She wasn't through getting more production out of her submissive husband. After I finished the kitchen she suggested I assist with her bath and packing. I ran her tub, washed her body, even shaved her legs and underarms. When she finished she had me towel her dry. It was weird, but sensual to have a towel in her crack drying her bottom.
"A few more things and then you can help me pack."
She had a towel wrapped around her freshly washed hair. She told me to bring a razor, the gel, toenail clippers, and her body lotion.
"Take off your clothes Joe. It will feel less awkward."
I stripped.
"Clip my toenails."
I sat between her legs, placed her foot in my lap and clipped her nails. I then did the other one. I collected them and threw them in the trash.
She then taught me how to trim her pubic hair because she didn't want any stray hairs showing if she went swimming.
I was either lost or overly focused when she said, "It's called sub space. Don't fight it. That electric current flowing through your body is nothing to be ashamed of, but perfectly normal for a submissive. You're in the zone, Joe."
"Your description is really accurate, but what I'm feeling isn't a longing to take you sexually, but a desire to serve you. I'm so unworthy of you, but at this moment I feel like you're pleased with me, that I'm meeting your expectations."
"You are meeting my expectations. Now go get a wet washcloth and clean off the shaving cream. Then you can apply lotion to me."
She reminded me as I massaged the moisture into her how both Johnny and Skipper enjoyed it too.
"If it wasn't for him pestering me to rub lotion on me and me finally giving in I don't think I'd have ended up in his bed."
I was quiet with a hypnotized look on my face as though mentally I was somewhere else.
"Subspace, Joe. If you love this feeling now, you will really love it after I take a lover. Readying your wife for her boyfriend just like you're doing tonight, but the preparation will continue until I leave to be with him or he picks me up. You'll help me pick my clothes out, dress me, walk me to the car, or greet him at the door, offer him a drink, then make yourself scarce."
She sounded as if she had a sexual buzz coursing through her too, "You'll be in that special place all submissive cuckolds go when their wives are with another man. It won't all be fun. Time will stand still. Your imagination will go crazy. Your thoughts will be on my return. Now, let's go pack."
That buzz was overloading my central nervous system and causing my penis to drip, drip, drip. Bewitched, under her command, I did her bidding. Suitcase up on the bed then opened, Followed her to the closet.
She pointed out a dress. I took it and laid it on the bed. Exercise wear. Swimsuits. Slacks, blouses. She sent me to fetch a second suitcase. Footwear. Nightwear. She tried a lot of clothes on in front of me, but didn't solicit my input. When she had narrowed down her selections, she showed me how to fold them and place them in her suitcase.
"You need to learn how I like my things packed Joe. I'm going to be taking more trips if all goes well. When I return I want you to empty them, take my dresses to the dry cleaners, wash and dry the rest like you do now. Remember, the job isn't done until you've ironed, folded and put them away. "
Her tone and the way she spoke left no doubt she saw herself as my superior, "As a treat, you may smell my panties. Does that turn you on? You don't need to answer because we both know it does. Smell them for evidence I've been unfaithful. If you like, wrap them around your penis and pleasure yourself."
Her luggage packed, she reminded me to take it to the car in the morning. She then asked me to get her nightgown. She bent at the waist, extended her arms, and I put it on her. She thanked me, gave me a kiss, and sent me down the hall to my room. She told me to close the door behind me.
I laid in bed and reflected on the evening and how good it had turned out. I considered myself fortunate to have gotten back in her good graces. I knew it was no tease; if the right man came along she would take him to bed. Her decades of sneaking around behind my back were gone. I wondered if her real reason for not telling me wasn't because she feared I would be violent or ask for a divorce, but to spare me pain. Something happened which caused her to open up, to know I was able to handle hearing all her secrets, no matter their depravity.
In the morning before I left the house I placed the two suitcases in Mistress Barbara's car. I knew her flight information and the hotel she was staying in. What I didn't know of was her plan to amp up my cuckold angst.
I returned after work to an empty house. I noticed there was a message left on our answering machine. It was from Barbara telling me her room number and requesting I not call her unless it was an emergency. She said she would call and check up on me from time to time. She reminded me about Saturday.
I went to my bedroom and changed into shorts and a t-shirt. With a lot of idle time on my hands and feeling restless I put my time to good use and began the garage makeover. I had this overwhelming desire to please her. I worked on the garage until late, ate some of the leftovers from dinners I had made, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and put on my pajamas.
I didn't go to my bedroom, but hers. Since moving to separate bedrooms, I had pretty much taken care of my bedroom and the rest of the house leaving her responsible for her room. It was a subconscious act of defiance by a submissive. Being the perceptive woman she is, Barbara had picked up on it and had already formulated a battle plan to break down another wall standing in the way of her achieving the marriage she wanted.
She had purposely made me clean her closet and bathroom the day I moved down the hall to condition me. I had not done her laundry since the move. She had not done her laundry either. She reminded me the night before, laundry was one of my duties and it included her clothes, ironing, folding, putting away, and trips to the dry cleaner.
She had also sweetened the pot offering me her soiled panties to masturbate with after she returned. I didn't know how to categorize it. Was it a bribe or a reward or something deeper? Was she telling me that in the future I'd be using my hand to pleasure myself with instead of her body?
Anyway, I went into her room out of curiosity, guilt, and sense of duty. I wanted to see if she had caved. Knowing how she hated to have wet towels in her bathroom or dirty, sweaty clothes in her hamper for a week, I figured she would have done her laundry.
I discovered she hadn't and she hadn't emptied her wastebaskets. She also hadn't made her bed or straightened her closet or wiped the sink and vanity down.
I didn't feel smug that we were locked in a battle of wills, but guilty. I remembered her talk about my ego getting in the way of my happiness. What I was clearly doing was driven by ego. It was the last gasp of a man resisting the inevitable.
I picked up her clothes and towels, took them to the laundry room, emptied her wastebasket, straightened up the closet, wiped down the vanity, and made her bed.
I surveyed the room and said out loud, "Goodnight Mistress Barbara."
Thursday I worked on the garage, did Mistress Barbara's laundry, had another late meal of leftovers, calculated how many more meals I could eat before having to cook again, showered, got ready for bed, waited for the phone to ring, wondered what she was doing and with whom. I surveyed the photos before turning off the lights and going to bed. I resisted the urge to masturbate because I sensed a climax would only bring me momentary relief of the angst I was feeling. It was very easy to drown in my own pity party and I was only one day two.
Friday, I took a personal day, and revised the garage redo. I acid washed the floors, bought crown molding and baseboard, and applied the first coat of paint to the interior. I worked late and drifted off wondering what Mistress Barbara was doing on her first night off.
Saturday I got up early, dressed and headed to the golf course. I kept telling myself I was doing it for my wife and charity. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about a day lost on my garage project. I met the other volunteers at a breakfast they held for us. They instructed us on our duties then cut us loose. The volunteers were mostly men which was not a surprise considering the demographics of Barbara's workplace. It became very apparent the gender of those at the top of the company was predominantly male.
Long day. Glad I remembered sunscreen and hat to protect my bald head. People I worked with were nice. We kept the players supplied with liquid refreshments. Raised a lot of money. Day was winding down and volunteers were now waiting to join up with their spouses or significant others who had golfed for a barbecue.
We had assigned seats, but someone had forgotten to tell whoever made the seating assignments Barbara was not in attendance. Turned out, all the employees who were in Albuquerque had not been scratched off the attendee list. I found my seat. Everyone around me worked with or for Barbara. They all had nice things to say about her. I thanked them and promised to tell Barbara. A few of the people I knew from other social events, but most of them I didn't know.
We ate and then a tall, handsome, athletic man took the podium. He introduced himself as Fletcher Longstaff. I thought it was a joke, but that really was his name. He's got a commanding presence, very pleasant voice, and he delivered a very impassioned speech about the cause we were supporting. He then talked about the company, its people, and their support to the community.
I estimated him to be around the same age as Barbara and I or even a few years younger. I figured Fletcher was like Barbara, older than he looked. As for me, no one ever thought I was younger; if anything my bald head made them guess older. His speech so moved the audience we gave him a standing ovation afterwards.
There are trophies given out. Fletcher's foursome came in second, losing only by a stroke. Dessert followed. No more speeches. I'm in the middle of telling a story when Fletcher walks up to our table. I didn't see him, but I saw eyes shift their focus from me to him. He told me to continue the story. I finished it. He laughed which I swear made them laugh louder. I thought it was funny, but not that funny. I thought they were sucking up to the boss.
He gripped and grinned with all the others at the table before getting to me. I stood, introduced myself. We shook hands. I appreciated he had a firm handshake and looked me in the eye when speaking. He told me how knew Barbara. I told him Barbara said very nice things about him and how much she enjoyed the project he had her on. I didn't want to sound like a suck up. He looked pleased to hear it. He asked how her trip was going. I told him I didn't know as we usually didn't talk to each other when she was on the road. Someone chimed in that it was proof Barbara and I were long time married. He then praised her managerial and problem solving skills which is why she was chosen for the Albuquerque trip.
Then he said, "She's quite the golfer. She was on my team last time. We could have used her today. Second isn't bad, but first is what I'm used to. Barbara said she plays tennis. Is she good?"
