Housewife Commitment

At the beginning of our relationship, we were an entirely normal couple (w24 and m32) with a regular daily routine. We both had our steady jobs, and after work, we shared household responsibilities. Additionally, we both enjoyed outdoor sports like running and hiking. We hardly ever argued and understood each other almost instinctively.

One day, I was laid off from my job as an administrative assistant due to cost-cutting measures within a large corporation. I received a severance package equivalent to about a year’s salary. Privately, things remained as they were. I shared living expenses with my boyfriend and tried to find a new job, but my job search was unsuccessful. During the period of my unemployment, I took care of the household on my own. Over time, I became somewhat frustrated as my boyfriend began to take my efforts at home for granted. Additionally, I was someone who needed a structured daily routine. I desperately needed a job with fixed daily schedules, but the prevailing economic conditions made it difficult to find one.

After about a year, my savings ran out, and I had to rely on the meager unemployment benefits I received from the welfare office. This was just enough to cover half of the rent I shared with my boyfriend. We had an apartment that was too large for our needs, especially considering our financial situation.

I became increasingly frustrated because I had money problems and lacked structure. I was living day to day without a plan. If I slept in until noon, it didn’t bother anyone.

While I was dealing with my problems, my boyfriend’s career was flourishing. He was promoted to department manager, and his salary, with bonuses, kept increasing.

One day, during dinner, he suggested that he would fully cover the rent if I “worked” for him. He proposed paying me as a housewife for my tasks, and to bring structure into my daily life, he introduced a schedule with fixed hours. Initially, I was shocked by the idea and wanted nothing to do with it. I felt like he was trying to pay me as his maid, which I clearly felt overqualified for.

However, ultimately, I had no choice and agreed to the job, but only with an official contract, and he had to provide for my retirement. He agreed and explained that he would have a contract drawn up by an independent law firm.

The contract was completed relatively quickly. It was quite extensive, spanning about 150 pages. I assumed that the contract primarily contained mundane standard clauses and only focused on crucial matters like retirement benefits and compensation. Who reads terms and conditions in everyday life? Besides, I had developed immense trust in my partner over the past five years. He was the love of my life, the man I wanted to marry, so I had no doubts about the correctness of the contract.

We began with the plan the following Monday. He put together a highly structured timetable for me, which surprised me because he was usually more the spontaneous typ. The schedule detailed when and for how long I had to perform various tasks. For example, from 8:00 to 11:00 on Mondays, I had to take care of the laundry and then change the bedsheets every week. The time was meticulously allocated, so I sometimes found it stressful to finish on time. I appreciated getting some structure back into my life. I found the plan well-balanced, as it even accounted for my leisure activities like sports, meeting friends, and shopping. It was astonishing how well he could create the plan without discussing a single detail with me.

I also gave him feedback and simply felt good not having to make so many decisions and thoughts in my head.

Outside of the contract, our life felt unchanged. We had just as much fun, and our relationship remained as it was before. That was important to me; I didn’t want to lose the magic between us.

A few months after our arrangement, my boyfriend inherited a house on the outskirts of town. Our shared big dream had always been to own our own house with a large garden. We eventually planned to renovate the old house according to our preferences, and I supported him in making his dreams come true.

During a dinner, something surprising happened to me. He spoke somewhat confused about how I couldn’t separate our private life and the contract anymore, and how he needed to take a firmer stance because of it. I was taken aback. He was dissatisfied with how I had been cleaning the apartment and couldn’t imagine how things would be when we moved into the larger house.

As an immediate measure, he requested that, starting from the beginning of my workday (half an hour before he left the house), I wear a uniform to make it clear that this was a job for which he was paying me. I was furious and didn’t want to be patronized in this way. Unfortunately, he had a killer argument – the contract from a few months ago, which stated that he could dictate my appearance at any time. Failure to comply or terminating the contract before the two-year term would result in a penalty of €10,000. Since I had nowhere near that amount of money and had long lost contact with my family, I had to comply with his demand.

The next day, my uniform was ready. It looked like it belonged to a French maid with lots of lace and playful details. I looked like a doll. My long blonde hair had to be tied up into a strict bun. According to him, this style accentuated the elegant ruffled collar of the blouse around my neck. I had always been more of a joggers and t-shirt kind of woman. I didn’t like dresses and frilly blouses. But now, this was my “work” attire. I felt helpless and at his mercy, but at the same time, I found it somewhat attractive because he suddenly had so much more assertiveness and masculinity.

During my cleaning sessions, I had no breaks, and the schedule became more precise. I had to empty out cabinets and drawers and clean them from the inside. At the end of the day, everything was inspected before I could take off my uniform and finally enjoy my free time with him. The first few weeks were tough, but eventually, you get used to it.

In our free time, he was the same loving man he had always been, but when it came to my “duties,” he was a no-nonsense businessman. He wanted everything done to 100%. For instance, once I dared to unbutton the top buttons of my blouse during the day because it was so hot. In frustration, he sewed the last button of my uniform blouse in the mornings that followed. He didn’t miss any details during my service. I wanted it to be clear that all these humiliating events took place only between us in our apartment. I couldn’t imagine how embarrassed I would be to show up in front of my friends in my cleaning uniform. He knew that, which is why it always remained a kind of secret role-play between us.

I was somewhat afraid of how the situation would be when we moved into the big house together. It would be impossible for me to clean so many rooms to his standards. I couldn’t even meet his expectations in the apartment. However, the silver lining was that my contract would expire with the move. I promised myself not to sign that contract again. The whole thing seemed a bit too intense and way too exhausting in the long run, with my ridiculous cleaning uniform. I even started contemplating an exit strategy to escape the whole situation after the contract ended. But I always had in the back of my mind that he loved me just as much as I loved him throughout all of this.

In the last month of the contract term, he finally planned a vacation to Mauritius for us. I had hardly been able to save money, so there was another agreement. He packed our luggage, and I didn’t need to worry about a thing. 

For the departure, a beautiful, expensive black retro mini dress made of silk with white contrast collars, lovely earrings, and a pearl necklace lay on my bed. Next to the dress was a letter with instructions. Hair tied up in a strict bun. Not allowed were underwear, makeup, stockings, or anything that wasn’t on the bed. Once I was ready, I had to come to the garage, and we would head to the airport. He had packed my suitcase.

I had always wanted to go to Mauritius since I was a little girl. It was a long-awaited dream that could now come true after the last two tough years. I was overjoyed by his generosity in making this possible for me. However, the dress was not my style at all. At first, I thought of canceling the vacation due to the clothing requirement and ending the service contract. But my desire to visit Mauritius was stronger, so I put on the dress. When I stood in front of the mirror, I felt like a princess for a moment. I couldn’t believe that I actually liked such clothing. Due to my ongoing joy from the elegant dress, the jewelry, and Mauritius, I found myself in front of the mirror, crying tears of happiness. I was briefly the happiest person in the world. In short, I had discovered a new feminine side to myself that I didn’t know existed but apparently liked. My hair was beautifully waved and left open. Since I hadn’t been able to afford a hairstylist for a while, my hair was already about waist-length. I loved wearing my hair open. But my boyfriend’s wish was once again a boring bun on my head, like that of an old businesswoman.

Finally, I made my way to the garage without packing a single item or outfit for myself. I was visibly nervous but still filled with excitement. My boyfriend and I had traveled together extensively on backpacking trips around the world, but I had always carried a lot of luggage. Furthermore, in my own wardrobe, I had at most three dresses, and they were never included on vacations. Now I stood like a lady in an elegant dress next to my boyfriend, who was equally well-dressed. I was in a trance and simply did what he, as my “boss,” instructed.

The flight to our vacation was delightful. He pampered me and gave me many compliments. We even had first-class seats on the plane. I had never traveled so luxuriously.

In Mauritius itself, we arrived at one of the most beautiful resorts on the island. It was like paradise. We had the best time of our lives. I didn’t have to worry about a thing. Every morning, he would tell me what to wear. However, the clothing I wore was not mine. He had bought me an entire suitcase of new clothes. Most of them were designer items and of high quality. I was truly happy about it, even though the clothes weren’t really my style. The outfits mostly consisted of very feminine pieces. I had only skirts and dresses to choose from. Many of the items were quite form-fitting and accentuated my body nicely. I felt really good.

On the last day at dinner, he broached the unspoken topic of the service contract between us. He mentioned that his inheritance was so substantial that I would never have to work as a clerical assistant again. He would prefer to continue paying me as a housewife at home. Since I was always euphoric after a beautiful vacation, I found his proposal great and promised to continue my job as a housewife willingly. He warned me that, unlike our previous service contract, he expected more commitment from me this time. He would like to see that I genuinely enjoyed the task, rather than just doing it because it was in a contract.

Back at home, we began moving into our new house. When I started to pack my clothes, he said I wouldn’t need them anymore. He ruthlessly packed my things into black bags and said they would all be disposed of. As I looked at him in shock, he explained that we would be changing my appearance together. I was supposed to transition from being a girl to becoming an elegant woman. I was shocked by his statement.

Amidst all the stress of moving, he placed the new service contract on the table for me to sign. This time, he said that he didn’t just want my signature on the contract. He wanted a statement from me that would be visible to others. He wanted me to go to the hair salon the next day and let him determine my hairstyle. He knew that my hair was the most important part of my appearance. I had always had long blonde hair. I could adapt to the prescribed clothing, but I couldn’t easily change my hairstyle. It was already a struggle to tie my hair into those boring buns. I asked for some time to think about the decision regarding my hair. I couldn’t decide on it immediately.

The next day, there was a letter on the bed with an address for me to arrive at 1:00 PM when I was ready. He mentioned in the letter that he could sense my tension about the hairstyle change. To help me relax, he invited me to my favorite beauty spa at 11:00 AM for a massage and a beautiful makeup session.

My thoughts raced as I wondered what he had in mind for my hair. He loved my long hair, and as far as I knew, he didn’t like women with short hairstyles. So, I thought it could only be a style or color change for my hair. For some reason, I trusted him and showed up at the spa at 11:00 AM.

My outfit for the day was relatively casual, compared to the dresses I wore on vacation. It was just a simple black skirt with a white polo shirt. I felt, for once, not overdressed while heading into town in this attire.

Upon arriving at the spa, the receptionist explained that I had booked the full package, and everything was already paid for. I began with a 50-minute aroma massage. Following the massage, I had a makeup session and a pedicure/manicure. During the second part, three stylists worked on me simultaneously. One focused on my face, one on my fingernails, and one on my toenails. I had never experienced such service before. I left the spa as an extremely happy person. But as I walked to the hair salon, I began to feel nervous about my next task.

Despite my anxiety, I arrived at the hair salon with a grin. I was greeted by an elegantly dressed woman in a tight black leather dress. She had beautiful long hair tied up in a high ponytail. First, she asked me to fill out a customer card with my personal details. Second, she inquired if I had been adequately informed about my makeover. I confirmed and signed a form that stated I couldn’t sue the salon as I had been sufficiently informed about my new hairstyle. I signed it because I was determined to fulfill his wish. Then, I was led to the back of the salon.

The room was nicely furnished and felt welcoming. My chair was situated in the middle of the room, and there were no other customers in the surrounding chairs. I was alone in the shop. I sat in the chair and felt my heart start racing quickly.

Then, an older woman in a tight black leather dress, just like the one at the entrance, approached me. She introduced herself as the owner and said she would be fulfilling my boyfriend’s wishes today. She asked if that was okay with me, and still content from my massage, I agreed. That’s when the game began. Instead of the usual, uncomfortable capes, she placed a tight leather collar around my neck and laced it up at the back, almost like a corset. I was scared but too panicked to say a word. She then attached some sort of latex curtain with snap buttons to this collar. She smiled at me and mentioned it was their premium protective curtain, which they used quite often. Afterward, she fetched a large black cloth and covered the mirror in front of me, saying that they don’t normally do this, but it had been requested for me. Then, the young colleague who had been at the entrance brought in hair dye and began applying it.

Internally, I was unsure if this should have made me anxious or relieved. On one hand, I thought it was better to change the hair color than to cut my hair. On the other hand, I loved my blonde mane. After about 20 minutes of application, I had my first moment alone in the room. However, I couldn’t truly relax because the leather cape was tightly pressing against my neck. After an additional 40 minutes of waiting, I was almost dizzy from all the chemicals on my head. They washed everything out, and I was allowed to return to my chair. While moving to and from the sink, I noticed there were no mirrors for me to catch a glimpse of the hair color. Upon returning to my seat, I felt nervous about the upcoming step.

The hairdresser then removed the cloth covering the mirror in front of me and the towel over my hair. I was shocked—my hair was completely black. It didn’t even match my face. I began to cry immediately and couldn’t stop.

After about a quarter of an hour, the hairdresser explained that we weren’t finished with the wishes and asked if I wanted to stop at this point. I declined and asked her to complete the job. The next step was the worst moment of my life. She secured my hair on the top of my head with a large clip and brought out a razor. My heart was racing, but I was too panicked to speak. She asked me to bend my head forward and proceeded to shave my entire nape into an undercut. I sat trembling in the chair, thinking it was all over.

However, it wasn’t done yet. She placed a type of plastic sheet over my face and combed my hair in all directions. For a moment, I couldn’t see anything due to all the hair in my face. I closed my eyes and attempted to calm myself with a breathing exercise. Unfortunately, it was unsuccessful because when I opened my eyes, she had given me a straight-line microbang. It looked absolutely terrible. With this bang, I no longer felt like myself. When she finished the bang, I asked for a break. She left the room, leaving me alone with my misfortune. I tried all my calming techniques, but I couldn’t compose myself. Due to my tears, my makeup was smeared. I looked like an ugly duckling. The hairstyle wasn’t completed either. The transition from the bangs to the rest of my hair hadn’t been cut, and it all appeared very messy. I couldn’t just get up and leave. After about half an hour, I went to the reception and kindly asked her to finish her job.

For the next step, she grabbed her golden scissors and mentioned she would do it quickly to release me from my ordeal. She had cut off approximately 40 cm of my hair, leaving me with a bob that barely covered my ears. I was in too much shock to speak and could only cry continuously until the hairdresser told me she was finished. Every cut was agonizing as I loved my long hair.

When I was finished, I had a bob that barely covered my ears and was cut straight from back to front. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt like a new person. I didn’t recognize myself at first glance. When I ran my fingers over my shaved nape, I got goosebumps all over my body. It would take years before I could wear my hair the way I wanted to again. When my boyfriend entered the store, he had tears of joy in his eyes and hugged me. I looked at him and asked, “Was that enough commitment?”

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