Marriage Plan

Tom kissed Sarah goodbye, a long, passionate, post-coital kiss. He had filled her with his hot spunk just minutes before, and soon, Mark would be cleaning her. She fell back against the pillows and grinned, a triumphant, sated predator. Her mother had told her she could have it all, and she was right.

Tom tapped on Eleanor's door and put his head around the gap. “Hey, Sexy?" he said with a grin.

Eleanor had just stepped out of the shower and was standing, naked, towelling her hair. She didn't flinch. She simply smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile. She walked over to him and kissed him hard on the lips, their tongues exploring each other with a familiar intimacy.

Eleanor broke it first. "Did you hear him come up last night?" she asked, pulling back slightly.

"No," he replied. "We were both out of it pretty quickly last night."

She tapped his cheek playfully. "Guess you wore each other out, eh?"

He smiled. "I'm off. Got work to get to."

"Okay, love. Will we see you later?”

"Not sure yet," Tom said. "Sarah says she wants to see how things go with that little prick first."

"Okay, bye," Eleanor said.

He closed the door and walked downstairs. He was just about to head for the front door when he heard movement in the lounge. He crept forward and peeked through the crack in the door. Mark was there, stretching, in the ridiculous pink nightie. Tom almost laughed out loud, but clamped a hand over his mouth. He crept back the other way, toward the back door, and let himself out silently. He was under strict instructions that Mark mustn't know about him and Sarah until the time was right.

Mark sat up on the sofa and scratched his head, yawning. He remembered sitting down after he'd finished cleaning up from the party. He remembered his foot hurting from kicking the chair. He must have fallen asleep.

He looked around. The room was clean. He stood and went to the kitchen. Same in here. He sighed. At least he'd cleaned up before he'd passed out.

Mark walked to the stairs and wearily stepped up, hoping he could still get some rest on the lumpy cot he had been assigned. He walked past the master bedroom and put his ear to the door. He could hear nothing. His cock twitched in its cage, thinking of his beautiful young wife lying there on her own, perhaps dreaming of him.

"What are you doing?" came a sharp shout from up the hallway.

Eleanor was stepping out of her room. He jumped back in shock.

"I asked you a question, boy."

He didn't have an answer. Well, the one he had sounded stupid even to him: I just wanted to hear my wife snore. He just stood there with his head bowed.

She walked up to him, her eyes narrowed. "Look at you," she sneered. "I bet if you could, you'd be wanking outside her door, thinking of what you can't have."

He couldn't deny it. It was probably the truth.

"Go and have a shower. Tidy up that pigsty of a room and get dressed. I've put out some new clothes."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said quietly and went about doing as she told him.

He showered in the tiny guest bathroom. He found all his aftershaves in a corner on the floor. He shaved and put on a splash of Pi by Givenchy, his everyday work aftershave. The familiar, masculine scent made him feel more like his old self, a small, rebellious act of reclaiming his identity. He walked out of the small bathroom with a fragile smile, but he soon lost it when he found the clothes that had been put out for him.

They were exactly the same as the previous day's outfit, except that everything was a garish bubblegum pink. The other change was the shoes: pink sandals with a small, blocky heel. He slowly dressed, unable to imagine how stupid he looked. The shoes felt weird. They fit him in length, but they pushed his toes together, forcing him to walk with a mincing, unnatural gait.

Then there was the choker, pink leather.  He put it around his neck. There was a little silver heart at the front of it. He clicked it on, but it felt a little tight. He tried to unlatch it to see if there was an adjustment he could make, but as he felt the clasp, he noticed a small keyhole he hadn't seen before. The damn thing was locked on.

He took a deep breath and went downstairs to face his mother-in-law. She was in the lounge, polishing a silver vase.

She made him turn around, her gaze critical. Then she leaned in, her nose wrinkling. "What's that smell?" she asked.

"It's... It's my aftershave, Ma'am. Pi."

Her face hardened. "How dare you?” she shouted, her voice like a whip. "Little girls do not wear men's aftershave!" The slap knocked him backwards, his head ringing. "Now go upstairs and scrub it off. Every last trace."

He fled up the stairs, his heart pounding. He got back in the shower and used a harsh, floral-scented body wash, scrubbing his neck and face until his skin was raw. When he came back down, his head bowed, she was waiting for him. She grabbed a bottle of perfume from the mantelpiece and sprayed him liberally, the cloying, floral scent filling his lungs.

"That will do," she said, her voice dismissive. "Until we can get you some proper girl scent.”