Later when his friend is gone, I’m allowed out of my room. The first thing he does is allow me to expel and then promptly gives me a real enema to clean the mess out of me, and replaces my plug so I can hold it and then he tells me to shower. I never know how much water he gives me because I just have to accept what he gives me, but to look down at the near-pregnant swell of my belly I have to be carrying at least four quarts, maybe five or six.

Once I’m done and dried off, it’s time to make supper for him, knowing that while he eats I’ll be beneath the table sucking him off and, later, be allowed to take my own meal on the floor.

I know he’s watching me walk to the kitchen. I feel his eyes on my belly swollen out huge, ass sealed shut with my plug. There are aspects of life with him that I’m almost growing used to — having something inside my body always being one of them, and not having control over what happens to me being another — but the things I still struggle with is the degradation of it. Bending over to pick things up off the floor to get ready to mop it and feeling my plug tugged out and his cock shoved in is one thing — the sensation, the acceptance of the way it physically feels, I can take it — but it’s the degradation of him using my body like it’s nothing and being expected to carry on completing menial tasks. Never in my life had I thought I’d be passively carrying on cooking, doing dishes, dusting furniture, scrubbing dirty floors, all while my belly is full and I’m brutally sodomized.

As I set the plate down in front of him and hear the soft clink of ceramic on the table, I hear and see him unzip his jeans slowly. Wordlessly, I move to my knees and take my place beneath the table, between his thighs, taking him into my mouth and suckling his soft cock while he eats, working to get him hard before he’s finished eating so he’s ready to put it inside me. It’s strange to me that I’m used to this, too, kneeling with a huge, sagging belly and a cock on my tongue, waiting to take it in my ass. I don’t want it but that’s not the point, he doesn’t care. He wants it and that’s all that matters. And, in a small, strange way, I want it only because I know once I endure my full belly fuck, he’ll let me empty.

Somewhere above my head, I hear his fork clatter down on the plate and I know the time has come. In my mouth, he’s hard — I’ve been successful. I crawl out from under the table automatically and hear his chair scuff on the floor as he stands, and together we get into position, me standing in front of the kitchen sink and him right behind me. I can feel him behind me, and glance down as he reaches around me and sets his plate in the sink in front of me and then pushes his pants down over his hips. I hear something plastic crinkle and I’m confused, but I know better than to look, getting started washing up the dinner dishes.

A condom wrapper is tossed on the counter beside me, and I look at it, confused. He’s never worn a condom when he fucks me — he’s never concerned about safety, only on filling and violating me as much as he possibly can, and I must have paused in my dish washing because he delivers a spank to one cheek before starting to pull my plug free of my ass.

“Pay attention.”

Unplugged, I have to focus hard on holding my enema inside me but soon his cock will replace it, helping me. I’m startled again from my task of the dishes when he reaches past me and takes the dish soap and spreads it over his latex-wrapped cock and drizzles some down the crack of my ass.

No.

He passes the dish soap back to me, and with a shaking hand I take it. He’s already pressing the thick, blunt head of his cock against my asshole, the head prying its way inside. I manage to set the soap down on the edge of the sink as I curl forward over it, gripping the edges of it, white-knuckled as I feel every veined inch of him violate my hole, the soap stinging me deep inside. If I thought I was in agony every night, it was nothing to the white hot pain I was feeling now, unable to relax my ass against the intrusion.

And I’d stopped working.

“Do the dishes,” he growls against my ear as he pulls almost all the way out of me before slamming back in. I shouldn’t react but I do, gasping audibly as I grab for a bowl in the sink and hold it under the tap with shaking fingers.

Slowly and impossibly, I start to acclimate to the pain in my body, tears streaming down my face as I struggle to focus on the task in front of me and try hard to put the abuse of my body happening behind me out of my mind. I can hear and feel my belly gurgling, heavy and hanging low like I’m so many months pregnant. In moments like this I can’t help think what an onlooker might think if they looked in the window and saw us, might assume a man is fucking his extremely pregnant wife up the ass and she’s tolerating it to please him despite the discomfort it’s causing her in her condition. I’m glad he’s never fucked my cunt or that reality might actually come true.

The cramps I am feeling are overwhelming me and I feel nauseous, like I could be sick to my stomach because of the load of water I have locked in my guts taking up space my other organs need. Still I manage to keep scrubbing the dishes, though I know I must have slowed down, as I finally become aware that he’s finished. I don’t feel his load deposit inside my hole because of the condom, but I do feel those final brutal thrusts as he holds my hips tight to unload inside of me.

Once he finishes he withdraws, and replaces my plug inside my hole. I can hear and feel the wet sound it makes, slick with lathered soap. My hole must be bubbly and sudsy from the soap as lubricant.

“Finish the dishes and then you may eat.”

I rush to finish my task because the sooner I’m done and finish eating, the sooner I may be allowed to empty myself and relieve this pressure. While I scrub the dishes, behind me he is taking out two large bowls and in one he pours water and in the other he scoops some wet homogenous food that looks like dog food and puts both bowls on the floor. I hate this so much.

With the dishes done, I sink to my knees and crawl across the kitchen to my bowls, knowing the routine for this already. He wants me to be the animal I am, less than human in every way, and he watches as I have to crouch down with my head down and ass up to reach my bowls. I start out drinking water first, just pressing my face beneath the surface and trying to drink without inhaling it, and then turn to the food and try to eat it without making a mess. It’s impossible as it always is.

Once I have finished my meal, he walks by me and swats at my soapy ass like I am his dog and walks to the back door to let me out. This is the worst part of my day, worse even than him sodomizing me as often as he does. He lets me outside, reaches down to take my plug out of my ass, and then goes back inside and locks the door.

I’ve thought of escape but where could I go? The fences back here are ten feet high and there aren’t gates, it’s fully enclosed like a prison yard. The rumble in my belly tells me I don’t have long to get somewhere to expel, and I’m up and walking as quickly as I can to the furthest side of the yard. I barely make it before I’m bent double, squatting down in the grass to let go. It’s agony, and twenty minutes later when I feel all but done, I make my way to the garden hose and turn it on, washing my hands and spraying off my food covered face before turning it on myself and washing my hole.

I’m turning off the hose when I hear Him whistle from the door and I hate that I rush over immediately. I rush because I know what the outcome will be if I don’t. Back at the door, I turn to face away from him and present him with my hole, which is what he wants, and feel him slip his fingers inside me there. He is testing to see if I might need a second enema tonight.

It seems that tonight I don’t need a second, because what comes next is the pressure of something thick on my hole that quickly penetrates me and sinks home, and I realize then it’s my plug and I must have been good enough tonight that I’ll be plugged and put to bed without additional punishment. My relief is huge.

Before I get the chance to do anything else, I feel something entering my mouth and realize he is putting my gag on from behind, forcing the dildo shaped portion into my mouth as he buckles it tight at the back of my neck. My jaw stretches to accept it and I can feel the head pressing against the back of my throat and know that by morning I will be covered in my own drool and that my lips will be dry from the gag.

I turn again and follow him inside, hands and knees as he leads me towards my crate in the mud room. It’s hot in here in the summer and cold in the winter, but it’s where he has said he keeps his pets crated overnight. I crawl into the crate, which is barely big enough for me to be inside of on my hands and knees, and feel as he closes and latches the door behind me that the bars press against the bottoms of my feet. And as he leaves and shuts the lights off, I know this is how I’ll stay for the next eight hours.