Wife for Sale: Boy Wife, #3

By Layla Laguna

Chris should know better but he doesn't. He should know by now what it means to be truly owned by his lover, Blake, but naively hopes for the best, a real future in a beautiful home.

Waking up the morning after being thoroughly and totally dominated by his man's friends, Chris is ready to prove himself to be everything the man wants: beautiful, servile and above all, interesting. Blake doesn't want Chris anymore and is eager to hurry the process along of making his very own Cinderella.

His idea of a finishing school is lessons at gunpoint, paying your own way, and graduating under the knife...

This is a 26,000 word novella featuring infidelity, interracial, exhibitionism, feminization, ageplay, BDSM and blackmail.

EXCERPT:

"It's okay," said Chris, turning around as a prompt. The sink was still running. "I'm not gonna tell on you."

Shaun's head dipped to the side, studying the tight body before him. He'd been told that Blake's new girlfriend needed a little work but he couldn't figure how. The view from behind had his utmost attention.

"I see you got those pants on. You good at stretching?"

"I just started a couple weeks ago," teased Chris. It was true, he had been trying out yoga. It was one of those things people said might help with stress, depression and a dozen other hard to quantify ailments. He shrugged his shoulder up to his face to hide his reddening cheek as the man palmed him, feeling the tightness of his stomach against rough hands capable of serious force.

"Let's see."

His other hand was underneath the shiny fabric, groping the supple flesh of Chris' bubble butt as he lifted one leg, lithe as a dancer, and raised it onto the counter.

"That's about all I can do. Can you stretch?"

"Damn right," he said, making Chris sigh with barely contained excitement.

He reached back to touch the clean nape of Shaun's neck and feel the wave of his close cropped hair and Shaun's hand was under his chin, twisting his head back painfully. It was dominant and wanting, uncaring of what this slutty little housewife wanted, but of course, this is what he wanted.

Their lips brushed for the briefest moment and the electricity of the man's tongue reminded him as he gasped shot up a finger between them to purse their lips and keep them from touching again. He was familiar with it, the hypocrisy of trying to avoid the seeming impropriety by all means possible.

"No," whispered Chris. "It's just this. Only he gets to kiss."

Shaun reluctantly softened his grip on the boy's throat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Layla Laguna
• Release date: Feb 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781497787261

Layla Laguna

If you enjoyed one of my books, please rate and review! I'm an East Coast girl, born in The Bahamas, raised in Red Hook, Brooklyn and moved to the Miami area, where I've lived since college. My dearest passion is writing LGBT-themed stories featuring young adults coming of age put in confusing and sometimes extreme situations. I'm told I'm an acquired taste.

Book preview

OLD TRICKS

1

CHRIS WOKE IN the gauzy white nightie, smothered underneath Blake’s thick bicep.

He craned his head to look up at his man, feeling the warmth of the rising sun on their bodies and the more comforting heat of Blake’s peaceful snoozing. He slowly, carefully unlimbered himself from the tangle of their bodies and stood and stretched. They hadn’t even made love the night before but he didn’t mind at all. He’d been exhausted anyway. If anything, it made what they had stronger; not needing to constantly prove it. He’d make it special the next time, maybe a nice, slow, blowjob before they had breakfast in bed. Something like that, anyway, he really had no idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up looking forward to the kind of day he would have.

For now, he was utterly content, enjoying the wife thing and all the possibilities of a life together as he stood, stretched and shuffled to the bathroom to get pretty. He was nervous about it, being the first time he’d ever applied makeup without supervision. He leaned over the sink and scratched his butt under his panties and picked up a business card left there, inspecting it briefly. It had a cartoon bust of Venus on it and he considered the meaning of it for a moment.

It read:

DR. JEROME BLANCHARD - BOARD CERTIFIED COSMETIC SURGEON - OUTPATIENT WELCOME

He cleared it out of the way to set down the kit, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, blush and foundation, just like Betsy had showed him, and rinsed his curiosity away with the residue of the night before. He patted dry and moisturized his face and neck, eyeing Blake’s toothbrush as if it were the most momentous decision he’d ever have to make. Finally, he slid the medicine cabinet open and found the open pack with the other identical brush, green instead of blue, and decided it was now his. The two toothbrushes standing together like that meant he’d officially moved in, at least for the time being.

When he slid the mirror back in place, he was surprised to see a big, stupid, beaming smile on his face. Everything went on light, natural, accentuating. It was easy to be self centered, looking as he did. The eyeliner was what did the trick, transforming him from a delicate boy to an alluring girl, so subtle he looked like a different person entirely. It was perfectly alright to look like a boy early in the morning, as long as he was the only one who’d see it. He relished the opportunity to sit down and pee like a girl, just in case Blake woke up and walked in on him using the bathroom. Thinking of how cute that would be didn’t last long.

His mind wandered, inevitably, to paying Blake back for the night before, the whole business with Taylor and Rowan. It would be a gentle reminder now that they were together, but a reminder nevertheless that he wasn’t going to take being fucked around emotionally. Sitting on the toilet, he rolled on lipstick, a rosy, nude color that looked more like gloss and smacked his lips deliciously.  The idea he got amused him so much he hurried up his pee and stood up, not bothering to flush.

Chris bounced back into the room to see  Blake, still as a stone, sprawled in repose.  He went up onto the bed on his knees, crouching by Blake’s palm, regarding it they way Indiana Jones does a pressure plate. He took the man’s big hand lightly by the thumb and turned it until the palm faced upward, flat on the pillow.

Satisfied it would stay that way for as long as it would take, he shook the can in his hand and filled the open palm with shaving cream in a nice, neat, soft serve swirl. He bit his nails, eager for the next move, so sure Blake would turn on his side or lay on his hand or worse still, wake up and find Chris there straddling him, giggling like an idiot.

Next came the sheet, bunched up around him. At most he had half a minute before his fooling around would be noticed. He pulled it away just enough to reveal Blake’s lower half, clad in charcoal grey boxer briefs that clung to his bulge like a showroom Ferrari. Chris sat there for a second, hand on his knee, afraid to touch it and wake it. Blake really did have a beautiful cock, even when it was soft.

Chris bent low, careful not to touch any other part of the man and gave the flaccid member a kiss. It was sucking and wet, as he tasted the delicious musk from the confines of Blake’s underwear on his sculpted head and his muscular shaft and heavy balls. Chris was getting hard in his sheer white panties but had to hold himself back lest he forget why he was crouched there so mischievously. His mind was fogging little by little as he nibbled and licked the thick muscle, feeling it wake.

Blake lay unstirred, not even moaning at the stimulation of his cock. Chris could’ve given him head all morning and got nothing more than a mouthful of Blake’s load. He pouted. Strike one.

He cut to the chase and crawled up the length of Blake’s toned torso, making sure not even to brush against him with his own body , holding the billowing slip close so it wouldn’t tickle his sleeping victim. He blew a puff of breath; not loud enough to be heard but just enough to bristle the hair in Blake’s nose and cause him to stir noisily and smack at his face to relieve the itch, covering it instantly with foamy goo.

Awww, groaned Blake. His mouth was full of shaving cream and he spluttered it out, spitting all over the silk sheets. Chris didn’t move, biting down on his knuckle as Blake came to. He could practically see the man’s face turning red under the bitter meringue.

Gotcha, he grinned.

His hair fell into bangs as he laughed heartily at Blake, cackling like some idiot kid at the man spitting out flecks of white foam. He could sympathize with what it was like to be bothered awake, but most of him felt good having a long laugh at Blake’s expense.

"Fuck, Cindy!" whined Blake.

You should see your face, he giggled.

Blake wiped most of it off with a swipe of his hand and flicked it at Chris, who dodged just barely, holding up a pillow ineffectually to shield himself.

"I see your face. I see that stupid smirk and I want to smack it."

I don’t look pretty? he pouted.

You look annoying. Your face is pissing me off, Cindy.

Are you really mad? said Chris in a baby voice.

Do I look mad? he grumbled.

You look like you’ve got shit all over your face.

Blake grabbed at the hem of Chris’ nightie and wiped the rest of his face off with it, white on white.

You’re such a smartass. It isn’t cute, it’s immature.

Aw, said Chris, cocking his head to the side. It sounded sarcastic but he meant it, seeing how serious his man’s face was. That made it funnier, seeing stray puffs still streaked on his stern face. He rubbed at Blake’s thigh, thinking back to how electric it felt to wake his cock up, taking his time with kisses and licks. He wanted to resume that, now that Blake was up.

Just for a little bit.

Want me to make it better?

He pushed his soft hand under Blake’s t-shirt and felt an abdomen so hard it would knock if he rapped his knuckles on it, then moved into his underwear and pushed along the man’s shaft quite selfishly, massaging it to life.

No, I don’t want you to make it fucking better, said Blake, sourly.

Oh, come on. Nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ like letting you cum in my mouth.

One night I let you stay over and all of a sudden you’re in charge. You’re letting me?

Chris nodded, lidding his pretty eyes, ringed subtly, like a cat’s. He let his lips part expectantly and freed the head of Blake’s cock over the band of his underwear, not quite hard yet but that was nothing