Gotta be quick here. She went out dancing, but forgot to lock me under the stairs.
Can someone help me? I don't know what to do anymore. My wife doesn't acknowledge me in public, calls me names, and kicks and beats me if I displease her. I still have bruises from when I served her a slightly runny egg last week, and my blanket is still damp from last night, when she threw a bucket of urine on me as I slept so I "don't forget [my] place".
She makes me cook and clean and serve her Wiccan coven's every need. Bring them cookies and ice cream, be their footstool or spittoon, or scrub the baby blood out from under their nails. At least they say it's baby blood.
I have read a bit on this forum and see that the men here are in charge of their households, and aren't locked in a cage under the stairs. How do you do it? Why don't your wives flog you? Why don't you have cages, like the one she had waiting for me on our wedding night, when she told me she'd dismissed all my household servants because I'd be doing the chores from then on?
Could Jesus help me to be a man like Bobby-Joe or Deaner? I miss sleeping in my bed upstairs, and I'm tired of wearing pink fuzzy slippers and washing dishes and praying to a tree.
PS - Please don't tell her I was here. If she finds out, she'll beat me black and blue again and lock me under the stairs without supper. Just like the time i tried to send a note out through the postman.
Can someone help me? I don't know what to do anymore. My wife doesn't acknowledge me in public, calls me names, and kicks and beats me if I displease her. I still have bruises from when I served her a slightly runny egg last week, and my blanket is still damp from last night, when she threw a bucket of urine on me as I slept so I "don't forget [my] place".
She makes me cook and clean and serve her Wiccan coven's every need. Bring them cookies and ice cream, be their footstool or spittoon, or scrub the baby blood out from under their nails. At least they say it's baby blood.
I have read a bit on this forum and see that the men here are in charge of their households, and aren't locked in a cage under the stairs. How do you do it? Why don't your wives flog you? Why don't you have cages, like the one she had waiting for me on our wedding night, when she told me she'd dismissed all my household servants because I'd be doing the chores from then on?
Could Jesus help me to be a man like Bobby-Joe or Deaner? I miss sleeping in my bed upstairs, and I'm tired of wearing pink fuzzy slippers and washing dishes and praying to a tree.
PS - Please don't tell her I was here. If she finds out, she'll beat me black and blue again and lock me under the stairs without supper. Just like the time i tried to send a note out through the postman.



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