The Boywife

He was in the kitchen, naked save for a red apron with white polka dots. And a ring. A wedding ring, beautifully filigreed and topped with a glittering diamond. Was he married? He didn't remember getting married. Or not getting married. Actually, he couldn't remember anything. Especially how he had got there.

"My boywife." A kiss on the neck snuck up from behind him, hands tenderly caressed his naked back. Her breath in his ear. "Such a pretty little thing." Her hand went between his legs, found his cunt. It was wet. Needy. Did he have a cunt before, or was that new? He couldn't remember.

He gasped, spread his legs a little. She withdrew her hand, spun him around by the hip, backed him against the counter and kissed him passionately. She was beautiful, wavy black hair cascading down perfect shoulders, cold blue eyes, red-brown lipstick on perfectly bowed lips. Flowing black cocktail dress. On her finger, a ring to match his. She smiled. "Our guests are coming soon. You'd better get the roast started."

Yes. The ingredients for the roast were spread out before him, already prepared. He was a good little boywife. He knew what to do. "Yes, dear."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right."

"Yes, dear."

She - his wife? - made a pleased little noise and strolled out of the kitchen. He got to work, rubbing down the meat with salt and pepper, tying it up with twine. By the time he had gotten to searing the meat, the doorbell rang. His wife answered it. He heard muffled sounds of greeting from the other room. His wife stepped into the kitchen, leading a pair of other women into the room. A couple, one with short hair and a vest, the other with her hair neatly braided, wearing a sweater and a skirt.

The short-haired one squealed. "Your boywife is so cute. What breed is it?"

"Domestic cuntboy," said the wife, very matter-of-factly.

"Oh!" said the woman with braids. "I've always wanted one of those." He was lifting the meat from the pan with tongs, turning it over, and her hand snaked to his cunt, sliding two fingers in. He gasped and dropped the meat. He was embarrassed of how slick he was, how easily she slipped inside him. And embarrassed of how he leaned into it, pushing his cunt further down on her fingers.

She withdrew them, glistening with his juices. Her middle finger she sucked clean, staring seductively into his eyes. Her ring finger she presented to his lips. Without hesitation, he sucked it clean too. It was tangy, earthy. The woman laughed. "It's very well-trained, too."

His wife smiled. "Yes. It's such a good boy. So eager to please." She offered her guests wine, led them into the living room. He kept working on the roast. More guests came, his wife showing him off to each one.

"It has such lovely eyes."

"It's so obedient."

"It's so wet."

"It makes such cute little noises."

He had just put the roast in the oven when one of the guests, a short woman with buzzed red hair and a black dress shirt, slightly unbuttoned, walked into the kitchen. She had clearly had a few glasses of wine, her face slightly flushed. "You know, I've been thinking about getting a boywife of my own," she said. "It seems like it would be really handy, having one around the house." She stepped closer. "To cook and clean, and..." Another step, and she was right up close to him, yet not touching him. "...do other things." He could feel her breath on his face, warm and slightly sweet.

He wanted so badly to beg for her to touch him, to have her bend him over the counter right then and there, or make him drop to his knees, to do as she wanted with him, but none of that would have been what a good boywife would do. So he just smiled and nodded.

"You really are such a pretty specimen," she said. "Wherever she got you from... she really did a good job." She reached out a hand to trace a finger over his shoulder, up to his neck. He shivered, pleading with his eyes. Her finger went up his neck, from the chin to the edge of his lips. He exhaled faintly. He was trembling. He just wanted to suck...

Smiling mischievously, she pulled her hand back. "You are very well-trained. Holding back like a good boywife. But I can see how badly you want it." Her hands went to her belt, undoing it, then to the zipper of her jeans, tugging it slowly down. He could see the outline of her hard cock through her underwear. It made him wetter.

She grabbed her pants by the sides and shimmied them down over her hips slightly, doing the same with her underwear. Her cock sprang out. It was beautiful, perfectly shaped, nestling in a bed of short red hair. "Don't you want it? Just a taste. You don't even have to make me cum. I just want to feel what it's like to have your pretty lips around it. Come on. Kneel."

He could hear laughter and conversation from the living room. His wife wouldn't be paying attention. He could do it, quickly, and she'd never know...

Before he knew what was happening, he was on his knees, his need overriding his obedience. "That's a good boy," she said, ruffling his hair with one hand, the other at the base of her cock, holding it out for him. "Such a good boy."

He leaned closer, her cock dominating his field of view. She was already very slick with precum and it was threatening to drip onto the floor. It wouldn't do to make a mess. He held out his tongue to catch the drop. It was salty, faintly creamy. He leaned in further, His lips brushed the tip of her cock. Something within him was still holding him back, keeping him from going all the way without permission. Permission from her.

He was just about to summon up the concentration to give in to what he wanted when he heard the sounds of conversation and footsteps coming their way. He sprang upright, and she hastily pulled her pants back up and buckled her belt. When his wife stepped into the room, the redheaded woman tried to look casual.

"Just seeing where you went," said the wife.

"Oh, just getting some water," said the other woman. "And admiring the boywife. It really is quite a remarkable specimen."

"Isn't it, though?" said his wife.

They left, and he needed to start preparing the carrots. He was so deeply flustered he had a hard time focusing. He could feel his clit pulsing between his legs, feel the wetness spreading down his thighs. His wife and all the guests were in the other room. Surely they wouldn't know what he got up to in here. He just needed a quick orgasm, and he could focus on making dinner. He reached under his apron, started rubbing himself. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning. It felt so good. But he needed more. He took a carrot from the sink, slid down to the floor with his back against the counter, spread his legs, and closed his eyes.

It slid into him easily. It was cold. He gasped softly, but kept going. When his wife walked in on him, he had it deep inside him with both hands, his legs spread wide open, apron pushed away to the side. He heard a noise and opened his eyes. She was standing over him, looking very displeased. "I thought I could leave you alone. But apparently not."

He felt ashamed. Slutty. The worst part was, he was so close to cumming, and he still needed it so badly.

"Stand up," she commanded, and he did. The carrot slipped out of him and fell onto the floor. She grabbed him by the front of the apron and dragged him into the living room, in front of all the guests.

"I caught it fucking itself with a carrot," she said. "Apparently it just couldn't wait like a good boywife." His cheeks burned.

"Oh, that's such a shame," said the short-haired woman. "I thought that breed was supposed to be so easy to break in, too."

"They are," said his wife, sitting back in her chair. "You just have to remind it of its place. Come here," she said, gesturing to her lap. "And bend over. You need to be disciplined."

"Yes, dear." He obeyed, lying over her lap, naked ass in the air. She raised a hand and brought it down hard and sharp, leaving a stinging red mark on his ass.

"You are not to touch yourself without permission, do you understand?"

"Yes, dear."

She kept spanking. "And you are certainly not to cum without permission."

"Yes, dear."

"You're getting even wetter, aren't you?" She spread his legs, showing his dripping cunt to the room. "You are such a filthy little slut, you know that? If you want to get off, you should at least keep the guests entertained." She put a finger inside him, then two, then three, fingerfucking him at a rapid pace while still landing the occasional slap with the other hand. He was crying, quietly, but moaning too. His ass hurt. His cunt was so full. He was so desperate.

She must have felt his cunt twitching, known that his moans were reaching just the right pitch. "You're so close, aren't you, fuckhole? Why don't you be a good boywife and cum for all my guests?"

"Yes, dear." He happily obeyed. His whole body trembled. When it was done he slid from her lap and collapsed to the floor, panting. Some of the guests clapped softly.

"That's a good boywife," she said. "Now, get back in the kitchen."

"Yes, dear."