Chapter 13: Household Chores

At the exact same time that Jack was putting the moves on my wife, I was in my office, having a homemade sandwich for lunch.

It was now about two months since I had started wearing bras (during the day) and nightgowns (during the night) for Janice.

Two months, and so many changes!

My mind traveled over to my briefcase which I knew contained a moist pair of panties that Janice had worn just yesterday. Should I take them out to enjoy them for a minute? My penis shifted uncomfortably in my tight, white, control-top panty.

My life was now overflowing with sexual tension, and all of Janice's little daily rituals and 'new traditions' seemed to just pile it on.

For example, it wasn't enough that my penis was encased in lacy, silky panties. It wasn't enough that my breasts were being encased and hugged by a satiny bra which tugged at my shoulders whenever I moved.

No, that wasn't nearly enough for Janice.

Because I had to have her soiled panties with me as well. "So you can take them out and smell me, whenever you'd like," she said, sweetly. "All part of my nefarious plan to make you totally addicted to my body, to bind you to me ... forever."

As if I wasn't already bound by our marriage vows. I took another look at the briefcase. In my mind's eye I could see her midnight blue nylon panties nestled in the zip-loc bag, tucked in behind some papers.

Later tonight I knew I would be seeing tomorrow's panties up close and personal, since my worship of her crotch had become a part of our daily ritual.

It began every morning at her dressing table. Each and every day she would provide me a copy of my oath which, with my nose in her crotch, I would be required to recite.

Recently, at Janice's suggestion, I had begun making additions to my daily oath. These were always worshipful suggestions, and they would change every day. For example, I might start off with, "I, Paul Johnson, completely under the spell of my goddess, who controls me, mind, body and spirit, do solemnly swear..."

Or, I might add on to her name, and say something like "Lady Janice, whose smells, touch, taste, and vision I have become dependent upon as much as I have become dependent on air for breathing..."

Yes, corny, I know. But it's all just role-playing, right? If you can't be corny with your wife while playing a role, then when can you?

Of course, at some point the boundaries between role and reality begin to blur ... or disappear.

Like cooking, for example. All of the dinners became my responsibility, as well as all of the cleaning around the house. Was that part of the role, or was that part of real life? Janice was getting home later and later, and her job had gotten a lot busier after her promotion.

Janice and I had both been elated with her promotion, of course. She saw it as evidence that her newly assertive personality was being rewarded in the workplace. Cynically, I thought that it probably had just as much to do with her shorter dresses, stockings, low-cut blouses, and high-heels. But of course, I would never say that to her.

So I began to work through lunch so I could leave a half-hour early to get home in time to prepare dinner. Janice was always very particular about having dinner ready for her as soon as she got home. "By the time I get home, it's already late for dinner," she explained, "and I just don't think we should make it one minute later. Don't you agree?"

Of course I did ... it made sense. And I really didn't mind cooking for her, after all, she was always so appreciative of my efforts.

But she definitely wanted dinner on time! Once I had to stay late at work - something came up at the last minute - and so dinner was not quite done when she got home.

"What do you mean, it's not ready?" She asked, on the verge of being angry.

"I'm ... it's just ... something came up at work, and I just couldn't get home in time..." I stammered, surprised at her attitude.

"Fine!" she said, "I'll just make my own dinner."

And to my astonishment, she went to the kitchen and made herself a sandwich.

"But ... dinner will be ready in just 35 minutes," I pleaded with her. "Can't you wait?"

She glared at me. "I expect dinner to be ready when I walk in the door," she said. "We talked about it, right? We agreed, right? And yet, it's not done. 35 minutes is exactly 35 minutes too late. I am going to eat this sandwich and then go to bed, and if you know what's good for you, you'll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight."

And with that, Janice took her sandwich into the bedroom and slammed the door.

That was the last time I was late for dinner! From then on, I made sure to always have a backup plan, something which could be thrown together quickly, just in case.

My boss, Rachael, certainly noticed the difference.

"Your productivity has dropped, Paul," she said as we had our quarterly meeting together. "Your task completion is down by more than 30% ... is everything OK?"

"Oh, sure," I said, "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Well, Janice has had to work late a lot recently, she just got a promotion ... and well, I guess I've had to take on a larger share of the housework."

"Really??" Rachael's eyes lit up at my admission. "If only I could find a husband like you! I'll have to ask Janice how she convinced you to sacrifice your career for hers."

"Well, that's not how I'd put it..." I said quickly, horrified at Rachael's implication. "It'll just be temporary, really. Just until Janice has a chance to clean up the mess at work she inherited."

"Well, I wouldn't be too sure," Rachael said. "Regardless, I'll have to shift some of your tasks to Daniel, I hope that's okay. After all, the work has to get done."

My heart sunk. I knew that unless I started working more hours I might be out of a job.

"Sure," I said, "but it will only be temporary, I swear."

Unfortunately, it wasn't just dinner that was cutting into my work hours. Over the last month, Janice had pretty much made it clear that I was to be responsible for all of the housework as well.

"Sweetie..." she would always start this way. "I brought home a ton of work to do. Could you do the laundry? It really needs to be done."

Or, "I'm sorry, honey, there's no way I'm going to be able to clean the bathrooms today, and they are getting positively filthy. Would you be a dear and do it for me?"

"Maybe it's time to get maid service?" I inquired, cautiously one evening.

"No way!" Janice slammed her palm down on the table, causing me to jump. "Strangers? Wandering around our house? Doing who knows what? What if they discovered all of your lady's lingerie?"

"I guess you have a point," I backed down, quickly.

"Honey," Janice said, soothingly, "I know you've had to do all this extra work around the house, but I promise, I'll pitch in as soon as my job starts to let up a bit." Janice reached over to stroke my neck.

"OK..." I said, mollified somewhat.

"But until I do, would you mind washing my stockings? I know it's a pain, but they really do need to be washed by hand and then hung up to dry. They are expensive, and they really need just the best of care."

I looked into her eyes, feeling completely trapped. With her new job, Janice was making considerably more money than I was, and so I knew it just made sense that I picked up the slack at home.

"Yes, I can do them," I said, defeated, taking on yet another household chore.

"You're the best," she said.

And so I was kept busy. Evenings were spent cooking dinner and cleaning up. Weekends were spent doing laundry and cleaning the house from top to bottom, including vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing toilets, etc. etc.

I found myself reluctantly taking on chores which we had never done before. Things like hand-washing our lingerie. They had always been machine washed before, but now, for some reason, Janice felt that only hand-washing (and hang-drying) would do.

And ironing the sheets. Janice had never, ever, ironed sheets before, but now I was supposed to do it. And since I had to wash the sheets every week, that meant ironing them every week as well.

"The sheets look wonderful!" Janice enthused, after I had ironed them for the first time. "Don't you think they look so nice and crisp! Oh, I can't thank you enough, I've always wanted to do them, but never had time. Thank you, Paul."

"You're welcome," I mumbled.

Well, at least she was grateful.

Pretty soon I was ironing not only the sheets, but Janice's entire wardrobe as well.

"Honey?" Janice called out.

"Yes?" Janice was in her closet when I entered.

"I'm totally swamped preparing for the meeting tomorrow. Would you mind?" She held up her blouse.

"Mind what?" I asked, not comprehending.

"I need you to iron this blouse for me, if it's not too much trouble. I wouldn't ask, except I'm going to be getting to bed late enough as-is."

"Sure!" I agreed, assuming that this was a one-time thing.

"And... ?" she asked, tentatively.

"Something else?"

"Well, the only shoes I have to wear with this suit are these black ones, but they're all scuffed up..."

"Do you want me to shine them for you?"

"Would you? Oh Paul, I don't know how I'd cope without you!"

"Sure..." I sighed.

"Oh, and if you could touch up this skirt with the iron that'd be great, too. It got a little creased the last time I wore it. Thanks!"

Of course the next night, Janice asked me to iron her clothes again. And this time, she had a dark blue pair of shoes which needed to be cleaned and polished.

On the third night, she didn't even ask. I just found her outfit, blouse, suit, and shoes waiting for me.

Other than all of the cooking, cleaning, and laundry, there were easily a thousand other small tasks which Janice asked of me -- tasks which I would group into the category of 'personal servant'.

Anything and everything which Janice needed, if she could get me to do it, she would.

"Paul? Take these to Office Depot and get 5 copies of each, collated and stapled. Thanks."

"Paul? I just left my clothes on the floor over there. Would you mind putting them in the hamper? Thanks."

"Paul? I need you to take this suit to the cleaners, OK? And you'll pick it up when it's done, won't you?"

"Paul? I need to take this hem up, just a half inch. You can do that, can't you? Oh, and don't use the machine, I know you can do a better job by hand. Thanks!"

"Paul? Would you make a fresh cup of coffee for me? Thanks!"

At some point, after a particularly exasperating evening of request after request, I was just about fed up. I had just gone out to the office supply store where I bought a new red pen for Janice. A whole trip out for just one fucking ball-point pen!

"Here's your pen," I said, slamming it down on the desk where she was working. "Maybe in the future I should kneel by your side, so I could be instantly available for your next command, my Lady Janice?" I said, with heavy, heavy sarcasm.

"Really?" Janice looked up at me. "What a wonderful idea!"

"No!" I stepped back, horrified. "I was just joking!"

"Maybe you were," she said, "but it's still a good idea. After all, sometimes it seems like I wait forever until you answer my call."

Janice got up and fetched a throw-pillow from the closet. She dropped it on the floor next to her desk.

"From now on," she said, "this is your 'beck and call' pillow. Whenever this is on the floor, I want you to be kneeling on it, ready to handle my every need."

"No..." I moaned. "Please, no. I have a life too ... I mean..."

"Listen," Janice reasoned with me, "My work is just insane now. OK? And the sooner I can get through this, the sooner our life can get back to normal. You want that, don't you?"

"Yes..."

"Well then, surely you'll want to help out in any way that you can, right? If only temporarily?"

"Sure ... I guess."

"In any way you can?"

I sighed. "Yes, in any way I can."

"Good. Now kneel on the pillow..."

I hesitated. Would I really do this? "But Janice, this is just too much. I mean, I really do want to help out, but this..."

"You said yesterday that you would do whatever you could, right?"

"Yes, I remember..."

"Well, can you do this? Is it impossible for you to kneel here next to me and be my assistant?"

"No, it's not impossible, but I just think my time could be better used elsewhere."

"I'll be the judge of that," Janice said, coldly. "I need you to be here for me. Specifically, I need to you be right here, kneeling and ready to help at a moment's notice, for me. You said you would do anything you can. You can do this. So kneel."

I hid my face in my hands, for some reason, I was suddenly very short of breath.

"Paul?" Janice looked at me, expectantly.

I hesitated and turned away for a second. For some reason, my breath was coming out in only short, quick gasps. I closed my eyes and tried to think, but all I had pounding through my head was her cold words: 'You can do this'.

"I don't have all evening," she said, behind me.

I turned around and looked at Janice with weepy eyes. She simply pointed to the pillow by her side.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I sank down and knelt on my new 'beck and call pillow'. I knew I was giving in and giving up a part of my freedom. Intellectually, I might have thought it was only temporary, something needed to help with her job. But if I had been honest with myself, I think I always knew that it would become a permanent part of our life together.

A single tear leaked out of my eye as I looked up at Janice, who had already turned back to her work.

After about 10 minutes, Janice gave me her first command. Without even glancing in my direction she said, "Go to the 24 hour grocery store and purchase a dog collar for a large dog," she said, simply.

"What?" I asked, incredulous. "Why do you need that?"

WHAM Janice slammed her palm on the desk, causing me to jerk away. "NEVER ASK WHY!!" she shouted. "WHY DO YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHY? I THINK THE COMMAND IS CLEAR, ISN'T IT?"

After a second to settle down, Janice continued in a more reasonable tone.

"I realize this is new," she said, "so I really shouldn't be so upset. But I've always hated that you have to know the reasons for everything. So, rule number 1: never ask why. If a command is unclear, you can ask for clarification on exactly what you need to do. But you may never ask why. My reasons are my own."

Suddenly I realized just how dominant Janice had become. Her outburst made it clear that this was her new personality ... this was not 'role-playing' any more. At least not for her.

"Do you understand?" Janice asked, quietly.

"Yes."

"Now, let's try again. Go to the 24 hour grocery store and purchase a dog collar for a large dog."

Without saying a word, I got up, got my car keys, and headed out of the house.

Fortunately, the grocery store is pretty close, and so in about 20 minutes I was back, kneeling on the 'beck and call' pillow and holding the dog collar.

As soon as I was back, Janice gave me her next command.

"Take off all your clothes except your panties and bra. Take the dog collar out of its package and put it on."

When I was done, I went back to kneeling on the pillow. The dog collar fit snugly around my neck. I understood now that it was intended to make me feel more subservient and conscious of my new role.

It worked.

And what was worse, it worked on my penis too. I was rock hard.

Janice looked me over, approvingly.