My wife, Valerie, and I shared a normal life for about ten years, with me as the classic wage earner and her as the classic housewife. This included old-fashioned situations. She did all the cooking, cleaning and housework despite the reality of her working much longer and much harder than me. When it came to decisions, I always got my way. And that applied to our sex life. If I wanted a blowjob, she gave me one. If I wanted to fuck her, she spread her legs for me, and I fucked her.

I guess I just figured that bringing money into our household was of prime importance. So, it was only natural that, as the wage earner, I should have my way in everything else. It never occurred to me that any of this might be unfair. And it never occurred to me that she might prefer things to be different. She seemed happy with this arrangement, and I think she was. I think we both might have lived happily this way for the rest of our lives.

It's funny how certain occurrences sometimes have unexpected results. Valerie was carrying some furniture around the house and hurt her back and neck. For two weeks, she couldn't do anything. Don't get me wrong. I love her and I felt bad about her pain and suffering. But, as bad as I know this sounds, my compassion for her was not as strong as my selfish unhappiness at having to do housework and not getting any sexual pleasure. I secretly masturbated, but it wasn't the same as having a willing wife fulfill my needs.

After a couple weeks, she healed to the degree that she could do some light housework but could not handle the rigors of an active sex life with me. I was patient or at least tried to be. It took her a full six months to heal completely. And that six months was a very transitional time in our relationship. She quickly developed the ability to do all the housework again. Seeing that, I figured she could also handle satisfying me sexually. She insisted that she could only do certain things, and only when she really felt up to it. I wasn't happy with this but couldn't argue. It's her body and her injury. So, I couldn't claim to know how she was feeling.

For the first three months of her healing, all she felt up to doing was to give me a hand job each week or two. Of course, I supplemented this with a good bit of masturbation, but only for the first month. One afternoon, she burst into the bathroom and caught me on my knees jerking off to a girlie magazine. She was furious. I think she was particularly furious because I was looking at other women. After that, she insisted that I not spend more than a few minutes in any room with the door closed. I went along with this, mostly out of embarrassment.

Now, without the daily relief of masturbation, I was getting very horny. The infrequent sexual attention from my wife combined with my belief that she was depriving me of sex when she didn't feel up to it, but also when she just didn't feel like it. I was constantly frustrated and desperate. I'd plead with her for a hand job. My pleading often evolved to pathetic, humiliating begging, sometimes on my knees.

I'd drop to my knees before her, and beg, "Please, Baby. You look so beautiful. You have me so excited. Please jerk me off. Pleeeeeeeeeease!!!"

Seeing and hearing me in this pathetic situation brought a self-satisfied grin to her lovely face. On rare occasions, she'd indulge me.

More often than not, she'd coo, "I'm so sorry, darlin', but I'm not feeling up to it." She sounded sympathetic but still had that self-satisfied grin on her face.

I was getting more desperate by the week. My wife is a truly beautiful woman and has always dressed provocatively around the house. And I could swear that she was dressing sexier in order to increase my desperation.

One Saturday morning, I dropped to my knees before her, and began to beg, "Please, Baby. You look so beautiful. You have me so excited. Please jerk me off. Pleeeeeeeeeease!!!" But I was more desperate than ever and, without thinking, I added, "I'll do anything!!!"

At that, her eyes lit up, her lip curled, and she questioned, "Anything?"

I was so desperately excited that I quickly replied, "Yes, anything!!!" I went on promising to do anything she wanted if she'd just get me off. That was "the beginning of the end", as they say.

Grinning at me, my lovely wife said, "Well, darlin', I think doing as much housework as I can in my condition leaves me sore, tired, and unable to please you. If you were to get the entire house sparkling clean, top to bottom, that might leave me in a condition to jerk you off. Does that sound good?"

I immediately agreed, jumped up, and started cleaning. I scrubbed the bathroom, scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, polished the wood floor on my hands and knees, and rushed back to her asking her for some relief.

She chuckled and said, "Sweetie, you've got a lot to learn about cleaning, and a lot more cleaning to do. There is laundry to wash, dry, iron, and fold. There are rugs to vacuum. There are windows to wash. Get back to work." She spoke as though she felt bad for me, but she still had that grin on her face. I did all those chores, and many more that she thought of throughout the afternoon and evening.

Finally, I knelt before her and begged, "Please, Baby, Pleeease!!! I'm desperate! Somehow, obeying your orders and doing menial chores while you relaxed got me even hornier than I ever thought possible. Please, Baby, Pleeeeease!!!"

While waiting for her reply, I noticed that her bare feet were inches in front of my face. In a last-ditch effort at self-humiliation, in hopes of influencing her decision, I started lavishing long loving kisses all over her feet. She grinned at this blatant act of submission and let me keep going for ten minutes.

Then, she gently but firmly kicked my face away and purred, "Yes, darlin', you've earned a hand job." I jumped up and stripped in seconds.

She put her hand up and said, "No, sweetie. Not now. I'm tired, and I have a couple more chores in mind for you. It's time for bed and, if you're a good boy all night, and do a good job on tomorrow's chores, you should be getting a hand job before lunch. Good night, sweetie."

I was desperate. She had said yes, but then no. I was frustrated, but afraid to anger her and lose my promised hand job. So, I quietly went to bed and tried to sleep, not very successfully. As I lay awake, the change in my situation, our situation, played through my head, most notably, the fact that Valerie had never before said that I needed to be a "good boy". I could hardly wait for morning.

In Chapter 2, Valerie will become more confident, and she will deepen my submission and obedience.