Happy Place Pt. 03

She wasn't through getting more production out of her submissive husband. After I finished the kitchen she suggested I assist with her bath and packing. I ran her tub, washed her body, even shaved her legs and underarms. When she finished she had me towel her dry. It was weird, but sensual to have a towel in her crack drying her bottom.

"A few more things and then you can help me pack."

She had a towel wrapped around her freshly washed hair. She told me to bring a razor, the gel, toenail clippers, and her body lotion.

"Take off your clothes Joe. It will feel less awkward."

I stripped.

"Clip my toenails."

I sat between her legs, placed her foot in my lap and clipped her nails. I then did the other one. I collected them and threw them in the trash.

She then taught me how to trim her pubic hair because she didn't want any stray hairs showing if she went swimming.

I was either lost or overly focused when she said, "It's called sub space. Don't fight it. That electric current flowing through your body is nothing to be ashamed of, but perfectly normal for a submissive. You're in the zone, Joe."

"Your description is really accurate, but what I'm feeling isn't a longing to take you sexually, but a desire to serve you. I'm so unworthy of you, but at this moment I feel like you're pleased with me, that I'm meeting your expectations."

"You are meeting my expectations. Now go get a wet washcloth and clean off the shaving cream. Then you can apply lotion to me."

She reminded me as I massaged the moisture into her how both Johnny and Skipper enjoyed it too.

"If it wasn't for him pestering me to rub lotion on me and me finally giving in I don't think I'd have ended up in his bed."

I was quiet with a hypnotized look on my face as though mentally I was somewhere else.

"Subspace, Joe. If you love this feeling now, you will really love it after I take a lover. Readying your wife for her boyfriend just like you're doing tonight, but the preparation will continue until I leave to be with him or he picks me up. You'll help me pick my clothes out, dress me, walk me to the car, or greet him at the door, offer him a drink, then make yourself scarce."

She sounded as if she had a sexual buzz coursing through her too, "You'll be in that special place all submissive cuckolds go when their wives are with another man. It won't all be fun. Time will stand still. Your imagination will go crazy. Your thoughts will be on my return. Now, let's go pack."

That buzz was overloading my central nervous system and causing my penis to drip, drip, drip. Bewitched, under her command, I did her bidding. Suitcase up on the bed then opened, Followed her to the closet.

She pointed out a dress. I took it and laid it on the bed. Exercise wear. Swimsuits. Slacks, blouses. She sent me to fetch a second suitcase. Footwear. Nightwear. She tried a lot of clothes on in front of me, but didn't solicit my input. When she had narrowed down her selections, she showed me how to fold them and place them in her suitcase.

"You need to learn how I like my things packed Joe. I'm going to be taking more trips if all goes well. When I return I want you to empty them, take my dresses to the dry cleaners, wash and dry the rest like you do now. Remember, the job isn't done until you've ironed, folded and put them away. "

Her tone and the way she spoke left no doubt she saw herself as my superior, "As a treat, you may smell my panties. Does that turn you on? You don't need to answer because we both know it does. Smell them for evidence I've been unfaithful. If you like, wrap them around your penis and pleasure yourself."

Her luggage packed, she reminded me to take it to the car in the morning. She then asked me to get her nightgown. She bent at the waist, extended her arms, and I put it on her. She thanked me, gave me a kiss, and sent me down the hall to my room. She told me to close the door behind me.

I laid in bed and reflected on the evening and how good it had turned out. I considered myself fortunate to have gotten back in her good graces. I knew it was no tease; if the right man came along she would take him to bed. Her decades of sneaking around behind my back were gone. I wondered if her real reason for not telling me wasn't because she feared I would be violent or ask for a divorce, but to spare me pain. Something happened which caused her to open up, to know I was able to handle hearing all her secrets, no matter their depravity.

In the morning before I left the house I placed the two suitcases in Mistress Barbara's car. I knew her flight information and the hotel she was staying in. What I didn't know of was her plan to amp up my cuckold angst.

I returned after work to an empty house. I noticed there was a message left on our answering machine. It was from Barbara telling me her room number and requesting I not call her unless it was an emergency. She said she would call and check up on me from time to time. She reminded me about Saturday.

I went to my bedroom and changed into shorts and a t-shirt. With a lot of idle time on my hands and feeling restless I put my time to good use and began the garage makeover. I had this overwhelming desire to please her. I worked on the garage until late, ate some of the leftovers from dinners I had made, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and put on my pajamas.

I didn't go to my bedroom, but hers. Since moving to separate bedrooms, I had pretty much taken care of my bedroom and the rest of the house leaving her responsible for her room. It was a subconscious act of defiance by a submissive. Being the perceptive woman she is, Barbara had picked up on it and had already formulated a battle plan to break down another wall standing in the way of her achieving the marriage she wanted.

She had purposely made me clean her closet and bathroom the day I moved down the hall to condition me. I had not done her laundry since the move. She had not done her laundry either. She reminded me the night before, laundry was one of my duties and it included her clothes, ironing, folding, putting away, and trips to the dry cleaner.

She had also sweetened the pot offering me her soiled panties to masturbate with after she returned. I didn't know how to categorize it. Was it a bribe or a reward or something deeper? Was she telling me that in the future I'd be using my hand to pleasure myself with instead of her body?

Anyway, I went into her room out of curiosity, guilt, and sense of duty. I wanted to see if she had caved. Knowing how she hated to have wet towels in her bathroom or dirty, sweaty clothes in her hamper for a week, I figured she would have done her laundry.

I discovered she hadn't and she hadn't emptied her wastebaskets. She also hadn't made her bed or straightened her closet or wiped the sink and vanity down.

I didn't feel smug that we were locked in a battle of wills, but guilty. I remembered her talk about my ego getting in the way of my happiness. What I was clearly doing was driven by ego. It was the last gasp of a man resisting the inevitable.

I picked up her clothes and towels, took them to the laundry room, emptied her wastebasket, straightened up the closet, wiped down the vanity, and made her bed.

I surveyed the room and said out loud, "Goodnight Mistress Barbara."

Thursday I worked on the garage, did Mistress Barbara's laundry, had another late meal of leftovers, calculated how many more meals I could eat before having to cook again, showered, got ready for bed, waited for the phone to ring, wondered what she was doing and with whom. I surveyed the photos before turning off the lights and going to bed. I resisted the urge to masturbate because I sensed a climax would only bring me momentary relief of the angst I was feeling. It was very easy to drown in my own pity party and I was only one day two.

Friday, I took a personal day, and revised the garage redo. I acid washed the floors, bought crown molding and baseboard, and applied the first coat of paint to the interior. I worked late and drifted off wondering what Mistress Barbara was doing on her first night off.

Saturday I got up early, dressed and headed to the golf course. I kept telling myself I was doing it for my wife and charity. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about a day lost on my garage project. I met the other volunteers at a breakfast they held for us. They instructed us on our duties then cut us loose. The volunteers were mostly men which was not a surprise considering the demographics of Barbara's workplace. It became very apparent the gender of those at the top of the company was predominantly male.

Long day. Glad I remembered sunscreen and hat to protect my bald head. People I worked with were nice. We kept the players supplied with liquid refreshments. Raised a lot of money. Day was winding down and volunteers were now waiting to join up with their spouses or significant others who had golfed for a barbecue.

We had assigned seats, but someone had forgotten to tell whoever made the seating assignments Barbara was not in attendance. Turned out, all the employees who were in Albuquerque had not been scratched off the attendee list. I found my seat. Everyone around me worked with or for Barbara. They all had nice things to say about her. I thanked them and promised to tell Barbara. A few of the people I knew from other social events, but most of them I didn't know.

We ate and then a tall, handsome, athletic man took the podium. He introduced himself as Fletcher Longstaff. I thought it was a joke, but that really was his name. He's got a commanding presence, very pleasant voice, and he delivered a very impassioned speech about the cause we were supporting. He then talked about the company, its people, and their support to the community.

I estimated him to be around the same age as Barbara and I or even a few years younger. I figured Fletcher was like Barbara, older than he looked. As for me, no one ever thought I was younger; if anything my bald head made them guess older. His speech so moved the audience we gave him a standing ovation afterwards.

There are trophies given out. Fletcher's foursome came in second, losing only by a stroke. Dessert followed. No more speeches. I'm in the middle of telling a story when Fletcher walks up to our table. I didn't see him, but I saw eyes shift their focus from me to him. He told me to continue the story. I finished it. He laughed which I swear made them laugh louder. I thought it was funny, but not that funny. I thought they were sucking up to the boss.

He gripped and grinned with all the others at the table before getting to me. I stood, introduced myself. We shook hands. I appreciated he had a firm handshake and looked me in the eye when speaking. He told me how knew Barbara. I told him Barbara said very nice things about him and how much she enjoyed the project he had her on. I didn't want to sound like a suck up. He looked pleased to hear it. He asked how her trip was going. I told him I didn't know as we usually didn't talk to each other when she was on the road. Someone chimed in that it was proof Barbara and I were long time married. He then praised her managerial and problem solving skills which is why she was chosen for the Albuquerque trip.

Then he said, "She's quite the golfer. She was on my team last time. We could have used her today. Second isn't bad, but first is what I'm used to. Barbara said she plays tennis. Is she good?"

"Yes sir, she does and is. She'd love to play more."

I didn't need to call him sir, but I figured it wouldn't hurt given how high up the food chain he was. He didn't correct me and tell me to call him Fletcher. We chatted some more. He asked what I did for a living. He asked how long I had been with my company. He said it sounded like I had mastered the job and was very comfortable. I told him I was. He said there was nothing wrong with that. People weren't paying attention to our conversation at this point and we had moved a good two feet away from the table.

"We interviewed Barbara before this trip. We try to find the right fit for people, instead of making them fit. She said travel doesn't bother her or long hours because you are self sufficient and don't need to be mothered."

"Sir, she's right. We discussed her career aspirations. We've been married a long time. Our three daughters are out of the house. We are empty nesters. I told her not to worry about me and if she wants to climb the ladder to go for it."

"That's very nice of you Joe. Most men our age or at our stage of life aren't so accommodating. Not all, but most. She'll need your support."

"Sir, I assure you, she'll have it. I know how to cook, launder, Iron, and clean. And Mist..Barbara will keep me busy when she's gone."

I was positive Fletcher's head jerked, but he said nothing.

"Joe, getting back to Barbara's athleticism, I've been looking for another partner. My last partner and I were teammates for almost five years. You can probably tell I'm a bit obsessed with sports."

"Sir, if you're looking for a new partner, then you should ask Barbara. I don't play either."

He looked me in the eye and asked, "You really wouldn't mind?"

"No sir. I wouldn't."

He looked and sounded excited, "I've been looking for a new partner for months. I'm very particular because a lot of women say they play competitively, but they don't. I'll call her this evening."

I almost offered to give him her phone number when I realized they had been in contact with each other since she left. She probably reported to him each day. I thought I might be totally misreading the situation, but damn if I wasn't have a submissive, cuckold moment.

I sensed he was done with our conversation, but I had a burning question.

"Sir, what caused your previous partnership to end?"

He grinned, but it was the grin of a cat toying with a mouse, "She got pregnant. Her husband said he would stay home with their child so she could continue to work, but she said she wanted a sabbatical to focus on her child. I don't know if she'll renter the workforce any time soon. She really enjoys motherhood. She also said it was time for her husband to step up and be a bit more ambitious. She said he was too content."

I persisted, "But, you could have still stayed partners."

"We tried, but we both sensed the magic was gone. Don't get me wrong. I love kids, but parenting is not for me. Whenever we were together all she wanted to talk about was her baby and frankly I wasn't interested. I told her she should be having those conversations with her baby's daddy. She knew I was right, but I could tell it bothered her that her partner for so many years didn't share in her excitement. It was for the best. Joe, I'm glad to have met Barbara's other half and thank you. Now you'll have a face to the voice of the strange man calling your house."

"Sir, the pleasure was mine. Feel free to call anytime."

We shook hands and parted company.I sat down at my table joined in on their conversation until the evening ended. I kept my thoughts in check because I was afraid of putting my foot in my mouth and because if I abruptly left, tongues would wag. Even on the drive home I paid more attention than normal. It was only after I was inside my house, freshly showered that I allowed my arousal and submissiveness to surface.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and headed to Barbara's room. The first thing I notice after I turned on the lights was the basket of clean clothes and towels I had not put away.

"Duty before pleasure," I muttered aloud, as I put things away. Her panties and bras I put away last because I had already made up my mind on how my night was going to end, with a big climax, maybe even two, with Mistress Barbara's panties wrapped around my penis as I choked my monkey.

I opened the drawer where she kept her bras and panties and laying on top of her intimates was a card and a small box addressed to me. I took them from the drawer and debated on opening them. I decided she had left it for me and wanted me to open.

I told myself, "I hope I'm right."

I opened the envelope. Inside was a handwritten note .

"You've been such a sweetheart (except for the other night, but I forgive you and have moved on) I thought you deserved a treat. Inside the box is a souvenir I kept all these years. I want you to use it when you pleasure yourself. Think of all those men on the wall and let your imagination run wild."

I opened the box. It contained a pair of panties. They were plain cotton panties she wore when we first began dating. I inspected them. I looked at the crotch, even held it up to my nose. Nothing. I took the envelope, note, box, and panties to my room.

I put the envelope, note, and box in a drawer containing other mementos. I wrapped the panties around my penis and studied the men's faces on the wall. I decided the panties predated marriage and Skipper. There were two men prior to Skipper, her cousin Johnny and my uncle. I tried to remember when she transitioned from cotton to nylon. It was after the coast.

I got in bed and pumped my manhood and imagined Johnny fucking Barbara. I came way too quickly. I used the ejaculate on the panties to lubricate my penis. It was one of those really rare instances where I never got soft. That orgasm took longer, but the man fucking my wife wasn't Johnny, but Fletcher. I really got into it and described aloud what I imagined they were doing. I put the semen coated panties into the nightstand drawer and drifted off to sleep.

Sunday morning I woke up, moved the panties to somewhere safer, put my pajamas on and brought the newspaper in. I made a cup of coffee and read the paper. I scrambled a few eggs and made toast. I wasn't feeling particularly motivated, but I had a self imposed deadline to meet. I changed into shorts and a t-shirt and headed to the garage.

It wasn't eight o'clock when three familiar cars pulled into the driveway. Reinforcements. My three daughters and their families or boyfriends showed up.

My oldest explained, "Mom called. She said you could use some help on the garage."

"How did she know I was working on it?"

My daughter shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know. She just did."

One daughter watched the kids while the rest of us tackled the garage. We even installed garage screen doors. They convinced me to paint the garage floors and to change the lighting to make it really 'pop'. While I was working with my son in law and another daughter's boyfriend my daughters made a food run. We ate inside. I noticed they had quite a few picture frames and photo albums out. I started to say something, but one of my daughters said it was a surprise.

We finished eating. The two men and two of my daughters headed to the garage. My oldest thought I needed a break. I was feeling a bit tired. She asked me to stay inside and keep her company.

"Watch the kids. They've got it. We can catch up."

She's busy looking through photo albums and taking photos out. She has little piles of photos she's organizing chronologically. She's tall and blonde. She has some of her mom's features, but I see a lot of Skipper in her. I don't dwell on it. She's my daughter. Barbara was right, a DNA test would change nothing but cause a lot of pain. She was a great kid and is now a beautiful, kind, woman. Her husband is a good guy.

"Mom says you now have separate bedrooms. How is that working out?"

"We do. My snoring and insomnia were interrupting her sleep. She needed the room. I think deep down she's always wanted her own bedroom."

"That sounds like Mom. Are you sleeping better?"

"Actually I am."

"So everything is good between you two?"

"Yes. We're actually getting along better than ever, not that we didn't get along before. I'm doing a lot more around the house."