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    Only A Housewife
    Only A Housewife
    Only A Housewife
    Ebook72 pages1 hour

    Only A Housewife

    By Samantha Cameron

    ()

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    About this ebook

    I'm only a housewife.
    I'm not sure I understand how I ended up becoming a sex slave to a tyrannical religious leader.
    Becoming a housewife was what I was encouraged to aspire to by well meaning parents, family, friends, professionals, and, of course, less well meaning media.
    I didn't so much “fall in love” with my husband as “fall in” with him. We met socially a few times, got drunk, fell into bed, had some furtive moments, then suddenly I was pregnant and we got married. In retrospect, I hardly knew the man. It seemed like a ritual which many of my girlfriends went through as well. It was a kind of Russian roulette, or musical chairs. We drank and hung out until we got pregnant. Then we got married to whomever provided the sperm and got shut indoors, cut off from any more hanging out, as nurturing responsibilities took over our lives. This included nurturing husbands who, for the most part, turned out to be big boys expecting to be fed and served as soon as they walked through the doors to our isolated “homes”.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSamantha Cameron
    Release dateApr 24, 2014
    ISBN9781310625107
    Only A Housewife
    Author

    Samantha Cameron

    I'm only a housewife.I'm not sure I understand how I ended up becoming a sex slave to a tyrannical religious leader.Becoming a housewife was what I was encouraged to aspire to by well meaning parents, family, friends, professionals, and, of course, less well meaning media.I didn't so much “fall in love” with my husband as “fall in” with him. We met socially a few times, got drunk, fell into bed, had some furtive moments, then suddenly I was pregnant and we got married. In retrospect, I hardly knew the man. It seemed like a ritual which many of my girlfriends went through as well. It was a kind of Russian roulette, or musical chairs. We drank and hung out until we got pregnant. Then we got married to whomever provided the sperm and got shut indoors, cut off from any more hanging out, as nurturing responsibilities took over our lives. This included nurturing husbands who, for the most part, turned out to be big boys expecting to be fed and served as soon as they walked through the doors to our isolated “homes”.It was "religion" that led me astray.

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      Book preview

      Only A Housewife - Samantha Cameron

      Only A Housewife

      Writings of a sex slave trapped by a religious tyrant.

      Samantha Cameron

      Illustrations: Sam

      copyright Samantha Cameron / ecrp 2014

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      A Samantha Cameron Publication

      Facebook/Samantha Cameron

      Only A Housewife

      Contents

      Introduction

      The Agency

      Invitation to Type

      First Visit

      First Fuck

      Second Fuck

      At the Counter

      Naked Stranger

      Return to Dress Lift

      Office Skirt & First Oral

      Naked Again & Second Oral

      First Swallow

      Next Weeks

      Going Off?

      Raising the Stakes

      The Mirror and Video

      Blackmail

      Disgust and Fear

      Fund Raising

      Double Entry

      Anger, Hunger, and Indecision

      Introduction

      I'm only a housewife.

      I'm not sure I understand how I ended up becoming a sex slave to a tyrannical religious leader.

      Becoming a housewife was what I was encouraged to aspire to by well meaning parents, family, friends, professionals, and, of course, less well meaning media.

      I didn't so much fall in love with my husband as fall in with him. We met socially a few times, got drunk, fell into bed, had some furtive moments, then suddenly I was pregnant and we got married. In retrospect, I hardly knew the man. It seemed like a ritual which many of my girlfriends went through as well. It was a kind of Russian roulette, or musical chairs. We drank and hung out until we got pregnant. Then we got married to whomever provided the sperm and got shut indoors, cut off from any more hanging out, as nurturing responsibilities took over our lives. This included nurturing husbands who, for the most part, turned out to be big boys expecting to be fed and served as soon as they walked through the doors to our isolated homes.

      Although I was encouraged to look for work, it was clear from the outset that my husband's career was going to be the determining factor in our movements as a family. He was an aspiring stockbroker for a City of London company. I was an admin person wherever I could find work. All our earnings went into his bank account. I never ever had bank account of my own and never even knew how to open one. He paid the mortgage and dealt with all the bills and managed the credit cards. I did the cooking, cleaning, food shopping and the pin money jobs. When the first child came along, I stopped work for about a month, then carried on and added child care to my task list. When the second one came along, I felt as though my fate was sealed.

      Although it was drink that brought us together, it was also clear from very early on that, as a married couple with children, only one of us could continue as a serious drinker. It seemed natural that it should be him, and that he should drink every night, out with his mates who would question his manhood if he didn't. It soon became clear that lunch times too needed to be drinking times. This was, in a sense, part of his job. He could hold his drink reasonably well, and most of his friends and colleagues were in one state of inebriation or another most of the time so it all seemed to fit and make sense. Alcohol was their stock intoxicant; their legitimiser for letting hair down, having a laugh, forgetting daily hassle. I got used to him being mildly drunk and slurring most of the time and never really questioned it. His mates' wives certainly never seemed to; why should I?

      After the second child, our sex life, always erratic at the best of times, came to a complete halt. It got to the point that, although we still shared the big double, I couldn't remember the last time we even touched in bed. Again, this all seemed perfectly normal by the standards of what I assumed was going on around me. No one was discussing sex, and certainly nobody was complaining about anything. I had few friends apart from his mates' wives and they seemed, on the surface, to be perfectly happy.

      1. The Agency

      I suppose it all started when my second child reached school age. I began work as an admin support person at a local Enterprise Agency funded by Business Link, a government initiative to encourage everybody to become self-employed. I re-met Ophelia there. I'm quite small and slim with jet black hair while she was taller than me, flatter chested, more willowy in a slightly angular way, and more the classic athletic blonde.

      She was another admin support worker and, on the face of it, just another perfectly ordinary housewife. But we actually knew each other from before. We'd grown up together; known each other since Sunday school; shared everything and gone everywhere together, and then lost touch as our married lives carried us apart. Neither of us had had much experience of life anywhere beyond the suburbs of the southern shires. We lived within 15 miles of where we'd been born and educated; where we'd gambolled our adolescence; where we'd met our husbands. But, until we met again at the EA, we hadn't so much as exchanged a christmas card.

      Ophelia

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