Piglet

 “piglet”

by c.w. cobblestone

 

Gwen spritzed her soft, feminine neck with a shot of perfume and sneered at her gorgeous blonde reflection in the bedroom mirror. She twisted her body to and fro and craned her neck, checking her jean-covered ass in the mirror. She needn’t have worried. Her ass looked perfect as always.

 

“Okay, piglet, my sandals ready?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” Her leather sandals were cleaned, saddle-soaped, polished, and ready for her royal feet.

 

I dropped to my knees before my wife and held her sandal for her. She unceremoniously planted her hand on my head, using it as leverage as she slipped her red painted toes into the waiting high-heeled, open-toed sandal.

 

“I can’t believe you let these expensive sandals get dirty like that,” she said bitchily. I struggled to hold her weight as she leaned on my head, working her foot into the sexy sandal.

 

“You’re really slipping, piglet. This morning, you forget to make our damn bed. And now this. You want me to tell Chaz? You know he’ll bust that fat ass if I do.”

 

I froze with fear. “O-oh, no, Mistress, please, no, don’t tell him...I’m trying my best, Mistress, I’m sorry, I -I’m really sorry...please don’t tell him...it’s just that he’s been giving me a lot of extra work lately, and since I started my other job at BurgerChamp, it’s been hard to get everything done. Please, Mistress...I’m trying my best to serve you and your boyfriend...please, Mistress, don’t tell him, he just beat my ass with the rod yesterday, and it hurts so bad...oh, please, Mistress, God, please...”

 

The corners of her mouth smirked down at me as I knelt there like a pink, fat idiot, a piglet cradling her right sandal to my breast, begging her not to tell her boyfriend about my fuck-ups. She smiled wryly at me and shook her head.

 

“Man, you are pathetic. Don’t worry, piglet, I won’t tell him. But you better do some major brown-nosing for the next few days -- to both me and Chaz. You understand?”

 

“Y-yes, mistress. Thank you.”

 

“Um mmm. So, how much weight have you lost so far, piglet?” she looked me up and down condescendingly.

 

“Um...about three pounds, Mistress.”

 

Gwen chuckled. “Only three pounds? Well, it looks like Chaz is gonna bust your ass anyway, huh? Didn’t he tell you to lose 25 pounds?”

 

“Yes, Mistress. I’m trying.” I started sobbing. “I really am trying my best.”

 

“Hmmmm....seems to me you used that excuse just a second ago. Trying your best. Don’t fucking lie to me, piglet -- you know damn well you’ve been stuffing your fat face. I saw you last night; you ate that last bit of apple pie Chaz left on his plate after dinner. Fucking slob, eating people’s leftover dessert off their dirty plates. Don’t say you didn’t, either, piglet, ‘cause I saw you.”

 

I bowed my head and a slow stream of tears fell down my cheeks. All I could manage to sniffle was, “I’m sorry, Mistress. I’m sorry...”

 

“Sorry. Right. Put my other sandal on, piglet, and quit whining, I fucking hate it when you whine.”

 

I shuffled closer to her and she again used my head as leverage. I helped her don her right sandal, then she turned abruptly and walked away without another word. I unsteadily rose to my feet and followed dutifully behind my mistress as she sauntered out of the bedroom toward the living room, where her boyfriend Chaz was lounging on the couch watching the ballgame.

 

Gwen walked over to her man, leaned down and gave him a quick, sweet kiss.

 

“Okay, babe, I’m off to go the mall with Debbie. We’ll probably be gone a few hours.”

 

“All right, boo. I love you.”

 

“Love you, too.”

 

I died inside. Even though it had been eight months since Chaz moved in with us, it still killed me to hear them say “I love you,” to each other.

 

And that pet name he gave her! “Boo.” It killed me.

 

I watched Gwen grab her purse and walk out the front door. I stood there for a minute, sadly whiffing the left-behind scent of her sweet perfume. I peeked over at Chaz. He was engrossed in his ballgame. I slumped my shoulders and silently crept past him and into the kitchen. No ballgame for me; it was time to get started on scrubbing the kitchen floor.

 

I spent the next hour on my hands and knees, scrubbing, waxing and polishing every square millimeter of the kitchen tile. I was almost finished when I heard Chaz call, “hey, piglet!”

 

I waddled my fat slave ass into the living room. Chaz was still lying down, but he was holding one of his tennis shoes, studying it idly. Oddly enough, there was a sneaker commercial on the television.

 

When I came close to the couch, Chaz noticed me and casually threw the sneaker at me. I juggled it, and it fell to the carpet.

 

“I want my shoes nice and white, get ‘em good, I’m goin’ to play basketball with Dave and the crew tomorrow,” he said. “But first I need ‘nother burr. Buurrrp.” He handed his bottle off to me.

 

I retreated to the kitchen, tiptoed across my freshly-waxed floor, and got a cold Bud from the refrigerator. I served Chaz, as always, from my knees. Then I rushed to my basement room to fetch my shoeshine kit.

 

I huffed my way back up the stairs and humbly bowed my head before entering the living room. Chaz looked like a king, all sprawled out on the expensive, fluffy sofa. I sat down on the carpet at his feet and began dutifully polishing his sneakers.

 

I had just started on his first shoe when Chaz said casually, “Yo, I got a taste for some potato chips.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth I set his shoe down, struggled to my feet, and rushed off to the kitchen. Within a few seconds, there was a bowl of fresh potato chips on the living room table within easy reaching distance for the master of the household.

 

I sat back down on the carpet at Chaz’s feet, picked up his size 13 tennis shoe, and continued whitewashing it.

 

From my humble vantage point, I could tell Chaz was in a good mood. On the tube, the Yankees were beating the shit out of the Red Sox, 9-1. He cackled as Boston’s cleanup hitter grounded out impotently to end the 6th inning.

 

As a commercial came on, Chaz scooped a handful of potato chips from the bowl on the table, popped a few into his mouth, and crunched triumphantly. A few crumbs fell on his chest, which he swept onto the floor with a careless wave of his hand.

 

“Hell, we got this one wrapped up, piglet,” he drawled with his mouth full. “One more and it’s a sweep! Yanks rule, baby!” he bellowed loudly. He leaned up on his elbow and took a long swig of his beer. “Yanks fuckin’ RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLLEEE!!”

 

“Yes, sir.” I smiled weakly up at him and continued buffing his shoe. I was a closet Red Sox fan, but there was no way I could ever let my wife’s boyfriend know that! He’d probably kick my ass just on principle! But, oh, how I secretly wished the Red Sox could beat them -- just one year -- so they could wipe that fucking smirk off Chaz’s face!

 

Maybe someday. Not today, though.

 

“You know what, piglet?” Chaz sat up and drained his bottle of Bud. “Well, first, you need to fetch me ‘nother burr. And then I want a nice, long foot massage so I can enjoy the rest of this ballgame. You can finish them shoes later on.”

 

“Yes, sir,” I said meekly. I put down the polishing cloth and his gym shoe, again struggled to my feet, retrieved his empty bottle from the table, then waddled my fat slave ass into the kitchen. Within a few seconds I was kneeling in front of the couch, offering my master his cold “burr.”

 

He took it casually and said simply, “feet.” I rushed to obey the one-word command. Chaz again kicked back on the couch, propped his feet up comfortably on the coffee table, and idly watched his ballgame. I knelt, removed his socks, and started on his feet.

 

“Wait, piglet, hang on a second!” he said just as I took his foot into my hand. He snapped his fingers at me two times. He had an angry flash in his eye. “Come here first. Lean your face up here. Hand me that sock. Open your mouth”

 

I leaned in close. I opened my mouth. I closed my eyes. He snatched the sock out of my hand and jammed it into my open mouth.

 

“Now close your mouth.” I gagged.

 

“That’s for fucking up on my rims yesterday,” he said, bopping me hard upside the head with his palm. The blow made my ears ring. I cringed, waiting for another blow. It didn’t come, and I meekly opened my eyes to look at my wife’s boyfriend. His blue eyes pierced through me and I couldn’t meet his gaze.

 

“Didn’t I tell you? When you’re washing my truck, pay special attention to the rims. Special attention, dickhead. That means I want each individual spoke to shine. I don’t care how long it takes, I want ‘em to shine. SHINE.”

 

“Yrrss, rsrrrrrr,” I mumbled into his sock.

 

“Yes, sir, my ass! Them rims looked like shit when I took the truck out yesterday! It was a goddamn embarrassment. Well, I tell you what: tonight, before you go to bed, you’re gonna wash the whole thing all over again, the whole truck, inside and out, and we’ll see if you can get it right this time. Is that okay with you, fag?”

 

“Yrsnrss, srrrrr,” I mumbled into his sock.

 

“Good. Now, get started on my goddamn feet.”

 

I hung my head and got started on his goddamn feet.

 

I was about a half-hour into Chaz’s foot massage when Gwen and her best friend, Debbie returned from their Saturday afternoon shopping trip. I shivered when I heard the girls come in, dreading the thought of them catching me on my knees in such a humble position.

 

Although it certainly wasn’t out of the ordinary in our dysfunctional household to find me kneeling before Chaz giving him a foot massage, I still couldn’t bear the thought of my beloved Gwendolyn seeing me that way. Especially with his fucking sock stuffed in my mouth!

 

And, then, there was the devilishly sexy Debbie to deal with. Miss Debbie, Gwen and Chaz were longtime friends and lovers, total free spirits who often enjoyed long, erotic threesomes in our home. Debbie knew exactly what my status was in the household, and she treated me like a fat nothing.

 

As usual, the girls didn’t even notice me when they came in -- I was just the slave kneeling there giving the master of the house his foot massage, not worthy of their attention. Gwen brushed right past me and pecked her reclining boyfriend on the lips. “Hey, honey. Guess what? I got a surprise for you!”

 

Chaz perked up. “A surprise? Yeah? What is it?”

 

Gwen smiled mysteriously as she settled on the couch next to Chaz. Debbie sat down on his other side. I bowed my head, hoping they wouldn’t notice Chaz’s sock in my mouth.

 

“Oh...just a little something...something for me to wear tonight!” Gwen licked her lips and whispered, “something...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhotttttttt.”

 

Debbie added, “yeah, wait’ll you see it, Chaz. I know you’re crazy about frilly black lace, so I told Gwen to get it, because it’s perfect. And guess what? I got something for you, too, Chaz.” She smiled and slowly rubbed her crotch. “I shaved my pussy last night!” she teased. “Just for you.”

 

Gwen’s green eyes glazed over sexily as she watched her friend seduce her lover. She reached down and grabbed Chaz’s hardening dick through his sweat pants. “Ooohh, baby -- you DO like that idea, don’t you?”

 

“Oh, boo, yeah I do,” Chaz groaned as she kneaded his big dick. “Shaved pussy? What red-blooded American man don’t?”

 

I leaned in close to Chaz’s feet and concentrated on his massage while their words swirled above me. For a micro-second, I peeked up at Gwen’s jean-covered crotch. Her legs were spread casually as she nuzzled with Chaz, playing with his dick. Even that little glimpse of my wife’s cameltoe caused a cold rush of fear to run through my body. I definitely did not want to get caught gawking at Chaz’s woman! Either of them! I focused on Chaz’s feet.

 

“I got a new pair of boots, too, and a few new blouses,” Gwen told Chaz, who, now that the sexy talk was over, seemed only mildly interested in the details of their shopping spree. “Oh, and I got a gift for my sister’s birthday. It’s next week.”

 

Debbie broke in: “Hey, I’m thirsty, do you think you can spare your foot massage a few seconds so piglet can go get me an iced tea?” she asked Chaz, who was kicked back on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table like an emperor, enjoying his foot massage with his two beautiful women snuggling on either side of him.

 

I stiffened. This was their first reference to me since the girls came home.

 

“Sure, my feet can wait a few minutes -- you heard her, piglet, move.” He removed his foot from my hand and I struggled to my feet. My legs were asleep. I wobbled as I stood up. Like a good slave, I turned to my wife to see if she wanted something to drink, too.

 

“goo...Moostross..mmwold o ‘ike mmting nu rink, tkooh?” I muffled through the sweat sock, causing everyone to crack up.

 

“Oh, my god, I didn’t even notice -- you gagged him,” Gwen tittered. My ears were burning like crazy. I cringed and looked at the carpet.

 

“Well, you know I like everything to be nice and quiet when I’m watchin’ the Yanks,” Chaz explained jokingly. “Plus, he fucked up washin’ my truck. So I told him to put a sock in it!”

 

Debbie chimed in: “Well, it’s probably best that you stuff his mouth with your socks, ‘cause if you don’t, he’ll probably be stuffing his face with a candy bar or something!”

 

“Naw, not piglet. I got him on a diet,” Chaz said. “How much have you lost now, piglet?”

 

“Uh-oh,” Gwen joked, knowing from our earlier conversation that I hadn’t lost much weight.

 

“gua-neeoundsmsser.”

 

“Take the goddamn sock out of your mouth, for chrissakes.” The girls laughed.

 

I removed the wet sock from my parched mouth.

 

“Now, then, piglet -- how much weight have you lost?”

 

I could hardly talk, my mouth was so dry.

 

“Uh...dttttttttttthhhhhhhree pounds, sir.”

 

“Three pounds?!?” he bellowed. “Jee-Zus Ka-Rhrist, you fat, sorry bastard -- I put you on that diet two friggin’ weeks ago! You mean to tell me all you’ve lost off that fat ass in two whole weeks is three lousy-ass pounds?”

 

I stood before him, absolutely mortified, unsure of what to say. Tears welled up in my eyes.

 

Gwen snuggled closer to her boyfriend and giggled. “He isn’t losing any weight because he’s stuffing his fat face,” she said like a spoiled brat little girl tattle-tale. “Last night, I saw him eating the leftover apple pie you left on your plate.”

 

“What?” he bellowed. I felt betrayed. Why did Gwen have to tell him?

 

Chaz sat up. “Come here, piglet. Get the fuck over here. Put your face right here.” I did as he said, cowering like a puppy every inch of the way.

 

“SLLLLLLLLLLLLAPPPP!!” My head snapped back and I blacked out for a quick second.

 

“I’m telling you what, piglet, if you don’t get your fat ass in gear, you are gonna be one sorry mother-fucker,” he said.

 

Gwen’s green eyes glimmered pure, taunting evil. “Hey, I know! Honey, why don’t you just take him to the gym with you? Make him work off some of that flabby ass on the treadmill. And make him wear a pink leotard!” Both girls cracked up.

 

“And leg warmers,” Debbie said to more laughter.

 

“Oh, hell no, I ain’t takin’ him to the gym with me!” Chaz said, feigning anger. “If the guys at the gym see me hanging around with piglet, they’re liable to think I’m a faggot, too! piglet’s got ‘homosexual’ written all over him!”

 

“And a fat homosexual at that,” Debbie observed dryly.

 

I just stood there with a stupid, numb smile on my face, my face still on fire from Chaz’s slap, listening to them make fun of me. I felt every bit of 279 pounds, and less than an inch tall. And Chaz wasn’t about to waste a chance to make me feel even fatter and smaller in front of his two beautiful, fawning women.

 

“Come over here, fat-ass.” I warily approached him again.

 

“Now -- lean down here. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight here.” I closed my eyes and leaned down, positioning my face to the designated spot, resigned to my fate.

 

SLLLLLLLLLLLAPPPPP!!!!!!” I saw stars as my wife’s lover bitch slapped me for the second time.

 

“Now, put the sock back in your mouth, dickhead.” A single tear fell down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away before stuffing the sock back into my mouth.

 

“All-righty then,” Debbie said bitchily. “Now, piglet -- a fuck-ing half hour later -- do you think you can manage to get me a glass of iced tea? Some time before the next millennium? Seems like I asked for it a half hour ago! I’m fucking parched over here!”

“Me, too, bring an iced tea for me, too, piglet” Gwen added, still toying with Chaz’s dick.

 

Chaz sat up and downed his third beer of the day. “And another burr, piglet. Then hurry up and get back on these feet.”

 

I took his empty bottle and retreated to the kitchen, completely humiliated. God, I hated the name, “piglet.” But I suppose I do sort of look like the character: short, fat and pink. By contrast, Gwen is so amazingly beautiful. She only married me for my money. Everybody knew it. I realized going into this marriage I was going to be little more than a ATM machine and house slave to her and her kinky friends. But I love her so much, I don’t care.

 

I prepared the drinks, then arranged the girls’ iced teas and Chaz’s bottle of beer onto the silver serving tray and returned to the living room. I carefully knelt in front of the couch and offered each of my superiors their drinks.

 

“All right, piglet, back on my feets,” Chaz said as soon as he took his beer.

 

Gwen chuckled and sipped her iced tea. “Yeah, piglet, and when you’re done with the King-shit’s ‘feets,’ you can do my ‘feets,’ too! My poor tootsies are tired as hell from all that shopping!”

 

Debbie smiled as I sank to my knees and began rubbing Chaz’s feet again. “Man, you guys sure are lucky as hell, having your own personal slave...foot massages every night and shit.”

 

“Shoot, girl, you know any slave of ours is a slave of yours,” Gwen said.

 

“And remember our proposal,” Chaz added earnestly. “You can move in here with us any time you want, Debbie. And if you want a slave, then the fat-ass comes with the bargain. He ain’t much to look at, but by God, he’ll suck your toes and wash your clothes!”

 

Both girls giggled. Then Gwen added, “And he pays every dime of the rent.”

 

I bowed my head and continued rubbing Chaz’s feet.

 

Debbie nodded. “I’m really thinking about it, guys. I really am. I mean, I love you both. But...well, there’s just so much hassle in selling my condo, and I honestly don’t feel like going through all that shit. They say it’s hard as hell to sell real estate right now, because of the economy.”

 

Gwen looked at me. “Dang, girl, if that’s the only thing holding you back, we’ll just make the creep here take care of all that shit,” she said. “I really, really would like it if you moved in with us, Deb.”

 

Gwen maneuvered onto Chaz’s lap, leaned across him, and began kissing Debbie sensuously. Their hands automatically began exploring each others’ bodies, and Chaz reached over and began feeling both women up. I tried to concentrate on doing Chaz’s feet, but it was impossible not to watch, at least for a few fleeting seconds! I felt a rush of jealousy watching Chaz rub his hands all over these two women’s bodies so casually.

 

After the long, wet, girl-to-girl kiss ended, Debbie sat back, lit a cigarette and sighed. “Well, okay...hell, why not? You talked me into it! I really have been thinking about it a lot since you guys proposed it to me...and, shit, if I don’t have to worry about dealing with selling the condo...”

 

“Hell, no, you don’t!” Gwen said. “You don’t have to worry about nada.” She turned to me. “Hey, piglet, guess what? You get to sell Debbie’s condo for her. Aren’t you happy? You can do all the running around on your lunch hours, and after work. And you better get a good price!”

 

I sighed into Chaz’s sweat sock and nodded. I already busted my ass all week in the office, humped over a stack of papers while they lounged around on their lazy asses spending my paycheck and trashing my house.

 

Then, a few months ago, they decided my bring-home pay wasn’t enough to support them. So they made me get a second job. So now, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I work at the local BurgerChamp flipping burgers. I give them every penny I make from both jobs, and they act like it’s their right. No thank-yous. No nothing.

 

And now, I had to somehow squeeze in the daunting task of selling a condominium in a down market.

 

Don’t get me wrong: the idea of having sexy Debbie around the house all the time wasn’t exactly repugnant. But there was just so much work ahead of me, and I knew I was headed for a few weeks, if not months, of long 18-hour days.

 

None of that seemed to bother them a bit. It was a done deal.

 

Chaz pulled his feet from my hands and sat up. “Well, yo, that’s great, Debbie!” he said. “My two girls, living here with me under one roof! What more could a guy ask for? What say we all go upstairs to celebrate?”

 

“Mmmmmm....sounds good to me,” Debbie said. “You game, Gwen?”

 

“Don’t even bother asking me, bitch; you know I’m game,” she said playfully.

 

Then my wife looked at me. “piglet, you can get to my foot massage later. Refresh our drinks and meet us all upstairs.” Then they left.

“piglet,” Part II

by c.w. cobblestone

 

I trudged through the front door a little after midnight, dog-tired and greasy all over. My BurgerChamp uniform was an oily mess. French fry duty again -- the worst job in the whole damn restaurant.

 

I felt like total shit. But Gwen, Chaz and Debbie looked just fine, thank you, all sprawled out on our luxurious L-shaped sectional living room couch. The lazy lion and his two lionesses were watching a program on the Comedy Channel. The living room was a mess, as usual: empty bottles and glasses on the floor; beer and soda splashed everywhere on the sticky glass coffee table; potato chips scattered all over the carpet near the couch.

 

As soon as Gwen saw me come through the door, she said, “oh, good, you’re home. Don’t get too comfortable, piglet -- you need to run back out. I need cigarettes, and Chaz wants some more beer.”

 

“Get a case this time, piglet, ‘cause Dave and Dawn might be stopping by tomorrow,” Chaz said. “And get some chips, too.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And I want corn chips,” Gwen said. “And don’t get the barbecue this time.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

I turned to Debbie, who had moved in with us a few weeks earlier. She was reading the TV guide.

 

“Er...Miss Debbie?”

 

She looked at me with a blank expression. “What?”

 

“Um...well, I was going to head to the store, miss, and I was wondering if you needed anything.”

 

“No, not really,” she said dismissively, turning her eyes back to her TV book.

 

I glanced at Gwen and Chaz to see if they required anything else, but they were engrossed in their comedy. I quietly sulked back out the front door,  hopped in my car and headed to the store like a good boy.

 

As I drove, I had time to think. After all this time, I still couldn’t believe their audacity. Here, I had just worked my ass off while they lounged around the house all day, doing nothing but make a mess for me to clean up. And the very minute I get home, they send me out to the damn store!

 

They have it made. Life’s a big party for them. Meanwhile, I’m busting my balls, working two jobs to support their lazy asses.

 

I gritted my teeth and gripped the steering wheel tighter. What a life!

 

Five days a week, I work my normal day job in the office. Then, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, as soon as I get off work at 5:00 p.m., I change clothes and go straight to my second job at BurgerChamp. I work that shift until 11:30 p.m. Then I come home and start my housework.

 

I got the BurgerChamp job last month. Chaz’s orders. My day job as a corporate accountant pays me more than enough to support most normal families -- but our “family” is anything but normal.

 

Chaz and Gwen spend my money like it’s water. And since Debbie moved in, I have to support her expensive whims, too.

 

They always insist on the best, the latest, the shiniest. They have not one Plasma television set, but two -- one in the living room and another in their bedroom. Gwen drives a Mercedes. Chaz drives a Cadillac Escalade EXT pickup. Debbie drives a Lexis. Oh, and Chaz has a Harley in the garage for sunny days. All paid for by good ol’ me.

 

It got to where I was having trouble keeping up with all the bills, despite my good salary. It all came to a head one day when Chaz told me he wanted me to buy three jet-skis for Gwen, Debbie and him to take out on the lake.

 

I knew he wasn’t going to like what I had to say in response, but it had to be said:

 

“Uh...sir, I don’t think there’s enough money in the budget to make those kind of payments. Um...remember, sir -- you and Mistress Gwen and Miss Debbie want to go on your vacation in August, so I have to save up for that, too...”

 

He hit the roof. “What the fuck do you mean, not enough money?” he screamed. “If that’s the case, then you need to get your fat ass out there and get another job!”

 

Gwen thought it was a great idea, so it was settled. I would be geting a second job.

 

But the job market is tight, and finding a decent-paying second gig was easier said than done. I searched unsuccessfully for nearly a month before Chaz got impatient.

 

“Fuck it, you aren’t going to find anything that pays worth a shit in this economy,” he said. “Go on down to the BurgerChamp on Main Street and put in an application. They’ll hire anyone -- even your fat ass.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

And so it was. Three nights a week, I donned my plaid green uniform. I burned myself on the deep-fryer. And Gwen, Debbie and Chaz got their jet-skis.

 

*   *   *

 

I got to the store and purchased Gwen’s cigarettes and Chaz’s beer. As I drove home, it began to rain. I turned on the windshield wipers, but they didn’t help much. The blades were nearly wore out. I was afraid to ask Gwen and Chaz for the money to get them fixed -- they get mad when I ask for extra cash.

 

If I wanted new wiper blades, I knew I would have to go without lunch for a few days and pay for them myself.

 

When I got home, they were all still hanging out in the living room, but now they were sitting up. Chaz was rolling a joint.

 

As soon as I walked in the door, Debbie giggled. “Listen, piglet, I hate to do this to ya, but it looks like I’m running low on cigarettes, too. I didn’t notice earlier.” She held up the half-empty pack for me too and smiled wryly. “Sorry, piglet.”

 

Chaz looked up from his work and smirked at me. “Hubba-hubba,” he said and they all snickered as I dejectedly I turned to go put the groceries away.

 

As I trudged away, Chaz hollered after me, “hey, piggie, how ‘bout one of them burrs before you leave?”

 

I stopped in my tracks, turned around and handed Chaz one of the beers from the case I’d just bought.

 

“Thanks, piglet, you’re a peach,” he said. Then he snapped his fingers. “Now, get to gettin’!”

 

“Yes, sir.” They snickered again.

 

I put the groceries away, then again headed out into the rain. Two packs of Virginia Slim Menthols, coming right up!

 

By the time I got home it was nearly 1 a.m. They weren’t in the living room, so I assumed they’d taken the party up to their bedroom.

 

Tired as I was, I knew I wouldn’t be resting any time soon. They’d left the living room an absolute mess, and I could only imagine what the rest of the house looked like. That’s nothing new. I rarely get a chance to sit down until at least a couple hours after I’ve come home from work. The minute I get home, they expect me to start cleaning up after them.

 

I went to my small basement room and changed out of my BurgerChamp uniform and into my pink sissy shorts. Then I started my housework: I emptied the ashtrays, picked up their glasses and used a whisk broom to clean up the potato chip crumbs.

 

When the living room was finally clean at 2 a.m., I started on the kitchen...