The story so far: Christopher, following a sheltered upbringing, has been taught by his wife that sexual intercourse consists of her beating him until she reaches orgasm. After a couple of years of marriage, Janice has started spicing up this vanilla sex life with toys such as canes and bondage gear – because being tied allows him to ‘hold on’ much further, as the pain of the beating builds up. Lately, Janice’s friend Paula has taken to staying over. Silly Christopher worried that they might be having intercourse, but after a night tied tightly in their room, he is reassured that no beatings or other forms of sexual intimacy are going on: just tickling, licking and so on…
Now read on.
Then one Sunday something appalling happened. He was cleaning Paula’s house, as usual, and was standing before her, as she angrily pointed out a spot he had apparently missed on the carpet. Her eyesight- or standards of cleanliness – was more acute than his, and he stood in confusion thinking that the carpet looked pristine.
“Look at it – just there, look closely!” she had insisted furiously, and he had bent down to observe better (and indeed, could then see to his shame, a small patch of dust that had previously escaped his attention. He was about to get up to present his testicles for the inevitable kicking, when he was startled by Paula’s hand raising his skirt, followed by the ‘crack’ of her other palm impacting his upper thigh, in the gap between his stockings and his panties. He froze in shock and the hand descended again, slapping him over and over and driving his face into the carpet where he knelt.
He knew afterwards that he should have protested at the very first stroke. But in confusion (and perhaps lust?) he remained kneeling for the entire thing, only then rising, his face crimson and backing away towards the door. In his confusion and shame he had run from Paula’s house in full maid’s uniform, and as he clattered home in his high heels, he was well aware of the sight he must be, in his disshevelled uniform, with tears pouring down his face. But he didn’t care, and once home (Janice was out) he ran upstairs to the spare room, as he could not bring himself to enter the marital bedroom, his heart pounding and his vision blurred.
How could he? With her best friend? After all she had done for him, introducing him to the sacred mysteries of the rod and the whip, after so gently dealing with his fears about sex, even – especially – after taking the trouble to show him how harmless and innocent her little games with Paula had been? How could he have allowed her best friend to spank him? He was an adulterer, a cheating husband, he told himself in misery and panic. Even if it never happened again, even if his relationship with Paula stayed strictly proper, as Mistress and maid, Paula would always know.
And worse…he would. And so, surely, would Janice. They had never had secrets from one another. They shared everything. Early on, Janice had even explained that many wives kept their monthly period from their husbands, but that because she knew their marriage should be completely open one, she was going to trust and permit him to buy, apply and dispose of her tampons. She wanted them to share every aspect of their lives, and now he had betrayed her. Christopher sat on the edge of the bed in misery.
When Janice came home, there was no point in pretending. Quite apart from his inability to control his emotions, there was the fact that he was home in the middle of the afternoon. Normally, his chores at Paula’s house kept him there well into the evening. In fact, Sunday night was a favourite for a sleepover, so Paula was often already tucked up in bed with his wife, by the time he returned with aching arms and sore knees from the day’s labours.
“Christopher? Darling! Whatever’s the matter?”. She rushed to the bed, and held him in her arms.
And slowly, through sobs and long pauses, Christopher explained to his wife what had happened. At first, she seemed simply confused, but as understanding dawned, her expression hardened and the arms around her sobbing husband seemed to stiffen. When he had finished his explanations, she pushed him away wordlessly and his dress rustled as he squirmed in his place.
“I need to talk to Paula” she said, flatly, and left the room. Christopher took off his dress and wondered what he should do. He did not have to wonder long. Janice came back carrying bondage gear. Clinically and efficiently, she tied him up – his hands behind his back, his knees and ankles securely fastened and a hood with gag over his head. Before tightening the gag, she had paused and said “I need to know, Christopher. Do you still love me?”
“I love you, Janice! I love only you, and always will” he had sobbed, with heartfelt devotion. Then the gag had tightened in place and the hood was placed over his head. From inside the darkness, he heard the door slam behind her. Later, he thought he heard raised voices from downstairs, but he could not be sure as the hood muffled most sounds very effectively.
He lost all track of time, lying there on the bed. He later discovered it had been just over 15 hours, and he had a raging thirst and (to his shame) had wet himself and the bed by the time he was released. Janice removed his hood (but not the gag), and unfastened his hands. She looked down in disgust. “Clean yourself and this up – then I want to talk to you downstairs.”
Christopher was able to remove his bonds and tidy up the mess, then got dressed and went downstairs to face his wife. She was sitting in a chair in the living room, reading a magazine, and glanced up as he approached. “I said I wanted to talk to you, I didn’t say I wanted you to talk” she said. “Go and put that gag back on right now – and take those ridiculous clothes off.”
Four minutes later, naked and gagged, Christopher stood in front of his wife. Had he been able to speak, he would have begged for forgiveness, would have offered anything – anything – for their marriage to be as it was. Instead, he simply had to listen in silence.
It was worse than any beating he had ever experienced. She explained, calmly and without emotion, that he had betrayed her, as had Paula. She described how hurt and insulted she felt, how none of the relations between the three of them could be the same again. And when she had done this, she set out how things were going to work in the future.
Quite clearly, neither he nor Paula could be trusted. She had been allowing him too much personal freedom, and now her trust had been abused, she understood that she could not be so liberal. He would be kept under much closer control in future. As for Paula, she had started their conversation last night determined never to see her again. But Paula had cried and apologized, and Janice had simply decided that she could not lose her best friend and her husband both at the same time. But she needed to keep an eye on Paula, too.
So: this was how it would be in the future. Paula would move in with them. Christopher would give up his job, and would be kept permanently supervised in the house. On occasions when Janice was out, Christopher was to be locked away (a cupboard could be adapted for the purpose, Janice thought, or she might purchase a cage from the bondage catalogue). He would not be permitted clothes or speech, would eat leftovers after the ladies of the house had finished their meal and would do nothing but perform the most menial household tasks.
And so it has been ever since. Christopher lives in a cage, wears a mask and gag all the time and is only allowed out in Janice’s presence – and then on a chain. He eats scraps, liquidized in a blender and sucked up around his ballgag through a thick straw. An electric shock device has been fitted to his testicles, to which both ladies have a control. The device is quite robust, though, and is not usually dislodged by even the most vigorous beating on his testicles.
She sleeps in the master bedroom with the forgiven Paula, unforgiven he sleeps alone in his cage. Occasionally, the two ladies introduce other women or even men to their tickling games, and on these occasions Christopher is kept well out of sight. He cleans up afterwards, and more than once had had to deal with what he now knows to be the ‘milky fluid discharge’ from a stiffened male penis. He shudders at the thought, and prays silent thanks to the loving wife who made sure he never had to experience such a horror. The stiffening in his own penis has long since ceased, something Janice’s nursing friend put down to the now daily applications of the hairbrush to his testicles.
He has not spoken a word since the profession of love for his wife on that day of shame, and perhaps he never will. Yet that is all he needed to say, all that he knows, all that he is.
Do not pity Christopher. He still has a very full sex life, as his buttocks are whipped by his wife (or occasionally – Christopher suspects from inside his hood – by Paula) and his chores fill his days with meaningful work.
Whatever the future may hold for him – and it is unlikely to hold anything very different – he knows that it is because his wife loves him so much that she cares enough to subject him to this lifetime of penitence.
