“Come with me,” Lori said, heading for the bathroom, “I need someone to attend to me.”
I followed.
Once again I had that feeling that his eyes were on me.
She sat on the toilet and smiled at me.
“You’re liking all of this, aren’t you?” she asked as if we were sitting across the table talking about our kids or what had happened at the garden club.
She got that satisfied look we all get as I heard that hissing sound of a woman relieving herself.
“Well?” she asked when I didn’t answer.
I felt the blush spreading as I said, “Yes. Well, it’s overwhelming but, well, yes.”
She smiled and said, “I am too. I was surprised, if we’re being honest, at how much.”
She stopped talking for a moment, her face reddening a little, and the smell told me she was doing more than peeing.
She grinned at me and said, “does it bother you that I’m enjoying degrading you?”
I had to think about that one.
“I guess,” and suddenly I started laughing. The utter absurdity of what was happening struck me hard. Here I was, standing, watching my husband’s girlfriend taking a shit, naked, and having a conversation. Well, she was naked and I was in now-three-day-worn clothes, stinking of sweat and sex, semen staining my dress and caked in my hair. I couldn’t stop laughing.
“What?” she asked, looking at me curiously.
“Oh,” I said, kind of gasping for my breath the way you do after you’ve laughed that hard, “it’s just the absurdity of all of this.”
“Are you laughing at me?” she said, and her smile had disappeared.
“No,” I said, still chuckling, “I’m laughing at ME!”
She smiled then, and I could see her body tense as it does when you’re finishing your morning business, making that final push.
“Okay,” she said, leaning back and parting her legs a little, “wipe.”
I suppose I had known this was coming but I still had that little adrenaline rush deep in my belly.
When I hesitated she said, “shall I call David and tell him you refuse?”
“No,” I said, pulling off a couple of feet of toilet paper, the nice quilted stuff I always sprung for, and folding it into a pad.
She smiled and said, “Good girl,” as she spread her legs a bit more.
I wiped her pussy where she was wet and then, front to back as I had been taught as a girl, wiped back. After I wiped her ass I inspected the paper and when I saw the heavy brown stain dropped it into the water and pulled off another length.
When I finally had her clean she stood and went to the vanity. “Yours?” she asked, picking up a toothbrush from the little rack.
“David’s,” I said.
She put it back and picked up the other one. I watched as she used my toothbrush to brush her teeth.
“Go on,” she said, an odd smile on her face, “make breakfast and bring it up. We’ll have it in bed.”
I heard her say, “a little something before breakfast?” as I headed for the kitchen.
I looked around, thinking, and got out eggs and bacon, set up the toaster, and loaded it with two English muffins cut in half. I broke a half-dozen eggs into batıkent escort a bowl, added a splash of milk, and began beating them with a fork, looking for that perfect color, the buttercup yellow my grandmother had taught me.
As I let the eggs come to room temperature I set the big frying pan and the flat skillet on the stove to warm.
I realized I was smiling and that made me laugh which made me smile more.
“You do know,” I said to myself, “that a psychiatrist would probably diagnose you as fucking nuts, do you not?”
And, of course, I was right.
Because on some level I really had no hope of understanding, I was happy.
Tired and dirty and stinking, preparing to serve my husband and his lover breakfast in bed, I was happy.
Doing such mundane domestic things, making breakfast, moving around the kitchen in which I had prepared thousands of meals, I was happy.
Even wondering what fresh humiliation, what new degradation awaited me, I was happy.
I put six strips of bacon on the griddle and then sprayed olive oil on the frying pan. I pushed down the lever to start toasting the English muffins. As the bacon got close to being done I poured the eggs into the frying pan. I added a sprinkle of cheese as I folded the omelet, spread butter onto the muffin, and laid the crispy bacon strips on two plates, finally, I laid the omelets on the plates making I nice presentation I thought.
I put the plates, silverware, and two big glasses of orange juice on the tray and headed upstairs.
As I cleared the door she was laying back, her legs spread and knees up while my husband had his face buried between her legs.
She smiled and waved me over.
“You trained him well, honey,” she said, “now feed me while he does what he does so well.”
So I did. I sat the tray on the little bedside table and scooted the chair I used when I did my makeup over beside the bed.
And I fed her.
Her control was amazing. I know how good David is with his mouth and tongue, and I could see her hips rock with what he was doing, but she maintained her control, opening her mouth for a bite, chewing, and then closing her lips when I wiped them with the napkin.
When the orgasm took her I thought for an instant I was going to have to Heimlich her. I had just fed her a bite of the omelet when she gasped her release. Her eyes got big and I could see her trying to breathe as her hips bucked through a second wave of the pleasure I knew he could give her.
She coughed, though, the little ball of egg and cheese flying across the room, and gasped a deep breath.
She was into the afterglow then, though, and opened her mouth.
So I finished feeding her the breakfast I had made.
When the plate was empty she belched, not a ladylike burp either, the kind of belch a teenage boy would be proud of, and patted David on the head.
“Breakfast, baby,” she said and then smiled at me, “while I get my dessert.”
When he leaned back, pushing himself to sit up on his heels, beşevler escort his face was a mask of her love honey. It was shiny and one long white thread hung from his chin. His hair looked like he had just stepped out of the shower.
He smiled at me, a happy, sort of “good morning” smile, scooted backward until he stepped off the bed, and walked over and kissed me.
And I’ll be damned, but it was a good kiss.
Her scent was thick and her taste was on his lips.
I liked them both.
“Scoot,” he said, patting Lori on her big hip.
She giggled, stretched luxuriantly, theatrically really, and started scooting down the bed.
He took her place, laying back with that same self-satisfied look she had earlier.
As I watched she squirmed around and took him into her mouth.
And I began feeding him his breakfast.
And there it was, that pressure in my belly, low, deep, making it clear in the way no words ever could, that I was happy with the choice I had made.
I had a conversation with myself as I fed him, wiping his lips after each bite, and trying to imagine the combination of sensations he was feeling, her mouth on his cock as his wife fed him.
Martha, this is crazy.
I knowwwwwwwwwww.
So quit.
I don’t think I can.
Why?
I don’t KNOWWWWW!
But none of that mattered. That damn pressure was building and past the mixed stinks of my body odor, old semen, womancum, and whatever residual soap I might have, I could smell my fresh arousal.
She was still on his cock as I popped the last bite of bacon into his mouth and put the glass of orange juice to his lips.
“Are you happy?” he asked me and I couldn’t help the smile.
“I am,” I said simply.
“Come here,” he said, and I stood and moved closer to the bed.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, his hand lifting my dress and slowly moving up my leg.
“Yessssssssssssssssss,” I said, completely unable to stop myself from drawing the alveolar sibilant out into a long hiss.
His hand moved to brush the tops of my thighs and my feet moved apart, again, with no thinking involved.
My breath caught as his fingertip touched my labia.
“Say please,” he said, his voice soft and low, almost hypnotic.
“Please,” I said and on some level, I was ashamed at the way my eyes overflowed and my nose started running but mostly I just didn’t care.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
And the thing is, I didn’t know how to answer that question. What did I want? More humiliation? A return to our previous life? A fucking threesome?
“Sorry, Martha,” he said, and I thought I heard genuine regret in his voice, “she who hesitates is lost,” and he took his hand away making me sob, a brief bark of suffering.
“Sit,” he said and I sat back on the little chair.
So I watched as Lori finished him. I could see the way he was responding in the growing tension in his body and the way his hips were rocking.
When she finished him she pushed back quickly büyükesat escort off of the bed and came to where I was sitting.
I watched her approach, looking up.
When she bent over and started to open her mouth, his thick white semen starting to overflow, it seemed natural to open my mouth and accept her gift.
She bent and kissed me and then said, “Jesus, get in there and shower. You smell like an overworked whore on a hot day.”
She climbed up onto the bed then and snuggled into David’s shoulder. They both watched as I started undressing.
I got the dress unbuttoned and off of my shoulders and tossed it into the hamper.
I thought, “fuck it,” and turned to face them as I did the double-jointed thing all women learn with their first training bra, undid the six hooks of my bra, and shrugged it off.
“Damn,” Lori said, “now I’m jealous. Give those things a shake.”
I smiled and shimmied, making my heavy breasts swing side to side and, oddly, for the first time in years not ashamed of the way they sagged.
“Take it all off,” she said. David said nothing, just watched.
So I got busy, aware of their eyes on me, feeling awkward and still, on some level, enjoying what was happening. I did the awkward two-step to get my shoes off and then the even more awkward dance to get my pantyhose and panties off.
Naked and, okay, oddly proud, I stood, waiting to see what was next.
“Go on,” Lori said, “shower but don’t even look at a razor, got it?”
I nodded and she snapped, “ANSWER ME!”
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve got it.”
I took my watch off, got the earrings out of my ears, and put them in my little jewelry box, my necklace joined it and I thought for a minute and took off my rings, leaving only my wedding band and engagement ring on my left hand.
I turned toward the bathroom but Lori’s voice stopped me.
“Come here, Martha,” she said.
But I didn’t hesitate, I went.
“Give me the rings,” she said, holding my hand out.
And oddly, this got to me more than all that had gone before. I felt that sudden rush, deep in my belly, as adrenaline coursed into my blood and those fight or flight reflexes all kicked in.
I looked at David but he just looked back at me, his face impassive.
“Please,” I said, my voice breaking.
“Give. me. the. fucking. RINGS!” she snapped, making each word a separate sentence.
And I felt something deep inside of me break. It wasn’t a physical sensation, but somewhere deep in my mind, maybe in my soul, something broke.
I was sobbing, tears flowing down my cheeks almost blinding me, snot running from my nose, across my lips, and down my chin, as I took the rings off. I had put on weight and it was hard. I put my finger in my mouth and my snot and saliva lubricated enough that I could get the rings off.
I managed a soft, broken, “please,” although it came out more like “p-p-p-p-p-please.”
She took my wedding set and tried it on the ring finger of her left hand but it was far too big.
It was loose on the bigger middle finger but it didn’t fall off as she held it up in that way women have done since rings were invented, admiring it.
“Okay,” she said, “go on. Shoo. Wash your dirty ass and get back in here.”
I went.
I was crying, no, I was bawling. I was filthy. I stunk.
And deep in my belly, the pressure of sexual arousal was begging for release.