Hausfrau

The night they came back from Octoberfest, she burnt all his clothes. Gerrig and Margarethe agreed a week before that they'd both wear traditional dresses to the famous German beer festival in Munich.

"Gerrig, I only have one dirndl. Why don't you wear your lederhosen you wore last year? The way your thighs and butt look in the tight leather, it gives me ideas for later. Plus, you can do the shoe -- thigh slapping dance, as you call it." After Gerrig had two beers he was a master at the southern German dance. The first time they'd gone to Octoberfest, he'd seen a group of men climb on their table and dance. They'd slap their thighs back and forth, then alternate slapping their shoes. He was mystified and in awe. He looked over at Margarethe and they smiled seductively at each other. She loved his willingness to perform for her in public and other places.

"Why don't you wear the lederhosen? Do a gender role swap. It'd be funny." He suggested, "Besides, it'd save money if we wear what we already have. At the festival, everyone's drunk by 11am and nobody cares what we wear."

"No. I work in a laboratory. I have five chances a year to dress up and look pretty."

"I have less than three," Gerrig admitted.

"You've counted?" She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. Gerrig grew embarrassed. "My answer is still no."

"What if you also wore a dress?"

"So we both wear dresses? Okay. We would have to get you boots and a wig. I'd do your makeup. If you're going out as a woman, I want you to look good. We could go as sisters."

"Or lesbians." He ventured. "Wife and wife."

She grinned ironically. "You're proposing you become my hausfrau?" German for 'house-wife' or 'house-woman' The term gleams with domesticity and order. In its basest meaning, it's equivalent to an appliance. Gerrig loved his wife as a mix of femininity and strength. By 'Wife and wife', he meant equals. He accepted 'hausfrau' playfully. They've always mixed sexuality and sarcasm.

"Well, why not? We've been married for three years. You work and I work. Neither have time to clean the house. When we do, it's a rush job," He suggested.

She grinned. She calculated. "That's true. It's always been an haphazard orgy of Clorox and unwashed socks. It will be my honor to accept you, my husband, as my frau...My hausfrau."

** *

That was a month ago. Gerrig reflected all this as he tried to apply lipstick while wearing a white rubber ball bag, locked from behind. Margarethe had the key and she would be home at six o'clock. It was five forty now. She'd unlock his gag if she didn't misplace her key again... or that's what she said when she wanted a quieter evening. His role as a house maid was different every day. Once he'd learned his chores, she gave him considerable leniency and let him do his jobs when and how he chose, as long as they were done on time. She even let him make his own schedule, which was magneted to the refrigerator door. On the paper was a bold lipstick imprint of a kiss. It was her stamp of approval. One task was the same every work day. He'd prepare her meal in the slow cooker and have the dining room table set for one person. Next to the set would be a tiny music box.

When he'd cleaned the apartment, and prepared her meal, he was required to reapply his makeup and his lipstick. He'd change into the outfits she'd lay out for him every morning. Sometimes it was the silk pink and iridescent blue dirndl and black stiletto boots he'd purchased for the festival. Sometimes it was her deep red and tan dirndl and more practical high heeled leather boots she herself wore. Sometimes, it wasn't even a dirndl at all. One favorite was the emerald green velvet dress and red evening gloves. The velvet stretched and clung to his masculine chest and legs. His wife said it made him particularly desirable. That's the outfit she picked for him when she wanted sex. Tonight, she picked the first dress he purchased for himself, the pink and iridescent blue one. Along with it was a blond wig, a choker necklace with a heart shaped ginger bread cookie, tan pantyhose, white 6-inch stiletto shoes, and white evening gloves. In short, tonight she wanted him to feel very feminine and that it was his choice. He looked over again at the table and checked the gleam of the kitchen and the tidiness of the living room. He felt a certain pride in his domestic abilities. He walked over to the table and double checked that two handcuff keys were in the box. With that he went into the laundry room closet to 'put himself away'. He faced the wall, put on his blindfold, turned off the lights, and slowly crouched down. He handcuffed his ankles together, then one wrist, looped the chain through the feet, and handcuffed the other wrist. With the familiar clicks, he waited.

He knew her routine by sound. She would come home, drop her handbag onto the couch, take off her shoes, and walk to the kitchen. After a brief pause he would hear the lid clink on the slow cooker. Then the refrigerator door would open, and he'd hear her pour a drink. Most likely it was the mixed drink he prepared for her. Then the bathroom door would shut, he'd hear the sound of water running, and eventually she'd return to the dining room, just on the other side of his closet. After her dinner, sometimes he'd hear her talking on the phone or watching TV, then silence for the night. His only clue she was considering him was if she opened the box, it would play a little tune. It was now ten minutes till the hour, and he assumed his position. Occasionally she arrived early, and he needed to be ready. If he wasn't, she stood there with her arms crossed, staring at him saying nothing. She would wait patiently for him to assume the position. Once he was locked in and at her disposal, she would announce how many minutes she waited. That's how many hours he would wait for her. Once, she came home an hour early. She didn't tend to her 'appliance' until the following night.

Tonight he was ordered to place two table sets. She'd told him she had extra special evening plans with him. It had been a whole month since his change in vocation, and he figured she wanted to have a real dinner with him to celebrate.

***

The night they came back from Octoberfest, Gerrig collapsed on the living room couch, still dressed up. The next morning, he found a retractable dog chain and bell locked around his penis and ball sack. His hands were handcuffed behind his back. He followed the chain confused, thinking this was part of the joke. It led to the radiator in the kitchen, where it was fixed in place with another lock. The joke had run its course.

"Margarethe?!" He called as he proceeded to the bedroom. A foot from the door he felt a painful tug between his legs. He looked down at the retractable chain and saw it was taught. "Margarethe!" He called again. She opened the door sleepily and looked concerned.

"'Morning Brigette, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong!? Did you just call me Brigette? What's wrong!?" He shook his waist and the bell rattled. "What's gotten into you?"

"Oh! I see. You forgot about yesterday. Yesterday we went to Octoberfest and you went as my house wife. You even agreed to the term hausfrau. I thought about what you said, how we're both working people and neither have time to clean the house. I thought, 'you're right'. You always say I don't know how to clean. Then after insulting my attempts, you offer to show me the proper way. You're the unappreciated wife and I'm the lazy husband. I thought if I did overtime at work, we could afford you staying home and doing what you know best."

"What? What!? You decided that I'm going to quit my job?"

"Well I'm not quitting mine. I'm a working woman. You know, feminism and all that. But you were born privileged and a dick, and you clearly believe in conventional gender roles. So here you are, my hausfrau, and here's your new job." And she waved her hand over the apartment. Again Gerrig tried to protest. "Hush my love. Don't furrow your brow like that, it ruins your beautiful face. Oh, before I forget, I decided that Gerrig wasn't a suitable woman's name so I decided to call you Brigette. She was the actress who played the robot in the silent movie Metropolis. You remember that movie, you said how cool it would be to have a female robot. I agree with you completely, Brigette. I'll let you know how cool it is in a couple months. In the meantime, don't get your panties in a wad. I have some new arrangements I want to discuss." She suppressed a laugh. "How do you like the sound of that? Your panties?"

He frowned, "People will come looking for me. Work. Friends. How long do you expect to hold me here? I can't wear this dress the whole time." His blood started to rush to his head in a panic. He calmed it with a joke. "I mean, look at this apron? It's silk! What a useless apron."

She smiled encouraging. "There you go. Look on the positive side of it. You get to wear lots of pretty dresses. No one's going to look for you. Your family's in Canada, you're a freelance photographer, and you hate social media. If work does call for you, I'll tell them you're not interested and the matter will drop. Besides, I work in a pharmacy and know plenty of doctors that will write letters saying you're sick." She added cheerfully, "plus, seeing how I work around drugs all day, I could easily give you something to help you embrace your new life." Again, Gerrig frowned.

"Brigette, my pet, I order you to stop frowning. It ruins your makeup. Which reminds me, your makeup from yesterday has rubbed off. You're gonna have to work on that. I won't tolerate a wife that ignores her looks just because she doesn't plan on going out!" Her voice stopped sounding playful. Gerrig slumped on a chair. His whole body in compliance. "You look overwhelmed. I know it's a lot to handle. Can I give you a shoulder massage?" He glared at her limply. His energy had drained away. She went over to him and started kneading his shoulders and upper back. After a few minutes, his breathing and heart rate had returned to normal. As this happened, something else started to rise. To his puzzled embarrassment, the pleated skirt of his dirndl started to rise between his legs. Sex was furthest from his mind, but something was giving him physical pleasure. The massage subdued him so much he didn't notice when she let go of his shoulders until her hands returned with a blindfold. "Don't worry, it's a beautiful aqua scarf and matches your pink apron quite fetchingly. I have a surprise for you in the laundry room, so up we go, big girl." Gerrig managed to rise on his own, despite his hands behind his back, the stiletto heels, and not seeing anything. All yesterday he was unfazed by the pressure on his ankles and feet, but now his legs shook and he feared falling over. Margarethe saw his fear and held his arm. She offered encouragement, "It is hard to walk in heels, but beauty is pain. The trick is to walk on the balls of your feet, not the heels. It's like you're tiptoeing. The stiletto is just for balance, not to support your whole weight. You can do it!" She even got in front of him and started walking backwards, leading him into the closet. She was cheering him on the whole way.

After five minutes of painstakingly small steps, they crossed the threshold. "Okay, wait here." He casually wondered where he could go, suddenly too tired to think. While she was away, he felt the slight tug of the chain on his genitals and heard another metallic clinking inside the closet. Then there was another tug attaching cold metal to his right ankle. She coaxed him to squat down and he felt a tug from his right ankle, pulling down on his wrists, and connecting to his left ankle. He was startled out of his funk when he realized his hands were handcuffed to his feet and he couldn't get up. Finally, she said, "you must be hungry. Let me give you something to eat." He instinctively opened his mouth and she popped a rubber ball in and strapped it to his face, locking it behind his neck. Once he was completely secure, she whispered in his ear "About going out... you won't. Gerrig won't. I burnt all his clothes last night after he quit his job. Brigette will wear what she's wearing now or my old clothes until we have time to go shopping. Every day I permit you to wear practical dresses, but after your chores, I expect you to look fresh and elegant. I married you because your strong muscular body and your sense of humor. After a long day of squinting at prescriptions, I want to come home to my beautiful sexy wife and have a good conversation. I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I have some errands to run and I can't have you stumbling about the apartment hurting yourself or calling out. You're safe in here. It's dark and cozy. A perfect little nook for me to store my sexy new appliance." Gerrig's chains clattered as he pulled in all directions and yelled a muffled mumph. "That's so sweet, my love. Thank you...Bye now!" She shut the closet door. Gerrig heard the lock click. Then a moment later he heard the front door shut and deadbolt turn. All was quiet and his calves already ached.

***

Gerrig listened to the dish washer stop. It meant she was twenty minutes late. He was losing feeling in his calves and his knees were aching. He tried to stretch. He could rise a whole foot. The pressure was still on his ankles but his calves slowly regained blood flow. As he raised and lowered himself, he felt the sheer nylons gliding under the petticoats. Between the skirts, the ruffles, the apron, there were 4 layers of silk. They all rustled enticingly. He rubbed his satin gloved hands and wrists together as best he could to ease pressure from the handcuffs. All his muscles ached, but the pleasures of confinement and texture aroused him. One of the few perks of his new life was that he felt himself stiffen throughout the day unexpectedly. At first, it shocked and horrified him, but when Margarethe saw how hard it made him, she was happier, softer, more forgiving with him. She said she loved his "vulnerability." It was "endearing" and meant "I can have more fun playing with you."

While he waited, his rising and lowering also massaged the blood back into his member. It started to swell and bunch up against the silk panties under the nylons. He felt the ring of the lock she had placed on him. It didn't prevent erections, but it prevented ejaculation. The lock chain was attached to the pipe as usual. He shuffled his feet to ease the strain. As he did so, his heels clattered on the tile floor and the chain tugged gently.

When she finally came home, she was talking and laughing with someone. He suddenly felt self-conscious about being discovered. He strained to recognize the other voice. It was a woman's. He knew it from somewhere. Esmerelda! Her co-worker. They'd met at a few outings, but she'd never invited her friends home before, and certainly no one had come in the past month. The voices were suddenly near, just on the other side of the door. He froze his body and his breathing. A moment later they went back to the dining room. He heard a wine cork popping and the gentle sound of glasses being filled.

"Margarethe, the place looks spotless! How have you had time to clean? Since Gerrig had to go back to Canada, you've been doing so much overtime!"

"You know, Esie, I hired a housemaid Brigette. The morning after Gerrig left, I looked at the mess and thought, I need someone whose sole preoccupation is in domestic order. I'm a messy person, but I don't care. I'm good at my job, and I need someone who's job is cleaning. She has no right to complain because I'm paying her. She does an okay job, but she's stubborn. Always making mistakes, and I'm always having to correct her. She does learn eventually. She even made the stew in the slow cooker."

"Well, it smells delicious! Maybe I should hire Brigette? Does she have room in her schedule? Does she cost much?"

"No, she doesn't cost much. I'm sure she could clean your place too. Once her will has been broken, she follows instructions."

"Break her will? If she's just a cleaning lady, you'd think she'd be used to following orders."

"I totally agree with you. Her problem is she's so full of opinions. She'll butt in with her own advice as if she knew best. I have to remind her who works for who."

"Uh-huh. I know what you mean. I used to have a boyfriend like that, but I left him in Spain and haven't looked back. Anyway, when I look at this place, I think Brigette's work shines for herself." Gerrig strained his ears, listening in disbelief. She offered his services! He knew she was messing with him. He knew how much she guarded her personal life. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little pride at a complete stranger praising his work. "By the way, have you heard from Gerrig? Did he say when he'll be back? I don't mean to pry, but was his leaving personal? Does he know you're paying for a servant?"

"We keep in touch regularly. He doesn't know when he'll be back. The flood damage in his family's estate is quite extensive. He spends all his time haggling with the construction workers. There's just no one else to do it!"

"Have you thought about moving there to be closer?"

"I don't have the right training to do my job there, and plus sooner or later he'll be back."

"Do...do you miss him?" Esmerelda finally asked, embarrassed.

Gerrig's mascaraed eyes bulged beneath his blindfold. Esmerelda asked the question he was terrified to ask Margarethe. Terrified at his punishment, terrified that she might not miss him. His heart beat increased and a cramp shot through his whole left leg. He tried to adjust noiselessly but he slipped and fell over on his side. The conversation on the other side of the door stopped. He felt the deep humiliation of exposing himself like this and exposing his wife. At the next moment he heard Margarethe say enthusiastically, "Would you like to meet Brigette? I was going to introduce you two anyway, after the wine. But since she insisted on interrupting... I told you she's stubborn."

He heard the wooden chairs squeak as they slid back from the table. The next moment he felt the cool apartment air rush into his little room. He heard the click of the closet light. In the silence, he felt a thousand eyes ridicule him. Margarethe resumed, "Esmerelda, this is Brigette, Brigette, this is Esmerelda. Remember your manners. Greet the lady." He muffled indistinctly through the gag and squirmed helplessly on the floor.

Esmerelda looked down at Margarethe's husband wriggle on the floor in a heap of silk skirts, petticoats, and embroidered flowers and hearts. He wore a blond wig and an iridescent blue and pink dirndl with a white blouse top. He wore a choker necklace of a heart shaped ginger cookie. She saw a pink corset in the gap beneath the dress and the blouse. He wore a shiny white ball gag that was wet with saliva. His lips were painted a delicate coral. He wore white satin elbow length gloves. Barely visible in the folds of his dress, she saw white stiletto shoes. His hands and feet were chained behind him. When he fell he went from a squatting position to a hogtie. He had been blindfolded with a blue scarf. The scarf matched his dress, his corset matched his apron, and his hands, feet, and gag matched. Somehow winding from the heap was a single wire chain that was fastened to a radiator pipe 3 feet away. Esmerelda laughed without meanness. She laughed as one who sees an adorable and frightened lapdog tangled in its leash. "Margie, is Brigette okay? She looks bewildered and scared."

"Oh she's fine. She just wanted attention."

"I see what you mean. Willful and stubborn. But it looks like she knows her place."

"She's learning. The first two weeks were rough. I took off work so I could stay at home and make sure she understood her chores."