Something Borrowed Pt. 02

... previously on "Something Borrowed:"

Chapter Three

If I slept, it was in short bursts. As the dawn crept through our bedroom's blinds, I blinked and looked around. A trail of clothes led to the bathroom. Listening, I heard the faint sound of the shower drifting through the open door.

Everything was so... normal.

It was a dream, right?

It had to be. Nothing that bizarre could exist in reality. As I thought that, my hand swept across my thigh. There was a rough patch where something had dried. It couldn't be, could it?

I pulled back the blanket and stared down at it. It was chalk white, flaky. It could be anything.

There was one way to be sure...

"Good, you're finally awake," my wife said as she walked into the room.

I quickly pulled the sheet up to cover myself.

"Yea, I must have slept i..." I said as I looked up, then was cut short, surprised by what I saw.

My wife was wearing a snow white towel wrapped tightly around her waist, her ample breasts, freed, bounced with every step.

..."in," I said, completing my sentence. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine. You should shower. It'll help you wake up. I left you some hot water," she said as she walked towards me with a dark twinkle in her eye.

Through the thick towel I thought I could see the faint hint of a bulge.

When she reached the bed, she crawled to me on all fours.

"Don't be too long," she whispered as she hovered over me, then pressed her body against mine. Through the towel I could feel it, it was unmistakable, shattering any doubt.

A cock. Her cock, borrowed, yet very real.

She leaned in, kissed me gently, then bit my lower lip. Stunned, I gasped. She then reached out, grabbed my hands, pinned them to the bed, raised herself up, and looked down at me. Her gaze was carnal, the eyes of a meat eater, a shark.

"I don't know what's come over me," she said, breathing heavily. "It's like I'm bursting at the seams with energy. I haven't felt this good in years. I don't want to waste a second of it. Get ready, and let's do... something, anything. I don't want to spend the day moping around this stupid house like we always do."

"Ok, I..." I said but she kissed me again, her lips drowning out my words.

"Don't keep me waiting," she said, sprang off me, and walked towards the door. "Be quick. I'll make coffee to go."

A second later she was gone, still naked from the waist up. I'd never known her to walk around half-naked. Not that I would have cared, it was just not something she did, which was a shame, her body was stunning, though if I were to tell her that, she'd probably snort and roll her eyes.

All this extra energy wasn't seriously coming from her borrowed cock was it?

I almost laughed, realizing just how absurd it was to have thought that. Worse, it was probably true.

I crawled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom, my mind still unable, or unwilling to grasp this strange new reality. I knew they were making technological advances daily but why hadn't anyone tried to pump the brakes a bit when it came to chopping off someone's cock as part of a viral trend?

It was... misguided, yet not surprising. If there was a quick buck to be made the ethical questions always got trampled in the dust as everyone rushed to be the first to make it.

Under the warm soothing water of the shower I planned my next move. As bizarre as this mad science experiment was, it was temporary. On Monday she'd return her new toy, and things could go back to normal, or at least close too. I'd fall back into my old routine, plugging away at my dead end job from the safety of my tiny bubble, ignoring the nightmare that lay outside its thin barrier.

After I scrubbed all traces of the dry cum off my body, I changed, and joined my wife in the kitchen, drawn by the fresh scent of coffee.

"This should be enough to get us out the door," she said as she handed me a steaming cup of coffee.

"Thx," I said, trying not to stare down at her ample breasts as I took it. "So what's the plan?"

"You're going to love it," she said, raised her coffee cup, and took a sip. "We're going to go..."

My nerves frayed, still slightly aroused, my imagination toyed with me. I was stumbling into uncharted territory, my frail boundaries already weakened. She'd already discovered I was curious. How far would she push it?

... and would I resist?

As she spoke, her eyes lit up and I braced myself, expecting the worst.

..."antiquing!"

"Oh," I said surprised, and secretly relieved.

"I thought we could check out a few shops on the fringe of the city, see if we can't find something to spice up this dump. This may come as a surprise to you but not all furniture comes out of a cardboard box with instructions. Sound good?"

"Sure," I said, still slightly confused. "That sounds like... fun."

"Awesome," she said, took a big gulp from her mug, then set it down. "I suppose I should change then. They tend to frown on nudity amongst those circles."

She walked over to me, leaned in, her breasts grazing my arm, and kissed my cheek. "I skipped laundry day. Mind if I raid yours?"

"Ah..."

"Thx!" she said, spun around, and left the kitchen.

Alone, I finished my coffee. Antiquing, I thought. Ok, antiquing is easy. Unless she plans to rail me against an old dusty armoire, it would probably be fine. I can handle antiquing.

While she changed, I waited by the front door. "You know, if you want, we could just order in, binge a show," I shouted as I nervously eyed the door.

"Nonsense," she said as she walked down the stairs. "It's wonderful outside. Plus you could use some fresh air. When was the last time you left the house?"

I looked up at her. She was wearing a pair of torn jeans and a red flannel shirt. "Those are mine?" I asked.

She looked down. "Yea. I dug them out of the back of your closet. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not," I said. If they were mine, I didn't recognize them.

"Ready?" she asked.

I looked at the front door again. "Uh... huh."

"Great," she said, and opened it.

As I stood there, staring out into the pale lemon yellow morning haze, I hesitated. What other surprises were waiting for me out there? Would I forget to duck as I crossed the lawn and get clobbered by a flying car?

"You ok?" my wife asked.

"Fine," I said, and walked past her, through the front door to our parked car.

An hour later, we were on the edge of the desert, far from the tourist traps and money pits.

"Let's stop there," my wife said as she pointed our car at a small gas station.

"Are we low on gas?" I asked.

"Take a closer look," my wife said, laughing.

I did, peering out through the windshield at what looked like a typical gas station. It wasn't. The sign, shaped like a cup with fluorescent light bulbs the size of softballs spelled out the word "gas." The single story building was painted cherry red and snow white. There were gas pumps, but they looked like relics. Plus, they were useless to the electric cars parked around them.

"I love it when they convert these old pit stops into coffee shops, don't you?" My wife asked.

"That's a... coffee shop?"

"Wasn't it obvious by the giant coffee cup? Seriously, we need to get you out more often!"

"Right," I said as we parked.

We walked into the coffee shop. It was packed. A long line snaked from the front counter all the way to the front door. As we stood in it, my wife pulled out her phone.

..."there's this app," she said as she scrolled through it. "That lists all the pop-up antique sales. That's what we want to hit up. Everything else has probably been picked clean. Hold on. I think I may have found one. It's just down the road."

"Oh, ok," I said nervously as I looked around. Thankfully we hadn't drawn any attention to ourselves, nor should we. On the surface everything was perfectly normal.

On the surface...

"So, while I have your undivided attention," she said as she pocketed her phone. "I gotta ask. How's the screenplay going? Have you written the next big summer blockbuster yet?"

"Oh... that," I said, deflated. "It's ah... going."

When in fact it wasn't. I'd devoted my free time to the pursuit of being a screenwriter. It hadn't gone well. After my initial burst of enthusiasm subsided, I'd spent weeks staring at a flashing cursor, unable to channel my ideas into a string of coherent words. Whatever was obstructing me was worse than writer's block. It was as if my brain was scrambled, the wires fried.

"That well?" she laughed. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Sure," I replied.

"I've read your work, it's great, it's just... how do I say this. It's your voice. You're not channeling your voice."

I looked at her, confused. "What do you mean by my "voice?"

"It's all those roided up action stars you seemed fixated on. You keep dumping them into unbelievable scenarios. It comes off flat. It's just not you."

Not me? I thought. Then who was I?

"Honey, I love you with all my heart, I really do. It's just... you're not that type of guy. You're more like a..."

The line ended and we reached the front of the counter. My wife ordered for both of us, paid, then we stepped aside, waiting for our coffee to be made.

"Hold the fort for a second, I just need to use the can."

Can, I thought. Seriously?

I'd never once heard her refer to the bathroom as a "can." It was one of a million little odd things I'd picked up on. And what had she meant by my voice?

Although not jacked, I was by no means pencil thin. There was some meat on the bone, a decent amount of muscle. Even though I worked from home, I still took time to exercise, and while I had slimmed down a bit since my university days, I thought it was a good look, healthy.

Lost in my thoughts. My wife returned.

"Well, that was certainly an... interesting experience. I gotta admit, I think you guys got a better system than us."

"Better system?" I asked. Then it occurred to me. She'd used the mens bathroom.

Chapter Four

"Are you sure you're reading it right?" My wife asked as we turned onto a torn-up gravel road.

"There's no sign, but it looks about right," I said as I looked up from her phone.

We were in a residential area, or what had once been one. The driveways were still intact but the houses had been torn down, reduced to piles of rubble, demolished by the lemon yellow bulldozers sitting idle on their trampled lawns.

"New Construction?" she asked as the wheels of our small car spat up gravel and dust.

"Appears to be," I said. "Maybe we're too late."

"What's the number again?" my wife asked.

"69."

A smirk lit up her face. "Well, if it's still standing it'll be further in."

We continued to drive. A few mailboxes had survived, leading us like a trail of breadcrumbs to our destination.

"It looks like they've leveled them all, it's probably..."

I looked up and saw... pink. Pink plastic flamingos spread out across a lush green lawn. Beyond it was a small one story house painted snow white with cherry red planters. A cardboard sign with the words "Antique Sale" was hung on the mailbox.

"Success!" my wife shouted as she pulled into the driveway. "And it looks like we're just in time.

Two bulldozers, like bloated bumblebees had cut across the lawn, leaving a jagged scar in the grass, and were parked within striking distance of the house.

"Maybe they're on a lunch break," my wife said as she turned off the engine.

I unbuckled my seatbelt. "Maybe."

We both stepped out of the car. A warm desert breeze swept between the rubble, kicking up dust. Above us, the sun glared down, its unblinking gaze fixed, magnifying the dry heat. In the distance I could see the flat plane, dirt cracked, vegetation sparse, stretching towards the distant horizon.

"I should have worn shorts," my wife said as she walked up to the front door. "It's too bloody hot."

I looked around. We were the only parked car. "I guess we're the only ones out antiquing today."

"Great," my wife said as she reached the door. "More loot for us."

As she was about to grab the doorknob, the door swung open. What stood on the other side was not, as I initially thought, a small blue peacock. It was a woman, a very old woman well into her golden years. Her skin was like sandpaper, her jagged wrinkles drawn with black chalk. Her hair, shaped like a beehive, was bright blue. She was wearing a floral dress, the daisies wilted. Her bone white hand was wrapped around a bright pink plastic suitcase.

"You the taxi?" she grunted.

"Ah, no," my wife said, her hand still raised. "We're here about the antique sale."

"This house is an antique," she snorted. "Not that anyone cares. It's scheduled to be demolished. I'd say about, two, maybe three hours from now. Was hoping to sell a few things before they tore it down. Nobody came."

"Oh," my wife said, lowering her hand. "I see."

"Have a look around," she said, then leaned down and patted her plastic suitcase. "I already grabbed anything of value. Rest is landfill. There's my cab."

As she spoke, a yellow cab drove into the driveway.

She walked past us, then turned around.

"Not that it matters," she said, reached into a pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and tossed them at us. "Lock up when you leave. I won't be back. Gonna live on a cruise till the good lord takes me or the money runs out."

"Sure, will do," my wife said as she caught the keys.

The cabbie loaded her plastic suitcase into the trunk and they drove off, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

"Well ok then," my wife said laughing. "Not quite what I was expecting. Shall we have a quick look around before they level the place?"

"Sure," I said as I nervously eyed the bulldozer. "But if I hear one of those things rev up, I'm jumping out of the nearest window."

"Deal," she said, and we stepped inside.

"Wow, just wow. That old bat wasn't kidding," she whispered as we soaked in our surroundings.

The furniture was prehistoric, the type seen in grainy old black and white shows when television first crawled out of the primordial ooze. The wallpaper was mint green, the thick carpet the color of tanned leather.

"This place is giving me serious family trip to ol' naan vibes," my wife said as she explored the living room. "I wanna jump up and down on the couch, but I'm afraid I might accidentally summon her angry spirit."

I walked over to the old TV set. "I bet they watched the moon landing, live on this thing."

"Check it out," my wife said laughing as she held up a glass ashtray. "I haven't seen one of these in decades!"

I laughed, then continued to explore. "You should see the kitchen," I shouted.

"I will in a bit, I..." she said, her voice breaking up as she dove deeper into the house.

As I stood there, standing in the small kitchen, I soaked it in. The stove was lime green with silver accents. The clock was analog, the time still accurate to the second.

Funny how some things don't change, I thought as I ran my hand over the stove's smooth chrome surface.

The old bat had taken care of the place. Everything was spotless. There was some wear and tear, but that was expected. It was a far cry from everything in our tiny house. It was all made of disposable plastic slapped together with cheap glue. Cursed with the life span of the average gnat, it croaked after just a few uses. Cheaper to replace than repair, we chucked it, ordered a new one and tossed it onto whatever credit card could carry the weight. Standing here now, in this kitchen, surrounded by all these old appliances, I felt like I'd missed out on something, but I couldn't quite say what.

Ok, that's enough time spent wandering down memory lane, I thought, and went searching for my wife. She wasn't in the living room, she was in the...

"Seriously?" I asked as I caught her snooping through the bedroom closet.

She peered over her shoulder, a smirk painted across her face. "You should really see this. It's a goldmine!"

"Don't you think that's a bit... nosey?" I asked.

"Not at all," she said as she continued to rummage through the closet. "In a few hours this place will be reduced to rubble. You heard the old bat, she's already cleaned out anything of value... whoa, or maybe not."

She reached in, and pulled out a coal gray suit. "The classics never die. I think it might even be the right size."

"Looks about right," I said, though at a quick glance it appeared to be a bit too big to fit me.

She reached back into the closet, and continued to rifle through the clothing. "Yes, this will do... nicely."

She pulled out a lime green dress with a flared skirt. It had short sleeves and a low neckline.

"Cute," I said, though it looked too small to fit her.

"It is," she said as she laid it down on the bed. "Though I doubt it was the old bat's."

"Oh?" I asked, confused. "Then who's?"

She didn't reply as she stared down, her eyes drawn to the suit.

"I would have slain back then," she whispered.

"What?" I asked.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Back in the late fifties, early sixties. With my natural instincts unleashed, not bogged down by stupid politics, I would have run circles around everyone else."

She reached down and started to trace the lines of the suit, mesmerized by it. "I would have been invincible, a real shark. The only reason I didn't was because of a stupid life lottery."

"Lottery?" I asked, still confused.

She looked up at me. "It's not important. You want to do something wild, have a little fun?"

"Sure," I said nervously.

"We're always saying we need to post more online as a couple, right?"

"I ah... suppose." We had? Since when?

"This place is like a time capsule. Wouldn't it be fantastic if we dressed up, played house and took a few photos in it before they tore it down?"

I mauled the idea over. Why not? It'd been ages since I last wore a suit, nor had I updated any of my socials. I'd let them rot, lacking the energy to update them on a regular basis. Plus, it wasn't like anything from my dull vanilla life was worth posting.

"Ok, but if I fall out of those trousers, I want the photos deleted," I said as I reached for the suit.

"Actually," she said as she picked up the line green dress. "I want you to wear... this."

Chapter Five

As I sat on the bed, I thought back, searching for the exact moment when everything went off the rails. It was the hair removal cream. I should have said no to the goo.

"It's like a fully stocked pharmacy in here," my wife shouted as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. "Ah, there you are. Fantastic!"

She returned to the bedroom holding a small plastic bottle. "The expiry date is worn out, but I'm sure it's fine, I doubt this gunk ever goes bad."

"Is this totally... necessary?" I asked as she handed me the bottle.

"Absolutely. Do you really want one of our friends zooming in on your hairy ass legs?"

"Well no... it's just."

"Perfect," she said, ignoring me. "It's pretty straight forward. Smear it on your body, wait fifteen minutes then rinse it off in the shower. I'm going to snoop around some more. I'll leave everything you'll need on the bed."

Need, I thought. What else did I need?

Before I could ask, she ushered me into the bathroom, and closed the door behind me. I took it in. The walls were lined with pink tiles, the fixtures silver, utilities light blue. The towels on a low hanging shelf were coordinated, all white. As I stood there, I looked down at the small plastic bottle in my hand.

Hair removal cream...

The letters were faded. Fuck, for all I knew, I might be holding the original recipe, maybe even the first bottle to roll off the assembly line.

15 minutes I thought...

It wasn't as if it was permanent. My hair would grow back. Plus, it wasn't like I had much to begin with. While most guys turned feral as they matured, it was as if my genes had sputtered out before completing the job.

I undid my belt, unzipped my pants, pulled off my shirt, and kicked off my boxers. I then pulled back the shower curtain, and sat down on the edge of the tub, the porcelain cold against my bare skin.

I opened the bottle and squirted a big wad of goo into my palm. If it was off, it didn't give off a foul smell. I smeared it all over my body, set a timer on my phone, and waited.

"Oh my fucking god," my wife shouted from the bedroom.

"What?" I asked.

"You're not going to believe what I discovered," she said as she burst into the bathroom.

"The fuck," I shouted, shocked, and tried to cover myself. "Do you mind? Privacy."

As she looked down at me she snorted. "Honey, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Still a little warning would be ni..."

She cut me off. "Look at what I found while I was digging through that old bat's drawers. Looks like she was living her best life."

She held up several polaroids. I looked up. In them the old bat was wearing a tight black latex catsuit with a strap-on dildo. Cowering at her feet were men wearing pastel colored dresses with short flared skirts.

"You wouldn't believe some of the weird kinky stuff I found tucked away in the bottom drawer of her dresser. She wasn't messing around. I bet she was making a killing. Genius really. On the surface, appear like a quiet old grannie, Meanwhile behind the scenes you're running a secret sex dungeon. I'm going to go explore more. How much longer do you have to sit in that goo?"

I checked my phone. "Five minutes."

"Perfect, that gives me lots of time. Although, I bet she took all the good stuff with her."

I thought back, remembering the plastic suitcase she'd wheeled out of the house. Was it packed full of kinky sex toys destined for a cruise liner?

Those poor lonely single old men, I thought. Easy prey on the high seas.

As my wife left, the alarm on my phone went off. I stood up, pulled back the plastic curtain, and turned on the shower. When the water warmed up, I stepped in, and picked up a bath sponge. Under the soothing spray I scrubbed off the goo. As the soapy suds washed away, I reached down, gliding my hand over my skin, smooth like butter.

"Secret formula?" I whispered, stunned.

My belly was flat, a shocking feat considering my diet seemed to be an active attempt of sabotage. From it, my hips ballooned out, tapering off into long athletically lean legs.

I was snapped out of my trance when my wife shouted from the bedroom. "Hurry up. You're never going to believe what I've found. I hit the jackpot!"

I scrubbed the last of the goo off, turned off the shower, stepped out, wrapped a towel around my waist, and joined her in the bedroom.

She'd changed and was wearing the suit. It was a perfect fit, the lines sleek, razor sharp. Was it one of the old bat's clients or perhaps a late husband, and if it was, what had happened to him? Maybe I was better off not knowing.

"So what do you think, is it me?" She asked, resting her hand on her hip

"You look... fantastic,"

"You think so?" She asked as she looked down at her suit. "The tie was a bit tricky. I'm not sure where I picked that up from, but it was easy to tie. Well, at least I know my measurements now. I might have to get a few more of these in my size."

As she spoke, I noticed a large cardboard box on the bed with Polaroid pictures scattered around it.

"Oh, that," she said as she followed my gaze. "I found it tucked away in the back of the closet. Go on, have a look."

As I walked over to the cardboard box I looked down at the Polaroid pictures. They were the old bat's clients. Her... what was the word I was looking for?

... sissies.

I have no idea why the word sprang into my mind but it did. They were her submissives, her sissies and she was their dominatrix, their dom and by the looks of it, was admired.

In one, a sissy wearing a bright pink dress with big puffy shoulders and a short skirt with a thick petticoat was on all fours licking her boot. In another, they were spread out across her lap, bare ass being paddled. In yet another, they were dressed like a maid, wearing a collar with a chain wrapped tightly around her fist.

"I found stacks of photos like this," my wife said as she picked one up and looked at it. "Looks like the old bat was running quite the side hustle during her golden years."

I reached down, and picked one up. In it, a sissy wearing a lime green dress was on his knees, eyes glued to a massive strap-on dildo being waved in front of his trembling lips.

... lime green dress.

"If I followed politics, I bet I'd recognize a few of these guys," she said and tossed the photo on the bed. "I doubt she was declaring any of this in her taxes. It's all under the table... and on apparently. I wouldn't be surprised if she's been able to tuck away enough cash to cruise around the world till her light finally goes out, which by the looks of some of these photos, won't be for a long time."

"Looks like it," I mumbled, my mind dazed, overwhelmed by the strange display of kink before me.

"That's not all I found," she said, walked over to the cardboard box, pulled open the flaps, and reached inside.

My eyes widened as she pulled out a frilly set of white panties and a push-up bra with pink bows.

"Washed and neatly folded. I doubt they've even been worn, and if I'm correct... your size."

"M... my size?" I squeaked as I stared at it. "Is that... is that necessary?"

"Well, it would look odd if you were only wearing the garters and stockings."

"The what?" I asked, shocked.

She reached back into the box, and pulled out a matching set of garters and an unopened pack of thigh-high stockings.

"Oh," I whispered.

"I also found these," she said as she pulled out a plain cardboard box. "If my math is correct, they should fit."

"You want me to wear sh... shoes too?" I asked nervously.

"Heels, pet. They're called heels," she said as she set the box down on the bed. "They take some getting used to, but with a little patience and a lot of practice, I think you'll manage."

As I looked down at the strange collection of lingerie spread across the bed my throat tightened.

"Before you change, I found something else, something... special."

"Sp... special?" I croaked.

She reached back into the box, pulled something out, keeping it hidden.

"Have a seat on the bed."

I sat down on the bed.

"Lose the towel."

"What... why?" I asked, nervously.

"Because I told you too, that's why."

Reluctantly, I let the towel fall to the floor, embarrassed that the shower had shrunk my junk.

"Perfect," she said as she looked down and smirked. "Now, I want you to stay just like that, ok?"

"I don't think that's going to be a proble..." I mumbled but was cut short when she opened her hand. Resting on her palm was a small chastity cage with a small metal dome.

"You can't be serious," I gasped.

"Please, for me?" She pouted. "It'll be fun, I promise. They're all the rage right now, super hot. I was going to ask you to wear one for me, but I never built up the nerve."

"Why don't you wear it," I grumbled. "After all, you have a..." I couldn't bring myself to say it as my cheeks went beet red.

"True, but I promised Amy I'd return the goods unscathed. If I accidently break Jamie's junk, her kids might have crooked spines."

I looked down again at the chastity cage. "I wouldn't even know how to put it on," I mumbled.

"It's pretty straight forward," she said as she unlocked it and separated the dome from the ring. "Slip one testie through at a time, slide it to the base of your cock then attach the dome... at least that's what I read online."

"And this is sexy, how?

"Control," she said with a corkscrew grin. "It's all about control. For a little while at least. As your keyholder..."

"My what?" I asked, almost bursting out into laughter.

Scowling, she continued to speak. "As your keyholder, you must do as you're told, without question, and if you behave, you'll be rewarded."

"Rewarded how?" I asked.

She extended her hand, holding out the chastity cage. "Play along, and you'll find out."

I looked down at it. If the reward was sex, it would be the first time since... since. When was the last time we'd had sex?

I couldn't think of an exact date but I knew it fell under a different season, maybe even a different year. It wasn't because of a lack of enjoyment, it was just... every day bled into another, part of a grueling routine that was fueled by a steady supply of coffee. Then, running on fumes, we'd reach the end of the day, and collapse on the couch, our last few remaining brain cells flickering out as we scrolled through our phones till we crawled up to bed. If, and when we had the drive, we waited till the weekend which got drowned out by everything we'd put off. I had to admit, since she'd shelved Jamie's junk, she'd had a burst of energy. Maybe this was the spark we needed to rekindle the waning fire of our intimacy?

Fuck it, I thought. What's the harm?

Without speaking, I reached out, picked up the small chastity cage, and brought the ring down, just below my teasties "So I just... slip it on?" I asked as I glanced up at her.

She nodded, watching me with feverish eyes as I struggled to slip them through. "Yes, just like that," she said softly.

The ring seemed impossibly small but I was able to slip my teasties through it, one at a time. As I fought to avoid an erection, I shoved my limp dick under the ring, and slid it to the base of my cock.

"ok, done," I said. "It's ah... tight."

"You'll get used to it," she said, and handed me the dome. I took it, and brought it down, eyes glued on the ring, straining to concentrate as I lined it up. I winced in pain as I accidentally snagged my skin, then slid it into place.

"There, done, although this looks ridicul..."

I was cut off as my wife reached down and spread my legs.

"My turn," she said, as she gently fell down onto her knees between them. The sight was too much, short-circuiting my brain. My cock strained against its new iron prison. The pain was intense, causing me to bite my lower lip.

"You're not that fierce without your bark," she teased as she pawed at my caged cock, then held it in place, denying me. "Looks like there's no escape for you now. You're mine."

"How long do I have to wear this stupid thing?" I groaned.

"Till I say so," she said as she leaned in and hovered over my caged cock. My heart beat frantically, my legs trembling as I watched her.

She looked up at me, her eyes hungry, feral. "You'll do exactly as you're told, without question. Is that understood?"

"Ye... yes, of course," I mumbled as I was swept under her spell.

"Good, and if you do, if you behave," she said as she parted her lips, and looked down at my caged cock. "You'll be... rewarded.

She plunged forward and dragged her tongue across the smooth surface of the dome, then looked up at me, her eyes filled with raw lust. My cock ached, fighting a losing battle. She pulled away, pressed her hand down on the iron dome, brought the key up to the lock, and locked it.

"You should get changed," she said as she pocketed the key and stood up. "When you're done I'll be in the living room. Do you need any help with your makeup?"

"Ma... make up?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"to compliment the dress. Nothing to fancy."

I looked over at the vanity. She'd pulled out several small bottles and makeup palettes.

"I... I think I can manage," I lied. I didn't know the first thing about applying makeup.

"Good, don't keep me waiting."

"Oh... ok," I said as I nervously looked down at the lingerie set on the bed.

She smiled, turned, and left the room.

Alone, my gaze never strayed from the lingerie. As I stared at it, my cock throbbed, still reacting to the ripples of pleasure denied by the chastity cage.

Am I overreacting?

I reached down, and picked up the panties. They were snow white with intricate lace and decorated with several bows. The material was delicate, silky.

"Panties," I whispered, the word like dark sorcery.

Nonsense, I thought. It's just a silly game, nothing more.

I brought them down, was about to dip my toes in, then hesitated. If this was just a game, shouldn't there be rules, a safe word?

If there was one, my wife hadn't mentioned it to me.

... and would I even use it?

As I wrestled back and forth, my thoughts were drowned out by the low ache of my imprisoned cock, freed only if I played along.

Ok, I thought. I'll play along... for now.

Hands trembling, I slipped on the panties, and brought them up over the iron cage, leaving a small bulge. As I stared down at it, my cock continued to strain against its iron prison. Had I discovered a new kink?

Nothing several hundred hours of therapy can't unravel, I thought, trying to ignore it.

I reached down and picked up the push-up bra. Hidden beneath its soft cotton surface was a web of wires and thick padding.

"A push-up bra?" I asked as I squeezed it, and then smirked. "Fat chance you have any luck pushing up anything on my chest.

I raised the bra, slipped my arms through the straps then blindly tried to attach them behind my back. After several failed attempts, I was successful. I then reached down, picked up the garters, wrapped them around my waist, and hooked them in the back. Which left only the...

"Stockings," I muttered as I reached down and picked up the package. It was old, the ink faded, tape frayed. I opened it, and pulled the nylons out. They were whisper thin, the colour like milk chocolate.

I rolled them up into a donut, dipped my toes in, brought them up, and attached them to the garters. I then reached down, and opened the shoe box. Inside, cradled in tissue paper was a pair of ivory white heels. I pulled them out, and slipped them on.

"A perfect fit," I whispered, surprised.

I stood up, reached down, picked up the lime green short-sleeved dress, unzipped it, stepped in, pulled it up, brought my arms through the sleeves, and reached back for the zipper.

... and failed.

As I struggled to reach it, I caught my reflection in the vanity's mirror, and stopped, shocked by what I saw. It was unknown to me, invading a space that had always been occupied by my familiar old doughy body. The line green short-sleeved dress hugged my body. Propped up on the heels, my ass was raised, the thigh-high stockings peeking out below the short skirt.

It was as if my body had undergone a strange transformation. Seriously, what was in that goo? Or was it the water? The pipes in this house were ancient, the walls probably clogged with asbestos.

... wait, didn't they used to test atomic bombs out in the desert?

Don't overthink it, I thought. Plus, it wasn't the complete picture. I still had to do my makeup.

Makeup...

I didn't know the first thing about makeup. I looked over at the assorted pile by the vanity mirror. How hard could it be?

I sat down. There were several palettes, small plastic tubes, and an assortment of brushes. Ok, so where should I begin?

I looked up into the vanity's mirror, staring into the deep well of my own eyes. There, far below the surface, lurking in the depths I saw... saw.

Lights twinkled, glittering like a sea of sequins. I saw a dazzling array of colors in a chorus line moving in unison. As I stared at it, wide-eyed, captivated, I reached down, picked up the foundation, opened it, and applied a thin layer. The rest came naturally, bubblegum pink eyeshadow with a hint of silver, thick mascara, and cherry red lipstick.

When I was done I sat back, and soaked in the complete picture. As my hair dried it had fallen into a sculpted bob. Combined with the makeup I was almost unrecognizable.

... almost.

It was still me, just a different me, like the dark side of the moon hidden from the sun. No longer.

As I stared at my reflection my throat tightened. "Who are you?" I whispered.

In reply, my reflection only smiled.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from the mirror, stood up, and attempted to reach the zipper again.

"Who designed these stupid things?" I grumbled.

Frustrated, I walked out of the bedroom, or rather stumbled as I adjusted to walking in heels. As I stepped into the living room I smelled smoke... cigarette smoke.

I looked up. From behind a tall chair I saw a thin ribbon of gray smoke. A hand appeared, tapped a lit cigarette into an ashtray, then vanished back behind the chair.

I walked around the chair. My wife was sitting in it holding her phone and the lit cigarette. She looked up at me.

"You look... stunning," she said, then took another drag from her cigarette.

"Thank you," I said, blushing, then turned around, and peeked over my shoulder. "Do you mind zipping me up?"

She placed the cigarette back in her mouth then spoke through clenched teeth.

"Sure doll," she said, then patted her thigh. "Have a seat."

I obediently sat down on her lap.

"Since when do you smoke?" I asked as she zipped me up.

"It's a filthy habit I picked up in university. Thankfully I quit after I graduated. While I was poking around I found a pack tucked away in the old bat's dresser and thought, fuck it, why not?"

"Ah huh," I smirked, then glanced down at her phone. "So, what exactly did you have in mind for your little... photoshoot?"

"You're going to love it. This place is like the exact replica of that old black and white show... you know... the ah... Anyway, that's not important, they all pretty much had the same premise. Here," she said as she handed me the phone. "Get a couple of shots of me in the chair."

I took the phone from her and stood up. "So just a shot of you sitting there?" I asked.

"Hold on," she said, looked around, then reached down, and picked up a newspaper.

"I can't remember the last time I read one of these things," she chuckled as she put the cigarette back in her mouth, and opened the newspaper. "Do they even still print them?"

"Check the date," I said as I peered through the phone.

She laughed as she read it. "Well the good news is the war is over."

"Which one?" I asked.

She looked up at me and smirked. "Does it matter?"

I laughed, took several photos, then checked them on her phone.

"Well?" She asked as she took another drag from her cigarette. "Did I pass the audition?"

"Ah," I said as I swiped through the photos, unprepared for what I saw. My wife was gone, scrubbed clean. In the tailored suit the natural curves of her body were like daggers, sharpened to a point. As the lit cigarette dangled from her mouth she stared down the barrel of the camera. It was her eyes. They were magnetic, pulling me in. I could drown in that deep well of aqua blue, pulled under the surface, lost forever.

"Well?" She asked, snapping me back into reality.

"You look very... handsome."

"Handsome," she snorted. "That's something my grandmother used to say before she planted a big sloppy kiss on my forehead. Handsome."

"Hot?" I asked.

"Ok, my turn," she said, and held out her hand.

I gave her the phone. "So I should just...?" I asked, letting the question hang awkwardly in the air.

Glued to her phone, she swiped through the photos. "Oh, this one for sure."

"Hu... hello?" I asked.

She looked up at me. "Oh, sorry, right. Ok, so here's what I was thinking. You ready?"

"Sure," I said nervously.

"Ok," she said, raising her phone, the ash dangling from her cigarette. "Domestic bliss."

"Domestic bliss?" I asked, confused.

"Yea, Domestic bliss. I want you to really sink your teeth into it, embrace the role. Here's how. Picture yourself as a housewife in the fifties during the peak of the nuclear family back when you could live comfortably on a single income, my income."

She took another drag of her cigarette then looked at it. "Back when nine out of ten doctors agreed that the smooth unfiltered flavour of a cigarette was a part of a healthy well balanced active lifestyle.

She looked back at me, smiling. "As a housewife, free of any financial burden, your only concern is to maintain a nice and tidy house."

"A nice... and tidy house," I mumbled.

"See, there you go. You got it," she said, then peered through her phone. "And... action."

A nice and tidy house, I thought as I looked around the living room. It was surprisingly clean, the furniture sparse. A spongy looking sofa was set against the back wall. The coffee table in front of it was a simple wooden slab. There were several small tables and the chair my wife was sitting in, all in a close orbit around the old television set.

Under the piercing gaze of my wife's phone I felt the urge to act.

... a tidy house.

As I bent over to pick up a stray magazine, I peered over my shoulder. My wife was smiling at me like a ghoul, cigarette clenched between her teeth. I turned around, and focused on my task. As I tidied up it almost felt... natural, oddly familiar. It then dawned on me, the layout of the living room was exactly the same as our small house. The couch, coffee table, even the TV were all in the exact same position which, if I was being honest, wasn't really that much of a shock, just an interesting observation. Even after decades of scientific advancements, even though time marched on, some things hadn't changed.

Did the old bat also keep a vacuum cleaner in the downstairs closet?

There was only one way to know for sure.

I crossed the living room, and opened the closet in the front hall. Sure enough, tucked behind a shabby old fur coat was a vacuum cleaner. A functioning vacuum cleaner?

It was shaped like a slow lumbering tank fortified in heavy steel. A single light bulb the size of a softball was mounted on its front. A faded burlap bag hung from its tall iron mast. There was one switch with only two options, on or off.

Electric? I thought as I searched for a cord. There was one. I pulled it out of the closet and wheeled it into the living room. My wife was staring down into her phone. Seriously? I thought as I saw her swipe at it. Is she looking at those damn photos again?

I need to get her attention. But how?

I did a quick search and found an electrical plug behind the small table next to the couch. I uncoiled the cord and plugged it in, half expecting a burst of sparks. Thankfully there wasn't.

... the moment of truth.

I flicked the on switch. The vacuum roared to life like a jet engine. The light bulb lit up, bathing the floor in pale fluorescent light. Incredibly, my wife was unphased, lost under the spell of her stupid phone.

This was your dumb idea, pay attention to me, I pouted as I pushed the vacuum cleaner back and forth. She continued to ignore me, fixated on her phone. Undeterred, I continued. As I did, I found the sound of the vacuum oddly... soothing. As I circled around her chair, my body on autopilot, my mind drifted. Did she want a housewife?

... was I already one?

Of course not, I thought. The idea was absurd, and yet...

I was employed but just barely, working from home, often rarely for more then a few hours. With more free time, most of the chores fell on me. I hadn't complained, nor would have. With every rung of the corporate ladder my wife scaled, she was rewarded with a raise. My career, in contrast, had puttered out at launch. When I'd said I wanted to pursue writing she'd encouraged me, though I often had to wait until after I'd... tidied up the house.

I was her housewife. The realization left me stunned, yet not shocked, nor as I thought about it upset.

I could walk away from my job tomorrow, and it would barely make a dent in our finances. Should I?

With the added time I could focus on the house, ensuring that not even a single speck of dust could settle on any surface. I could improve my cooking, find new recipes to surprise her with, then when she arrived home, exhausted from a long hard day at the office, meet her at the front door, perched on my ivory white heels, and kiss her on the cheek.

... ivory white heels.

Ok, not in heels. Why would I be wearing heels?

Confused, I looked up. My wife was staring past me, wide-eyed in horror. As I followed her fear stricken gaze, the seconds turned to hours. I turned to face the back wall, or what remained of it, crumbling as a set of lemon yellow jaws tore through it. Paralyzed with fear, I simply stared, watching as it swallowed the couch whole. I was jerked back as my wife grabbed me, and dragged me down the hallway. As we stumbled past the bedroom it imploded as a second bulldozer ripped through the walls.

"Here!" my wife shouted, as part of a wall collapsed in front of us. We dove forward, plunging into a thick dust cloud. As I stumbled blind and choking, I screamed her name. There was no reply.

"I'm here," she called out, her voice cutting through the dust. "It's ok, I'm here. We're safe."

I looked up at her through tear soaked eyes, and leapt into her arms. "Thank god you're safe. We could have been killed," I sobbed.

She looked past me, scowling. "Those dumbasses didn't bother to check to see if anyone was in the house. I'm going to go knock the living daylights out of them."

I turned to look. As the dust settled, all that remained of the house was a pile of rubble.

"When I'm through with them they'll be carrying their teeth in a..." As she spoke, her phone rang. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. "Hello?"

"My clothes," I whimpered, then turned to look at her.

"Yes... yes... I see. Ok... I understand," she said then hung up.

"I think that's enough excitement for one day. Can we please just go home before anyone else tries to flatten us?" I asked, lips trembling.

"No time," my wife said as she pocketed her phone. "That was Amy. It's Jamie. He's missing."

... concluded in part three