The Man from Venus

**Please note that this story doesn't contain much sex. It's the idea that's supposed to be erotic. So if you're looking for a lot of explicit raunch, this ain't for you.**

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He'd vacuum their place when she was at work. And then there was the cooking, the cleaning, the washing, grocery shopping. He didn't mind any of it -- in fact, he was glad to do it. Doing her bidding was what made him the most comfortable. It was as if he were acting wholly on instinct. No masculine affectations or pretensions to get in the way of what came naturally.

He got better at cooking every day. The meals became more elaborate. He even bought a little stand for a cookbook, which he could glance at, while hovering above the vegetables and boiling pots. He had to buy an apron. She, his Mistress, didn't own one.

When the din of the vacuum or the cooking was absent, he'd put on music, or Oprah, while he dusted the furniture and folded laundry.

Grocery shopping had become a chore. Not the act itself - he enjoyed anticipating what she may like. It's just that a few weeks ago, while purchasing dishwashing gloves and fabric softener, he noticed a rather attractive cashier. He couldn't help but let his eyes linger on her. Of course, there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd approach her, or anything of that sort. But seeing her evoked unwanted fantasies, which felt sinful, as if he were betraying his mistress by fantasizing about someone else. So from then on, he had avoided that grocery store altogether, and instead opted for the next closest one which was, unfortunately, three times as far. But still, it was a small price to pay for keeping his thoughts pure.

Every other day he took a break to do some aerobics. He knew that she liked her boys slim. And just recently, he had weighed himself on the scale in the bathroom, and found, to his dismay, that he had gained a couple pounds. This was alarming. He ran a hand over his tummy. He was determined to shed those two pounds before she noticed.

In between chores, he sometimes had free time. He'd read text-books, to keep himself smart for her. But at least once a day, he'd find himself aroused, with the desire to masturbate. And he would. But not to porn. It didn't really appeal to him. Rather, he'd run a bath, sit in the tub, and amidst the bubbles, he'd masturbate with his right hand, and hold aloft a framed picture of his mistress with his left hand. It was the one in the living room atop the television. He used the same picture every day. It never failed.

She usually returned home from work late, exhausted. Sometimes she was extra late, and he couldn't help but wonder whether she was fooling around with a coworker. There was a specific one, this guy, a younger, flirty one, a good looking one, he had met him a couple times when he drove to her work to surprise her with a homemade lunch. He could swear that sometime she came home smelling of a guy's cologne. But if she was fooling around, it didn't really matter. He knew it didn't really mean anything to her. And that was the important thing.

And anyways, that just how many women are. That's how they differ from men. They're not to blame for seeking multiple partners. Sometimes she bring over some of her female friends, and they'd chat around the dining table, or they'd be playing poker, and they'd talk about guys, which celebrities are hot. They joke about some hot piece of ass on TV, and how'd they like to test drive him for an evening, see what that guy could handle. That's just how some women are. It couldn't be helped if she strayed. It wasn't even straying really, because it was just sex to her, nothing more. All the meanwhile, he'd be serving her and her friends drinks and snacks, as they laughed and drank and smoked. Sometimes they talked about him when he was in the kitchen, referring to him as his mistress' "bitch", they asked whether he'd do another guy, whether she's fooled around on the side. When he returned, she would reach behind him, as he bent over the table to replace the bowl of chips, and squeeze his ass out of appreciation. He'd yelp and blush to his ears.

But most nights, after she came home from work, she'd serve her dinner, ask her -- to the brink of annoyance -- whether she'd like this or that. She would respond in one word or less.

Later on, in the living room, she'd sit in her favorite upholstered chair, and there he'd massage her back, and then her feet, planting little kissing when he could. She'd read, or flip channels on the TV. One night, she paused for a show that had two cute guys making out. Noticing this, while rubbing her feet, he smiled. Women.

She had dropped hints before that she'd like to see him with another guy. The idea didn't really appeal to him, but that wasn't the point. Maybe he'd like it -- after all, it was well known that men are more fluid in the sexuality than women. And in any case, it would make her very pleased. It's the least he could do, considering all she did for him. Yes, it would be objectifying for him, but that never bother him.

For instance, one particular evening, as he sat on her lap, she asked him to try out his birthday present. His birthday was last week, and quite thoughtfully she had gotten him some skimpy clothes that she thought he'd look good in. With a woo-hoo! he jumped from her lap, and burst into they bedroom, where he rummaged for the present. He tried it on, and complete with shoes subtly raised to lift his ass, he pranced about the living room, pirouetting, his hand behind his head or on his hips, and she'd say things like "damn hot" and "hell yea". He felt so sexy! It was such a treat - the previous Christmas he had gotten a Cuisinart, which he greatly appreciated. But this, this was a real treat.

She was usually too tired from work on the weekdays for intense sex. Her interest was limited to either the vibrator, or having him do oral on her. Either way, when she'd finish, she'd turn away, and say "goodnight, hon". He'd be there with a tent in the sheets. Sometimes, when she'd allow it, as it was kind of annoying for her, he'd scoot down the bed, wrap his arms around one of her lovely, thick legs, cling to her, and hump it until he came. Sometimes he fell asleep that way.