Marriage Plan

Mark was woken not by an alarm, but by the sharp, metallic click of the box room door lock. He jolted awake, his heart hammering against his ribs, a conditioned response to the sound that signalled his captivity. The door swung open, revealing Eleanor standing there, her silhouette framed by the hallway light. She was already dressed for the day, her expression one of brisk, no-nonsense authority.

Without a word, she threw a bundle of clothes onto the narrow cot. It consisted of a pair of dusty blue overalls, a pair of thick, workman-like black socks, and, perched on top like a final, cruel joke, a pair of Sarah's used frilly knickers. He could see the faint, stiff spunk stains on the delicate lace.

"Get up and shower," she commanded, her voice sharp. "You have a lot of work today."

He stood up, his body aching. She stepped inside and told him to turn around. He felt her fumbling at his neck, and then the collar was gone. She placed it in the cupboard, locked the door, and left.

He showered, the hot water a small mercy. He dressed in the clothes supplied. The panties were small and uncomfortable. He left them in a small, pathetic pile on the bathroom floor. As he pulled on the overalls and thick socks, he felt almost like a man again. The fabric was rough, utilitarian, a shield against the silk and lace he had been forced to wear. It was a fragile feeling, but it was there.

As he stepped into the kitchen, he was shocked to see Tom sitting there at the counter, a coffee mug in his hand. And next to him, her body pressed close to his, sat Sarah.

"Hello, sleepy head," she said, her voice cheerful and bright, a complete reversal from the previous day. "We've been waiting for you."

He was a little surprised, and he said hello, his voice barely a whisper. "Hello, Miss Sarah."

She stood up and hugged him, pressing her body against his. She gave him a big, slobbering kiss on the lips, a kiss that was both possessive and performative. "Oh, you silly thing," she giggled.

He couldn't see Tom smiling behind his back.

When she let go, she sat back down next to Tom, snuggling into his side. They were finishing off a big plate of bacon and eggs, the smell of which made Mark's mouth water. Eleanor handed him a plate with some soggy toast and a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Ma'am," he said quietly, and Tom pretended he didn't hear it, focusing on his coffee.

"Is that all you're having?" asked Tom, his voice laced with false concern as he looked at Mark's meagre plate.

"My Mark's not a big eater in the mornings, are you, Mark love?" said Sarah, her tone patronising.

He took his plate and sat at the small table in the corner, the spaces at the counter taken up by the other three. He felt like an outsider in his own home.

Tom stood up, stretching. "You ready to go, Marky?"

"Eh? Go where?" he asked, confused.

"Get rid of that junk in the cellar, of course," Tom said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh yeah, of course," he said, happy that he was being let out of the house, happy to be doing something normal with his best friend.

Tom had backed his truck as close to the back fence as he could. They spent the next hour in companionable silence, filling his truck with all the unwanted stuff from the cellar. It was hard, physical work, and for a while, Mark felt a sense of camaraderie, a return to how things used to be.

As the last piece was thrown into the back of the truck, Tom rubbed his hands together. "Alright, Marky, go have another look around just to check we've got everything, and we'll be going."

Mark walked through the back door and down into the cellar. He was halfway down the stone steps when the door closed behind him. He heard the lock turn, and then the single light went out, plunging him into absolute darkness. He tripped as he ran up the steps, his hands slapping against the wood. "Hey!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the blackness. "I'm still down here!"

His hand was on the door, and he heard the truck start up and pull away, leaving him alone in the darkness.

Mark sat miserably on the bottom step of the cellar, the only light filtering in a thin, dusty line around the wooden door. He tried the light switch a few times, but nothing happened. He tried forcing the door, but it was too firm, the lock too strong.

Meanwhile, Tom, Sarah, and Eleanor were enjoying a pub lunch after meeting up with some of Tom's mates to help dump the trash at the recycling yard. On the drive home, they were laughing and joking, Sarah's hand resting comfortably on Tom's crotch, her fingers tracing the outline of his big cock through his jeans. They were ready for the next stage of their game.

Mark heard the truck pull up, a low rumble through the bricks and wood of the cellar. The kitchen door opened, and they walked in. They stood by the cellar door, their voices clear and deliberate. They wanted him to hear everything.

Tom started, "Where did the little shit get to? I'm really disappointed in him. He used to be so reliable." He said it with a big grin on his face, which Mark, of course, couldn't see.

Sarah's turn. "You don't understand, Tom. Ever since we've been married, it's like he... he feels like he doesn't have to try anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Sarah," Tom said, his voice full of fake sympathy. "You deserve better than that."

"Ooh, that feels nice," Sarah purred. There was a soft rustling sound. "It's been so long since Mark has held me."

Mark's ear was pressed against the door, his breath held in a silent, painful gasp.

It went quiet for a moment, then he heard soft sighing and a little moan.

Then Eleanor came in on the act. "Sarah, what are you doing?" she gasped, her voice a perfect imitation of shocked discovery.

Sarah yelped, and there was a shoving noise. "I'm so sorry, Tom! I shouldn't have done that. I love Mark, I really do!" She let out a big, theatrical sob.

Tom's turn. "No, I'm sorry, Sarah. He's my best friend." He took a deep breath, and Mark couldn't hear Sarah's playful giggle.

Eleanor's turn. "Tom, thanks for all your help today, but I think you had better leave, don't you?"

"Yes, Mrs T. I'm sorry."

"Just go."

The kitchen door opened, footsteps up the garden path, the truck started and pulled away.

Mark sat down on the steps with his head in his hands. Where had it all gone wrong? He wanted to bang on the door, to scream, but he just sat there, a miserable man.

***

Sarah and her mother walked out of the kitchen, their footsteps receding. Sarah opened the front door and let Tom back in. They kissed, a long, passionate kiss, and he tapped her butt. "Go get ready for our date," he told her.

Twenty minutes later, she was dressed and ready, a vision in a tight black dress. She kissed her mum on the cheek. "You have this?" she asked.

Eleanor just smiled. She was also in for a fun night. Mark was the only one who wouldn't be enjoying it.

Eleanor took a long, leisurely bath before dressing in some of her most provocative clothing, a silk negligee under a sheer, black silk robe. She did her makeup, sprayed on expensive perfume, and went to play.

***

Mark squinted his eyes as the dim light came on. The door creaked open.

"Mark? Mark, love? Are you down there?"

He saw his grimy, tear-stained face pop up out of the dimness.

"What are you doing down there, love? We were worried about you!" Sarah's voice was full of feigned concern.

He stepped out. "I was locked in, Ma'am. After Tom asked me to check if there was anything left down here."

"What do you mean, locked down there? The door wasn't locked."

"Yes, it was, Ma'am. I tried and tried."

The slap was hard and fast, snapping his head to the side. "Don't you dare raise your voice to me, boy! We've spent all day working, and you were hiding down there? You're lucky I don't call Tom; he'd come and kick your arse. You let down your best friend and your wife with your laziness!"

"But, Ma'am..."

"Enough! Go up and take a shower, and don't bother putting any clothes on. Just come back down here. It's not like I haven't seen everything already anyway."

He turned, walked out of the kitchen, and did as he was told.

He came back down a little later, his hair still damp, his body naked and vulnerable.

"I'm in the lounge," Eleanor shouted. The door was closed.

He knocked and waited. Eleanor opened the door and looked him up and down, a slow, predatory smile on her face. "I am so fed up with your behaviour and the way you treat my wife," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I've decided to teach you how to respect a lady while we are alone. Tom has taken Sarah out to try to cheer her up. You are lucky he is such a loyal friend; otherwise, I would be worried about them out together." She let that sink in for a moment.

"To start with, when you knock on the door, you will wait on your knees until you are summoned. And remember, this all changes when you can prove you're a man again."

She pointed to the floor. He knelt down, and she closed the door.

The night that followed was a masterclass in humiliation. She taught him protocols, a litany of rules designed to strip him of his last vestiges of autonomy. He was to keep his eyes lowered at all times. He was not to speak unless spoken to. He was to crawl, not walk, unless given permission. For every mistake, for every hesitation, she used a riding crop on his ass and thighs, the sharp, stinging blows leaving red welts that crisscrossed his skin.

She had him kneel before her and lick the sole of her high-heeled shoe, his tongue cleaning away every speck of dust. She made him hold her drink while she read, the glass trembling in his hand. She used him as a footstool, her heels digging into his back.

Then came the final degradation. She went to a drawer and pulled out a strap-on, this one smaller, thinner, but no less menacing. "Lick it," she commanded, holding it to his lips. "Get it wet. You're going to learn what it feels like to be taken."

He did, his tongue coating the rubber with his saliva, his tears of shame mixing with it. She had him get on all fours on the floor, his head down, his ass up. She knelt behind him, and he felt the cold, slick tip of the dildo press against his virgin asshole.

"Please, Ma'am," he sobbed, "don't."

"Be quiet," she commanded, her voice hard. She pushed it in, slowly, inexorably. The pain was blinding, a white-hot searing agony that ripped through him. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound of pure violation. She didn't stop until it was all the way in, her hips pressed against his ass.

She fucked him then, long and slow, her movements deliberate and cruel. With every thrust, she took a piece of him, breaking him down, remaking him into her creature. He was no longer a man, no longer a husband. He was a thing to be used, a hole to be filled.

When she was finished, she pulled out, leaving him sobbing on the floor. "Now you know," she whispered, her voice a soft, venomous hiss. "Now you know what it feels like to be powerless."

At the end of the night, she told him to kneel by the front door. She put earbuds in his ears, filling his head with white noise, isolating him from the world. She slid a tight, black rubber hood over his head, cutting off his sight. She gagged him with a ring gag, forcing his mouth open in a permanent, silent scream. Then she tightened a collar around his neck, a leash lying down his back. He was to stay there, a silent, waiting statue, until his wife arrived home.