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
