Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Kammi's Serial



WHAT IF? PART 29

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He reached inside my pj’s,  took hold of my erect penis, and began moving his hand up and down. As wrong as I knew this was, I could not stop him. It felt so good. So did his kiss on my lips.
“Just think of nice things, Leon, like setting your mother’s hair in lots of little pin curls, over and over.”
I closed my eyes and envisioned that scene, my mother in her robe, sitting at the kitchen table, with me standing over her combing and pinning her hair. Then I replaced my mother with Sandy Pierce, the prettiest girl in my class who I had a big crush on. I did not get very far in my fantasy before I pissed my pants. At least that’s what I thought had happened but taking a pee had never felt so good.

“So Amos, I was introduced to the wonderful world of sexual activity” Leon said. “And also to the wonderful world of submissiveness. For the rest of my stay over with Butch, I helped him with his chores and actually liked it, though I did not realize it until several days later, thinking about it in bed one night. At the time, I did not enjoy being bossed around by Mrs. Armstrong. When she gave an order to Butch she would turn to me and say in a stern voice ‘and you can help him, Leon’.  Only when I became an adult did I come to realize that she knew I liked to be bossed and she was very good at it. In just a few days I learned how to make a bed, do a load of laundry, from washing and drying and hanging outside on the clothes line, as well as folding and putting clothes away in their proper places. And yes, I learned to iron too. I vacuumed and dusted and was actually praised by Mrs. Armstrong for doing such a good job cleaning her bathroom. All this for a boy that did absolutely nothing at home in the way of housework. But the thing I loved doing the most was helping Butch do his mother’s hair – shampooing, a little setting, taking out the pins, and even brushing her hair. I went so far as to talk to Butch about becoming a hairdresser too. He knew all about the training and starting off as a lowly shampoo boy, etc. It all sounded so exciting to me. The big obstacle was my parents. Even at that young age, I was committed, in their minds, to following in my father’s and grandfather’s footsteps as a lawyer. Somehow, hairdressing and the law did not seem to be a good fit. I also wanted to be given the same chores at home as Mrs. Armstrong had made me do. I planned a slow, careful approach to my goal.  One rainy Saturday morning, when I could not play outside, I offered to vacuum the carpets. My mother had a fit.

“What has got into you, Leon? Are you ill? No son of mine vacuums. What would your father say? He’d probably have a coronary if he came in the door and saw you vacuuming. Get that silly idea out of your head. Do you hear me, young man?”

So much for that idea. And any notion I had about leading up to offering to do my mother’s hair was blown out of the water and was confirmed when I told them that Butch had let it be known that he was going to become a hairdresser.

“I always knew that there was something queer about that boy” my father said.

My mother went even further when she proclaimed that it was against god’s law for a man to do a woman’s hair, even though she went to a male hairdresser and seemed to enjoy her weekly trip to his salon. But I guess she had resigned herself to the fact that Butch was beyond redemption when she accepted his offer to wash and set her hair one afternoon when my father invited her to dinner with an important client at short notice and she could not get an appointment at her own salon. He even did her nails while she sat under the dryer. But I knew she was not at all pleased when I stood next to Butch and handed him the pins.

She told me the next day “I better not hear that you have any inclinations to hairdressing or we’ll ship you off immediately to a military boarding school where they’ll rid you of any such idea, including wanting to vacuum. What is the world coming to?”

Strange how some people think. Butch did my mother’s hair several times after that and my mother had no problem with it. One time, he sewed a button on her blouse that he noticed was loose and she readily accepted that. She also accepted comments from him about her clothes and what looked better with this or that skirt. She would jokingly refer to him as a sissy, which apparently made it acceptable whereas for me, this was all forbidden territory, subject to extreme punishment.

I had to make Mrs. Armstrong promise never to mention me doing housework or doing her hair to my mother and she was true to her word. One time, when she had me brush her hair she commented on the fact that it was such a shame people could not do what they enjoyed, regardless of gender.

“There’s no reason a girl can’t get herself dirty working under a car if that’s what she likes. And there’s no reason a guy can’t make himself pretty and do his knitting and embroidery while watching TV. We could all be much happier if people were just not so hung up on ‘the rules’.”

I was so impressed with her wisdom. I had joined Butch taking lessons on needlework from his mother. I also was thrilled to sit on the floor next to Butch while each of us painted his mother’s toenails.

“And here I am now, happy as a pig in shit, doing all the things my parents forbade me to do, sitting next to my best friend who I am about to give a great big, mushy kiss.”

The two men hugged and kissed for several minutes before Amos asked “So, what happened between you and Butch, you know, ah, sexually?”

“Well, we continued to masturbate each other on a regular basis. I let him curl my hair and I did his too. Mrs. Armstrong thought that was cute. She probably knew what we were doing after we went to bed but said nothing about it. I felt much more at home doing dishes and cleaning in Butch’s house than I did in my own home. Mrs. Armstrong taught me how to dress her and that was one of the biggest thrills of my young life. I felt that I was born to serve women. I know, you want to hear all the dirty stuff, don’t you Amos? Butch and I graduated to oral sex but I drew the line at intercourse. Well, at least until we were older. Funny, I never considered myself to be homosexual, and I still don’t. Butch was my best friend back then and we did things together because we enjoyed it. I never considered doing anything with any other boy. Same now, Amos. I love you and Agnes and will do anything to make you both happy, and I know you feel the same way about Mildred and myself and I hope it never ends. After all, what other man could take care of my hair as well as you do, Leon?”

“So that’s why you keep me around, is it? I was planning on frosting you hair next week so I guess you just gave me the go ahead. Right?”

“Looks like I fell into that one. Okay, you can frost my hair, just not too much, right?”

“Sure Amos, but you know how us artists are. We just have to go with our inclinations at the time. I have wanted to turn you into a strawberry blond, you know. It would make you look much younger – and sexier.”

“Listen to us, two men in our forties, discussing hairstyles and thinking about all the housework that we have to do tomorrow while our wives go off shopping for the day. And we love it. How did we get like this? We were both in strong, manly positions and now we are happiest obeying our wives and doing what we used to call woman’s work. Well, I know how it happened to me. I fell madly in love with a woman who did not believe in conventional role playing. And she had a strong advocate in her mother. I had to have the tendencies but she brought them out and cultivated them to the point that by the time we got married, I gladly submitted myself completely to both of them. How many men do you think packed his wife’s trousseau for their honeymoon and then unpacked and ironed everything on their wedding night? And I ironed her wedding gown too, the day before our wedding.”

“It was not so easy for me” Leon said. “As I told you, my mother forced me in the opposite way – to be a strong, domineering man, just like my dad. I’ll never forget the time when I was home from college and walked into the kitchen and saw my dad hit my mother across the face. He turned around and left the room to go read his paper in the livingroom. He was so casual about it, like it was nothing unusual, which I later found out that it wasn’t. He even smiled at me as he passed by. My mother said ‘ I‘m sorry, dear, I’ll try not to do it again’ to his back as he left. I was frozen in place but finally asked my mother if she was all right. ‘Sure, I deserved it. I put too much starch in his shirt and I should have known better. That’s all, no big deal. Now go join your father while I wash out his shirts.’

“But he hit you, mother. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Only a little. Your father is very considerate of me, not like most men. Most of my friends regularly get put across their husbands’ knees and spanked for things far less important than putting too much starch in their shirts. Now that hurts. Your father has only done that to me a few times, and I sure deserved it.”

I was flabbergasted. Wonderful, church going men like my father regularly beat their wives? And the women accepted it. Was I strange? Something like that never occurred to me. Hitting any woman, and especially your wife, was terrible and I promised myself I would never do that, no matter how bad the crime. On the contrary, I fully accepted Agnes beating me when I did something wrong. To me, that is far more natural, for a woman to beat a man. Funny, as I think back, it was always my father that spanked me, not my mother, but I would have felt much better if she, the woman, had put me across her knee.”

“In my house, it was my mother that punished me, never my father. He would say ‘Rachel, this boy needs to be taught a lesson’ and she would take me outside and had me lean over the porch rail. She would pull down my pants and use a strap that was kept hanging on a nail in the wall and give me six hard, painful strokes. I always cried, even in my teens. Back inside, my father would say ‘Thank you Rachel, you’re a wonderful mother’. So, yes, for me too it seemed far more normal for Mildred to beat me for my infractions. And like you, I never considered beating her. That would be an abomination. Of course, I was also beaten by my mother-in-law, and she could be vicious. Mildred had a good teacher. So, when did Agnes start beating you, Leon?”

“It wasn’t until we had been married for a few years. We started off in the usual, conventional way, me the boss and Agnes the inferior partner. It wasn’t the way I wanted, but I was scared to death, due to my mother and father’s brainwashing, not to assume that role lest Agnes think I was queer. I actually suffered watching Agnes do all the work around the house and so wanted to offer my help. Of course, the thing that drove me nuts was watching her set her hair at night in front of the television when she was dead tired and wanting so much to do it for her, as much to help her as to satisfy my own cravings. The ice was broken one afternoon when she stubbed her toe as she was carrying a basket of wet laundry out to the clothes line. She yelped and danced around and I felt so bad for her. I told her to go sit and I would hang the clothes.

“You? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, dear, I am not totally useless, you know.”

“You sure could have fooled me” she said, and laughed.

Well, as you know, Amos, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to attach a piece of clothing to a rope with a wooden pin. When I came back inside, I thought Agnes had gone into shock from her accident. She just stared at me, open mouthed. Finally, she spoke.

“You did it, you really did it. I can’t believe it. How did you learn to hang the laundry? Have you done it before?”

“Darling, it’s not a big deal, and yes, I have done it before and I’ll be happy to do it for you whenever you want. That basket is heavy and you shouldn’t be lifting it.”

She again went into that catatonic look. After what seemed forever, she hobbled over to me and threw her arms around me and kissed me.

“I’ve got the most wonderful husband in the whole world. I can’t wait to boast to my friends that you hung out the wash for me.”

She was beaming and I was thrilled.

“Did you help your mother do the wash? I just can’t picture that.”

Now it was my turn to laugh.

“You’re right, I can’t picture it either, especially since it never happened.”

For the next hour or so I made my confession to her, all the time fearing that doing so would end our marriage. In complete detail, I told her about all the things I did at Butch’s house, even to the point of doing Mrs. Armstrong’s hair and helping her dress. The latter description put Agnes in shock mood again. She eventually came out of it, after I handed her a glass of wine which she swallowed in one gulp.

“Are you telling me that you, Leon Collins actually ironed your best friend’s mother’s slip and then helped put it on her?”

I was convinced that this was the end.

“Yes”.

“And all these years we have been together, you have sat there in your easy chair while I slaved over a mountain of laundry and ironing into the night, when all the time you knew how to do housework and, I can’t believe this, you say you actually like doing it. Well, buster, things are going to change around here, starting right now!”

I was convinced that the change would be me thrown out of the house for being the biggest weirdo in the world. Back then, and even now, just the idea of a man vacuuming is considered strange. My confession that I was prepared, and even looking forward to helping with all the household chores was probably more than Agnes could deal with. I assumed I was the only man in the world with such bizarre desires. Hell, even my own mother had mocked me.

Agnes stood up and left the room.  This was it, I knew. Instead she was back in a couple of minutes with something in her hand. It was too small to be my suitcase. She stood behind me and I felt something go around my neck. Oh my gosh, was she going to strangle me? But there was nothing tugging at my throat. No, just a soft feeling of an apron being put on me. A very pretty, lace ruffled apron that Agnes saved for special occasions.

“I think this looks much better on you, my dear. Let this mark your introduction to your new position at home – being my maid!”

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. I wondered if she had indeed strangled me and my most favorite wish was being answered as I arrived in heaven.

“Really?”

“Yes, really, my wonderful, caring husband. And you know what your first duty is?”

“No.”

“That basket of laundry that I dropped needs to be washed over again and hung out to dry. Can you handle that?”

“Yes, my dear, I will do it gladly.”

“And while the clothes are washing, I would like you to wash and set my hair then after that, I have a skirt and blouse that I need ironed for work tomorrow. And a slip too, you naughty boy. Any questions?”

“No, no, I can’t wait to get started. Do you still love me Agnes?”

“More than ever, my sweet maid. Off with you” she added with a spank on my bottom.”

“And that’s when it all began, Amos. Other than cooking, Agnes never did another thing around the house. It was the greatest boost to our marriage, which had started to become a little sluggish. That weekend, she wore the same nightgown as she had on our wedding night, a beautiful ivory, floor length
silk number that I loved. We started to make love as usual, but Agnes had other ideas. She was going to be on top, in itself a totally revolutionary position for that time. We both climaxed in a short time but I was not finished, as would usually be the case. She whispered that she had read in a scandal magazine that there were men that would actually kiss and lick a woman’s vagina. She asked what I thought of such a disgusting practice. I said I would not know until I tried it. Agnes quickly had two more orgasms. I had a mouthful of my own cum, which I did not care for but which I quickly got used to, like it or not.

“As for when she started beating me, it was around a couple of months after our switch. Amazing, Agnes took over as boss right away and had no hesitation about giving me orders and expecting good results. She started off twisting my ear when I didn’t to something to her liking. Then she started rapping my knuckles with a ruler for an infraction. She was building up to her first true spanking.  She was standing in the bathroom putting on her make-up. She had to leave for work early due to a high level meeting. She was nervous as hell. Worse, she had started her period. Half asleep, I shuffled into the bathroom to pee. Despite all the times she had admonished me for this, I both failed to flush and left the seat up. She grabbed a hair brush and began to wail my ass, in no uncertain terms. I woke up in a hurry. I tried to apologize but she was not listening to anything other than the sound of the brush on my cheeks. I was crying by the time she let me go.

“I better never have to remind you of that again or it will be far worse. Understand?”

“Yes, Agnes, I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now go polish my shoes. You can plan to spend the evening with your nose in the corner of the livingroom while I watch television. If you’re good, I’ll have a special treat for you.”

The special treat was her covering my head with her dirty panties  while I spent two hours standing in the corner. And no, I did not get any kick out of that. Imagine how a tight fitting, cotton panty smells like after being worn for twelve hours by a woman having her period. Gross!

That event pretty much crowned my princess as head of the household and me as her very subservient husband.  And I don’t regret it a bit.



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