Beneath Her Hem

Although this blog remains on “indefinite hiatus,” I wanted to pop back in to reprint, in its entirety, “Beneath Her Hem,” a short story by a fellow writer, Eosuchus, which I excerpted in a posting last December, “A Day in the Life, Part 1.”

“Beneath Her Hem” is a bit racier than my usual postings, but full of dutiful devotion to what the author and protagonist are convinced is the superior sex. It belongs to what I would call the “Day in the Life” genre, chronicling the quotidian routines and rewards of a wife-worshipping househusband, blissfully serving his wife and daughters in a matriarchal marriage. Similar nonfictional  journalistic passages have appeared in various FLR blogs and message boards, and I find them all the more stimulating for the routine nature of the descriptions of a wife-led marriage as it is lived.

The author’s copyright appears at the end:  Copyright--Permian Systems 1997. It  is reprinted here with the author’s permission.  – Mark Remond

***

BENEATH HER HEM by Eosuchus: A light-hearted fantasy of daily life in an idealized FDFS household.

Characters: Elinor Yates and Steve Yates-Simpson. Their daughter Katherin , 14; second daughter, Jennifer, 12.

Elinor is an attorney specializing in small company law. Works for many femsupreme and feminist causes, earns around $90,000 a year. Steve is a hard-working househubby, also a freelance illustrator and artist, earns $35,000 or so. Good with his hands. They are doing pretty well financially for their part of America in the late 1990s. But they are saving hard for early retirements and college for their girls. They live comfortably, but there aren’t a whole lot of extras. Elinor runs a tight household. Her daughters know their dad’s sex role. In her teen -rebel phase, Katherin treats him badly. Jenni tries to protect him.

***

The morning began early for Steve Yates-Simpson, 43. At six-thirty he was up and out running his daily three miles. At seven he was fixing coffee and doing push-ups in the kitchen. At seven-fifteen he was taking breakfast on a tray upstairs to his wife, Elinor Yates, 44. He woke her with a kiss on the toes and while she drank her coffee he massaged her feet and calves. She didn’t feel like oral sex that morning, although often she did, so he was downstairs a little early that day. While he started the girls’ breakfasts, he ate his own and skimmed the newspaper on the Internet service.

During the morning CNN news he thought about his dinner menus and added some things to the shopping list. Then thinking about lists, he checked his daily schedule. Katherin, his fourteen-year-old rebel and bully, had booked the dad driving service to be taken downtown at three-thirty in the afternoon for a two-hour stint at the record shop and then the mall. Jenni, his friend, had soccer practice at four-fifteen. Shopping would have to be squeezed in there. Steve would be driving about twenty-nine miles in that period, here, there, back here, back there and finally home. The morning was available for the laundry and vacuuming. Plus a quick once-over for the house. It was Thursday already and Friday was always a special night, particularly if Elinor saw lint or crumbs anywhere. Elinor’s rule of her household was strict and her demands were many. Steve was always a busy man, as a result.

His daughters appeared for their breakfasts. Katherin had toast that morning, with tomatoes, avocado and skim milk yogurt. She also ate bran flakes and skim milk and she ate fruit. And that was all she ate. Ever.

This did have the advantage for Steve of being easy to remember. He never ran out of the things that Katherin ate.

Jennifer ate a more broadly based diet. She shared with him a bowl of oatmeal stirred with a little maple syrup.

The girls left for schoolbuses promptly at 8.30 and 9.00.

“See you this afternoon, girls,” he said.

“Don’t be late, Dad!” said Katherin in her dominatrix voice. Since Katherin turned thirteen and had discovered what Steven’s relationship with Elinor was really about, she had decided she was going to emulate her mother. That meant she was now of higher rank than Steve. Steve had not accepted this and Elinor had not allowed Katherin to start ordering him around. Still Katherin refused to respect her father in any way.

“See you, Daddy,” said Jennifer with a hug and a kiss.

He watched them go affectionately. Katherin’s anger wasn’t unexpected. She was in a stage of life when conformity was really important. She didn’t conform to society’s norms, of course, but to her own peer group, fans of Hole and novo hardcore groups. Bright girls and boys, with their heads shaved sometimes. With lots of piercings sometimes. Who hung at the mall, but away from the crims and dopers. And who definitely didn’t hang at school things.

At nine-thirty Elinor would take her first calls. Until then Steve would perform his secretarial role. Promptly at nine the calls began. First the USU agency about the copy, then Martha Lander, then Jean Ruger, then Jane Boyle. Then the snippy woman at Grace & Favor PR company. Steve took calls while he cleaned up everyone’s breakfast things and tidied up the kitchen and finished the shopping list.

When Elinor entered the office, Steve went upstairs and broke down the big bed in which they slept as man and wife, except for those nights when Steve slept somewhere else, like in the cage kept in the big closet or wrapped around the bidet. Elinor was expert with ropes and cuffs. He pulled out the sheets and dropped them in the plastic laundry hamper he now carried from room to room. He gathered underwear, socks, t-shirts, sweats, towels, shirts, pantyhose and bore it away to the basement. He sorted it and began a complex wash cycle.

Upstairs he checked on the dishwasher, emptied it and went over the kitchen with an eagle eye. Crumbs were lurking behind the counter stool. He whistled as he dusted them up and put them carefully into the garbage bin. One more careful check. Elinor might come into the kitchen at any time from about this moment on. Elinor had better not find anything at all to be critical of in the kitchen.

He went up to the bedrooms again and remade the big double bed. The girls got clean sheets twice a week and they weren’t due for a change yet. He went over the bedroom carefully, with duster and damp cloth. It was time to vacuum, which he did everywhere but in Katherin’s room. Katherin was in the process of trying to forbid any access to her room. She put her dirty clothes out in the morning for him and did her own vacuuming at Elinor’s insistence.

Vacuuming until everything was meticulous took a half-hour and by then the laundry was ready for the drier. He spent the next thirty minutes with the drier. While he moved the complex batch of clothes, all with different drying and washing times, through the drier, he did his weight-lifting exercises in the little gym area set aside for him next to the washer and drier. That day was the third in his regular cycle. He did ten sets of twelve repetitions of overhead press with a fifty pound weight. Nothing too heavy, but enough to work up a sweat and to really keep his shoulder muscles limber and strong. One thing Elinor really liked about Steve was his body, which he kept at “slave boy” perfection, even at the age of forty-three. Elinor liked to boast occasionally to friends that her husband’s body looked and felt like that of a twenty-five-year old’s.

While he worked out he checked in on the news. The weather looked good for the weekend. The cookery woman was going to be back with a recipe for a cake that tasted heavy but was actually light in cals and fats. He punched his VCR to tape this section.

When the presses were done he picked up ten-pound handweights and moved them through a series of tone and shape exercises.

At last the drying was finished and he carefully folded the garments of the women of his household and took them upstairs in a plastic hamper. Behind him the washer chugged in the cycle as it washed the sheets.

He put everyone’s clothes away, except Katherin’s which were left outside her door in a neat pile on a chair. Then he tackled the bathroom. There wasn’t much to do. The bidet, toilet and bathtub fixtures gleamed. A quick wipe and spray with germ-killer, a wipe of the mirror and a little polishing here and there of metal surfaces were all that was needed. He almost missed a thumbprint on the door, but got it on his way out.

He was ahead of the game this morning. Good. It was time to get to work. He headed downstairs and went past the kitchen to the garage and the studio above it where he worked.

He had a few phone calls to make and then he got down to work on some graphics he was making for a Domme’s website. The job was worth a thousand bucks and the Lady Gennifer was something of a friend of Elinor’s. One of the new class of Internet friends that were now springing up all over the world.

Elinor certainly had a lot of these new friends, all of whom shared her supremacist views regarding women and marriage. Steve’s skill as a painter and illustrator had been put to good use in service of the cause. There were now several customers who paid good money for his original drawings of female dominants and male slaves. Elinor advertised them heavily on her website and also on the combined website she shared with several other women of her persuasion in the North East.

That day Steve was working on a stunningly effective graphic of a sensuous looking woman spanking a man while two young girls stood to one side and watched with bright, fascinated eyes. The females were clothed, the man almost naked with his pants pulled down around his ankles. His buns were bright red. His head and shoulders hung down over the woman’s legs, his arms were tightly bound behind him, wrists to elbows. His body was lean and well muscled. The woman was generous of form and proportions, wearing a tight sweater and short skirt, nylon pantyhose and medium high heels. Her expression was almost perfect, exuding a happy sense of power and sexy authority. Her hair was cut to the shoulder in a soft coifed look quite at odds with the power in her shoulders and breasts as she kept the man pinioned across her knees and spanked him with her open hand.

Steve was working in gouache and a soft wash and tweaking the fine detail on the woman’s and the girls’ expressions. The girls were particularly difficult. They had to convey an element of surprise, awe and pleasure. It was complex and not easy to get perfect.

Steve was a perfectionist, though, and he loved his work. An hour slid by happily and the picture reached that level where he was prepared to let it go. He glanced at the clock. It was time to get back to the house. Lunch was coming up.

He darted out of the studio and back to the kitchen. Elinor was still in her office, still on the phone, probably with the assholes at Grace and Favor. He chided himself, they were women, not assholes. Women were always right, that was the rule. It was just that these particular women were behaving like assholes over this booklet Elinor had prepped for them. Steve believed in femsupremacy, it was an article of faith for him, but he recognized that women were still people and they had their faults.

He moved quickly around the kitchen in an intricate ballet as he opened the refrigerator and removed sundry foods, then took out the implements and boards to prep them on. In ten minutes a handsome-looking sandwich on homemade bread was ready and a salad just needed dressing to go.

Elinor had seen the clock. She was prompt as usual.

“That looks wonderful, darling.” She was going to sit in the kitchen and eat while she watched him work. It was one of their long-term “scene” activities.

Steve put on an apron with a pink surrounding frill and cleaned up the mess from making the sandwich and salad. He put some toast down for himself and filled a very small bowl with walnuts and cashews. He drank a glass of water and then did little odd jobs, cleaning around the kitchen while Elinor watched him.

“Steve, take off your shirt and pants,” she said. Steve felt himself getting excited. Elinor wanted to scene. The scening between them was always very strong.

He did as he was told, of course and put his clothes out of sight in a cupboard. Elinor ordered a very small glass of white wine from the chiller. When he brought it for her she squeezed and pinched his ass.

“I see a spot down there on the floor,” she announced pointing to the tile right beside her stool. He got down on his knees to wipe the floor for her. By the time he’d finished that to her satisfaction she was pointing her foot at him for his kiss.

“I think my shoes need a buff, what do you think?”

He moved to buffing her shoes with a little chammy that he kept in the corner closet for just this purpose. As he finished buffing each shoe, she raised her foot a little so he could plant a heavy kiss on her instep.

Elinor told him to come stand behind her and massage her neck and shoulders. While he did so her hands manipulated his penis and testicles. After a while she turned and pulled him to her and kissed him hard and smacked his behind a few times, not a spanking, just dominant love play. His cock throbbed and pulsed and issued a glob of pre-ejaculate that he caught on a piece of paper towel before it could land on Elinor’s thigh. Goddess help him if that ever happened!

The scene was over after a few more kisses. His hard-on still throbbed, but Elinor was not about to let him come just then. She made him kneel for a minute of contemplation. He controlled his breathing as she had trained him to do over the years and his erection slowly subsided.

“How’s your morning going?” he asked after a little while when the tremor wouldn’t show in his voice.

“So so, those people at Grace and Favor are a pain. But I think we’re making progress. Martha had a horror story to relate. Bill’s got heart disease for sure.”

“Oh no, he’s only fifty.”

“He’s eighty pounds overweight. Martha’s lost control of Bill. She’s considering divorce. Doesn’t see why she has to live with a walrus who’s killing himself with an addiction to ice cream.”

“There but for the grace of the Mother,” he said trying to be as good a wiccan man as possible.

“Yeah,” she smiled at him. “Right. So how was your morning?”

“Good, I think I really got my spanking lady’s expression right. Would you take a look, if you have a chance?”

She smiled. “Love to darling.” She looked at the clock. “Mmm, precious, I would really like to go upstairs and have you eat me from end to end, but it will have to wait. I’ve got to call USU and do this conference.”

Elinor gone, he checked laundry, moved the sheets to the drier and then went back to his studio.

For the next two and a half hours he devoted himself to idea sketches for a series he was doing for a private customer. In these sketches a man was bound up with rope and then punished in a variety of ways by a middle-aged woman wearing sweat pants, bra and Reeboks. The best one in his opinion was the one that had the woman flogging the man with a leather belt after tying him over an old fashioned TV console. There was a scattering of porno videos on the floor, some broken. He was tied up with clothesline, with his pants pulled down below his knees. She was whopping away on him with that big leather belt. His ass was cut and striped quite thoroughly. The woman was getting a workout.

His watch beeped him and he set aside his work, went down and took the car out and drove to Katherin’s school. Traffic was light and he made it in time. Katherin was pretty quick coming out and she got into the back, as was her habit. He drove her to the mall where she exited with a curt, “I’ll be back here at five-thirty. OK? Don’t leave me hanging around here.”

He drove to Jennifer’s school and collected her and a couple of her friends and drove them to the soccer fields. Jennifer’s friends sometimes asked him why he always did the driving. He explained that his wife’s work had to be done in the day, but his own could be finished up later on. She just didn’t have the time in the day and he did.

He let them loose, the Blue Devils versus their archenemies, the Southside Grasshoppers. The green fields were covered in girls playing soccer and, farther away, some softball games. It was nice to get outside, he told himself, taking a few deep breaths.

Then he drove down to the shopping center and did his usual high-speed run through the Shoprite, getting everything on the list and out of the checkout in under twenty-six minutes.

Then it was time to go and pick up Katherin, who had waited exactly a minute for him and was mighty pissed off.

“Dad! You’re supposed to be here for me. What if some creep had been bothering me?” This was a big thing for her at this time, there were “creeps” all over and they bothered girls who went around in black leather, tight skirts and torn stockings.

He apologized. It was the best policy. When he just said he was sorry she usually quit. She grumbled and fell silent as they drove through greener fields to the soccer fields. Blue Devils were gathered around in a sombre mood. They had lost 3-2.

Jennifer was upset. She rode in the back while her friend Sansi rode up front. Sansi was a very bright child with parents who were second generation immigrants from the Indian subcontinent. She was also a great winger and had scored six goals that season. Sansi was philosophical about losing that day. Their goalie had just had had a bad one.

He and Sansi talked soccer all the way back to the school parking lot where he dropped her off. She lived just beyond it, where her father had his medical practice.

Back home he let the girls out and then unloaded the groceries onto the Red Flyer wagon. It took about ten minutes to get all the groceries put away and then it was time to put together a nice little dinner for his women. While he worked he ate a bowl of bran flakes with skim, a papaya, a couple of kiwi fruit, some dried apricots and figs and another tiny bowl of nuts. He washed this down with a ginseng spritzer. Elinor and Jennifer came in to eat together. They enjoyed a vegetarian casserole with homemade bread, baked the day before, but still fresh-tasting. Elinor had white wine and Jenni had milk. For dessert there was a nice piece of chocolate cake to split between them.

Elinor had had a good conference and was in a cheerful mood. She and Jenni were going to play some music together later. Jenni was an intermediate pianist and organist and Elinor played electric guitar. They liked to do blues tunes together. Jenni was in the middle of a vast exploration of blues and women’s blues. Wimmin’s or Womyn’s music it was sometimes called, and it was the hot thing in their house.

Katherin remained in her room until everyone had left the kitchen. Then she would appear and raid it for her own meal like a raccoon or some wild animal that was never to be actually seen at night.

Steve went back to work in the studio. He had a neat little Java applet graphic he was finishing up for another pro Domme’s web page. The graphic showed a slave male being ridden by a woman with a riding crop. The man crawled along on all fours and the woman rode on him and cropped his behind every couple of strides. She was a Betty Page-type character with knee-high boots and the man was a huge, football player type.       

He worked through the evening and made some solid progress on the graphic; it would be ready to send to the client the next day. Then he shut down the computer and hurried down to the basement where he pulled out the sheets and got the iron hot and started pressing them. Elinor liked everything neatly pressed and put away before the end of each day. Laundry wasn’t allowed to hang around getting moldy in bins, nor were cleaned sheets left sitting in driers.

When they were done and everything was put away, he hurried back upstairs. Elinor was on her computer, chatting on the IRC, which she did most evenings for an hour or two. Jenni was finishing her homework at the dining room tables. Katherin was? Well who knew what Kath was up to in her sacred tower?

Steve went back downstairs to his little shower stall and took a good shower. Then he carefully inspected his ass and thighs. Elinor didn’t like to see hair on a man’s ass. It was disrespectful of her in her role as Matrimonial Disciplinarian in the household. She didn’t like to see hair on his thighs either. She didn’t mind it on his genitals, or even a little on his chest. Nor did she make him shave his armpits like some of her friends made their husbands do. So he had things to be grateful for, which went without saying, of course. Still it was a difficult trick, shaving one’s legs and ass to make sure that not a single dark curly hair would be there to anger one’s woman and overlord. He soaped and shaved and inspected carefully with mirrors and flashlight. When he was sure he hadn’t missed anything he dressed in bedtime silks and went upstairs. Jenni was in the bathroom. She heard him go by and she called out “Good night, Dad, I love you.”

“Good night, Jenni.”

Jenni stuck her head out. “Good luck, Dad. Mom’s in a real good mood tonight.”

“Thank you, Jenni.”

It was a strange mixture of parental love and humiliation that filled him as he said it. Sometimes it was hard being a father in a household run on femsupremacy rules. Still, for Steve there was no other choice.

Inside the bedroom he turned down the coverlet and gave the room a once-over inspection. Then he knelt on the floor in his usual place, where a fluffy pink rug was set for Elinor to step into bed from.

Elinor came in softly singing a Web-blues tune she was fond of. She smiled as she closed the door behind her.

“I think your spanking lady is just perfect, honey,” she said as she sauntered up to him. “Gennifer will love it.” As she came she pulled aside her nightgown to show him the filmy pink panties she was wearing. His cock hardened instantly in his tight silk undershorts.

“Mmm, we missed out this morning, need double duty tonight.” She took his head by the hair on the back and held him while she swung one leg over his shoulder and pressed her panty crotch to his face. She held him thus a moment so he could breathe in her intimate scent and then swung it back and turned and pulled her gown away from her shoulders and dropped it to him. She looked down at him over her shoulder while she lifted her hair up in her hands and slowly rocked her hips up and down so that her buttocks moved hypnotically in front of his eyes. When she pressed her ass backwards towards him, that was Steve’s signal to put his hands on her hips. She put her own hands on her heavy breasts and lightly fingered her nipples while Steve began to worship her ass.

It was Thursday night, and a night for uncomplicated lovemaking. Elinor loved to receive oral sex and she had trained Steve to do it in all the ways she liked. When she’d had all of that she could take she would reward her husband in one of several ways. Either vanilla sex, with her on top, or a reward face-sit during which she would masturbate him three or four times. Either way when she was finished, his balls would be empty.

And thus the day ended, with Steve cuddling his wife and ruler as she slipped happily into sleep, served and serviced to the absolute limit of a man’s ability.

Copyright--Permian Systems 1997.

On Indefinite Hiatus

Regrettably but necessarily, I am going to be taking an indefinite hiatus from this blog to pursue other writing projects. I have enjoyed the journey thus far, and all the friends and companions I have met along the way, and hope to be able to return here at some future time.

In the meantime, the two Wife Worship books will remain available and I will leave the blog intact and open to comments (though I will delete inappropriate ones).

Adios for now,

Mark Remond

Gifting the Queen

In this gift-giving season, I often feel like the Little Drummer Boy— too poor to buy a respectable present for the newborn King. Or, in my case, for my wife Queen.

I dream of extravagant romantic Christmas gifts for her. Like on the TV commercial with the new Lexus parked in the driveway wrapped in a red satin bow.

We have a friend who, on special occasions, has whisked his bride off to London for a theatrical opening, or to Paris for just a romantic weekend getaway.

What a rush that must be, for knight and queen! Like Sir Francis Drake returning from a profitable voyage and laying his treasure at the slippered foot of Queen Bess.

Romantic fantasyland, perhaps. But all of contemporary husbands have these opportunities in miniature, on holidays and every day, chances for gift-giving to our Queens. Gifts small and large. As one husband confessed to Lady Misato: “I'm always looking for ways to surprise her, from bringing home flowers or little gifts or taking her out to a play and dinner.”

But the grand gift—the airline ticket, the turquoise Tiffany box—are definitely off the menu for me and many other wife-led hubbies. It happened because we opted for another grand and extravagant gift—signing the paperwork to have our paychecks direct-deposited into our wives’ private accounts.

I will never forget the dizzying high of taking that plunge. One husband described it this way: “Relinquishing total financial control to a loving, trusted spouse provides a base thrill, like taking your hands off the steering wheel while going 75 m.p.h., knowing that your life will be controlled by another, to such detail as decided upon by the dominant partner.”

Some wives feel the same way. Beckie Sue, author of several guest posts here, confides her feelings after telling her husband that she wanted his paycheck deposited into her private account:

“After that conversation, my stomach was churning, maybe with some fear, but mostly with excitement. Total financial control over your husband is many times more powerful than control over everything else. I walked away with a real high, like on drugs.”

It is a grand gesture: “Take everything I have, my Queen!” That was my plea, and I was overjoyed that she accepted it. And I’ve never regretted it since. I’ve been inconvenienced, embarrassed, even shamed on occasion by a lack of funds. But no regrets.

Still, the question remains, what to do on my Queen’s birthday, and Christmas, and Valentine’s, and our anniversary? With the small occasional allowance I receive from my wife, even minor extravagances are impossible.

A work colleague gets two-dozen roses delivered to her desk every birthday and Valentine’s by her husband. They’re beautiful, she feels special, and I feel so envious! I can’t do that for my Queen.

Over the years, I’ve asked other wife-led husbands about this dilemma. Here are a few responses, starting with Au876 (from Lady Misato’s original Wife Worship Forum):

“This is in reply to your question of how I could buy my wife expensive gifts. I can't. There is no way possible because I do not have free access to any remotely large sum of money. Yes, if she wants something, she buys it and I must say she does not hesitate to splurge on herself. Before she took control of the finances I would buy her expensive gifts from time to time. She appreciated them but often exchanged them for what she really wanted.

“Now she buys what she really wants. But the big plus is how much more she appreciates the gifts I do buy for her. It may be an inexpensive sweater, some new underwear, candy or even flowers from time to time, but she knows I have had to save back from my allowance to make the purchase and she knows I have given up some pleasures for myself to please her. She seems to appreciate them much more than she did expensive gifts that caused me little hardship.”

And here’s another guy in the same financial straits: “Since I am on an allowance, it is difficult to save up to buy the presents that I’d like to get my wonderful wife, but the ones that I do buy, like flowers or other inexpensive items, makes her much happier. She sees me scrimping; trying to save over a couple of weeks to scrape up about $10, my efforts to keep the gift a surprise all have made her happier with what I get for her. And I get such a feeling of accomplishment, and pride at doing something to please her.”

Good advice, but I can’t seem to save back anything from my husbandly allowance. When I do have a $5 or $10 bill in my wallet, or even a $20, one or both of my kids will “need” it—and I’m back to penury.

So, I have to ask her permission to use the credit card which she lets me carry to buy her a present. But, with money tight, she usually vetoes any extravagance, suggesting practical and inexpensive items. A new art calendar from Staples for her office. A new pillow case cover from Target.

Get the picture. I kneel before my queen, sweep my plumed hat in a courtly gesture, and lay before her two gift-wrapped packages worth perhaps $10. This ceremony, thanks to her discretion, is usually performed in private, not when she is opening costly gifts from friends and family.

Of course, there’s the kind of personal gift that the Little Drummer Boy came up with—a gift of one’s talent. This is what I usually end up doing. Printing out amusing little coupons for her next pedicure or massage. Writing her a sonnet or creating her a DVD with love scenes taken from YouTube romantic video clips.

If I had other artistic talents—like ceramics and watercolors, say—I might give her one of those do-it-yourself “I Love You, Mom” pots or paintings that kids bring home from school on Mother’s Day.

Beckie Sue’s paycheckless husband came up with his own gift-giving solution. He volunteers to work occasional Saturdays, telling her that she should use the money “to buy something special, that I show him so he knows what his overtime bought me.”

A part-time job is another possibility for financing a special gift to one’s beloved. This method figured in a memorable letter to Elise Sutton some years back. Alas, the extravagant surprise gift backfired:

“Finally, to top off our perfect evening, I produced a small wrapped package; a gift I'd researched for a month and couldn't wait to give Her. She opened the package and found a diamond and platinum toe ring and a matching anklet, a perfect match to Her belly ring. She realized how expensive these were and asked how I'd gotten the money for this. My paychecks are all deposited in an account in Her name. I am given an allowance for expenses, especially when She travels, but she realized that even if I didn't eat for a week, I couldn't have afforded this. I proudly told Her that I'd gotten a part-time job at night in a jewelry store, which allowed me to buy the gift at a discount.

“It was a beautiful evening, which I thought was perfect but she didn't seem pleased with my gift. Her face registered first hurt and then anger… {In fact,} I'd never seen Her this angry. She told me of her displeasure with me for taking an extra job without her permission. So much for our perfect evening! She is still angry with me but I will do my best to make it up to her.”

Elise’s comment: “You should have realized that she would not be happy about you making such an important decision without consulting her.”

Go figure!

If all this seems slightly out-of-balance, I agree, it is. But not the way it might appear to someone outside a wife-led marriage. For husbands living this blessed life in the Queen’s service, it seems we have been given the ultimate reward. As one man wrote to Elise Sutton:

“By submitting to my wife, I have been given the greatest gift of all. Each day I wake up and thank God I am me.”

Day in the Life, Part 2

“Keeping it going, staying steady and maintaining devotion day after day-- that is the struggle.”
—Eosuchus, author of “Beneath Her Hem,” commenting on the value of a rigorous daily regimen for a wife-worshipping househusband.

Here, for example, is a typical day-in-the as described by my first mentor in this lifestyle, Au876 (from Lady Misato’s original Wife Worship forum):

Yesterday was a typical day. We got up about 6pm. I brought my wife some coffee. While she took over the bathroom I made the bed, ironed the blouse she was wearing to work (she told me to). She went down to read the paper while I had the bathroom. Before I left, I cleaned her hairbrush, wiped down the vanity, her mirror and made sure the bathroom was clean. I served her breakfast and cleaned up. We went to work.

I got home before she did and had dinner on the stove when she came in. She had a glass of wine while I finished dinner. We ate together and talked about our day. After dinner I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. She sat at the table and we continued talking while I did this. We went for a walk. Back from that she took a shower (yes, I brought her a warm towel to dry off with). Then I took a shower, cleaned the bathroom, hung up her clothes and got my pedicure equipment. She watched TV while I gave her a pedicure and rubbed her feet. When we went to bed she allowed me to perform oral sex on her for a goodly period of time. She did not allow me to have sex but said she may in a week or two. It just depends on how I behave. All of this is so routine it hardly seems worthwhile mentioning. It is a beautiful rut to be in.

And, in brief, here is a day in the life of husband John as described by Mistress Kathy of the increasingly popular femdom101 blog:

Saturday is John's primary house-cleaning day. This is the day he cleans house, top to bottom, changes the sheets on our bed, run errands, and washes my car. This used to be his golfing day….

In one of my favorite exchange postings on the old Spouseclub message board (archived on this site), “Mr. Lynda” and “Mr. Lisa” compare their days, sounding like a pair of 1950s housewives swapping recipes and household tips:

MR. LYNDA: How does my typical day compare with your typical day? I am up quite earlier than Lynda. I prepare the coffee and do whatever baking is needed for the morning. (I have a batter prepared for muffins. If a muffin is what Lynda wants, I will finish the preparation and bake several muffins for us.) If not, I shower and shave. I finish preparing breakfast. Most of the time, it is toast, fruit plate, yogurt. Sometimes I prepare an eggbake of some kind or fix eggs, etc. I bring her coffee in bed. Sometimes I make her morning coffee more erotic by serving her on my knees and kissing her feet and legs while she has her coffee. I make sure that her clothes are pressed. (This is difficult for me. I am going to have to take classes in ironing.)

She comes to the breakfast table and we have breakfast together. After she leaves, I do the dishes and prepare to leave for my work. (At the present time, work is a class for lifeguards. I will be working at the pool this summer.)
I arrive home at about 4:15 p.m. and begin to prepare for supper. (Sometimes I prepare a supper as chosen by Lynda. Sometimes I have to prepare it using my own thought… Lynda does not always have the time to make these decisions.

I begin to prepare supper. I take a quick shower and change into clothes for the evening. I get the table ready and finish supper. Lynda arrives home at about 5:45 p.m. I meet her at the door with the newspaper and a cold drink. She lounges while I do the last minute preparations. She may go upstairs and take a quick shower or bath to relax. I serve supper and sit down with her. After we have eaten, she goes into the living room, den, or library while I clean up… She is not expected to lift a finger. I bring in a plate of cookies, some coffee, tea, or Perrier and we spend some time in conversation. (Sometimes, she was work to continue. I find something else to do. However, I am always on call.)

We have decided to wait until we are married until we have intercourse. However, she may want me to go down on her while she relaxes. Before bed, we may go for a walk or I may spend some further time pleasing her. She goes to bed first, and I straighten up the living area. I go up to the bedroom. We may have a little more fun. Sometimes, she has me do a striptease for her. We are ready for another day.

MR. LISA: My typical day is much like yours. I get up first, make coffee, sit down and have a cup while reading the paper. Lisa gets up, I get her coffee, then I get her breakfast which is usually just cereal or fruit. As she eats her breakfast, I make sure she has towels for her shower, and that she has all of her hair and body care products ready. As she showers, I get her clothes ready, making sure they are pressed (you will get the hang of ironing, it’s not hard). I lay her clothes on the bed. As she is a fanatic about shoes, I also usually shine the pair she has selected for the day, if they need it. As she dresses, I clean up the kitchen, she gives me a list of errands she needs done (she usually writes them out for me so I don’t forget) and she leaves for work.

My day then consists of typical househusband duties, cleaning, laundry, ironing, grocery shopping, cooking, and running Lisa's errands. Typical errands include shopping for any items she may need, getting her car washed, picking up her dry cleaning, etc. As far as meals, since I know what Lisa likes, I plan all of the meals…

When Lisa gets home, I serve her dinner, we eat and talk. Lisa and I constantly communicate with each other, and if there is a problem she will listen to my side. She has the final decision, but she does not ignore my input. After dinner I clean up while Lisa relaxes with a cup of tea or a glass of wine. She is usually on the phone for a while taking care of business.

Since she has so little time, I take care of a lot of her personal needs such as manicures, pedicures, and facials, and as I said I’ve attended schools to learn these things. Manicures are usually once a week, same for pedicures, although I also usually do a polish change for her in between. I give her various massages to relax her, I've also learned facials and other skin care. All of these things give us a lot of time to talk and communicate. As Lynda advances in her career, you will find that you will be doing more and more for her, simply because she just will not have the time. But then again, that's what househusbands are for.

Some readers may be skeptical that such letters are real. What self-respecting male would submit himself to such a humiliating regimen, day after day? But if you seek out such testimonials, you’ll discover that these husbands are amply rewarded for their domestic devotion to their wives, with large measures of joy and fulfillment and, yes, even erotic thrills. A case in point:

MISTRESS LAURA'S BOY: A typical day these days for us goes like this: I wake up around 5:30 AM, slipping out of bed as noiselessly as possible so that Mistress can remain asleep. Next, I exercise. Every weekday, I do weights followed by varying intensities on the treadmill or elliptical; on the weekends I skip the weights and go for a longer and less intense cardio session (sometimes a run, sometimes a long walk, other times I bike).

After this, I take a quick rinse, dry off, then start making breakfast for Mistress Laura. Most of the time, it's something warm (eggs, hash browns, etc). She usually tells me what she wants the night before. When breakfast is ready, I go back to the bedroom and put the plates on the side table and kneel on the floor by the side of the bed. Slowly and gently, I massage Mistress's feet till she wakes up and I serve her breakfast. While she is eating, we chat. I am usually kneeling or sitting on the floor and she is dressed in her nightgown, sitting on the bed. More often than not, my head swims in a mixture of adoration and lust.

When she is finished with breakfast, she moves into her office and I make the bed. Sometimes I vacuum the bedroom (it only takes a few minutes). I clean up the dishes and clean up the breakfast mess in the kitchen…

When I get home [after work], more often than not Mistress is still working. I go around the house and do a little bit of cleaning, a bit of laundry, and start cooking dinner. Mistress arrives home to find the dinner that she wanted ready, the plates set, and her drink set up exactly where she wants it. We greet each other and she lets me sit while we eat and talk.

After dinner, I clean up. Sometimes she sits at the kitchen table and watches and teases me while I clean dishes (I love that!); at other times, she goes back into her office and I go and kneel by her when I am done with cleanup. Later in the evening, Mistress likes to watch TV. I sit at her feet while she sits in the comfortable easychair…

When we are done with the TV, Mistress sends me ahead to turn down the bed and kneel by the side of the bed, waiting for her. It's usually a bit before midnight at this time. She sits at the edge of the bed and we do our usual ritual: I kiss her feet, then I massage them, putting hand-lotion on her feet. Sometimes she has me give her a backrub till she falls asleep… Sometimes (not often enough for my tastes!) she has me lick and kiss her and give her an orgasm.

This late night ritual only very rarely ends in sexual release for me, but I am ecstatically happy whenever I get to give her pleasure… When femaleness fills the air, watch out, for good things are about to happen!

And what of the wives? Do they remain austere, aloof and demanding throughout? Not hardly. An alternate acronym for FLR is LFA, remember; and a typical loving, female authoritarian is likely to take vast pride in her husband’s domestic devotion, as in this wife’s note to Elise Sutton:

A typical day for him starts at around 6 a.m. as gets his early chores done and then at whatever time I have indicated he wakes me with breakfast of toast fruit and coffee in bed. Whilst I am eating breakfast, he prepares the shower and ensures there is a warm towel waiting. He lays out the clothes I have indicated I’m wearing for the day and then goes to get my car out and to check that everything is tidy for me. When I am ready, he serves me more coffee downstairs and I run through any errands, phone calls or extra chores that I require for the day while he takes notes.

While I am away working, shopping or meeting with friends he spends the day cleaning, washing, ironing and household-shopping, making sure that everything is sparkling for when I return. He has a routine now for making sure that the house is properly cleaned from top to bottom every week and that things are checked and ‘topped up’ every day. When I come home he has coffee or a glass of wine waiting, depending on the time. In the evenings, while I read, listen to music or watch TV, he cooks my evening meal and then bustles around waiting on me and ensuring I have everything I need.

And, because she says it better than I could, let me conclude by quoting Elise Sutton’s reply to another husband’s day-in-the-life testimonial:

A typical day will present a man with scores of opportunities to make a woman’s life better. It all comes down to awareness and focus. Where is the male’s mind? Is it on his hobbies? Is it on his own selfish needs and desires? Or is it attuned to the woman he serves and is it focused on meeting her needs?

I am sure the feeling you felt as your wife drove away warm and dry could not be matched with any kind of selfish pursuit. You made her day and, in the process, you made your day. Keep it up and God bless.

End, Part 2

Day in the Life, Part 1

Three years back I had a post comparing short stories by John D. MacDonald and a writer pseudonymed Eosuchus (also the scientific name of an extinct crocodile).

This post was inspired by another Eosuchus story, “Beneath Her Hem” (Copyright Permian Systems 1997). There seems to be no active link to the entire story, so I can only encourage the author to republish it on his own weblog or elsewhere.

Eosuchus calls it “a litehearted fantasy of daily life in an idealized FDFS household.” But his fantasy, with its minute-by-minute account of a typical day in the life of a wife-worshipping, service-oriented househusband with a dominant breadwinner wife and two teen-age daughters bears no small resemblance to the journal jottings of many actual househusbands in wife-led marriages. Which I will show…

And these accounts, whether fictionalized or , actual diary entries, offer a clear lesson to all would-be wife worshippers (and stealth submittres), whose devotion peters out after a few hours, or days, or weeks of in-service drudgery.

“It took years of dedication to housework, child rearing and pampering without any thought of reward,” my old friend and mentor, fdhousehusband, once told me in an email. I did the chores cheerfully and enthusiastically. I convinced [my wife] that this was my life, Ii was happy in that role and I didn't want anything in return. Yet each time I failed and became lazy I felt that I took several steps backward for both of us. I was moving from one equilibrium to another and I needed to be perfect, not anything in between, not just sometimes.”

That kind of dedication is evident in the hero of Eosuchus’ tale as he goes this his daily “complex ballet” of meeting the needs and meshing with the schedules of his wife and two daughters, cleaning the house, doing laundry, shopping, cooking, preparing meals, driving the girls to and from school and after-school activities. His own Spartan needs—eating, reading headlines on the Web, working out to keep in trim, showering—are sandwiched between chores.

And, of course, we understand that, at the end of this exhausting (but instructive) narrative, it must all be done again the next day. A small sampling:

At nine thirty Elinor would take her first calls. Until then Steve would perform his secretarial role. Promptly at nine the calls began. Steve took calls while he cleaned up everyone's breakfast things and tidied up the kitchen and finished the shopping list.

When Elinor entered the office, Steve went upstairs and broke down the big bed, in which they slept as man and wife… He pulled out the sheets and dropped them in the plastic laundry hamper he now carried from room to room. He gathered underwear, socks, t-shirts, sweats, towels, shirts, pantyhose and bore it away to the basement. He sorted it and began a complex wash cycle.

Upstairs he checked on the dishwasher, emptied it and went over the kitchen with an eagle eye. Crumbs were lurking behind the counter stool. He whistled as he dusted them up and put them carefully into the garbage bin. One more careful check. Elinor might come into the kitchen at any time from about this moment on. Elinor had better not find anything at all to be critical of in the kitchen.

He went up to the bedrooms again and remade the big double bed. The girls got clean sheets twice a week and they weren't due for a change yet. He went over the bedroom carefully, with duster and damp cloth. It was time to vacuum…

The intricate, high-speed drudgery is only occasionally relieved by an erotic interlude, like this one during lunch, which, of course, he fixes for her:

She was going to sit in the kitchen and eat while she watched him work. Steve put on an apron and cleaned up the mess from making her sandwich and salad. He put some toast down for himself and filled a very small bowl with walnuts and cashews. He drank a glass of water and then did little odd jobs, cleaning around the kitchen while Elinor watched him.

"Steve, take off your shirt and pants," she said. Steve felt himself getting excited. He did as he was told, of course and put his clothes out of sight in a cupboard. Elinor ordered a very small glass of white wine from the chiller. When he brought it for her she squeezed and pinched his ass.

"I see a spot down there on the floor," she announced pointing to the tile right beside her stool. He got down on his knees to wipe the floor for her. By the time he'd finished that to her satisfaction she was pointing her foot at him for his kiss…

The long day ends with Steve “cuddling his wife and ruler as she slipped happily into sleep, served and serviced to the absolute limit of a man's ability.”

A happy ending, if I ever read one. Though this won’t be understood by those hard-boiled males who occasionally leave comments like, “You guys are hopeless wusses!” We KNOW that okay? Well, wusses maybe, but not hopeless. We live in perpetual hope. We relish the power imbalance, the daily rituals of ultra-romantic courtship where the woman is idealized and idolized. Not for everyguy, that’s fine.

Now, as promised, here are some non–fictional “days in the life”:

Fdhousehusband, previously mentioned, kept a running journal of his domestic activities on various websites. You can select any excerpt at random to see the kind of nonstop dedication he summoned to maintain his high level of service. In the following paragraphs, his wife had just assigned him to put on a dinner party for her and several business associates:

The problem with planning and executing an important dinner party is that the day-to-day requirements of serving my wife don't disappear. Two days ago, I awoke and scurried downstairs to do my morning chores. I fetched the paper, emptied the dishwasher, prepared the coffee for my wife and served her breakfast when she came downstairs. I then ran upstairs to make the bed, got breakfast for the girls [he also had two teen-aged daughters at this time] and saw them off to school.

Because Mistress's car was in the shop, I would need to drive her to work and pick her up afterward. Normally, I love being her little chauffeur, but with time tight this week, I needed every second to prepare for the dinner party on Saturday. Nonetheless, I waited dutifully while she prepared herself for work. Although the time seemed to be evaporating before my eyes, I held my tongue.

After I dropped Her off at work, I realized that I needed at least two full days to clean and cook for the party…

[Later] After we arrived home, my wife went to relax in her favorite chair and watch the election returns while I went to prepare dinner. Donning my apron, I quickly sauteed the sausage and chicken and put them into the jambalaya mix to cook. I set the table and knelt in front of my wife. I removed her pumps and massaged her feet through her pantyhose as he watched the television...

Having exchanged many emails and message board posts with Fd in previous years, I can confidently attest that the foregoing is no fabrication. Rather it is a pretty “Day in the Life” for him. The man went the extra mile and then some for his beloved wife—and still does, I am sure, though he has withdrawn his blog and has not posted under that name for several years now.

I cannot similarly vouch for the following wife-led “Day in the Life” account, taken from the book, Empress Arises by Ivy and Bobbi Rigger, originally, but no longer available through Lulu.com:

At five-thirty, Robert (Bobbi) gets up while Ivy stays in bed for a few more minutes snooze... He slips on a light robe and heads for the kitchen.

There, he checks to make sure everything is ready. The coffee is brewing. Breakfast fixings are ready. Ivy likes a single poached egg in the morning, and a slice of toast. It’ll be ready when she comes to the table.

He made her lunch the night before but now he checks to make certain it is prepared properly. She likes to take a sandwich rather than eat out for her lunches. It gives her more time to work at her desk.

Then, Bobbi checks the time. He still has a few minutes. So he sits down at the kitchen table for a preparatory cup of coffee before the day. At ten till six, Bobbi gets busy. He stands and begins boiling the egg. He also pours a cup of coffee and takes it to Ivy Ann where she is just now waking up. He speaks softly, “It’s almost six, Lady mine.” She stirs and slowly sits up in the bed. He gives her the coffee. She takes it and mumbles, “Christ…”

He smiles and heads back to the kitchen… He sets the table and waits until he hears the shower go on. Then he starts boiling the egg.

When she comes dressed to the table a few minutes later, everything is set. The egg waits for her, as does a glass of fresh orange juice. She sits and he pours her coffee. She thanks him. He stands attentively. She sips the juice and, after a second, nods. He slides into the chair across from her.

He smiles and sits quietly, only speaking when she speaks to him, or when he feels that a well formed question or comment will show he is paying attention…

She may also give a few quick instructions for the day. “Remember to put those checks in the bank,” she says. “And. the car needs an oil change." He nods at each instruction. Then, she pauses, thinks for a bit and adds, “Oh, and for your special treat, I have some underwear that needs to be hand washed."

After her breakfast, she rises. It’s time for her to leave. She wants to be in the office at seven thirty. While she brushes her teeth and makes a few last minute changes to her hair, he collects her brief case and stands waiting for her by the door. She appears shortly after that. She looks him up and down then taps her foot once. He drops instantly to his knees, leans forward to grovel before her, and put his head on the top of her shoe.

They wait for a long moment. Finally, she raises the toe of her shoe. He rolls back up to his knees, but remains kneeling. She pets his head and says, “Good boy.” He stays on the floor, with his eyes down and not looking at her until she leaves.
When he hears her car door close, he stands and begins his day...

As soon as she is out of the house, he quickly fixes himself a light breakfast and then gets to work. First, he washes the dishes and straightens up the kitchen. Then, he hurriedly does any outstanding housework that needs to be done. He vacuums the front room, makes the bed, puts a load of laundry in the washer, and so on…

Then, the “special treat.” He finds the underwear she mentioned. She has left them in a separate hamper in the bedroom. There are red panties, black panties, and white cotton panties. These he takes to the downstairs laundry sink and carefully, lovingly washes by hand…

And, because I particularly enjoy and collect these recitations, I’m going to offer several more in a follow-up posting. Stay tuned.

End of Part One.