Suburb Submission - Audio

Suburb Submission - Audio
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Overview

Demure suburban housewife Susan Parker wasn’t ready to subject her perfect life and perfect marriage to the world of Fetish and Female Domination. When she discovers husband Randall’s secret she seeks help from a circle of her old school friends, who have secrets of their own. Susan discovers things she never knew about her friends, her husband…and herself.

Description



 

The tear ran down the gleaming china plate, its mascara-stained wetness leaving a dingy gray trail of despair and broken dreams. Susan Parker slid the plate back in the soapy water and carefully washed and rinsed it one more time. When the last plate was in the dish rack she carefully rinsed and dried off her rubber gloves, Dishwater is bad for my nails. She ritually folded the gloves and placed them, fingertips exactly aligned, in the drawer.

Normally she would wipe down the sink with a disinfectant wipe, Kitchen sinks are one of the most germ-rich environments in a home, before drying and putting away the dishes. But today she turned to look once again at the plain cardboard box on the breakfast bar. Her lower lip trembled and she felt another tear course down her cheek. Unconsciously she wiped it away and noticed the black on her hand. She took a handkerchief from her apron pocket and turned to the microwave, gazing into the glass and wiping away another black smudge from her eyes. I’ll have to fix my makeup before Randall comes home.

Still, the box loomed before her, seemingly larger and more ominous, even though she knew it wasn’t. How could he do this? Who is he? And why can’t I be enough for him? Susan approached the box; her delicate hands lifting away the cardboard flaps. Her eyes saw the glossy magazine cover: a naked man bound over some kind of bench; two women in leather corsets and high stiletto boots were whipping him. She lifted the magazine peering at the next, and the next. All were variations of the same thing, men submitting to these scantily-dressed, whip-wielding Amazons.

Susan’s lips quivered as she dug through the box, noting the dates, some of the magazines dating back six years. She dropped the pile of slick paper back into the box and slapped the flaps shut. Her hands wiped nervously at her prim apron, but the box, and the images, remained, not so easily wiped away.

With a deep breath she picked up the box and carried it to the garage, placing it underneath the work bench and arranging things just as she had found them.

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