Their World

 

Their World, part 1 (Mmf, wimp husband) by c.w. cobblestone

 

 I watched with sad eyes as the candle on the nightstand did its flickering, erotic dance...teasing me...the fire's happy jig seemed to be reminding me of what I had become...and of what I used to be.

 

 I knelt by the empty bed, hypnotized by the flame. It's only Friday, I sighed. Another long weekend lies ahead.

 

 Just outside the bedroom, nuzzled up on the couch watching TV, oblivious to my sorrow, was my precious wife Monica and her boyfriend Randy.

 

 Randy. Oh, how I hated him.

 

 But I feared him even more.

 

 Randy has been in the picture from the very beginning. Monica has been seeing him all along, but I thought that she might end the affair once we got married.

 

 I thought wrong.

 

 Randy not only has the key to my wife's heart - he has a key to the house as well. He moved in with us shortly after Monica and I were married, and even though I resent it terribly, there isn't a whole lot I can do about it.

 

 Oh well. This is my life now. I'm stuck with it.

 

 How did I get into this mess? To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. It all happened so fast...

 

 * * *

 

 Monica was working as a waitress in a greasy spoon and going to college part-time when I first met her. From the first moment I saw her, I knew I was in love. I think it was her eyes that did me in.

 

 Those playful blue eyes..if I only knew the evil that was lurking behind them!

 

 I started coming around just about every day for lunch. At first, Monica pretty much ignored me. The few times she did deem to speak to me, it was with disdain - as if my presence was interrupting an otherwise pleasant day.

 

 "You again?" she would ask me, crinkling up her pretty nose. "Don't you have better things to do than hang around here bugging me? Get a life!"

 

 I knew all the other waitresses were laughing at me. I could see them snickering behind their hands every time Monica would loudly throw another put-down my way.

 

 But I was willing to play the part of the fool. Anything to be near her.

 

 Eventually, after I continued to leave $10 and $20 tips in spite of her rude treatment, I think she began to sense the power she held over me. That's when she started asking questions.

 

 I should have noticed the calculating gleam in those eyes when I told her I was the owner of a successful business, and that I had a little money.

 

 But I didn't see the train coming.

 

 She made me beg for about a month before she finally let me take her out. We went out on a few dates, but I never even got to first base.

 

 One time when I did try to kiss her, she pushed my face away with the palm of her hand and laughed at me.

 

 "Yuck!" she said when her laughter died down. "C'mon, Carl, you're a nice guy and all..." she paused. "But a KISS? I don't think so!"

 

 My confidence was completely shattered. I never made any advances toward her after that.

 

 But even though Monica wouldn't give me the pleasure of even a friendly peck on the cheek, she began telling me she needed money. It started out as a hundred dollars here and there, but pretty soon it was almost like I was paying her a salary to go out with me - and a damn good salary at that!

 

 I guess she sensed my submissive nature from the very start, because it sure didnt take long for her to reel me in. Im an older guy, and a little overweight. Not the most attractive fellow in the world, I'm afraid. And deep down, I knew she was only after my money.

 

 But your vision gets a little cloudy when youve been bitten by the bug. And I had it bad.

 

 Within a week of our first date, I was coming over regularly to clean her apartment and wash her car. After our third date she told me that she was tired of driving a six-year-old car and demanded that I buy her a new one.

 

 Three dates - without so much as a good-night kiss - and here she was, practically ordering me to buy her a new car!

 

 Of course, I obeyed. When we went to go pick it out, she didn't spare any expense: she got a Jaguar, fully loaded. Cost me a cool $75,000. But I didn't think twice about it - by that time, I was in knee deep.

 

 After our fourth date, she broke the news to me: she was seeing this other guy, Randy. She told me that she fully intended to continue seeing her "special friend," and that, if we were ever to get married, I would have to accept it.

 

 Whoa! Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. Never mind this Randy character; she just mentioned getting married!

 

 Married? After four dates? Isn't this a little early for her to be talking about marriage? And why was she interested in marrying me, when she didn't even want to kiss me? Well, I thought, maybe she's shy or something, and doesn't like to get intimate with a guy until she's known him for awhile.

 

 The possibilities bounced around in my head like ping-pong balls.

 

 In the end, though, despite my initial apprehension, I was thrilled! This beautiful angel was talking about marrying me! Wow! Only in my wildest dreams!

 

 But it didn't take long for my angel to turn into a vampire.

 

 I'll never forget the night I took her out for her birthday. I'd really knocked myself out to try to make this a special night for her. I made reservations at the finest restaurant in town. I had three dozen roses sent to her apartment. And, for the coup de grace, I bought her a $7,000 diamond tennis bracelet.

 

 When I went to pick her up for our big date, she told me the bad news.

 

 "Listen, Carl, I forgot that Randy promised to take me out tonight, too," she said. My heart sank. "Looks like we're going to have to postpone our date," she added matter-of-factly.

 

 "B-But, Monica..." I stammered. "I have reservations for us at Chez Paul! And...I have a gift for you."

 

 I handed her the velvet box containing her bracelet. She tore it open and marvelled at the expensive piece of jewelry.

 

 "Wow, this must've cost a pretty penny!" she said. That was it. No" thank you" or anything.

 

 "We'd better go, Monica," I said, after I realized that she wasn't going to thank me for the expensive gift. "Our reservations are at 8 o'clock."

 

 She pursed her lips for a minute, deep in thought.

 

 "I'll tell you what," she said slowly. "Why don't we compromise? Randy was supposed to pick me up at 8. Why don't we all go out together?"

 

 "B-but Monica...the reservations are for only two people!" I pleaded.

 

 "Well, we'll just have to work something out then, won't we?" she said icily.

 

 We "worked something out," all right. I wound up sitting in the car for more than two hours while Monica and Randy went inside and ate the gourmet dinner I paid for.

 

 After that, things got progressively worse. Monica stopped dating me altogether, spending every free night with Randy.

 

 One night, she called me on the phone. I hadn't heard from her in over a week and I was thrilled to hear her voice.

 

 "Carl, can you do me a little favor?" she asked sweetly.

 

 "Sure, Monica. What is it?"

 

 "Well..." she drawled. "Randy's parents are flying in tomorrow. They're going to spend the weekend with him."

 

 "Yeah"? I asked suspiciously.

 

 "Well, his apartment is an absolute mess! And we're going out to the basketball game tonight, so he won't have time to clean. I was wondering...do you think you could come over and straighten his place up for him?"

 

 I was flabbergasted! What kind of fool did she take me for, anyway?

 

 When I could find my voice I heard myself say, "sure, Monica. Anything you want."

 

 "Thanks!" she said gaily. "You're such a sweetheart!" She paused for a moment. "Uh..Carl?" she asked after a few seconds, an amused twinkle in her voice.

 

 "Yes, honey?"

 

 "Uh...I'm going to need a few hundred dollars. You know how expensive things are at the basketball games. It cost $6 for a beer! And parking...plus, Randy wanted to get a jacket, and that costs over $100."

 

 That's when I knew I'd hit rock bottom.

 

 I think I made a big mistake the night I told Monica about my submissive fantasies. With much trepidation, I told her everything: how all my life, I'd fantasized about being a slave to a beautiful woman. It was the first time I'd ever told anyone about my fantasies, and I should have felt like a million pounds had been lifted from my shoulders. Instead, I had this unexplainable feeling of impending doom.

 

 "So, you want to be a slave, do you?" she asked with an evil, yet playful look in her eye. "Well, Carl, you don't know what you're getting yourself into! I can be an absolute bitch sometimes! But if you want to chance it, I'd be willing to play along with your sick little fantasies."

 

 I almost came on the spot!

 

 Now that she knew for sure that I was her slave (as if she didn't know before!), she threw all caution to the wind. She immediately started taking advantage of her new submissive toady. She would call me once or twice a week when she wanted something done. Her house needed painting. Or her car needed an oil change. Or she needed a new outfit to wear on a date with Randy.

 

 She kept me running until my tongue hung out.

 

 Toward the end of summer, she started hinting around about wanting to get married and settle down. It took me a few weeks before I finally got up the nerve to ask her to marry me. When she said yes, I was the happiest man on the face of the earth!

 

 We celebrated by going to Monica's favorite bar. Well, guess who showed up?

 

 I sat dejectedly at a table in the back of the bar and watched Monica and Randy play darts all night. The only time either of them talked to me was to ask for more money.

 

 Every time Monica made a good shot, he would give her a big kiss. I hated the way she seemed to melt like butter in his arms! The way she looked at him...if only she would look at me like that!

 

 Yeah, I know. She was my fiance, and by all rights I should have said something. But I just couldn't get up the nerve! I was afraid she might call off the wedding.

 

 That night, on the way home from the bar, Monica told Randy all about my submissive tendencies.

 

 "He tells me he wants to be my slave!" she said. I wanted to lay down on the floor of the car as she continued. "He says he wants me to beat him, and treat him like shit!" Her words were a little slurred; maybe she'd had one too many Long Island Iced Teas at the bar!

 

 "So, he's one of those guys, eh?" Randy said, looking at me with an evil smile. "I've heard about weirdos like him who like to have their asses kicked! What a wimp!"

 

 "Well, at least he's a rich wimp!" Monica laughed. "A fat, rich wimp, maybe - but a rich wimp just the same!"

 

 Randy chucked, then reached into the back seat and slapped me across the ear.

 

 "So...you want to be treated like shit, eh? Well okay, you fat, fuckin' wimp: you're gonna get exactly what you asked for!" Monica giggled, then leaned over and gave him a kiss.

 

 It really started going downhill after that.

 

 When I told Monica about my submissive nature, I hadn't planned on becoming Randy's slave, too. But that's exactly what happened.

 

 Monica insisted that I buy Randy a new car. He picked out a $60,000 sport-utility vehicle. It was so humiliating to watch them tooling around in their new cars...cars that I paid for!

 

 I'd been paying all Monica's bills for months. Now, she informed me that I'd have to start giving Randy money for his bills as well!

 

 All my life I've had fantasies about a beautiful woman whipping me and abusing me. But now it was Randy who did most of the whipping. What I thought was going to be a fantasy come true backfired on me! Randy went out and bought a plastic whipping rod, and he delighted in turning my ass into hamburger while Monica looked on and laughed.

 

 I hadn't bargained for all this...but I didn't say a word. After all, Monica was now my fiance, and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.

 

 That fall, Monica and I got married by a Justice of the Peace - but not before I'd signed a prenuptual agreement which effectively put everything in her name: my house, my business, all my stock holdings and my savings accounts. Material things. They mean nothing next to my Monica, I remember thinking.

 

 What a sap! I can see it now - why couldn't I see it then?

 

 I went out and bought a new suit for the occasion. Monica showed up with Randy, wearing a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. I don't know which I was more upset about: the fact that she'd brought Randy along as a witness, or that she didn't think enough of the occasion to dress up a little.

 

 After the ceremony, my new wife packed a suitcase and her new American Express Gold card and took off with Randy on a month-long cruise to Australia. I stayed home and pined.

 

 Some honeymoon, huh?

 

 On the day they returned, Monica announced that Randy was moving in with us. Just like that. When she told me he was moving in, I began to second-guess myself for ever marrying this woman.

 

 But by then, of course, it was too late.

 

 All my old friends eventually lost respect for me over the way I let her treat me. "She's a bitch," they would tell me. "She's only after your money. Why do you put up with it?" I had no answer for them - then or now.

 

 These days, I have no real relationships with anyone from the outside world. My world now exists here, inside what used to be my home, waiting on my knees in the bedroom, watching the candle flicker and hoping my mistress and her evil "special friend" will be too tired to torture me tonight.

 

 * * *

 

 I could see it in their eyes as soon as the bedroom door opened. They were horny - and part of their foreplay was going to include me, unfortunately.

 

 Randy plopped down on the bed and shimmied out of his pants while Monica stood in front of the mirror, unbuttoning her blouse. They didn't notice me for a few minutes. I knelt there in silence while my wife and her boyfriend undressed.

 

 "Whew, its hot in here!" Monica told Randy. She turned to me. "Go turn up the air, asshole, I'm burning up in here!"

 

 I shuffled on my knees as fast as I could manage. As I left the bedroom, I heard Randy call after me, "hey, lard-ass! While you're up, go grab me a brewski!"

 

 "Make that two beers, lard-ass!" my wife added.

 

 I hate it when they call me that. Okay, maybe I am a little overweight - but do they constantly have to rub it in my face? Sure, they both have perfect bodies, but so what? Is that any reason for them to call me these terrible names? It really hurts my feelings.

 

 But what in the world was I ever going to say to them? By now, I knew exactly what my role was in this household - and it certainly didn't entail talking back to my superiors, even if they were in the wrong.

 

 When I returned to the bedroom, my wife and Randy were on the bed, making out like two teenagers at a drive-in movie. I knelt by the side of the bed for a minute, balancing the two cans of beer on the serving tray.

 

 I kept my head down respectfully as they kissed, but I couldn't help sneaking a peek once in awhile. I hated the way Monica moaned when Randy touched her. I loved her so much, with all my heart and soul - but to her I wasn't even in the room.

 

 To her, Randy is a god. He can do no wrong in her eyes. Even when he whips to within an inch of my life - which is quite often - she laughs about it, giggling at the faces I make every time another terrifying blow hits home. Randy breaks out his wicked plastic rod for any infraction, perceived or real, and my wife loves it.

 

 One time, Randy gave me 200 awful strokes with the rod for - in his words - "not being respectful enough while serving dinner." Respectful? I had slaved over a hot stove for three hours getting their supper ready, and then Randy told me he didn't like it. He told me to order a pizza, and all I did was sigh. Just a sigh; that isn't really being disrespectful, is it?

 

 For that little transgression, I couldn't sit down for a week!

 

 But what could I do? I love Monica, so I guess if I'm going to keep her, I have put up with Randy's sadistic ways.

 

 Besides, Monica tells me it makes her horny to watch Randy beat me - as if that makes it all right!

 

 Now, as I knelt before the amorous couple, holding their beers on a silver serving tray, I felt as if I couldn't get any lower. I sadly watched Randy's hand slowly move up and down my wife's crotch, her breathing keeping time with the strokes of her lover's fingers. Every time Randy would hit her "spot," she would gasp out loud and bury her face in his chest.

 

 It was depressing to watch.

 

 After about 10 minutes of patiently waiting on my knees, Monica and Randy finally broke their passionate clinch. They each propped up on an elbow as I carefully raised the tray to allow them easier access to their beers.

 

 Monica guzzled a few swallows, then looked me right in the eye. "Go pick me out something sexy to wear, lard-ass," she said.

 

 "Yes, Monica," I said respectfully. She answered me by belching loudly, causing Randy to chuckle.

 

 I chose Monica's purple teddy and presented it to Randy. He rubbed his chin for a minute, studying the lingerie while I stood at the foot of the bed, holding it up for him. "Noooo..." he mused, "Im not in a purple mood tonight. Try something else."

 

 I returned with Monica's black silk teddy. "That's more like it," he remarked. "Bring it here."

 

 He snatched the teddy from my hand and handed it to Monica. "Now, you go make yourself real puuuurrrty for me, okay sweet cheeks?" Randy pinched her butt. "Hey, dickhead," he called to me. "Make sure my girl is looking hot when she comes out of that bathroom, now, you hear?"

 

 "Yes, sir," I whispered, and followed Monica into the bathroom to help her get ready for her lover.

 

 * * *

 

 I SHUFFLED ON MY KNEES behind Monica as she re-entered the bedroom. I saw Randy's face light up. She looked gorgeous in her teddy! I looked at my wife's behind with a heavy heart. She started wiggling her hips for Randy. I put my hand down to my crotch and started touching myself as I watched Monica do a slow, sexy dance for her lover.

 

 "Hey, what the fuck - " My blood ran cold as I heard Randy's voice, and realized the awful truth: I was busted! "The fuckin' worm's playing with himself, Monica!"

 

 She turned around and slapped me silly. "Yuck! Nobody wants to see you playing with your little weenie," she hollered, kicking me hard in the chest with her spike-heeled pump. Her blue eyes narrowed. "You're dripping from the end of your dick! That's disgusting!"

 

 Randy sat up on the bed with a sinister, happy glint in his eye. "Well, now...it looks like I'm going to have to whip a few pounds off that fat ass, ain't I?"

 

 Monica jumped onto the bed and nuzzled up to Randy's hairy chest. "Uh-oh," she said in mock horror. "Looks like someone's going to be on the wrong end of the rod tonight! Better run, asshole! Hide while you can! Randy is PISSED!"

 

 I was frightened for my life and she was making the whole thing out to be a joke - but then, I guess it was just a joke to her. I was about to be thrashed by Randy, and my excruciating pain would be no more to either of them than an evenings entertainment...like watching a movie or something.

 

 "Go get it, you fat piece of shit," Randy spat at me.

 

 I quickly returned with the dreaded rod and assumed the position: on my knees with my head to the floor. "Get that chubby ass up in the air!" he ordered. "Higher"

 

 "Wait, honey, I want to see his face," Monica clapped her hands like a little girl. "Turn him around."

 

 "Turn around so she can see you," Randy snapped. I scooted in the opposite direction so Monica wouldn't miss the fun.

 

 And then it began.

 

 The rod is horrible. It cuts like a saber, leaving grotesque marks that last for weeks. Randy showed no mercy tonight, either. While Monica reclined on the bed, her chin propped up in her hands and a wane smile on her face, Randy laid into me, one after another. Eventually, through my tears, I could see that Monica was getting horny. She rolled onto her back and began playing with her pussy. She was obviously getting off watching me get whipped.

 

 "Do it harder," she kept whispering to Randy. "Make him squeal like a pig."

 

 Finally, after more than 100 strokes, I heard Monica moan, "Okay, Randy, goddamn it, I can't stand it any more. I need you inside me!"

 

 With that, Randy took his foot off my neck and roughly shoved the thin plastic rod up my ass, causing me to yelp. He cuffed me upside the head. "Shut up, lard-ass! Keep quiet while me and Monica take care of business here."

 

 So I knelt there at the foot of the bed, slobbering into the carpet and listening to the taunting sounds of the squeaking bedsprings above me, trying not to think about the fire in my bottom...or the fire being generated by my wife and her "special friend."

 

 PART 2...COMING YOUR WAY SOON!

 

Their World, part 2 (Mmf, wimp husband) by c.w. cobblestone

 

 It was a hot, sticky Saturday in July and I was dying from the heat. As I toiled to get dinner ready on time, I looked longingly at the two frosty glasses of iced tea sitting on the kitchen counter. How I wished I could get something cold to drink for myself! But I didn't dare - not even a sip of tap water. I hadn't asked permission.

 

 It was at least 90 degrees outside, but with the three burners going on the stove, it must have been at least 20 degrees hotter in the kitchen. But Monica and Randy wanted dinner ready at 6:30 sharp, so there was no time to concern myself with the temperature.

 

 I used my apron to wipe the sweat off my face, then placed the iced teas on a serving tray. As I walked carefully outside to the pool, I saw Monica lying on a chaise lounge, soaking up the last rays of the slowly sinking sun. Randy reclined on his chaise, reading a book.

 

 I served Monica first. Her eyes were closed as I placed her drink on the table beside her. She didn't notice me. I walked over to Randy and respectfully set his drink in front of him.

 

 "Dinner's almost ready," I announced to my wife and her lover. "Would you care to eat out here or in the dining room?"

 

 They both totally ignored me. For about three minutes, I stood there patiently, unsure whether to ask the question again or to leave and continue to prepare their dinner. As they both relaxed, meditating in the sun's rays, I realized once again how insignificant I was to them: they didn't even consider me important enough to bother answering.

 

 Finally, I cleared my throat and asked again: "um, excuse me, but would where would you like your dinner to be served? Here or in the dining room?"

 

 Monica shielded her eyes from the setting sun and looked up at me, annoyed. "Ask Randy, I don't care."

 

 Randy stretched and yawned (tired from another rough day of lying around by the pool!) With a casual wave of his hand, he said, "I think I'd rather eat in the dining room tonight."

 

 I bowed slightly to Randy as I made my retreat. "Yes, sir, everything will be ready in about 15 minutes."

 

 Neither Monica nor Randy answered me as I turned and hurried back to the kitchen.

 

 I would have to rush if I was to have dinner ready on time.

 

 Like a cyclone, I swirled about the steamy kitchen, applying the finishing touches on Monica and Randy's evening meal. Cracked crab, with chocolate mousse for desert. I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I hadn't eaten since my meager breakfast, which consisted of a grapefruit and a glass of water. I prayed that there would be table scraps left for me tonight.

 

 As I finished setting the dining room table, Monica and Randy walked in from the pool holding hands. My wife looked absolutely stunning as her golden tan contrasted with her neon pink bikini. I held Monica's chair out for her, and she sat down regally. I then rushed over to Randy and pulled his chair out for him. He patted me on the head and plopped down with a satisfied sigh.

 

 "Hey, fatass, how about a cold one?"

 

 "Right away, sir." I turned to leave the room.

 

 "Hey, slob, what about me?" Monica demanded angrily. "How dare you go to leave this room without asking what I want to drink! I don't fucking believe you!"

 

 Uh-oh. It didn't take much to piss either one of them off - and I knew Id just pissed Monica off, big-time.

 

 "Come over here," she ordered in a sinister tone of voice. I was petrified, but I managed to creep over to my irate wife.

 

 SLAP! She caught me hard across the mouth with a backhand, her diamond ring cutting my lip. The stars were just starting to swirl around my head when she came across with another hard slap, this one landing flush against my face.

 

 "Just who in the fuck do you think you are? Do I not fucking exist in this house? Answer me!" She looked over at Randy, whose lips were curled in a scary smile. He always enjoys watching Monica display her power over me. "Y'know what? she asked Randy, motioning to me with disgust. "I think fatass here needs to go on a starvation diet! What do you think, honey?"

 

 "Hmmm...I think you're right," he said, nodding his head. "A couple of days without food ought to do the trick." Randy turned to me with a leer. "You hungry, dickhead? I hope you're not too hungry, 'cause you ain't eating till Monday - and if I catch you sneaking any food, I'm going to get Black Betty out and tear you a new asshole. You hear me, queer?"

 

 I heard. My blood ran cold at the thought. Black Betty was a huge, ebony, inhuman dildo, 16 inches long and as fat as the sweet spot on a baseball bat. Black Betty was reserved for the worst infractions. After a session with Black Betty, it takes me a whole day to be able to walk again - its that bad.

 

 I shuddered when I recalled the last time Randy used Black Betty on me. I had forgotten to wash and wax his car like he'd instructed, and he raped me for more than an hour, with one of his dirty sweatsocks stuffed in my mouth to stifle my screams of pain.

 

 No, as hungry as I was, I knew that I wouldn't be sneaking any food anytime soon.

 

 Monica's voice broke my thoughts. "What the fuck are you standing around for, asswipe? Where's my fucking dinner? I'm starving to death over here! And, by the way..." she held up her finger and looked at me seriously. "...I'd like a wine spritzer...that is, if you wouldn't mind bringing me one. Is that too much trouble? Because, if it is too much trouble, I can have Randy go get it for me. Of course, if Randy has to get up, he's probably going to be pissed! Let's just spare you the trouble, what do you say, honey? Why don't you just go ahead and get me my drink?"

 

 "Y-yes, Monica...right away." I literally ran into the kitchen.

 

 After I'd served dinner, I went into the corner of the room and assumed my customary mealtime position on my knees. I tried not to watch as my wife and Randy consumed their gourmet dinner, oblivious to the dull pain of emptiness in my stomach. They didn't even care enough about my hunger to tease me about it! They were too busy eating their food, and talking about the basketball game they were going to tomorrow night.

 

 After dinner I cleared the table as usual. Randy sat back in his chair and lit up a cigarette. I removed his plate from in front of him, and he blew a cloud of smoke in my face, causing me to cough. "That was good," he said to me. He then let out a loud belch and smacked me on the ass.

 

 "Now, bitch, clean up and then meet us in the bedroom. Layin' out in the sun makes me so fucking horny...me and the little missus have a little business we need to take care of." He reached over and grabbed Monica by her arm, lifting her to her feet.

 

 "Are you ready for the ride of your life?" he asked my wife.

 

 "Oh, yeah, baby...come rock my world!" Monica said playfully as she put her finger into a beltloop in Randy's cut-offs and followed him into the bedroom.

 

 As I continued to stack up the plates and serving bowls, I watched as Monica padded barefoot across the carpet behind Randy, her mouth-watering ass twitching in her neon pink bathing suit.

 

 After I'd taken care of the dishes, I went to the bedroom door and knocked. "Come on in," I heard my wife's voice call out.

 

 I knelt beside the bed, where my wife lay nude playing with her own nipple. Her tan lines were even more profound after a day in the sun. Randy was sitting on the bed, finishing the last of his beer. After he downed his beer, he crushed the empty can and threw it at me. I couldn't duck in time: the can hit me hard on the side of my head. "He scores!" Randy said, holding his hands up in triumph. "That's two points! Now, go grab another one, chubby, and be quick about it!"

 

 This time, I didn't make the same mistake: "Yes sir, right away, sir." I turned to Monica. "Uh, would you like something to drink, Monica?"

 

 She chuckled and said to Randy, "see? That starvation diet does work! He's learning!"

 

 Randy reached over and ran his hand through Monica's hair. "You're a miracle worker, sweet meat. If you can teach this fat piece of shit something, you ought to qualify for the Nobel Prize!" They both laughed. "Yeah, needledick, you can bring me a beer, too," she said with a wave of her pretty painted fingers.

 

 I returned with the two beers, then knelt before them at the foot of the bed. They were just starting to make out, but I dared not watch them. So I knelt on the bedroom floor, my head bowed, and listened to the two of them breathing heavily. Presently, I heard the sound of the bed creaking, and I knew that Randy was making starting to fuck my wife.

 

 After a few minutes of making slow love to Monica, Randy stopped pumping for a second. He looked over his shoulder at me. "Hey, queer-boy! Get your faggot ass over here and give me a little motivation."

 

 I knew what that meant. Randy resumed fucking my wife and I quickly put tray down and made my way over to the bed. With much difficulty, I began licking Randy's asshole. It was hard to keep my tongue in his ass as he pummeled my wife, his ass slamming into my face with every upward thrust. As I continued to French kiss his butt, he quickened his pace, much to Monica's moaning delight. Finally, with a grunt, I felt his anus tighten on my tongue as he came. After his orgasm, he collapsed on top of Monica. I continued tenderly licking his ass - I knew better than to stop.

 

 "That was a good one," Monica finally sighed. She lit a cigarette and brushed her hair back slowly. "Whew!"

 

 Randy pushed my head away from his butt and rolled over. Monica gave her cigarette to him and he took a drag. For a moment they lay there smoking, then Randy looked over at me. "Hey ass-breath! Go run us a shower!" he ordered.

 

 Like a trained monkey, I hopped up from my knees and stepped lively.

 

 WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK WITH PART 3!

Their World, part 3 (Mmf, wimp husband) by c.w. cobblestone

 

 I still don't know how many hours I spent inside that terrible aluminum storage shed, tied up like a pig...trying to deal with the insane heat pounding down through the metal roof...drowning in a pool of my own sweat. What had I done wrong? What had I done to deserve this inhuman torture?

 

 That was the worst part of it. I hadn't done anything wrong.

 

 All I did was help my wife Monica and her lover Randy get ready for a party they were going to. Then, when they were almost ready to leave, Randy began slapping me around like a rag doll, for no reason whatsoever. I had been perfectly respectful to him and my wife all day. I couldn't understand it.

 

 But, then again, Randy doesn't need a reason to abuse me - I know that all too well. He often would beat me for any little thing, and I couldn't say a word about it. What could I say? He was Monica's boyfriend! He could do no wrong in her eyes.

 

 After Randy kicked me around for a few minutes, he ordered me to bring him the gym bag full of bondage equipment that we keep in the basement. After I retrieved the bag, he began tying me up tightly. He showed me no mercy, tying the knots as tightly as he could. It only took a few seconds for my bound limbs to become totally numb.

 

 Where was my wife during all this? She was in the bathroom, putting the final touches on her makeup, getting ready for the party. She couldn't care less that I was being beaten to a pulp in the next room - that's what hurt the most. To her, I was a nuisance at best, a piece of shit whose only purpose was wait on her and Randy hand and foot. I knew I would get no sympathy from her.

 

 After Randy had me trussed up to his satisfaction, he grabbed me by the ear and twisted, causing me to yelp involuntarily. Randy dragged me by my ear into the back yard. It was impossible to keep up with him in my bound state, and I fell flat on my face three times along the way. Each time I fell, Randy would grab a handful of hair and yank me to my feet, then twist my ear again to keep me moving. Finally, we reached the metal storage shed.

 

 Randy unlocked the door and kicked me hard in the ass, sending me reeling into the small structure. I hit my head hard against the lawn mower. As I tried to regain my wits, I was suddenly plunged into darkness as Randy slammed the door shut. The sound of the lock being clasped sealed my fate.

 

 "We'll be back later on tonight, faggot," Randy taunted. "Try to think positive thoughts while we're away, okay?" I listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps as I lay there in the darkness, unable to move, my hands and feet already throbbing from the tight ropes.

 

 I can't describe the ungodly day I spent inside that horrible shed. I boiled all day under the hot July sun. The metal roof of the shed acted as a conductor for the already-unbearable heat. The rope burns on my wrists and ankles lasted more than a month.

 

 It was the worst day I've ever spent in my life.

 

 After a few hours, I became delirious. My mind started to wear down like a spent battery. My tongue began to swell. I was sure that Randy had left me here to die.

 

 By the time the shed's door opened that evening, I didn't even have the strength to turn my head and look up to see who it was. Through my veil of numbness, I heard Randy's voice:

 

 "Did you have fun today, fag? Well, I certainly didn't! The party was a real drag! They fucking ran out of beer after only two kegs! Can you believe it?"

 

 He nudged me with his cowboy boot and used his foot to roll me over onto my back. "C'mon, lard-ass, it's time to get your sorry ass moving! Break time's over! Me and Monica need you in the house." He grabbed me by the hair and roughly lifted me to my feet. Once I was standing, he turned and walked back into the house, leaving me to follow him as best I could.

 

 I took only a few steps before my wobbly legs gave way and I fell onto the grass face-first. After several tries, I knew I wasn't going to be able to regain my feet. So I shimmied across the back yard like a worm, moving as fast as my tortured body would allow.

 

 I made it to the back door, but I couldn't get up to reach the doorknob. "Help!" I managed to squeak as I scratched the door like a cat. "Please help me!"

 

 After about 10 minutes, the back door opened and Monica appeared. She was still wearing the black miniskirt I'd pressed for her earlier. She looked down at me and chucked, shaking her head in disbelief.

 

 "You are one sorry piece of shit, you know that, asshole?" she asked as she squatted down and began to unloosen my knots. From the way she was haunched down, I could see her crotch, and the white silk panties I'd hand-washed so many times. It was enough to snap me out of my delirium.

 

 "Did you have fun today?" She stopped untying me for a second and regarded me with amusement, a wry smile playing across her lips. "Poor thing. I know Randy can be mean sometimes...but he's such a hunk!"

 

 She laughed to herself and shook her head. "I swear, I don't know why you put up with this shit sometimes! Tell me - why do you put up with this? I mean, you cook, you clean, you suck my toes, you suck Randy's dick - and all you get in return is a slap across the face! Why do you let yourself be treated like this?" She leaned close to me and I shivered as I felt her hot breath in my ear. "Is it because you love me?"

 

 "Yes, Monica, I love you more than anything in the world," I gasped, tears starting to form in my eyes.

 

 "That's nice, honey. I can't say that I love you back, but it's the thought that counts, right? You're not much of a husband - but you do know how to lick an ass, I'll give you that," she bantered as she continued untying me. "And you're so thoughtful - how many husbands would allow their wife's boyfriend to live with them? You're a real peach, honey!"

 

 Finally, my hands and feet were free. "Thank you, Monica," I gasped as I tried to regain my feet. She didn't answer me as she turned and walked into the house without a glance back.

 

 I struggled to my feet and followed her into the living room. Randy was sitting on the sofa watching television. Monica flopped onto the couch next to him.

 

 "Go get me a cold beer,," Monica ordered when I first walked into the living room.

 

 "Me too," Randy added.

 

 When I returned from the kitchen, Randy was struggling to pull off his cowboy boot. As I set his beer in front of him, he put his feet up on the coffee table. "Get these damn boots off," he ordered, agitated.

 

 It was tough, but I finally managed to pull his stubborn boots off. I noticed that they were scuffed; I would have to polish them later.

 

 "Massage my feet," Randy said casually as he brushed his sock-covered foot on my nose.

 

 I knelt before Randy and devotedly started rubbing his feet. He didn't pay much attention to me as he lounged on the sofa with his arm around Monica. He began absent-mindedly playing with my wife's tit as they sat back and watched TV.

 

 I was still recovering from my ordeal in the storage shed. My tongue was still swollen, and I hadn't had anything to drink all day. Every time I saw Monica or Randy take a swig of their beer, my heart filled with jealousy. But I was afraid to ask them if I could get a drink.

 

 What had I come to? I couldn't even get up the nerve to ask for a drink of water! I had been kept down for so long that I knew I'd never be able to get back up again. For the thousandth time, it hit me: this was my sorry lot in life - and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

 

 But finally, I had to ask. I was practically foaming at the mouth, I was so thirsty.

 

 "Uh, excuse me." They both looked at me curiously. I rarely initiated conversation with them, especially while they were watching TV.

 

 I was terrified, but I had to ask. "I'm sorry, but could I please get something to drink?"

 

 Monica looked over at Randy and winked at him playfully. "I don't know, fuckface," she taunted me. "How far are you willing to go for a drink?" She put her finger to her chin. "Hmmm....let's see....would you eat some dog shit?"

 

 "Yes, Monica, please, I'll do anything!"

 

 Randy piped in: "Would you eat one of my boogers?"

 

 "Yes, sir, I'll do anything you say."

 

 Randy turned to Monica. "What do you think, honey? Should I make the fuckwad eat a booger?"

 

 Monica crinkled her pretty nose. "Yuck. That's gross! If you're going to do it, I don't want to see it!"

 

 "No, that's okay," Randy said. He waved his hand majestically. "Go ahead, asshole. Go get yourself a drink."

 

 I was as relieved about him giving me permission to get a drink as I was about the fact that I wouldn't have to eat one of his boogers. As I turned to crawl out of the room, Randy stopped me.

 

 "Wait. Why don't we make that a mixed drink?" he said, getting up. "Follow me."

 

 I gulped. I knew what was coming.

 

 I crawled behind him as he strode to the bathroom. I watched from my knees as he took a long piss, splashing it all over the rim of the toilet.

 

 After Randy finished, he motioned to the toilet. "Go ahead. Get your drink."

 

 I crawled with apprehension toward the commode. I knew I had no choice, so I closed my eyes and stuck my face in the piss-water and began lapping it up slowly. It wasn't what I had in mind, but at least it somewhat quenched my thirst.

 

 I heard Monica's voice call in from the living room: "Randy? You meany, what are you making my poor husband do now?"

 

 "Come in here and see for yourself," Randy answered.

 

 After a moment, I heard Monica giggle from the doorway. "You're terrible!" she chided him playfully. "Making him drink your piss-water...you're embarrassing the poor dear!"

 

 Randy chuckled. "Aww, Monica, he's a slimeball...and slimeballs don't get embarrased! Slimeballs like him like sticking their face in the toilet. Don't you, slimeball? Don't you like sticking your face in the toilet and drinking my piss?"

 

 "Yes, sir," I gurgled the best I could with my face in the toilet water.

 

 "Well, since you like sucking up piss, move out of the way," Monica said. "I've got to go, too."

 

 She lifted her miniskirt and lowered her white panties. She hunched forward as she began to pee. Randy grabbed me by the hair and stuck my face close to her thighs.

 

 "Look, needledick...that's Monica's pussy! Isn't it pretty? Look, she's pissing! Isn't that the most beautiful thing you've ever seen in your life?" He twisted his grip on my hair and put my face closer to my wife's sacred vagina. "Look how pretty the blonde pubic hairs are...look at her pink pussylips. You really ought to try it sometime...you wouldn't believe how tight it is when you first put your dick in there. But, oh, I forgot - you've never had the pleasure, have you?"

 

 "Hell, no, he's never had the pleasure," Monica snorted in disgust, reaching for the toilet paper. "Can you imagine anyone wanting to actually fuck this fat slob?"

 

 With that, she wiped herself and then stuffed the used toilet paper into my mouth, causing me to gag. She stood up, pulled up her panties, and grabbed me hard by the scruff of the neck. "Back to pissworld, honey!" She moved me over to the toilet once again. I felt her foot come down onto the back of my neck as she pushed my face into the water, now blessed with her urine as well as Randy's.

 

 "Stay there until we tell you otherwise."

 

 I heard them leave and walk up the stairs. I didn't hear from them again until the next morning when they called for their breakfast.

 

 PART 4...COMING SOON TO A THEATER NEAR YOU!

 

Their World, part 4 (Mmf, wimp husband) by c.w. cobblestone

 

 Nine-thirty a.m. The bacon is frying, the biscuits are in the oven, and the coffee's brewing.

 

 Monica and Randy were up a little early for a Sunday. I was exhausted. I hadn't gotten much sleep last night with my head in the toilet. Oh well...such is my life.

 

 When I finished making breakfast, I placed everything neatly on the silver serving tray, including Randy's Sunday paper. I knocked lightly on their bedroom door and opened it. Randy and Monica were still snuggled up underneath the covers. Monica was lying in bed lazily flicking through the channels on the bedroom television. Randy lay there propped up on the luxurious pillows, smoking the morning's first cigarette.

 

 "Smells good!" Monica sat up and clapped her hands as I set up her tray. "I am starving!"

 

 Randy smiled up at me as I served his breakfast. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he teased as I poured his coffee.

 

 "No, sir, I didn't get any sleep."

 

 He didn't acknowledge my answer as he began tearing into the food I had prepared. Monica had taken the TV guide out of the newspaper and flipped through the pages while she ate her breakfast. Randy stopped eating to scan the front page of his paper for a moment.

 

 "Hold my paper," he ordered absent-mindedly as he set down his newspaper and started eating again.

 

 I knew this Sunday morning ritual well. I knelt by his side of the bed, holding up his morning paper for him, so his hands would be free to eat. Every now and then, he'd simply say, "turn it," and I would turn the page for him. Other than that, nothing was else was said to me at breakfast. My arms quickly tired after about a half hour of holding Randy's paper up for him, but I knew that I had better hold it steady. After the terrible day in the shed yesterday - and my sleepless ordeal in the toilet last night - the last thing I wanted to do was to incur Randy's wrath!

 

 I knelt there holding up the paper, trying to ignore the rumbling in my stomach. I had one more day to go on my starvation diet, and it was killing me to watch them eat their gourmet breakfast. I hadn't eaten for 2 days now!

 

 When they finished eating, I took their trays away and washed the dishes. I was almost done when I heard Monica's voice call down for me:

 

 "Hey, bring me more coffee. And get my robe."

 

 I rushed to obey. After I ran upstairs and handed Monica her robe, I went back to the kitchen and poured my wife's cup of coffee.

 

 Then I made a terrible mistake.

 

 As I was setting the coffee down in front of her, I stumbled over one of Randy's discarded sneakers, and spilled some of the hot coffee right onto my wife's lap!

 

 "Owww!" she howled. Then her foot shot out and caught me right in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. "You fucking clumsy asshole!" she screamed at me. "That fucking BURNED! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

 

 She looked over at Randy and they exchanged knowing glances. Turning back toward me, she said, "well, you fucked up again, didn't you? I guess you're just a fuck-up, aren't you?"

 

 "Yes, Monica, I'm sorry," I croaked.

 

 "You sure as hell got that right - you're the sorriest son of a bitch I've ever met in my life!" She clapped her hands. "Well, I guess we're gonna have us a little fun this morning, then, aren't we?" I didn't like the curious glint in her green eyes as she stared me down. "Go get the rod, faggot," she said in a low voice. "Randy's gonna turn your ass into hamburger."

 

 My heart sank. Not another session with Randy's terrible plastic rod! I had really tried to be good this morning...but it didn't matter. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't escape getting into trouble for something or another!

 

 I rushed to get the weapon, then presented it to my wife's lover from my knees. Randy stretched and yawned loudly before taking the slim, flexible rod from my outstretched hands.

 

 "Face to the carpet, fuckwad," he ordered. I assumed the position, trembling. How many would he give me this time? I never knew what punishment was ahead of me: sometimes, Randy would beat me unmercifully for over an hour for a minor infraction. Sometimes he would just give me a few dozen strokes. It depended on his mood.

 

 Usually, when Monica was present though, he would really lay into me, just to show off to her. So, as I lifted my ass and pressed my nose into the bedroom carpet, I assumed the worst.

 

 As usual, he showed no mercy. I've been trained to not make a sound when I'm being punished, but it's hard to keep it in sometimes. The rod slashed into my flesh again and again. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I sneaked a peek at my wife. She was lying in bed playing with her pussy. She wore a soft smile as she admired her powerful lover's prowess with the rod.

 

 Monica always got a big kick out of watching my facial contortions as I tried not to cry out. I would hold out as long as I could, but Randy would keep whipping me harder and harder until I broke down and begged for mercy. It was like a game almost, to see how long I would be able to hold out until I started crying.

 

 Then, of course, I'd be punished again for making noise!

 

 SLASH! The hardest blow of all landed home, and it broke me. "Please, sir, please, mercy, sir, mercy!" I cried out. Randy chuckled as I continued to beg for him to stop.

 

 My blubberings evidently made Monica mad, because she got up and slapped me hard across the back of my head. "Shut up, wimp, and take it like a man...even though that may be way too much to ask from you." She picked Randy's tennis shoe off the floor and stuffed as much of it as she could into my mouth. It was the very shoe that I had tripped over...the very shoe that got me into this mess in the first place! She pushed the toe of the shoe into my mouth, stretching my jaws wide open. "Suck on that for awhile...and if I hear another peep out of you, you're gonna do another day out in the shed!"

 

 I didn't make another sound.

 

 It seemed like the shower of pain would never end. Eventually, thank God, it did.

 

 "Whew, that was a workout," Randy said as he swung back and lashed me one more time, catching me by surprise and causing me to jump.

 

 Monica giggled. "And one to grow on!" she said. "Get over here, wimp."

 

 I crawled to her as she lay on the soft bed playing with her sacred vagina. She had a strange, faraway look in her blue eyes.

 

 "Suck my toes," she ordered breathlessly. I took Randys shoe out of my mouth and began softly sucking Monica's toes. This was one of the few times I was allowed contact with my wife of any kind, and I tried my best to convey my love for her through my sucking of her toes. I don't think she noticed: she was too busy making out with Randy. He started to play with her pussy as they kissed. I watched with a heavy heart as Randy did as he pleased with my wife, his hand roaming all over her soft body...his fingers disappearing into the soft folds of my Monica's vagina.

 

 Soon, they were at it furiously. I have to admit: Randy was quite a stud. On many occasions I've watched him make love to my wife four and five times in one day. She just cant seem to get enough - and, apparently, neither can he.

 

 As the cadence of their fucking increased, it became increasingly harder for me to continue sucking Monica's toes. I did the best I could, but she kept moving her foot back and forth each time Randy rammed into her, kicking me hard in the mouth several times as I tried to continue worshipping her beautiful painted toes.

 

 With Randy's huge cock pummeling her, and my wet mouth on her toes, it didn't take long for Monica to reach a loud, protracted orgasm. Randy wasn't far behind. He tensed up and pulled out his dick and began shooting his sperm all over my wife's tanned belly. They both collapsed and hugged for a few minutes, oblivious to my presence. They lay there and enjoyed their special afterglow while I knelt at the foot of the bed patiently.

 

 Eventually, Monica looked down at me from her reclining position on the bed. "Go get me a towel, and another cup of coffee." She looked at me seriously. "And if you spill this one, I'll put your fat ass on a starvation diet for another week! Now go!"

 

 I scampered off to get the towel. Sometimes, Monica would have me lick up Randy's cum, and sometimes she wasn't in the mood. I was sad, because licking up Randy's semen was one of those precious moments when I would be allowed any sort of sexual contact with my wife. But I guess she didn't want to be bothered today.

 

 I handed Monica her towel, and she wiped up the sticky goo from her belly. She then vigorously began wiping off the stray ropes of semen on her pubic hair. When she finished, Randy took the towel from her and wiped off his fat, glazed dick. Then he rolled up the towel, the way kids do in the locker room, and popped me in my groin. His second hit caught me square in the balls, and I doubled over in pain, groaning.

 

 "Oh, shut the fuck up, you sissy. That didn't hurt," Randy said as he popped me in the face with the towel, then threw it at me. It landed on my head, covering my face. "Go get me a cup of coffee, too."

 

 As they lay in bed sipping their coffee and watching TV, I roamed around the room picking up their discarded clothing from the night before. They were such slobs! I'd just cleaned the bedroom yesterday morning. How could it have gotten so messed up already?

 

 Cleaning wasn't a concern for either of them. In the two years I'd been serving my wife and Randy, they'd gotten quite used to having me there to pick up after them. Now, they didn't even think about it. It was just expected that I would go behind them and clean up all their messes.

 

 "Excuse me, Monica," I interrupted my wife's TV watching after I'd straightened up the bedroom and stood before her submissively. "You wanted me to remind you - Debbie and Ron's picnic is today."

 

 "Oh, that's right, it is today" she said, sitting up in the bed. I tried not to stare as the blanket fell down and exposed one of Monica's soft breasts. She held out her hand expectedly. "Get me the phone," she ordered casually.

 

 I handed her the phone and she dialed her friend. While she gabbed on the phone, Randy took a shower. I went into the basement and began separating Monica and Randy's dirty clothes. I took the clean clothes from the dryer and began carefully folding them.

 

 After awhile, I heard Monica call me. I scampered upstairs to see what she wanted and found both my wife and Randy sitting on the edge of the bed naked, engaged in conversation.

 

 "I want my white shorts and blue navy top," she announced, not even looking up at me.

 

 "And get my jeans and my red T-shirt ready," Randy piped in. Then they continued their conversation as I went to got their clothes ready for them.

 

 After they dressed, Monica announced that they would probably be back from the picnic at about 6 that evening.

 

 As they started to leave the house, Randy turned toward me and smiled.

 

 "Hey, you remember what tonight is, don't you?" he asked me.

 

 Of course I knew what night it was...he just wanted to rub it in.

 

 "Yes, sir. I remember," I said respectfully. "Tonight's 'Fashion Show Night,' sir."

 

 "You know it!" he said. "Get everything ready for us," he said over his shoulder as they walked away.

 

 "Fashion Show Night" is a special time in our household. Let me explain: As I've said, Monica loves nothing better than to spend my money. On her frequent shopping excursions, she always loads up on new lingerie for the love of her life, Randy. She has two dressers full of teddies, babydolls, corsets - you name it, my wife probably has it.

 

 Anyway, "Fashion Show Night," is where Monica shows off all the new lingerie she's bought. While Randy lays on the bed like a king, Monica models the new lingerie for him. Then, she'll go into the bathroom, where I am waiting with the next outfit, ready to help her change. It always makes me sad to watch my wife go through so many changes to please Randy.

 

 After Randy has seen all of the selections, we have a little ritual: I kneel at the side of the bed and ask the reclining master of the household which nighty was his favorite. Most of the time, he picks out a few, and I have to go get them one by one. I hold each of them out for him again so he can narrow his decision down to one piece of lingerie. After he picks one, I am to go back into the bathroom and dress Monica in the outfit he'd specified.

 

 Then they make love like crazy.

 

 After I watched Monica and Randy drive away, I began my chores. I finished their laundry, made the bed, picked up the discarded wet towels from the bathroom, and wiped down the toilet where Randy had pissed and missed. It was the first Sunday of the month, so it was wall-washing day. I thoroughly scrubbed down all the walls in the house, which took about five hours. Then I did my daily scrubbing of the kitchen floor. By the time I'd finished my chores, it was nearing six, so I lit candles throughout the house to welcome my master and my mistress from their outing.

 

 PART 5...COMING SOON!!!

 

Their World, part 5 (MmF, wimp husband) by c.w. cobblestone

 

 Randy and Monica were a little late coming home. They were supposed to be back by 6, but by 8 o'clock, they still hadn't returned.

 

 I heard the car pull up at about a quarter to 9. I hurried up and assumed my position in front of the door on my knees.

 

 When the front door swung open, my heart jumped into my throat when I saw that they weren't alone! Their friends Debbie and Ron were standing in the doorway looking at me with smirks on their faces!

 

 I hated when Debbie and Ron would visit. That's when Monica and Randy would treat me the worst. They loved to show off for their friends, and everyone always had a high time humiliating me.

 

 "Hello, slave," Monica said as they all entered the foyer. Her words were slurred; she'd obviously been drinking. "Did you miss us?"

 

 I didn't get a chance to answer as Randy stepped in front of me. "What are you just kneeling there for with that stupid look on your face? Ask our friends if they'd like something to drink!"

 

 I shuffled on my knees in front of Debbie and Ron. "Uh...would you like something to drink?" I asked them as respectfully as I could.

 

 Debbie ordered a screwdriver and Ron wanted a beer. I took their orders as well as Monica and Randy's, then rushed to the kitchen to mix the drinks.

 

 I returned with the tray, finding them all sitting in the living room. After I'd served the drinks, Debbie looked up at me.

 

 "Hey, fatass, Monica tells me you're on a starvation diet. Well, you sure need it," she said, looking me up and down. "You need to shave a few pounds off that fat ass of yours!"

 

 Everyone laughed at that one while I stood there red-faced.

 

 Monica ordered me to kneel in the corner. The four of them carried on with their conversation, not saying a word to me unless it was to order another drink. I was ignored all night while the two couples played Trivial Pursuit. The game took about 2 hours. Finally, Debbie and Ron went home.

 

 After they'd seen their guests out, Monica and Randy headed up the stairs to the bedroom. I cleaned up their mess, then hurried up to see if they needed anything.

 

 Randy was in the shower while Monica sat on the edge of the bed painting her toenails. I approached her with my head down.

 

 "Uh...I just wanted to remind you: tonight's Fashion Show Night."

 

 "Oh, yeah, that's right," Monica said. "Go get all my new stuff and iron it."

 

 I stood at the ironing board full of resentment as I ironed all Monica's new lingerie for the pleasure of her boyfriend. She was only going to wear one outfit, but I had to make sure all of them were properly ironed! But the extra work I had to do was of no consequence to either of them...

 

 When Randy got out of the shower, I quickly cleaned up the bathroom, then went back into the bedroom.

 

 "Are you ready for Fashion Show Night, honey?" Monica asked Randy.

 

 "You bet! Let's see all that hot new lingerie you bought!"

 

 Monica started walking toward the bathroom. "Get my outfits and follow me," she said to me.

 

 I grabbed all the lingerie and followed Monica into the bathroom. She'd already thrown off her shorts and top, and was taking off her bra when I entered the room.

 

 "Do the white one first," she said, referring to the new white teddy she'd bought last week.

 

 I held it out for her, and she stepped into it. My hands trembled as I buttoned the snaps across the crotch. I could smell the faint scent of her inner secretions; I was so close...it was maddening!

 

 She put on a pair of white pumps and disappeared back into the bedroom. I knelt in the adjoining bathroom and listened to Randy compliment her on her selection.

 

 After a few minutes, she re-entered the bathroom. I helped her out of the white teddy and held out a purple silk kimino. Then she disappeared into the bedroom again.

 

 We repeated this for about a half hour. Randy decided he liked the first thing he'd seen: the white teddy. I had to dress her in the teddy again. Then I followed her into the bedroom.

 

 They didn't waste much time. Monica practically dove onto Randy and they began going at it like wildcats. I knelt at the foot of the bed submissively. I was used to this by now.

 

 Not a word was said to me as my wife and her lover fucked like crazy. Finally, after about 20 minutes, Randy began pumping his load into Monica's sloppy pussy.

 

 They both collapsed on the bed. Randy lit a post-coital cigarette, and passed it to Monica.

 

 As she took a long, invigorating drag, she looked down at me. "Get up here and clean me out," she ordered.

 

 I climbed onto the bed and began licking the globs of cum from her pussy. As I was licking her, Monica leaned to one side and released a loud fart. Randy busted up laughing.

 

 "Can you smell it?" he asked me. Monica giggled.

 

 I shook my head as I continued cleaning Randy's cum from my wife's vagina.

 

 After she was clean, Randy announced that it was time for bed. "I'm beat," he said to no one in particular as he put his cigarette out.

 

 Monica fluffed up her pillows as she addressed me. "Remember, you still have my car to wash. I let you slide because you've had a lot of work lately. But you damn well have it ready by the morning, you hear me?"

 

 "Yes, mistress."

 

 And so, as Randy and Monica drifted off to sleep, I trudged to the garage to begin washing Monica's car. I hoped I could finish by dawn - I knew I had a hard day ahead of me, and I prayed that I might get a few hours of sleep at least.

 

 THE END