From Husband to Manservant

Chapter One “Denny” June 2012 “I left it for a while before spanking Denny again,” she told me. I had just returned from the offices of the software-company belonging to the woman uttering those words and where I had now risen to de facto CEO. We were seated opposite each other in the conservatory where we liked to discuss the week’s events after my return from London. This to spend a weekend with my hostess and lover in her recently purchased – and suitably private – Kent home. The sprawl of her spacious and very well-kept garden and the rolling hills beyond which, and unseen, ran the River Medway was a tonic to eyes used to gazing out the office window at the urban sprawl of London. At least until after returning from work to the peace and quiet of the Dockside penthouse also owned by the animated and intense woman seated opposite me. As we shared a bottle of chilled to the bone Chenin Blanc, I looked across at the woman who had uttered the remarkable sentence opening my story and who had, in effect, changed my entire way of thinking. My whole existence, in point of fact. She was some eight years older than me and had her heavily accented English not been a clue as to her country of origin then the brown subcontinent skin beneath the cool and vivid red cotton of her sari would certainly have filled in the blanks were corroboration absolutely necessary. But it was not her place of birth that made her words so extraordinary. Not by a longshot. That accolade went to the fact that the “Denny” of whom she was speaking was the even older husband of the houseguest, lover and employee seated opposite at her leisure, this as she sipped wine and brought her hostess up to speed with the week’s events at the company the death of the Indian woman from Hyderabad’s own English husband had led to her inheriting. “Events” that had now been dealt with and allowed us to broach a subject that was dear to both our hearts. And that subject being? Namely: My own spouse. A man who, in terms of being a husband in the true sense of that word at least, or even a man come to that, was as dead to me as the one-time partner of my hostess. “I knew the pain he would feel,” she went on, “would be all the more excruciating, coming as it did so soon after his last experience under my hand. But I also knew that I needed to be really hard on him if he is to continue to improve his levels of obedience and commitment.” “As well as making him think long and hard before disobeying you again,” I added with a smile. “Of course,” she smiled in return. “And not only me, but you also.” “Of course,” I paraphrased, knowing she was sincere as I savoured another sip of the delicious white she knew was a particular favourite with me. “Given the severity of the beating I gave him, I knew he would have some difficulty performing his menial chores for a day or two. But… Correction needs to be applied when unavoidable and he must be taught.” I nodded, p***y moistening as it always did when this, self-confessed, low-born and none too facially appealing Indian woman described with such relish having reprimanded my handsome one-time husband and boss. A husband and boss who just happened to be something of a xenophobe when it came to the shores beyond Europe, let alone Britain – even if he did stop some way short of the cerebral deficiency that prompted one to vote UKIP. Or worse! “After an hour meditating over the form his discipline should take,” she continued, not even bothering to inform me of the infraction necessitating his punishment, knowing as she did that it was quite unnecessary, “I decided to put him out of his misery and had him leave the corner into which I had insisted he place his nose while I thought it over. Which was when I ordered him to the garden.” “You punished him outside?” I gasped with genuine surprise, knowing that despite the secluded location there was always a chance of her – life itself having nothing if not a macabre sense of humour – being discovered in the act. She echoed my own thoughts and in the process reassured me instantly: “And risk being seen? Whatever are you thinking my darling?” Relieved, I remained nonetheless baffled. “I sent him to the garden that he may select and cut several fresh willow switches that would suffice for my correction of his tardy behaviour.” A giggle escaped me at the thought of my older and formerly philandering husband being forced to collect and provide the instruments of his own correction. How far we had come! “Then,” she said, amused herself, “I sent him down to the cellar to wait for me.” That we were talking about an undeniably handsome man who had chosen me to be his second-wife, this after his first had grown tired of his constant cheating and divorced his arse, never failed to amaze me and the pleasure I took from the knowledge his life was no more than a series of duties and homage to his dusky female master – as well as to me when I was in residence – showed no sign of waning. “Why the strange look, my darling?” she asked, mildly concerned. I reiterated my above thoughts and she smiled: “Yes,” she could do no more than agree, “it must be said that we have come a very long way with him in so short a space of time. Though - and even if I do congratulate myself for having seen through him immediately as an impostor pretending to be a man of substance - I confess myself surprised at just how little he provided in the way of a challenge.” Her eyes were suddenly teasing but held also a hint of reproof: “In truth, it was a far more onerous task bringing you to your senses about him and your own potential than it was in making him the beast-of-burden he was always intended to be for a strong woman.” I gave her a huge smile that was genuine in its gratitude for the way she had transformed my previously middle-of-the-road and vanilla existence. Adding: “And I thank you once again for having persisted with me,” I told her, winning an equally large smile of pleasure from my ‘none too facially appealing’ – at least to my husband – hostess. “It has proved nothing but a delight, my darling,” she told me. “And will, no doubt, continue to prove so. But for now do allow me to put you in the picture more fully.” I took an anticipatory sip of chilled Chenin and waited. “When I entered the cellar he was, as taught, standing buck naked with his nose in the corner, unable to prevent himself from trembling as he contemplated what was to come and knowing, as he did, that once I had made up my mind to correct him nothing could or would dissuade me.” This last I knew only too well. Her face, as ever when describing the various ways in which she dominated the man I had once considered my life-partner, was beatific with unholy joy and, this time, a little puzzlement: “I am amazed that you have no wish to witness him being reprimanded, my darling – let alone punish him for his treatment of you over the years for yourself. You would do well to forget he was once your husband, or even a man as the world knows one, and come to terms with what he is now.” I waited, having heard much the same before from her lips and knowing she had not quite finished. As I suspected: “Only then will you take full pleasure from his… indenture… to us both.” For once I disagreed with my employer and lover – or, more to the point, was already ahead of her. “You advise me to do that which I have already done,” I told her. “How could I ever see him as a man again after the way he has allowed himself to be… reduced?” The arms of my Indian hostess and Denny’s ‘master’ went wide with bafflement: “Then why do you not avail yourself of the pleasure of correcting his behaviour? Especially as you are at least as much his owner as I?” Placing my glass upon the low rattan table between us, I reached across to take one of her hands in mine: “Because, my impatient saviour,” I chided her, “and unlike you, I wish to enjoy doing so to the full. At the moment,” I visited upon her a look of mock reprimand, “so often are you taking him to task, the full impact of having the young wife he once ruled-the-roost over correct his behaviour would be lost amidst such similar and frequent treatment.” I could see she was thinking this over and knew from the imperceptible nodding of her head that she agreed with me. “For the moment,” I went on, “it is enough that I get to be in a position of power over him as he performs all manner of menial chores for us he once considered beneath his dignity.” I let her consider this for a few moments, knowing how highly she valued the intelligent application of patience. Then, finally running low on that same quality: “Now, do continue. I’m becoming extremely impatient to hear of his latest punishment at your hands…”