Marriage Plan

  But the terror on Mark's face, the utter, soul-crushing despair in his eyes as he watched his best friend kiss his wife, was a performance. Every choked sob, every tremble of his chained body, was a note played perfectly in the symphony of his own design. This was the culmination of a year of meticulous planning, the final act of a play he had not only written but financed.

He had met Sarah a year ago on a fetish cuckold site. In the anonymous glow of the screen, they had shared their deepest, darkest fantasies, and they had aligned with a terrifying, beautiful synchronicity. Sarah had confessed her own desires, and then the ultimate secret: her mother, Eleanor, was not just a domineering matriarch but a fellow connoisseur of their world and, on occasion, her lover. The three of them had met for lunch, a negotiation over sandwiches that would seal his fate. They worked out a payment plan, a substantial retainer for their services, and a safety protocol, a single word he could say each night before bed. "Red" to stop it all, or "green" to continue. He had never once said "red".

He had one last piece of business, a final, personal test. He had heard rumours of Tom's disrespect, the snide comments made behind his back. The test was simple: Sarah would entice Tom while Mark pretended to be passed out drunk. Tom had failed spectacularly, his betrayal swift and absolute. Sarah had come to Mark, not with an apology, but with a proposition. She liked Tom's cock. She wanted to keep him. The way she described it, her eyes gleaming with power, slotted perfectly into Mark's cuckold fantasy. He agreed. The wedding was a masterpiece of theatrical art, a public spectacle of his humiliation for which the ladies received a very generous bonus. Everything had gone according to plan, right up to this moment.

Even during the honeymoon, Mark was never drugged; he was playing the part. The only part not planned was when Sarah tied him to the chair after beating him with his belt. Mark rewarded her with five crisp twenty-pound notes.

Tom, under the impression that the entire house belonged to the formidable Eleanor, had no idea that the property was a stage Mark had purchased just for this performance. The final act was to turn the tables.

After Sarah had given Tom his last, triumphant blowjob, Eleanor clapped her hands together. "A toast!" she declared, pulling out a bottle of chilled champagne and three flutes. She poured, the liquid a golden promise of celebration. Tom, smug and victorious, took his glass, oblivious to the fact that his was the only one containing a fast-acting, potent sedative. They toasted to "the final breaking of Mark," and Tom drank deeply, a smug grin on his face. A moment later, his eyes widened. He swayed, his glass shattering on the concrete floor, and he collapsed in a heap. Mark smiled behind the bars of the cage as Sarah unlocked the padlock.

The next morning, Tom woke up in the cage. A groan escaped his lips as he tried to move. He was naked. His head was shaved, not just the scalp, but every inch of his body, smooth and alien. He looked down and saw a tight metal cage encircling his cock, but this was different from Mark's. This one had wicked-looking spikes lining the inside and small, blinking lights embedded in the electronics. He was alone in the dark, the spotlights off. He rattled the bars, yelling in confusion and rage. "What the fuck?!"

A searing, agonising shock erupted from his neck and his caged cock simultaneously, dropping him to the floor in a silent, screaming convulsion. Above him, a single red light on a camera in the corner began to blink, a silent, watchful eye.

In a restaurant in town, Mark looked down at his phone, a smile playing on his lips. The infrared image of a terrified, hairless Tom filled the screen, a pathetic creature in a cage. He was attending to one last bit of business, paying off the ladies. They were very happy with the cheques, which included hefty, well-deserved bonuses.

He asked Sarah if she minded him having a word with her mother. Sarah looked at Eleanor, who gave a slight, curious nod. Sarah stood and ordered a wine at the bar. Mark turned to Eleanor, taking her hand. "You were wonderful," he said, his voice sincere. "In fact... I've fallen in love with you."

Eleanor snatched her hand back as if she'd been burned. She stared at him, her composure shattered for the first time. "What the fuck are you doing?" she asked, her voice a mixture of shock and disbelief. She couldn't get her head around it. If he had said he was in love with Sarah, she could understand; they were the same age, a perfect match. But she was twenty years older than them both. She looked at his face and saw he was being real, utterly earnest.

She stroked his face, her touch hesitant. "Do you understand what kind of woman I am?" she asked softly. "I could never love you back. The life you have just spent the last six months living... that would be real. No safewords. No payment plan."

"I do," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "That's what I want."

They were married for real two months later. While they were on their honeymoon, and Mark was tied up in the corner of a hotel suite watching, Eleanor was being thoroughly fucked by a handsome Latin lover. Back home, Sarah was pulling Tom along on a leash. Mark had given Sarah the house, and Tom, if she wanted. The house now had a new Mistress and a brand new toy.