"Come with me," Lori said, heading for the bathroom, "I need someone to attend to me."
I followed.
Once again I had that feeling that his eyes were on me.
She sat on the toilet and smiled at me.
"You're liking all of this, aren't you?" she asked as if we were sitting across the table talking about our kids or what had happened at the garden club.
She got that satisfied look we all get as I heard that hissing sound of a woman relieving herself.
"Well?" she asked when I didn't answer.
I felt the blush spreading as I said, "Yes. Well, it's overwhelming but, well, yes."
She smiled and said, "I am too. I was surprised, if we're being honest, at how much."
She stopped talking for a moment, her face reddening a little, and the smell told me she was doing more than peeing.
She grinned at me and said, "does it bother you that I'm enjoying degrading you?"
I had to think about that one.
"I guess," and suddenly I started laughing. The utter absurdity of what was happening struck me hard. Here I was, standing, watching my husband's girlfriend taking a shit, naked, and having a conversation. Well, she was naked and I was in now-three-day-worn clothes, stinking of sweat and sex, semen staining my dress and caked in my hair. I couldn't stop laughing.
"What?" she asked, looking at me curiously.
"Oh," I said, kind of gasping for my breath the way you do after you've laughed that hard, "it's just the absurdity of all of this."
"Are you laughing at me?" she said, and her smile had disappeared.
"No," I said, still chuckling, "I'm laughing at
ME!
"
She smiled then, and I could see her body tense as it does when you're finishing your morning business, making that final push.
"Okay," she said, leaning back and parting her legs a little, "wipe."
I suppose I had known this was coming but I still had that little adrenaline rush deep in my belly.
When I hesitated she said, "shall I call David and tell him you refuse?"
"No," I said, pulling off a couple of feet of toilet paper, the nice quilted stuff I always sprung for, and folding it into a pad.
She smiled and said, "Good girl," as she spread her legs a bit more.
I wiped her pussy where she was wet and then, front to back as I had been taught as a girl, wiped back. After I wiped her ass I inspected the paper and when I saw the heavy brown stain dropped it into the water and pulled off another length.
When I finally had her clean she stood and went to the vanity. "Yours?" she asked, picking up a toothbrush from the little rack.
"David's," I said.
She put it back and picked up the other one. I watched as she used my toothbrush to brush her teeth.
"Go on," she said, an odd smile on her face, "make breakfast and bring it up. We'll have it in bed."
I heard her say, "a little something before breakfast?" as I headed for the kitchen.
I looked around, thinking, and got out eggs and bacon, set up the toaster, and loaded it with two English muffins cut in half. I broke a half-dozen eggs into a bowl, added a splash of milk, and began beating them with a fork, looking for that perfect color, the buttercup yellow my grandmother had taught me.
As I let the eggs come to room temperature I set the big frying pan and the flat skillet on the stove to warm.
I realized I was smiling and that made me laugh which made me smile more.
"You do know," I said to myself, "that a psychiatrist would probably diagnose you as fucking nuts, do you not?"
And, of course, I was right.
Because on some level I really had no hope of understanding, I was happy.
Tired and dirty and stinking, preparing to serve my husband and his lover breakfast in bed, I was happy.
Doing such mundane domestic things, making breakfast, moving around the kitchen in which I had prepared thousands of meals, I was happy.
Even wondering what fresh humiliation, what new degradation awaited me, I was happy.
I put six strips of bacon on the griddle and then sprayed olive oil on the frying pan. I pushed down the lever to start toasting the English muffins. As the bacon got close to being done I poured the eggs into the frying pan. I added a sprinkle of cheese as I folded the omelet, spread butter onto the muffin, and laid the crispy bacon strips on two plates, finally, I laid the omelets on the plates making I nice presentation I thought.
I put the plates, silverware, and two big glasses of orange juice on the tray and headed upstairs.
As I cleared the door she was laying back, her legs spread and knees up while my husband had his face buried between her legs.
She smiled and waved me over.
"You trained him well, honey," she said, "now feed me while he does what he does so well."
So I did. I sat the tray on the little bedside table and scooted the chair I used when I did my makeup over beside the bed.
And I fed her.
Her control was amazing. I know how good David is with his mouth and tongue, and I could see her hips rock with what he was doing, but she maintained her control, opening her mouth for a bite, chewing, and then closing her lips when I wiped them with the napkin.
When the orgasm took her I thought for an instant I was going to have to Heimlich her. I had just fed her a bite of the omelet when she gasped her release. Her eyes got big and I could see her trying to breathe as her hips bucked through a second wave of the pleasure I knew he could give her.
She coughed, though, the little ball of egg and cheese flying across the room, and gasped a deep breath.
She was into the afterglow then, though, and opened her mouth.
So I finished feeding her the breakfast I had made.
When the plate was empty she belched, not a ladylike burp either, the kind of belch a teenage boy would be proud of, and patted David on the head.
"Breakfast, baby," she said and then smiled at me, "while I get my dessert."
When he leaned back, pushing himself to sit up on his heels, his face was a mask of her love honey. It was shiny and one long white thread hung from his chin. His hair looked like he had just stepped out of the shower.
He smiled at me, a happy, sort of "good morning" smile, scooted backward until he stepped off the bed, and walked over and kissed me.
And I'll be damned, but it was a good kiss.
Her scent was thick and her taste was on his lips.
I liked them both.
"Scoot," he said, patting Lori on her big hip.
