Can you believe it? Emily really is making it happen. I've barely slept a wink since getting the key.
God, I love her so much.
It's only 8:00 so I've got two and a half hours to kill until ten thirty. I'm dying here. Just dying. I'm so hard that I'm hurting but I can't get any relief until I get home. I need to save my strength for Emily. Or should I say 'O'.
God, I love my wife.
Gene's Diary
Monday, 5 February 1973
It's 4:00 and I've sent O into the kitchen to make supper for me. I'm exhausted and we still have the evening to look forward to. I think I'll keep her busy cooking. Right now, she's been told to cook supper for me. I'm going to have her cook a separate meal for herself later. I don't think it's appropriate for us to eat together tonight. Or sleep together.
I came back at exactly 11:00 this morning. In fact, I waited in the car for five minutes to make sure that I came in the front door exactly when I was supposed to. I went straight to the living room. It was dimly lit because all the drapes were drawn and only one lamp was turned on. There was a carafe of ice water and a clean glass sitting on the coffee table along with some other things. I sat in the recliner and poured myself a glass of water because that seemed to be the thing to do. The water was still cold so she must have put it out just before I got home. Maybe she heard me coming up the driveway. Anyway, there was a black leather whip with lots of short flexible strands, maybe a couple of dozen, on the table. Next to it on one side was a black leather paddle and, on the other side, a riding crop like you use on horses. There was a heavy silver chain hanging from sturdy-looking hook in the ceiling in the middle of the room. I swear there was no hook there yesterday. There's also some big eye screws in the wall where the sofa should be. The sofa's now been dragged over in front of the picture window.
I like the way she redecorated.
I was only waiting for a couple of minutes when Emily entered the room. It was obvious that she was no longer Emily. She was now O. She was wearing a long shiny red cape that was tied around her neck and hung to her ankles and red satin shoes and that was all. Every time she moved, the cape was knocked open and I caught glimpses of her body. She was stark naked underneath the cape. She couldn't hold it closed because her hands were cuffed behind her back.
That's how I know she was O – Emily, my wife, would never do such a thing to herself.
She looked pale and I guess she had good reason because she knew what was coming next. She'd provided the whips and chains. She didn't look at me, I guess because that's the way O was supposed to act, not raising her eyes above a man's waist. She didn't say a word to me. Just walked over and stood in front of me, waiting on my pleasure.
I've never seen a woman look so submissive.
When I untied the cape and took it off, I could see that she had a leather collar locked around her neck with a little padlock. Her wrists had the same things and her ankles, too. She kind of jingled when she moved because of all the locks.
I can hear her jingling in the kitchen right now because she's moving around cooking me my dinner. I'm keeping her naked except for the leather cuffs and collar because I like looking at her.
The chain that hung down from the ceiling only came down about as far as the top of my head, so I couldn't chain her to it without unlocking the handcuffs. I had to ask her where the key was and she said that it was on the coffee table. I'd been so busy looking at the whips that I didn't notice the key. It was the first thing that she had said to me since becoming O. She sounded kind of snarky that so I figured that was part of the plan. I was supposed to beat the snark out of her.
I unlocked the handcuffs and fastened her wrists to the chain. There were a couple of clips on the table, too, – the kind of clips that mountain climbers use – so I figured that I should use those. It saves messing with keys and I don't think that she could have bent her wrists far enough down to reach the clip and undo it no matter how hard she tried.
She was completely submissive, silently holding her arms up and waiting for me to clip them in place.
When her wrists were clipped up, arms were held just above her head. She looked beautiful like that, all naked and exposed and helpless.
I used the riding crop. I didn't bother with the paddle or multi-strand thing. There'll be lots of time this week to try everything. I didn't hit her as hard as I could but she sure yelled and the crop raised some pretty good welts. I gave her a couple of strokes across the shoulder blades, but mostly I aimed for her butt. She was squirming around so much that sometimes I caught her on she side of the thighs.
I put quite a few red welts on her. It would be clear to anyone who saw her that she had taken a pretty good licking.
She was crying real tears, but she didn't say anything when I unclipped her from the chain.
I was hard as a rock so I pushed her to her knees, dropped my pants and made her suck me for a while. She's done that for me before a little bit but she always made it clear that she never liked it much. This week it doesn't matter what she doesn't like. After a couple of minutes, I pushed her head to the floor, walked around behind her and finished up doggy style.
It sure felt good.
Emily's Diary
Monday, 5 February 1973
The bastard! He whipped me black and blue with the riding crop. It hurt like hell and I've got welts all over my legs and back. How could he do that to me? The bastard! I thought that I could trust him to show a little good judgment. My letter was pretty clear that the whole whipping thing was supposed to be mostly symbolic; that the point of the week is supposed to be about him getting all the sex he wants. It's not supposed to be about beating me half to death. The bastard!
He didn't even care that I was screaming and yelling in pain. I haven't cried so hard since I was a baby. The bastard actually made me cry. For real. The bastard! I've got black, raised welts across my butt and it hurts just sitting here. The bastard!
He made me go down on him after he beat me with the damned whip. That's expected, I guess, but he knows that I don't like having him in my mouth. If he was going to beat me for real, he could have shown a little mercy and left that part out.
He took me from behind. I guess that was somewhat merciful. If he'd taken me on the floor, I would have been lying on my poor beat up butt and back and that would have hurt worse than being on my hands and knees.
Then he made me cook dinner for him. Naked. Well, almost naked. I put on an apron. I felt guilty doing that much; I was afraid that he was going to punish me for wearing an apron without his permission. Is that sick or what? But I had to have something to wipe my hands on. I cooked a steak with onions and mushrooms with a baked potato and a Greek salad on the side for him. I'm glad that I stocked up the refrigerator. It just occurred to me that I can't take the collar and cuffs off. If I have to go grocery shopping, I don't have any clothes to wear that would hide them. I packed up all my pants, high-necked sweaters, and underwear into a big box yesterday and locked the box in the storage shed with the lawn mower. That's where the keys to the collar and cuffs are and Gene has the only key to it.
I wasn't allowed to eat when he was eating, so I stayed standing beside the table, naked, while he ate, in case he needed me to do anything for him: fill his wine glass, get salt or pepper, whatever. He kept looking at me all the time that he was eating. It was embarrassing. After he ate, he went into the living room to read the newspaper while I fed myself. I wasn't hungry, so I just finished off the salad and ate some bread and butter.
When I finished cleaning the kitchen, I went into the living room and asked Gene if he wanted anything else.
He did.
He bent me over the dining room table and took me in the rear. It hurt even though I had smeared a lot of Vaseline up there into myself before he arrived this morning and I was still slippery. Once he was inside me, it didn't hurt nearly as much. When he was finished, he told me that I felt really good. I think he's going to want to do this to m
e a lot over the next few days. I'm going to have to keep my rear coated with Vaseline all the time. Afterward, he made me get a wet washcloth from the bathroom and wash him off. He told me that I better get him clean because he might want me to suck him again. He didn't, though.
We watched television until bedtime. He kept my hands clipped together behind my back and played with my chest all night. I never guessed that he would want to spend so much time feeling my breasts. They're kind of sore from all his pulling and kneading.
My wrists are still clipped together, but he's letting me have them in front of me so that I can write in my diary like I always do before going to bed. So that's what I'm doing now. Naked, sitting on my aching ass at my writing desk in the bedroom, with my hands cuffed together, writing out every humiliating detail of the most painful and humiliating day of my life, wondering what ever possessed me to volunteer for this.
I must really, really love the bastard.
I wonder if he's worn out yet or if he's going to take me again tonight. Am I going to have to sleep with my hands clipped to my collar all night like in the book? I wonder if he's going to wake me up in the middle of the night to whip me some more like the valet did to O in the book.
I bet the bastard is going to do all of those things to me.
It's going to be a long, long week.
Gene's Diary
Tuesday, 6 February 1973
I was surprised yesterday to find out how much I liked sodomizing O. She's so hot and tight back there, it's like she's grabbing onto me and squeezing. I'm going to do that again today. Maybe more than once. I want her to be clean inside when I do it, though, so I sent her out to the drug store this morning to buy an enema bag and some Ex-lax tablets.
When I told her that she had to go out, she looked like she didn't want to, but O doesn't get any say in the matter, does she? I think that she was bothered because she was wearing the leather collar and no clothes, but that's no big deal. It's January in Cleveland, for heaven's sake, so she gets to wear a coat and winter boots. She should be glad that it’s not the middle of the summer. In her winter coat, no one's going to be able to see anything. And if she gets into an automobile accident, it's not like the doctor in the emergency ward is going to find her wearing ragged underpants.
I don't know how closely I'm supposed to be following the book. According to the book, I was supposed to get up before dawn and whip the front and back of her thighs and leave her standing chained in front of the window to watch the sun come up. I noticed that she put an eye screw in the right place for that, set into the ceiling about five feet back from the bedroom window. But I was too lazy to set an alarm for myself and I slept in until almost nine o'clock. I hope she doesn't mind. I'll have to give her the pre-dawn beating tomorrow morning instead.
Maybe today I'll try out the whip with all the strips of soft leather. I'm sure that she wants to know how that one feels. Mostly, I'd rather just take her to bed and make love to her but I wouldn't want to disappoint her and not use all the equipment. After all, she's gone to a lot of trouble to get it for me.
I hope she hurries back with the enema stuff. I'm feeling like I want to go up her backside again soon.
Emily's Diary
Tuesday, 6 February 1973
Another day in hell. Which was appropriate considering that it followed a night in hell. I never would have guessed how hard it would be to sleep with my hands clipped to my neck and my neck chained to the wall. Every time I tried to roll over, I pulled on the collar and woke myself up.
I had to pee in the middle of the night and couldn't get out of bed. By the time the sun came up, I had to pee so bad that I couldn't sleep any more. I was lying there awake, staring up at the chain and suddenly I realized something that I hadn't thought of before. My wrists were clipped to my collar and my collar to the chain and I couldn't reach those clips to undo them, but the other end of the chain was clipped to the eye screw above the head of the bed. It wasn't locked on. All I had to do was stand up on the bed and I could unclip the chain from the wall. Boy, let me tell you, I was in that bathroom lickety-split. I peed and peed and peed some more. I never thought my bladder was going to be empty. It was such a relief, you wouldn't believe it.
Of course, I couldn't flush when I was finished because he might have heard and then he'd know that I wasn't locked to the wall by the bed like I was supposed to be.
The night wasn't all bad, I have to admit. When Gene first chained me up for the night, he made love to me the regular way, except that I couldn't use my hands for anything because my wrists were attached to my collar. All I could do was hold his face and kiss him. But my legs were free and I could wrap them right around him and pull him into me that way. It was surprisingly sexy, not being able to use my hands much. And he was kind of slow because he'd already done me twice earlier in the day. I blush to say that I came like that. Twice. I never came twice before. And then when he finally finished, he tucked me in so carefully. But, of course, I lost the blankets almost as soon as the light was out and couldn't get them back on right. So I was cold for most of the night on top of not being able to turn over without waking up and then needing to pee so bad.
I don't know if I should tell him that he has to lock the chain to the wall to keep me in bed at night or not. I ought to. It would only be fair. I am supposed to be helpless when he wants me helpless. On the other hand, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. If he thinks I'm locked in the bed all night and he doesn't know any different, it'd be the same for him as if I really was, wouldn't it?
The day started all right. He came into the bedroom where I was lying, still pretending that I was trapped, and he unhooked my cuffs from my collar and told me to get cleaned up. I asked him if he wanted me to wear my special Roissy dress and he looked surprised. I think he'd forgotten that I'd made one.
Showering was a bit of a problem because I couldn't keep the leather collar and cuffs dry and then afterward, couldn't dry my skin underneath them very well. They got kind of stiff. I think they'll be totally ruined by the end of the week, but I don't care. I won't be using them again anyway. I just hope they aren't chafing my skin too bad by Friday.
I forgot about the wrist cuffs when I was making the dress and it was a little hard to fit the sleeves over them, but I got it on. Except for the padlocks, the cuffs aren't much wider than my hands so I can manage by working the fabric around the locks carefully. I made the dress from a pattern for a regular long gown with a wide skirt like a ball gown. I used a pale green satin because it highlights my eyes. Modifying the bust so that it stops underneath my breasts instead of covering them was pretty easy, though it flops a little in the front. I should have added some stays to stiffen them. The shoulder straps have to go around the outside of my breasts so sometimes they slip off the shoulders a little but that doesn't matter. It's not like I have to worry about the bodice flopping down and exposing me.
The only other modification that I had to make was to attach some ribbons to the inside of the waistband in the front and back and sew a couple of loops to the outside of the waistband.
I also bought black stockings and a black garter belt. In the book, a garter belt was permitted as long as O wasn't wearing panties or a bra. The stockings have a seam down the back, just like O would have had in the '50s.
When I finished dressing and went out to the kitchen, Gene was already cooking eggs and toast. I guess I'm not a total slave. I don't have to do all the cooking. It makes sense. In the book, there were staff – cooks and servants and the valet – who were separate from O and the other women.
Gene stared at my naked chest for a long time. I asked him if he wanted me to display my front or back below the waist as well. He said that he likes seeing my front, so I raised the front of the skirt in a bunch to expose the two ribbons hanging inside and then tied them to the loops on the outside of the waistband to keep the skirt raised. His eyeballs almost rolled across the floor, he stared so hard. I think he liked it.
> I remembered that O wasn't allowed to sit on her skirt, so I was careful to pull it out of the way and sit on the chair with my bare butt while I ate. He told me to keep my hands in my lap and he fed me one bite at a time like I was a helpless baby. It was kind of an annoying way to eat, but if it's what he wants, then I'm happy to do it that way for him. This week.
After breakfast, things got bad.
He told me that he wanted me to clean myself out by taking an Ex-lax and then giving myself an enema. I told him that we didn't have any Ex-lax or enema equipment.
“So go buy it,” he said.
I thought that I'd spend all week in the house. O never left Roissy in the book. I don't have any clothes to wear outside, no panties, no bra, no slacks or sweaters. I had my duffel coat and winter boots in the closet for emergencies – you don't leave yourself without winter clothing in February in Cleveland if you want to survive – but one mid-thigh-length wool coat that has lapels open to my cleavage is hardly enough to make me feel secure.
I objected.
He objected to my objection by telling me that I didn't deserve the comfort of a blouse and skirt, either.
I said that the coat was too short. That I'd get arrested for indecent exposure.
He said that if I said one more word, I'd be shopping completely nude and it'd be a race to see if I could get back to the car before the police arrived. So I shut up and had to wear my boots and duffel coat on my shopping trip and nothing else: no blouse, no skirt, no stockings, nothing.
When I took the dress off and put the coat on, he told me that I looked okay. He didn't sound convincing. The bottom comes down to mid thigh but the front closes with loop and horn fasteners that only come down to my hips. When I walk normally, it flashes open almost to my crotch. He saw that and warned me that I'd have to walk slowly and carefully, just taking small steps. Worse, the neck does not button up high enough to hide the leather collar. Once I had the coat on, he didn't let me take it off again. He told me to put my boots on, gave me a handful of money and the car keys and told me not to come back until I had the Ex-lax and enema bag.
A Bestiary of Unnatural Women Page 12