Feminine Governance

Playing the Role

Playing the RoleNo one wants to refer to me as the grieving widow... but essentially that is how I am treated... and that is how I must act.

So for many days I must live quietly and modestly. Ms. Grover offers breakfast, prepares a sandwich for lunch and something I can heat for dinner. She cleans and by mid morning leaves for the day as I mournfully declare I prefer solitude.

And I do indeed so prefer... but not for mourning.

No. With the satellite connection coming by way of the internet, I can observe husband Reggie begin the long term plan I have for his transformation. In seven years he will be declared legally dead. So I have more than adequate time for the physical, psychological and emotional alteration. After that, lest his legal ‘demise’ bring the dissipation of trust distributions, he will reappear. Some story will be concocted concerning his disappearance. The authorities will fume but reimbursement for the costs of his search will mollify.

And thereafter I will have a monogamous relationship with a husband who displays loyalty, discipline and obedience.

The cook departs. I rush to my study like a school girl eager to view a rock star. To the computer my fingers type in the limited internet access address. Only a code will bring to the screen the sound and images I desire. And the sound and images are incredibly vivid. Expensive high definition cameras, microphones placed everywhere, I have spared no expense in assuring that I can be entertained while ostensibly mourning the presumed death of my husband... the presumed but not legal death that is.

With the combined satellite/fiber optic link, the connection is crystal clear and instantaneous. And in lounging about in my bathrobe and slippers I find myself parting the folds, spreading my knees and presenting my rapidly moistening quim to my playful fingers.

The scene excites. Nurse Peggy is in charge. And just as the purportedly deranged man suffered her vengeance, Reggie is likewise meeting one of three women who will be instilling the loyalty, discipline and obedience I demand.

Yes, Reggie sits. He is intubated, catheterized, rectally plugged and in four point restraint... severe four point restraint. Ling Wong procured a special bondage chair, deliciously kinky, which enables in charge women to keep husband Reggie completely immobile. Thick nylon straps encircle forearms, biceps, thighs, calves and torso to assure Reggie and the chair are one. The seat is devilishly designed in that it is split, very much like the contraption a woman must endure at her gynecologist’s office. Thus my husband’s male package dangles most vulnerably, a condition in which he will face his superiors for a very long time.

Ling Wong and I conspired long and hard concerning the hands. When permitted, I want Reggie to have some freedom of motion, but to never touch himself. Over are the days of furtive m**********n for him. So we have metal mesh bags that encapsulate each hand and which are locked about his wrists. To enhance his sense of bondage, very important in breaking him, Nurse Peggy injected liquid insulation into each mesh bag before encasing the hand. Thus when the substance dried it expanded and solidified to hold in place the fingers. So not only are the hands rendered useless, Reggie cannot even wriggle a finger.

I watch and listen, my fingers rubbing about as Reggie helplessly sits. The microphones are sensitive. I can hear him breathe. For the initial few days Nurse Peggy will keep him blindfolded and deafened. He cannot speak, see or hear. Nothing to taste in being fed through the gastric tube and rectal tube. He can only feel, and what he feels he cannot explain to himself. Thus percolating in his mind are thoughts of panic, despair, loss... with questions, all unanswered, bringing mental desperation and confusion.

As my fingers caress to slowly bring my quim to a lather, I think about how easy it was to induce unconsciousness with the fentanyl and await the rendezvous with Monica and Peggy. Arriving on schedule in the early darkness, no one noticed as Monica used her inordinate strength to pick up my husband’s naked form like a doll and transfer it to the rented motor boat. Yes I stripped him naked. Clothes are something he will live without for quite a long time.

“He’s well hung,” Monica commented as the long flaccid manhood flopped about.

I laughed.

“And I’ll soon be putting it to optimal use.

“Toss this overboard about a half mile out,” was my last instruction before they departed and I worked to assure all evidence of my skullduggery was tossed aside.

Reggie’s trousers will be found at some point, adding to the speculation over his disappearance but not bringing the conclusion of death. It’s part of the plot.

Well, there’s not much activity to observe now. But knowing Reggie will cheat no longer brings both comfort and the satisfaction of revenge. For now, that fulfills... as does answering his call for help. Soon Reggie’s exacting regimen will begin and I’ll have more entertainment.

And whenever I have second thoughts concerning my complex conspiracy, I open Reggie’s once private drawer and review the secret check book... that used to pay off all the extortionists and harlots. When I count the checks and add up the funds expended, such second thoughts are dispelled.

And then there is that videotape. In a way, I am glad Reggie never destroyed it.