Disrespect

"Disrespect"

by c.w. cobblestone

 

I want to turn away. Close my eyes. Drape a towel over the bathroom mirror.

I’m ashamed of the mousy eyes peeping back at me through underwear leg holes. Ashamed of the sounds coming from the master bedroom; the squeals, grunts and moans. Ashamed to hear my wife screaming another man’s name.

Why do I have DeShawn’s underwear on my head? Well, he says I disrespected my wife, and therefore disrespected him. So, I’m being punished.

His SUV was in the driveway when I got home from work. That’s normal. As soon as I walked through the door, he sent me back out to get liquor. That’s normal, too.

When I returned, they hadn’t moved; DeShawn was still chilling on the couch with his feet on the table watching SportsCenter, while Lisa lay with her head in his lap, fiddling with her cellphone.

DeShawn snapped his fingers. “Fix me a drink, bitch.”

“Make that two, bitch,” my wife said.

Again, perfectly normal.

I prepared and served their drinks, remembering to kneel as I offered the tray. DeShawn took a swig and handed me his empty glass.

“Refill, bitch.”

“Yes, sir.”

After serving the second drink, I excused myself and started cleaning up around the lazy, contented couple, who’d made a huge fucking mess while I was off earning a paycheck; dirty dishes in the living room, empty beer cans on the table, roaches in the ashtrays. Someone had spilled orange juice on the kitchen floor and tracked it across the linoleum.

I was cleaning the coffee table when DeShawn’s foot shot out and caught me square in the nuts. I collapsed.

“Don’t block the damn TV.”

“S-sorry, sir, ohhhhhhh.”

Lisa giggled but didn’t take her eyes from her cellphone.

I struggled to my feet and continued cleaning, making sure to stay out of DeShawn’s line of sight. When I’d finished in the living room, I wiped up the sticky kitchen floor, and then tackled the bathroom, where a mountain of wet towels lay tangled on the floor near a sizeable puddle. They do love their long showers.

I was scrubbing the tile near the toilet when the door opened and DeShawn walked in unzipping his fly.

“Watch out, bitch.”

He started pissing. I just knelt there with my head bowed; my finely-tuned slave instinct told me I shouldn’t continue cleaning while he used the bathroom.

My head was down, so I didn’t see what happened next; I just felt something wet on my forehead. I glanced up to see DeShawn shaking the last few drops of piss onto me.

“Thank me, bitch.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Go get the bedroom ready, white boy. I want to fuck my girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

I rushed to the master bedroom and prepared everything just the way they like it, turning down the bed, fetching two glasses of water and placing them on the respective nightstands, firing up Mistress’s smooth jazz playlist, lighting candles, engaging the essential oil diffuser; my masters prefer a blend of cinnamon and sage when they have sex.

When I heard them ascending the stairwell, I turned out the lights and knelt at the foot of the bed. Lisa appeared in the doorway first, pulling her lover by the hand.

She smirked. “Hey, faggot. DeShawn says he wants my ass tonight; go get the lube.”

I rose from my knees and retrieved the gel from her nightstand drawer. On my way back, DeShawn brushed past me toward the bathroom.

My wife sat on the bed with her hand out. I handed her the gel and returned to my knees.

Lisa lifted her hips and shimmied out of her sweats. She threw them at me and they landed on my head. With a weak chuckle, I removed them.

She spread her legs and rubbed her panty-covered pussy.

“It’s been damn near a week. Mmmmm … your master’s gonna tear this pussy up.”

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

“Bet you’re glad I’m off my period.”

“I-I don’t know, Mistress.”

“Yeah, right. I know I’m a bitch to you when I’m on.”

“Um, I …” I wasn’t sure how to respond.

DeShawn sauntered in from the master bathroom, fell onto the bed and scooped my wife into his arms. His fingers slithered into the waistband of her panties, making her moan. His hand moved in a circular motion, the pace quickening with every heave of her chest.

He pulled his hand back and the waistband snapped. “Uh uh, girl. Not yet.”

My wife gasped and squirmed. “Ohmygod, baby, baby. I’m so close.”

He put his lips against her ear. “Shhhh.”

He turned to me. “Take her panties off.”

I leaned forward and complied, peeling her underwear down her legs. Her naked pussy smirked at me.

Lisa frowned. “What the hell you staring at, faggot?”

“I … I was just … I-I’m sorry, Mistress.”

She bared her teeth. “Well, that’s fucking disrespectful. If you ask me.”

My blood ran cold. The “D” word. It always meant punishment was imminent.

DeShawn sat up. “You disrespecting my woman, white boy?”

“N-no, sir, I would never do that.”

My wife sneered. “Slap the shit out of him, baby.”

“No problem, babe.” He looked at me. “Get over here, bitch.”

I shuffled to the bed.

He rattled my brain with a wicked bitch-slap.

“Don’t you ever disrespect my woman. You hear me? You disrespect her, you’re disrespecting me. And you don’t want to be disrespecting me, do you, bitch?”

“N-no, sir, of course not, sir. S-sorry, sir.”

He peeled off his leopard-print briefs and held them open. “Here, bitch.”

I leaned forward. He pulled his underwear onto my head, adjusting them until the leg holes lined up with my eyes. Lisa giggled.

“Now, then, bitch, go wait in the bathroom,” he said. “We’ll call you when we need cleaning.”

“Yes, sir.”

And so, here I am …