Wife On Fire: Boy Wife, #5

By Layla Laguna

Cindy's newfound confidence as an in-demand call girl has been shattered by a phone call. A simple hello from the man of her dreams turns her back into Chris, a scared and confused young man, rather than the beautiful girl he's become.

When she learns all that Blake wants is to keep her on the back burner to get his life in order, she decides that she needs to take charge and force him to take her back.

All she wants is her man and is willing to do what it takes to get his full attention, even putting their lives in danger...

This is a 27,000 word novella, featuring explicit scenes of feminization,gender transformation, humiliation, BDSM, breathplay, oral and more! This is the fourth book in the six part Boy Wife series.

EXCERPT:

“I need you,” she complained.

He waited to speak again, letting her get control over herself again.

“What are you wearing?”

“Um…wanna see?”

"I'm not there, so why don't you tell me?"

"They make this thing called the iPhone now, I could just show you."

He grunted with exertion, as if loosening his belt from an uncomfortable position.

"It's much better if you tell me. I don't want to take the phone away from my ear."

She stood up off the toilet and pivoted on her tiptoe in front of the bathroom mirror,

feeling as light as she could with a liver soaked in sparkling wine.

“Practically nothing, actually. Lace bra, it’s black and sheer and you can see a little

pink through them. My panties are really tiny, too.”

She  let  her  smile  grow,  looking  at  the reflection  of  it. Blake’s  breathing  sped  up

noticeably.

“Are your nipples hard?”

“Stop,” she purred.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Layla Laguna
• Release date: Jun 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498926713

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

DMAB

1

CHRIS HAD HEARD the sounds before, but that was probably why they were never not strange to his ears.

Mom’s voice always seemed oddly panicked when she'd warn him not to come out of his room. She would call him Chrissy, and it pained him to hear it because when she was like this, she really dragged those s-sounds. She would say, Chrissy, Mommy has company over, so you sit tight awhile, whenever she had company over. Then she’d lock his bedroom door.

It seemed she always warned he and Monica separately. Curiosity inevitably made him wonder what Mom would tell her, being older; she seemed panicky telling him, but Monica always seemed more annoyed by it than anything and he learned to imitate that annoyance.

Through the door, though, it sounded like they were having a pretty good time in the living room, laughing and talking loud. He had to see what they were doing, what Mom and her company found so dang funny, so he had his eye to the crack of the door, trying to check up on what was going on out there.

Mom had her head thrown back, laughing in broad peals as the guy had her around the waist like they were dancing. He had his face in her chest, snuffling like a pig; he looked sweaty, his hair flopped over like he'd been rained on. Mom’s breasts shook when she laughed, endlessly amused by his pantomime.

I don't like that guy, said Monica, sitting on the edge of the bed, doodling on a notepad. He sucks tailpipe.

Chris didn’t know how he felt about the guy, Mom had not introduced them on purpose. He was Mom’s friend and that’s all Chris needed to know. She was always going on about having and needing grown up friends, as if she had anything but. Nobody she seemed friendly enough with to have over the house ever seemed to have kids of their own, so Monica was often Chris’ only companion. It was just as well, since this guy didn’t seem like the type to take them fishing. More like the type who’d keep them waiting in the car as he knocked over a convenience store.

Are you listening, Chris? Quit fooling around before she comes in here. She's already pissed at me.

He bunched his thin eyebrows, peering into the crack as best as he could, craning with his neck like a bird just to get a good look. He'd even turned down the volume on the TV just so he could concentrate.

Shh, he hissed.

The lush with the high hairline flopped back down on the couch like he couldn’t stand up under his own power. Mom was shuffling her hips in front of him awkwardly, kind of like she was fixing the hem of her skirt back down to her knees. She couldn’t dance at all so she gave up, settling for sitting across his knee like he was Santa Claus. Instinctively, Chris wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

"What are they doing?" he said, still young enough to pitch up without his voice breaking.

"Hm. Do they have a bottle?"

Yeah.

Does it smell like nail polish remover?

Kinda, I guess.

She knew he knew what nail polish remover smelled like, and smirked at her own cleverness.

Then do the math, genius. They're getting sloppy.

Sloppy?

He looked over his shoulder at her on the bed, waiting for an answer. She seemed bored, with her chin in her hand, scribbling on the pad.

Yeah, you know, sloppy. Effed up. They’re getting drunk, Chrissy. Does it look like fun?

No way, he said. He had a knot in his stomach, but this was hardly the first time he saw Mom acting not quite like herself. Usually, she was snippier but she was never in that great a mood anyway.

Monica sat crosslegged on the bed, crafting the game in the notebook. She was thinking up good entries, like the Audi A4, a beach bungalow and her current crush, Joseph Ditmar, as the top pick for husbands. At the top, she made four letters bigger than the rest, as if it were a title:

M A S H

Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House.

She hadn’t played it since she left middle school a million years ago, but it would keep her little brother busy and avoid incurring the wrath of her drunk mother in the living room. It was insulting, as if she didn’t know what they were getting up to. Soon, the pictures on the living room wall would be shaking and she’d turn up the TV and have to entertain Chris, and that was a best case scenario, if Mom was too drunk she’d just keep it in the living room, where they could be heard across the damn street, nevermind the next bedroom.

When the guy stumbled out later to drive home half buzzed, Mom might remember to unlock their bedroom door before passing out on the couch. It just got worse and worse and Monica was growing to hate how it just fell on her to be the responsible one as she inevitably found herself tucking her mother’s feet in under the blanket.

Chris was grounded, anyway, so they couldn't even take turns playing Playstation. He probably wouldn't want to anyway. He always seemed to light up around her; they didn't spend as much time together anymore now that she was in high school and had friends of her own that she was never allowed to see.

Whenever she couldn't sneak out, though, she had to spend time with Chris. She didn’t hate him but he annoyed her. Worse than that, he idolized her.

Home was the very last place she wanted to be, with the disgusting revelry going on in the room over. She’d have to wait ’til Monday to see Joseph, two whole days to come up with an excuse for not coming out to the lake. She’d just say she couldn’t get a ride, but it burned her ass that that girl Cheryl was there and probably all over him ‘cause she couldn’t get his attention otherwise.

Stop peeping and come here, Chris. You're gonna get us both in trouble.

Oh, fine, he said, sighing, and came to her obediently. She watched him kneel down and tuck his legs underneath himself as he sat on the floor in front of her. His slim fingers touched the edge of the paper. It was probably going to be on her at some point to warn him about seeming delicate to other boys his age, not that she had a problem with the way he was. She wasn’t the one with a problem with it.

She was already dreading him going to the same high school as her, the idea of her threatening to fistfight guys for calling him names was something she could see vividly in her mind’s eye.

What are you doing? he said. He was annoyingly innocent.

He was about to scoot forward when she clutched the notepad close, not quite finished writing.

Sit still, I’m about to show you.

2

CHRIS PUT HIS hands underneath his thighs, as if he needed to force himself to pay attention. She almost felt sorry for him; guys his age were already learning how to play it cool and pretend to be cynical. His eyes went wide at everything and he hung on her every word.

This is this game, MASH. It can tell your fortu-

"I know what MASH is, Monica," he said, as if a vocal inflection could sound like an eyeroll.

She snickered.

Popular with the boys in gym class?

Nevermind, he said, dismissively.

Want to play?

I guess, yeah.

OK. But you can’t look at the answers. And close your eyes. Give me your hands, too.

His face lit up at the suggestion.

OK, he said.

Chris closed his eyes and she bent the fingers of his right hand around a pen and guided them to the page.

Now do a spiral, she said, holding onto his wrist.

It felt electric when she did that; he smiled and bit his lip as he began to start with a tight loop away from where the pen had touched the paper, going slow as to not mess up Monica's fortune