Milk, or caramels, that would work.My wife watches with silent, bladed, mirth. She sees the bowl of caramels that will kill that burn sitting untouched six inches from the Bitch’s hand. She doesn’t say a thing. I catch a tiny moment of panic in her eyes as she suppresses a giggle. To laugh now would be a disaster.The Bitch storms from the room and my wife follows in her wake, giving me a grateful look as she does. She knows that this was for her, that we’ll both suffer a bit for it, but at least we’re fighting back.Together.The next night is Chicken Parmesan.I chose it on purpose because it rivets me to the stove for much of the evening. And the Bitch is a little wary of fucking with me in the kitchen now. She knows it can get her burned.She sits there watching me like a hawk. We’ll be here for a while; the sauce is complicated, all fire roasted tomatoes, sun-dried tomato puree, diced vegetables, and spices. A splash of good red wine. And a lot of garlic. I ponder that for a long. As they bent over both their breasts jiggled up and down.Jumping off the table they ran out the room, leaving Joan and Sandie.Walking towards me, they stopped did a twirl, which caused the short skirts that they were wearing, to raise up. Under the skirt they had on tiny thongs.The blouses they had on looked silk, just they way it clung to their bodies, was erotic, not so you could see through them, they just moulded themselves to the breast below. A tantalising glimpse of what lay underneath.They hurried from the room.I do remember that when the girls were little they really loved dressing up, they used to do the same thing. Parading up and down the kitchen. This is the first time that Joan has joined in. The look of happiness on her face showed how much she was enjoying joining in.“Dad it’s evening wear next” Sandie shouted from the doorway.Tracie came in wearing a very tight black bodice and a calf length chiffon skirt that flared out as she did a twirl.I have always been a sucker.
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