Sharon beats Johhny.

Sharon held up the shiny black latex leotard—cut-out cups for her breasts, an open gusset for her cunt, the material gleaming like oil. She dusted the inside with powder, then held it out for James. "Help me, baby."

He knelt before her, his eyes shining with devotion, and guided her feet into the garment. He slid it up her body slowly, his fingers worshipping every inch of skin, positioning the crotch opening perfectly around her pussy lips. He pulled the straps over her shoulders with reverent care, then adjusted her heavy breasts into the built-in supports, pushing them up until they sat high and proud.

He couldn't resist. He leaned in and sucked each nipple, making them peak and point. She sighed and cradled his head for a moment, then pulled him away, her eyes narrowing on his mouth.

"Have you been naughty?" she asked, her voice playful but with an edge of steel. "Why is there lipstick on your lips, James?"

He blushed crimson, his cock twitching in his trousers. "I'm sorry, Ms. Sharon. I couldn't help myself. I knew 'it' wouldn't like me being intimate with 'it'—that made it irresistible."

"Did 'it' come?"

This time her voice was serious. James hung his head. "No, Ms. Sharon. ‘It’ was close, but I knew you wouldn't like that."

"Good boy." She smiled, then her expression shifted. Bring me the cane."

James fell to his knees, took the cane from the bed, and offered it up to her palms-up, his head bowed in submission. "Stand and touch your toes."

He obeyed instantly, bending over with his hands on his ankles, presenting his arse for punishment. Sharon's cunt throbbed at the sight—this beautiful, perfect boy who would do anything she asked without question. From the first time she'd spanked him for sniffing her knickers to now, the power rush was just as strong.

She gave him two sharp slashes with the cane. He didn't move, his grunt barely audible. She tossed the cane aside and ran her finger over the fresh welts on his prone arse.

"Do you know what that was for, James?"

"For playing with your toy without permission, Ms. Sharon."

"No, you silly boy." She laughed, soft and fond. "I imagine you added to 'its' anguish and humiliation—that was quite amusing. No, not that. You kissed my beautiful nipples without permission, so you had one for each."

"Thank you, Ms. Sharon."

"Now, stand up, silly boy. I want you in that special rubber suit I have for you—the one with the cut-out for your perfect cock. We're going to have such a lovely dinner."

 She kissed him tenderly, her hands cradling his face like he was the most precious thing in the world. Her mind wandered downstairs—she could almost hear John's muffled sobs through the gag, the pathetic whimpers of a broken toy. She smiled against James's lips, the contrast between her perfect boy and that worthless creature making her cunt throb with satisfaction.

"Let's get you dressed, baby," she murmured, her voice thick with lust.

She helped him into the full-body rubber suit, her fingers enjoying every inch of him as the material slid up his skin. She removed his steel collar and replaced it around the high neck of the suit, the bright steel gleaming against the black rubber like a crown. She arranged the cutout at the crotch, freeing his cock and balls, letting them hang heavy and exposed.

 She couldn't resist. Her hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly, lovingly, until he was fully erect—hard and proud and ‘hers’. She leaned down and kissed the purple helmet tenderly, her tongue flicking out to taste the precum beading at the slit. The urge to take him fully in her mouth was overwhelming, but she resisted. She picked up a stainless steel ring and slid it down its length till it was butted up against his balls.

She stood and kissed him hard, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him to her with a possessive hunger that left them both breathless. "My perfect boy," she whispered against his lips. "My beautiful, devoted James."

She took matching steel manacles and put them around each of James ' rubber-covered wrists. They would be for later use.  Next, she attached a stainless steel leash to his collar.

“Come, my pet," she said, her voice shifting to command. "Let's go see if our toy is ready for its next lesson.”

She tugged on James's leash, and he followed her downstairs, a beloved pet. Owner and perfect boy, both utterly content in the life they'd built together. The contrast made her cunt throb—this beautiful, willing submission versus the broken thing they'd left chained in the kitchen.

They busied themselves setting the table, laying out plates and cutlery with the ease of a couple preparing for a romantic dinner. John knelt against the wall, ignored completely, just another piece of furniture. The steel rings on his harness clinked softly with every shiver.

At six sharp, the doorbell rang. Perfect timing.

James released John from the wall, uncuffing his hands with quick efficiency. The chain between his ankle manacles clattered to the floor. He helped John stand—roughly, without care—then spun him around and recuffed his hands in front of him. The position was only marginally less restrictive; John could hold things now, but his arms were still bound.

"Come," James commanded, tugging the leash on his belt.

John shuffled forward, his ringed cock bobbing with each step, the white hood and painted face making him look like a depraved mime. James opened the front door and gestured to the bags of food on the doorstep.

"Pick them up."

John hesitated for a heartbeat—just long enough for James to shove him hard between the shoulder blades. He stumbled forward, bent down, and grabbed the bags, his heart hammering against his ribs. ‘Please don't let anyone see me. ’

The cool evening air hit his exposed cock and balls. He was standing on his own front porch, dressed like a rubber doll, painted and gagged and erect, collecting Chinese food for his tormentors.

James yanked him back inside and closed the door. Sharon stood in the kitchen entryway, watching with cold, satisfied eyes.

"Good toy," she purred. "Now bring it here. We are hungry."

John shuffled past her, his face burning with shame beneath the hood, his cock still hard . He could hear James and Sharon kissing tenderly behind him.

 "In the kitchen," James ordered, giving the leash a sharp tug. "Plate it and serve."

Ms. Sharon pulled on James's leash and led him away like a beloved pet, her hand stroking his rubber-clad arse as they disappeared into the dining room. John stood there, holding the bags of food, his painted face burning beneath the white hood.

‘This is insult upon insult,’ his mind screamed. ‘I have to act like a fucking maid in my own fucking house. Serving the two most hateful people I've ever known. In my kitchen. On my plates.’

His hands shook as he opened the containers. The cuffs bit into his wrists. The cock rings kept him hard and throbbing, his erection bobbing with every movement like a mocking exclamation point to his degradation. The red ball gag filled his mouth, making him drool around it, mixing with the taste of lipstick.

He could hear them in the dining room, Sharon’s warm laughter, James's devoted murmurs. The sound of their love made him want to vomit. They were setting the table together, a romantic dinner for two, while he stood here in his own kitchen, naked except for rubber and steel and humiliation.

‘This is my house. My fucking house. I paid for this kitchen. I paid for those plates. I paid for the food they're about to eat.’ 

He plated the food with trembling hands, arranging it the way he'd seen in restaurants. Not because he wanted to please them, but because the alternative was pain. And he'd had enough pain. He'd had enough of everything.

 When he carried the first plate into the dining room, they didn't even look at him. Sharon was fondling James's hard cock through the cutout in his rubber suit, her eyes locked on his with pure adoration while James sucked her fingers clean, moaning softly around them.

"Put it there," Sharon said, gesturing vaguely to a spot on the table without glancing at John.

He set the plate down, his cock rings clinking against the table edge like cheap jewelry. The sound made James smile around Sharon's fingers.

"Now go get the rest."

John shuffled back to the kitchen, his ankle chain rattling against the hardwood floor. He'd tucked the leash into his belt to keep from tripping on it, a small, pathetic attempt at self-preservation that made him hate himself even more.

His cock rings clink against the bowl. Every sound they made was a reminder of what he'd become: a thing. A servant. A joke that wasn't funny.

He carried the second plate in, and this time James did look at him. His eyes were bright with amusement as they flicked from John's painted face to his bobbing, ringed cock. He couldn't resist, he reached out slid his finger down it's length. John stepped back slightly which made james slap the end of it.

"Set it down gently, toy," James said, his voice warm and condescending. "Wouldn't want you to spill anything.”

John set the plate down, his face burning beneath the white hood. Sharon’s hand was still stroking Jame's cock with slow, possessive strokes.

"Is that everything?" she asked, finally deigning to glance at him. Her eyes were cold, assessing him like a piece of furniture that might be out of place.

He nodded.

“Good. I saw there was some beer in the fridge. We’ll both have one.”

 John shuffled back to the dining room, the cold beer bottles clinking in his cuffed hands. His own Peroni—his expensive Italian beer that he'd bought for a dinner party that would never happen now—felt like another layer of theft. Even his taste in alcohol was being mocked.

He set the bottles on the table . Sharon finally looked at him, her eyes cold and assessing.

"Open them," she commanded.

He fumbled with the bottle opener, his cuffed hands making it awkward. The cap flew off the first bottle, and he handed it to her. She took it without a word, her fingers brushing his just long enough to make him flinch. The second bottle he opened for James, who accepted it with a warm smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Thank you, toy," James said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Such good service."

Sharon took a long swallow, then made a show of savoring it. "Mmm. Peroni Castello Azzurro. Very nice, Johnny boy. You have expensive taste—amazing what you can buy with other people's money." She set the bottle down and trailed one finger through the condensation. "Of course, it's not ‘your’ beer anymore, is it? It's our beer. Just like you are our toy.”

“Now," she continued, "You're going to stand in the corner and face the wall until you're needed, scoot.” She flicked her fingers as though to dismiss him.

She flicked her fingers dismissively, like shooing an insect. John shuffled to the corner, his legs screaming from hours of abuse, the steel cuffs around his wrists and ankles beginning to chafe raw. The silicone rings on his cock and balls had become a constant, throbbing ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. He pressed his painted face to the wall, the white hood's eye holes giving him a narrow view of the plaster.

Behind him, he could hear them, the wet sounds of their intimacy. The thought that they were brother and sister made his stomach heave against the gag. ‘They're fucking siblings. This is incest. This is sick.’