Another Day in Cuckold Land

 "Another day in cuckold land"

 by c.w. cobbleston

 

SATURDAY, DEC. 21

 

1:13 p.m.

 

I was on my knees, scrubbing the bathroom floor, lost in thought, when my master's booming voice made me jump: "Need a refill down here!"

 

I put aside the scrub brush, scrambled to my feet, and hurried downstairs. I passed Rob on my way to the kitchen; he was lounging on the couch watching college football, as he did most Saturdays during the season.

 

When I opened the door to the kitchen I was surprised to see Stephanie standing there, talking on her cell phone and idly looking in the refrigerator. I stood patiently behind her, not daring to disturb my mistress during her telephone conversation. But with each passing second, as she casually decided what she wanted from the ice box and gabbed on the phone, I grew more nervous. What if Rob had to wait too long for his beer? My ass burned at the very thought.

 

Finally, Stephanie bent down and took one of her bottled waters from the shelf. She opened the cap, threw it in the general direction of the trash -- she missed -- then sauntered back into the living room. I hurriedly picked up the bottle cap, retrieved a beer from the refrigerator, poured it into a mug, then hightailed it back into the living room.

 

I nervously approached Rob and my wife, who had hung up the phone and taken a seat on the couch next to her lover. I made sure to kneel as I offered my master his beer. He was engrossed in his football game and didn't even acknowledge me as he handed me his empty mug and took the fresh beer.

 

I got up to go, but Stephanie stopped me. "lester, did you ever make an appointment with Sandra to get my hair done?"

 

"Y-yes, Mistress, I did it earlier. She said she could get you in Tuesday, either at noon or 3:30."

 

"Well, what do I have going Tuesday?" She took a sip from her bottled water.

 

I was still kneeling on the carpet, holding Rob's empty beer mug. I had to put the mug down in order to dig out the planner I keep in my pocket at all times.

 

"Um...Tuesday afternoon is free, Mistress," I told her after hurriedly flipping through the pages of the little black book.

 

"Good. Set it up for 3:30."

 

"Yes, Mistress."

 

I waited for a moment on my knees to see if there was anything else, but when Stephanie began telling Rob about running into her old high school friend at the mall the previous day, I knew I was dismissed. I scooped up the empty mug and disappeared into the kitchen.

 

After quickly washing the mug, I returned to my duties in the bathroom. I sighed as I sank back to my knees and went back to work on the floor.

 

1:28 p.m.

 

I was diligently working on the floor near the toilet. Each tile had to be meticulously scubbed and polished. It was a tedious task, but my master and mistress insist on perfection.

 

I heard Rob come barreling up the stairs. "Outta the way, lester, I gotta piss!" he bellowed. I scrambled out of the way as he pushed past me. He whipped out his dick and started pissing, making no effort to keep the stream in the toilet. He pissed all over the toilet seat, on the floor, and when he shook his dick, I even saw a droplet of piss fly off and land on the mirrored wall tile.  Rob zipped up his pants and darted out of the bathroom without another word. He was obviously anxious to get back to his game.

 

I hung my head and sadly pulled off some toilet paper from the roll. I wiped down the rim of the toilet, then cleaned the nearby floor tiles that had been splattered with Rob's piss. I threw the tissue into the toilet and flushed it. The yellow water and the soggy wad of toilet paper swirled down the drain, a metaphor for what my life had become. I moped for a second, then picked up the scrub brush and got back to work...

 

 

1:39 p.m.

 

"lester!" I cringed at the sound of my wife's voice. I wasn't getting anywhere with the damn bathroom floor -- it's impossible to get any work done when you keep getting interrputed every five minutes!

 

Heaving a frustrated sigh, I put down the scrub brush and went downstairs to see what Stephanie wanted. She was working out on her stairmaster. Rob was still sprawled out on the couch watching football.

 

"You called, Mistress?"

 

"Yeah, lester, I'll be finished here in a few minutes, so you need to go and get my shower ready. And lay out some sweats; I'm just gonna bum around the rest of the day."

 

"Yes, Mistress."

 

I seethed as I returned to the bathroom. Stephanie was going to take a shower, which meant she was going to make a big mess in the bathroom, which meant I'd have to start all over on the damn floor! I wanted to cry. I bit my lip in frustration and removed my scrub brush and bucket from the room, then ran the shower lukewarm the way my wife likes it. It isn't easy being a slave, I thought as I turned the tap to make the water just a little warmer.

 

I was draping a towel over the sink when my wife came into the bathroom naked. Since I rarely see her nude, I'm always nervous when I'm faced with the situation. She knows it, too.

 

Her body was glistening from her workout. She stood in front of the mirror, admiring her tits.

 

"Not bad for a 38-year-old, eh, lester?"

 

"N-no, Mistress. You have beautiful breasts. Everything about you is beautiful, Mistress."

 

"Yeah, Rob thinks so, too."

 

She turned from the mirror and brushed past me and into the shower. "I'll probably be wanting lunch in about a half hour, lester," she said like a spoiled brat, sliding the shower door shut. "A nice shrimp salad would hit the spot, I think."

 

"Yes, Mistress."

 

I took one last longing look at my wife's feminine silhouette through the frosty glass door, then left her alone.

 

 

2:16 p.m.

 

I stood behind the couch, where Rob was stretched out watching his game. Finally, a commercial came on.

 

"Umm...sir?"

 

"Yeah, lester?"

 

"Sir, I'm making a shrimp salad for Mistress, and I was wondering if you wanted lunch now, too, sir."

 

"Yeah, I am kinda hungry, but I don't want no damn shrimp salad. Go make me a cheeseburger."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"And some tater tots."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

For the next few minutes I scurried around the kitchen preparing the two meals.

 

 

2:44 p.m.

 

I stood behind the couch. Stephanie was sitting on the sofa at Rob's feet, eating her salad. Rob didn't even get off his lazy ass to eat. He laid back on the couch with his plate on his belly, munching on his cheeseburger as he watched the game.

 

He struggled to sit up so he could get a drink of his beer. After he took a drink, he started to lean over to put the mug back onto the table; then halfway there, he hesitated.

 

"Damn it, lester, get over here and hold my beer," Rob said in a pained tone.

 

So for the next 15 minutes, while they finished their lunch, I knelt near the couch cradling Rob's cold beer mug in my hands, holding it out so my master would not have to stretch too far to reach it when he wanted a drink.

 

"Tackle him, damn it!" Rob shouted at the TV, his mouth full of food. "Goddamn Florida State -- they screw me every time. Beer."

 

3:57 p.m.

 

I finally finished the bathroom floor. Amazing how much work you can get done when someone isn't calling you every five minutes! But I wasn't even close to being done. I still had a ton of chores on my list.

 

4:25 p.m.

 

"Hey, lester! C'mere."

 

I was in my basement room, polishing Stephanie's shoes when I heard her boyfriend's voice. I literally ran up the stairs and reported to him.

 

He and Stephanie were cuddled under a blanket on the couch. Yet another college football game was just starting. Stephanie really doesn't like sports, but she tolerates it for her boyfriend. They looked so cozy as I approached them.

 

Rob looked at me and smirked. "Listen, lester, I got some good news and some bad news."

 

I gulped and wondered what was coming. "Y-yes, sir?"

 

"Well, lester...bad news first: We're down to only two papers, and it's snowin' like hell out there. So you probably ain't in the mood to be walkin' 10 blocks to the store for some Zig Zags. But that's exactly what you're about to do."

 

I bowed my head. "Yes, sir."

 

“You wanna know what the good news is?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Rob leaned back and took a swig from his beer. “Well, lester, I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance!”

 

Stephanie cracked up, and I had no choice but to smile weakly and swallow being the butt of the joke, yet again.

 

“Now go,” Rob said, snapping his fingers. “Walk fast.”

 

I sadly turned away. As I was about to walk out the door, Stephanie called, “you know what, lester? Bring back some chips.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

 

5:16 p.m.

 

The snow finally stopped, so I got out the shovel and began clearing the sidewalks and driveway. I was nearly finished shoveling when a red truck pulled onto our street. I recognized it immediately: it belonged to Kenny and Rhonda, friends of my masters. Kenny and Rhonda know all about our unique living arrangement. I didn’t know they were coming over tonight, but that wasn't a surprise -- my masters never bother to keep me abreast of their plans.

 

The truck pulled into the driveway and the attractive couple got out. “Hey, lester,” Rhonda said, smiling at me. “We brought some more laundry for you. It's in the back of the truck.”

 

“T-thank you Miss Rhonda.”

 

They brushed past me and walked into the house. I retrieved the three big bags of laundry from the back of the truck and trudged  up the front stairs.

 

The minute I stepped through the door, Rob said, “we need drinks in here, lester.” I set the laundry down, quickly removed my coat, then took everyone’s drink orders.

 

TO BE CONTINUED....

 

 

"Yet Another Day in Cuckold Land"

by c.w. cobblestone

 

 

Friday, March 3, 6:47 p.m.

 

I trudged through the front door, exhausted from another long, hard day at work. Stephanie and Rob were lounging on the couch, idly watching some show on the plasma television I bought for them last month. They were still wearing their robes; it was obvious they hadn't done a damn thing all day except lay around, fuck and make a mess.

 

Before I could take two steps into the house, Stephanie said, "good, you're home, hurry up, lester, and get dinner ready, I'm starving!"

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

"What the hell took you so long, anyway, lester? It's almost 7 o'clock."

 

"Um…I'm so sorry, Mistress…there was a lot of traffic on the freeway, so I tried a detour and there was a bunch of construction …"

 

My wife held up her hand. "whatever, lester, quit blabbering. Go make dinner."

 

I didn't even take my coat off. I went straight to the kitchen.

 

 

6:49 p.m.

 

I stood in the kitchen, thinking about what to make for dinner. I opened the refrigerator, and my heart sank. Someone had spilled orange juice all over the inside, and the entire fridge was a sticky mess. Tack on another hour of work before I can go to bed tonight. I sighed.

 

6:58 p.m.

 

I decided to make chicken stir fry for my masters, so I put a pot of water on the stove to boil it for the rice. A second after I turned on the burner, I heard Rob's voice:

 

"Yo, I'm ready for a refill in here, lester!"

 

I dropped what I was doing, went to the refrigerator and cracked open a cold beer, then scurried into the living room. I fell to my knees in front of Rob as he lounged on the couch. This is the ritual whenever I serve my wife or her lover. I bowed my head and held his beer out for him with both hands so he could easily reach it without having to lean forward.

 

As I knelt before Rob, submissively offering him his beer, he said, "look at this living room, lester - it's a mess! As soon as dinner's done, I want all this shit cleaned up, you hear?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Good. Here, I've got a present for ya, lester," he said. Then he picked his nose, leaned forward, and wiped a booger on my cheek, right beneath my right eye. Then he snatched the beer I was holding out for him and took an arrogant swig.

 

I closed my eyes and swallowed my pride. "T-thank you, sir," I said, as required.

 

Stephanie crinkled up her pretty nose and lightly punched her lover in the arm. "Damn it, Rob, I told you to stop doing that shit when I'm around -- he's making our dinner!" she said. "I don't want your nasty boogers anywhere near my food!"

 

Rob chuckled. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, baby," he said, shifting his position on the couch so he could nuzzle his face into my wife's hair, playfully trying to make up for his transgression. "I'm sorry, pumpkin. Sweetums…babycakes….darling...mistress...please, I'll serve you like lester does, only please forgive me..."

 

Stephanie held out for a minute, but as Rob continued mewing nonsense in her ear, she finally cracked a smile. I knelt there with a booger on my cheek, feeling like a fat, old fool.

 

"Okay, okay, I forgive you," Stephanie said to her lover. "But, seriously, Rob I really don't want you to do that any more. At least not in front of me. It's disgusting."

 

Rob smirked down at me. "You heard the lady, lester, you've got a great big booger on your face, and your mistress don't want to see that shit. So go in the bathroom and eat it."

 

Stephanie elbowed her lover in the ribs. "Jesus Christ, Rob, come on - that's just as nasty!"

 

Again, he played apologetic. "I'm sorry, Steph…do you still love me?" My wife grinned and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "Just take that nasty shit out of here," she said. The glanced at me and her sunny smile turned to a look of abject disgust.

 

Rob snapped his fingers in my face. "Go on, lester, you heard the little lady, get your fat ass out of here. Do what I just told you to do -- eat your dinner, then go get started on our dinner."

 

As I was walking out of the living room, my wife said, "make sure you wash your hands and face before you go back in the kitchen."

 

Rob piped in: "Yeah, and hurry the fuck up. We told you we were hungry a half hour ago!"

 

 

7:03 p.m.

 

I stood in front of the bathroom sink. My eyes darted up toward the mirror, but I just couldn't muster the courage to look at myself.

 

Moving slowly, sadly, I turned on the cold water faucet. Closing my eyes, I peeled Rob's booger off my cheek. I cupped my hand, captured a little water in my palm, then washed down my disgusting snack. Despite the water, I had a difficult time swallowing without gagging. I tried not to think of what I was doing. Finally, I managed to get it down with a heartbroken gulp.

 

Why didn't I just wash the damn thing down the drain? I didn't have to eat it; nobody was watching. But I couldn't. That's my downfall. I can't.

 

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized for the thousandth time how far I'd sunk. But, when you're a slave, there's no time for self-pity; dinner still had to be made. My masters were hungry, and there would be hell to pay if I didn't hurry up.

 

I scrubbed my hands with soap, washed my face clean and brushed my teeth. All the time, I avoided eye-contact with myself in the mirror. I just couldn't look.

 

 

8:26 p.m.

 

I was standing at the stove, frying the vegetables in the wok, when I heard Rob bellow, "hey, fat-ass, what the hell's taking so long with our dinner? Didn't we tell you to hurry up?"

 

I wiped my hands on my apron and rushed into the living room. I sank to my knees in front of the couch where he was still relaxing with my wife.

 

"Sir, I'm so sorry, dinner is just about ready, sir. In fact, I was just getting ready to set the table, sir," I pleaded.

 

Rob yawned and scratched his balls. "Good," he said, waving me away with his hand. "Go."

 

Stephanie also yawned and stretched her legs. Even in her casual sweat suit, she looked incredibly sexy.

 

She stood up, took a long swig of her Diet Coke, then handed me the empty glass.

 

"Go set the table, lester," she said, then headed off to the bathroom.

 

 

8:38 p.m.

 

I knelt on the dining room floor with my head bowed and my hands clasped behind my back, my usual respectful dinnertime position. Stephanie and Rob ignored me as they dug in to my stir fry. I was glad they liked it.

 

I peeked at my masters out of the corner of my eye as they relaxed and enjoyed their leisurely candlelight dinner. I was dog-tired, but they didn't care. I was kept  hopping throughout the meal, as they barked out their routine dinnertime orders:

 

"Refill." Stephanie rattled the ice of her empty glass in my direction. I hustled off to fetch another glass of Diet Coke. The girl sure does drink fast!

 

I had barely gotten back onto my knees when Rob said, with his mouth full of food, "this needs a lil' more salt, lester." My whole body ached as I gingerly rose from my kneeling position to comply. The salt shaker was easily within Rob's reach. Oh, well. As he always says: "that's what I've got a slave for."

 

I stood off to my master's right side like a good butler and carefully sprinkled salt on his stir-fry until he ordered "ok, enough."

 

I set the salt shaker back onto the table and got back on my knees. Just as I was clasping my hands behind my back as required, Rob took a long swig of his beer and said, "refill, lester."

 

As quickly as my tired, creaky old body would allow, I again rose from my knees and rushed off to fetch my master's beer. Then I got back on my knees and watched them eat.

 

 

9:18 p.m.

 

I was in the kitchen doing the dishes when I heard Rob bellow, "lester, get your ass in here!"

 

I turned off the water, fervently wiped my hands on my apron, and rushed into the living room.

 

I fell to my knees in front of my reclining wife and her boyfriend.

 

"Listen, I know I told you to clean up, but first I want a foot massage," he said. "Get the lotion."

 

 

9:23 p.m.

 

I knelt before my master, vigorously rubbing his bare foot, which rested comfortably on the plush footstool I'd bought him for his birthday (along with a new truck and about $5,000 worth of other toys).

 

Rob looked so smug, kicked back on the couch with his arm draped around my wife's shoulder while I submissively worked on his feet. Stephanie was contentedly snuggled up in her lover's embrace, looking past me at the television. To her, I wasn't even there.

 

"Your head is in the way, lester," Rob said, annoyed. He lifted his other foot and hammered my head down with his heel until I was hunched over sufficiently to suit him. "Now stay that way."

 

My back ached, but I maintained my hunched position as I toiled before him, working the lotion into his foot. He was in no hurry for me to stop, either; the first foot alone took a full 45 minutes. I got a quick break when he went to the bathroom to take a piss, then he returned and had me do his other foot for about a half-hour.

 

 

11:29 p.m.

 

Stephanie and Rob ignored me as I scurried around the living room, picking up picking up dishes, empty glasses and the rest of the mess they'd made in the living room.

 

The show they were watching ended, and they both stood up.

 

"We're going to bed, lester," my wife said as she put her hand on the small of her lover's back and followed him toward the stairs. "Finish cleaning the living room, then I want the fridge scrubbed out real good. Rob spilled a bunch of orange juice in the fridge and it's a mess."

 

"Yes, Mistress."

 

As they ascended the stairs, Rob called over his shoulder, "oh, yeah, I'm going to the beach tomorrow, so before you go to bed I want my truck washed, inside and out."

 

"Yes, sir," I mumbled bitterly as I watched them disappear up the stairs and into the master bedroom.

 

 

3:39 a.m.

 

I finally plop down on my cot. Three hours to sleep. Good night.

 

 

“And Still Another Day in Cuckold Land”

by c.w. cobblestone

 

 

June 7, 9:48 p.m.

 

 

“Do the toes,” Rob ordered absent-mindedly, never taking his eyes off the television set. I set to working the lotion into my master’s toes with an obedient fervor. From what I could hear from my position on my knees as I gave my wife’s boyfriend his evening foot massage, the Celtics were beating the Lakers handily. Maybe he’d be in a good mood tonight.

 

I was just starting on his big toe when I heard Stephanie’s angry voice: “Lester, get your fat ass up here, NOW!” It sounded like she was yelling from the master bathroom, and she sounded pissed! I shivered and meekly peeked up at Rob. He was still engrossed in his game.

 

“Um, sir?” I asked in a timid voice. He looked down at me, annoyed.

 

“What, dick-head?”

 

“Um…Mistress is calling me, sir.”

 

“Go,” he said, waving his hand. “When she’s done with you, bring me another beer and then get back on these feet.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

I stood and wiped my hands on the towel I always bring when I do Rob’s feet. Then I rushed upstairs to see what my wife wanted.

 

I got my answer when I saw her standing in the bathroom next to the toilet, a disgusted look on her face. I bowed my head and approached my scowling, beautiful wife.

 

“What the hell is this?” she snarled, pointing to the toilet. The water was yellow with Rob’s piss, and droplets were splattered all over the seat, which he hadn’t bothered to lift.

 

“Um…I’m sorry, Mistress…it’s just that Rob wanted me to rub his feet, and –“

 

SLAP! I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence.

 

“Don’t tell me about what Rob wanted,” she screamed. “It’s not Rob’s job to clean the bathrooms around here, is it?”

 

“N-no, Mistress.”

 

“Whose job is it?”

 

“Mine, Mistress.”

 

“So then, what the hell is this?” She again pointed at the toilet.

 

“I-I’m so sorry, Mistress,” I mumbled. “I’ll clean it up right away.”

 

“You’re damn right you will,” Stephanie snapped. “You’ll clean it up with your tongue. And when you’re done, get some Lysol and get it right.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” I mumbled as my wife stormed down the stairs to use the bathroom in the foyer.

 

Tears filled my eyes as I sadly knelt before the toilet. I stared at the yellow beads of Rob’s piss on the expensive, padded seat for a few seconds, then closed my eyes and did what my wife told me to do.

 

It really wasn’t my fault. Sure, it’s my job to make sure the bathroom is promptly cleaned after Rob uses it, but this time he ordered me to give him his evening foot massage the second he’d finished pissing, and I didn’t get a chance.

 

My wife’s lover is a major slob, and he rarely flushes the toilet, and he almost always leaves the seat down and pisses all over it. It’s so unfair that I get the blame for his laziness. Sometimes, when I’m outside washing their cars, or doing some other chore, I can’t get to the bathroom after he uses it, and whenever that happens, Stephanie hits the roof. As I sprayed cleanser onto the toilet and gave it a good wiping-down, I counted my blessings that my mistress didn’t deem to whip me for my oversight.

 

When the toilet was properly cleaned, I washed my face and hands, and then returned to my reclining master, who was now snuggling comfortably with my wife.

 

“Where’s my beer, dumb-ass?” he said as I began lowering myself to return to his foot massage.

 

“Oh, s-sorry, sir,” I stammered, quickly jumping up and retrieving his empty bottle. “Would you like something to drink also, Mistress?”

 

She thought about it for a second. “Yeah, a glass of wine.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

I served the drinks and then started back on Rob’s feet. He smirked down at me.

“How’d my piss taste, faggot?” he asked. Stephanie giggled.

 

“It tasted good, sir,” I lied.

 

“I guess it’s a good thing I drink light beer,” he chuckled. “You sure don’t need to put any more fat on that ass.”

 

My wife snorted derisively. “You got that right, honey,” she said, softly kissing his neck. “He’s disgusting enough as it is.”

 

 

10:46 p.m.

 

When I finished Rob’s feet, I fetched them refills on their drinks, and then set to giving Stephanie her evening foot massage. They paid me no attention as they watched a movie on television.

 

Stephanie was reclining with her feet on the ottoman. Her head rested on Rob’s chest, and he had his arm draped casually over her shoulder.

 

From the way Stephanie was sitting, I could see her cameltoe showing through the gray cloth shorts she wore to lounge around the house. I had to sneak darting peeks at my wife’s crotch, knowing full well what the penalty would be if either of them caught me looking at her pussy.

 

As I rubbed lotion into Stephanie’s feet, I recalled with a shudder an incident a few nights earlier, when Rob caught me taking unauthorized peeks at his woman….

 

 

It was a Friday night, and they were getting ready to go out dancing. I was in the utility room ironing Rob’s shirt when Stephanie walked into the room wearing only a red thong and bra set. She tossed a red dress in my direction and I scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor.

 

“Iron that too,” she said archly before turning on her heel. “I changed my mind about the other dress.”

 

I glanced ruefully at the blue dress hanging neatly in the doorway. It had taken me more than a half-hour to iron it. Now it was a total waste. There was no way it would hang in the closet without getting wrinkled again.

 

I sighed and redoubled my efforts on Rob’s shirt, since I now had another dress to iron. As I set to my work, my peripheral vision caught an amazing sight: Stephanie was in the next room, the kitchen, bending down to get something from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. I stared remorsefully at her ass, which looked so sexy, and yet so unattainable, as it wiggled gently, framed by the thin red strip of her thong.

 

Suddenly, I heard a scream that made my blood turn to ice: “What the fuck are you looking at, you fat, disgusting pig?!!!”

 

I was filled with dread. Rob happened to be walking by and caught me ogling Stephanie’s ass. “You were looking at my woman, weren’t you, freak?” he demanded.

 

I lowered my head. I was in for it anyway; I figured it was best not to lie and make things worse.

 

“Y-yes, sir, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Yeah, you are sorry, aren’t you?” he snarled back. “You’re one fat, sorry sonofabitch.”

 

Stephanie appeared into view holding a jar of mayonnaise. “What’s the problem?” she asked.

 

Rob said to me, “Tell her what the problem is, dickhead.”

 

“I-I was st-staring at your butt,” I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

 

“You were what?” Stephanie said. “Speak up!”

 

“I was staring at your butt.”

 

My wife looked at Rob for a second and then busted out laughing.

 

“I don’t see what’s funny,” Rob growled. “I don’t want the creep looking at you.”

 

“Oh, he’s harmless,” Stephanie said, setting down the jar of mayo and breaking into a slow, seductive dance, which continued as she moved sexily toward me. I stood motionless at the ironing board scared to death, unsure whether I should return to my ironing or pay attention to what Stephanie was doing. I decided I’d better just stand there and not move.

 

Stephanie danced her way into the utility room until she was standing right in front of me. She slowly ran her hands up her body as she gyrated her hips.

 

I shot a nervous glance at Rob. He was not amused. He caught eye-contact with me and I knew I was in for it. I lowered my eyes, afraid to look at my own wife, knowing that her burly lover was watching me like a hawk.

 

“What’s a’matter, honey?” Stephanie asked in a sweet tone. “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

 

“Um….uh…yes, Mistress.”

 

“Then, what’s the problem?” She lowered her hand to her thong-encased pussy and slowly rubbed it.

 

“Um…uh…Master will beat me if he sees me staring at you, Mistress.”

 

Stephanie giggled, and Rob added, “Oh, I’m going to beat your ass anyway, faggot!”

 

My wife faked a pout. “Awwwwww….poor loser. Rob’s so mean, isn’t he?”

 

I knew better than to answer that truthfully. “No, Mistress, I’m just a fat pig who deserves to be punished.” I figured if I debased myself Rob might go easy on me.

 

Stephanie shrugged and feigned disgust. “Well, it’s obviously you’re either too afraid to look at me, or else you’re just a queer and you don’t like women,” she said.

 

“Or both,” Rob chuckled. I held my breath. Did that chuckle mean he was getting out of his bad mood?

 

Stephanie left the utility room and waltzed into Rob’s waiting arms. “Well, if that fat fag doesn’t want to look at what I’ve got to offer, maybe you can oblige me.”

 

“Mmmmmmm,” Rob answered, leaning down and nuzzling his nose into the nape of his woman’s neck. I stood there stupidly as they exchanged a hot kiss.

 

“Okay, baby, you need to stop that,” Stephanie suddenly said, pulling away. “I’m getting all hot and bothered, and we’re supposed to meet Angie and Dylan at the club. And the wimp’s still got my dress to iron.”

 

“And, I’ve still got to whoop his ass,” Rob said.

 

Stephanie giggled. “Oh, well, you boys have fun,” she said airily. “I’m gonna finish doing my hair. Lester, when Rob’s finished whipping your ass, fix me a ham sandwich and bring it up to the bedroom.”

 

 

 

10:58 p.m.

 

As I knelt in front of the couch giving Stephanie her foot massage, I could still feel the effects of the ass-whipping Rob had given me Friday night for daring to look at my own wife. So I tried my best to avoid looking at hercrotch as she reclined in her lover’s arms, her left leg splayed casually to the side.

 

The evening news came on.

 

“You ready to go to bed, sugar?” Rob asked.

 

“Yeah, in a minute, let the wimp finish up my feet.”

 

Then she addressed me: “Do the toes for a few more minutes, and then put my socks on. Then get me another glass of wine and bring it upstairs.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

“I’ll take another refill, too, lester.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Rob stared at me. “How much weight have you lost so far on your diet?”

 

“Um….3 pounds, sir.”

 

Rob looked at Stephanie, and they both cracked up. Then Rob, through his gales of laughter, said, “You mean to tell me you’ve been on a diet for two weeks and all you’ve lost is three pounds?!”

 

I lowered my head. “Y-yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, you are sorry,” he snarled his oft-repeated line.

 

Stephanie sighed dramatically. “Well, he’s a lost cause, honey. I guess we’ll just have to get used to the idea that our slave is a fat slob.”

 

I felt like an idiot as I faked a smile and continued rubbing her feet. She looked down on me and shot me a quick, superior sneer.

 

“It’s okay, fatass. I really don’t care how fat you are; I mean, it’s not like I have to – ugh – kiss you or anything!”

 

I felt my ears turn red. Rob laughed and kidded his woman: “That’s mean, honey, why don’t you give the fatass a treat and give him one of your amazing blowjobs?”

 

My wife curled up her lip. “Yuck, Rob, don’t even joke about that shit!” she said seriously. “The thought of …eww…I don’t even want to think about it!”

 

With that she leaned down and slapped the shit out of me. I saw stars.

 

“That’s for being such a disgusting pig,” she said. “Now put my socks on and hurry up with my wine.”

 

I tried not to look at Rob, who was smirking down on me.

 

“Ain’t life a bitch?” he chuckled.

 

“Y-yes, sir.”