The Gimp

John was making coffee when the gimp suit arrived. It had been a normal day until then. The kids had gone off to school, as usual, followed by his wife, as usual. She had pulled on her tweed coat over her tweed dress. Then after finding her brown horn-rimmed glasses, she looked for her books. These she put into her leather satchel. John vaguely watched her over his newspaper while sitting with a cup of coffee at the tidy breakfast table.

            “Goodbye, John,” she said in her usual understated voice.

            “See you, Matilda.”

            Then he was on his own. After washing his cup, he went through to the study and battled with his novel for an hour before deciding it was time for more caffeine. It was then that the deliveryman arrived and handed him the box.

No parcel had been expected. John signed anyway and once the man had gone, he opened it up curiously, expecting a mail bomb or something, though he dismissed anyone

 

wanting to blow up a writer of young adult novels.

 

 

            And then, there it was, in all its black PVC glory. It made him feel funny. The zipped mouth grinned at him and the empty eye sockets glared into his soul. What had made him lay the gimp suit out on the sofa he

had no idea. It was

 

clearly a mistaken delivery.

 

 

            Then doubts entered his mind. Surely Matilda, straight, prim, sexually repressed Matilda would never even think of anything like this? Was she repressed after all? Was the librarian dowdiness a front for a raging S&M fiend? Surely not. He thought

that after ten years of marriage he would have seen it coming, some

 

sort of hint. No, it was

 

clearly a mistake. He looked at the address on the box. There was no doubt it was his name and his address. The box had Amazon written on it. He went over to his laptop and checked the account. Perhaps one

 

of the children had ordered it as a joke. But no, the last item was a book on ancient libraries for his wife.

 

 

            John puzzled for a long time. Then he finally made the coffee distractedly as the suit malevolently grinned back at him from the sofa. He couldn’t stop looking over at it and he knew he should put it back in the box. Somehow though, it would be worse in the box, hiding in there, thinking its dirty thoughts. He sat at the table and sipped the coffee. The suit and he watched each other. He fought to look away but kept finding himself looking into its eyes again. The suit was hypnotising

him, he was sure. Strange thoughts would fill his head, thoughts he’d never had before. He felt a strong urge

 

 but he fought with it valiantly.

 

 

            Then

quite suddenly he leapt to his feet and started to tear off his clothes with wild abandon. He was naked in seconds; his manhood stood out before him and a fantastic thrill surged around his bare skin. He ran over to the suit and grabbed it wilfully. Quickly, and inexpertly, he undid the various zips and buckles. He pulled the suit on and it hugged his body tightly. From the feet up he started to fasten it and his body felt tight and restricted. Then finally it was tight right up to his neck, with the hood flapping free at the back. He brushed his hands over the PVC feeling it between them and his naked body.

 

 

            He stood there in the middle of the sitting room with all the normal objects of his life around him. There he was, this thing, this dirty thing, in the middle of it all: different, dirty… perverted. He thrilled inside the suit. Then he realised he needed something more, different. He walked to the cupboard under the stairs and opened it. Steps led down to the cellar.

 

            He

went down and stood in the middle. His manhood was still painfully throbbing inside the restricted suit. He found what he was looking for, the old dog cage. He opened the door. Then he pulled the mask over his head and zipped the neck shut. His transformation was complete. He bent down and inched in through the door. Soon he was inside the small space. The cage was just large enough for him.

 

 

 

 

He was unsure how long he had been like that when he thought he heard the front door. Quickly squeezing out of the cage, he ran up the stairs. At the top he hid back, to make sure, but there was no one there. He slowly edged into the room and looked around. He felt a rush of shame and guilt at his debauchery. Quickly he started to remove the suit. He unfastened all the restrictive buckles and zips and then tossed it to the floor. In no time he regained his clothes.

 

            The gimp mask lay grinning back at him and he snatched up the suit. He folded it

as well as he could and returned it to the box. Quickly he went downstairs and put the box in the cage. He rushed back up and looked at the clock. The kids would be home in half an hour. By the front door were several junk mail pamphlets

 

that he picked up and put in recycling. Strangely, his manhood was still at attention and he spent the remaining half an hour trying to will it to sleep. By the time the front door opened

 

 and the kids came boisterously in, he had succeeded.

 

 

            Soon they resumed their usual routine and were eating white bread sugar sandwiches in front of the T.V., as he sat in the study trying to concentrate. Concentrating on work was impossible, he could only think of his adventure that day and how it had come about. He wondered what he could say to Matilda. “Expecting a delivery were we?”, “Looking for a new kink?”, “

By the way…”, no, nothing would do. By the time the front door opened, he had moved no further forward.

 

 

            “Good evening, John.”

 

            “Hiya.”

 

            “I had a very average day today,” she said, sounding as if she almost relished it.

 

            “Really, dear, that’s nice,” he said, at the same time feeling a rush and thrill at their new secret. He wanted to say more but the words would not come and she had already passed on into the kitchen.

 

           

 

The evening went the same way as all their evenings. The kids turned off the T.V. before dinner and then went to bed on the

dot, once the homework

 

was done. Then John and Matilda sat on the sofa and read their books. John

 

was unable to concentrate. He felt

 

the presence of the suit laying on the sofa. He wondered if Matilda could feel it. His mind slipped to the box in the cellar and he wondered how to broach the subject to her.

 

 

            Finally he put down the book, after he had re-read the same page several times, and had still not taken it in. Matilda looked up a few times but resumed her reading undisturbed. John’s mind slipped back to the suit laying in its box and thinking its dirty filthy thoughts. He felt himself growing and crossed his legs.

 

            At

half past nine Matilda picked up her bookmark and closed

 

the book around it. She rose, walked across the room and put it back in the bookcase. She placed her glasses in the case and put it where she always kept them. Without looking at John, she went to the bathroom like she always did at

 

half past nine.

 

 

            He watched her

go and uncrossed his legs. He got up and went through to the bedroom. Before she had

 

finished he had his pyjamas on and had climbed into bed

 

in order to hide the swelling. She came in, already in her nightie and dressing gown. She slipped off the dressing down with her back to him and climbed in. Then she reached for the light switch. The room went dark. He lay there with his swelling. Gradually he turned and inched towards her. She was already laying as far as possible from him. He touched her rigid body with his. She must have felt the swelling.

 

 

            “Good night, John.”

 

            “Oh, good night, dear.”

 

            He quickly rolled back and lay with the hard thing, like his perverted bad deed.

 

 

 

The next morning was the usual again and in no time he found himself alone with the pervert in the cellar. He resisted for an hour and then ran down the steps. He tore off his clothes and pulled on the suit. He then discovered loops on the suit and realised what they were for. Quickly he found some rope and passed it over the beams. Then he passed it through the loops and found he could pull himself up from the floor. For several hours he hung there, with his filthy erection and his dirty mind.

 

            Then he tried calling himself names, “Bad fifthly little gimp,” he said and loved how it sounded muffled and perverted through the mask tight zipped up

mouth. He tried many things that day and was still hanging there when he heard the front door and the kids arrive home. He panicked and tried to lower himself to the floor quietly. He wrestled the suit off and dragged on his clothes. Then after hiding the suit, he made his way timidly upstairs. He need not have worried. The kids

 

were already slumped in front of the T.V.

 

 

            When his wife returned, he was sitting in the study as usual. They greeted in the usual way. He followed her through to the kitchen and tried to get close to her but she seemed almost to fend him off with the kettle. The evening became a repeat of the night before, of many nights before. This time however, he still had a raging thing swelling between his legs. He tried again to win her favours after the light went out. Again, she was the usual stiff board.

 

            He spent some time trying to sleep. She seemed to want no contact with him at all. He thought he would just have to come out with it but he found it impossible to do. Then he had the germ of on idea. As he lay there, he thought it would be the only answer. It explained it

all, it was exactly why she had bought the suit for

 

him, she did not want contact or to talk about it, she just wanted him to do it. Soon he fell asleep with the idea in his mind and a plan fully formed.

 

 

 

 

The next day flew by. He got on with work and knocked out a chapter by lunchtime. He had everything organised by the time the kids came home.

 

            “Right, you’re having a treat tonight,” he told them. “Tonight you are off to grandmas and she

is going to take you to the cinema.”

 

 

            “As long as she has sugar sandwiches I don’t mind,” said the eldest.

 

            Soon the kids

were packed off. John took the note he had made and

 

sellotaped it to the kettle. Matilda always came in and made a cup of tea. His manhood was like a throbbing flagpole, like a stick with a carrot hanging from it. He was soon back in the cellar. Throwing off his clothes he pulled on the suit, soon

 

he was zipped up and hanging from the ropes. He felt

 

uncontrollable desire flushing around his body.

 

 

            Then he heard the front door. Through the muffled suit hood he heard her walk over to his study, and finding him not there, onto the kitchen. It went quiet. Then he thrilled to hear her walking across the sitting room to the stair cupboard. His manhood was like a piece of rock in the suit. His breath came fast and excited.

 

            All of a sudden great doubts flooded into his mind. If she had bought the suit for him, why did she need to see him? What could she do with him but look? The suit was about not touching! For the first time he felt his throbbing thing start to falter. What if she had bought it expecting it would be his and their deprivation secret? Then he felt a further crashing worry. What if she really hadn’t bought the suit for him? What if it really was an error!

 

            He heard her footsteps at the top of the stairs and hung there in absolute terror.