed so she could tie the ends to the foot of the bed.
She left the room, leaving me struggling to try to get to my knees so I could use my hands on the bounds around my ankles. I wasn’t quick enough; she’d returned, holding a pair of scissors.
“Hold still,” she said and began cutting my t-shirt off. I was literally frozen in fear. Not just by the sharp metal object but also the look in her eyes.
When my t-shirt was nothing but rags, I was pushed onto the bed, face first. My wife sat on my back, pressing my arms and hands into my bottom. I felt the waistband of my trousers being lifted and heard the scissors opening and closing as she began to cut those away too. Once she’d got as far down my legs as she could, she climbed off and did the rest of them before taking my socks off and cutting those up into tiny little pieces.
Not long after that, she climbed onto my legs sat on them and slid her hands up my legs and into the bottom of my boxer shorts. Reaching my buttocks, she bent her fingers and pressed her nails into me, dragging them down my legs until she got to my knees. This was repeated two or three times and seemed to be turning her on.
Finally, I heard her pick up the scissors again and I was removed from my boxers, leaving me naked and bound to the bed. It was only then that she climbed off, got ready for bed herself, climbed in next to me and went to sleep. I was incredibly uncomfortable but wasn’t sure that waking her was the smartest thing to do so I laid there, finally drifting off to sleep around 4am.
When I woke the next morning, I was untied and my wife was gone. I went to look for her but not before trying the spare bedroom door and finding it locked so I continued my search.
She was sitting at the dining room table, reading a paper while drinking a coffee, already dressed for work. She looked up at me as I entered but didn’t smile.
“So, here’s the deal. You go and make my breakfast and I’ll find you something to wear for today. Okay?”
“Ummm, what?” was all I could reply causing my wife to speak in the low of intelligence voice.
“You are na-ked. If you want some clo-thes to wear. To wear? Then you make my bre-ak-fast and I will get them for you. Ok-ay?”
I nodded and headed into the kitchen. Most mornings, she just has scrambled eggs on toast so that’s what I made her. She was already back at the dining room table when I went through with the plate. She took a bite.
“Clothes are on the bed,” she said between mouthfuls. I went through. On the bed was black stockings and suspenders and a bra and thong set I’d bought her one birthday. She had to be joking.
“I’m not joking,” she said. “Because here is the deal. When you’re good, or if you have to go out, you will be given more… Appropriate clothing to wear. Last night, you were very bad so you must be punished. I hope you can understand this. Those things were hard to part with but, well frankly, I hate them. They’re too small, scratchy and uncomfortable, like most things you’ve bought me so, you’ll find your wardrobe has gotten quite a bit larger in the last 24 hours. But I’m not totally unkind. You wear those and I’ll give you a bathrobe to put on in case anyone comes around. If you don’t, you’ll have to stay naked and I’ll make sure that someone comes round.”
I didn’t know what to do. I went back into the bedroom and picked the clothes up again. A big part of me wanted to call her bluff but the other part of me knew she wasn’t. With extreme reluctance, I pulled on the thong which held in nothing at all then followed with the bra. My wife was right; it was itchy and not comfortable though for someone that many sizes larger than my wife, it was hardly surprising.
Then there was the stockings and suspenders. I’d never put these on before (or taken them off for that matter) so didn’t know what to do. Luckily, my wife appeared at just that moment to help me into them.
“Good boy,” she said as I did a little twirl at her request. “Now, I’ve given you a little list of tasks of things that need doing. I’ve left the robe in the bathroom. You may only put it on if you are going outside or if company calls. Okay?”
I nodded yes, subconsciously keeping my arms behind my back.
“Good. Now I’ll be in and out all day to see how you’re getting on and to make sure you’re not cheating by wearing the robe when you shouldn’t. She kissed me on the cheek. “See you later!”
And that’s how it is. Every day, I get up and make my wife breakfast while she chooses my clothes. True to her word, they are dictated by how well I did on the previous days chores or if I have to go out. I haven’t got a job yet. Truth be told, I’ve stopped looking.
In the meantime, my wife has started to bring bondage into our lives and not just in the house but also the garden. After all, we do have a lot of privacy here.
But I think I’ll save those stories for another day.
20.08.08
story continues in No Job Means No Dignity 2: A Day by the Pool
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