Woman of the House F/F

Copyright © 2022 by EggWhites

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Happy Reading.

This has very minimum M/F. It plays no major part in the story. Just thought I should put it out there.

Chapter One

It has come to my attention, for some time now, that my bastard of a husband is cheating on me. I’d be lying if I said I was surprised, bu—fuck.

Judy winced then reluctantly stopped writing, and let her squinting eyes look through her window for a second. It was a sunny day, during which she’d usually be out with Mr. Jerk, taking a walk in the garden. Not today though. Not for a long time.

She’d been delaying this moment for two months. Somehow, writing this moment in her journal made it more real. But there was no denying it anymore. Ever since she learned how to write, she’d stayed true to her journal, she couldn’t lie to it anymore.

I wasn’t surprised that much by the act, but by the pathetically small amount of guilt that Mr. Jerk has shown about it. which turned out to be none, no guilt. Not one fucking shred of remorse, and no intention of stopping.

Her hand stopped again by itself, and she slammed the notebook and stormed up from her desk. She put her journal in the drawer then threw herself in bed, recalling the cursed day.

When she married Mark, she knew she wasn’t marrying a smart man, but she’d never have thought that he was stupid enough to get caught the way he did. It was almost like he wanted to get caught.

That day she was walking back home from her appointment at the spa close to their house. She decided to take a little longer road and walk through the garden, that she and Mark usually hung out in. At first, her eyes took a random glance at a couple sitting on one of the wooden benches near duck lake. She was behind them so could only see their back, but when the man’s head turned slightly to the side, she immediately recognized him. She didn’t think much of it. Mark did have some female friends at work, and she thought this just might be one of them. She thought she should go and say hey. But when her eyes saw his arm wrap slowly around the woman’s shoulder, she froze, her feet nailed to the pavement under her.

She stood there in her little sundress and her little sandals, her face all made pretty with makeup and her hands and feet pedicured and manicured, just for the fucking asshole that had his arm around that other woman.

She saw his lips move, curled in one of his silly smiles, like he was whispering something devious, and then she heard the woman laugh. When his head leaned closer, and the woman’s head started doing the same, Judy knew what she was about to witness, and it was like a slap to her face, making her snap her head, turning her eyes away, and spinning her whole body to the opposite direction. She froze there for a second, her eyes too dry to shed a single tear, while she knew full well that behind her, just twenty meters away, sitting there on the bench her husband was making out with another woman. She didn’t see her face, and she had no intention to.

She walked home that night and cried herself to a long nap. She knew their marriage was in a rut lately. But they were married for five years, a rut at this point was normal. And it wasn’t like she didn’t try, she kept herself in shape, she kept taking care of herself just like the days when they were going out on their first dates. And she appreciated that he did the same, they were both 35 but they looked in their mid-twenties. But looked like all the effort he had been putting in to keep looking like a handsome stud wasn’t for her, but for the whore he’d been fucking. The only thing that she was sure he had been doing for her, was the beautiful necklaces he kept gifting her without occasion. But she speculated that he might just be buying them out of guilt.

She couldn’t confront him the day she’d caught them, neither the day after nor the eight days after that. For some reason, she wanted to know if he’d come clean by himself, if the pressure of his shameful betrayal would finally be too heavy to bear and he’d confess. But no, he came home every night, gave her a kiss on the cheek, gave her some lame excuse for being late, like a meeting or some other business obligation, then went straight to bed.

There was something awfully sickening about knowing that one’s husband is sleeping with another woman. It left Judy in a wreck, making her days paranoid. When he’d come home, and she’d smell some perfume at him, and he’d say that he was just with some female colleges and their perfumes must have stuck to his clothes, she would know he’d been with her. When she thought about that, she also recalled a long array of similar incidents that had been happening for months, in which he’d given a lame excuse and like the naïve woman she was, she believed them.

Every minute he spent out of the house after she’d caught him in the garden, she spent them hunkered at home, unable to keep the images out of her mind for a single second. What was he doing now? Was he with her? were they in some bar drinking and having a great time, with her sitting in his lap? Were they laughing? Was he telling her one of his stupid jokes and watching her cackle? Were they making out? did he tell her that he was married? Did she feel bad about me or did she not care. Are they talking about me? Are they laughing at me, thinking that I was at home taking care of chores like a good little wife, clueless and stupid? Are they making fun of me, was he debasing me for her amusement, comparing her to me and saying that she is prettier, sexier, smarter?

She shook her head as if to wake up from a slumber and realized that her coffee machine had finished. She grabbed her coffee, put on her sundress and sandals, tied her messy blonde short hair in a short bun, then walked out the door. It was 4:pm. Mark was supposed to come home in a couple of hours if he didn’t have any shagging appointments with Miss. Whore that is.

Judy got into her car and started driving, going to where she would always go whenever she wanted to explode, to her only friend, Morgan. She was supposed to be home by now, unless she had overtime.

Maybe I should’ve called her before I left…I’ll call her now. She picked up the phone and dialed. It rang, a little too long, playing with Judy’s nerves; she really needed to be with someone right now. Please don’t have overtime today. When her hope was about to be squashed, the ringing stopped.

“Hey,” Her friend’s voice came from the other end making her exhale a breath of relief.

“Hey. You home?”

“Not until an hour,” Morgan said, panting. “Why?”

“I…” She paused for a second, the heavy breath ringing against her ear. “What the hell are you on a treadmill or something.”

“It’s just those damn stairs, our office’s elevator is broken.” She said, her breathing steadying. “Anyway, I need almost an hour to get home.”

“It’s fine, it’ll take me half an hour anyway to get to you, so I’ll wait for you there.”

“Alright, bey,” she said and closed the phone.

Judy took a breath, then slowed down. The later she would get there the better.

As Judy’s only friend, Morgan had been the go-to person when it came to blowing off steam. Since the day they had become friends in college until now, Morgan had spent countless hours listening to and advising on Judy’s problems. And Judy knew for sure that without Morgan being there for her during this, she’d have probably broken down weeks ago.

She took a turn into Morgan’s street, then parked in front of her building. Morgan lived in one of those high apartment buildings, very different from Judy’s residential independent house.

She took a look at her clock and was satisfied to see that Morgan was to arrive in fifteen minutes. She took the elevator up to the 10th floor, using the time to check herself in the lift’s mirror.

The fucking bastard. What kind of asshole would cheat on this? She turned in front of the mirror, trying to give herself a confidence push, taking in the details of her blue eyes and cute blonde bun, her slim legs. She was a damn catch, wasn’t she?

She got out and walked to Morgan’s apartment, then slid her back against the door and sat down, waiting.

To kill the remaining ten minutes, she put on some sad music and started humming with the rhythm, hugging her knees to her chest to put herself in the mood. She wasn’t even that sad anymore. For the last couple of days, after she’d confronted him, she was just angry, and afraid.

She didn’t expect him to plead or beg for her forgiveness, she knew he wasn’t that kind of guy when she married him, but she didn’t even get an apology. He just sat there with his dull face lounging on his stupid recliner after a long workday, and shrugged. He’d refused to tell her who the woman was, he refused to talk about it, and to her horror, he bluntly asked her if she wanted a divorce. Which meant that he wasn’t planning to stop. She knew that the bitch must be manipulating him, hoping that he’d throw his wife in the street and marry her. or maybe not, maybe she wasn’t that bad. But there was no way of knowing. She probably wanted him for his money—okay and maybe looks—but it was a huge leap to say for sure that she’d be such a devil of a woman, that she’d agree to have Judy thrown in the street. Even if she was that evil, Mark would never go for it, he had enough money to support her, at least for a year or two.

She returned her focus to the sad song, she rathered be sad than think about all of this crap.

A sharp toe nudged her in the thigh so she looked up startled taking off her headphones. Morgan stood above her with a blaming but understanding look on her face.

She raised her arms jokingly towards Morgan and whined in a dramatic tone. “My savior, my goddess, where have you been.”

Morgan snickered and nudged her again with the toe of her pumps. “Get to your feet you dork, you’re scaring my neighbors.” She gave her a hand and pulled her up.

“What are you talking about,” She shrugged. “No one saw me.”

“Mrs. Wally just called me on my phone, said that some woman was sitting at my door humming to herself.” She snickered while shoving her key in and opening the door.

Judy

I walked in after her, and took a seat on the black modern sofa in the middle of her living room while she took her suit off and hung it by the door. She stood there for a second and looked at me, taking a long tiresome breath. She was wearing her work clothes, which consisted of a black skirt and blazer, and black pumps. It suited her, the corporate clothes, with her black hair reaching just above her shoulders.

“Fuck this day…” she hissed.

“I know but why,” I said.

“I had five fucking meetings.” She threw her wallet and keys at the table beside the door. “And Denise chose this day out of all days to call in sick...At least she says she’s sick. I know she’s been avoiding me.”

“Maybe she finally figured out that you’re an opportunist bitch.” I rolled my eyes with a sly smile before glancing back at her teasingly.

She kept a cold annoyed look on her face before she walked closer then threw herself on the couch beside me. “Not funny.” She tugged at her shirt to fan her chest. “I really needed her today.”

I sealed my big mouth, resisting to remind her of what I thought about her attitude towards her colleague. Denise was an Innocent woman, very friendly and kind. Some would say that she was a people pleaser, but to me, that wasn’t really a problem unless one found herself paired with the bitch beside me.

I only went to Morgan’s workplace a dozen times. At first, I’d been surprised to find out that Morgan actually had an assistant. A woman in her late twenties kept fetching us coffee and Morgan kept giving her documents to deliver. She treated her like an assistant, and harshly at that, as she sometimes blistered her for getting documents wrong or getting the coffee with the wrong amount of sugar. I didn’t try to correct her behavior, Morgan was Morgan.

But when I found out that Denise was just a colleague, I couldn’t help but give Morgan a piece of my mind for how she treated the poor girl. She had her messaging her shoulders a few times while I was there for goodness sake. I kept trying to get her to stop until she snapped at me one time and told me to get off her back, and I did.

“So what’s wrong.” She shuffled on the couch and found a comfortable position. “Did something happen?”

“…No,” I said. “I was just feeling shitty that’s all.”

“I see.” She nodded pursing her lips. “He’s home?”

“He’s supposed to be home in an hour or so, I didn’t wanna be there when he does,” I said, making sure to not get emotional. My eyes took a look around the apartment. It had modern, luxurious furniture. She didn’t go cheap on her house. Morgan had done well for herself. I often wondered if I would’ve been better off taking the same road she had. After we graduated, she started working, and I started dating. It took me some time but I settled with Mr. Jerk eventually. Along the days, I saw her climb her way up, from one company to another, getting promoted and rising up in the corporate ladder. She was a different person every month I saw her, a stronger person. Me on the other hand, right now I feel exactly like the woman I had been when I graduated college. No skills to speak off. My personality was still as fragile, still as weak. I guess that was one of the reasons that I gave Morgan such a hard time about Denies, is that I would be exactly in Denies place if I worked in some kind of company surrounded by all kinds of people. Work sharpens someone’s personality, but I think it was too late for me now. It was too late for me to fight in that world. So I was stuck at home, while my husband fucked another woman. “I don’t know what to do anymore Morgan…”

“Maybe you can go back in time and listen to your friend.” She said coldly. I sighed, trying not to scorn at her. “Thanks that’s quite helpful.” It was maybe the hundredth time she reminded me that she had advised against signing a prenup as Mark wanted. Obviously, I hadn’t listened, cause I was soooooo in loooove back then. “Until they invent such a machine. What’s your advice.”

“Get work.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Get real.” I scorned. “You know I can’t. And who in his right mind would hire me.”

“You’re in your thirties,” She heaved her legs then put her feet, with her pumps still on, in my lap. “And attractive. Try waitressing.”

“You remember how my first waitressing job went in college.”

“You cried and threw the coffee in the asshole's face.” She chuckled. “But you never know, you might've goten stronger over the years.”

“I think I got weaker,” I admitted. If I ever had any kind of thick skin, it must’ve gotten softer along the days I had spent like a spoiled queen in that damn house.

Morgan sighed. I had a feeling that she wasn’t in the mood to hear my bullshit. “You’re stronger than you think.” She said, making me blush despite not actually believing her. “Can you take my shoes off please,” she said.

“Sure…” I looked down at her feet and reached for her pump, but stopped when I noticed what was wrapped around her ankle. I chuckled. “You’re unbelievable. That’s a new one isn’t it.” I nodded towards the silver anklet on her foot.

She gave me one of her weird looks as her lips curled up in a sly smile. “You like it.”

“It’s pretty.” I took her first pump off and let it tumble to the floor. “You know if you didn't spend half your salary on damn anklets you might be a millionaire by now.”

“I woman gotta spoil herself hun,” She smiled and wiggled her ankle around my face. “I’m done waiting for some asshole to do that.”

I raised my eyebrows in an approving gesture, feeling a mixture of admiration and jealousy in me. I’d never liked to switch places with someone as much as I did now. Her life didn’t come without its headaches for sure, an angry boss, a dumb colleague, a pathetic whining friend who'd keep hogging her precious time. But I couldn’t help it. She was my only friend and I needed her. For now, all I could do is take advantage of her kindness.

“I keep thinking about them Morgan,” I said.

She nodded, her face getting a bit impatient. “Uhah.”

I ignored her annoyed face and continued, “I keep fearing that he might bring her to the house, or something, While I’m not there. What if he already did. What if he’s fucking her on my bed right now as we speak, I mean what’s stopping him—”

“Honey.” She snapped. “You either get the fuck out of there or you get the fuck out of there. I don’t know how else to put it.” She held her hands in the air like she was saying the obvious. “I mean, either that, or you’ll have to put up with feeling pathetic and humiliated while he’s fucking around half the woman in the city until one finally convinces him to throw your ass in the street. You’re just prolonging the inevitable.”

“What if he never does.”

“…Never commits to another woman you mean?”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping that she didn’t find my point too pathetic. My worst fear wasn’t to have to put up with him screwing around, but having to leave my beautiful cozy house.

“…You’re saying that… you’re okay with him cheating if it means he’ll keep you in the house like a good wife.” Her face was passive, but her eyes were just sharp enough to give me a hint of her disappointment.

“…Maybe?”

“Well, you’re free to do that.” she nodded aggressively, unsuccessful in hiding her irritation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some clients to call.” She tried to get her feet off my lap but I held them there.

“Nonono…” I whined at her. “Stay just for a little while. Come on work can wait. I wanna talk.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not gonna be your crying-cushion through all of this.”

“Not through all of this,” I whined. “Just for a while…come on.” I gave her my best pleading eyes, and jokingly pecked the tops of her feet a couple of times. She laughed despite herself, then looked at me and crossed her arms, pursing her lips at me.

“Fine.” She said and crossed her feet in my lap, but her face still betrayed displeasure.

“Look I’ll be useful,” I said and started working my fingers on her bare soles. “You must be tensed after a long day in those heels,” I knead her soles with my thumps. “So just sit back, relax, and listen to my whining.”

“Well, that’s tempting, I guess.” She giggled and leaned back putting her hands behind her head.

I smiled at her and kept rubbing. I should probably give her a couple of minutes before I start pouring my heart out at her.

Morgan

Those few last lines spoken between us made me see Judy in a new light. I knew she wasn’t what one would consider a strong woman. But to actually hear her say that she was prepared to put up with him fooling around, just so she would be allowed to stay in her comfy little house and not have to work, was a shock to me, to say the least.

I leaned back, trying to keep a straight face while she complained, and complained, and complained. She had hit right at my weakness. I couldn’t refuse a foot rub right now, especially from her. My feet were sore as hell. I sat there and watched Judy work her hands on the feet of the woman fucking her husband. All the while I was doing my best not to rub myself to an orgasm right there on the couch.

I wasn’t proud of what I had been doing for the past several months. It had started with an insane fantasy, just an image that popped into my head out of nowhere, and refused to leave. I’d never know what was so special about fucking your best friend’s husband, or why did it feel so damn good?

Maybe it was about degradation, debasement, given that I was gushing at her rubbing my feet, oblivious to the fact that I had just returned not from work, but from the hotel room in which I and Mark were fucking our brains out.

When the whole thing had started, when that dick came to my apartment half-drunk and made his move at me, I did the right thing and I slapped him and kicked him out, determined to tell Judy the very next day. But while I sat in my desk working that day, I just couldn’t remove the image of me and Mark making out, while Judy sat in her little home doing chores. I was disgusted, for a while. I didn’t even find Mark the least bit attractive. He was full of himself, too much into his looks, and had brains not smarter than my shoe. It was all about Judy, and I knew it. I wanted to fuck Judy’s husband.

At first, I hoped to get a couple of shags with the stud without Judy knowing and without having to hear her cry about it. I knew it was a long shot, as I was her only friend. But every day, the urge in me grew, and watching her work her hands on my feet now, kicked my fantasies up to a whole other level. I didn’t want to just betray her behind her back anymore, that wasn’t enough, I wanted her to know. I wanted her to know everything. I wanted her to know that she’d been wearing my anklets around her neck for months.

She never put real effort into knowing who Mark’s mistress was, I guess she didn’t want to know. Seeing the woman’s face had to be too harsh for her, like it would somehow make it more real.

I would like to think that I would be strong enough to resist taking my fantasy to this level, from which there would be no coming back. But I knew myself better than that. My curious little cunt had been what got his shit started. It had won then, and sooner or later it would win again. I took a deep breath as tens of scenarios popped up in my head. Every scenario was unique, but had one thing in common, me taking everything from under Judy’s nose, right in front of her, laughing right in her face as I do it, and Judy on her knees humiliated beneath me, under my mercy. Nothing could make the difference between us clearer. My strength and her weakness. My strong personality and her lack of backbone.

I gushed at the images, and hoped that Judy didn’t notice it on my face. If it felt that good to even think about it, how good would it feel to actually live it?

Judy

After half an hour of me whining, I paused for a second, remembering something I wanted to ask Morgan about for a while. “Isn’t there some kind of back door here or there?”

“Back door?” she said.

“Some way to invalidate the Prenup. He’s cheating! That has to mean something in court right, something that can play in my favor.”

“Wrong.” She said, not making any effort to squash my hopes kindly. “The contract must explicitly state that, and your contract doesn’t.”

I knew she knew her shit, but I was still skeptical. “…Are you sure?”

“Who’s the lawyer here Judy.” She rose an eyebrow at me. She didn’t like to be questioned when it came to her job.

“Sorry,” I smiled politely. “I was just wondering.”

“…Even if there was and there wasn’t…you don’t have a penny to your name to hire a lawyer, at least a good one that would be competent enough to go against the one that he’d hire, with the recourses he had.”

“…I see.” I looked down at the foot I was rubbing, disappointed that she didn’t think about helping me out with this herself. I understood that business and friendship couldn’t mix well but, this should be an exceptional case right? Maybe something in her firm prevented her from taking on outside cases or something, otherwise, she’d have offered, I know she would’ve.

I kept rubbing her feet for a while and only stopped when my thumbs started aching. I made sure to spend the last half an hour talking about random stuff, fun stuff that we would usually enjoy, to not make it all about my fucked-up marriage. We ended up talking for another half an hour before I decided it was time to go home. We gave each other a kiss goodbye then I left. I called Mark at home to make sure that he wasn’t having any guests over, as I had no idea how I would react if I walked into my bedroom and actually saw them in bed. A wife would usually scream and shout, maybe kick the woman’s ass, I know Morgan would. But me, what would I do. I would probably close the door again and go cry myself to a nap on my couch.

I reached home, took a quick glance around the house. Mark would usually be eating in the kitchen, but he wasn’t there. I walked up the stairs then to our bedroom. I heard some noises from the slightly opened door. I opened it all the way through, to see Mark fixing his tie in front of the mirror. I took a deep breath.

“Where are you going?” I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame.

He turned his head slightly towards me, his lips curling up in a sly smile, he looked like the biggest jerk on the planet. He huffed and shook his head returning his attention to his tie. “Out.”

“Out where?” I tried to put some conviction in my tone, as a proper wife should.

“…I have an appointment.”

I didn’t have anything to say, so I just stood there as he fixed himself up in the mirror, making sure he looked good for his appointment. Ever since this thing started, I had been truly shocked by the amount of strength I realized I got. I had no idea how I was able to stand there with my sanity intact and with no tears in my eyes. Not so long ago this man had been the love of my life.

He gave his short tidy black hair a final comb before giving a satisfied nod at himself in the mirror. He made his way to me, gave me a light peck on the cheek, then walked away. “See you later honey.”

He left me standing there, and I stayed in my position leaning at the door frame with my arms crossed, unable to move a limp. My ears stayed with him as he walked out of the house, got into his car, and left.

Making sure to stay as calm as possible, I untied the short bun, letting my hair fall, took my sandals off, not caring to remove my sundress, then did the only thing I had the power to do, which was throwing myself in my bed and burying myself under the covers and sleeping.

I woke up the next day to the noise of him getting ready to work. It was a weekend, but he still worked on weekends, being the little workaholic that he was. I kept my head under the covers, not wanting to look at him. When I heard the door close, I kicked the covers away and straightened up. Before I could get to my feet, my eyes randomly glanced then froze at the small side table near my bed. There laid another one of his gifts. It was a black box, and I knew that in it was another one of his necklaces. I didn’t even know why I still wore them. They meant nothing. Regardless, I gently unlaced the one I was currently wearing and removed it, sitting it on the table, before grabbing the box and opening it. I eyed it for a second, it looked nothing special, not that different from the ones he’d been showering me with ever since he started his little affair. My eyes froze suddenly as I held the thin chain in my hand; where the hell had I seen this thing before. I didn’t have to wonder for long, as my temperature dropped and my lungs stopped breathing.

I had to be seeing stuff, my brain had to be messing with me. This couldn’t be the same one. It just couldn’t. I took a relieved breath as I held both ends of the chain away from each other, and realized that the chain with this length couldn’t wrap around someone’s ankle, unless someone was an elephant or something. Then I cursed myself at my stupidity; she could’ve wrapped it twice. Had it been wrapped twice around her ankle yesterday? While half my mind tried to remember, the other half tried to think of one possible reason why, if the sick idea in my head were true, would Mark give me Morgan’s anklet as a present. Why would Morgan? She had to know that I would remember. I had just seen it yesterday and commented on it.

“No,” I puffed, hoping that the confidant puff would make me realize how ridiculous I was being. I rose to my feet, and threw the damn thing on the small table beside the other one. “This is a stupid thought, that you…should dismiss immediately.” I talked to myself in the mirror. No friend would do that. Even if, and that was a big if , Morgan had done this, she couldn’t have had endured hearing me complain and whine and cry to her about it, and still not tell me. She’d have said something. She couldn’t have kept it for herself.

Seeing where this was going, I decided on the best course of action. I didn’t want another sickening thought to join the ones that were already fucking my head up. I was already sick about Mark and his little mistress, and I couldn’t go along my already miserable days wondering about whether or not that mistress was my best friend. The only thing that needed to be done here, was for me to ask her.

I grabbed the necklace. I was already in my sundress and I didn’t care to change it. I slipped some black flats on my feet and ran down the stairs, out of the house, into my car, wanting nothing more than to arrive at Morgan’s house as soon as possible, so she could shout at me how stupid and crazy my suspicions were.

I got there in half the time that the road would usually take me. I busted into her building, hurdling to the elevator and walking inside it restlessly as it took me up. I reached her floor, then stood at her door, making sure to take a long breath, and knock as gently as I could; there was no reason to act all hostile yet.

It was a weekend so she was probably sleeping. After a couple of minutes of gentle knocking, I heard her lazily drag her slippers toward the door. She opened and looked at me with confused but squinting eyes that quickly turned annoyed, like she was asking me why the fuck was I at her door at 8 am.

All I could do was stretch my arm and open my palm with the necklace inside it. I talked, but heard it come as a mere whisper. “Is this yours?”

Her lazy eyes looked at it for a while, before they coldly looked upwards into mine. I held her stare, trying to gain any resemblance of an answer from her brown eyes which staid boldly still. I saw nothing of use, so I asked again, “Is this yours.”

“Well…it’s yours now.” She shrugged and yawned. “You know what hour it is?”

I had no idea where I got this instinct, but my arm instinctively raised, my hand tightened into a fist and I threw a punch, and given that I hadn’t thrown a punch ever since I came out of my mother, I missed her, getting only the edge of her chin. She recoiled, getting her squinting eyes wide open and shocked. I lunged at her and started throwing punches mindlessly in the air.

“The fuck?” She shouted while she retreated back carefully avoiding my barrage. “Calm the fuck down Ju—” My fist found a spot on her lower jaw, and she stood there rubbing it for a second before she looked at me, her eyes seeming ready to fight. I however, froze, realizing the simple fact that Morgan could easily beat my ass.

“I’m calm…” I said, trying to comfort her as she walked the few steps between us. “I’m cal—” She snatched my head like a damn football and effortlessly threw me to the ground. One second I was looking at her the other I was laying on the floor with my head spinning. I had only started rising to my knees when she kicked my shoulder and sent me to the floor again falling on my back. “Morgan.” I whined.

She stood above me with her feet near my head and stooped down to look me in the eye. “You done throwing punches or I need to kick your ass out of here.” She gave her jaw a stretch, probably trying to ease the pain away.

“I’m done,” I said looking away from her.

She nodded, then straightened up and walked to the kitchen. I got myself to a sitting position but stayed on the ground. I looked at her while she put the kettle on. I ignored the aching in the top of my stomach at the relaxing nature with which she was acting. “Tell me it’s not true.”

“It is.” She said before leaning against her fridge and looking dead at me. “I’m fucking your husband.”

I froze there, surprised at my ability to not give any reaction more than hearing the words she’d just said. I just sat there with my hands calmed together over my knee as she stood in her kitchen waiting for her coffee to be done brewing.

“Coffee?” she said.

“…I’m good.” I looked at the ground.

She shrugged, then poured her cup and made her way to the couch in front of me. She sat crossing one leg over the other holding her coffee mug on her lap. I looked up at her, waiting for her to say something. An explanation. A confession. I didn’t know what I was waiting to hear, but I was waiting for something, anything.

“Why?” I said, my eyes not able to look up from her dangling slipper.

“Does it matter?” She took a sip.

I swallowed, dreading the answer to my following question. “Do you love him?”

“Pufft.” She recoiled back with an animated chuckle. “Bitch please, don’t insult me.”

My jaw clenched at her. Insult you? That was the only possible reason, why else would you fucking do this to your best friend. “Then why?”

She rolled her eyes, pursing her lips and shaking her head like she was trying to find some trivial reason just to satisfy me. “Just because.”

“Morgan.”

“I’m doing you a favor honey, trust me.”

Quickly losing hope of her making any sense, I wrapped my hands around my head and buried my face in my knees, wishing I would wake up.

“I’m not the first woman he cheated on you with alright. At least now it’s not some random broad from the street. Better me than some stranger right?”

“You’re insane,” I said. “Insane.”

“I’m not the one married to him honey,” She said.

“You were my friend.”

“I still am…believe it.”

A snicker escaped me, as I looked up at her with narrow eyes, trying to see if she was really serious.

“What?” she chuckled.

“We’re done.”

“…You’re leaving me for that thing,” She narrowed her eyes questionably, and I didn’t know if she meant Mark or the fact that she cheated. “Really?”

“I’m just trying to figure out how I never managed to see all along those years that you’re a sicko.” I said as I slowly got to my feet. I gave her a final long look. I’d probably talk to her again, but not before a long while. For now, I just need to get home and try to make my peace with my new revelation. “You can fuck him as much as you like. But don’t think about even passing near my home. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

Her cold look didn’t change, until her mouth curled into an irritated smirk, like I was being unreasonable or something.

I walked to the door and before I turned the knob, she said, “I can enter your house whenever I want to Judy, make your peace with that.”

That was the first true shock of the day, hearing her say that. I turned slowly, with my eyes full of disgust. “What?”

“You heard me.” She said coldly. “I can probably kick you out if I want to as well, so I think you better be a bit nicer to me, act a bit more respectful.”

My head was torn, between thinking about whether or not she was serious or not, and whether or not Mark would do such a thing to me. I mean, he was a cheater, but there was no way. “In your dreams.” I took a confident step towards her. “Mark’s maybe an asshole, guided by his dick or whatever, but I know he still cares about me. You bring it up to him and he’ll probably leave your ass at the spot.”

She pouted sarcastically at me, seeming to hold off a giggle. “…You’re still a little girl inside aren’t you.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s no way to get on my good side Judy,” She rose to her feet then started walking towards me. “I’ll give you a while to adjust, adjust and find out how much of an asshole your husband really is. Alright.” She said as she opened the door for me. “Then, given that I know you’re too fucking weak and too much of a coward to go and try to live in the world, I’ll put you under my wing. Don’t worry, like I said we’re still friends. I’ll protect you, and I’ll have you eating out of my hand in your own house while I do it.”

The fuming excitement in her eyes scared me as much as the words themselves. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re right. Let’s put our friendship on hold for now, just for a while. There’s something I just need to do now.”

“…You’re sick.” I spat my final insult and rushed out of there on trembling knees. Her final threats really got to me. There was no chance in hell that she’d be able to do that, I wasn’t even sure she really wanted to, but regardless, the slim possibility, the image of her in my house leisuring freely against my consent and rubbing my face in it, made me want to vomit.

I got home. I threw myself where I had been spending most of my time: my bed. I lay there unable to sleep, my eyes wandering around the spacious room. I loved my bedroom, I loved my house. I’d had it furnished and decorated exactly like I wanted, as Mark didn’t care about these things. It was my house. I clung to my Paige cozy covers, holding them close to my chest, as the fear hit me. He wouldn’t do that to me. He knew how much I loved this house, just a year ago we had been talking about maybe having children someday, or I had been talking, but he was listening wasn’t he.

Morgan was just a fling. He’d have his fun with her, get bored, then get rid of her, like he’d gotten rid of every woman before her.

My phone beeped. I opened it and winced at the sight of Morgan’s name. She’d sent me a message. A voice recording. I hit play.

“Again with this shit,” her irritated voice came out of my phone.

“What?”

Even though I already knew everything, me hearing Mark’s voice like this, knowing what he was doing, knowing who he was with, made my throat chock.

“I told you before I’m not gonna continue this if you do that.”

“…I know she’s your friend Morgan, but this isn’t about her.”

“No,” She said in her crud tone.

“Fuck this.” He said. “Then what do you want huh, what’s your solution. Stay like this forever, not settling in the same house.”

“So you’d like to settle now huh.” Morgan chuckled. “I aint five hun, you probably fucked half the city before you made your move at me.”

“None of them compare to you love.” He said in a seductive tone.

“Hummm.” She said. “Even Judy.”

“Even that cow yes…”

I yelp escaped me, as I felt all the air punch out of my lungs. I felt my eyes getting wet. Not the words he said but also the way he said them, so casually. Was that how he talked about me in front of them.

“YOu’re unbelievable you know that.” She said, and I almost thanked her privately for the aggressiveness I felt in her tone. “Five years is it, that you’ve been married to her.”

“Five long years, more than enough don’t you think,” he giggled. “gave her more than she deserves of Mark’s love.”

“Puftt. Dick.” She joked.

“Come on. What do you say…move in.”

“WHAT” I shouted as my phone dropped from my shivering fingers. Tears ran down my cheeks as I listened.

“Not if you gonna throw her out like this I won't.”

“You think I have a choice in this.” He said. “It’s not my responsibility to take care of her, and I want to live with someone I love.”

“You can do both.”

“Do both?” he said. “You think she’s gonna accept living in there if you move in. That would be a sight to see wouldn’t it.” He laughed. “Us fucking in the bedroom as she’s cocking us dinner downstairs. She’s spineless baby, not a cuck.”

“No harm in testing that out.”

“……………………wait a second…I just…don’t, understand. You won’t put up with me divorcing her, but you would accept putting her through this shit. I mean, is she your friend or not…I’m lost.”

“Look…Judy is Judy. I know her. She’d accept anything…anything at all, except for having to go out and fend for herself. As long as you keep her in her little house, fed and cozy and comfortable, she’ll shut up and take it.”

“Wouldn’t that…” he said, his tone a bit worried. “Complicate things, from a legal standpoint, what if she filed for divorce herself. Wouldn’t that play in her favor?”

“No.”

“You sure—”

“Who’s the lawyer here bitch.”

“Ohh…” he hummed. “I like it when you get all saucy.”

“Good.”

“Any chance for a quick one.”

“We just had sex you animal.”

“Fair enough.”

The record ended, and my hands stayed frozen on the phone. I was frozen still in my place, my mind not able to wrap itself around what I heard. Her words didn’t hurt me as much as the fact that she was right. I would probably suck it up, if it meant that I didn’t have to give up my beautiful house and go out to the world, live in some small apartment, struggling to pay rent month after month, with the salary that I would make working a minimum wage job given that I had no skills what so ever, working under some boss. I was too afraid to even think about it. But could I truly put up with the life that Morgan had suggested? Could I see her here, living in my house, forcing me to be nice to her, while she had sex with my husband?

Maybe it wouldn’t be that…horrible. I mean, that last record had pretty much destroyed what little love I had for him. As far as I was concerned, Mark was just a stranger to me now, hell, even Morgan was closer to me than him. It would be like I was the landlady, housing a married couple. But I doubt that Morgan would allow me to feel like a landlady. If she was honest about her not having any feelings towards Mark, this whole plot was just to humiliate the shit out of me. How had I known her for that much time and hadn’t realized what a sociopath she was? Had she always hated me? Maybe she was jealous of my life, me living like a spoiled princess, and her having to go hustle. But she chose that road. She was as pretty and attractive as me, she could’ve easily chosen to go snatch someone like Mark and live my life?

I gave up trying to understand any of this, and buried myself under my covers, doing my best not to imagine any images of what my life would be like soon. The moment she would step into this house, the only dignity and self-respect I would be allowed to have would be whatever Morgan would spare me. Given that that sorry excuse for a man was prepared to kick me out, I would be totally at her mercy. And I knew Morgan wasn’t that merciful.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to get a second of sleep while I was in this state, and I knew that I would lose what was left of my sanity if I staid under my covers thinking things over, so I decided to go ahead and take the initiative. Whatever sick crap Morgan was storing for me, let her give it now. I got up, not caring to fix my messy hair or my ruffled-up sundress, and put my sandals on then left the house. I sent her a message while I was in the car, “you alone?”

She responded immediately, with, “Yeah, LOL.”

LOL. The first time she’d ever used that. Nice. It was all a joke to her, wasn’t it. She was ruining my life for laughs. I drove to her house, hoping that I wouldn’t lose my temper once she opened the door. I was going there to surrender, to give her her victory on a silver platter, in hope that she’d take it easy on me, or, hopefully, just stop. I mean, no matter how cruel she was turning out to be, she couldn’t look down at me while I grovel at her feet and still choose to torment me. I would be playing at her guilt, however little of that she might have felt.

I got into her elevator. I looked in the mirror as I went up, trying to prepare myself for what was to come.

I stood in front of her door and knocked, taking a deep breath as I heard her make her way to the door. The door opened, and I kept my eyes downwards, eyeing her slippered feet and her gray pajama pants. I couldn’t look up, fearing that her face might fume me. “Please don’t do this.” My words came out robotically, as a pathetic plea. When no response came, I whined. “Morgan?” I looked up, and the look on her face confused me. She seemed…disappointed. I sank to my bare knees in front of her, looking up at her with pleading eyes. I touched the tip of her slippers and said. “What have I ever done to you?” For some reason, the only thing her face showed was annoyance and disappointment. This was what she wanted wasn’t it, seeing me on my knees groveling, humiliated in front of her.

I swallowed, seeing her eyebrows pulled down and her upper lip pulled up with her nose wrinkled. I took a deep shaking breath as I leaned my head down towards her feet. We were at the door with me kneeling in the hall, but I didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around her ankles and rested my head at the tops of her slipper. I had no idea how my eyes weren’t shedding tears at this point, as I laid a kiss on Morgan's ankle, knowing full well that she’d been having sex with my husband less than three hours ago. But it didn’t matter anymore did it? This was between us and she won. She knew how much I didn’t want to get out of my house and she was right, she got me exactly where she wanted me. The deep breath from above then the lazy sigh confused me further, so I spoke, my lips an inch away from her foot, “What?”

“Nothing…” She pulled her feet from under me and walked to her couch, she turned on her heel then threw herself on top of it looking at me as I still kneeled at her door. “You just took…” she held her hands up like she was carrying something. “Half my fucking fun, and threw it out the window.”

“WHAT the hell are you talking about.”

Her eyes moved up a little, “Hey Miss. Lard.” I turned my head back and saw the passing neighbor, who gave me a weirded-out nod as she walked down the hall. I nodded back.

“Come here and close the door you little fun killer,” Morgan said, and I did. I got up and closed the door then stood in the middle of her living room baffled.

“What do you want Morgan.” I said my tone beyond angry. “Take the fucking asshole, take Mark. Here…” I wrestled the ring out of my finger, then threw it at her watching it settle near her feet. “Take it all…just let me live in my house.”

“I intend to,” She whined like she was being wrongfully accused of a hideous crime. “But this just wasn’t how this was supposed to go that’s all.”

“How what wasn't supposed to go.” I scorned.

“You weren’t…” She shuffled in her seat seeming to try to find the right words. “Supposed to give up this easily…”

“…I gave you what you fucking want” I shouted. “…I’m fucking humbling myself in front of you, I’m giving you the fucking green light to actually fuck my husband…Isn't this what you want.”

“I suppose…” She rolled her eyes at me, before she shrugged. “But it feels…unearned somehow,” She grimaced and threw her hands at me. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Damn right I wouldn’t get it you damn retard.

“I guess this is alright to…” She looked at me with a half-satisfied smirk. She crossed one leg over the other.

“Alright…” I said. “So will you…keep it out of my house…please.”

A wide grin made it to her face, as she looked at me, her eyes amused in savoring the moment. “That would be kinda hot wouldn’t it.”

My shoulders slouched again. No. Hot wouldn’t be the word I’d use.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said as she dangled her foot. “What would you do for me to not do it.”

Seeing my chance at trying to sway her I rushed towards her then plummeted to my knees, grabbing her dangling foot tight. “Anything. Anything you want Morgan.”

“Humm.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Like what?”

“I’ll…” I looked around her apartment as she passed the toe of her slipper lightly on my cheek. “I’ll tidy your apartment, any time you like…you call me and I’ll come here to make it spotless.”

“Huh what else.” She snickered.

“I’ll cook for you…you like my food right. I’ll be your unpaid chief.”

“That’s actually tempting, keep going.” She reclined back in her couch and crossed her feet on my left shoulder, and I heard her kick her slippers off. She was obviously enjoying this. My stomach was aching with humiliation but I didn’t care, if there was a chance to stop this sicko from keeping her games out of my house, this was it.

“I’ll do whatever you want Morgan…just name it,” I whined, running out of ideas. “I’ll wait for you here when you get out from work to give you foot rubs. I’ll do anything, I’ll be at your peck and call.” I said, hearing my tone get more and more pathetic and weak.

She nodded calmly, as she straightened herself in her seat. “Put your ring back on.”

“What…” I asked.

“Put your ring on…you’re married remember.”

“Morga—”

She withdrew her feet and launched it at my face…Hard. I tumbled to the ground, looking up at her with terror-filled eyes as I rubbed my cheek.

“Do as I say.”

I sniffled, before grabbing my ring from near her feet. I had no idea what was her intention, but I slipped the ring back on my finger.

“Now come here.” She pointed to the ground impatiently. “Put your head on the floor.”

I gulped while I looked at where she pointed. Knowing that I was about to have my head stepped on, all I could hope was that at the end of this I would be spared. I did as she said. I laid flat on my stomach, with my head between her feet, resting my cheek on the cold floor and eying her ankle. I felt her other foot on my head, her sole planted firmly on my cheek, her toes wiggling in my hair.

“Listen Mrs. Lenoir.”

I gulped at hearing my title. I started to understand her a bit better. Mrs. Lenoir. She was enjoying this. She was fucking Mr. Lenoir, and now she had her foot on top of Mrs. Lenoir’s head.

“You’re gonna do all of that…all of it,” she said, her arch flexing on my cheek, staining it with its sweat. “And you’re gonna do it, while I’m living in your house, fucking your pig of a husband. You’re gonna wait on me hand and foot, every day, and you’re gonna thank me for not throwing your ass out the street, like any other woman should have done. Got it.”

A tear finally escaped the corner of my eye as I sniffled, staring into her other foot that rested on the ground near my face, as the other one smothered my cheek harder. “Yes.” I felt every wrinkle of her sole on my cheek, as she kept still, using me as her footstool while I cried beneath her.

I slammed my car door shut and ran inside my house. I only made it to the living room before I threw myself face-first on my couch and screamed into the billow. The bitch had told me to return home and enjoy my last day of me being the woman of my own house. On the road here, I made an impulsive stop at one of the local restaurants. Reaching the end of the line, I thought that I could at least try to live that life that I was so afraid of. But as soon as I laid eyes on the waitress, and the customer giving her an earful about something, as soon as I looked at her while she stood there and took it with her eyes to the ground like a child being schooled, I knew full well I couldn’t do it. She was probably going to get blistered by her boss as well today. She took the schooling with a shut mouth, apologized then continued her work. I would’ve cried on the spot if I were her.

Kneeling on my floor now with my face buried in my couch, I tried to think of a single positive thing about this arrangement. I quickly found none, other than the fact that…it could be an upside that It was Morgan who was doing all of this to me, and no one else. I mean, if my dignity had to be trampled on by some woman, I thought it might as well be my ex-best friend right, better than some random woman to come here and ruin my life. For some reason, the fact that it was Morgan, still gave me a sense of safety, however slight.

I rushed to my feet. This was my day. I wasn’t going to spend it worrying and bemoaning, I should make use of it. I went to my kitchen, made myself a fancy dinner for one. Chicken breast with sweet and sour, I sat a couple of candles and poured some red wine, and started eating, looking out the kitchen’s window that overlooked the small garden we had. I sat there and ate in peace. The only thing that troubled my mind was that Mr. Jerk would show up any minute now from work.

I grabbed my phone, not really bothered anymore by how pathetic my actions were. I sent Morgan a message:

Hey…since this is my special day and all…can you keep the asshole busy. I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to see him today.

The response didn’t take long to arrive:

Sure…

I sat the phone down on the table with a smile on my face. I just asked another woman to keep my husband busy, and my mother always said I needed to be more open-minded.

I continued my night, leisuring around my apartment, having a cup of tea on my balcony, then ending it with a relaxing bath, during which I managed to forget about everything, just for a while. When I got out, hugging my robe to my chest, I stood in front of my bed, I dreaded the fact that I had to sleep now. I didn’t want to sleep, but I thought that, no matter how long I tried to prolong this, there was no changing the fact, that I’d wake up tomorrow, and all of this wouldn’t be just mine anymore, it would be hers, just cause she wanted to take it from me.

I tucked myself in, feeling a state of…relief, wash over me. Something I hadn’t felt in ages. There was nothing I could do, so I closed my eyes and waited for what tomorrow would bring me.

I woke up at the sound of a car driving into my garage. It was early morning. I struggled to my feet, and walked to my bedroom window, to see Mark’s car parked in front of the house. In it were Mark and Morgan. I could spot their faces from up here; she seemed excited, he seemed bothered, and hesitant. I supposed he wouldn’t believe it until he’d see it, that his wife would accept this.

They got out of the car, and while they walked towards the house, Morgan’s eyes caught mine, and she nodded towards the door, probably gesturing for me to receive her. I took a deep breath, then took a look around my room, reminding myself of why I was doing this, then went downstairs.

When I opened the door she was already at it, and the first thing I saw was her amused smirk.

“Hey Mrs. Lenoir.” She tilted her head with a childish grin on her face.

My face was still soggy and sleepy, and I couldn’t speak, so I nodded with a fake smile, gesturing her in. She walked in, dressed in her black sweatpants and white sweatshirt and black sneakers. Mark walked in behind her, avoiding to make eye contact with me, as I stared at him with instinctive dagger eyes.

“Get the rest of my luggage from the trunk.” She said casually, holding the keys of Mark’s car out to me.

I looked at her, then at him as he looked at me waiting to see my reaction, which of course, was taking the keys and going to do as I had been told. I got a big suitcase out of the trunk, and started dragging it into the house, only to lose my grip and let it fall at the door once my eyes landed on them. They were making out, right in the hall. I knew that Morgan initiated that kiss. As I watched them touch their lips together, I was surprised by how much it hurt. He was nothing to me anymore, but still. I stood there with a pathetic long face and slouched shoulders. I knew the deal, but couldn’t resist asking, “Do you guys, um…”

Morgan broke off the kiss and looked at me with amused awaiting eyes.

“Can you please at least, not do it in front of me.” My eyes looked down at her shoes, as I had no power to lift them up.

“Do what?” she said.

“…Kiss.” I said, trying not to sound aggressive at her playing stupid.

She snickered. I took a quick glance up to see her amused face and Mark’s half confused half disgusted one.

“You don’t want me to kiss your husband in front of you Mrs. Lenoir.” She said.

“Yes please.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” She warned.

I forced myself to look up.

“Go upstairs, unpack my bag, organize my clothes, then come back and make us some coffee, I don’t wanna be late for work.”

“Yes Morgan.” I nodded and grabbed the suitcase then rushed away from them, only to get a kick up my ass from her as I walked away, almost tumbling to the floor from the strength of the kick.

I heard her laugh behind me. “Chop chop wify.” She cackled.

I rubbed my sore behind as I held my tears and made my way up the stairs with her bag. I got it into my room and opened it. It didn’t have that many clothes, only a couple of pajamas and a dozen of work skirts and blazers, and some high heels and sneakers and slippers. I put each one in its place, making room beside my own clothes and shoes. I took my time with it, trying to prolong having to go down there again, but eventually, I finished the task, and walked downstairs.

Again, I was greeted with them kissing on the big leather couch. I immediately averted my eyes from the sight and walked to the kitchen. I made their coffee, while their giggles and whispers tortured my ears, then, as I knew It was expected, I took it to them, setting it at the coffee table. I almost made my way back to the stairs, determined to spend some alone time in my room, when I heard Morgan say. “Hey where you going wify.”

I froze, then turned, to see her looking into Mark’s eyes not paying me her attention. “Upstairs,” I whispered.

“Come take these sneakers off me.” She extended her foot, but still ignored me and kept her focus on Mark, who sat there like a dumb, weirded-out fool.

I swallowed whatever remained of my self-respect, and walked towards her, before kneeling at her feet and unlacing her first shoe. I took it off, then the other one, and she finally looked at me. I was about to stand up but her stare seemed to warn me not to, so I stayed there. Out of nowhere, she raised her white socked foot, and with a cackling laugh, smeared it all the way from my forehead to my chin, making me tense up in disgust. Her sock wasn’t that sweaty, but it was still a sock, a foot. Was I going to have feet rubbed in my face in my own house now! Her laughter raised noticing my disgust. “How do you feel right about now.” She said, as she wiped her foot on my face again, before she raised both her feet and started wiping them up and down on my face harshly. “Are you’re husband’s mistress’s feet smelly.”

Between my cheeks and my nose and my skin being stretched and pulled by her feet, and the tears building up in my throat, I couldn’t get a word out. My view was blocked by her feet, only giving me short glimpses of her tormenting smirk.

“Answer me wify,” she slapped my cheek lightly with the sole of her foot. “How do you feel?”

“…Horrible.”

“Pathetic?” She slapped the other cheek.

“Yes.”

“Like the most pathetic wife there ever was right?” She slapped me again, only harder.

My eyes instinctively looked at Mark, and wasn’t surprised to see that he showed no signs of remorse, no guilt, nothing. He felt nothing, seeing me get my face foot-slapped in my own house by the woman he was fucking, just because of him. He probably felt the condemnation in my eyes, cause he felt like he needed to say something, and all he could say was, “Disgusting.”

Fuck you.

Morgan gave my face a couple of more slaps, getting my face red and my cheeks stinging, before she passed her socked feet on my face a couple more times, then finally, kicked my shoulder, sending me crashing to the floor. “Go prepare my work clothes, I’ll be up in a minute.”

I didn’t need to be told that twice, as I ran away then up the stairs. I wiped my face with my wrist as I sniffled, and got one of Morgan’s uniforms out of the closet. I tried not to think about how this day would proceed. She hadn’t been in the house half an hour and she’d already got me in tears. She’d already started deliberately humiliating me. I mean who the fuck rubs her feet in another woman’s face?

I had just finished laying her clothes on the bed when she walked in. I looked at her, and she immediately started taking her clothes off. She took off her sweatshirt, then threw it at me, and I waited for her sweatpants which hit my face quickly after that. I put them in the laundry basket.

She stood in the middle of the room, with her hands on her hips, looking at me, like she was waiting for something. “Dress me up Judy come on.”

I relaxed my tensing muscles and grabbed her skirt. I kneeled in front of her, with my head facing her crotch. As she stepped into the skirt, she bumped her hips forward, bumping my face with her black panties and giggling. “That’s the pussy your husband is gonna fuck tonight.”

I could only ignore her and slid the skirt up, covering her thighs and crotch as fast as I could. I got her shirt and blazer, then put them on her.

“Black heels, and nylons.” She pointed to the closet.

I got them then got to my knees again, opening the nylons hem up so that her foot could easily get into it. She looked at me like I was the stupidest girl on the planet, before she puffed and raised her foot to her hand, taking her sock off then the other before throwing them both in my face. “Idiot.”

I blinked, trying to hold the tears in until she’d leave. She got her feet into the nylons, and I spent some time adjusting the legs until they looked perfect and smooth, before I got her heels.

I held the heel in my hand, and guided her foot inside it with the other, then did the same for the other foot. I looked up at her, and saw her tormenting gaze above me. She must’ve been savoring this moment. I would give anything to know what was the joy she had in this. What was so damn enticing about torturing your best friend.

Seeing that she didn’t move, I took a wild guess at what she could be waiting for, then leaned my head downward, until my face hovered over the tops of her feet. I pecked at her nylon-covered foot, and at the toe of her black pumps, and kept pecking, waiting for a sign to stop, only to have her nudge my face away dismissively with the toe of her shoe then leave the room whiteout a word. I felt like a piece of shit. She kicked me away like I was nothing. And I was truly nothing. What kind of woman would accept this. I stayed on the ground, my sight glued to the floor. I felt like I didn’t deserve to look up anymore.

The sound of the car’s engine running, and then the car driving away, felt like a piano had been lifted from my shoulders. Just like that, I was a free woman again. I looked around my room, reminding myself of why I was going to put up with this. I rose to my feet, then dragged myself to the bathroom. I hadn’t even washed my face yet. And I had some foot sweat to clean off.

I did my business in the bathroom, and made sure to scrub my face hard and clean. The fucking bitch. Who did she think she was, rubbing her dirty feet in my face. Making me kiss her damn shoes. She was never going to stop was she? All I could hope for now, was that this wasn’t an incrementing situation. What she’d put me through until now was humiliating enough. She couldn’t be thinking that she’d take this further.

I looked at myself in the mirror, with the water trickling from my face, as my eyes grew hopeless, as I realized that this was still day one. I sighed, grabbing my hair from around my shoulders and tying it in a short bun.

I got out, made some coffee and some crepes, before sitting with my pajamas on my leather couch, where the two fucks had been making out, then turning the TV on. I had the house for myself for at least eight hours. I didn’t feel like doing anything, I just wanted to laze around, watch my shows, and eat. I grimaced at the fact that they were going to probably call me before they come back and tell me to prepare dinner or something.

I ate my creeps in front of the TV before I got up and started doing some chores around the house. Whoever lived with me, it was still my house, and I liked it tidy. I grabbed Morgan’s shoes and went upstairs to put them in my closet beside the others. I grabbed a mob and some all-purpose-cleaner, and started mobbing my floors while listening to some music. I always danced around while I cleaned, in front of the giant wall mirror on the left wall of the living room, which I installed just to look at myself every now and then while I did chores; I liked to see my slim body at work, and since no one was praising my body anymore, my praises were pretty much all I got. I made sure to put on some happy music this time, as this was going to be my life for now. 8 hours for me, the rest for them.

Before long, my eyes looked randomly at the clock while I sat in my kitchen drinking coffee, and I frowned at seeing it was nearing 4. If they didn’t have overtime or something, they would arrive any minute.

I sat at my kitchen window, sipping on my coffee and waited, dangling my foot anxiously waiting for a message or call. It came eventually. My phone rang.

“…Hello,” I said.

‘Hey wify.” Morgan said indifferently. “We’ll be home in about 15 minutes, start on dinner.”

“…What would you like to eat?” I said as I rose up from my seat. I didn’t want to make her wait, giving her an excuse to pull something, not that she needed one.

She said casually, “…Anything from your hands is delicious love, you chose.”

I gritted my teeth. To be honest. Her treating me like a friend, like she wasn’t fucking up my life, annoyed me a hundred times more than humiliating me. “Fine.” I said, making sure to sound passive.

“Some dessert too. A big one.”

“…”

“Judy?”

“Morgan I can’t make both in fifteen minutes.”

“We’re not eating as soon as we arrive wify.” She snickered, then ended the call. I knew exactly what she meant. I started cooking dinner, which was some chicken slices with some vegetables, quick and easy. I put a cake dough in the oven and got out some ice cream to go with it.

I saw Mark’s car pull into the garage, then saw Morgan and Mark get out of it then walk to the door, they looked happy as hell, as Morgan laughed about something. He wasn’t even that funny.

The door opened, and her clicking pumps were the first thing I heard as they made their way to the living room.

“Ohh wifyyyyyy.” Morgan called, but with no real enthusiasm.

I knew if I called back I was going to shout at her, so I just walked out of the kitchen to the living room, where she sat on the couch with her legs crossed. I hated to admit it, but the sight in front of me was sexy as hell. Corporate clothes really suited her. She sat there in her black skirt and blazer, her slender legs crossed in nylons. I made sure to not let her catch me staring, and I raised my eyebrows as to ask her what she wanted.

“Shoes.” She gave her dangling foot a quick shake.

I rolled my eyes towards Mark who sat silently at the recliner then looked back at her. Unbelievable. Did she really expect me to… “You’re not serious right…do I have to put your shoes on and off for you every damn time?” I couldn’t help the aggressiveness in my tone.

Her face was unimpressed, as she passed her fingers through her black short hair. She just looked at me, her stare cold but somehow still menacing. I didn’t move. I needed to hold my ground every now and then, otherwise she would never stop making things worse for me.

However, the moment she slowly got to her feet with a sigh, I started trembling. She made her way towards me slowly, until she stood right in front of me. With her pumps, I was forced to either look at her neck or look up if I wanted to see her face. She towered above me. I felt my temperature raise as I grew nervous, and before I knew it, my head snapped abruptly to the right, then just as quickly to the left, and my cheeks stung like hell. I looked up at her again, my eyes quickly started to tear as I rubbed my red cheek. She’d slapped me, hard, twice. I wanted to cry. This was assault, was I supposed to take it with a closed mouth. She looked down at me with a faint smile and a cold pair of eyes. She knew I was vulnerable, powerless, she knew she could beat me and I had no power to do anything about it. I felt worthless. I was ready to obey her next command, but she didn’t give one, and she didn’t get back to the couch. I sunk to my knees and grabbed her foot off the floor, feeling my eyes get wetter. I slid the first pump of her foot, and the odor that erupted from her foot and heel didn’t help my suffering, as I sniffled I got a wave of her foot stench to invade my nostrils. I put the pump on the floor, then grabbed her second foot gently and removed the other one.

Her hands ruffled my hair gently like I was a pet, and my eyes could look nowhere but down at her nylon-covered feet. “Good girl…Good wify,” she said.

I sniffled, making sure not to let my eyes wander to the asshole that lounged silently on the couch.

“Dinner ready?”

“Yes,” I mumbled. “Desert needs some more time though.”

“Great.” She nudged my head away with her knee and walked to the kitchen. “Fetch my slippers and met us in the kitchen.”

I nodded eagerly and jumped to my feet then hustled up the stairs. I took a moment in my bedroom, taking deep breaths and wiping the tears from my eyes. I took her fluffy white slippers out of the closet then went back downstairs. They sat at the dinner table, her of course taking the liberty to take my usual chair across from Mark. I put her slippers near her feet, then looked up to see her not paying me any attention, but the sting was still fresh on my cheeks, and so I crawled under the table so I could reach her feet.

“You want me to take your nylons off Morgan.” I said and heard my voice come out more pathetic and weaker than I intended.

“Later.” She responded rudely.

As gently as I could, I slipped her slippers on her feet, then crawled out from under the table and started sitting up the plates.

I placed a big portion for her, then for the asshole, then a smaller one for me; I had one of these bodies that if you ate a chicken wing it would somehow gain you the calories of an elephant.

“Where’s your class Judy…” Morgan said. “Get some wine out.”

“Right away.” I nodded pathetically, and reluctantly took out a bottle of red wine from the cabinet. I rarely drank from it, and to say that I hated wasting it on those two couldn’t come close to describing it. I poured three glasses. Come to think of it, some alcohol could help me a great deal right now, so I made sure to go generous filling the cups.

I almost sat down on my chair when Morgan said looking at me, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“…Sitting?” I said, unable to resist a duh expression.

“…You eat later,” she smirked as she grabbed her fork and knife. “Masters of the house eat first.”

My shoulders slouched by themselves as I looked at her with a shocked face. I wanted to ask her if she was being serious, but the cold-hearted look on her face answered my question clearly. Before I could make any move, I heard her kick her slippers off then say, “Make yourself useful in the meantime, rub my feet.”

I took a deep breath, trying not to scream. I had a fuming look filled with hate, and I knew better than to aim it at her, so I aimed it at Mark, who avoided my stare and looked at his plate with a cough. I sank to my knees the fourth time this day, and, knowing she wouldn’t be nice enough to sit in a way that would make it more comfortable for me, I crawled under the table, bending my neck so I could fit. I put her left foot in my lap, grimacing as I felt her sweaty nylons in my fingers. A sharp stench lingered under my nose, as it erupted from her feet once I started working my thumps through her soles. I kneeled there with my head bent uncomfortably and rubbed.

“So how was work today,” I heard her say, and, like the most casual thing in the world, I saw her right foot rise from the ground and then felt it thud on my shoulder. The smell of course reached new disgusting levels, as I had her foot toying with my ear.

We were in my house, in my kitchen, and they were eating my food that I’d spent the last half an hour preparing, drinking my wine, and where was I as the woman of the house? Under the table, giving Morgan a foot rub, while she used me as her footstool. If I hadn’t cried two times already today, I would’ve cried right now. But I sucked it up, and just worked my thumps in her sweaty nylon soles.

I didn’t focus on their conversation. They talked about work, Mark threw a dumb joke every now and then, and Morgan gave one of her fake laughs sometimes, and ignored others. All the while I sat there with her foot in my hand. Then the mention of my name forced me to focus.

“Last time we had sex…” Mark said, like he was remembering the answer to Morgan’s question. “Can’t remember.”

“It has been probably ages.” Morgan giggled.

“Yeah…” Mark said, not seeming interested in the line of conversation.

“I can’t blame you,” Morgan said, making me want to get up and punch her. “I mean, who’d want to hit a body like that right.” She outright laughed.

That was such…bullshit. “My body is as in a good of a shape as yours...Even better and you know it.” I said, with a sharp tone that I immediately regretted.

Silence fell on the room. I pursed my lips in fear. I didn’t see her face as I was under the table, but I felt the coldness in the room and knew that something I wouldn’t like was coming. I took my chance and turned my head to the side, and gave the foot on my shoulder two quick kisses on the side of her ankle, before bringing the one in my lap eagerly up to my lips and kissing the top of it, feeling the sweat from the nylons stick to my lips. Morgan didn’t speak but gave my ear a gentle rub with the side of her foot, implying that I was forgiven, and I sighed with relief and went back to rubbing.

They talked for about half an hour more. This time I intently put effort into distracting my ears from whatever they were saying. I shouldn’t mouth off. I couldn’t mouth off. And I didn’t want to suck up any more insults, so I just shut my ears out, and focused on the job at hand. I raised Morgan’s foot to my eye level, staring into her sole as I thrust my thumps into it. For a moment there, I felt at peace, as the ordeal proved to be as relaxing to me as it was to her. I entered a sensual state, where all that mattered was that I drive the tension out of the foot in my hand.  I really gave it all my focus and effort, and it apparently showed, as I heard Morgan suddenly sigh from above me. “Geee Judy…” I saw her lower body recline backward, resting against the back of her seat. “You’re good at this.”

It shamed me to say, that I blushed with pride. I liked that she thought I was doing a great job. But then I remembered all the recent events of my ruined life, my stolen home, and that I was slaving away at the feet of the woman who’d stolen it, and my shoulders instinctively slouched as a wave of shame and desperation washed over me. I hate my life.

“Hey.” She pulled her foot from between my hands and toke her other foot off my shoulder, before kicking my thigh lightly. “Get from under there, you can eat now.”

With my face red with shame, I crawled from under my dinner table, like a rat out of its hole, then took my seat, without looking at either one of them. I was finally allowed to eat the fucking food I cooked. “Thanks,” I said despite myself.

“You’re welcome,” she said indifferently, before, with her face as casual as ever, she pushed her chair back, then threw her feet on the table, crossing them at the ankle, and started scrolling on her phone.

My furious eyes darted between the soles of her nyloned feet and my plate. Sure, when she was eating, she had me rub her fucking feet, but now that it was little wifey’s time to eat, she was gonna do it with the woman of the house’s feet right in her face, cause fuck wify right.

I took a deep breath before I swallowed my anger and swears, then snatched my fork and knife. I looked at the food as I sliced the first bite of the now cold chicken. I loved cooking, and I loved savoring the taste of what I eat, but instead of eating this delicious meal while it was hot and steamy, I was going to eat it cold and bleak, cause Morgan wanted a foot rub.

I was going to get up and shove this in the microwave, before I decided that it would probably be safer to ask first, just to make sure I wouldn’t grant myself any more humiliations today. “Can I heat this up, please?”

She took her eyes off her phone for a second and looked at my plate, then at me, then shook her head. “It’s good enough. Don’t be choosy wifey.”

FUCK you.

I snatched my fork and knife again and started eating. Mark coughed a fake cough before getting to his feet, putting his plate in the sink then going upstairs. I didn’t know if he was uncomfortable with what was going on or if he just wanted to go, and I didn’t care.

I looked at the plate one last time. The sight wasn’t the least bit appetizing, but I was hungry. The faster I’d eat it the better. Given that I had served myself a small plate, I finished fast, then reclined in my seat. I looked at her silently as she scrolled on her phone and shook her foot on my dinner table.

For a second there I saw my friend. When she wasn’t humiliating me or slapping me or stepping on me, she was back to the woman I once knew, even for just a couple of seconds.

“Desert ready yet,” She said without moving her eyes from her phone.

“I guess.” I stood then crouched beside the oven and opened it. “Yes…it’s ready…I’ll fix you a plate.” I took the plate out, sliced a generous piece, then put it on her plate, then topped it with some vanilla ice cream from the fridge.

I sat the plate beside her feet, only to see her push it with her heel, sliding it to my side of the table. “What?” I said.

“Not that hungry…you eat for now,” she said, her eyes still on her phone.

I chuckled despite myself. “Morgan…I ate enough…come on you know how I am.”

“…come on girl, spoil yourself.” She looked at me with a faint smile. “Eat.”

What was she on about? She knew how my body was, she knew I didn’t eat dessert that was that dense. Why was she caring whether I ate or not all of the sudden? “Morgan I’m good.” I snickered nervously.

She looked up at the ceiling with obvious annoyance, before she slammed her phone on her lap and looked at me with one raised eyebrow like I was the one throwing a fit over nothing. “Eat it…now…or you’ll eat it from the damn floor later.”

Fuck that…this wasn’t of her goddamn business. This was probably a small thing to fret over after everything that happened, but it still fumed me beyond belief. It made no sense. She was going to control what enters my mouth now! “Morgan…I’m full,” I tried to say with a tone full of conviction but it came out all shaky and pathetic. “I don’t want to eat…don’t I have a say in that at least.”

She looked away with a smile, but her eyes betrayed her anger before she swung her feet from the table and stood. She stood in front of me, then, very slowly, took hold of the plate, then angled it sharply down, letting all its content slide then fall, splattering on the ground. I looked down at the cake and ice cream, a mess on my kitchen floor near her feet, with some ice cream staining the toes of her nylons.

My eyes looked upwards and saw her eyes looking down at me with the evilest smirk I’d ever seen her pull. I hated her. If I wasn’t much of a coward, I would’ve probably lunged at her fists swinging, but all I managed to do, was put as much of my harbored hate into my convicting teary eyes, and utter with a shaky voice. “Fuck you Morgan.” I was on the verge of crying. As my teary eyes held a mixture of hate and despair.

She took a deep breath and shook her head snickering, and before I knew it, she took hold of my hair with one hand, and I rushed to my feet to be able to keep up with her as she walked at a fast pace.. I wanted to shout at her to let me go, but all I could do was grab her wrist to lighten her pull on my hair as I whimpered with pain and tried to keep up with her so my hair doesn’t get pulled off.

She dragged me behind her like a lamb to the slaughter, and I didn’t even know where she was dragging me, until I heard a door open, and I felt a wave of cold air hit me, then I was walking on my pavement with trembling legs. I thought she was going to stop, but then, the horrifying realization hit me that she was dragging me out the gate.

I tried to cry out, “Morga—”

She threw me, and I couldn’t balance myself and fell on my hands and knees on the ground. I took an anxious look around and saw that I was thrown on the road. My tearful eyes watched her close the gate, then go back to my house, closing the door behind her without looking back, leaving me on the street with my pajamas and slippers. My hands immediately buried themselves under my armpits as I stood up and made my way to my fucking gate.

“Morgan,” I cried out but with the tone of a mother scolding her child. “Open the gate this isn’t funny…” I felt my neck catching cold and my calves and feet freezing. Cold night, very cold. “Morgan…” I shouted.

She couldn’t do this to me. As I got silent, fearing that some of the neighbors would hear the shouting, the gut-wrenching fear took hold of me. There was absolutely nothing forcing her to let me in. And I knew that that fuck wouldn’t stand up for me. She could keep me here until tomorrow …hell, she could never let me in if she wanted.

Her message was loud and clear. She could have me out of my house, this easily. I rubbed my palms on my upper body, as I felt hot tears rolling down my cold cheek as I looked at my home from the outside. It wasn’t even my house anymore. If it was I wouldn’t be the one standing outside its gate would I. I started mobbing silently. The only place I could go to was my mother’s, and to reach there I had to walk like this, in my pajamas, in my slippers, through the cold, for half an hour to the bus station, and I’d have to get myself a free ticket somehow. Beg for money or something. God. “Morgaaaan.” I cried, then in a moment of temporary madness grabbed the gate’s bars and shook them forward and backward, hearing the sound of clanking steel erupt through the whole neighborhood. “Open the fucking gate…”

Hearing the sound of salvation, I skiped to the intercom as soon as I’d heard its noise. “Morgan…you there,” I sniffled with hope.

“…You’re gonna do as you’re told?”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck you want?” I whined with desperation as the cold started making it’s way into my bones. “Just let me in…I’ll do anything you want Morgan please.”

“What’s the first thing you gonna do when you step in the house.”

“Morgan please—”

“Answer.”

“I’m gonna eat the dessert.”

“Before that.”

“Wha…” my eyes darted everywhere as I tried to figure out what the hell she was talking about. “Whatever you want Morgan.”

“We already established that…but what you gonna do first of all, after I generously, kindly, forgive you for what you did and let you inside your house again.” She teased. She had to be enjoying this, tormenting me while I stood outside in the cold, ready to do whatever she ordered.

“…I’m gonna…thank you…?” I said.

“Outta girl.” She laughed.

The gate buzzed, and I shoved it open, running towards the door. It opened before I got there and Morgan stood at it with her hands on her hips. I collapsed at my doorstep, throwing myself at the ground, I wrapped my arms around her calves and leaned eagerly down till my face rested against the tops of her stockinged feet. I started kissing like my life depended on it. I pecked at her feet, quickly and forcefully, hitting my face at the top of her feet and toes like a chicken picking up food from the floor.

Morgan wiggled her toes under my lips. “That’s it,” she gave a relaxed sigh. “Grovel. Thank me for letting you into your own house.”

“Thanks Morgan,” I whined eagerly as I laid another kiss. “Thank you.”

“You barely lasted ten minutes, I was planning to keep you there for like two to three hours,” she said. “But, your pathetic shouting and whining made me feel sorry for you.” She caressed the side of her foot on my cheek. “But you can’t rely on my kindness every time you hear.” She nudged my head with her foot, and I reacted by grabbing that foot and kissing her sole.

“Yes…” I mumbled between kisses. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

Her feet shuffled as she laughed above me. “Outta girl…” she kicked my face away from her feet. “Okay…stand up.” She actually offered me her hand, and I took it, raising up to my feet. We stood awfully close, and I aimed my eyes down looking at her chest. Her finger got under my chin and she guided me to look up, to meet her eyes. Her mouth curled into an amused smirk, as she forced me to stare into her tormenting brown eyes.

I hated her, with every fiber in my body I loathed her, and I was powerless to do anything about it. She kept me here standing in the cold just to prove the point, that I was beneath her, under her mercy, and she could do pretty much anything she wanted to me, and I’d have to thank her for it.

“You learned your lesson.” She nodded her head, giving me a sympathetic look, like I was stupid.

I rubbed my palms on my cold arms, praying she’d let me enter the damn house as soon as possible. Her point was already ingrained in my head, but that looked like it wasn’t enough for her. “Yes.” I looked at her smile as it widened.

She gave a final affirmative nod before she tilted her head slightly, and I saw her lips and cheeks move around, before she pursed her lips, and fired a thick spit that splashed on my forehead. I closed my eyes in shock, as all my muscles tensed at once.

“Open your eyes.” She snickered.

I took a deep breath as I shivered with anger, as I felt her spit slowly trail down my face. I opened my eyes again, and her face only turned more tormenting. I held my hands at my sides, deciding against trying to wipe her spit. She’d probably not let me. All I could do was stand there and look at her as she tortured me.

“You have a problem with that,” she said. “You have a problem with me spitting in your pretty face.”

“No.” I said coldly, as I tried not to show any defiance with my tone or my gaze.

“No?” she tilted her head like she was confused. “You don’t have a problem with me…disrespecting you…” she slapped me playfully. “humiliating you in your own home…” she kept slapping me around lightly. “eating your food drinking your wine lounging in your living…the woman sleeping with your husband.” She slapped me again, only harder making my face abruptly turn. “You don’t have a problem with that wify.”

I held a hand to my stinging red cheek, and I stayed there with slouched shoulders. I was determined I wasn’t going to show any more tears, or at least not in front of her, not while she stood with her face inches away from mine. But it was all too much. Her tormenting eyes, the stinging of her slap on my cheek, her spit still trailing down my brow, forced my throat to shrink wet and my eyes to turn red and tear. I sniffled, then whined, “No.”

She puffed, then finally stepped to the side and ushered me in. “Then come on in, welcome home Mrs. Lenoir.”

I walked in slowly, trying to hold off a waterfall of tears. I just mobbed with my face red, breaking in a little with each step I took inside. I got a glimpse of her from the corner of my eye. Her smirk wavered, the amused look on her face slightly turned worried. She closed the door.

And not forgetting my next task, I made my way to the kitchen, all the way sobbing until I collapsed there near where the cake and ice cream lay a mess on the kitchen wooden floor. I heard her light footsteps behind me, then I saw her make her way and lean against the kitchen counter.

I decided against taking the liberty to get a spoon and decided to eat with my hand. With me now walling and my tears still streaming down, I grabbed the first handful when I saw Morgan storm towards me, her face angry.

“Fuck this.” She scooped up the cake. “Fucking unbelievable.” She opened the trash door violently then threw the food inside it, then kicked it slamming it shut. Having no idea why she did so I knelt there and just looked up at her as she looked down at me with fuming eyes. She looked agitated beyond belief. The tears stopped streaming as I froze there with my face baffled.

“You’re a fucking cry baby you know that,” she snapped as she washed her hands. She dried them, then stormed to the living room.

What the fuck did I do now. She’s insane. Fucking insane. A psychopath. Some people were good, some were bad, cruel, evil. I had no doubt about which one Morgan was. But never, in my 30+ years, did I find a woman get angry at her victim for…for what? Was she fucking surprised that I was miserable because of what she’d been putting me through? Did she expect me to take it with a straight face?

I watched her as she lay on the couch, with her head reclined against the backrest as she looked up at the ceiling like she was deep in thought. Yep. A psychopath.

That thought got me afraid more than ever. I was already trembling at the thought of what humiliating ordeals she’d put me through. But the possibility that I was under the mercy of a woman who was mentally unstable terrified me. Forget about humiliating me, this bitch could put me in a hospital.

I shuffled on the ground, not daring to get off my knees. After a couple of minutes, I heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Aren’t you coming honey?” His voice made me gag.

She responded without moving her head. “No.”

“Wh—” he stepped to the living room, and I watched him walk with his upper body bare. “I was waiting for you you said I’d get some tonight come on.”

She snapped her head to the side and spat, “Shit fuck Mark I’m not in the mood. Just go to sleep, you’ve got a meeting tomorrow remember.”

He slouched his shoulders with a huff, then turned. His eyes momentarily met mine, but he didn’t stop, didn’t seem surprised to see me there kneeling on the smudgy floor; why would he. “Fine, whatever.” He made his way up the stairs.

After a couple more minutes, I crept my way up the chair silently, then wiped the mess off my wet face, making sure to wipe that damn spit off with it, then waited for her to say something. But as minutes went by, she stayed silent, not a beep. After some more time, I felt safe enough to ask her if I could go to my room.

“Morgan…”

She didn’t answer, but looked my way and gave her head a slight shake.

“Can I…go to my room?” I said in a low voice.

“Which room is that Judy,”

I knew what she meant. I was already planning to sleep in the extra room from now on. “The extra one.”

She gave an affirmative nod to my answer before she said. “Come here a minute,” She patted the couch. “Come sit here.”

I nodded weakly then walked towards her. I sat as she shuffled around trying to find a comfortable position, then leaned her elbow on the backrest while adjusting her body towards me.

Trying not to think about how it felt weird to sit beside her, I just looked at her gaze. She wasn’t smiling, she looked normal, for once. She looked like she was still thinking things over, as her eyes slightly narrowed at me.

I didn’t know what she wanted so I just waited for her to start.

“You…” she sighed. “You planning to cry through the whole thing.”

It was my crying that had angered her. “No…I just…got a bit sad that’s all.”

“A bit sad!” she threw her arms. “Judy that was a mental breakdown you had…what the fuck.”

What the fuck. I didn’t hide my confusion. “What the hell did you expect. Maybe this is news to you, but people break down sometimes when their life is being ruined.” I spat and sat on one leg so I could face her. “Normal people at least.”

“Well. Knock it off please.” She inclined her head and nodded aggressively. “You’re ruining this for me.”

“Knock it off!” Her absurdity made me chuckle. “Why the fuck do you care anyway…you proved to me that you don’t give a single shit about me. You’ve proved that you hate my guts, you always hated me.”

“I don’t…” she shook her head like I was talking silly. “hate you.”

“Yes you do…you say that you don’t even like him…you don’t need the house. you don’t need the money. You don’t need anything. And you’re taking it all just to have me at your feet and humiliate me. Well, congrats. You got that. You got Mrs. Lenoir under your heel.” My shouting turned to whining as I felt my eyes get wet again. “Now what the fuck do you want from me.”

“NOPE.” She rose a finger. “No fucking crying.” She lunged forward and started wiping her palms on my face. “Not a single tear.”

“Alighkjf alright.” I muffled through her palms as I pushed her off me.

“And how the fuck I’m I ruining your life…it was already ruined. In fact. If I haven’t stepped in you’d already be out the door. I let you keep your house.”

“Thank you you’re such a good friend,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Piss off,” I said, taking the chance that she was allowing me to talk normally.

“Come on really. I’m not that horrible right.” She looked at me with a childish innocent smile, like she was begging me to say yes. Guilt must be eating her alive, which was unbelievable, I was surprised by that moment to see even the slightest signs of conscience in her. I had no interest in playing her game.

“A good friend would’ve asked to fight with me in court. A good friend would’ve probably let me crash in her house for a couple of weeks or months while I figure things out. I good friend wou—”

“Yeah yeah you made your fucking point.” She reclined on the backrest aggressively with a disappointed purse of her lips.

“Jeess Morgan…” I shook my head at her. “Do you really think that you get to…what…keep me as a friend after what you’ve done.”

“Of course not,” she said. “I’m not retarded. I know you hate me. But I bet you hate Mark more right?”

“…don’t know what’s your point but…yeah. I hate him more.” I didn’t lie. Morgan was my best friend; she wasn’t my wife.

“Good.” She said, seeming half satisfied. “Now…can you just…keep it together, until I’m done with this thing.”

This thing? I narrowed my eyes in confusion. What the hell did that suppose to mean. “What do you mean…what thing?”

“This…” she threw her arms around. “It’s not gonna be forever, right?”

I wanted to punch her. I almost did but I held my fist in my lap. “You fucking cunt.”

“Hey.” She recoiled. “What?”

“You planning to leave?”

She smiled like I was stupid. “Well duh,” she said, keeping her voice down, “You expect me to stay with that jerk for the rest of my life. It’s been less than a month and I already wanna kill him. What are you stupid.”

I didn’t punch her face, but I couldn’t hold tight so I punched her arm, and she got away from me rubbing it and wincing. “Don’t do that again. Remember what I can do.”

“Fuck you…” I shouted. “You’re just delaying the inevitable, the only reason I’m keeping up with this is so I could keep my—”

“And you well…in time, I am helping you, honey, I just decided to get something out of it,” she said.

“How,” I spat. “You think you’ll convince him to give me something…no matter how much you get him to love you, he’ll never love you more than his money. That fucker is cheap.”

“Just leave it to me Judy,” she said in a comforting tone. “Trust me.”

Trus—I immediately cackled in laughter, and she frowned. “Trust who,” I said between chuckles. “You’re…you’re amazing you know that.”

“Why would I lie…huh. Believe it or not I still care about you, relatively speaking. For the time being, I just decided to care a bit more about myself. And it’s not like you have a choice. As you said, it’s either this or you are out. And I’m not gonna stay here if you act like a wailing baby all the time. So suck it up, no more break downs, and…simply, wait for me to get bored, and trust that I’ll do right by you when I do.” She extended her hand. “Deal?”

My head wrapped slowly around what I had just heard. She’d basically asked me to be her toy, let her have her fun with me, until she’d get bored, and trust that she’d do right by me afterward. My mother always said I had an eye for making good relationships. I married an asshole, and my best friend favored her sick pleasure over my well-being.

I looked at her hand and she raised her eyebrows awaiting. Did I trust her? Fuck no. But like she said, I really didn’t have much of a choice. It was either I get kicked out now, or months later. The wait was worth it. And maybe, as stupid as I felt thinking that, she still cared about me, to some degree, but did so in her own little twisted way. I mean, if she had no regard for me whatsoever, she’d have stood above me and laughed her ass off while I cried and ate that cake off the floor. I slowly reached with my hand, still looking at her suspiciously as I shook it. “Deal…bitch.” I managed a smile, and she did the same. She took a deep satisfied breath, like she’d taken something off her shoulder, then heaved to her feet. She got to the middle of the living room, walking towards the stairs, before she stopped, and turned on her heel facing me. “No more breakdowns.”

I nodded.

“And Mark’s the most horrible bastard in the house.” She rose her head at me her face awaiting.

I nodded with a smile.

“And I’m an amazing friend.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fair enough. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go fuck your husband.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.

“I hope the walls are thin enough.” She looked around.

I understood that me having to hear it was more important to her than the sex itself, and I couldn’t resist denying her the pleasure. “Actually they’re quite solid. I won’t hear a thing.” I said, gloating the point with a challenging smirk.

She looked at me with narrowed eyes and a smile. She looked like she was deciding on what to do. “You know…I was planning to have you sit in the corner of the bedroom while we have sex, even maybe at the foot of the bed.”

My smile was kicked away, replaced by a pale face. Mark didn’t mean anything to me anymore, nonetheless, the image her words created in my mind was disturbing, to say the least. Even if he weren’t my husband, I would probably be the most awkward and embarrassing moments in my life, setting there, watching two people have sex.

“Your little break down there…” she pointed to the kitchen, smiling in reaction to my scared face. “Is the only thing that saved you tonight. So…maybe later. But…” She made her way towards me slowly, as I hugged my knees to my chest in defense. I was genuinely afraid. I watched her rise her ankle to her hand behind her and slip her nylon sock off, then take a step, then slip the other one as she reached me. “Open.” She put her finger to my cheek.

I opened my mouth without a word, and she shoved both her nylons inside it, then pushed my jaw closed with her index. “Chew on them while I have sex.” She laughed at my childish frown and gave me a playful light slap on my cheek, then cat-walked her way to the stairs. “Clean the kitchen two, do the dishes. Be a responsible wify you know.” She turned her head and gave me a wink before she started climbing the stairs.

She was back in the mood it seemed. “Yes.” I muffled through the socks, making her giggle as I heard her open my bedroom room then shut it.

Her sweat tasted horrid and salty on my tongue. I was basically tasting her foot-sweat. I didn’t know how to feel about that. It took me a moment to realize how stupid I was being, and I spat the damn socks out. She’d have no clue if I was actually doing it or not. I bet it didn’t even matter to her, as long as she believed it. What was important to her was that she could have sex with a man, while his wife was sucking on her sweat-soaked nylons downstairs, doing the dishes like a good little wifey.

My mind drifted. If there was one thing this conversation had accomplished, was make me more confused. I still thought Morgan was doing all of this just to hurt me, but I just couldn’t spot hate while she had been sitting there, talking to me like we were again friends. What else could she be getting from this, if it wasn’t my misery? Was she just, having fun humiliating me, was it really that fun? Mark also seemed to be a vital part in her little scheme, but not because he was Mark, but because he was my husband. The only thing I was sure that she was being honest about, was that she despised him. He was too arrogant to see the hateful stares she gave him and the sneers at his stupid jokes, but I did, I caught her on more than one occasion. She hated him.

I gave up trying to get my head around this. I leaned forward, snatching my phone from the coffee table, and decided to ask the all-knowing.

I typed on google:

Having sex with a married man.

I got a ton of results, but nothing that relative, so I typed again:

Why did it feel good to have sex with a married man?

I typed one question after the other, every time spending some time reading the results, getting some new vocabulary to use in my next question, then changing the question.

After like ten minutes of scrolling and surfing. I typed:

Reverse Cuck fantasy.

The first result made me curious:

How to be a cuckquean.

From that point onward, every page I visited, sparked my curiosity further and blew the shit out of my mind. I couldn’t believe, that some women, had the sexual pleasure of seeing their husband’s cheat. They were actually turned on by it. Even some men, which wasn’t entirely new, as I already knew of the cuckold thing, just didn’t know what it really entailed. Appertanly, I was a cuckquean, and from the forums and responses I was reading, I was in a position that many wives and girlfriends dreamed to be in. They were either too embarrassed to bring it up with their partner, or did and got shamed for it. Among the tens of threads and comments and articles I read, I gathered what Morgan was: a cuckcake, the other woman, the homewrecker, the fucking bitch. What astonished me more, wasn’t that there were a big number of women who wanted to be cuckcakes, but that their number was so damn small in comparison with the ones who wanted to be cuckqueans. More women, married and engaged, actually wanted their partner to have sex with another woman. Some of them just wanted to hear, or just know that it was happening somehow, others wanted to be in the room, to actually be present while their man fucks another girl, and others, wanted to be humiliated, by the girl, by her partner. My fucking nightmare was these bitches’ dream. Why the hell get married if you wanna let him fuck other women?

At some point, I was about to lay an impulsive comment directed at all of them. I wrote: YOU’RE ALL SICK IN THE HEAD YOU KNOW THAT. FUCKING MARGIE IS A SACRED THIING.

I wrote It then deleted it. It was just a kink. People liked what they liked. It was hella weird, creepy even, but to be honest I couldn’t judge them on it, as I didn’t want to be judged on my fucking lack of bone now. All I needed to do was get the fuck outta here and get a damn job, by I was too much of a coward to do that. It was like the outside world had been a scary jungle for me, it had always been like that.

To be honest, I would rather be a true cuckquean instead of having this forced on me. Maybe I could enjoy it somehow. Don’t be ridiculous. I huffed then got to my feet, remembering to put the socks in my pocket as I walked towards the kitchen.

I started doing the dishes, hopefully using them as a distraction. But it didn’t distract shit, but made my mind free to wander about it more. I wanted to know more, the curiosity was eating me from the inside. I was already in the situation, whether I liked it or not I was already a cuck. Maybe there was a chance for me to get something out of it. To turn this nightmare around. To be a happy cuckquean. I let the water run and walked to the couch, grabbed my phone then got back. I kept my phone on the counter beside the sink and continued doing dishes, all the while reading, and scrolling every now and then.

I entered one discussion, where one girl commented:

To me, it’s about submission. This girl, my cuckcake, she’s gorgeous, like you wouldn’t believe. She’s fit, and with long blonde hair, and she’s so confident. When I kneel in front of her, it feels right, I feel like I’m supposed to give my BF up for her, like it’s her right to have him whenever she pleases. And she doesn’t shy from showing all of the differences between us. I think it’s safe to say, that all the time begging my boyfriend to try this thing is finally paying off. Wish me luck guys. Smooches.

I puffed, as I shook my head. This girl obviously had some self-worth problems, just channeling them into her kink. She felt undeserving of her boyfriend and she enjoyed watching him get what he deserved from this ‘better’ girl. I felt sorry for her really.

Morgan wasn’t better than me. We were equals. I was attractive, beautiful, funny, smart…okay not smart, but not stupid. My 62% in college didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t a detriment to anything. Morgan wasn’t better than me. Mark was the asshole, and she was an operationist bitch who preferred satisfying her eager pussy over her friend.

I rubbed the sponge harder into the plate I was washing with irritation. Then continued reading through the forms. One girl said it was more about the humiliation than anything else for her. She said she and her husband were kinky since the first day of marriage. She loved when he treated her like he owned her, like she was his bitch or slut. And to them, cuckqueaning was a recent discovery. He had brought up the idea of, and she immediately ‘fell in love with it.’ she wrote:

For me, I’ve never felt as humiliated as the day he’d brought her up to the house the first time. They made out right in front of me. The girl he brought didn’t understand how I could let this happen, and she didn’t try to hide her disgust in me. She was so mean. John really knows how to pick them.

One comment after another, I read how tons of women indulged in their fantasy or how they hoped that they’d get to someday. I found myself slowly understanding their point, I saw what they got from it. But I still saw no way of me becoming like them. I was being forced into this thing. But I couldn’t deny, that right now, if a genie popped down, I’d ask her to give me this sick fantasy…actually, if I had one wish I would probably ask for my house back.

I knew my mind couldn’t wrap itself around all of this in one night, so I finally put my phone back in my pocket, then dried my hands after I’ve finished with the dishes, then walked to my couch.

I couldn’t enjoy it now. But, where was the harm in trying? I mean, it was a kink for a reason right, all of these women were getting something out of it and I wanted to know what, I needed to know.

I continued scrubbing the dishes with my mind already made. Seeing a small step I could take in the right direction, I grabbed Morgan’s nylons from my pocket and looked at them for a bit. It was like they were taunting me from my palm. They seemed a bit wet, from my saliva and probably from Morgan’s foot sweat. If I was going to do this, I would probably start by actually obeying Morgan’s orders. I took a deep breath, preparing my mind and tongue for the stinging taste, before I opened my mouth wide, then shoving the nylons in, then closing it shut. They still tasted salty, and horrible. But I needed to suck it up, cause they were Morgan’s, they were the nylons of the true woman of the house.

That night had ended uneventfully. I finished the dishes and watched some TV, hearing my bedroom door open a couple of times, as Morgan or Mark made trips to the bathroom then got back. I spent hours just lounging around my living room, all the while sucking the sweat out of Morgan’s nylons.

I decided to call it a night, seeing that they’d probably slept. I made my way up the stairs, and immediately found a below and a small mattress at my bedrooms door, with some blankets. I grabbed them and went to my new room. It was empty, except for a small bedside table and a patio chair. It was the room that was supposed to be for our kids. For some reason, the memory didn’t even bother me anymore. All my plans had been fucked up. But to be honest, getting children with that asshole wasn’t going to be the best thing, it was good that I knew who he really was now, and not ten years later. And if he was doing this to me now, there was no saying that a couple of children shared between us would stop him.

I laid my stuff on the ground and rested on the mattress, finally able to rest after a long and fucked up day. I let my eyes wander at the moon through the window, then I closed them, trying to sleep.

But then I jumped to my ass, with a frown on my face, I realized that I’ve still got the nylons in my mouth. It was like I didn’t even notice them anymore. I inserted my fingers into my mouth and took them out, moving my tong around my dry throat, and stretching my sore jaw.

They looked clean, they tasted clean. Not a single ounce of sweat could be extracted from them. I tried not to think about the idea that I’d just used my mouth like a washing machine for Morgan’s sweaty nylons. I’d actually cleaned them, and gulped their sweat, Morgan’s foot sweat, down my throat, all of it. But it was alright, it was only Morgan’s right. If cleaning one’s socks with your mouth didn’t prove they were at least a bit better than you, I didn’t know what would.

I laid the socks on the patio chair, not wanting them to get dirty with the dusty floor, and I laid on my bed again. I wasn’t afraid anymore. For some reason, I felt like I was in good hands. For once, I slept like a baby, not fearing the next day.

Few Days Later

The week preceded, and I went on day by day with a fresh mentality. Every day, I’d be the first one to wake up. I would freshen up in the extra bathroom, then make my way downstairs and make coffee and breakfast. Not for me, but for Morgan and the asshole. The first time I did that, Morgan made her way down the stairs, then halted at the kitchen once she saw the sight. Her shocked sleepy face slowly turned to lazy amusement. She loved it. And I smiled as we exchanged good morning.

Then they’d have breakfast, while I either sat in the living room scrolling on my phone, unless Morgan wanted something, like a coffee rifle or extra salt or water. I’d leap to my feet and hurdle to the kitchen as she looked at me with an amused smirk as I served her whatever she wanted. She’d say, “Good wify.” And I would node then go back to my couch.

It wasn’t easy for me. I still hated what was happening, but all the while I told myself, it was alright, she was the better woman, she was the woman of the house. I didn’t actually believe it, but telling myself that, always seemed to dim my agitation or sadness or whatever bad feeling I had. I’d tell myself, that Morgan deserved everything she was taking from me. She was more worthy of it. And I lived by that belief, at least for now.

Mark almost hated the arrangement as much as I did; the fuck really didn’t want me there. He barely talked to me...he never talked to me actually. When our eyes met he would look away first. I didn’t know why he wanted me out so badly. I mean, most people would love having an unpaid maid. I guess I was the walking proof of his crime. Maybe he did feel some guilt, but was too much of an asshole to do anything about it. I knew he didn’t actually love Morgan, she probably knew it. He was too much into himself to actually love anyone else.

Maybe the best moments of the day, was when Morgan gave him a hard time like she shut him off that night when he told her he wanted some. It was hilarious to see her call him out on a racist joke—he had a lot of those—a stupid belief—he had a lot of those too. I never treated him like that. I was always, kind of, submissive towards him. Not to a ridiculous extent, just...passive. I rarely refused him, I never favored my plans over his. We did what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it. And he won every argument.

Maybe that was why he left me. I was too easy, too passive, too weak for him to enjoy. But fuck him, he knew how I was when he married me. He probably wanted a woman like that so he could have his fun.

After they would finish their breakfast, Mark would already be dressed and he’d just fuck off to his job, and Morgan would go upstairs and knowing what she wanted without her having to say a word, I’d follow.

I would dress her, help her put on her make-up and perfume, put her shoes on for her. She’d ruffle my blond hair affectionately between her fingers, calling me a good girl, a good wify. Then she’d leave, and I’d say good-bye to her at the door, by bowing at her feet, and laying a kiss at the top of each shoe.

I’d spend my free 8 hours. I’d eat breakfast lunch and dinner, cause I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to enjoy a real meal while they were here. I’d do the chores and laze around in front of the TV, and of course, surf the internet, seeking to know more about my new obsession.

Day after day, my mornings and afternoons preceded the same way. Waiting on them when they wake up, seeing them off, spoiling myself in the luxury of my home, then welcoming them back. Feeling the mixture of excitement and dread inside me grow. My attitude and opinion of Mark hadn’t changed, he was still the asshole that betrayed me. But Morgan, every morning I greeted her in my kitchen, with her coffee and breakfast ready for her, the light in which I saw her in shifted, however slightly.

I guess I had only myself to blame for that, but my mind started adjusting, in a twisted way, making me see her like she was…truly above me…in a way. The countless hours I had spent waiting on her hand and foot, serving her breakfast when she woke up, dressing her up so that she looked good for her job, taking and putting her shoes on for her and giving her foot-rubs, driving all the tension off her soles, made me believe, that this was the way it should be.

One pathetic ‘yes Morgan.’ After the other, one foot-rub after the other, with every kiss I laid on her foot, she rose higher and higher in my eyes.

The nights were the most dreadful, at first, then they became the most exciting. Morgan hadn’t followed up on her threat of having me in the room while they had sex, but she didn’t let my nights go free of humiliations either. Whenever they walked up the stairs to have sex, I was instructed to stay kneeling by the bedroom’s door, and listen. I would kneel there with their moans clear and loud in my ears, and with the stinging taste of whatever Morgan had chosen to shove into my mouth that night, whether it had been her sweat-soaked gym sock, her fluffy house slipper, or a pair of stockings rolled into a ball.

Every time I would start thinking about the absurdity of my situation, I’d kick the thought back out. There was no use for me to think of my trampled dignity, my social status, my stained pride. What good was thinking about it if at the end of the day I would shut up, kneel at the door, suck on her sweat and hear her fuck my man? No, it was simpler to just kneel there, and listen to their moans, as Morgan took everything that was once mine, what was rightfully hers.

One thing that worked in helping me kick my mind into the right state, was masturbating. The first time a tingle of pleasure tickled my crotch, I took the chance and started rubbing my pussy over my panties. Even though I’d vigorously rub myself during their sex, I never managed to come before they finish. Once they stopped, I would stop, with slouched shoulders and a disappointed defeated look on my face, I’d be kneeling there with Morgan’s stockings poking out of my mouth. She’d open the door with only my night rob covering her, she’d laugh at my pathetic sight, oblivious to the fact that I had been rubbing myself, and would stoop down, forcing me to look into her eyes, then give me a playful couple of slaps on the cheek before snatching her stocking out of my mouth and say, “To your room wify.” I would stand and walk to my room, and she would cackle and walk to the bathroom.

Right now, I was waiting to greet the woman of my house at the door, as her car parked in the garage. I already had the door open, and I stood at it like a servant with my hands clapped near my crotch. She gave me a friendly smirk as she opened the door and got her slim, bare white legs over the doorframe and got out. It was night, and the only sound that rang in my ear was her black pumps clicking on my pavement as she made her way toward the house.

I took a deep breath as I did what we did every night. I grabbed her purse and took her blazer. “How was your day?”

“Fantastic.” She made her way in while I hung her blazer on the coat rack. “Dinner ready?”

“Yes.” I walked behind her before she threw herself at the couch. “Spaghetti, like you wanted.”

“Fetch me a plate…” she said as she reclined her head on the backrest. “And a glass of wine.”

I gave a mini-bow then hustled to the kitchen. I took short glances towards her as I fixed her a plate. She had her hands behind her head as she flexed her feet and crossed them at the ankles. I looked at her feet and realized she’d kicked off her plumps off herself, unbothered to wait for me to take them off for her. It hurt me to admit, that I was a bit offended; that was my job. She looked tired, beat. I put the plates in a tray and went back to her.

She took the tray and nodded down towards the ground. I got to my knees and knowing what she wanted I put her bare feet in my lab and started rubbing, unbothered by their muggy feel. The absence of nylons made her feet sweat more in those pumps. She took the liberty of resting her free foot on my shoulder. The only attention she gave me was a gentle touch from her toe on my ear, and a warm smirk every now and then when our eyes meet. She didn’t look at me that much, her eyes just looked around the house in silence. But mine didn’t leave her face. I rubbed the sweaty bare foot in my hand and kept my eyes up, gazing at her as she ate my food and drank my wine. I was no longer afraid to look at her. It didn’t feel bad, at least not as bad as it once did. She really was beautiful. Her sharp brown eyes fit perfectly with her sharp features and short tidy hair.

She was still the woman that stole from me, and still had the power to take more, she had the power to take everything. But maybe, it was her right to. We were both attractive, but that was pretty much the only thing we had in common. Some people said that the world was a jungle. I hadn’t seen it that way before but now, I thought I saw their point. Morgan was stronger than me, smarter, braver. She was a seasoned woman who took what she wanted, and I, was a little girl playing house in the safety of my home, waiting to be prayed on by someone like her. She had the right to take my house, my husband, my dignity, and I should be thankful that she didn’t throw my ass in the cold after she took them.

I still had enough of my sanity to know that all the thoughts that ran through my mind were total bullshit. But…it was so liberating to think this way. To think that what was happening to me wasn’t wrong, I shouldn’t be sad or hurt or whatever, it was the natural order. Morgan was the better woman and she’d taken my life cause she could, and was nice enough to keep me under her roof, as long as I showed her the gratitude and respect she deserved, as long as I waited on her and kissed her feet and smelt her stench, and acknowledged her as the woman of the house. As long as I accepted my place, I was safe………I liked that.

I brought up the foot I was rubbing, and laid one palm under her ankle keeping the other one on the top of her foot. I pushed my lips against her sole, unbothered by its sweat, and felt myself instinctively sucking in a deep breath, letting her stink enter through my nose freely. My eyes fluttered, feeling all my senses occupied by Morgan’s foot. Her sweaty skin stained my lips and nose with its sweat, and its cheesy stench felt sharp in my nose. The whole ordeal was horrible, disgusting, but I resisted gagging, or even showing any signs of discomfort. I was the weaker woman here, and Morgan had the right to shove her foot down my worthless throat if she wanted to. As the lower woman, it was my responsibility to put up with whatever she decided to give me.

The wiggle of her toes on my nose made me open my eyes, focusing them up. She looked at me, with a faint hint of a smile and confused but amused gaze. It wasn’t the first time that I’d kissed her foot, but the look she gave me told me that she knew that this one was different. She sensed the submission I had channeled through it.

“The fu—” the door opened, interpreting her.

We both looked at the hall as Mark made his way in. He froze for a bit when his eyes found us; he didn’t get used to this yet. He shook his head as he came and nuzzled his place on the couch beside Morgan.

Ever since this thing had started, the discomfort I received from Mark’s presence hadn’t dimmed, not one bit. He didn’t talk, he didn’t really do anything to me. Regardless, his…mere existence in the same room as me made my neck muscles tense.

“What you got for dinner today wify…” he said after giving Morgan a kiss on the cheek.

I kept rubbing Morgan’s foot in silence and didn’t bother to respond. Whatever you see in Morgan’s plate you fuck-tard. I knew he was trying to go with the flow, talk to me like Morgan talked to me. But he calling me that made me see him more repulsive than ever. It was like he was boasting his disgusting betrayal.

I felt his boot nudge my thigh, “I’m talking to you here?”

My white face turned red as I snapped towards him and hissed. “Don’t fucking touch me cunt.”

He recoiled back, and Morgan looked at me with a surprised smile, before she started cackling, laughing her ass off as her eyes darted between him and me. She put the tray to her side as she tried to control herself.

She noticed Mark looking at her expectantly like he was waiting to see what she’d do. “What…” she snickered. “You heard her…don’t fucking touch her you cunt.” She said and chuckled more.

He frowned, looked at us both, then stood up. “Whatever…” he walked to the kitchen to fix himself a plate.

An hour went by, while I stayed working my thumps into Morgan’s feet while she and Mark chatted. Morgan’s attention was split between whatever Mark was talking about and me. I didn’t like the look in her eyes so much. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, looking like she was deciding on something. The sole of the foot she was resting on my shoulder caressed my cheek gently.

I recalled that I had sensed a bit of boredom when I first saw her resting on the couch. That made me nervous. When Morgan was bored, she would most likely find a way to have fun soon.

When their chattering died down, I saw Morgan’s hand slowly slide up Mark’s thigh, slowly making its way to his crotch. I winced with him as she abruptly gripped his dick forcefully. “You feel like getting some sailor.”

He groaned before he managed to say, “Always.”

I didn’t get time to adjust, as she pushed me firmly with her foot, then stood up, pulling Mark up by his tie. I was prepared to see them off to their bedroom, but Morgan’s hand took hold of my hair. I winced as she pulled me. Not wanting to feel my scalp burn, I started crawling after her as she dragged me by the hair and Mark by his tie. I tried to get to my feet, but she just pushed my head down, so I kept crawling. The stairs were the most difficult to crawl on, as I winced every time Morgan took a step up before I managed to scramble up to her level.

My chest went numb as she dragged me into my bedroom. “Morgan…”

“Hush…wify…no talking.” She let go of my hair with a thud. I looked up at her as she swung Mark and threw him on the bed.

I gulped as she stood in front of me. I gazed up at her.

“Undress me.”

“Morgan—” Her palm stung on my cheek. She was breathing heavily, ready to go, and she had no time for my bullshit. I nodded and raised my hands, then inserted my fingers between her skirt and her waist, then pushed them down. I yelped as she took hold of my hair and pulled me closer, pushing my face harshly into her moist panties. “See that.”

I opened my eyes to only see the blurry black pattern of her thong, feeling its moist on my nose and mouth. “This is the pussy your husband chose over yours.”

I winced as her grip tightened around my hair.

“Kiss it.”

I kissed, hardly able to move my squashed lips.

“Kiss the pussy your husband fucks.”

My kisses started getting sloppy as I started slobbering over her panties. She was using me to warm her up like I was a sex toy for her pleasure. I was. She ruined my life for her pleasure.

“Take my panties off,” she slapped the back of my head.

I hurried to obey, grabbing her panties awkwardly and sliding them down to her ankles, feeling my breathing grow fast and my heart pumping hard in my chest as her pussy was revealed inches away from my eyes. I felt its warmth erupt on my lips. My eyes glittered at the sight of her pink clean flesh, as her lips shined with a thin layer of her juices. I wasn’t a lesbian, but the sight made my mouth water more than Mark’s cock ever could. I heard a snicker above me. “Look Mr Lenoir, look how Mrs. Lenoir ogles my pussy.” She talked to him while he took his shirt and pants off.

As if a gentle hand was pushing the back of my head, I leaned in with my mouth gaping, eager for a kiss of her superior pussy. But she pushed a firm finger against my forehead, holding me in place. “Oh my…” she laughed. “You’re practically drooling…you wanna kiss it wify…you wanna lick it, you wanna warm up my pussy for your husband’s dick…”

“Yes please…” the words came out by themselves, shocking me. “I wanna kiss your superior pussy Morgan.” I moaned as I felt my own crotch getting moist, wetting my panties under my pajamas.

She snickered. “Superior pussy…I like that.” She said before she wrapped her fingers around my hair, yanking it back making me yelp and look up as she leaned forward to look me in the eye. As I winced in her grip, I saw her purse her lips and suck her cheeks in. I managed to close my eyes and shrink my face before she fired her thick spit straight in my face. “In your dreams, cuck.”

My shoulders slouched. I was actually disappointed that she’d found me unworthy of her, unworthy of pleasuring her. Getting rejected like that made me feel more worthless than everything she’d put me through this far.

“Don’t seem so disappointed.” Her tone was caring but sarcastic. “This superior…” she was cut off by her own snicker. “…Pussy, isn’t made for cucks tongues to slobber over.” She stroked my cheek with her gentle hand. “You wanna know where your tongue belongs.”

I couldn’t speak, so I nodded weakly. She smiled with an animated nod, then walked, dragging me by the hair behind her. Mark was sitting at the foot of the bed. She made him scooch back before she pushed his back against the bed. She let go of my hair before she laid on top of him. I knelt there, with their soles facing me, his socked feet and her bare ones, as I saw her upper body shuffle above him. They started making out, the sloppy noises of their lips ringing in my ears.

“What are you waiting for wify,” her eyes looked at me from behind her shoulder, only to aim a kick to my forehead. “Make out with my feet while I make out with your husband.”

I obeyed robotically, my still drooling mouth open, my crotch dripping. I wrapped my palm around her foot, with its sole facing up, and I dove in with lips and tongue both. I heard her muffled laughter while she kissed him. I kissed along the length of her sole before my lips opened, then wrapped themselves around her big toe and sucked. The giggle she gave as a reaction to my toe-sucking made me gush.

My other hand made its way down, sneaking inside my pajama pants and panties before my fingers started rubbing against my wet lips. I gave muffled moans while I sucked harder on her toes and masturbated, with Morgan’s bubbly ass cheeks and pussy being the only thing in my sight. I hoped that my muffled moans got lost with theirs, as nothing would be more demeaning than them finding out that I was getting off on this.

As I slobbered over her feet, and as I shivered under the waves of pleasure erupting from my wet crotch, I found myself wanting the thing I’d been so afraid she’d make me do: I wanted to see her fuck him, here, now, in front of me. I wanted to see her take what was mine, while I lick her sweat off her feet like the worthless cuck she’d reduced me to.

If my pussy wasn’t leaking, I would probably be crying. An image popped into my head, as if I was watching myself from afar. A black-haired woman and a man were making out on the bed, with a blond at their feet, slobbering on the woman’s feet, and rubbing herself viciously, desperate for an orgasm. Her blond hair was messy and her white face was red with frustration and humiliation. There was only one woman in that room; I couldn’t even recognize the pathetic creature at her feet.