Welcome to the Neighborhood

This story is a series of vignettes split between two timelines: the first, a newlywed couple meeting their neighbors; the second, flashbacks of their relationship as it grew before marriage. Timeline switches are denoted by ///. I hope this format isn't confusing to read and that you enjoy!

***

"Honey, I'm home!"

He'd been dying to say that ever since we'd gotten engaged, so it was cute to finally hear. Marco, my husband (I can't believe I can say that now), came in grinning from his first day at work after our honeymoon in Hawaii. He smelled of manly musk and earth, as he always did after a laborious day on site. I was already clean, since I'd returned from the office in the afternoon. Marco wanted me back early to tidy and start dinner.

My husband was a very traditional man, as evidenced by his greeting and other chauvinistic behaviors. He wanted a big house, dutiful husband, and many children; 2/3 were already complete. Living together in the home he'd bought us was his dream come true, and mine as well. Before meeting Marco, I wasn't sure I wanted to get married, but the stability and love we gave each other showed me he was all I needed.

He was giddy the night prior, looking forward to my kiss when he reentered his domain. Like a good husband, I put down the vacuum and gave him a big smooch upon arrival. His dirty, calloused hands went straight to my booty shorts.

"Hey! I just cleaned these!" I pouted.

"Just put 'em in the wash with the rest of my stuff, tonight, sweet cheeks. You're gonna get a little dirty, since I can't keep my hands off you."

He groped my ass and tongued me deeply in the foyer of our new house. When we finally relaxed, Marco took a shower to wash off the day's grime.

He came down looking fresh in a quotidian outfit: dark blue cotton polo, jeans, brown belt and boots. He had a thing about being well-dressed, and said that t-shirts were not presentable for most situations. This rule was passed along to me, as well, which I bemoaned at first. It all started with my uniform at our office, where we first met.

///

When I graduated college, the job economy was poor, and frankly, I wasn't that qualified. My dad was a big league contractor, though, so he hooked me up with a position as an assistant for a friend of a friend, a fellow construction manager. My soon-to-be boss was apparently only 34, but already ran his own company and was doing quite well. On the first day, when I walked in, my heart ricocheted around my rib cage upon seeing my manager. He was so.... manly.

"Hey, I'm Marco! And, uhhh... wow, you must be Joey."

He greeted me with a disarming chuckle, before crushing my hand with his powerful grip; I winced. He noticed and profusely apologized, then held my dainty hand with both his and stroked it. A few seconds later, he asked:

"Your hand feel okay now, Joey?"

"Yeah... it's fine, I promise..." I blushed.

I couldn't believe my new boss injured me like that! I'm such a weakling!

"Well, don't worry about it. I'll be sure to remember that you're a delicate guy in the future. And if your hand starts hurting, just let me know and I'll kiss it better."

He said this last line in a joking manner, but it made my hole pucker, nonetheless.

"Uhh.. Marco? I've actually been trying to go by Joe after college, to sound more professional, ya know?"

"Aww, but Joey's such a sweet name, isn't it? It suits you."

I blushed at the comment and wondered if it was actually a compliment. I wasn't sure why my boss was being so flirtatious, but I definitely didn't mind.

"Come, Joey, let me show you around."

We walked and talked for a bit and I asked, "sir, are you from the Old Country?"

"Ah, I see you are quite perceptive. No, I'm not from Italy, but much of my family, whom I grew up with, is, so I take on some of their inflections. I try to hide my accent, but it slips out."

"You shouldn't hide it, sir, I think you sound nice!"

I quickly covered my mouth after the outburst. Why did I admit that out loud?! I was so embarrassed I looked to the floor.

"I think you sound nice, too, Joey. I look forward to getting to know you better. You're going to be a great secretary," he said, placing an arm around my shoulder.

I thought my dad said assistant!

"This will be your desk. My office is right behind it, so I can always keep my eyes on you. I don't think that'll be too hard, though...." he muttered inaudibly at the end.

"Sooo, will I be answering calls and stuff?"

"Yup. You're going to be making sure I'm on top of everything. You're my go-to guy, the one I can always count on. When I drive out to see the renovations, you'll come with sometimes. And I may even let you out of the truck if you remember your hard hat! I know how easily you get hurt, and I want to make sure you're safe. I promised your father I'd take care of you, Joey."

He was looking into my soul with a wise countenance. All I could do was gaze back dumbly and nod, "yes, sir." I seriously had a crush on this guy.

"Now, Joey, I know you were just in college, but this is a professional setting, and your current outfit isn't appropriate. You're the face of this company; the first person my clients see when they come in. So I want you dressed properly."

"Sorry, Marco, I didn't know..."

"That's okay. Now, why don't you strip down to your undies right here, I've got your uniform in the drawer."

"R-right here?"

"Of course! We're men, Joey, aren't we?"

He said it with a gentle nudge, as if to tell me I wasn't one, yet.

"You always that smooth?" Marco commented when he saw my semi-nude body.

"Yeah.... I'm just like this..."

"Well, it's cute. Seems fitting, doesn't it, Joey? Since you're my secretary? I'm the boss and you're the assistant. I'm the man and you're the boy..."

He let his provocative comment trail off while handing over my new uniform. As he did, I couldn't help but stare at his chest hair poking out. His loose-fitting athletic polo was chalk-full of fur at the collar, bursting out in every direction. It connected with his beard in a beautiful trail, one through which I yearned to amble my fingers. He chuckled and snapped twice:

"Uhh, Joey? Your uniform?"

"Oh yes, sorry, sir."

"That's okay, I know you're curious. Since you don't have any."

I blushed again and donned the clothes he'd given me. Unlike his grey, breathable polo, mine was white cotton and tightly fitted. The armholes were small and cut off much higher than Marco's, which billowed out by his elbows. My trim bicep bulged a vein when I flexed and it actually looked quite impressive. When I saw myself in the mirror, I spotted the company emblem on one pectoral. Underneath, read: Marco Romano - General Contracting. Below that, in cursive: Secretary.......

Next came navy blue khaki shorts, which rested one inch higher than I would have liked. They accentuated my sylphlike legs, that I've always had a love/hate relationship with. My thighs were thin, girly, and naturally smooth, which was sort of embarrassing. But I love being a bottom, and being smaller than my man, so they actually turn me on.

"Perfect! Now you look like a proper receptionist!" Marco beamed when I finished off with white socks and shoes.

He stood behind me in the mirror gripping my bony shoulders with his meaty paws. He massaged me gently as I looked myself up and down. I had to admit, I really did like the outfit, even though I looked like a fruit. My tight, lean body filled it perfectly, and I started to tent up when I noticed how well Marco fit his, too.

Even though I'm 6 foot, the beast behind me stood much taller. His sturdy quads were thick in his jeans, and felt a pang of shame at my scrawny body. The self-deprecation washed away, though, when Marco complimented my figure.

"I may have to get you shorter shorts, Joey, so you can show a little more. A receptionist ought to look good for their boss, don't you think?"

I nearly died of humiliation and lust, but Marco brought me back to reality with a butt tap before leading me to the next room.

///

"Baby boy, I'd like to take an evening walk together. Go around and meet the neighbors. We're probably the first gay couple that's moved in, so we should try to make a good impression. I don't want them thinking we're those wild, circuit party homos."

"Babe, you shouldn't judge people just because they like parties. As for the neighbors, I don't think we're gonna be the only faggots they've ever seen kiss."

Marco rolled his eyes when I called us that. He hated that word because of the connotation: that he took it up the ass, which he strictly didn't. I thought it was entertaining how salty he got, and giggled.

"Well even if they have, these faggots are going to be presentable. So head upstairs and put on the clothes I've laid out, will you, love?"

"Yes, darling," I said with a kiss.

Shortly after we met, Marco extended the uniform policy outside of work. At first, it was just "suggestions", telling me I'd look more proper if I tucked in, ironed, and combed. Then he started buying me clothes, beautiful polos and smart shirts. The quality was high, and I couldn't say no to my boss, so soon I was always wearing whatever he chose for me, even on weekends. I didn't really mind and actually thought it was sweet of him; he just liked me neat and tidy.

The outfit he'd chosen for this stroll, though, was not everyday. For our neighborly welcome, where we would introduce ourselves as husband and husband, Marco had picked out a darling, but humiliating ensemble. A baby blue polo, and a pair of pastel pink khaki shorts that, when fitted, laid well above my fingertips. My smooth, thin legs were exposed, and my plump peach popped out in the posterior. I didn't know what the neighbors were gonna think!

The worst part of all, though, was that I got hard as a rock once everything was in order. With my shirt tucked, hair combed, and androgynous perfume spritzed, I felt like a trophy husband. I blushed and slid my thighs together while my dick grew in its masculine thong (oxymoron?), one of the pairs Marco had purchased for me. He didn't like lace or lingerie, but wanted me in a G-string because the small pouch was a perfect fit. He also liked the idea of fabric kissing my boyhole throughout the day, and watching me pick wedgies out of my cheeks.

I had to admit, the outfit was cute. The blue and pink contrast was a physical representation of my status as his "husband", who was also clearly taking on the role of his "wife", in some regards. He'd made it clear to me I was his male partner, but I think we both secretly loved the idea of me being his wife.

"Baby, you look perfect. Everyone's gonna love you," Marco said with a hug when I returned.

"Thanks, but don't you think the shorts are a bit.... much?"

"Now, sweetie, you know I don't like to bring this up too often, but.... Remind me, who's the man in our marriage?"

He held both my hands and looked at me softly. I turned my eyes to the floor and whispered:

"You are, Daddy..."

Calling him Daddy was something we did sparingly, but both adored. I knew he was serious so I slipped it out to appease him. The mission was successful, because he groaned before asking:

"And who's the boy?"

"I am........"

"Yes you are, Joey, and I don't want you to forget that. We're equal partners in most things, but you know my word is final."

"I know, Daddy..."

"I want you in this outfit because I wanna show my little boy off. I want everyone in town to be jealous—and I know they will be—since I have the most amazing, adorable husband around. Ain't that right, sweetheart?"

"No.... cuz I do...." I whispered with a smile and kissed him.

"Alright now, one more thing before we head out. You know how we got a little kinky on the honeymoon... and I bought that... thing...."

Aside from the regular Dom/sub stuff (and his daddy kink...) Marco was pretty vanilla, so it was a surprise when he brought out a buttplug in Hawaii. We played with it for hours in our hotel, popping it in and out of my hole, watching me stretch. At dinner, that first night, he asked if I'd wear it. I shot to full mast at the thought, and the plug was snug in my bum before he could finish. It was incredibly seductive to be filled in public, with only my man knowing. When he turned on the hidden vibrator from an app on his phone, I nearly jizzed at the table.

"Of course, I remember, but I can't wear that now! I'd probably make weird faces in front of the neighbors! And I'd be hard the whole time!!"

"That's exactly the point, my dear. Don't worry, they'll all think your adorable moans are just satisfaction with how happy you are to be married! No one will know!"

"But-"

"Shhhh," he came up and put a finger on my lips. "What did I say a moment ago, baby? Who listens to whom in this marriage?"

"I listen to you, Daddy... I'm sorry..."

I pulled my shorts down, bent over, and spread my cheeks for him in surrender, causing my painfully erect dick to smack into my belly button. I love when Daddy proves he owns me.

"Good boy, thank you for obeying Daddy. I'll be sure to treat you later, sweetie, but I would guess you aren't too upset about this...."

My leaking tip was evidence enough. He slipped in the oiled plug, and the second half slid on its own before nestling into my cheeks. He gave me a hug, tapped it so it was secure, slipped on my flip-flops, then walked us hand in hand out the door. The bulbous device massaged my walls with each small step.

///

I clearly love when my husband pushes me out of my comfort zones. He knows it turns me on more than anything when he shows the world I'm his boy, even though it can be painfully humiliating. Sometimes I push him out of his zone, too, though, and make him confront his own emotions. A perfect example is when we met each other's families during our engagement.

We're both 100% Italian, though my family's 2nd and 3rd generation, and much more Americanized. We're still pretty traditional, though, and my parents insisted on a formal dinner. Marco was nervous at first, since he'd never met a partner's family, but I can be verrryyy convincing.... On the big day, he arrived at my parents' house looking slick in his suit. I loved him in a tie.

When mom and dad noticed he was not only respectful to them, but also doted on me, pulled out my chair, held my hand, and was Italian, they instantly fell in love. Mom always sensed I was weak-willed and needed a strong man to guide me. She knew I was gay, probably before I did, and teased me about finding a husband who would take care of me.

Dad and my three older brothers got along swimmingly with Marco, as well. They all knew him vaguely through work, but had never formally met. That didn't stop any of them from unbuttoning their collars, rolling up their sleeves, and heading to the garage to tinker with dad's latest project. I begged Marco not to get oil stains on his new shirt while folding his discarded necktie.

"Already nagging," my father joked.

"He's just looking out for himself. Knows he'll be the one scrubbing, later!" Marco replied jovially, confiding to my parents that I did our laundry.

He's right, though, grease never comes out!

"Marco's pretty cool, bro. Definitely seems like the kind of guy you'd be into, huh?" one of my brothers joked. Everyone in my family knew I liked big, strong men.

"Yeah, he's pretty great. I'm glad to see you're all getting along."

"Me too. We're happy to have him around, bro, and you know our wives all love you," he teased. I knew he wasn't kidding, though.

After dinner, my mom, my brother's spouses and I cleaned up while the guys smoked cigars out back. Marco told me tobacco was a bad habit and forbade me from partaking. I didn't mind because I thought smoke was gross, but it was emasculating to be the only guy in the kitchen.

"Sooo... is he, you know... hung?" one of my sisters-in-law asked cheekily.

"I'll bet he's big," another replied. "He looks like an Italian Stallion."

"Sshhhhhhh, not so loud! Mom doesn't need to hear this stuff!" I hushed, trying to avoid the conversation entirely.

"Trust me, honey, I'm old enough to hear this," my mother replied from the sink. "And if my son's like everyone else in this room, then I'll bet Marco has a salsiccia (sausage) and a half!"

The girls all burst out laughing while I died of embarrassment. My whole family knew I was taking fat Sicilian meat up my butt, every night. Also, why am I the only poorly-endowed Del Vecchio man.....

"You ladies having fun in here?" one of my brothers joked as the men entered. "Looks like Joey fits right in!"

My other brothers snickered and I pouted, but when I saw Marco take them aside and gently ask them to lay off his fiancé, my heart filled. He came over after and hugged me, then said he loved seeing me at the sink. He gave me a peck on the lips that would have made the Puritans proud, and everyone cheered.

Integrating with his family took longer because they were much more conservative. Many of them still held dated views about homosexuality, and did not believe in marriage outside of a man and woman. But after a few meetings, once they realized that we loved each other, and he wasn't going to change, they accepted me as their own. Things were a bit different there, though...

While Marco remained buttoned-up with my clan, he freely showed affection, once comfortable in his household. Surprisingly, his family didn't mind the PDA, I assume since they were such handsy folk. They expected a couple to touch constantly, and touch we did.

Marco would come up behind me at his parents' house and drag his growing cock across my bum, through our sleek suit pants. We'd dress to the nines whenever visiting: coat, tie and all. He always had family in town, from the Old Country, so they were formal affairs.

When we arrived for our fourth visit, once they'd warmed up to us dating, a few odd things happened. For starters, Marco asked me to remove my shoes in the entryway. I slipped around hardwood all night in my thin dress socks, but he never took off his loafers. When his brothers and uncles welcomed us, I noticed they, too, were still in their black shoes. Rather than shake my hand, this time, they kissed it. I asked Marco why, but he just told me it was out of respect for him, and didn't elaborate.

Another peculiar thing that occurred was something Marco's father said. As we hung our jackets, he commented:

"Son, Joey should be doing that for you. It's not right, a Romano Man hanging his own coat."

"You're right, Father. Joey, would you please?"

He handed me his coat, as if this was a normal request, and I blushed hotly. I didn't want to make a scene, though, so I faked a smile and did my job. His father beamed with pride. When he left, I asked Marco:

"What was that about?"

"That? Oh, he's just old-fashioned. You know, doesn't think men should do certain things. Thinks they should be taken care of, in that regard."

"Well, that's archaic, isn't it? I mean, I'm not your slave."

"Aww, baby, I know that," he consoled with a kiss. "He doesn't think you're my slave, he just thinks that a man should be shown.... proper respect, I guess you could say, by his partner."

"But I'm a man, too!"

"And I respect you, don't I?"

"Yes, bu-"

"You know the way we show our respect for each other is different, baby. Remind me, who cooks and cleans in our house?"

"I do...."

"Yes, you do. And in this house, you also hang my coat. You think you can do that for me, baby? He doesn't mean any harm in it. Besides... I thought it was sort of cute watching you take care of my things....."

"Daddy....." I let out breathlessly before leaning up for a kiss.

"Hey! Enough of that, we need Joey in the kitchen!" his mother rushed in to inform.