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.
