Bottom Floor

Just a short introduction to a story line bouncing around in my head. Would anybody be interested in writing the second chapter and adding it to mine? It could be fun, or a complete waste of time, but I would be interested to hear from the Plaza's readers and writers in regard to this concept. 

...It seems a lifetime ago that my husband and I had that little house, but it's location was convenient, and it was cheap for a couple starting out together. We both worked hard then, climbing the ladder in our chosen careers, but in doing so my work hours didn't always correspond with his.

 Being available when needed was a time proven way to make oneself known, and to prove ones value to the company. It was this willingness to suck up to management on a Friday night that gave me the edge I thought I needed. I also knew that it didn't hurt that I dressed nicely, my clothing budget nearly what our mortgage was that first year, but one had to maintain a certain look to get noticed as well, all the ladies in the office fiercely competitive on that score...

On this particular Friday night however, my afterhours duties went quickly, I not calling ahead and getting home just as it was getting dark, and hours ahead of schedule in what I hoped would be a wonderful surprise. The bedroom light was on and the shades partially closed on that side of the house, I drawn to the light like a moth to a porch light for no reason that I can explain.

 Our little house back then was a low ranch style house, it a simple thing to sneak up and peek inside the gap in the closed shades, I thinking innocently that my husband may have laid down for a nap, although to do so with the lights on made no sense. If he were sleeping though I would have then snuck in quietly so as to not wake him, so it was with these pure thoughts that I found myself peeking into my own bedrooms window like some kind of female pervert.

I just stared dumbfounded in disbelief at the scene before me, nothing in my married life, nor before it, preparing me for the sight before me. On the other side of that window my seemingly masculine husband was wearing one of my camisole and matching pantie sets while intently staring at his laptop and rubbing at his deflated man hardware in my stained lacy pink underwear. On the computer's screen was a "man" similarly dressed, but he was wearing a passable wig and makeup, although in his case either with breasts of his own, or real looking falsies.

 … My husband sat transfixed with his back toward the window I was peeking through, just as I stood transfixed myself at the scene before me. In my case, just as in his, we were both anonymous voyeurs, but here the similarities ended as I was far more revolted than aroused, at least initially...

The video my husband was intently watching had the gender bending man on his knees with his wrists cuffed behind his back in the process of servicing a group of naked and hung stroking men just waiting their turn to use their apparent captive. His well made face and hair had the evidence of his labors all over it, belying the old adage that "all good girls swallow." I watched the stroking men use their captive, and all involved seemed to be enjoying themselves, despite the presence of the cuffs this being no true forced activity, but merely having the appearance of being so. This also made sense for obvious reasons of the stroking studs own self preservation, as those lipstick covered lips lay right in front of two rows of potentially dangerous teeth should the faux victim wish to strike back at her, or should that be his, attackers.

In the next scene I watched the men roughly carry their cuffed and struggling victim, (ripping his lacy panties off in the process), toward the house's kitchen, laying him out on his stomach with his hips hanging off of the center island. This was of course predictable bearing in mind the subject matter of the video, but what was revealed wasn't. Locked onto the struggling victim's guy hardware, (up until now hidden under his own panties), was a tiny little pink plastic device, and that in combination with his smooth shave rendered his man junk feminine and inert.

 The effect was obviously emasculating, but such was the intent of the video to be honest. I watched the rough men use their struggling victim in that way as well after some rope was used to pin him in place with his legs splayed wide, but what most fascinated me was my husband's apparently again growing manhood, he stroking himself to a rare second orgasm in the same night. 

I left shortly afterwards, getting back into my car and heading off to dinner at a nearby restaurant alone, I knowing I had some thinking to do and not wishing to do anything rash without proper thought on the matter. "Did my late nights of work drive my man to this kink?" I asked myself as I drove. "And if so, what did that say about my own priorities?" I was also forced to ask, my silent words to myself sounding like an accusation.

 … At least he wasn't cheating with another woman, but I still considered this cheating, of a kind, and there would have to be some consequences. First and foremost I would have to find where one got one of those plastic devices, I then giving it to him as a gift while retaining the only key. Would he balk at the idea, or embrace my apparent playfulness not knowing the trap he were setting for himself. Would I confess that I knew of his interests for some time, or just pretend that our ideas were of a parallel nature, allowing him to even live out his kink in the flesh one day perhaps?

 I tried to look upon this little discovery as an opportunity of sorts, certainly I had inside knowledge, and knowledge was power, if one had the will to properly make use of it.     

Anybody interested in writing the second chapter and adding it to mine?