Something Borrowed Pt. 01

Chapter One

Spectacular, I thought as I admired my makeup in the vanity's mirror. My bubblegum pink eye shadow was infused with a hint of silver. Mascara extended my eyelashes, creating swooping fans. My cherry red lips were glistening wet, my cheeks, painted with gentle strokes glowed brightly.

I glanced down. My body was sculpted into a shape ideally suited for the unforgiving demands of my sequined bikini. It was adorned with hundreds, if not thousands of tiny sparkling glass beads. It was a feat of engineering realized in fabric, its web of wires, and thick padding propping up my ample breasts. My hair was pulled back into a tightly braided ponytail. I wore a honey yellow feather tiara with a plumb of brightly coloured feathers. Diamond earrings, a glittering necklace and a pierced navel completed the ensemble.

As I stared at my reflection, my concentration was shattered as a wave of girls swept me up. Stumbling in my stilettos, I flowed past racks of sequin bikinis and elaborate jeweled costumes. As I looked up, I saw it, the break in the curtain. Beyond it the stage was bathed in intense light, and beyond that, a thousand eyes eagerly anticipated our arrival. As we reached the stage, the wave broke, then pulled back.

No! I screamed as I fought against the current. Not my grand debut!

Bang!

Yanked out of the dream, my brain, like an old computer, struggled to boot up. Blinking, I soaked in my surroundings. I was stretched out under a thick blanket on a leather couch, My laptop, opened to a blank document, cast a pale ghoulish glow. Scattered around it were several open half-eaten take-out containers, one of which my cat was polishing off. Beyond that, on the far wall of my living room, my widescreen TV was displaying the home menu of an old DVD.

As I listened, from the hallway I heard the sound of heels, erratic, uneven. My wife then stumbled into the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, slurring her words. "Is I wake you up?"

"No," I lied, as I stretched. "What time is it?"

"Ah," she said, as she pawed at her small purse. "It's ah..."

I looked down at my laptop, checked the time, then reached over, picked up the cat, and planted it back down on the floor. It was 3 am.

"You're home early. Was the bachelorette party a bust?"

She looked up at me with watery eyes. "No, it's still going strong. I had to bow... bow out, before I passed out. Those girls really know how to party."

Propped up on her heels, she wobbled. One of the thin spaghetti straps of her tight red dress dangled past her shoulder. She was still wearing the silk sash and cheap plastic tiara she'd departed with. Yet... something was off. I couldn't quite say what. There was something new.

As she swayed, she fidgeted, slightly kicking her legs.

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"We painted the town red, then gave it a second coat. We came, we conquered!" she hollered, raised her arms, then brought them back down and covered her ruby red lips. "Oh, right. Inside voice."

As she rocked back and forth, she looked down. "Oh god, it's not hanging out again, is it?"

"What?" I asked. "Is what hanging out?"

Her eyes drifted across the room, then she spoke again.

"A drink," she mumbled. "That's what I need. A quick drink before bed."

"Ah..." I said, but she'd already spun around and stumbled into the kitchen.

"How about a glass of water then crawl into bed. Tomorrow we can sleep in, take it easy. Hello?"

I stood up, and followed her into the kitchen. All the cabinets were open, and she'd pulled out a blender.

"I don't know if that's a good idea. You know, the neighbors."

"Invite them over, it's still early," she said as she pulled out a tray of ice cubes from the small freezer drawer below the refrigerator. "God damn, this thing really gets in the way."

"What thing?" I asked, still confused.

She stumbled over to the other side of the kitchen, grabbed several bottles, and poured them into the blender. "You got my text right?" She asked.

"Oh, ah, no," I said, reached into my back pocket, pulled out my phone, and checked her message. It read:

I drew the short cocktail stick, looks like I'm shelving for the rest of the weekend.

Followed by:

Wanna see? It's Huge!

"Shelving?" I asked. "What's shelving?"

With her finger hovering over the blender's power button, she looked over at me shocked. "Honey, seriously?"

"What?" I asked. "I mean, of course I know what it is, I was just..."

I had no idea what it was, I'd never heard of it. As she turned on the blender, the sound like a jet engine, I quickly googled the phrase.

... shelves.

Ok, definitely not shelves. That said, we could use some, but clearly that's not what she meant. What had she said, shelving?

I typed it in.

Shelving.

Thousands of results popped up. I saw photos, posts, and videos. It was trending on all the social media platforms, a viral storm sweeping the planet which, having spent the past year working from home, I was unaware of.

... can't trust him till the big day, one bridezilla wrote. Thankfully my maid of honor stepped up. Chop, chop! #besties4life #shelving.

Another user posted a short video of her drunk bachelorette party. Soaked in neon light, they stumbled out of what looked like a cheap pharmacy, fell into the street, and howled with laughter.

"... guard her with your life," the bride shouted as she shoved her phone into the face of a bridesmaid whose cheeks were beet red. "She's carrying the family jewels!"

As I continued to scroll, I saw photos of laughing bridesmaids and wounded groomsmen.

Shelving? I thought, confused. What the fuck is shelving? Shelve what?

Unable to grasp what I was seeing, or unwilling, I stumbled across a video that spelled it out for me in the most basic way possible. Stunned, I watched.

"... baby doll says she trusts me, but says my groomsmen are a bad influence," a groom said as he recorded himself walking into a pharmacy followed by a gang of bridesmaids.

"No way, I'm bailin' on two nights in Bali with the boys. One last hurrah, right? So I'm gonna step up, show her I'm her forever man. Get shelved."

He nodded at what appeared to be a BDSM version of a nurse wearing a short latex snow white uniform glued to her skin. She smiled as she led him down a narrow hallway bathed in neon light, into a sterile room with a large mechanical coal black chair, and ordered him to sit down.

"Cya on the other side boys," he said as the nurse fed him gas.

The camera cut to black, then snapped back on. The groom's face reappeared, tired.

"Yo, check this shit out," he said as he brought the camera down to his crotch.

I stared wide-eyed in horror. Where his cock should have been was a flat surface, the faint line of stitches where his junk had once been. He swung the camera back up, shoving his entire face into it.

"Shelving my cock for 48 hrs to prove to my future baby momma I can behave. Bali Lets fucking DO THIS!"

Stunned, my brain throbbing, I lowered my phone, and looked up. My wife had leapt up onto the sink and pulled her short red dress up above her waist. Her skimpy red panties were bulging, stuffed with what looked like the size of a softball.

"You really should see this thing," she said as she stared down at it. "It's fucking huge."

Chapter Two

Should I be worried about the gaps in my memory?

One second I was standing in the kitchen, staring at the enormous bulge in my wife's red panties, and the next I was in bed, sipping on what was several ingredients shy of being a proper cosmopolitan.

It wasn't the alcohol. Even under the thickest drunken fog, my memory was crystal clear. I think it was the shock. Shock of having the foundations of everything I understood pulled out from under me. While I had been quietly sheltered in my bubble, medical science had reached a point where you could casually walk into a cheap pharmacy in a back alley, have your junk cut off, and be attached to another person for the price of a cup of coffee. What? Seriously?

It was too much for my feeble brain to handle. I'd been thrust into a strange new world. Proof of it was in the next room.

"You sure you don't want to see it?" my wife shouted from the bathroom. "It really is incredible what they can do with a little gauze and lasers nowadays."

"No thanks," I squeaked nervously, and took another big gulp from my drink. The taste was bitter, numbing my tongue.

She walked out of the bathroom, staring down at her phone. Thankfully, she was wearing a baggy long t-shirt.

"I sent Amy a message, told her the package is safe and sound... get it, package?"

I smiled meekly as she slipped into the bed.

"I bet they're still out there, prowling the strip. I swear they have rocket fuel coursing through their veins," she said as she set her phone down on her nightstand.

I took one last sip. "And she asked you to... ah," I said, my eyes almost straying down as I asked the question.

As she pulled the covers up, she continued to fidget. "Just pick a goddamn side... what? Oh that. Don't get me wrong, she's madly in love with Jamie, smitten. She just doesn't trust him when he's with his goons, thinks after some encouragement he'll use his last remaining hours to fuck anything with a pulse. Jokes on him I guess."

"And he agreed too..."

"Oh he put up one hell of a fight, don't get me wrong. But Amy wore him down. She always gets her way."

"And you're stuck like that... till?" I asked as I set my drink down, letting the question hang awkwardly in the air.

"Monday morning, bright and early," she said, yawning. "I'll have them yank it off me on my way into work. I think there's a pharmacy on the way. Jamie better show up or I'll just stick it in a plastic bag and leave it in my trunk. If he wants it back, he knows how to reach me. Anyway, enough chatter. I'm wiped."

She leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, then turned off the light. "Night."

"Night," I whispered, turned on my side, and sank below the covers.

I closed my eyes, my mind scrambled, offering me no comfort. Sleep, wherever it may be, was out of reach. As I lay there, I remained fixated, unable to ignore the mad science experiment slumbering beside me.

I had a thousand questions, yet was terrified to know the answers. Was it functional? Obviously it had to be or else...

My imagination started to toy with me, straying into dark corners. Did it have... all the features?

As I tried to stomp out the thought before it caught fire and spread, my wife stirred, mumbling in her sleep. "Are you sure Amy? I think my husband might... I think he might want to..."

Her voice trailed off as she fell back asleep.

Might what? I might want to what?

Unable to join her, I waited, my nagging thoughts keeping me company. Every second was agony. At some point exhaustion kicked in, and I fell asleep, though it was short, interrupted when I was awoken by my wife.

"Goddamn it, why... why is it doing that?" she grumbled.

"Doing what?" I asked, half-asleep.

"You know, the thing it does when it's... well. You know."

I knew, having years of experience.

"It just does that," I mumbled, still laying on my side, eyes closed. "Just ignore it, it'll go away eventually."

"Seriously? I was literally just thinking about shoes. Wait, is that my secret fetish? Am I a weirdo?"

"You're not a weirdo. That's just what it does."

"Are you sure? It's been like an hour. What if it's broken? Should I go to an ER?"

"I'm sure it's fine."

"Well, I can't sleep like this, it's driving me nuts. There must be something I can do."

I didn't reply. There was something she could do, but I couldn't bring myself to say it.

"Come on, help me out," she whispered. "I know you still do it."

I did. It wasn't like I tried to hide it, it was just... it kinda felt stupid to admit to it. Yes, I, a grown ass adult, still jerked off every now and again, an emphasis on again, and again... and again.

"It's late," I mumbled.

"Well I can't sleep like this. You know, you could show me how..."

"There's nothing to show you. You just... figure it out."

"Spoiled sport," she pouted.

As I lay there listening, I sketched a picture in my mind. She wiggled out of her panties, pulling her...

I struggled with the word, unable, or unwilling to use it. Reluctantly, I pulled it up from my vocabulary.

Cock.

Her cock. My wife had a cock. A temporary cock, but still... a cock.

As I grappled with my grim new reality, my wife played with her new toy. She flopped it back and forth before discovering the simplest and easiest method to coax an enjoyable sensation out of it.

... the stroke.

She was a fast learner, starting slow, then gradually building before falling into a steady rhythm.

... and raw.

Jamie was in for a shock if she didn't ease up. Should I make a recommendation? Offer some lube?

I chose not to, preferring to keep my own technique a well guarded secret.

As she continued to stroke her hard cock, a playful whimper escaped her trembling lips. As I listened, I fought to remain still, appear distant, yet was betrayed, my own cock, triggered by... by what?

From the murky depths of my subconscious, my imagination sprang to life, flooding me with new ideas, dark ideas. In one I was on my knees, patiently waiting. My wife stood above me, reached down, and gently stroked my chin.

"So well behaved, so obedient," she said, her lips a crooked spiral. "And so eager."

I looked down, eyes drawn to the large bulge in her panties. "May I?" I asked.

"May you what, pet. Manners."

"May I please suck your co..."

I fought with the idea, squashing it. Another one took its place. I was on all fours, gripping the bed sheets, my wife behind me, hands dug into my hips.

"I knew I could break you," she snarled with delight as she thrust her hard cock into my virgin hole. "It wasn't even a challenge."

I clenched my jaw as I fought to block the thought. From beside me, my wife's pace built, quickly reaching a peak. She gasped, crying out, a chorus of raw pleasure. Spent, she collapsed into the pillow as she wound down.

As I lay there, she curled up beside me, sliding her hand across my hip, smearing the warm cum across my bare skin, and reached for my hard cock.

Did I resist? No. Severed from any communication with my body, I didn't move.

As she stroked my cock, she leaned in, and whispered in my ear. "Like that baby doll?"

As I gripped the bedsheets, a small whimper escaped my trembling lips.

"Is that a yes?" She asked. "I want to hear you say it."

"Yes," I gently moaned, betrayed by my own dark desire.

As she stroked my hard cock, she tightened her grip, exhausting the last of the thick goopy cum. The sensation was raw, rough. Unable to separate pain from pleasure, my body shook, trying to both pull away, and push against her. She brought her other hand underneath me, reached up, grabbed hold of my throat and pulled me closer, her breasts pressed against my back, and her...

It was limp, yet still unmistakable... her cock.

I whimpered as I swayed my hips, inviting it in, begging it to return to its previous state.

"Please," I gasped. "Please."

She released her grip on my cock, raised her hand over my chest, above my shoulders, and traced my trembling lips. I reached out with my tongue, eager to lick what remained of her gooey treat.

... and was denied as she pulled her hand away. "You'll have your chance," she said as she rolled onto her side.

Whimpering, I turned over, but she brushed me off.

"Be patient babydoll," she said as she drifted off to sleep. "Don't worry, we're going to have one hell of a weekend.

... continued in part two.