The Bitch

A portrait of the bitch, the few things he is useful for and the many things he is not.

Mary pushed the baby in his hands, laughing.

"You take care of it tonight Peter. I'm going out tonight."

He bounced little Sarah carefully in his arms. He looked at his girlfriend's laughing eyes above her twisted smile.

"Why, where are you going?" he asked, trying to sound stern, but his voice rising into a high-pitched whine instead.

Her grin broadened.

"I'm going out with Tom tonight if he finishes in time. If not with, the girls," and she winked at him then burst out laughing again at the look on his face. Her laugh was one of cruel howls, each one a shewolf's bite on his heart.

He loved her and they both knew this. He was her slave.

"Well it's only six," he said, switching tactics. "Stay for a bit, I'll cook you dinner!"

"Would you." She said it so deadpan, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that he would cook whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

She didn't even bother to look at his pleading eyes, but pulled out her phone again. She checked a text.

"No," she said, firmly. "I've got lots planned."

With the decision final, she walked off to take her shower and begin her lengthy preparations for the night.

The bitch cradled the baby and rocked her gently to sleep. The bitch was good with the baby, it was one of his uses, if not his main use, to Mary and thus his main purpose in life.

He could not say he loved Sarah, though he was fond of her. It was hard to look at her darker skin and know that it was not his that he spent his life looking after. Harder now that he knew he was being used.

He had met Mary on Tinder three months ago. She had been open about being a single Mum, with a new-born child. Peter had not minded. She wasn't so in to him. But she soon found him more and more obliging. So obliging that she had her life back. She no longer had to rely on her Mother or daycare for making work.

But he had shortcomings and anyway, did not thrill her. She stayed out. It was only then she realised how obliging he was. Like a doormat. And how head-over heels in love he was.

Things had deteriorated from there.

Now he placed the baby sleeping in the cradle. He began to work in the kitchen. He began chopping onions, garlic, ginger, to cook stock. He fetched a wine out from the cabinet that might go well with a stew.

He could hear her shower end, the pitter-patter of the feet. He turned the heat up in a bid to waft the scents through the house, but the bedroom door slammed shut.

He knew now he had to work fast. Still he set the table lovingly. He fetched the best candlebra, and lit seven tall candlesticks. He set the stew, the potatoes and the entrees delicately around. He popped the wine and filled two crystal glasses.

He had to stop once to feed the baby when it woke, but it drifted off at once.

He laid the flowerpot in the middle just as the door creaked open. It would be his last shot.

He turned to face her.

She had never looked more gorgeous to him. And it was true, she had worked wonders.

The blonde hair was held high above her pale forehead. The face was shocking in its mirthless beauty, her dark eyes arresting. The dress clung to the curves of her full breasts swelled by Motherhood, the slim body beneath and round the thick tips of the thighs. There it stopped short and her full white thighs ran down to the painted toes on strapped high-heeled platforms.

She swung the handbag in her crossed arms. "What the fuck is this?" she said. She tilted her hips and placed her hands on them.

Peter's stunned grin faltered. "I just thought I might convince you to stay for something to eat first," he said.

The fury in her stare made him drop his smile completely.

"So you broke out the best wine, used all my ingredients and best tableware for this? When I specifically told you I was going out?" Her voice had risen to a shout that shook Peter.

"Honey..."

"No!" She flicked one hand up and snapped her fingers. "You better put this all away and start learning how to eat bread and crackers for a while. Because the cost for all this is coming out of your money. And you can forget about using the car or buses for a while."

Peter felt like he was drowning. It was the first time she had referred to the money as "hers." When he had moved into her apartment there had been a mutual but unspoken agreement that she would continue her successful marketing career while he took care of domestics. He had quit his job to this end.

"Please..." he heard himself say.

"And you better believe I'm bringing him back tonight."

Peter was too stunned to initially say anything. The sleeping around had been all but actually identified, another agreement he had thought was unspokenly assumed. Now she was threatening to shove it in his face.

She whirled round and had stormed as far as the door before he spoke.

"Please don't, baby!" he yelled, actually bringing his hands together in a pleading motion.

She stopped, watching him. The fury still blazed in her eyes, but now with a hint of joyful triumph in them.

"I'll accept any other punishment, sweety," he said. The word punishment tasted dry in his throat.

She paused, calculating. She put her hands back on her hips, slowly.

"Okay," she said. "Beg me to punish you. Beg me not to fuck him in our apartment."

He swallowed. She looked so lovely to him. He didn't want her to leave angry. "Please..." he almost whispered.

"What?" she said.

"Please," he said, a little louder. "Please don't... Don't fuck him in our apartment."

"You call that begging? HA." She whirled around to leave again.

"Please, please, Mary!" he called. He had dropped to his knees so swiftly he did not know what he was doing. His hands were together and he begged her. "Please punish me. Please don't fuck him, please don't fuck him here. I love you."

Again Mary had to pause watching him. His subjugation knew no bounds.

The bitch was without dignity.

Mary walked slowly from the door to where he was kneeling at the table, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.

She looked down at him. His eyes fell from her stern gaze down over her lovely figure to her pedicured feet.

"Say his name," she said.

He looked up at her. "Tom," he said and his eyes fell to the floor.

She let a silence elapse cruelly between them. He was waiting for permission to rise.

"Your punishment," she finally said, "is that you will be right there kneeling at the door when I get back. Do you understand? Do what you need to do, to get Sarah in bed, if she wakes, see to her. Get all this put by and skip dinner yourself. But when I return. You had better be right there at the door."

She paused again. Peter could feel his heart sinking, but there was gratitude there too that she had accepted his plea.

"Do you understand?" she said, crossing her arms.

"Yes," he said.

"Look up at me when you say it. Do you understand?"

He forced himself to look up at her. He loved her so much.

"Yes Mary, I understand," he said.

"Good," she said. Then she patted his head quickly and left, the door clicking shut behind her. Peter did not move as he heard the heels clicking down the stairwell.

When she returned at five am, he had been kneeling straight for six hours.

He had drifted, but could catch no sleep in this position.

He had put everything by, debated with himself furiously about where she might be and when she might come back. He had to fight off the urge to call or text her. Right at the beginning of their relationship, she had had to ward him off calling her too much.

All this was in many ways new. Never had she commanded him quite like this. Never had his subjection to her been quite so total. He was truly her slave.

Mary was thrilled. It had been a great night out and she felt she had truly reclaimed her life with the subjugation of Peter.

She was drunk when she arrived back, her heels in on hand.

"Peee-eeter!" she called, giggling when she had almost tripped over him on entry. "I had forgotten you were there!"

He was hurt by this, as always. But she took his head lovingly in her hands. She smiled coquettishly down at him. He was so thrilled by this, looking up at her, that he grinned. She took his ears in her hands.

"Well now," she said. "I'm in the mood for a little more, big as he was."

His grin broadened, his heart lifted. He started to stand but she held his ears firmly, the smile never leaving her face.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

His smile became confused. She laughed loudly.

"Here," she said. She swung one leg over his shoulder. The tight hem of the dress pushed up over her waist.

Peter might have gasped at the fact she wasn't wearing underwear, if she hadn't pushed her glorious pussy into his face.

Despite his shock he knew what he was to do. He began sucking and kissing it immediately.

He could taste the same, almost honey like, cunt he knew well and dreamed about. But a stronger aftertaste came of unwashed sex. This was like over-salty fish-soup. She held him so tight as she fucked his face that he was forced to suck this out and to swallow it.

There was no time to cringe. He sucked hungrily, thrust his tongue up. It was humiliating but it was also the thrill of pleasing sexually someone he was madly in love with and he did not mind.

But as her pleasure threatened to make her lose control, she could no longer stand, so drunk.

She pushed him away and swung her leg back round.

He watched from his knees as she walked to the kitchen table, her dress still hiked around her waist, the ass bobbing as she walked.

She turned, looking at Peter. She pulled herself on to the kitchen table, sitting with her legs spread, her glistening cunt gaping at Peter.

"Come here," she commanded.

He crawled to her and this made her drunken-pleasure grin widen.

Her fingers were in his hair as his head came to her cunt again.

He kissed and licked like a madman, working in pure pleasure now. She clamped her thighs around his ears, holding his head so tightly he feared for his neck. He struggled to breathe, the erection hard in his pants. She pulled hard on his hair. He lapped like a dog and then with the sucking, when he thought he might die she was panting "Uh! Yes..! Yes..!" and cumming hard into his mouth again, which he swallowed as his forgotten dinner.

He was still sucking and swallowing hungrily, wanting never to get up when she shoved him with her foot on his face, gently but firmly away from her.

She passed a hand through her hair lavishly.

"You are good when you're being punished!" she said.

"Thank you," he managed, breathless.

"Get me a fucking cigarette," she said. "And then get a towel."

He was already moving off. He scrambled to his feet and got the ashtray from the kitchen cabinet. He came back to her and placed it on the table. He fetched the cigarettes from the bedroom and brought them back to her with the lighter. She took one in her mouth and watched him as he lit it.

He was about to turn for the towel when her voice stopped him.

"Did I say get off your knees?" she said.

Their eyes never leaving each other he got slowly down. As he was level with her, she blew smoke in his face like a thick genie's kiss.

She gave him a single spank to follow him to the bathroom. His heart leapt at her touch.

He was crawling out of her sight in the bathroom, struggling to pull the towel down from its shelf. This was how he knew he really loved her.

"You don't need the towel," she said as he was crawling back to her.

He paused, confused, but left it and continued towards her, like a dog.

She did not command him, but smiling seductively, she licked her lips with her red tongue.

He understood at once. He crawled on to her pussy and licked her wet cum from the inside of her white thighs. Then he lapped her cum from the table. It was salty and warm, and probably not only her own, he thought.

As he bent his head down to the floor he hesitated for the briefest second. As if only now the extent of his submission had been made apparent to him.

But her foot pushed the back of his head down to the ground and he sucked up the cum from the wood.

"Bet you're glad you cleaned that!" she said gleefully.

When he was finished licking up each patch she stood up.

"Come pup!" she said. "I need a shower and you need to wash that filthy mouth of yours."

Without looking back she walked to the bathroom. He crawled after her.

As if he wasn't there she flung the dress over her head and stepped into the shower. She brought the water scalding hot over her voluptuous naked body.

He stayed on his hands and knees, watching his wife and Mistress. But he remembered his orders. He stood, spat into the sink and began gurgling on water and brushing his teeth.

When he was finished he hesitated again. Should he wait until she was done?

She called out. "Get in!"

Excited, his erection growing, he began to throw his clothes off.

He stepped in and moved towards her. Before he knew what was happening, she had grabbed his nose fiercely and swung him against the shower wall.

He cried out in pain and confusion.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said.

"I'm sorry," he said, nasally and high-pitched.

She could not keep the amusement out of her voice. "You know that could be considered attempted rape."

She bent his nose against his face and with the other hand she took the showerhead.

"Please!" he called.

"Okay," she said. "Let's cool you off."

She put one foot on his solar plexus and let go of his nose. He breathed out. But the breath was knocked from again as she turned the shower to its lowest setting and turned the shower head on him.

It was an ice blast and he moaned as it hit him. She sprayed along his face and chest but then she turned it full force on his hard penis and balls.

He writhed and called out again. But Mary was merciless.

Soon he had lost his erection and all dignity.

After what felt like forever she turned off the shower and left it to fall on him. She left him shivering and whimpering on the shower floor. She stepped out to dry her glinting curves.

By the time he came into the bedroom Mary was already sitting up in bed writing something down in a notebook.

He stood there as if unsure what to do next. She looked up.

"Get undressed and get into bed," she ordered.

He obeyed, though he only had his towel to unfold.

"Baby," he asked as he got under the covers beside her. "Could I please... Could I please get some help? I'm so horny."

Mary set her notebook on the bedside cabinet. She snuggled comfortably down onto the bed. She switched off the light.

"Don't be ridiculous," she yawned. "I'm exhausted."

He tried to not whimper. "But please, honey. May I go and take care of myself in the bathroom," he said.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I need to... masturbate."

"Ugh!" she said. A voice of pure disgust. "No. Not in my house."

He began to speak but at once she cut him off.

"Now don't be so selfish! You've been a good boy today and if you keep it up, we'll see about that tiny pecker of yours. Until then don't ask questions about yourself. Now would you like to sleep on the floor, or would you like to spoon your girlfriend to sleep."

There was a pause before he snuggled towards her. She turned from him and he threw an arm over her. Cruelly, she pressed her soft butt against his tortured penis.

It grew stiff but he did nothing, made no movement. At last he was holding the one he loved. And with her back turned to him, breathing the gentle breath of well-earned sleep, she could not see the tears of shame and joy on his face.

The tears of the self-knowing bitch.