Into The Dog House Ch 01

[ Note: I have categorised this story in NonConsent/Reluctance, because its overall focus will be on undernegotiated kink and elements of humiliation. There will also be fetish/BDSM content, some homosexual content (despite/alongside a main heterosexual couple), some cuckoldry, chastity, and loving wives-themed elements. Basically, if you are into undernegotiated male submission and female dominance, this should be the story for you. ]

***

Gregory loved his wife.

This thesis statement was by no means an original thought, god knows. It's what a husband is meant to do with his wife -- love her. And he did, to the point of insanity. Like now, as they slept in on a lazy Saturday morning, and he was awake before her, and he could look at her for as long as he wanted. Rachel was a beautiful woman -- small in stature, petite all over, but a stunning face and an elegance that never failed to make Gregory feel like a clumsy oaf standing next to her. She was a natural blonde who looked and smelled like sunshine, and he loved her so fucking much.

And today was her birthday, blessedly falling on a weekend. This knowledge stirred a deep warm excitement inside of Gregory. After all, they had a tradition, and he hadn't stopped thinking about it all week.

This morning wasn't for that, though. This morning was for an absence of alarms, for a warm bed and a slow start. But it was getting late, and he wanted to start things off right, so carefully, Gregory got out of bed, and quietly made his way to the kitchen. She was going to wake up as soon as he worked the coffee machine -- their shared apartment was nice but small, making a number of things impossible to do, like a stealth breakfast in bed.

No pets, either, a constant source of angst. Well, no pets yet.

Gregory quietly got out a plate, loaded up on some fresh strawberries, some slices of melon, some grapes and berries. Then, he turned on the espresso machine, and sighed a little as it growled out a cup of coffee, filling the apartment with noise. He looked towards the open bedroom door, where he could see a slice of the bed, her bare leg, now rotating as she stirred. Quickly, he picked up the plate of fruit and the cup of coffee and headed back inside.

She had rolled over, sinking still into the plush mattress. The covers had slid away to reveal her body, her nightdress ridden up around her smooth thighs, and the lacey hem only barely covered her round little ass. Gregory set her breakfast down on the table beside the bed, and knelt down onto the mattress.

"Morning, princess," he said, quietly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. He saw her nose wrinkle, burying her face a little more into the pillow, and he kissed her cheek again, and then her temple, then her jaw, a steady rain of kisses that he knew would start to tickle her. Rachel gave a muffled complaint, lifting her shoulder to block him, and then giggled when he forcibly rolled her onto her back, kissing her face, her neck, her chest.

"Greg," she groaned, trying to push his face away. "I'm sleeping in."

"It's almost 10," Gregory said, settling onto the bed, insistently kissing her face again. "You have a lunch date. I need to fill you up with breakfast before you knock back those mimosas."

"God," Rachel said, still trying to squirm away as he nosed up under her chin. "It's like we own a dog after all."

Gregory grinned, and his next kiss was a lick to her cheek, causing Rachel to squeal and thump her hand against his shoulder.

"Stop," she said, but there was a warm flush to her face that caught Gregory a little off-guard. She sat up, tugging her nightdress down to cover more of her thighs, and his attention darted down to how this motion tugged the hem of her nightdress lower to reveal more of her cleavage. He felt himself stir inside his shorts, and when she looked to him, making eye contact, he knew she could detect his interest.

He knew, because her expression did the same thing it always did lately: a flash of uncertainty in her blue eyes, a tension at her mouth. A chilliness that settled in her regard of him, as if she found his interest, at best, inconvenient, and at worst, offputting.

Gregory loved his wife, but lately, she'd made loving her harder and harder to do.

"I brought you breakfast," he said instead, and internally cringed at the way she relaxed at his diversion. He handed her the plate, the coffee.

"Thank you, baby," Rachel said, and lean in to kiss him on the lips -- a small, shallow kiss -- before she tucked into her breakfast.

Gregory didn't know what it was. He was sure it wasn't anything to do with his appearance. They'd both swanned into their thirties retaining the things they liked about themselves when they met -- he'd maintained his own lean, athletic build, and his hair was still full and dark, and he was vigilant about keeping himself clean and groomed without getting obsessive. Both of them ate clean, worked out, dressed well. He was, he thought, a handsome man.

But slowly, and then quickly, things had cooled off. He hadn't wanted them to. His body still wanted hers just as much as it did when they first met, and when they got married, like a never-ending honeymoon period. The few times they'd talked about it, Rachel had assured him that she still found him attractive, had delicately communicated to him that she wasn't having an affair when he had hinted at asking.

She'd said it was just her sex drive taking a natural dip, and she'd look into it if he could be patient, and he believed her. Still did believe her.

It was simply driving him nuts that there wasn't anything he could do about it, and showing her how much he desired her seemed to bring about the opposite reaction in her. Like he was presenting her with a chore she wasn't sure she really needed to perform. The idea of being cast as the needy, horny husband was a bruise to the ego, but the longer he went without, the more difficult it was to hide from her. He felt like he was pressuring her, just for wanting her.

But today, he could relax. He was genuinely willing to be patient, leaning back into their pillows and stealing the occasional grape off her plate as they chatted about their week. It was her birthday, and they had a tradition to uphold.

When she was done with her breakfast, he took her plate and cup to the kitchen while she showered. She would go out to meet her girlfriends and sister for lunch, and spend a good portion of the afternoon driving around, doing some shopping. Then, she'd come home, and he would be waiting for her with her present, and they'd have the night to themselves to enjoy it.

Early into their relationship, Rachel and Gregory bonded over something simple -- they hated gift-giving. It had been Gregory's birthday up first when they'd moved in together, and Rachel had forgotten completely, and had simply opened his pants, knelt down, and swallowed his cock. It had been as good a gift as he could wish for, and when her birthday rolled around six months later, he'd assertively tipped her over the back of her couch and ate her pussy while she wriggled and moaned.

The only thing left to do had been escalation, and the next year involved costumes. Gregory had come home to his fiancé done up in a parodic, pornographic French maid outfit, and she hadn't broken character all night, flashing her cleavage and fluffy underpants until he'd finally taken her on the floor where she'd been pretending to dust the bottom bookshelves. When her birthday came around, he'd given his best Magic Mike, gyrating while she spanked his denim-clad ass, laughing her head off, before letting him carry her into bed.

And so on. It was always silly, and it was always sexy. And for his birthday six months ago, in the midst of their sex life cooling right down, she'd still shown up to play.

He'd come home from the gym to find her dressed up in a little corset and lingerie number, white stockings and black leather, with a collar around her neck and cat ears in a headband on her head. He'd been shocked, having halfway expected her to have reverted to giving him a more traditional birthday present, and instead finding his beautiful wife dressed up like a slutty cat girl.

She'd slunk forward on all fours, nuzzling and pawing at his thighs until he'd fumbled his pants open. He still remembered her sticking out her tongue, letting him come on her face, which she'd lapped up like cream, watching his expression with big blue eyes. And when he'd felt her pussy with his hands, fingering beneath the silky knickers she was wearing, she'd been dripping wet, moaning and sighing as he brought her off with his hand. Then, spreading her legs wide to let him fuck her good and hard, and she come again like nothing was wrong.

It had been amazing. He'd almost thought things would start heating up again. But the next day, it was like nothing had ever happened, and she was rolling away from him when they settled in to sleep.

Gregory was still pottering around the apartment when Rachel emerged from their bedroom, dressed prettily in a summery dress, blonde hair blow dried out into glossy waves. Keys jangled in her hand as she tucked her things into a purse, and then looked towards him. Rather than do as he expected her to -- blow a kiss, breeze on out the door -- Rachel gave him a smile that he found difficult to read, and walked over to him, dainty heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"Come here," she said, tilting her chin, and Gregory obliged, leaning down to kiss her. He tried not to startle when he felt her hand grip the back of his neck and hold him there, a more sensual kiss than he was expecting. When they parted, she stepped back, maintaining distance between them, but he could still smell her perfume, the conditioner lingering in her hair. "I know you've probably got something to surprise me with tonight," Rachel said. "And I'm looking forward to it -- I want you to know that."

Gregory felt a twist of anxiety in his gut. "But?" he prompted.

Rachel shook her head. "No buts. Not exactly. It's just that I bought myself a present too, and I hope it's compatible with whatever you have in mind."

"Well," Gregory started, and Rachel waved her hand to stop him.

"It's okay if it's not," she said. "Maybe we can play with it some other time. But if it is, just know that I think I'd find it exciting."

"What is it?"

"It's in the top drawer, under my panties," she said, with a rare twist to her smile that he hadn't seen in some time. "It'll make sense when you see it." She checked her phone, raising it to flash the screen at him. "Uber's here. I'll text you when I'm on my way home. Love you, baby. I'll be home by five."

And she was gone, smoothly extracting herself from the conversation, leaving Gregory in baffled silence. She was right, of course -- he had a present to surprise her with, something he was looking forward to doing, something to make her laugh and maybe interest her in intimacy, just like always. They'd never referenced it so directly, always pretending like it was a shock, like they didn't know to race home to be surprised -- and they'd never tried to contribute their own preferences beforehand.

Gregory entered their bedroom, and walked to the dresser, pulling open the drawer. There, her underwear was neatly folded and bundled together, layers of lace and silk and cotton. Yeah, this move was on purpose, he decided -- it had been long enough since he'd gotten to peel one of these off of her that even the sight of her panties warmed his blood.

Like a creep, he thought, dejectedly, and tried to shake that thought off.

Tentatively, he started prying through her underwear, and it wasn't long until his fingers brushed a different texture -- a thicker leather. He extracted a pouch, some hard object inside, and he impatiently opened it to empty its contents into his hand.

What fell into his palm was metal, cool, a little heavy, and immediately identifiable as a cock cage. Gregory stared down at the object, shock coursing through him as he absorbed the details. It was small, designed to tuck a penis in tightly and curve it downwards, with skinny cage bars that would vertically follow the length of the shaft. A ring would bundle the wearer's balls to his cock, and behind this ring, where it closed, was a delicate silver padlock that dangled open.

The first thing he did was search the pouch for a key, but of course, none fell out.

For a moment, Gregory simply processed the churn of mixed feelings that were roiling inside of him. Once the confusion had abated, what was left was a sense of betrayal -- his wife had finally, independent of trying to please him for his birthday, come up with a sex game she might find exciting, and it was chastity? His chastity? It seemed to confirm every worst fear he had that she was repelled by his own desire for her, that his cock was something she didn't want to deal with. That what she wanted for their game tonight, for her birthday, was something that would prevent him from enjoying it too.

He dropped the cage back into the pouch, tossed the pouch back into the drawer, and closed the drawer with a frustrated snap of motion.

No, they could play this game some other time after all. He had a plan to carry out, and she would have to accommodate what he wanted to do too.

***

After her kitty cat act, he couldn't get it out of his mind that he'd do something cute in return -- and do a puppy themed scene. The joke had always been that he was a cat person and she was a dog person, and her demure, elegant nature spoke to his pet preference, and his more rugged, playful manners appealed to her wish for a dog of her own. And when they'd moved into this apartment, and its strict no-pets policy, they'd agreed to be each other's dog and cat.

So naturally, the fact she'd made it real for his birthday meant he felt drawn towards doing the same for her.

A sexy puppy, though? It was one thing to dress as a cute catgirl, like a Japanese café fantasy, but what was the equivalent for a man being a dog? He doubted she'd like to see him in the same kind of get up, so he'd done a little research, and decided on a more dedicatedly BDSM spin. Rather than put on a doggy costume of some kind, he was dabbling in more literal petplay.

First, setting the scene. Pushing the offending cock cage out of his mind, Gregory went to his home office, and moved the desk aside where he'd hidden the flat box behind his station. It was heavy and unwieldly, and she was probably going to scold him on blowing this much money on a prank, but he felt like this needed some amount of commitment. Dragging the box into the living room, he started unpacking the dog cage. This was the first major task that he needed to get done before she was home, and he set to work.

His parents had a German Shepherd that had a cage like this, a place where she could sleep at night and be shut away if they had people on their property. It would be just big enough for him, he figured, and once he set it up, he placed it off to the side where it could tuck up next to the couch. He lined the bottom with some fluffy blankets, and stepped back to admire his work. The cage front swung open, with a little latch on the outside to lock it, but a human would be able to figure his way out where a dog couldn't, even from the inside.

Next, Gregory dug out the accessories he'd hidden at the top of their closet. He wouldn't get ready until later in the afternoon, because there was just so little to it. He had considered and then rejected a full dog mask and muzzle, deciding to keep his mouth free, but had found a harness that drew thin straps around his mouth like the kind people would put on their dogs for walks, and it came with a loop of leather that fit over the head, with stylised leather dog ears that almost matched his hair.

He'd purchased some matching harnesses to put on his body -- one that strapped across his chest, over his shoulders and under his arms, and another that framed his butt and groin. On this was attached a fluffy black tail with a wire running through it, so it'd curve upwards.

Then, the mittens, which he would have to put on last before everything. They snapped on and would be difficult to remove, on account of the way they forced the wearer's hands into paw-like fists. He'd tried one on and then tried to remove it with just his teeth, but had found the fastenings too finicky once they'd snapped closed. So that was last, for sure.

He'd also bought black socks that would stretch up over his knees, and had little paw prints where his toes were. On the sillier side, but considering he was going to be basically naked for this costume, he wanted all the help he could get.

Lastly, but not leastly, there was the collar. It was a sturdy thing of black leather, and he'd attached a nametag he'd had made for the occasional -- 'GREGORY' in bold letters, and on the back, he'd had etched into the metal Rachel's own phone number.

Standing there in their bedroom, he picked up the collar from his pile of accessories, smoothing it through his fingers. Something about its sturdiness, and the heaviness of the nametag stirred something in him, cock beginning to harden in his shorts. He still had a couple of hours to go, but Gregory found himself looping the collar around his neck, doing the buckle, and twisting it around until he felt the cool metal of the nametag rest at the base of his throat.

His cock twitched, eager, and he ran his hand over his shorts, gripping himself through the cotton. He wasn't sure why this whole thing was turning him on so much, and had every time he'd thought about it in the lead up, and while this present was certainly meant to be a sex thing, the idea of appearing so horned up about puppyplay stirred a moment of doubt in him. Would she hate this, actually? Would this be the one time he went too far, that she found him perverted, her husband a literal horndog that she had to deal with on her thirty-third birthday?

But he was rapidly getting hard, despite these thoughts of doubt. Impatiently, Gregory slid his shorts down off his hips -- he hadn't bothered getting dressed, after she left -- and glanced at himself in the mirror. There, an attractive man looked back at him, naked save for his throat decorated in black leather, with a nametag dangling off of it, like if someone had found him like this, they'd check it for sign of Rachel's ownership, and the thought drove a spike of arousal through him.

Quickly, he got out the bottle of lube from their bedside drawer, slathering a trace over his palm, and squeezing his cock. If he rubbed one out, maybe he could get himself under control before she got back. He sank onto his knees, balancing himself with a hand against the floor, and started stroking himself. He felt the nametag on his collar jiggle with the subtle motion of his body, felt his own pulse beneath the leather collar and deep in the root of his cock. He looked at himself in the mirror, on his hands and knees and hand tucked up under himself, at the flashing of the nametag, at the wholly submissive sight he made, and he groaned.

Relief was quick to come around, as it always was lately. He'd been jerking off a whole lot since sex with Rachel had gotten so scarce, and it was always like this -- hasty, desperate, quick. Still, a relief, and he sank onto his haunches as tension bled from his muscles.

Cleaning up, Gregory glanced to the dresser. There was a thought at the back of his mind that he wasn't yet willing to give voice to.

But as he moved around the apartment, naked and collared, mentally preparing himself for the evening, he could feel arousal slowly begin to turn up the dial again. It seemed that Rachel had, in the end, offered him a perfect solution to this particular problem. It seemed that Rachel had, inadvertently, offered him one last accessory to his costume tonight.