Husband Came Home Late One Night
Lights off, the living room was dark. The front door knob turned, slowly hesitatingly. Slowly the door moved inward. Moving sideways, a man slid into the room without fully opening the doorway.
Shoes in hand, his feet wore only socks. He paused after each cautious step. Holding his breath, the man moved slowly.
He was nervous in his own home. What did he fear?
Suddenly the room was flooded with light. A master switch had been thrown.
Looking up the man saw her. His wife. She was awake. Fully dressed, she had waited for him.
His eyes pled. She was impassive. Neither spoke.
With a slight curl of a forefinger she ordered him to come upstairs.
She grabbed her husband’s ear. Helplessly he followed her to a spare bedroom.
“Strip!” His wife finally spoke.
He released his breath. Without demurral, he swiftly undressed. Carefully he folded each garment, making a pile on a chair.
His wife gestured him to a bench. Needing no instructions, he bent over the bench. With the attached leather straps, she bound her husband tightly. He could not move.
He shivered. The less his wife said, the angrier she was.
She bent so he could see what she held. It was a loop carpet beater. A metal loop covered with rubber. She used it once before. Steel canes and fancy whips cannot equal its punitive power.
His tears began after the third stroke. By the twentieth his tear ducts were dry. At one stroke a minute his punishment lasted half an hour. Minutes are centuries when you wait for them to end.
Three days would pass before he could sit without discomfort.
His wife never said word. She did not remonstrate nor reprove him.
Words were superfluous. The husband swore to himself, never again would he break curfew.