0 comments/ 6417 views/ 2 favorites What the World doesn't Know Ch. 01 By: joejacobs They Couldn't Know The limousine came to a halt. But it was a while before the doors opened. In that time he uncuffed her wrists and took the tennis ball out of her mouth. He hadn't used a gag, because the straps could have disturbed her carefully done hair. He was nothing if not careful about that. The world couldn't know what she was to him. And it didn't. As he came out of the car, went to the passenger door, and helped her out, the world didn't know that it wasn't an old-fashioned act of chivalry. He did it because she couldn't have helped herself out of the car without supporting herself against him, not in any graceful manner at least. After uncuffing her wrists, which were cuffed behind the headrest of the passenger seat through the ride, he had attached her right wrist using a discreet a hook on her huge diamond bracelet to a similarly discreet hook at the side of her thigh pads, which was reachable through a tiny hole in the dress. Her right hand was, therefore, pinned to her side, although in a natural looking posture, and the hole in the dress as well as the hooks were completely invisible to the world. The world also didn't know that a short hobble chain ran between the leather thigh pads she was wearing on both legs, nor that she was wearing metal cuffs on her ankles with another hobble chain running between them. The world was unaware of the disciplinary corset around her waist, which constricted her waist by a good four inches and made her fight for each breath she drew. Fitted with six-inch high heels, denied the use of one of her arms and restricted by the hobble chains, the stylishly, but modestly dressed Mrs. Jacobs could not have climbed out of the car without her husband's strong, guiding hands. Yes! She was always dressed stylishly, but modestly. Her dresses and gowns were always full-length, never showing any leg. She usually wore full-sleeves and nobody had ever seen her midriff or belly exposed even in the paparazzi photographs. Her breasts were full, but the neckline of her dress never plunged. She always wore fashion gloves matching her dress. Joe Jacobs was grace, modesty and beauty personified, a fitting wife to the only heir of old Jacobs family. Although nobody knew of her antecedents and the official statements stated that she was an orphan, she never even for a moment looked out of place on the arms of Neil Jacobs. And that's where she was always to be found. Literally always. The tabloids were convinced that Neil Jacobs was besotted with his wife. A most eligible and well-chased bachelor before Joe Jacobs, he had never been seen with one woman more than once. But his wife would be by his side all through the events and parties he attended, except when he was a speaker at the event and had to leave her side for the duration of his speech. Even then he would make sure that she was comfortably seated before he left her side. And she never left her seat until he came back for her. The world didn't know that she was not just his wife, but his possession. That she wasn't a left-handed person, but had to use her left hand at all public events, because her right hand was rendered useless because of some bondage or the other deigned suitable by her husband. That her small, agonizingly sexy stride was a result of her hobbled chains, and that those impossibly high heels were all she was allowed to wear on their public appearances. That her sanctioned sandals were fitted with another set of straps higher up, hidden under her dress, which were closed with a padlock. She couldn't have taken her sandals off even if she were dying to do so. If the world knew of all this, it would have guessed the reason behind her modest dresses too. It was there to conceal all the marks and tools of bondage and submission she carried on her various body parts all the time. Because the world couldn't know. That was not Neil Jacobs's idea of having a wife who submitted to him completely. The only person he wanted to be continuously aware of this fact was his wife. And that he ensured every moment of the day and night! Their home was huge with a household staff to manage it. But one portion of it was marked as their private chambers. The household staff came there only at allotted times for cleaning, changing sheets and other chores, or when they were summoned by him. The household staff did not know, but she was not allowed to summon them, not unless he had explicitly permitted it. As soon as Joe entered these private chambers and the door to it was closed behind her, her life became even more curious that what it was with her carrying all those restraints. She wasn't allowed to walk in these quarters. The key to the padlocks on her sandals was kept right beside the door. She had to use it to unlock her sandals and fall on all fours. She was only allowed to crawl in these chambers. And these chambers were by no means small. They included two large bedrooms, a study, a private gym, a hall, a full-fledged kitchen and two private gardens. The gardens were cleaned on alternate days. When the housekeeping staff were due to come in, she had to crawl out into the garden that was not scheduled to be cleaned on that day and wait for them to finish their job and leave. Then only could she resume her day. She had to stay out of their sight, because she wasn't allowed to stand or walk. And that was something they couldn't know! What they also didn't know was that there was a third large bedroom in these chambers. Its entrance was through a concealed trapdoor in the master bedroom. Cleaning it was her responsibility. But she could go in there only when instructed by him. During the household staff's daily visit, she had to rely on the gardens. The staff needed to visit only if they had to be physically present there to fix or clean something. If they only had to deliver something for them, their meals for example, there was a large, deep sliding drawer built into the wall connecting the chambers to the rest of the house. They would keep the stuff on their side and the drawer can be pulled inside for them to retrieve it. Thus their privacy wasn't often disturbed. Which was as well, because all too often, she was in no position to receive anyone. Because not only would she be crawling around, but depending on her husband's mood, she might be in various stages of undress, putting her bruises, brandings and bondage-wear on display for anyone who would have walked in. Nobody did though. He ensured it. Because they couldn't know. What the World doesn't Know Ch. 02 The Party It was a charity fundraiser. All eyes turned towards them as the Jacobs made their entry. They always did. Neil and Joe Jacobs made a stunning couple. His muscular, well-built body at six-feet two-inches looked commanding in the perfectly tailored black suit. His left hand was at its familiar place, around the slim waist of his wife's five-feet six-inches frame, her head managing to reach up to his shoulders to rest against them thanks to her high heels. The height of her heels looked incongruous with the modesty of her dress, and the minimal, natural make-up, but she could be forgiven that one vanity. As the wife of Neil Jacobs, she could be excused many more frivolities, which she didn't choose indulge in. Her black sandals matched the black dress she was wearing, which contrasted wonderfully against her pale skin. The lace gloves made her delicate hand look tantalizing. The look of melancholy in her dark eyes, usually fixed on the ground or at some point in faraway distance; the way she leaned against her husband, her body fitting perfectly in her arms; and the fact that she was never to be seen alone gave a mysterious aura to her persona. Those who approached the couple and managed to strike a conversation found her to be an intelligent and soft-spoken, humble woman. She didn't speak a lot though. Unless someone specifically directed a question at her, her husband usually had to ask her for her opinion before she opened her mouth. She was, as the tabloids had correctly reported at the time of their much speculated about wedding, an editor with a small, independent publishing house, which specialized in literary fiction and narrative non-fiction. The story of how they had met was also well-known. Jacobs' movie production company had picked up the film rights of one of the novels she had worked on. She was present at the launch party of the movie along with her team. Neil Jacobs had also been around. Anyone trying to steal her away from her husband's side was duly thwarted by him. He found some polite or threatening excuse to tell off the person. Neither of them ever drank at the parties. He would usually pick up a glass of juice, while she would refrain from even that. Sometimes people would find him feeding her a gulp or two of the juice from his own glass. If that wasn't proof enough of just how lovey-dovey the couple was, you had to follow their routine in the parties that involved formal dancing. He would dance with her for the first one or two songs, and then they would excuse themselves. After two songs it would have been rude for them to not allow other partners. They, obviously, were not in the least interested in those prospects. This turned out to be one of those parties. They were on their way out, after taking leave of the hosts, when they were accosted by a page-three reporter. "Mr. Jacobs!" He stopped short and pressed her waist more firmly to ensure that she didn't stumble because of the sudden stop. "Yes?" "Would you say that you are over-protective and obsessive about your wife?" She flushed, but his face remained stony. He gave the reporter a piercing look. "Which newspaper do you work for, young man?" he asked in steely, calm voice. Joe stole a look at the reporter and saw his face blanch. He was intelligent enough to understand the threat and withdrew silently. Her husband turned to her and planted a quick kiss on her lips. The moment was duly captured by another paparazzi lurking around the corner. Then he gently pushed her forward to their car. He helped her climb in, then took the driver's seat and drove off. He stopped on a curb shortly afterwards. It was then that he restored her to her car-ride bondage. He hadn't wanted to do it in the sight of more prying eyes at the party venue, despite the tinted glasses. That's not the kind of risk he was prone to taking. Since they were going home now, and there was a direct lift from the basement parking to their private chambers, her bondage was going to be more severe than it was while they were coming for the party. He unhooked her right arm first, giving her the freedom of both arms for a short while. With careful motions, she tried to get the kinks out of her recently freed arm. He reached forward and picked up an innocuous-looking plastic box from the glove box. There was nothing innocuous about its contents though. He first took out a black ball gag and tossed it at her. She obediently thrust the ball in her mouth and reached back to fasten to the straps. Next he took out a pair of industrial strength steal cuffs and manacled her hands. Her wrists now could go no further apart than her hobbled ankles.Then he connected another set of hobble chains between her wrists and corresponding ankles. She had to bend forward a bit, which was an excruciating exercise given her waist-cinching corset. The seat belt didn't make it any easier. But she had lost her voice with the gag and could not complain. To be honest, after ten months of their wedding, she had learned to endure enough that even if she had not been gagged, she would not have uttered a word. She had vowed to be obedient to him. And he knew how to make her keep her vows! Now that she was bent forward, she could not see what he was doing. After a minute or so, he yanked her hair forcing her head back. When she was almost staring at the ceiling, he let go of her hair warning her not to move her head. Then he forced one of her eyes open and quickly pushed in a lens on her retina. She realized that it was the blinding lens. She could see nothing through her invaded eyes. He repeated the exercise with her other eye, taking away her eyesight completely. "Relax," he told her then. She hung her head in front and tried to relax. As best as she could in her circumstances. What the World doesn't Know Ch. 03 In the Private Chambers "Step out," he commanded. He had just parked the car in their basement, then had opened her door and released her seatbelt. She was even less capable of stepping out gracefully now than she was at the party venue, restricted by her wrists and ankled hobbled together and devoid of her eyesight. But here he did not offer her any help. She shifted in her seat as fast as she could so that her feet dangled at the door. She drew as deep as a breath as her corset allowed and flung herself forward. She fell on all four and almost lost balance. Her forehead would have hit the ground, but she felt his hand cupping it, preventing the accident. "Careful!" he whispered. Such a caring expression from the man who had disabled her so and then left her to help herself out of the car would sound incongruous to an outsider. But she was now used to her husband's warped sense of love, relationships and everything concerned with her. He didn't want her face even slightly bruised. Because the world couldn't know. "I don't have your collar and leash here," he announced, "Move forward and listen to my commands to turn." She quickly nodded and started crawling forward. The way her limbs were hobbled together, crawling was all she could do. Although normally that act would have been reserved for when they were inside their chambers, right now there was no other option. She knew that he would have made sure, nobody was there in the basement. "Turn left." "Stop. Don't turn; just shift right. Yes... yes... That's it. Stop.... Move forward... Stop." The change of the feel on her arms and knees from the rough concrete to cold, metal floor told her that they were in the lift. He directed her out of the lift into their chambers with similar commands. Since she was blindfolded, and already crawling with hobbled compulsion, she could not have unlocked her sandals herself. She waited as he did that for her. Then he put a four-inches wide leather collar on her neck and attached a leash to it. Now she had to interpret the tugs and pressure on her leash to follow him. He led her to the master bedroom and then through the trapdoor and metal stairs down to their secret bedroom. The stairs were particularly tough to negotiate crawling and restrained as she was. But she managed it. After a while a yank on her leash commanded her to stop. He unhooked the hobble chains between her wrists and ankles, then commanded her to kneel. She straightened her upper body and let her arms fall by her side.He then put some liquid in her eyes and took the blinding lenses out. She blinked to adjust to the sight just regained, then fixed her eyes to the floor. He removed her gag, then asked in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice , "How many men did you shake hands with today, my love?" "Seven, Sir," she spoke, barely audible. "And women?" "Five, Sir," her voice would not stop quivering. "Five for each man, and two for each woman," he gave his verdict quickly, "Spread your palm." Her hands trembled as she offered him her offending left hand, palm turned upwards, with the lace glove still on. It wasn't going to offer her any protection though and would be tattered with the first few strokes. It had happened so many times, but she couldn't get used to the pain. He swished the rattan cane in the air once, causing her to gasp in anticipation. "How many would that be total?" he asked. "Forty five, Sir." "Count. And cry!" He liked to hear her howl. And then he would comfort her. "Swish!" "One! Aaaah!" "Swish!" "Aaaah! Two." By the third stroke she was sobbing hard, because he repeatedly hurt her at the same place and continued there for next seven strokes too. By when she was howling, but she remembered to count. Then he shifted the target and the next ten strokes came at a different place on her palm. She was only making a guttural sound now, not left with enough energy to cry loudly. Whatever remaining will power she had, she had to focus it on ensuring that she kept kneeling and didn't withdraw her hand or let it fall away. With the next five strokes, she lost even that and fell forward. She begged pathetically. "Please Sir... Please have mercy. I can't take it any more. I am sorry, I am really sorry." Given that she was being punished for shaking hands with people, you would think that she had done so in defiance to him. But that was not the case. As the wife of a modern business tycoon, she couldn't refuse to shake hands with people she met, especially at public events, standing by his side. That would be doing him and his reputation a disservice. But since it meant other people touching his wife, even if through the gloves she compulsorily wore, she had to take punishment for it. She found her hair yanked forcing her to lift her head. He made a pigtail with two parts of her hair and one part the length of rope hanging from the roof of the room. This forced her head up and her kneeling position was restored. Next she found a hard arm-binder going around her left hand making it impossible to fold it at the elbow. It was also too heavy to allow her to pull her arm away. "That, my love," he declared, "has brought you enough rest and also a lot of help in holding yourself together." Then he proceeded with the remaining strokes. Joe remembered to count them, her voice growing feeble. She barely managed not to pass out by the time he had finished punishing her. He released the arm-binder first, then loosened her hair and gathered her in his arms as she collapsed. "There, there," he murmured soothingly, "You did well. It's over..." He kept comforting her while she sobbed into his chest. "I am so proud of you. The party went very well." After she had stopped shaking and sobbing, he wrapped a blanket around her and let her curl up on the floor. He returned after a while. "Come my love. It's time to tuck you in." She moved slowly, putting the blanket aside and then getting on all four. She remembered to put her weight on her forearms and not on her palms, and waited to be led on. He tugged at her leash, and she followed. Within a few seconds, she had reached that corner of the room, where a huge comfortable bed was made. And next to it was her destination. An iron cage. The door was open. She crawled right it. The cage was not high enough for her to stand. Which was not a problem, because she wasn't allowed to stand anyway. It wasn't long enough for her to stretch out while lying either. She would either have to haunch on all fours, or lay down curled up. But before that, her dinner was awaiting at the other end of the cage. Her foggy mind barely registered high fiber cereal soaked in milk. She went to it purely because of her muscle memory. She hunched in front of it and dipped her mouth in the bowl. She wasn't allowed the use of cutlery or even hands in their private chambers. After she had slurped everything in, he opened the door near the bowl and took it away. Then he pushed in another bowl filled water. She drank more eagerly than she had eaten. After taking away the bowl, he petted her through the door, until she fell asleep, curled up on her side. Then he closed and locked the door and stared at her for a long while. Her face was stained with tears and ruined makeup. She was hobbled at her ankles and thighs although those restraints were still hidden under her party dress. Her hand were manacled too and she was curled up in the cage like an obedient pet, sleeping on the iron floor, like it was a spring mattress. He smiled and then climbed on his bed, for a good night's sleep.