The Stair

The Stair

by

Miss Irene Clearmont.



An Adult tale of Female Domination



There is no coming to consciousness without pain.- Carl Jung
The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain.- Karl Marx


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Copyright © Miss Irene Clearmont (2012 March)

The Stair.
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The Dress.
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I awoke to the sound of her heels on the stair. It must have been the creak of the door that actually woke me, but it was the click of metal on the terracotta tiles that brought me to.

The faint light from the open door surrounded her slender form like a glow to my light-starved eyes. Her face had that enigmatic smile that she always wore when she entered my little kingdom and looked down at the husband that she kept for her private use and torment in the cellar beneath the house that we had bought together.

As I looked through the bars of the cage I could see that tonight she was wearing that long dress that I had bought for her, the one that we always called the ‘hope and charity’ dress because it was for charity events that it was intended. Smooth silk, unadorned and flowing like liquid over her slim figure.

At last she stood before the cage and passed a hand over her long curls. It was a little habit of hers that used to so enchant me. Now it left me breathless with desire. How I longed to return to those simple days when every instinctive move of her body and head was a signal of her love for me.

The love that had turned to hate.

Maybe not exactly hate, more distaste…

“Darling,” she said, “I just thought that I’d look in on you for a moment before I went out. It always fills me with such joy to be able to keep you up to date with my love life.”

I nodded but the gag in my mouth prevented words of contrition tumbling from my lips.

Her slender hand moved a stray curl from her cheek as she spoke.

“Do you remember Ken Halderwell?” she asked rhetorically. “Well we have arranged to meet tonight and then perhaps go to the theatre. Who knows what will be happening after that, though I think that the fact that he has booked a room at the Savoy may well mean that I won’t be back until tomorrow.”

I tried to speak but only a whimper issued from my lips.

“Oh, darling, are you hungry or thirsty?” she asked in a mock concerned tone. “Perhaps we have time for you to drink a little?”

I tried to shake my head but she just ignored the movement and turned to get the tube from the hook on the wall. When she had attached the tube to my gag her hands closed the covers over my eyes and smoothed over the leather with a firm motion to make the Velcro take grip.

“That’s better. You know that you are not allowed to see my body any more, not since you decided that there were other women besides me!”

I heard her slip off her dress and then a slight tugging at the tube as she got herself comfortable. I tried to move my head but she had already hooked it with a ring at the top of the cage where I crouched as the first of the liquid entered my mouth.

I heard the water leave her body and pour into the funnel and her sigh of release as she enjoyed relieving herself for my benefit. As I struggled to swallow she chuckled to herself.

“That’s so much better now. I really didn’t want to go out with all that inside me. I will feed you tomorrow and tell you all about my adventure, so get yourself in the right frame of mind because I would not want you to cry again like the last time.”

I heard the click of her heels on the stair, the slight creak of the door and the turn of the key in the lock and then I was alone in my darkness.

The Plan.

The house was paid for, the car was paid for, but the rest of our lives was a mass of bills that we paid as they became due. I suppose that is one of the consequences of working for a software firm. The money arrives in gushes as the work is finished and the salary is paid in bonuses and shares in the software.

If it sells, then you are rich.

If it bombs then it’s nose to the grindstone.

After a year it became clear that the company was going to fold with huge debts unless it was bought out by one of the larger sharks in the pool. My share of the company was twenty per cent. That meant that I had a fifth of the profit and a fifth of the debt! The trouble was that the debt was eight million and the profit was measured in hundreds of thousands.

It was my wife, Eve, my lovely wife who came up with the insurance scheme as I sat one evening trying to make sense of the company accounts.

“Life insurance,” she had said as she looked at the balance sheet that I had sketched out on a piece of A4. “We transfer everything into my name, we insure you for a load of money and then you die!”

I looked up at her, shocked.

“I have to die to get us out of our money problems?” I asked incredulously.

“Don’t be silly darling. You don’t die, you disappear and then I claim the insurance. We hide you abroad or in the cellar and wait until the money comes and all of the company debts are declared invalid due to your death.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Eve,” I said doubtfully. “How long does it take?”

“Seven years. But that is seven years abroad, darling,” said Eve seriously. “You will find work under an assumed name and I will guard the fort and visit all the time!”

“I’m not sure,” I replied.

But the idea took root as the debt mounted.