My name is Ezra and I’m an Angolan woman married to Francisco, a Portuguese businessman. We have been married for ten years. We have two children, a boy named Bento and a girl named Mafalda. We live in Luanda. During the week, I’m at home alone because Rodrigo is at the office and the children are in school. I’m a housewife and I love it. I love taking care of my family.
From the time I was seven years old, I knew that I wanted to be a homemaker when I was older. My mother, God bless her soul, was my inspiration. I watched her work tirelessly and happily to take care of the home, my father, my siblings and me. When I was old enough, I helped around the house. She taught me how to cook and keep a clean house. She told me that one day I would be a wife and it was best to start learning how to do things as early as possible. Sadly, she didn’t live to see me get married or hold her grandchildren. My father and my siblings were at my wedding. They were happy for me and warmly welcomed Rodrigo into the family. They weren’t upset that I married a European man instead of an African man.
Rodrigo and I met when I was working as a cook at a restaurant owned by a family friend. He came in there one day to have lunch with a client. After having my Fish Calulu, he wanted to meet me to personally compliment me on the dish. Feeling a little self-conscious after being in the hot kitchen all morning and not having enough time to fix myself up, I went into the dining-room. He stood up as I approached. He was tall and very attractive in his expensive looking grey suit. I was immediately attracted to him. He smiled and said in Portuguese, “I wanted to personally tell how much I enjoyed the Fish Calulu. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
I smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
His client had left so we were alone. “My name is Rodrigo,” he said, extending his large hand. I looked at it before placing my hand in it. The long fingers closed over mine in a firm handshake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ezra. I wonder if you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
I gulped. He was asking me out on a date. I could hardly believe it. It took a moment for me to say, “Yes.”
“Good. I’ll meet you here at eight. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” I watched him leave and then returned to the kitchen.
The following night we went for dinner at a popular Portuguese restaurant. Afterwards, we went for a drive. We saw each other regularly after that and the following year, we got married. I quit my job at the restaurant after learning that I was pregnant with Bento.
Life with Rodrigo ideal. Our sex life is amazing and sometimes, we indulge in role play which add a little spice to the marriage. Lately, I have been dressing up as a slave girl while he pretends to be my slave master. But this is happening way too often. He wants to do it for every lovemaking session.
Last night, he pulled my dress down about my waist and turned me around so that my bare back was to him and had me hug the bedpost. He got the whip he had bought from one of those sex stores and started to use it on me. It didn’t hurt but Rodrigo wanted me to pretend that it did. When he was done, he dragged the dress off and threw me down on the bed. I lay there while he ravaged me, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if this nightmare would ever end. What had started out as harmless fun had become something I dreaded and desperately wanted to stop. I wanted to be his wife and lover again not his slave.
I’m sitting here in the kitchen, staring out at the window. I have made up my mind to tell Rodrigo that I’m not going to be his slave in the bedroom anymore. And if he cares about me and our marriage, he will respect my wishes. Worst case scenario, I will pack up and leave. And of course, take Bento and Mafalda with me.
Hours later, I’m in the bedroom and Rodrigo walks after taking a long, hot shower. He’s stark naked and by the looks of him, he’s in the mood. I’m standing by the bed, wearing one of my nightgowns. The slave girl garb was tossed in the garbage along with the whip. I was very determined not to subject myself to that again. Before he could say anything, I said, “Rodrigo, I’m Ezra, your wife, not your slave girl. I don’t ever want to play that role again. I didn’t mind doing it the first few times but you want to do it every time and it’s no longer fun for me. It has become degrading. I refuse to do it any more.”
Rodrigo stared at me. Silence filled the room and I found myself holding my breath as I waited for him to say something. He came over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders, he said as his eyes met mine. “Me desculpe, querida. I’m sorry. I should have realized that this particular type of role playing would affect you. It was very insensitive of me. Please forgive me.”
Relief washed over me like a tidal wave and I hugged him around the waist and buried my face in his chest. He will never know how close I came to leaving him if he had not respected my wishes.
Role-play in marriages is healthy and exciting but make sure that both of you are having fun. Never indulge in role-play which will demean or devalue either of you.