© 2018 Jessica Mandella, used by permission, all rights reserved.
ADULT CONTENT. You must be 18+ to read.
Introduction.
Those who have read my stories know me as a peace and love Polyamory girl. This piece is different. From the start it's a solid BTB (burn the bitch) tale with strong compassion for the BTB angst.
Feminization is often seen together with tolerating a cheating wife. Here I'm isolating those two terms to opposite sides of the equation. This story stars a pissed off TransGender. It's about time we saw a TG badass on LW who refuses to be disrespected. Girl power, Hoo-raw!
You'll see supernatural elements here. Is the spiritual a metaphor for the psychological, or is the psychological a euphemism for the spiritual? I'll let you find your own answers, for here's another question.
What happens after the burn? Where does it go from there? Can a
Burn The Bitch
story have a
Happy Ever After
ending, after all? I'll give my characters the freedom to work that out for themselves. Let's find out together. Ready?
Chapter 1. Rude Awakening.
I didn't mean to remember. It just hit me. Literally. Donald Petris threw the first punch. All I did was tell him he can't date my wife. I hacked her cloud and had proof of their two-year affair. He challenged me, yelling in my face. "
Whadda ya gonna do about it, ya little bitch?
" And he hit me. I pulled back so it wasn't too bad. Then I gave him one kick in the chest that broke five of his ribs and sent him flying across my lawn. Calling 911, I asked the police to remove his ugly carcass from my front yard. I knew the security video would exonerate me. All that was no comfort, later that night, when the nightmares started.
By morning I remembered everything, including the night my dad had kept hitting me so hard my whole face got swollen. He kept screaming in my face. "
I gonna beat the girlie outta you, Montana!
" When I awoke in the hospital six days later, so long ago, I wasn't me. I was a male stereotype my dream-self put together to avoid detection as a woman. Only problem was, I had ceased to exist. Don't get me wrong. I was still in there somewhere, buried like the dreams most people forget every morning. I non-existed like that for years...until numb-nuts hit me.
Since that night's revelation, I'm awake again...a woman with a badass bitch attitude and strong enough to do something about it. I still have yet to confront Layla, my alleged wife. It's been three days. Layla has kept her distance from me. I can tell by her phone she's also kept her distance from the hospital where her dirt-bag boyfriend is.
We came into this marriage with a prenup specifying our dual incomes would be each our own. I cried when she asked for it, but I'd signed it anyway. Now I'm glad. Her acting career never took off. My patent royalties are in excess of forty million a year. I paid gift tax on all the money I gave her every quarter to support her lifestyle. She thanked me by having a miscarriage with some dude I'd never met 'til he decided to ambush me on my front step.
Maybe I should thank him. Otherwise, it could have taken me years to achieve total recall. Here I am, a transgender woman who just put her wife's two-year cheating lover in the hospital. Typical sob-story, right? The bitch is back.
And now, so is the other one. Slamming the door behind her, Layla leans back against it and crumples to the floor. Her tears are real. For once, I don't feel any compulsion to solve her problem. She finally rallies. "You bastard. You cut off all my cards and had me served with divorce papers at the spa. They forgave my tab '
for old time's sake
' and told me not to come back without a valid credit card."
Fighting the smirk spreading over my lips, I ask for clarification. "What has you upset, the divorce or the fact I'm not paying you to shit on me?"
"Both, asshole. Wait. I know I deserve it. Just tell me one thing. What the FUCK is an
optional concubine relationship agreement
?"
I take a deep breath. "It's a civil union wherein you're available to me sexually, twenty four seven, but I'm not the least bit obligated to take you up on it. It's an '
at-will
' arrangement, meaning either of us can terminate the relationship on a whim. You will, however, be subject to certain conditions while you choose to remain within said relationship."
It's starting to dawn on her that I'm not the same doormat she married. "Like what conditions?"
Nodding to acknowledge her facing reality, I go on. "You'll be wearing a GPS bracelet. If that loses touch with your biometrics, even for a moment, the marshals come to remove all your stuff to the nearest homeless shelter."
The hubris of her next comment astonishes me. "Don't ya think that's a bit harsh, honey?"
I chuckle. "Not at all. Two years ago, all I did was ask you to give me some foreplay too. You cut me off for two years now, saying I got too '
fem
' and you don't do women. You had some quack do a botch job of removing your ingrown IUD and tried to have a baby with your cheating lover. I think I've been more than patient."
"You acted like a woman, Montana, one too many times."
"When we met on line, you thought I
was
a woman, cause my avatar was. You were willing to spend the night with me before finding out I had a dick. If anything, I was more up front with you than I was with myself back then. It took a while, but what you saw is what you finally got...a woman. Since your avatar was a male troll, I should have known you were a brain dead prick who just wanted to fuck without giving me any foreplay."
She gives me her classic scornful look. "You realize how backward that sounds?"
That look doesn't win arguments for her anymore. "No, Layla, backward is the phobic bullshit from your precious '
church of the sacred building fund
'. I won't be tithing there on your behalf anymore. You want to throw a dollar in the plate, get a fucking paper route. Of course, they're voting to excommunicate you anyway, for having an unrepentant two-year affair. That's one of the places on the restraining order against numb-nuts. The pastor knows all about you."
Layla surprises me with her first glance of respect in a long time. "You got all that done in three days?"
I shrug. "Nothing compared to what the Lord got done in three days before Easter."
She shrieks. "Don't you dare mention the Bible to me!"
My dark laughter startles her. "And confuse you with the truth? Wouldn't dream of it."
In one of her classic sudden shifts, Layla sighs. "OK. I'll sign the concubine agreement. I suppose you'll expect a blowjob every night."
My shock is real. "Hell no! I don't know where that mouth has been. I don't want my junk falling off. You have to earn that privilege by six months of clean STD tests."
She sneers. "Tough talk for a woman, bitch."
I smile. "To you, it's
Ms. Bitch Ma'am
. Puma, please escort my concubine to her quarters, or to the nearest homeless shelter, her choice."
A very muscular yet voluptuous beautiful blonde reaches to take Layla's hand. "Come with me, Layla. Our Mistress is not in need of your services tonight. Would you instead prefer my assistance in moving your things to a shelter?"
"No, that won't be necessary...Puma?" Layla tilts her head.
"Yes, my name's Puma. I legally changed my name while I worked as a bouncer. Come with me. You'll live in that gigantic '
Mother In Law Apartment
' spanning the whole basement."
Layla stops walking. "Where will my mother stay when she comes?"
Puma pulls her gently to keep going. "She won't. Everyone who was complicit in your affair is listed as one of dick-wad's friends in the restraining order."
With that, the elevator door closes. I'm sure Puma will help her get settled in. They can fight over which of them gets the top bunk. I tried to hire Puma as my Administrative Assistant. She read the concubine agreement her brother drafted for Layla and told me she wanted that instead. I have two concubines...Puma and Layla. The allowance each concubine receives is several times what Puma made as a bouncer, yet far less than what Layla used to piss around.
Of course Puma isn't obligated to do anything in the bedroom. I redlined it out, making that strictly at her option. I'd never make the first move on her. Oh, but if she ever asked me, I'd put out for her in a heartbeat. She's a dreamboat. In her arms I feel so safe, so warm...so incredibly aroused. If I'm masturbating and can't get over the hump, all I have to do is imagine kissing her. I know. It's only been three days. Maybe I dreamed of her for years.
There are some big differences in Puma's agreement. I red-inked them myself without being asked. On the spot for gender, hers has checked '
other
' with a write-in '
whatever the fuck I feel like being at the moment
'. And of course I completely struck out section 24. Puma doesn't wear any electronics but her own toys...including her phone app to run my whole house.
She has a master key ring for everything in my life. Half of one of my three days was spent crying in her arms at a gay bar, telling her my story. After that, she got her whole family involved in sorting out my life. They did everything. Then their matriarch gives me her version of the '
if you ever hurt her
' speech. She said the heartbreak would kill her and I'd have her life on my conscience too, not just her daughter Puma's. What the fuck?
No worries. I could never hurt her. If Puma ever falls in love with me, it'll already be mutual. As for right now, I just need her comfort...a soft touch...a sweet, sisterly backrub. Last thing I'd ever want to do is creep her out.