As the day drew to a close, the woman returned home, her feet aching from hours of walking on concrete. She had a long list of chores to do, and none of them could be put off any longer. Her husband was due back soon, so she hurried to prepare his favorite meal.
She hummed softly to herself as she chopped vegetables and stirred the sauce, oblivious to the time passing by. Suddenly, she heard the front door open and slam shut. Her husband's impatient voice echoed through the house.
"Dinner's not ready yet? I'm starving!" he shouted, stomping his feet in frustration.
The woman sighed and took a deep breath. She knew he had a long day at work too, but his constant nagging was wearing thin. She turned around to face him, her eyes blazing with anger.
"Excuse me?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
Her husband's jaw dropped, surprised by her tone. He had never seen her so angry before. Without warning, she grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him closer.
"You think you can just come home and demand food when I've been on my feet all day?" she hissed. "Well, think again."
He tried to pull away from her grip, but she was stronger than she looked. She pushed him down onto his knees and began to undress him. He felt a wave of fear wash over him as he realized what she was about to do.
"Honey, please don't," he pleaded, but it was too late.
She ripped his clothes off him and tossed them aside, revealing his naked form. She climbed onto his back, positioning herself over his face. Suddenly, there was a loud gurgling sound, and she looked down to see a stream of water gushing from her vagina onto his face. She laughed maniacally as he struggled to breathe.
"This is what you get for making me angry," she said, grabbing a handful of his hair and forcing him to open his mouth.
She leaned down and stuck her tongue as far into his mouth as it would go, tasting the fear that was beginning to overwhelm him. Then, without warning, she leaned over and began to defecate on his face.
He tried to close his eyes, but she held his head firmly in place. He could feel the warm, sticky mess coating his skin, pushing into his nostrils and ears. When she was finally finished, she stood up and admired her handiwork. He was covered in a thick layer of feces, and there was nothing he could do about it.
"Now it's your turn to eat," she said, picking up a handful of her feces and stuffing it into his mouth.
She stood back and watched as he struggled to swallow the disgusting mess. She grabbed another handful and shoved it into his mouth, forcing him to chew and swallow. He could feel his stomach churning, but he couldn't vomit. She repeated this process until every last bit was gone.
Finally, she stepped back, surveying the broken man before her. "There you go, dear. Dinner's served."
