A Husband Lies Under the Bed
There was the irritating noise of the bed springs groaning above my face but it wasn’t the only noise in the room. There also was the woman moaning from her pleasure as well heaving grunts of the man who was fucking her. Doggy-style.
How did I know this?
Because at the moment I lay under the bed staring at the man’s feet that stood apart from each other. A black man’s pair of feet, that is.
It was a king-sized bed and I lay two feet from the foot of the bed wearing nothing but my skivvies. Nothing for me to do beside hump the floor and listen to the intense sex happening inches above my head with the weight of the bed groaning inches from my skull. I breathed in the awful smell of dust and moth balls coming from the rug. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. From where I lay, I could make out legs of two pairs of chairs to my far left including that of a table. Items of clothing lay strewn across the floor. Some were mine, and the rest belonged to the real occupants of the room. The ones having themselves a good time at the expense of me being under them.
I took bizarre pleasure listening to the woman whimpered and panted with each pounding she took from her man. The sound of their bodies slamming each other amid their groans was like a clap of thunder.
The woman kept struggling to talk amid the fucking she was receiving. The smacking was rapid and non-stop.
SMACK . . . SMACK . . . SMACK . . .
“Fuck me, Tyson! Uugghhhh, fuck . . . Auuwwhhh fuck . . . Oh God, fuck the ******* . . .”
SMACK . . . SMACK . . . SMACK . . .
“Aaahhhggghhh, you mom . . . fuck it! Fuck that pussy, you fuck!”
Least you should know, the woman is actually my wife. Tyson is her lover. Has been her lover going three weeks now. That’s as long as I was aware of him; I know with Sheryl they probably go back to more than that; I keep wanting to inquire how long they’ve known each other but keep forgetting to ask. Not that she was apt to tell me. When it comes to whomever Sheryl sees behind my back (even in front of my face), she’s never bound to let me in on how they met or for whatever reason besides the fact that she craves sex the same way people crave food and in our five years of marriage I’ve never been capable of satisfying her.
Their fucking went on for what felt like a long time till I heard Sheryl beg Tyson off.
“Awwhhh . . . hold on . . . wait a minute, babe. Ohh boy, you’re gonna rip me apart one of these days,” she chuckled.
I saw Tyson’s feet leave the floor and I grunted when I felt his weight on the bed. He too laughed along with her. Neither of them seemed to care about my misery of being under the bed. To them I felt like a disposable piece of tissue. Tyson wasn’t fucking her with a condom. I’d looked around the floor but never found a torn packet yet.
“You wanna get on top then?”
Sheryl gave what sounded like a murmur of approval when he said that. There was movement on the bed from whatever position they were taking. I remained where I was like the dutiful servant I was, the same place Tyson had ordered me to go when he and Sheryl welcomed me into the room. The room we were in happened to be in a tacky motel located on Pilsbury Road not too far from the city airport. I ought to be home right now. Instead I was lying on my face inhaling dusty fumes from a rug, lying under a bed like a caught lover waiting for a chance to flee from the room, listening to the love-makings coming from my wife and her lover.
The bed began to groan and my wife’s pants and gasps arose and filled the room. I imagined that she was on top her lover riding his cock. The sound of her cries brought memories of the first time we made love. So long ago that was. Sheryl was an innocent lass then and I guess so, too, was I. Where had all that innocent gone? How come I never realized it until it was way too late?
I must have dozed off because I was startled by what sounding like someone knocking on wood. My eyes blinked themselves open and I saw Tyson’s pair of feet once again standing by the bed and this time he was kicking at the board to get my attention. He continued kicking at it until I felt just as annoyed by the noise as I was by the fact that for what felt like an hour (later I would check my watch and note that their sexual escapade with me under the bed had lasted almost forty minutes) he had kept me under the bed like an *******.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I called out.
His feet stopped kicking at the board when he heard my voice and he stepped away from the bed. “Get your ass out of there, white boy,” he said.
Using my arms, I pulled myself forward and stuck my head from underneath the bed. Tyson was standing beside the window glancing out of the curtains. He looked at me with disinterest in his eyes as I brought myself to my feet.
“Hi there, honey,” said Sheryl.
I turned around and there she lay on the bed smiling that vivacious smile of hers that I always like at me. She lay lazily on the bed with nothing but a pair of thigh-high stockings and high heels. She spread her legs to reveal to me where Tyson had ejaculated his load. He hadn’t needed a condom after all, I thought.
“Get over here and clean me up, cleaner boy,” she gestured her finger at me.
I climbed onto the bed and she spread herself open for me.
I did what I was meant to do — I ate the remains of Tyson’s cum still oozing out of my wife’s warm orifice like a boiling pot of soup while she squirmed against the onslaught of my probing tongue. I consumed her lover’s essence and lapped up whatever splattered remains there were on her thigh stockings. The whole time Tyson stood insouciantly beside the window like he couldn’t be bothered that this was now my new job, this was my new life that I was living — that of a dedicated cum cleaner.
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This story is an excerpt from an upcoming erotic novel I'm still working on titled 'Cleaners Inc.' If you want to find out more, visit my Medium page: https://medium.com/@shangoreturns
