*************************************************
Copyright Oggbashan September 2016
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
*************************************************
I think my wife is trying to make me into a killer on command. She might have succeeded last week.
At first I dismissed the idea as fantastic. Well, you would, wouldn't you? But now I'm not so sure that it is so fantastic.
My wife is a couple of years older than I am and far more experienced. When she chose me as a partner I was thrilled and delighted. My sexual fumblings with women of my own age had been intriguing but ultimately unsatisfactory. I was a deputy manager in a warehouse and working too hard for long hours to have time for serious courting.
I met Maureen at a Village hall dance. My last potential girlfriend had dumped me for an older man the previous month. I had bought the tickets in advance. There was nothing else to do in our village on a Friday night so I went to the dance anyway. I knew my ex-girlfriend wouldn't be there. She'd be in London with her new man, whisked away in his bright red sports car.
What I hadn't calculated was that everyone else would be there as couples. If had been more experienced I should have guessed. I hung around like a wallflower while everyone else danced. After the first half hour I walked into the kitchen and offered to help. I had met girls in the village hall's kitchen before this. However, apart from two grandmothers dispensing tea and coffee -- no alcohol allowed -- Maureen was the only other person present. She was washing up and grumbling that the hall's previous users hadn't cleaned the crockery properly. She grabbed me by the arm. I was drying up and stacking the cups and saucers almost as soon as I put my head round the kitchen door.
"Watch out, Henry," one of the grandmothers said, "she'll organise you into doing anything."
I didn't know what she meant at the time. Later I found out that she was one of Maureen's great-aunts. Maureen was staying with her for a fortnight before her grandfather moved to the village.
We talked over the washing up. I was surprised by the breadth of her knowledge of the world. That was unusual in our small village. Eventually I found out why. Her parents had died young in an airplane crash and she, their only child, had been brought up by her grandparents. Her grandfather had been an officer in the army in World War II who became a civil servant in the Ministry of Defence. He dragged her around the world to his various postings as an analyst, some might call his job spying, assessing the military strengths of the country he was based in. He used to take Maureen for long walks that just happened to pass military installations. Who would suspect a grandfather with his small granddaughter particularly if both were dressed in local clothes?
Our courtship doesn't matter. We did whatever Maureen wanted us to do. Why not? I loved her and would do anything for her. So what if she organised me? I enjoyed being organised by Maureen.
What does matter is what I found out after we had married. Maureen's grandfather had been in Special Forces and had a very different career before the war. He had been a stage hypnotist. He kept quiet about the hypnotism as it didn't fit with his image as a senior civil servant. He had taught Maureen many of his fighting skills and she could do hypnotism as well.
There was no doubt who was the dominant partner. Maureen was. She organised me, controlled me, directed me and I loved it. She took the initiative in bed, teaching me things I didn't know were possible. We enjoyed each other and outside the home my career was developing well as I followed Maureen's advice in office politics. I was promoted to be the warehouse manager and responsible for everything that went on. At home I could shed the managerial role, relax and let Maureen run my life.
She was working as a receptionist in a doctors' surgery. She was supposed to be the support, the assistant. Being Maureen, she wasn't. She organised the doctors, the nurses and the other staff. She chivvied the patients and they loved her for it.
Our life was almost idyllic but there was a dark side to Maureen. She taught me things that revealed some of her past life. One Friday night, lying in bed, we were discussing a murder reported on the TV news. The man had been killed with a garrotte. I had said that it must have been a man who was guilty. Maureen disagreed saying that a garrotte didn't need strength, only skill and perhaps a little luck. She demonstrated with the belt of her silk robe. In seconds I was gasping for breath and totally unable to fight her off despite my size and strength. I am large, strong and fit. Maureen is a head shorter than I am, slim and light, but with her garrotte she could have killed me despite our physical differences.
On the Saturday she taught me how to make or improvise a garrotte and some effective moves against it. That was the beginning of a series of master classes in unarmed, and armed, combat. No matter how much I learned, Maureen knew more and could make me into a helpless wreck. She claimed that her grandfather had been much more deadly. I believed her. He hadn't worn his full size medals on Remembrance Day, just his ribbon bars. Those gained him respect from all the old soldiers. At his advanced age he had given her away at our wedding five years ago. He died a few months later. Even in his last few days he still had the look of a dangerous man.
One evening after going to the theatre in the big town, Maureen showed just how good she is. Our car was a long way from the theatre. On the way three muggers armed with knives stopped us. The knives were pointed at me presumably because they saw me as the threat. Maureen reacted first and attacked them. I backed her up, kicking one of them with a steel toed boot. She didn't really need me. Two of the muggers dragged their leader away. Three knives remained on the ground. I was breathing hard. Maureen seemed to have enjoyed herself.
The incident had been seen on the town's closed circuit TV. The police caught up with us before we were a hundred yards from the scene. The rest of the evening was boring. We had to go to the Police station and make statements. I was asked about my boots. Why was I wearing steel toe capped boots on a night out? I explained that all my shoes and boots had steel toecaps because of my job as a warehouse manager. As the manager I was on 24 hour a day standby as the key holder. They accepted that.
There was a constant procession of young policemen and women coming to look at Maureen. They and their elders couldn't believe what the TV record showed. Maureen had disarmed and disabled three young men in less than five seconds. Jason, one of the muggers, was arrested when he went to hospital to get his broken arms fixed. At his trial for other outstanding offences Jason threatened to get us. As he had both arms in plaster it seemed a long-term threat. The other two had been arrested at home. The CCTV was clear enough to identify them. They were well known to the police. They received shorter jail sentences than Jason because they had fewer offences to be considered.
Her grandfather's hypnotism was a more immediate threat to me than Maureen's martial arts skills. She demonstrated what she had learned. I came to on our living room floor tied up with her old laddered tights. Maureen told me that I had tied myself up. The knots looked as if that was possible but I couldn't free myself.
Another time I found myself spread-eagled on our bed with my nose in her butt crack. The last thing I remembered before that event was gazing into her eyes.
One evening we had a mild argument about whose turn it was to wash up. She released me from my hypnotic trance when I had just put the last cup away. I was naked except for her white frilly waist apron and yellow rubber gloves. She did apologise for ending our argument that way. I enjoyed -- no, we enjoyed - her apology in bed.
The frilly waist apron was a present from her distant cousin Helen who has an odd sense of humour. She knows that Maureen isn't a frilly apron wife. Another of Helen's presents to Maureen was a hooded white onesie embroidered with the legend 'Matron of Honour' on the back. Maureen had been Helen's Matron of Honour but had not attended the Hen Party. None of the Hens had worn onesies but they had been donated to Helen by a recently married friend just in case. It was really too large for Maureen but played its part in another mild argument. I couldn't find my warmer pyjamas and asked Maureen where they were.
The next thing I knew I was laying on our bed inside that onesie. My arms were inside it. My legs were tied together with the belt from Maureen's robe. Helen's frilly apron was tied tightly around my chest. My mouth was stuffed with Maureen's panties and the onesie's hood had been tightened leaving just my nose and eyes free. Maureen was sitting astride me.
"Warm enough, Henry?" She asked. "I thought this would be sexier than your warm pyjamas. You look great as a Matron of Honour."
There was no way I could get out of that soft bondage without Maureen's help and she knew it. She teased me for a few minutes before letting me free for an energetic session of naked sex with Maureen on top.
I'm not a wimp. I love Maureen. Together we are stronger than we are alone. I have more muscles than she has. She can use hers better in fighting but if there is lifting or carrying to do, I can lift and carry things she couldn't attempt. She would like me to take the lead in bed sometimes but I think her need for sex is greater than mine. Before I can take the initiative she has seduced me and I love her for it.
One evening I asked her why she was able to hypnotise me so easily. She explained that stage hypnotism and therapeutic hypnotism worked on the same basic principle. The subject wanted to be hypnotised and was willing to cooperate. For stage hypnotism the person had volunteered. They knew what was likely to happen and reputable stage hypnotists had standards. They might make the subject do ridiculous things but wouldn't go too far.
As for hypnotising me? I loved Maureen and was prepared to do almost anything she asked me to do without the need for hypnotism. I let her run the marriage. I obeyed her willingly. That was one of the things that she loved about me. I showed my love for her by trying my best to make her happy. I wasn't her slave but her willing junior partner. I trusted her without reservation. Most hypnotism needs trust. My trust of Maureen was so strong that it was very easy to hypnotise me.
She mentioned the onesie. If she had asked me to wear it and let her tie me up in it, would I have objected? I had to answer that I wouldn't have objected. I would have known it was a marital game and that it would end in sex. If that's what she wanted to do to me? Why not?
