When the Wife Came Home Early

      A client’s wife walked in on us in the middle of an outcall session.

      Maybe it’ll be funny in a little while after the shock wears off (in, say, five years), but I’m not laughing right now.

       I had the guy tied to his bed and I’d just attached two long zippers of clothespins to his chest, when I heard the very distinctive sound of a deadbolt pulling back from a lock.  I froze and my ears perked up.

       Then there was the sound of the door opening–and crashing against the end of the security chain.

       My client had the good sense to chain the door. 

       Then, a woman’s voice: “Daaaaan!  COME TAKE THE CHAIN OFF THE DOOR!  WHY’D YOU CHAIN THE DOOR?  I had to come back to get more documents for our accountant!  He needs hard copies!”

         I almost had a heart attack.

        “Oh my god,” my client, “Dan,” whispered (for the record, I have never seen anyone lose an erection so quickly).

       I looked down at him.  “What do I do?  What do I do?”

       “DAN!  I’M LOCKED OUT!  YOU NEED TO COME TAKE THE CHAIN OFF THE DOOR!”

        I scrambled to free him from the restraints.  Thank god it was just leather cuffs and not any elaborate rope bondage, but it was bad enough because my panic made me clumsy.  I got one of his hands free and he reached down and started working on the cuffs around his ankles.  

       I ran to my street clothes and put my t-shirt on over my metal bra.  Then I changed my mind and decided it was more important to get all of my expensive toys and domme gear packed in case I had to run out–without my tools, I can’t work.

        “DAAAAN!  HE’S WAITING BUT HE HAS ANOTHER APPOINTMENT AT THE END OF THE HOUR!”  Then she starts banging impatiently on the door.  

        Dan freed himself and got off the bed and then started to untie the cuffs themselves from the bedframe.  He shouted at her that he was coming!  He was in the bathroom!

        (Maybe the wisest thing to do would have been to keep quiet and wait for her to go away…but she knew he was there.  How could anyone get the chain on the door from the outside?)

        “Where do I hide?  Where do I hide?” I hissed.  

        Then I looked at him and realized we had…an additional problem on our hands.

         The zippers were still attached.

          If you don’t know what a zipper is, I’ll explain: it’s a row of clothespins affixed to the skin.  A piece of string runs through the clothespins.  Pulling the string allows me to pull off all the clothespins at once.  Fun times, right?  Here’s a picture:


       We had to get the zippers off of Dan.

       But wait…there’s more.

       Because the zippers were so long, and our session was only supposed to last an hour (HA!), I’d gotten a little rushed as I’d attached the zipper and put the string underneath the pinchy-part at the end…instead of through the wire spring.

      Meaning that when I pulled off the zipper, the clothespins were going to explode and go flying all over the room.

       “Fuck!  Fuck!” I moaned, and just started pulling them off his body with my hands.

       “That’s going to take too long!  Just pull them off with the string!” begged Dan, whose penis was now the size of a walnut.

       “The clothepins will fly everywhere!”

        “Just do it! I have to get out there!”

        “DAN!” screams the wife.

        “Don’t make noise,” I said, and pulled.

        I have to give Dan credit: He took it like a champ.  Didn’t make a peep.  

        Some of the clothespins did, indeed, go flying.  Instead of picking them up, I just thought fuck it, and started kicking them underneath the bed, where they’d be out of sight.

       Dan rushed to the bathroom and came out in a bathrobe.

      “Where do I hide?  Where do I hide?  Is there a back door in this place?”  I was hopping around like a little kid that needed to go pee.

      “The service door is through the kitchen and the broken treadmill’s in front of it right now!  Hide in the closet!”  Then he ran for the door.

       I opened the closet and it was full.  There were shoes and stuff all over the floor.  I crawled in and tried to get the door shut behind me, but it wouldn’t close.  I abandoned that and dove for the bed.

       Then I remembered by huge black gear bag.  With all my expensive shit in it.

        I threw the gear bag in the closet and then crawled underneath the bed.

       With the clothespins.  Which were now digging into my hands, legs, and belly, as I crawled in like a snake.

       Just a day in the life.  Did I mention that I was only getting $250 for this terrifying experience?

       I heard Dan at the door and heard him take off the security chain.  He was saying that he had been in the bathroom.

       I heard her come in.  She was wearing heels and the apartment has wood floors, so I heard where she was going, and it was to the office, not towards the bedroom.  She was in a hurry and distracted by the documents, so that was good.

      The two of them were in that part of the house for a few minutes, and then I heard them move again.  I thought she was leaving.  I thought I was safe.

      Then I heard her change directions…

      …and, my friends, she walked right into the bedroom.  I could only see her from the shins down, but I saw her, all right.  She was wearing beige hose and low-heeled black leather pumps.  

        I thought I was going to die.

        She started walking straight for the closet.  MY GEAR BAG!

       Then she froze and faced the bed.

       Oh my god oh my god is one of my shoes sticking out?  Does she see me?  Am I all the way underneath?

       “Dan, what’s this?” she asked.  Her voice was cold and deliberate.

          I thought she was referring to me.  I almost gave up the game by crawling out right then and there.  Come out with your hands where I can see them, as they say in the police movies.

        But she wasn’t looking at me.

        Whatever it was, Dan was speechless.

       “Dan you know I hate this shit, I can’t believe you brought it into the house!  What did you think, that I’d changed my mind?  How many more fights are we going to have over this?  How could you do this to me?  Don’t you have any respect?”

         She sounded angry.  And hurt.

         Then she ran over to the bed (her pumps were less than a foot in front of my face) and I suddenly saw my black flogger fall on the floor.  Because she’d picked it up off the bed and thrown it.

          “Ann, I’m sorry,” squeaked Dan.  I’m sure he really was, too.  He sounded miserable. 

          Then she ran out of the room.  He followed.  I heard her screaming at him for a minute in the front room.  From what I could gather, she thought that he’d purchased the flogger for her to use on him, and she was upset because she didn’t like to do kinky stuff and they’d argued about it in the past.

        Now, that’s bad, sure, and I’m sure that Dan’s still in the doghouse, but I can’t help but feel that both Dan and I dodged a bullet here.  Giving your wife an unwanted sex toy is bad, of course, but it certainly beats having your wife find a dominatrix under the bed. 

        She stormed out.  I heard the door slam.

       Dan came back to the bedroom.  When I saw it was just his feet, I started to crawl out, which startled him.  He hadn’t know that I was under there.

       “I had no idea where you were hiding.  I was terrified one of us would see you at any moment.”

        “Unbelievable!  Un-fucking-believable!  At least you put the chain on the door!”

         “I’m really sorry,” he said, and sat down on the bed.  For a crazy moment, I wondered if he was going to ask me how much time we had left in the session.

        “Are you okay?” I asked him.

        “I’m in big trouble.”

        “Yeah, but it could have been worse.  She didn’t see me.”

        “I think you should go,” he said.

        I packed my flogger, got my bag, and left.  I was terrified that i was going to see the wife in the elevator or the lobby–I’ll never get the image of those shoes out of my mind–but I didn’t.

        Dan was a regular I’ve had for at least six months now…but I doubt I’ll be getting any more business from him in the future.  He wrote me a short apology email.  I doubt that he’ll be able to stay away from the prodommes forever–he has needs that must be met–but I think he’s off sessioning for the time being.

        Don’t forget to chain your doors when you get up to fun with your local sex worker, readers!  The life you save could be your own.


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