A REAL SUBMISSIVE
Life has been, on the whole, pretty good to me. My rise up the corporate ladder was swift, though not without sacrifice. I worked hard to get to the top of the tree and now, as Managing Director, I try to instil in my staff the same drive and commitment that took me to the top. To be honest, I am probably hard to work for and have a reputation as a no nonsense disciplinarian. Consequently, I know it would amaze many people if they knew how I spend the other part of my life – being disciplined.
Outwardly, my wife is the opposite of me. At social functions, I am as outgoing and brash as, at work, whereas she is quiet and reserved. She dresses conservatively and is never happy as the centre of attention. I’m sure all of our friends are convinced that I rule the roost at home. If anything they are concerned that, Helen is too timid to stand up to me, perhaps a bit put upon. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Helen is happy and very supportive of my career but made it plain early on that, because of my long hours, our routine of once-a-week marital sex was not to her taste.
At first I was surprised that she even raised the subject, but eager to avoid the drudgery and unhappiness that has overtaken some of our friends, I was keen to help. We discussed sex aids, videos and even the possibility of her taking other partners. I made it clear that although I was not keen, if she wished to go with someone else I might approve providing I had full knowledge beforehand and she did not get emotionally involved. In the end, it took some coaxing from me and a spot of luck to finally discover what she really wanted.
Once a week we attend the local sports centre to play badminton, squash or table tennis. The first two are often booked up, but we can always get a table in the small sports hall for a game of ping-pong. There are rarely any others playing when we are there, so we have the hall to ourselves.
One weekday evening, in the middle of one of our closely competitive games, I hit a topspin return that seemed to glance the table on her side of the net and bounce away into the corner of the deserted hall.
‘Yeeeess’ I held my arms victoriously aloft. She glared at me. ‘It was out’.
‘No it wasn’t!’
‘The edge of the table is out.’
‘No way’ I vigorously protested.
Her eyes blazed and we started to argue the point in earnest. Neither of us likes to lose, especially to each other. Within a minute we were toe to toe, fingers and voices raised in protest at the crucial sporting decision. Then, quite unexpectedly, her voice’s shrill tone gave way to a confident calm.
‘Bend over Sam’
‘What?’ I asked uncomprehendingly.
‘You heard me. Bend over the table,’
‘What on earth for?’ Her request made no sense to me. ‘Because I am going to spank you.’
I was lost for words. This was not like Helen. ‘What, here? This is a public place!’
‘If you say another word I will make you drop your trousers’ she replied sternly, as if she had ordered me around like this all her life.
I surrendered to her bizarre request, prostrating myself over the green table. The slap of the table tennis bat against my rump rebounded off the games-hall walls. I was amazed that we were behaving like this. Even more surprisingly, I found that it turned me on immensely.
Our behaviour seemed quite outrageous. She dealt me six strokes, each heavier than the last. Abandoning the game there and then, we quickly changed and drove home.
I can remember clearly the sense of euphoria we both felt in the car. We both knew we had found the key to Helen’s deepest sexual desires. I was happy with the role of submission that had been cast for me. I knew her imagination would work overtime from now on. That night our lovemaking was proceeded by a dozen strokes of the bat, with me leant over a dining room chair. Our sex had an intensity that was then new but has since never dimmed.
Over the years, we have refined our routine to suit us perfectly. My wife prefers twenty four-hour periods during which she has complete control of me. I have even signed an agreement with her that I follow all instructions issued during these times without question. I pledged that I would never go with another woman though she was allowed sexual freedom if the chance arose. At work, I have final say in all-important decisions; at home, I am often little more than her slave.
Several weeks ago, I was in a meeting with two of our senior sales representatives when I took an urgent call passed on from my secretary.
‘The kitchen floor is disgusting. I-’m very angry with you.’ My wife sounded calm and composed and I shifted uneasily in my leather chair. I motioned to the reps to exit the room. They looked at each other, grateful to leave as they had been carpeted by me until the interruption. Unbeknown to them, I was also about to suffer this fate! As they quietly closed my heavy office door behind them, I murmured into the receiver ‘What do you want from me, Miss?’ There was a short silence. ‘Bob-a-job’ she answered, and I heard the receiver click.
I was delayed by traffic on the way back, by which time she was pacing our hallway. ‘What time do you call this?’ my normally demure wife asked as I shut the front door.
She had on a long stern black cape and I could just make out her stockings above her leather high-heeled boots.
‘I’m sorry darling I… I stopped, mortified that I had broken one of our rules. ‘You mustn’t call me that must you?’ she smiled, thinly. ‘No Mistress, I’m very sorry’ I blurted. ‘Now put down your briefcase and drop your trousers around your ankles. Stay bent over until I return’.
I did as I was told. Two minutes later she returned with a short stiff bamboo cane. My fingers held onto our steel rimmed letterbox as she dealt me a dozen sharp strokes. Praying that no surprise quest would suddenly appear at our front door, I counted them aloud, as is our habit. At the conclusion of my inaugural beating and still with my expensive suit trousers crumpled around my ankles, I shuffled to our bedroom.
A scout uniform was placed carefully on the bed and I began hurriedly to dress into it. Helen is very fussy about my appearance during our role-playing.
In truth, the kitchen floor was clean. I had scrubbed it spotless only the night before. But to argue would have been out of the question. My humiliation was far from complete. She stood over me as my bare knees touched the cold floor. I had to be careful not to let my neckerchief touch the soapy floor, as I knew an inspection of my uniform would follow. I began to scrub hard with the familiar brush until the floor was sparkling. Finally, I stood up and said ‘I’m finished Miss’.
She looked at the floor. ‘Your work is unsatisfactory. You will receive a hiding for this. Now, lick the floor at my feet’.
I obeyed, tasting the horrible soap with my tongue. When I lifted myself up to stand to attention, she handed me the shoe polish.
‘Now, I am going to watch T.V. You will attend to me while you finish your jobs. And then you will line up for inspection.’
I raced through to fluff up the pillows for her in the living room and turned on the television. After bringing her fresh grapes, a glass of red wine and a small brass bell to summon me with, I returned to the kitchen to look at the list of tasks she had drawn up. In our house, when Helen is in the mood, I do all of, the housework, pausing only for inspection of my work and my uniform. If I do a good job, each task will mean only ton or so strokes with the of my punishment implements. But often it is more, much more. My mistress keeps the items in a wooden box. I am never allowed to touch these without her permission. They include a pair of handcuffs, the table tennis bat, a school cane, a slipper, a thick leather belt, and the dreaded, very painful riding crop.
After cleaning every pair of shoes in the house, and scrubbing both of our bathrooms until they gleamed, I turned my attention to the ironing. It was a short list of jobs compared with some I have been handed, but I knew this really had no correlation to my punishment.
One Sunday I was been kicked out of bed to provide her with breakfast in bed, and was not been able to change out of my school uniform until she was tucked up in bed at I0 PM.
I was near the end of the ironing when I heard the bell ring. I ran down to the lounge. ‘You’ve had enough time to complete your tasks. You are a lazy good for nothing. Stand to attention when I am talking to you!’ I stood rigid to obey and remained there until she returned from inspecting my handiwork.
Five minutes later she reappeared. ‘You lazy little sod!’ she said in my face. ‘The shoes are poor, the bathrooms are a disgrace and you haven’t even finished the ironing. Your neckerchief is crooked, your socks are not properly pulled up and your knees are filthy. How many strokes do you think you deserve?’ It was the question I always feared. If I said too little, I may be forced to repeat one or more of’ my jobs. I had to judge her mood.
‘Please miss, may I have forty with the slipper?’ Was this too few? I paused for a moment and then added ‘And three with the crop’.
Her eyes widened. ‘You are asking for the crop? I wasn’t considering that. What have you to hide?’ I shook my head and cursed my big mouth. She stood for a minute facing me. ‘Fetch me the slipper and the crop.’ You will receive fifty with the slipper and… Six with the crop as you are so keen to receive it.’ I was struck dumb as I climbed the stairs and dutifully retrieved the implements from the box in the cupboard. The slipper was less painful than the cane or the strap, but six was the maximum with the riding crop, as it always left its mark oh my bum.
While she pulled on a pair of leather gloves I removed my neckerchief and woggle and held out my hands to be tied. She pulled them roughly behind my back and secured my wrists. Then my mistress undid my shorts and let them fall loosely around my ankles. Without a word, I bent over the couch. I was bound up and helpless to receive the flogging. She beat me steadily and I counted out the number of smacks, stopping at twenty as instructed to stand up straight while she yanked down my pants. The strokes of the slipper were more painful now, but I was rock hard with the thrill. I called out my thanks for each stroke. I knew I had no chance of sex tonight, as it was part of my wife’s fantasy that I cannot touch her with any other part of my body than my tongue, while our session was on. Occasionally she allows me to lick her, but this is a special treat.
Completing my slippering, she made me kiss the warmed up sole before I was allowed to stand up. At this stage, she said ‘Your bob-a-job money is £I00′. ‘That is very generous mistress’ I said, and was allowed to free my hands, raise my shorts and go to my wallet. Luckily I had enough cash, and as I knelt and placed it at her feet. ‘Thank you miss’ I said. She stood, tapping the riding crop lightly into the palm of her gloved hand. ‘Please may I have the crop now, miss’. Then I stood up, dutifully let down my shorts and pants Once more and bent over.
The next day, Saturday, I completed my swimming laps and sat chatting in the sauna to Davies, my opposite number at one of our company’s main rivals. We had been colleagues at one time, until our then boss Victor and he had a furious fall out. I never liked Victor much, and Davies absolutely loathed him. Thankfully, Victor had left himself shortly afterwards, after sensationally running off with an office junior, Judith, a blonde woman who in my opinion was never up to the job.
Davies and I often play squash together. Helen and I are still friends with him and his wife – Linda despite the business rivalry. Without thinking, I lay face down on the warm wooden slats. ‘What are those marks on your ass, Sam?’ he asked. I hastily moved to cover myself, my face beetroot with more than the heat.
‘Oh I, er… A gardening accident’ I stammered, foolishly. ‘I sat on the rake’. He smiled coyly. ‘Really? Looks more like you’ve had a bit of a thrashing old boy’. I was petrified but he laughed heartily. ‘Don’t worry. Linda does it all the time to me. Look.’ He shifted his towel and I could see the faint outline of a fairly recent beating on his bum! ‘In fact, when she and Helen find out about this,’ I reckon we could be facing the cane together!’