The rain is slithering down the windshield like hundreds of tiny crystal snakes, turning the parking lot outside into a spooky watercolor painting. The fog is heavy tonight, and everything around me is surreal...a dreary world of mud and mist.
They've been in the restaurant for more than two hours now. They could've at least left me the car keys so I could turn on the heat out here. It's only September and it's freezing already. Damn. Why didn't I think to bring my jacket?
Going on nine o'clock. It doesn't take more than two hours to eat...does it?
I can just see them now. While I'm sitting out here in the car freezing my ass off, Melanie is nice and toasty inside, probably snuggled up to you-know-who, polishing off a bottle of expensive wine. I'm a million miles from their thoughts right now. To them, I'm just the chauffeur - a bit player in tonight's romantic episode.
That's me: good old dependable Dave. Always the designated driver. Mr. Reliable. Mr. Nice Guy.
Mr. Get-Dumped-On is more like it.
This is their third date this week. I can't stand Ron, and I can't imagine what Mel sees in him. Other than his looks...and his money...and his intelligence...and his 11-inch cock...and his Ferrari...
Okay, forget it.
To Melanie, I'm just a comfortable old shoe, someone who will always be there for her. Like a faithful St. Bernard.
But that's boring, she says. She tells me she needs more excitement in her life.
And that's where Ron comes in.
Melanie's relationship with Ron isn't real. It's all based on fantasy, and she'd probably be the first to admit it. I think she knows the love I feel for her is far more real than what Ron has to offer. He's just in it for the sex.
But come to think of it, so is my wife.
Melanie and Ron are both cut from the same mold: adventuresome and absolutely, completely selfish. "If it feels good, do it" - that's their motto. And it doesn't matter who they hurt in the process.
Does it tear me up inside? Of course it does. Melanie is all caught up in her little fairy-tale romance with Ron, so where does that leave me?
Sitting out here in the rain, that's where.
He's so poised...so sure of himself. Kind of makes it difficult to compete. So why even bother?
Melanie met Ron during her senior year in college, about a year after we got married. He was her Philosophy professor, and Melanie used to come home from school gushing about what an incredible hunk he was. The perfect male specimen.
In addition to his tenure at the university, Ron has also written two best-sellers. And he's an attorney. And he has his pilot's license. Oh, and he was on "Good Morning, America" once to talk about his second book.
Should I go on? Well, Melanie certainly did - over, and over, and over again, every night of the week, until the name "Ron" burned my ears and gave me a stomachache. I'd never seen her act like this before. This wasn't just another one of her flings - she was really smitten with this guy!
Only problem is, he's married.
But that didn't stop Mel. In fact, she says it's the perfect arrangement. Ron's wife is a rich-bitch alcoholic, and she doesn't care about his running around; as long as he keeps the money and the booze flowing, she's happy. And of course, I'm too pussywhipped to do anything about their little affaire d?amour. So it all works out.
They've been dating for almost three years now. They usually go out once or twice during the week, then he stays over on weekends.
Do you have any idea what it's like to be treated like a slave in your own home by your wife and her boyfriend? To have to hop around like a monkey, fetching drinks and changing CDs while they lounge around in bed all day?
It's not exactly my idea of a fun weekend, let me tell you.
I'm made to feel like an outsider as they laugh at little private jokes I'm not privvy to, or call each other by their "pet" names. During the weekend this is Ron's domain, and he knows it. Melanie has made it quite clear that she's delighted to have him in our home, and she's extended an open invitation for him to pop by whenever he feels like it.
As for me...well, I don't have much say about it, do I?
My wife and I didn't know much about the "slave" thing until Ron came along. Sure, we'd seen people on the Jenny Jones Show talking about S&M, and there were a few stories in "Variations" magazine. But we didn't really have what you'd call a "Mistress/slave" relationship until Ron introduced us to the dark world of bondage and discipline.
Ron is heavily into S&M. He belongs to a club that caters to those kind of fetishes. He's what they call a "top" - a dominant. He enjoys treating people like slaves. He gets sexual excitment from it, and it doesn't really matter if it's a man or a woman he's abusing. As long as he gets to be boss, he's happy.
Melanie isn't submissive at all. In fact, I always thought she had a dominant personality. But Ron has brought out hidden feelings in Melanie that neither of us knew existed. While she isn't exactly a slave to Ron - that's my job - she has come to enjoy the submissive side of sex. She likes Ron to spank her and call her a "little slut" while he's banging her.
Ron has also taught Melanie to cultivate her dominant side. Whereas before Ron, I was just your basic, cuckolded, pussywhipped, browbeaten husband, I'm now a full-fledged slave...a combination houseboy/whipping boy. With Ron's guidance, Melanie has opened up a Pandora's Box of evil, rancid emotions.
I don't like what my wife has become. She never was exactly nice to me before, but now it's downright unbearable.
Of course, I was never asked if I wanted to participate in all this. It just sort of happened.
In case you're wondering, I do not enjoy this lifestyle; I'm not into being treated like a slave, and I'm not one of those guys who gets off watching his wife with another man.
I know what you're thinking: why do I put up with it? It's a question I hear all the time. I guess it is a logical question.
For the answer, I turn to a simple, four-letter word:
L-O-V-E.
That's right, love. I don't care what people think. They can call me a wimp. They can laugh at me and say I'm pussywhipped. I won't argue with them.
But I'll always have one thing they don't have: my beautiful wife, Melanie.
You see, I'm not about to let her get away from me. I've worked too hard on this relationship over the years to let anything like that happen. I would simply be crushed if she ever left me. So, if she wants to continue seeing Ron - if that's what it'll take to keep this marriage together - then I'll bite my lip and take the pain.
I'm not going to lie to you and tell you it's easy. It's not. In fact, it can be out-and-out excruciating sometimes.
Take last Friday, for instance...
I WAS SITTING ALONE in the living room watching TV when the phone rang.
"Davy? It's me. I'm with Ron. He's taking me to the art museum, then we want to spend a nice, quiet evening at home. Have dinner ready by 9, and lay out something nice for me to wear."
Before I got a chance to respond, she hung up.
I hate those "nice, quiet evenings at home." They're anything but quiet for me - and they're certainly not nice!
With a sigh of resignation, I rushed out to the store to pick up the groceries for their meal. Melanie hadn't specified what she wanted, so I took a chance and prepared a nice chicken casserole.
They got home around 9:30. Ron was dressed to the nines, and Mel was wearing an elegant evening gown I'd never seen before. Another shopping spree, I surmised, courtesy of Sugar-Daddy Ron.
I rushed to the foyer to greet them. Ron sauntered through the doorway and held the door open for my wife.
After Ron closed the door, he looked at me with an amused twinkle in his eye. "Hi, honey, I'm home!" he sang in my ear as he reached out and pinched my cheek. Melanie giggled.
Ron took off his coat and draped it over my head. "Hang up my coat, Davy, then run and fetch me a drink."
I pulled the coat off my head just in time to see Melanie toss her wrap in my direction, sending me scrambling to catch it. By the time I hung everything up, they were already in the living room.
I quickly fixed Ron's cognac and put it onto a serving tray. I minced into the living room where they were both relaxing on the couch. Melanie was lying on the sofa with her feet on Ron's lap, and he had his hand on her thigh, lightly stroking the silky material of her dress.
I struggled to my knees in front of the couch and offered the tray to Ron. He appeared to be lost in thought, and he didn't notice me as he absent-mindedly reached for his drink and took a long, slow, noisy sip.
As I knelt there holding the empty tray, Melanie languidly stretched one of her silk-encased legs and rotated her elegant ankle right in front of my face. She tapped my forehead lightly with the toe of her shoe.
"Get these off," she said, pointing to her expensive new pumps. "And take off my stockings."
I undid the straps and slipped her shoes off. I set them carefully and neatly by the end table. Melanie shifted her body to allow me to reach under her dress and undo her garter belt. I caught a glimpse of her shiny panties as I slid one of the stockings down her leg. There was a slight wet spot on her crotch; they must've made out sometime after they left the art museum.
The sight of Melanie's sexy leg must've snapped Ron out of his daydream. He smiled and began rubbing his hand up and down her bare thigh as I struggled to remove Mel's stocking from her foot.
Ron started playing with Mel's pussy through her panties. "Mmmmmm," she moaned as she spread her legs wider to allow her lover easier access. When I saw her panty-covered pussy spread open like that, I audibly gasped. Ron stopped playing with Mel and stared down at me.
"Does that excite you, boy?" he asked.
"Y-yes, sir...very much so, sir."
"Well, then, watch this," he said. "You just might learn something." He reached under the waistband of Mel's panties and started massaging her pussy. Through the material, I could see the outline of his fingers disappearing into my wife's cunt. As his fingers hit home, Melanie gasped and clutched Ron by the arm. She was still wearing her other stocking; it was bunched up halfway down her leg, which made her look kind of slutty.
After a few minutes, Ron removed his hand from Mel's panties. His fingers were glazed with my wife's wet excitement.
Ron extended his fingers toward me. "Come here, fag, and take a whiff."
I nearly fell down as I scrambled over and began smelling his fingers. The fishy scent of my wife's juices was making me crazy.
"That's enough, queer," Melanie announced after just a few seconds. "We can't give him too many privileges," she explained to Ron. "The little creep is liable to get spoiled!"
"You're absolutely right, honey," Ron said, wiping his wet fingers on my nose. "A spoiled slave is like tits on a bull: useless!"
My wife looked down and shot me a condescending little smile.
"Put your tongue back in your mouth, Davy, and take off my other stocking!" she sneered.
As I determinedly worked the silk down her leg, Ron nudged Melanie in the ribs. "Look at him down there," he chuckled, gestering to me derisively. "He looks like the poster boy for birth control!"
Melanie busted up. "You're terrible, Ron!" she said through her giggles. "You're gonna hurt his feelings! Don't you dare treat my little Davy that way!"
Ron stopped laughing and looked at Melanie with a straight face. "Don't you tell me how to treat a slave, you little prissy little bitch!" he shot back in jest. "You better watch out: I just might make you my slave, next!"
With that, Ron grabbed my wife by the shoulders and started roughhousing with her. He gently wrestled her to the sofa as Mel tried in vain to escape. She shrieked with delight as he pinned her shoulders to the cushions.
"Stay still, you little slut," Ron teased as he tried to hold her down with one hand and grab her pussy with the other. Mel was laughing and squeezing her legs shut so Ron couldn't get his hand in there. Not to be outdone, Ron began tickling her until she finally surrendered, opening her legs and laughing hysterically.
I tried not to intrude on their little "moment." I simply knelt there and quietly folded my wife's stockings. With a heavy heart, I leaned over and put them next to her shoes by the end table.
SLAAAP!!! My head snapped back as I felt the sting of my wife's palm across my ear. "Don't put those stockings on the floor, asshole; they're silk!" she yelled. "Take them upstairs and put them away!"
"Y-yes, Mistress! I'm sorry, Mistress!" I said desperately.
As I scurried up the stairs, shoes and stockings in hand, Ron called out, "Hey, limp-dick! When's that food gonna be ready? I'm starving to death over here!"
"C-coming right up, sir," I answered politely.
Melanie leafed through her mail and Ron surfed the cable channels while I finished setting the table. We always use the good china when Ron comes over. I put a pair of scented candles into the crystal candleholders and arranged them neatly on the table. Then I brought in the casserole, hot out of the oven.
I checked everything one last time, then went back into the living room to inform Mel and Ron that dinner was served.
After they took their places at the table, Ron leaned back in his chair and began unzipping his pants. "I've got a job for you, Davy," he said. "Crawl up under the table."
My heart sank. I knew what was coming. But I didn't dare say hesitate, so I obediently dropped to my knees and maneuvered my body between his legs. When I got close enough, Ron grabbed the back of my head.
"Just put it in your mouth; don't suck," he said as he guided my face toward his cock. "Don't move your head. I just want to feel your mouth on me while I eat."
With that, Ron turned back to his dinner. They soon forgot about me and began a normal dinner conversation while I struggled to stay still. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. After a few minutes my neck began to hurt as I had to strain to keep my head steady. I could taste the bitter pre-cum starting to form on the tip of my tongue as his penis began to get hot and slowly swell up in my mouth.
Dinner lasted about 45 minutes. It was the longest 45 minutes I've ever spent in my life!
When they finally finished eating, Ron put his now-hard cock back into his pants and zipped up his fly. "Thanks, Davy - that was special," he said. "We're going to adjourn to the bedroom now. Be a good boy and make sure my car is washed and waxed by the time I get up in the morning." He leaned down and looked at me with a serious expression. "And if it isn't done on time, I'll tear you a new asshole - I shit you not!"
Then they both shifted out of their chairs and stood up. From my spot under the table I watched their legs as they walked slowly toward the bedroom. After the door closed, I climbed out from my hiding place and began clearing away the dishes.
* * *
YEAH, THAT'S a typical "quiet" Friday evening in our household. I told you it wasn't much fun for me. Usually, they top off the festivities with a few hours of long, noisy lovemaking. While Ron fucks the shit out of my wife, I'm usually kneeling at the foot of the bed, too ashamed to watch.
The car windows are all fogged up now and I can't see the clock on top of the First National Building. It must be close to ten o'clock. Damn, they've been in that restaurant for three hours now! I wonder if they even remember that I'm sitting out here?
I doubt it.
WHO KNOWS WHAT EVIL LURKS IN THE HEARTS OF MEN (AND WOMEN)??? FIND OUT IN PART II...SAME TIME...SAME CHANNEL!
Note: I welcome any and all comments, suggestions, or story ideas.
They've been in the restaurant for more than two hours now. They could've at least left me the car keys so I could turn on the heat out here. It's only September and it's freezing already. Damn. Why didn't I think to bring my jacket?
Going on nine o'clock. It doesn't take more than two hours to eat...does it?
I can just see them now. While I'm sitting out here in the car freezing my ass off, Melanie is nice and toasty inside, probably snuggled up to you-know-who, polishing off a bottle of expensive wine. I'm a million miles from their thoughts right now. To them, I'm just the chauffeur - a bit player in tonight's romantic episode.
That's me: good old dependable Dave. Always the designated driver. Mr. Reliable. Mr. Nice Guy.
Mr. Get-Dumped-On is more like it.
This is their third date this week. I can't stand Ron, and I can't imagine what Mel sees in him. Other than his looks...and his money...and his intelligence...and his 11-inch cock...and his Ferrari...
Okay, forget it.
To Melanie, I'm just a comfortable old shoe, someone who will always be there for her. Like a faithful St. Bernard.
But that's boring, she says. She tells me she needs more excitement in her life.
And that's where Ron comes in.
Melanie's relationship with Ron isn't real. It's all based on fantasy, and she'd probably be the first to admit it. I think she knows the love I feel for her is far more real than what Ron has to offer. He's just in it for the sex.
But come to think of it, so is my wife.
Melanie and Ron are both cut from the same mold: adventuresome and absolutely, completely selfish. "If it feels good, do it" - that's their motto. And it doesn't matter who they hurt in the process.
Does it tear me up inside? Of course it does. Melanie is all caught up in her little fairy-tale romance with Ron, so where does that leave me?
Sitting out here in the rain, that's where.
He's so poised...so sure of himself. Kind of makes it difficult to compete. So why even bother?
Melanie met Ron during her senior year in college, about a year after we got married. He was her Philosophy professor, and Melanie used to come home from school gushing about what an incredible hunk he was. The perfect male specimen.
In addition to his tenure at the university, Ron has also written two best-sellers. And he's an attorney. And he has his pilot's license. Oh, and he was on "Good Morning, America" once to talk about his second book.
Should I go on? Well, Melanie certainly did - over, and over, and over again, every night of the week, until the name "Ron" burned my ears and gave me a stomachache. I'd never seen her act like this before. This wasn't just another one of her flings - she was really smitten with this guy!
Only problem is, he's married.
But that didn't stop Mel. In fact, she says it's the perfect arrangement. Ron's wife is a rich-bitch alcoholic, and she doesn't care about his running around; as long as he keeps the money and the booze flowing, she's happy. And of course, I'm too pussywhipped to do anything about their little affaire d?amour. So it all works out.
They've been dating for almost three years now. They usually go out once or twice during the week, then he stays over on weekends.
Do you have any idea what it's like to be treated like a slave in your own home by your wife and her boyfriend? To have to hop around like a monkey, fetching drinks and changing CDs while they lounge around in bed all day?
It's not exactly my idea of a fun weekend, let me tell you.
I'm made to feel like an outsider as they laugh at little private jokes I'm not privvy to, or call each other by their "pet" names. During the weekend this is Ron's domain, and he knows it. Melanie has made it quite clear that she's delighted to have him in our home, and she's extended an open invitation for him to pop by whenever he feels like it.
As for me...well, I don't have much say about it, do I?
My wife and I didn't know much about the "slave" thing until Ron came along. Sure, we'd seen people on the Jenny Jones Show talking about S&M, and there were a few stories in "Variations" magazine. But we didn't really have what you'd call a "Mistress/slave" relationship until Ron introduced us to the dark world of bondage and discipline.
Ron is heavily into S&M. He belongs to a club that caters to those kind of fetishes. He's what they call a "top" - a dominant. He enjoys treating people like slaves. He gets sexual excitment from it, and it doesn't really matter if it's a man or a woman he's abusing. As long as he gets to be boss, he's happy.
Melanie isn't submissive at all. In fact, I always thought she had a dominant personality. But Ron has brought out hidden feelings in Melanie that neither of us knew existed. While she isn't exactly a slave to Ron - that's my job - she has come to enjoy the submissive side of sex. She likes Ron to spank her and call her a "little slut" while he's banging her.
Ron has also taught Melanie to cultivate her dominant side. Whereas before Ron, I was just your basic, cuckolded, pussywhipped, browbeaten husband, I'm now a full-fledged slave...a combination houseboy/whipping boy. With Ron's guidance, Melanie has opened up a Pandora's Box of evil, rancid emotions.
I don't like what my wife has become. She never was exactly nice to me before, but now it's downright unbearable.
Of course, I was never asked if I wanted to participate in all this. It just sort of happened.
In case you're wondering, I do not enjoy this lifestyle; I'm not into being treated like a slave, and I'm not one of those guys who gets off watching his wife with another man.
I know what you're thinking: why do I put up with it? It's a question I hear all the time. I guess it is a logical question.
For the answer, I turn to a simple, four-letter word:
L-O-V-E.
That's right, love. I don't care what people think. They can call me a wimp. They can laugh at me and say I'm pussywhipped. I won't argue with them.
But I'll always have one thing they don't have: my beautiful wife, Melanie.
You see, I'm not about to let her get away from me. I've worked too hard on this relationship over the years to let anything like that happen. I would simply be crushed if she ever left me. So, if she wants to continue seeing Ron - if that's what it'll take to keep this marriage together - then I'll bite my lip and take the pain.
I'm not going to lie to you and tell you it's easy. It's not. In fact, it can be out-and-out excruciating sometimes.
Take last Friday, for instance...
I WAS SITTING ALONE in the living room watching TV when the phone rang.
"Davy? It's me. I'm with Ron. He's taking me to the art museum, then we want to spend a nice, quiet evening at home. Have dinner ready by 9, and lay out something nice for me to wear."
Before I got a chance to respond, she hung up.
I hate those "nice, quiet evenings at home." They're anything but quiet for me - and they're certainly not nice!
With a sigh of resignation, I rushed out to the store to pick up the groceries for their meal. Melanie hadn't specified what she wanted, so I took a chance and prepared a nice chicken casserole.
They got home around 9:30. Ron was dressed to the nines, and Mel was wearing an elegant evening gown I'd never seen before. Another shopping spree, I surmised, courtesy of Sugar-Daddy Ron.
I rushed to the foyer to greet them. Ron sauntered through the doorway and held the door open for my wife.
After Ron closed the door, he looked at me with an amused twinkle in his eye. "Hi, honey, I'm home!" he sang in my ear as he reached out and pinched my cheek. Melanie giggled.
Ron took off his coat and draped it over my head. "Hang up my coat, Davy, then run and fetch me a drink."
I pulled the coat off my head just in time to see Melanie toss her wrap in my direction, sending me scrambling to catch it. By the time I hung everything up, they were already in the living room.
I quickly fixed Ron's cognac and put it onto a serving tray. I minced into the living room where they were both relaxing on the couch. Melanie was lying on the sofa with her feet on Ron's lap, and he had his hand on her thigh, lightly stroking the silky material of her dress.
I struggled to my knees in front of the couch and offered the tray to Ron. He appeared to be lost in thought, and he didn't notice me as he absent-mindedly reached for his drink and took a long, slow, noisy sip.
As I knelt there holding the empty tray, Melanie languidly stretched one of her silk-encased legs and rotated her elegant ankle right in front of my face. She tapped my forehead lightly with the toe of her shoe.
"Get these off," she said, pointing to her expensive new pumps. "And take off my stockings."
I undid the straps and slipped her shoes off. I set them carefully and neatly by the end table. Melanie shifted her body to allow me to reach under her dress and undo her garter belt. I caught a glimpse of her shiny panties as I slid one of the stockings down her leg. There was a slight wet spot on her crotch; they must've made out sometime after they left the art museum.
The sight of Melanie's sexy leg must've snapped Ron out of his daydream. He smiled and began rubbing his hand up and down her bare thigh as I struggled to remove Mel's stocking from her foot.
Ron started playing with Mel's pussy through her panties. "Mmmmmm," she moaned as she spread her legs wider to allow her lover easier access. When I saw her panty-covered pussy spread open like that, I audibly gasped. Ron stopped playing with Mel and stared down at me.
"Does that excite you, boy?" he asked.
"Y-yes, sir...very much so, sir."
"Well, then, watch this," he said. "You just might learn something." He reached under the waistband of Mel's panties and started massaging her pussy. Through the material, I could see the outline of his fingers disappearing into my wife's cunt. As his fingers hit home, Melanie gasped and clutched Ron by the arm. She was still wearing her other stocking; it was bunched up halfway down her leg, which made her look kind of slutty.
After a few minutes, Ron removed his hand from Mel's panties. His fingers were glazed with my wife's wet excitement.
Ron extended his fingers toward me. "Come here, fag, and take a whiff."
I nearly fell down as I scrambled over and began smelling his fingers. The fishy scent of my wife's juices was making me crazy.
"That's enough, queer," Melanie announced after just a few seconds. "We can't give him too many privileges," she explained to Ron. "The little creep is liable to get spoiled!"
"You're absolutely right, honey," Ron said, wiping his wet fingers on my nose. "A spoiled slave is like tits on a bull: useless!"
My wife looked down and shot me a condescending little smile.
"Put your tongue back in your mouth, Davy, and take off my other stocking!" she sneered.
As I determinedly worked the silk down her leg, Ron nudged Melanie in the ribs. "Look at him down there," he chuckled, gestering to me derisively. "He looks like the poster boy for birth control!"
Melanie busted up. "You're terrible, Ron!" she said through her giggles. "You're gonna hurt his feelings! Don't you dare treat my little Davy that way!"
Ron stopped laughing and looked at Melanie with a straight face. "Don't you tell me how to treat a slave, you little prissy little bitch!" he shot back in jest. "You better watch out: I just might make you my slave, next!"
With that, Ron grabbed my wife by the shoulders and started roughhousing with her. He gently wrestled her to the sofa as Mel tried in vain to escape. She shrieked with delight as he pinned her shoulders to the cushions.
"Stay still, you little slut," Ron teased as he tried to hold her down with one hand and grab her pussy with the other. Mel was laughing and squeezing her legs shut so Ron couldn't get his hand in there. Not to be outdone, Ron began tickling her until she finally surrendered, opening her legs and laughing hysterically.
I tried not to intrude on their little "moment." I simply knelt there and quietly folded my wife's stockings. With a heavy heart, I leaned over and put them next to her shoes by the end table.
SLAAAP!!! My head snapped back as I felt the sting of my wife's palm across my ear. "Don't put those stockings on the floor, asshole; they're silk!" she yelled. "Take them upstairs and put them away!"
"Y-yes, Mistress! I'm sorry, Mistress!" I said desperately.
As I scurried up the stairs, shoes and stockings in hand, Ron called out, "Hey, limp-dick! When's that food gonna be ready? I'm starving to death over here!"
"C-coming right up, sir," I answered politely.
Melanie leafed through her mail and Ron surfed the cable channels while I finished setting the table. We always use the good china when Ron comes over. I put a pair of scented candles into the crystal candleholders and arranged them neatly on the table. Then I brought in the casserole, hot out of the oven.
I checked everything one last time, then went back into the living room to inform Mel and Ron that dinner was served.
After they took their places at the table, Ron leaned back in his chair and began unzipping his pants. "I've got a job for you, Davy," he said. "Crawl up under the table."
My heart sank. I knew what was coming. But I didn't dare say hesitate, so I obediently dropped to my knees and maneuvered my body between his legs. When I got close enough, Ron grabbed the back of my head.
"Just put it in your mouth; don't suck," he said as he guided my face toward his cock. "Don't move your head. I just want to feel your mouth on me while I eat."
With that, Ron turned back to his dinner. They soon forgot about me and began a normal dinner conversation while I struggled to stay still. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. After a few minutes my neck began to hurt as I had to strain to keep my head steady. I could taste the bitter pre-cum starting to form on the tip of my tongue as his penis began to get hot and slowly swell up in my mouth.
Dinner lasted about 45 minutes. It was the longest 45 minutes I've ever spent in my life!
When they finally finished eating, Ron put his now-hard cock back into his pants and zipped up his fly. "Thanks, Davy - that was special," he said. "We're going to adjourn to the bedroom now. Be a good boy and make sure my car is washed and waxed by the time I get up in the morning." He leaned down and looked at me with a serious expression. "And if it isn't done on time, I'll tear you a new asshole - I shit you not!"
Then they both shifted out of their chairs and stood up. From my spot under the table I watched their legs as they walked slowly toward the bedroom. After the door closed, I climbed out from my hiding place and began clearing away the dishes.
* * *
YEAH, THAT'S a typical "quiet" Friday evening in our household. I told you it wasn't much fun for me. Usually, they top off the festivities with a few hours of long, noisy lovemaking. While Ron fucks the shit out of my wife, I'm usually kneeling at the foot of the bed, too ashamed to watch.
The car windows are all fogged up now and I can't see the clock on top of the First National Building. It must be close to ten o'clock. Damn, they've been in that restaurant for three hours now! I wonder if they even remember that I'm sitting out here?
I doubt it.
WHO KNOWS WHAT EVIL LURKS IN THE HEARTS OF MEN (AND WOMEN)??? FIND OUT IN PART II...SAME TIME...SAME CHANNEL!
Note: I welcome any and all comments, suggestions, or story ideas.
Of Mud and Mist ch. 02
The rain has finally stopped tapping on the roof of the car, and everything is quiet again. There's something eerie that hangs in the air right after a thunderstorm...the sky is almost too quiet. And the fog always seems a little thicker.
Every time the door opens, I crane my neck to see if it's them. It's going on 10:30 now and they're still in the restaurant. This waiting is driving me crazy! Nothing to read. Nothing to keep my mind occupied. Nothing to do except sit here and wonder.
Who ever said life was fair? I sure got a shitty deal, didn't I? I gave her everything I had...every ounce of my love - and she wiped her ass with it. All I ever wanted was for us to have a happy marriage. But I gave on that dream a long time ago.
Now I'm just trying to survive.
In the old days, I used to fantasize about coming to Melanie's rescue: I'd save her from drowning or something, and she would be eternally grateful. We'd live happily ever after.
Who ever guessed things would turn out like this?
Betrayal. It's a feeling you can never imagine unless you've had it happen to you. Most men would have the balls to get out of a situation where they're being hurt over and over again. I, unfortunately, do not.
Melanie says it's my fault. "If you weren't such a fucking wimp, maybe we could have a normal relationship," she tells me.
"Put yourself in my shoes," she says. "On the one hand, you have Ron, who's sexy, and intelligent, and funny, and successful. And then there's you: dumpy...uninspired...a complete loser! Now, tell me the truth: who would you pick if you were me?"
Maybe it is my fault. She is right about one thing: I'm certainly not a very motivated person. I'm not the kind of guy who wants to go out all the time. I don't like being around people. All I want to do when I get home from work is relax and watch a little television.
That's the exact opposite from Melanie: she hates to sit at home, and she's out just about every night. If she isn't on a date with Ron, she's having dinner with a friend or going to a hockey game with her co-workers. I spend many lonely nights waiting for my wife to come home from yet another evening of painting the town red.
But weekends are even worse. That's when Ron stays over, usually from Friday evening until Sunday. To have him walking around our home like he owns the place is just too much for me to bear...
I told you what happened when he came over last Friday night. I made dinner for Mel and Ron, then I spent the entire meal on my knees with Ron's dick in my mouth. After dinner, they went off to the bedroom. I could hear the grunts and the moans and the "Oh, Gods" until 3 in the morning.
They slept in until noon. I spent the morning washing and waxing Ron's Ferrari; that was his last order before he took Mel off to bed. I had to get up around six to do it, because I wasn't sure how early they'd wake up.
A few early-birds drove down our street and looked at me kind of funny. Come to think of it, I guess it is unusual to see someone out in the driveway washing a Ferrari at six in the morning! But I'm used to all the funny looks by now.
Because they slept in so late, I was able to get a lot done. By the time Melanie and Ron started to stir, I'd already washed his car, straightened up the house, washed and ironed the clothes he wore last night, and had breakfast cooking.
Bacon and eggs, with toast and jam...orange juice, and slices of fresh honey-dew melon. I arranged it all neatly on the serving tray, then topped it off with the morning paper and a nice rose in a crystal vase. I scooped up the heavy offering and made my way to the bedroom.
"Come in," my wife called in response to my timid knock. Mel was sitting on the edge of the bed, filing her toenails. Ron was in the adjoining master bathroom taking that long first piss of the day.
"Good morning, Mistress," I said cheerfully as I set the tray down onto the king-sized mattress. I wasn't really in a good mood - I never am when Ron stays over. But I know my mistress doesn't like a sulking slave, so I have to put on an act...or risk getting the shit beat out of me!
"I hope you both had a good evening," I continued in a cheerful, yet humble tone of voice.
Ron sauntered naked into the bedroom, his big dick flopping confidently back and forth with each step. "Oh, we had a GREAT evening, didn't we, Mel?" he said.
Melanie had a dreamy look in her eyes. She smiled softly and put her hand to her breast. "Mmmmmmmmm....last night was out of this world, baaaaby!" She looked at me and her smile broadened. "Four times, Davy!" she said, twirling her four fingers right under my nose. "We did it four times last night! Can you believe it? Four times!! Isn't Ron just the GREATEST?!!?"
"Yes, Mistress," I whispered, trying to avoid eye-contact with the smirking Ron.
"Alright, that's enough about my prowess in the sack," Ron said as he plopped down onto the bed. "We all know who the Bone-Master is around here." He looked over at Melanie. "Since you like my cock so much, little bitch, you can feed me my breakfast! And be quick about it, slut!" he ordered, only half-joking.
Without a second of hesitation, my wife scooted up to her reclining lover and began slowly feeding him with a fork. After a few bites, Ron looked over at me. "You," he said, still chewing his mouthful of food. "Get over here and suck my toes."
I knelt at the foot of the bed and took Ron's big toe gently between my lips. While I abased myself at his feet, I managed to sneak a few peeks up at them every few minutes. Melanie looked like a Geisha girl, sitting on the bed with her legs tucked up under her, tenderly feeding her lover.
The look on Ron's face was absolutely sickening. It was obvious he was feeling awfully pleased with himself! I guess he had reason to be pleased: here he was in this couple's house, with a stunningly beautiful woman feeding him breakfast while her husband submissively sucked his toes! Ron had the calm, bemused smirk of a man who knows he has the world by the tail. It was the look of a true king!
Ceaser. Nero. Ramses. Henry VIII. No monarch ever felt more regal than Ron did at that moment!
When they finished eating, they laid back on the bed while I removed the tray and took it to the kitchen.
By the time I got back into the bedroom, Ron was on top of my wife, slowly humping her thigh. Melanie had her face buried in Ron's shoulder, and her breathing was starting to get heavy.
Mel noticed me first. "Don't just stand there gawking at us, you sorry sack of shit!" she spat at me just before Ron effortlessly flipped her over and sat her on his lap. "Get over here and make yourself useful - lick my ass!"
It was difficult to keep my tongue in her butt as she rode Ron's cock up and down. As her humping grew faster, Mel's ass began to slam into my face.
Luckily, it didn't take them long to cum. Melanie thrashed around wildly on his cock, screaming bloody murder as the orgasm swept through her body. I tried to keep up, but it was nearly impossible as Ron was holding her by the hips and moving her up and down on his cock at lightening speed as he loudly enjoyed his own orgasm..
Melanie fell back onto the bed. My mouth followed her butt down to the mattress.
I continued licking my wife's anus as she nuzzled up to Ron, tenderly stroking his hair. Feeling playful, Melanie started mewing in Ron's ear, which she knows tickles him. He laughed and turned his head from side to side, trying to avoid my wife's darting tongue.
Meanwhile, down below, I was finding it hard to breathe. Her ass was squished right up against my face, and I was gasping for air. The gamey smell of their lovemaking was just inches from my nose, and my chin was starting to get wet from the cum oozing out of Mel's pussy.
I heard Ron burp loudly, causing Melanie to retreat in semi-mock disgust. "Grrross!" she complained dramatically, while Ron chuckled lightly to himself, as if he'd just done something really clever.
Then Ron leaned up on one elbow and looked down at me with an amused expression. He watched me lick Melanie's ass for a few minutes before turning back to Mel.
"What do you think, honey?" he asked my wife. "Has our little fag-slave earned the right to taste my love puddin' this morning?"
"Hmmm...I don't know," Mel replied, placing her finger on her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "He's really doing a nice job of lickin' my ass."
"And the breakfast was just scrumptious," Ron added. "The bacon was crispy, the toast was just right...and the rose was a nice touch!"
Melanie smiled impishly at Ron. "Okay, what the hell," she said. "The little queer has earned a taste!"
I yelped as I suddenly felt Mel's hand grab my hair by the roots. She swung her leg across my body and guided my face to her sticky vagina. "Wake up, Davy! It's Jello Pudding time!" she sang as I began softly licking the globs of semen from her battered pussy. "Taste the freshness, Davy! That's one hundred percent protein you're suckin' on down there! Thank Ron for letting you lick it out of me! Don't be so fucking rude to our guest, Davy!" she hissed as she reached down and slapped me hard across my eye.
I felt like my throat was full of sandpaper, but I knew I had no choice. "T-thank y-you, sir...for letting me...lick your cum out of...Mistress Melanie's...vagina."
Ron said nothing as he relaxed on the pillows with his eyes closed and a dreamy smile on his lips. He reached down and tenderly patted me on the head.
I slowly lowered my head back to my wife's sloppy pussy. Her tattoo was staring me right in the face. Earlier this summer, Ron talked Melanie into getting a tattoo: a little red heart on her upper thigh, just above the bikini line, with the word, "Animal" engraved in tiny, florid letters. She's talking about getting another one done on her ass; maybe Ron's initials, she said.
That would be the clincher: my wife running around with another man's initials tattooed on her ass! Unfortunately, I think she's serious about having it done.
After I licked Melanie's pussy clean, I was sent off to go run a hot shower. Then, as they enjoyed a long, hot, leisurely shower together, I scurried around making the bed and straightening up the bedroom. Then I gathered up the dirty sheets and took them downstairs to be washed...
* * *
Nothing yet. For a second, I thought I saw them come out, but it was another couple. My leg is starting to cramp from sitting in the car for so long, and my foot is falling asleep. I'm afraid to get out and walk around, because the last thing Mel told me was to "stay there."
I don't know if she meant for me to literally sit in the same spot...but I'm not about to take any chances!
I know it sounds crazy, but I need these chains. Please don't hate me because I am weak. Have mercy on a broken man's soul.
DON'T BE A DWEE...STAY TUNED FOR PART THREE!!!
Every time the door opens, I crane my neck to see if it's them. It's going on 10:30 now and they're still in the restaurant. This waiting is driving me crazy! Nothing to read. Nothing to keep my mind occupied. Nothing to do except sit here and wonder.
Who ever said life was fair? I sure got a shitty deal, didn't I? I gave her everything I had...every ounce of my love - and she wiped her ass with it. All I ever wanted was for us to have a happy marriage. But I gave on that dream a long time ago.
Now I'm just trying to survive.
In the old days, I used to fantasize about coming to Melanie's rescue: I'd save her from drowning or something, and she would be eternally grateful. We'd live happily ever after.
Who ever guessed things would turn out like this?
Betrayal. It's a feeling you can never imagine unless you've had it happen to you. Most men would have the balls to get out of a situation where they're being hurt over and over again. I, unfortunately, do not.
Melanie says it's my fault. "If you weren't such a fucking wimp, maybe we could have a normal relationship," she tells me.
"Put yourself in my shoes," she says. "On the one hand, you have Ron, who's sexy, and intelligent, and funny, and successful. And then there's you: dumpy...uninspired...a complete loser! Now, tell me the truth: who would you pick if you were me?"
Maybe it is my fault. She is right about one thing: I'm certainly not a very motivated person. I'm not the kind of guy who wants to go out all the time. I don't like being around people. All I want to do when I get home from work is relax and watch a little television.
That's the exact opposite from Melanie: she hates to sit at home, and she's out just about every night. If she isn't on a date with Ron, she's having dinner with a friend or going to a hockey game with her co-workers. I spend many lonely nights waiting for my wife to come home from yet another evening of painting the town red.
But weekends are even worse. That's when Ron stays over, usually from Friday evening until Sunday. To have him walking around our home like he owns the place is just too much for me to bear...
I told you what happened when he came over last Friday night. I made dinner for Mel and Ron, then I spent the entire meal on my knees with Ron's dick in my mouth. After dinner, they went off to the bedroom. I could hear the grunts and the moans and the "Oh, Gods" until 3 in the morning.
They slept in until noon. I spent the morning washing and waxing Ron's Ferrari; that was his last order before he took Mel off to bed. I had to get up around six to do it, because I wasn't sure how early they'd wake up.
A few early-birds drove down our street and looked at me kind of funny. Come to think of it, I guess it is unusual to see someone out in the driveway washing a Ferrari at six in the morning! But I'm used to all the funny looks by now.
Because they slept in so late, I was able to get a lot done. By the time Melanie and Ron started to stir, I'd already washed his car, straightened up the house, washed and ironed the clothes he wore last night, and had breakfast cooking.
Bacon and eggs, with toast and jam...orange juice, and slices of fresh honey-dew melon. I arranged it all neatly on the serving tray, then topped it off with the morning paper and a nice rose in a crystal vase. I scooped up the heavy offering and made my way to the bedroom.
"Come in," my wife called in response to my timid knock. Mel was sitting on the edge of the bed, filing her toenails. Ron was in the adjoining master bathroom taking that long first piss of the day.
"Good morning, Mistress," I said cheerfully as I set the tray down onto the king-sized mattress. I wasn't really in a good mood - I never am when Ron stays over. But I know my mistress doesn't like a sulking slave, so I have to put on an act...or risk getting the shit beat out of me!
"I hope you both had a good evening," I continued in a cheerful, yet humble tone of voice.
Ron sauntered naked into the bedroom, his big dick flopping confidently back and forth with each step. "Oh, we had a GREAT evening, didn't we, Mel?" he said.
Melanie had a dreamy look in her eyes. She smiled softly and put her hand to her breast. "Mmmmmmmmm....last night was out of this world, baaaaby!" She looked at me and her smile broadened. "Four times, Davy!" she said, twirling her four fingers right under my nose. "We did it four times last night! Can you believe it? Four times!! Isn't Ron just the GREATEST?!!?"
"Yes, Mistress," I whispered, trying to avoid eye-contact with the smirking Ron.
"Alright, that's enough about my prowess in the sack," Ron said as he plopped down onto the bed. "We all know who the Bone-Master is around here." He looked over at Melanie. "Since you like my cock so much, little bitch, you can feed me my breakfast! And be quick about it, slut!" he ordered, only half-joking.
Without a second of hesitation, my wife scooted up to her reclining lover and began slowly feeding him with a fork. After a few bites, Ron looked over at me. "You," he said, still chewing his mouthful of food. "Get over here and suck my toes."
I knelt at the foot of the bed and took Ron's big toe gently between my lips. While I abased myself at his feet, I managed to sneak a few peeks up at them every few minutes. Melanie looked like a Geisha girl, sitting on the bed with her legs tucked up under her, tenderly feeding her lover.
The look on Ron's face was absolutely sickening. It was obvious he was feeling awfully pleased with himself! I guess he had reason to be pleased: here he was in this couple's house, with a stunningly beautiful woman feeding him breakfast while her husband submissively sucked his toes! Ron had the calm, bemused smirk of a man who knows he has the world by the tail. It was the look of a true king!
Ceaser. Nero. Ramses. Henry VIII. No monarch ever felt more regal than Ron did at that moment!
When they finished eating, they laid back on the bed while I removed the tray and took it to the kitchen.
By the time I got back into the bedroom, Ron was on top of my wife, slowly humping her thigh. Melanie had her face buried in Ron's shoulder, and her breathing was starting to get heavy.
Mel noticed me first. "Don't just stand there gawking at us, you sorry sack of shit!" she spat at me just before Ron effortlessly flipped her over and sat her on his lap. "Get over here and make yourself useful - lick my ass!"
It was difficult to keep my tongue in her butt as she rode Ron's cock up and down. As her humping grew faster, Mel's ass began to slam into my face.
Luckily, it didn't take them long to cum. Melanie thrashed around wildly on his cock, screaming bloody murder as the orgasm swept through her body. I tried to keep up, but it was nearly impossible as Ron was holding her by the hips and moving her up and down on his cock at lightening speed as he loudly enjoyed his own orgasm..
Melanie fell back onto the bed. My mouth followed her butt down to the mattress.
I continued licking my wife's anus as she nuzzled up to Ron, tenderly stroking his hair. Feeling playful, Melanie started mewing in Ron's ear, which she knows tickles him. He laughed and turned his head from side to side, trying to avoid my wife's darting tongue.
Meanwhile, down below, I was finding it hard to breathe. Her ass was squished right up against my face, and I was gasping for air. The gamey smell of their lovemaking was just inches from my nose, and my chin was starting to get wet from the cum oozing out of Mel's pussy.
I heard Ron burp loudly, causing Melanie to retreat in semi-mock disgust. "Grrross!" she complained dramatically, while Ron chuckled lightly to himself, as if he'd just done something really clever.
Then Ron leaned up on one elbow and looked down at me with an amused expression. He watched me lick Melanie's ass for a few minutes before turning back to Mel.
"What do you think, honey?" he asked my wife. "Has our little fag-slave earned the right to taste my love puddin' this morning?"
"Hmmm...I don't know," Mel replied, placing her finger on her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "He's really doing a nice job of lickin' my ass."
"And the breakfast was just scrumptious," Ron added. "The bacon was crispy, the toast was just right...and the rose was a nice touch!"
Melanie smiled impishly at Ron. "Okay, what the hell," she said. "The little queer has earned a taste!"
I yelped as I suddenly felt Mel's hand grab my hair by the roots. She swung her leg across my body and guided my face to her sticky vagina. "Wake up, Davy! It's Jello Pudding time!" she sang as I began softly licking the globs of semen from her battered pussy. "Taste the freshness, Davy! That's one hundred percent protein you're suckin' on down there! Thank Ron for letting you lick it out of me! Don't be so fucking rude to our guest, Davy!" she hissed as she reached down and slapped me hard across my eye.
I felt like my throat was full of sandpaper, but I knew I had no choice. "T-thank y-you, sir...for letting me...lick your cum out of...Mistress Melanie's...vagina."
Ron said nothing as he relaxed on the pillows with his eyes closed and a dreamy smile on his lips. He reached down and tenderly patted me on the head.
I slowly lowered my head back to my wife's sloppy pussy. Her tattoo was staring me right in the face. Earlier this summer, Ron talked Melanie into getting a tattoo: a little red heart on her upper thigh, just above the bikini line, with the word, "Animal" engraved in tiny, florid letters. She's talking about getting another one done on her ass; maybe Ron's initials, she said.
That would be the clincher: my wife running around with another man's initials tattooed on her ass! Unfortunately, I think she's serious about having it done.
After I licked Melanie's pussy clean, I was sent off to go run a hot shower. Then, as they enjoyed a long, hot, leisurely shower together, I scurried around making the bed and straightening up the bedroom. Then I gathered up the dirty sheets and took them downstairs to be washed...
* * *
Nothing yet. For a second, I thought I saw them come out, but it was another couple. My leg is starting to cramp from sitting in the car for so long, and my foot is falling asleep. I'm afraid to get out and walk around, because the last thing Mel told me was to "stay there."
I don't know if she meant for me to literally sit in the same spot...but I'm not about to take any chances!
I know it sounds crazy, but I need these chains. Please don't hate me because I am weak. Have mercy on a broken man's soul.
DON'T BE A DWEE...STAY TUNED FOR PART THREE!!!
Of Mud and Mist ch. 03
The clouds are starting to bubble up again. A strong wind just picked up from the west, and I can feel the car starting to rock back and forth in its wake. Looks like tonight's earlier storm was just a warm-up - I feel a real doozy coming on!
Maybe I should I go in the restaurant and warn them. This could be a tornado brewing.
Then again, it probably isn't. Melanie's always telling me how I overreact to everything. No, this is probably just another squall. I won't disturb them.
The restaurant will be closing soon. They'll have to come out then...won't they?
Oh well. No use in sitting here getting a sore neck from watching the restaurant door. Let me finish telling you about last weekend...
I must have been quite a sight at the fair Saturday as I submissively followed behind my wife and her lover with my arms loaded down with fuzzy tigers and bears.
Let me explain. In addition to all his other talents, it turns out Ron is a crack shot at the duck range. As Melanie looked on proudly, Mr. Perfect knocked down 29 ducks in a row before finally missing. A large crowd gathered around, which only seemed to bring out the best in Ron. He must've won fifty dollars' worth of stuffed animals before it was all said and done.
And guess who got the honor of carrying them all?
They usually don't bring me along on their dates, but this time I could see why they did. In addition to my duties as pack-mule for Mel's new toys, I had to stand in the ticket line, the food line, and hold all their possessions while they rode the rides. I guess having a slave comes in handy at the fair!
My orders were to follow 20 feet behind them. They didn't want to create a spectacle, so they told me not to talk to them unless it was an emergency. With my arms full of Mel's stuffed animals, it was hard to keep up with them as they bounced from ride to ride. But they didn't seem to notice.
I had to wait patiently while they rode everything: the roller coaster, the Ferris wheel, the Wildcat, the Dipsy-Doodle, the Salt & Pepper Shaker. Mel was having the time of her life - and once again, Ron came out looking like the hero, while I stood on the sidelines, unnoticed.
At least my wife was nice enough to let me have her half-eaten candy apple. Otherwise I'd have gotten no dinner at all. I resented the fact that I had to stand in long lines for their food, while all I got to eat was a sticky apple core.
I followed them around until the fair closed. By the time we made our way back to the car, I was exhausted.
I sat quietly in the back seat the entire ride home. My only companions were Melanie's stuffed animals - no one in the front seat said anything to me as they excitedly recapped the day's adventures.
When we pulled up in front of the house, Ron finally turned to me. "There's a couple loads of laundry in the trunk," he said, pulling the keys out of the ignition and tossing them in my lap. "I'm going home tomorrow morning, so make sure it's all done by then."
With that, they both got out of the car and walked hand-in-hand toward the house. I waited until they went inside, then I struggled to get out of the cramped back seat.
When I opened the trunk, my heart sank. There were three huge garbage bags full of Ron's dirty clothes! I'd just washed his stuff last weekend - how in the hell did he go through that many clothes in a week?!?
I carried the bags into the house and dejectedly started separating the mountains of laundry. I knew it would take me all night to finish everything by morning. The worst part is, Melanie insists that I hand-wash all Ron's clothes - she thinks it's "cute" to see me bent over the laundry sink arduously scrubbing Ron's underwear. So I gritted my teeth and braced for a long evening of soap suds and dirty sweatsocks...
I held a pair of Ron's slacks up and studied them for a minute. Expensive dress-pants; Ron has good taste in clothing, I'll give him that much.
And, unfortunately for me, he also has good taste in women!
I was up to my elbows in soapy water when I heard Melanie call for me. Fast as I could, I dried my hands and rushed into the bedroom to see what my wife wanted.
"Bring me a beer, Davy," she said as soon as I entered the room. She didn't even bother to look up from the television.
"Yes, Mistress." I turned to Ron, who was lying next to my wife on the bed. "Would you like anything to drink, sir?" I asked respectfully.
"Yeah, I'll have a cold one, too, Davy," he said lazily as he yawned and scratched his balls.
When I returned with the beers, Ron was sitting on the edge of the bed holding his shoes.
"Thanks, Davy," he said, snatching the can from my hand. "Now I've got another job for you." He thrusted his shoes toward me and smiled. "Put a good shine on these for me, Davy." He tossed back a swig of his beer, then looked me in the eyes and belched at me. "Do the soles, too."
It was quite humiliating to be kneeling at the foot of the bed polishing Ron's shoes while they relaxed and watched television. They didn't say much to each other except during the commercials. And they didn't say a word to me.
As their program was going off, Melanie finally broke the silence.
"Tell me something, Davy: do you enjoy shining Ron's shoes?" As she asked her humiliating question, she looked at Ron, who flashed her a wink.
She continued hammering at me: "Tell me the truth, Davy: do you enjoy shining his shoes and doing his laundry?" She leaned toward me and whispered: "Do you enjoy washing the doo-doo stains out of my honey's underwear?"
That got a big laugh from Ron. I wasn't sure what I should say. I certainly do not like doing Ron's laundry...but I was sure that wasn't the answer my wife wanted to hear!
"Uh...yes, Mistress," was all I could come up with. But it wasn't enough.
"Yes, what?" Melanie badgered. "Say it."
I averted my eyes and whispered, "Yes, Mistress, I enjoy washing Ron's clothes."
SLAP! My wife's backhand rattled my teeth. "What are you looking at? The floor?" She grabbed my hair and pulled my face upright. "Now say it again - the right way!"
It was difficult, but I managed to look my wife in the eyes. "Yes, Mistress, I enjoy washing..."
SLLLLAAAAP! Another hard blow snapped my head back. "What are you telling me for, creep?" she hissed. "Don't tell me - tell Ron!"
This was too much. I looked over at my wife's smirking lover.
"Uh...yes, sir, I enjoy washing your clothes...sir." My voice cracked a few times during the simple sentence.
Ron smiled and looked over at Melanie with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, isn't he just a peach?" he asked my wife, who nodded in agreement.
Ron turned toward me again. "Davy, if you keep this up, you're going to spoil me!" he said as he leaned back and put his arm around my wife. "I mean, a man could get used to this!"
Finally I was dismissed, and I thankfully rushed back to the safety of the laundry room. I still had a long way to go on Ron's dirty clothes, but anything was better than facing their laughter.
I sighed and plunged into my task of hand-laundering the huge pile of dirty clothes. I knew I was in for a long night of washing. My back was already starting to ache...
* * *
The rain is pouring down now, and the wind sounds like an old hound dog barking at the moon. I just remembered something: Melanie didn't remember to bring an umbrella tonight! Ha!
Wait a minute, what am I laughing about? If Mel's hair gets wet, she'll blame me - and then I'll get my ass beat!
I just can't win...
THE END
Maybe I should I go in the restaurant and warn them. This could be a tornado brewing.
Then again, it probably isn't. Melanie's always telling me how I overreact to everything. No, this is probably just another squall. I won't disturb them.
The restaurant will be closing soon. They'll have to come out then...won't they?
Oh well. No use in sitting here getting a sore neck from watching the restaurant door. Let me finish telling you about last weekend...
I must have been quite a sight at the fair Saturday as I submissively followed behind my wife and her lover with my arms loaded down with fuzzy tigers and bears.
Let me explain. In addition to all his other talents, it turns out Ron is a crack shot at the duck range. As Melanie looked on proudly, Mr. Perfect knocked down 29 ducks in a row before finally missing. A large crowd gathered around, which only seemed to bring out the best in Ron. He must've won fifty dollars' worth of stuffed animals before it was all said and done.
And guess who got the honor of carrying them all?
They usually don't bring me along on their dates, but this time I could see why they did. In addition to my duties as pack-mule for Mel's new toys, I had to stand in the ticket line, the food line, and hold all their possessions while they rode the rides. I guess having a slave comes in handy at the fair!
My orders were to follow 20 feet behind them. They didn't want to create a spectacle, so they told me not to talk to them unless it was an emergency. With my arms full of Mel's stuffed animals, it was hard to keep up with them as they bounced from ride to ride. But they didn't seem to notice.
I had to wait patiently while they rode everything: the roller coaster, the Ferris wheel, the Wildcat, the Dipsy-Doodle, the Salt & Pepper Shaker. Mel was having the time of her life - and once again, Ron came out looking like the hero, while I stood on the sidelines, unnoticed.
At least my wife was nice enough to let me have her half-eaten candy apple. Otherwise I'd have gotten no dinner at all. I resented the fact that I had to stand in long lines for their food, while all I got to eat was a sticky apple core.
I followed them around until the fair closed. By the time we made our way back to the car, I was exhausted.
I sat quietly in the back seat the entire ride home. My only companions were Melanie's stuffed animals - no one in the front seat said anything to me as they excitedly recapped the day's adventures.
When we pulled up in front of the house, Ron finally turned to me. "There's a couple loads of laundry in the trunk," he said, pulling the keys out of the ignition and tossing them in my lap. "I'm going home tomorrow morning, so make sure it's all done by then."
With that, they both got out of the car and walked hand-in-hand toward the house. I waited until they went inside, then I struggled to get out of the cramped back seat.
When I opened the trunk, my heart sank. There were three huge garbage bags full of Ron's dirty clothes! I'd just washed his stuff last weekend - how in the hell did he go through that many clothes in a week?!?
I carried the bags into the house and dejectedly started separating the mountains of laundry. I knew it would take me all night to finish everything by morning. The worst part is, Melanie insists that I hand-wash all Ron's clothes - she thinks it's "cute" to see me bent over the laundry sink arduously scrubbing Ron's underwear. So I gritted my teeth and braced for a long evening of soap suds and dirty sweatsocks...
I held a pair of Ron's slacks up and studied them for a minute. Expensive dress-pants; Ron has good taste in clothing, I'll give him that much.
And, unfortunately for me, he also has good taste in women!
I was up to my elbows in soapy water when I heard Melanie call for me. Fast as I could, I dried my hands and rushed into the bedroom to see what my wife wanted.
"Bring me a beer, Davy," she said as soon as I entered the room. She didn't even bother to look up from the television.
"Yes, Mistress." I turned to Ron, who was lying next to my wife on the bed. "Would you like anything to drink, sir?" I asked respectfully.
"Yeah, I'll have a cold one, too, Davy," he said lazily as he yawned and scratched his balls.
When I returned with the beers, Ron was sitting on the edge of the bed holding his shoes.
"Thanks, Davy," he said, snatching the can from my hand. "Now I've got another job for you." He thrusted his shoes toward me and smiled. "Put a good shine on these for me, Davy." He tossed back a swig of his beer, then looked me in the eyes and belched at me. "Do the soles, too."
It was quite humiliating to be kneeling at the foot of the bed polishing Ron's shoes while they relaxed and watched television. They didn't say much to each other except during the commercials. And they didn't say a word to me.
As their program was going off, Melanie finally broke the silence.
"Tell me something, Davy: do you enjoy shining Ron's shoes?" As she asked her humiliating question, she looked at Ron, who flashed her a wink.
She continued hammering at me: "Tell me the truth, Davy: do you enjoy shining his shoes and doing his laundry?" She leaned toward me and whispered: "Do you enjoy washing the doo-doo stains out of my honey's underwear?"
That got a big laugh from Ron. I wasn't sure what I should say. I certainly do not like doing Ron's laundry...but I was sure that wasn't the answer my wife wanted to hear!
"Uh...yes, Mistress," was all I could come up with. But it wasn't enough.
"Yes, what?" Melanie badgered. "Say it."
I averted my eyes and whispered, "Yes, Mistress, I enjoy washing Ron's clothes."
SLAP! My wife's backhand rattled my teeth. "What are you looking at? The floor?" She grabbed my hair and pulled my face upright. "Now say it again - the right way!"
It was difficult, but I managed to look my wife in the eyes. "Yes, Mistress, I enjoy washing..."
SLLLLAAAAP! Another hard blow snapped my head back. "What are you telling me for, creep?" she hissed. "Don't tell me - tell Ron!"
This was too much. I looked over at my wife's smirking lover.
"Uh...yes, sir, I enjoy washing your clothes...sir." My voice cracked a few times during the simple sentence.
Ron smiled and looked over at Melanie with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, isn't he just a peach?" he asked my wife, who nodded in agreement.
Ron turned toward me again. "Davy, if you keep this up, you're going to spoil me!" he said as he leaned back and put his arm around my wife. "I mean, a man could get used to this!"
Finally I was dismissed, and I thankfully rushed back to the safety of the laundry room. I still had a long way to go on Ron's dirty clothes, but anything was better than facing their laughter.
I sighed and plunged into my task of hand-laundering the huge pile of dirty clothes. I knew I was in for a long night of washing. My back was already starting to ache...
* * *
The rain is pouring down now, and the wind sounds like an old hound dog barking at the moon. I just remembered something: Melanie didn't remember to bring an umbrella tonight! Ha!
Wait a minute, what am I laughing about? If Mel's hair gets wet, she'll blame me - and then I'll get my ass beat!
I just can't win...
THE END
