Libby flushed the toilet, consigning her urine, feces and the sheets of toilet paper she had absolutely shit all over to Melbourne’s sewer systems where they belonged. “You will be on a stricter diet this week Jeff,” Libby declared as she walked over to the sink and washed her hands. “And gain any more weight, and there really will be trouble. I fucking mean it, I will not have a fat husband. Is that clear Jeff?”
“Yes, of course Libby, I’ll try harder to lose the weight,” I promised. I looked at my wife as she dried her hands. “Now, how about you come to bed sweetheart? You must have had a long day?”
“I will be going to bed, but you have something to do first,” Libby said. She pointed at the toilet, with the cistern having just refilled and I looked into the bowl I had scrubbed earlier in the day. Now there were massive shit stains all over the white porcelain, courtesy of my wife’s really big and messy poo.
“The toilet cannot be left in this state, and as I had to clean the one downstairs you will be cleaning all my shit off this one.” Libby thrust the toilet brush at me. “Get on with it.”
Libby flounced out of the bathroom and to bed, as I collected the toilet cleaner from under the sink and set to work scrubbing my wife’s smelly and stubborn shit stains from the toilet. Some of the poo was very hard to remove, and the foul smells of Libby’s bowel movements filled the entire bathroom. I was too scared of Libby’s temper if I sprayed any toilet freshener around to ease Libby’s toilet smells causing her to get upset, and had to breathe through my mouth.
Continuing to clean away Libby’s shit from the porcelain, I thought about Todd. Did Libby ever sit down on the loo and take a shit in front of him? When Libby went to the toilet for a poo at work and made a mess of the toilet, would she ask Todd to clean it for her? Knowing Todd, he probably would be delighted to get some toilet paper and wipe Libby’s stinky, shitty arse for her if she demanded it, or clean her poo stains from the toilet with his bare hands.
I then thought about myself. Earlier this evening I had been spying on the teenage girl next door, getting my rocks off thinking about what she looked like on the toilet. Perhaps cleaning a dirty and smelly toilet into which my wife had shit everywhere was some sort of punishment for my perversions towards Montana?
Finishing the unpleasant task so no more of Libby’s poo remained in the toilet bowl, I went to bed. Libby was already asleep, taking up two thirds of the bed as she snored gently. Making sure not to awaken her, I slid into the remaining third of our Queen Size bed and turned off the light. What would tomorrow bring?
*
I had always enjoyed exercise even before I met Libby. I enjoyed it all the more when I first met her and we went running, swimming, cycling or worked out together. Now, I dreaded exercising with my super-fit wife. The Melbourne Friday morning was a beautiful one dawning sunny and warm, and the songs of the magpies and laughter of kookaburras filled the fresh air tinged with eucalyptus.
However, as I pounded the pavements with Libby behind me barking instructions, I wasn’t having so much fun. I didn’t have much fun when we returned either, when Libby decided we had not exercised enough and ordered me to do sit-ups, push-ups, planks and burpees with her, me feeling my wife’s acid tongue when I began to tire and couldn’t keep up with her. She called me a homosexual. Well I guess when Libby described me as a faggot — or a ‘fucking faggot who gave her the shits’ to quote my foul-mouthed wife directly – she meant homosexual rather than a bundle of sticks or a forgotten meat dish from England.
About the only redeeming point was that at least my wife — attired in a fitness top that bared her midriff and naval, shorts so short she might has well have gone out in her panties and white running shoes — looked hot as she ran along with her boobs and ponytail bouncing up and down.
After separate showers, we dressed for work and went downstairs into the kitchen. On Friday I had to go into the office to review my work with my colleagues and bosses, and have meetings and the like, so I wore a shirt, tie, trousers and shoes. I didn’t mind, at least I didn’t have a list of chores from Libby to do that day.
I sat at the table watching as Libby meticulously measured out my wheat-germ porridge, skim milk and fresh fruit, then we sat in the kitchen together barely speaking, Libby texting on her phone the whole time and ignoring me. At one time I saw the display on her phone and the name ‘Todd Patrick’. Of course Todd, who else would it be?
Libby had already gone when I left for the day, and I had timed my departure well. Walking down the road to catch her bus to high school was Montana. Only she was not alone, with her was another hot 18-year-old girl in her school uniform, in the attractive red-haired form of Montana’s best friend Bailey Baxter.
The girls shared the same height and slim figures with large breasts, but Bailey’s typical redhead fair complexion and green eyes contrasted from brunette Montana’s brown eyes and more olive complexion. Despite the difference in looks both girls had hot teenage bodies to die for, and were equally pretty facially.
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