Marriage Plan

Breakfast for Sarah was first on the agenda. Mark, a vision in garish pink, prepared the tray with a trembling care that was both pathetic and endearing. He carried it upstairs, the pink sandals making a soft, shuffling sound on the carpet. He knocked on the door of the master bedroom as instructed by Eleanor, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He waited until he heard a muffled, "Enter."

He walked in, trying to arrange his face into a hopeful, pleasing smile, desperate to find a happy Sarah, a Sarah who might forgive him. She was sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around her waist. She looked at him, her gaze flat and unreadable, and told him to put the tray down. He did as he was told, his movements stiff.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," she commanded, her voice devoid of warmth.

He complied, his breath catching in his throat. He heard a metallic jingle, then something cold went around one wrist, then the other. Handcuffs.

"Turn around," she ordered.

He did, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. "After your behaviour yesterday and you hanging around my bedroom door this morning," she began, her voice laced with a weary disappointment that was more cutting than any anger,” I'm not sure I trust you. I don't know what's got into you. I honestly don't. Now get on your knees and wait until I've had my breakfast. I don't want to hear a peep."

He did as he was told, sinking to his knees on the plush carpet. He looked up at her, trying to convey his remorse through his eyes. He couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. Her naked breasts were natural perfection, her nipples standing out like dark, hard bullets in the cool morning air.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" she snapped. "Look at the floor."

He dropped his gaze instantly, his face burning with shame. He was trying so hard, so desperately hard, to get back on her good side, but everything was getting away from him, slipping through his fingers like sand.

He knelt there in silence, listening to the sounds of her eating: the scrape of the fork on the plate, the delicate clink of the cup on its saucer. When she was finished, she pulled the quilt away and sat on the edge of the bed, her legs open.

"Mark, look at me."

He looked up and found himself staring directly into her swollen, slightly bruised-looking pussy.

"Come and do something you are actually quite good at," she said, her voice a low purr.

He shuffled forward on his knees, his head bowed, ready to perform his duty. She stopped him with a sharp "Ah-ah."

"Don't forget to ask," she reminded him, her voice laced with condescending amusement.

“Please, Miss Sarah," he whispered, his voice hoarse with humiliation. "Can I kiss your beautiful pussy?"

"Yes," she sighed dramatically. "But be gentle. It feels... tender this morning for some reason."

She lay back down, a small, private smile playing on her lips as her hands moved to her own nipples, pinching and teasing them. Her pathetic husband knelt between her legs, his tongue unwittingly cleaning the sexual deposits left by his best friend just hours before. He worked with a desperate, focused intensity, his tongue exploring every fold, his lips sucking gently, just as she had taught him. He could taste a slight saltiness, a different texture than usual, but in his fog of subservience, he dismissed it. He was just grateful to be allowed this intimacy, this small connection. He brought her to a slow, languid orgasm, her body shuddering, a soft moan escaping her lips.

When she was finished, she pushed his head away. She uncuffed him, the key turning in the lock with a final, dismissive click. "Take the tray down," she said, already stepping out of bed to shower.

He took the tray down and was given his daily chores by his mother-in-law: dusting, polishing, vacuuming, and, of course, another session in the cellar.

Later, after she had readied herself for the day, Sarah came downstairs. She hugged her mum, and they sat at the kitchen table, chatting and laughing like old friends. Mark came in after he had finished cleaning Sarah's room, and they carried on talking as though he wasn't there, a piece of invisible furniture. He heard Tom's name being mentioned, and he started paying attention, his ears straining.

Eleanor was telling Sarah she thought he was a good guy. Sarah agreed but said he was a bit of a ladies’ man and liked to play the field. Eleanor said, "Good luck to him, a hunk like that. It's better than getting stuck with a…", and she stopped, as though only just realising Mark was standing there, his pink p.e kit.

Sarah spoke first. "Stand in the middle of the room. I didn't get a good look at you this morning."

He did as he was told, his heart sinking.

"Turn around. Show me."

He turned slowly, his face bright red with shame.

"Mmm, very pretty," Sarah said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eleanor spoke next. Sarah and I had a discussion about your behaviour. We've decided another month is to be added to your cage and your time in the box room."

He started to argue, a desperate "But..." forming on his lips, but Sarah stood and shouted, "Silence! You will not speak until you are given permission. In fact," she said, her voice rising with frustration, "I'm tired of your constant whining."

She walked to a kitchen drawer and pulled out what looked like a black ball with a strap running through it. A ball gag.

"Get on your knees now," she commanded.

He looked at her, his eyes pleading.

"Now!" she roared.

He fell to his knees. "Open your mouth."

He did as he was told, and she shoved the ball deep into his mouth, past his teeth. She buckled the strap behind his head, and then there was a sharp click as a small padlock was clicked shut, locking it in place.

"There," she said, her voice filled with vicious satisfaction. "That should shut you the fuck up."

His eyes widened in shock as drool started to pool around his lips, trickling down his chin.

"You've spoilt it again," she told him, wagging her finger. "I was going to tell you to go and get dressed. Mum and I are going to the stores and then for dinner, and I wanted you to join us. But your behaviour is just getting worse."

Mark looked crestfallen, his head sinking to his chest.

"Damn it," said Eleanor. "I was hoping to have a drink with dinner. Now I guess I'll have to go without."

"Why should you, Mum?" Sarah said, her eyes lighting up with a cruel idea. "Just because he messes everything up? Let me think...."

"I've got an idea," chimed in Eleanor. "What about that guy, Tom? Do you think he'll give us a lift?"

"That's a great idea!" said Sarah, clapping her hands. "I'll give him a call."

Mark looked up, his heart sinking like a stone. Tom again. What is it about Tom?

He heard Sarah on the phone, her voice light and flirtatious. It was agreed. "Okay, go get ready, Mum."

Twenty minutes later, Eleanor came down, looking radiant in a silk blouse and tailored trousers. Sarah wolf-whistled. "Looking hot, Mama!"

Sarah looked down at her phone. "I just had a text. Tom's a couple of minutes away."

She looked down at Mark, who was still kneeling on the floor. "You can get down to that cellar and try and do a little more than you did yesterday."

He stayed where he was for a second, the defiance a fleeting spark in his chest.

"Get moving now," Sarah hissed, her voice dangerously low. "Or do you want me to invite Tom in to see what a pathetic person I've married?"

Mark stood slowly, his body aching, and went to the cellar. He flipped the switch on, and the single, bare bulb flickered to life, casting long, dancing shadows. The musty smell hit him like a physical blow. He was halfway down the stone stairs when the door closed behind him, and he heard the distinct, final sound of the key being turned in the lock.

He was down there for four hours. His pink clothes were filthy, his throat was dry, and he was exhausted. The ball gag was making his jaw ache, a constant, throbbing pain. He had tried the door, but as he suspected, they had locked it. He was a prisoner.

He heard laughter and footsteps on the floorboards above. They came into the kitchen, and then he heard Sarah's voice, "Just put them down there, Tom, that's great."

Eleanor stepped in next. "Thanks, Tom. Thanks for everything, love. We had a great time."

"No problem, Mrs T," Tom's voice replied, smooth and confident. "I enjoyed it."

Mark listened, his brow furrowed in confusion. The voices were low and mumbled; he couldn’t make them out. He thought he heard a soft gasp from Tom; he had no idea his wife had just knelt on the floor before Tom and was in the process of helping his cock grow with her mouth.

Eleanor stepped behind Tom. She nuzzled her mouth against his neck; her hand slid down the front of his shirt; her other hand grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. She kissed him hard, and he groaned into her mouth as Sarah worked on his cock

Then Eleanor's voice, low and commanding. "Stick to the script, boy," she whispered. 

Tom took a deep breath to get some composure, ”Where's Marky? I haven't seen him for a while."

Mark's eyes widened in horror. His breath caught in his throat. He was worried about what they would tell him.

"Oh, he's working on a little project for us," Eleanor said, her voice now normal, conversational. Mark could hear a rustling, a movement. But he had no idea of the intimate scene unfolding between his wife, her mother, and his best friend.

"Anything I can help with?" Tom asked, his voice slightly breathless.

"No," Eleanor purred. "Mark has it covered."

Mark listened to the conversation, though he had no idea what was going on. He heard noises, soft moans, the creak of the floorboards, but he couldn't determine what they were. He had no way of knowing that Tom was now on his back on the kitchen floor, that Sarah was riding his thick, hard cock, her head thrown back in ecstasy, and that Eleanor was crouched over his face, her hands braced against the kitchen cabinets as he pleasured her with his mouth. He just knelt there in the dark, filthy cellar, a forgotten pet.