Work

Chapter 2

I hate the bloody Jones.

They always act as if I'm going to suddenly knock them out and set fire to their house while I dance around it chanting voodoo songs or something. Like seriously, bitch.

The Jones are a middle aged white couple that are slightly racist and extremely homophobic. The are also Christian but not normal Christian as in bat shit crazy 18th Century Christian.

Mr Jones spanks his wife sorry, did I say spanks I mean paddles the living shit out of it till she cant sit on it for the next 2 days.How do I know he does it right in front of the window in broad daylight everyone can see even the little kids playing on their street. I personally don't see anything wrong with a little BDSM but that shit stays in the bedroom. If any man so much as attempted to throw me over their leg for not cutting the crust of there damn sandwich that little cunt would not live to see another day. Plus he is heavily into humiliating her. Like hard-core, he doesn't care if it makes others uncomfortable. And lately it's been me he has been using to do it. He knows I cant leave or say anything about it or I would on the streets and, boy does he use that to his advantage.

Let me tell you what I'm talking about.

----------------------------

The Jones living room is odd. Its as if a 80 year old grandma decorate it but then her 18 years old drunk grandson moved in a wrecked everything. There are little handmade knitting on the wall flowery curtains and patterns in the kitchen and walls. An obnoxiously large comfy black chair that only Mr. Jones sits in. Medium sized hard wood coffee table. But then there are just plain gaps where there should be a painting or something. The X-box strewn on the floor is hooked up the large flat screen. And there is a giant wooden cross on the right hand side wall next to it is the 10 commandments and poster that says ''God flows through the head of the household. He is just. ''

See what I mean he is a asshole. Plus odd enough it always smelled of beer and cookies.

" Dear, would you like some to nibble on before you take the wine back " Mrs. Jones half-hearted suggested from her flowery stool positioned on the left of her husband. She looked terribly uncomfortable with her back straight like that with nothing to support it.

" What kind of question is that Mary get up and go make us some sandwiches the girl not going anywhere for a while. Don't be so rude." Mr. jones barked at her.

" Oh no thank you Mr.jon..."

"Sir."

"Sorry what?"

" Address me as Sir child Mr. Jones if far too long and I don't want you to get all muddled and tongue tied now do we, love." He cooed. He literally cooed that shit at me. Sir. Sir! If he wasn't paying for my university fees I would have skinned the bitch. And the duck knew it.

He watched smugly as I slowly unclenched my hands and teeth.

" Okay. Sir, but it really is no trouble I should really..."

"You will stay and that is final." He cut me off again. Again!

Mrs. Jones then just burst in with the sandwiches

" PB&J dear is that all right with you" she asked her husband as she placed the plates down with milk for me and beer for him.

" Well it will have to be won't it since you cant make anything else without it burning "

Poor woman.

" Thank you Mrs. Jon..."

"Mary call her Mary it's far too long and she is hardly a good Mrs." He stated towards me while patting his wife on the ass.

" She's just lucky she does anal or she would have been gone long ago. She rather flabby, you know." He said observing his wife.

By know even though I have an olive skin tone I was profusely blushing but poor Mrs. Jones was practically on the verge of fainting.

"eh, I ... Okay. Thank you Mrs.Jones for the meal"

And then I knew I fucked up cause she looked straight at me and look so panicked and the dickfuck smiled.

" Well I think it's time for you to go now Riley it seems I have to teach Mrs. Jones a lesson. " he leered.

" But... you are more than welcome to watch"

The nerve of this guy, this is abuse.

" No thank you sir, I really must get going."

As I walked out the house I could the sound of Mr. Jones telling her to count the strokes of his belt and I didn't go back.