Wife for the Day (Boy Wife #2)
Layla Laguna
“Sit still,” she said, and he complied although he winced every time she pulled with the comb to pin his hair. “Don’t be a baby. Beauty hurts.”
Christian feels haunted about his nighttime liaison with Blake, a cocky, rich fling who convinced him he’s definitely gay.
As a consolation prize, Blake sends expensive jewelry to Chris as a way to snare the conflicted young man in his clutches again so he can begin molding him into the perfect wife.
Once hooked, Chris is thrown into a humiliating ordeal as a maid for Blake’s straight buddies. It takes every ounce of the young man's courage to endure without being broken.
Blake is sure he can't handle it, but Christian enthusiastically proves he has what it takes to be his wife for the day...
This is an 18,000 word novella, featuring a young man’s awakening as a sissy submissive, humiliation, forced feminization, group sex, anal sex, oral sex and masturbation.
EXCERPT:
Chris’ eyes were big, feeling transfixed by the men and their stares; laughing, joking, burping and generally having a good time, letting it all hang out with no bossy women around, just him in his tawdry little Halloween costume. He thought it odd that they didn’t notice he was a boy or if they did, they didn’t seem to care.
Blake snapped his fingers, barely taking his eyes off the TV.
“Cindy, get your ass over here.”
Chris stood still, crossing his hands over his crotch innocently, wishing he could fade into the wallpaper like a cute background detail.
“Do you think I’m screwing around? Right now,” he said sternly, turning his face to meet the boys’ mortally embarrassed expression.
“Ooh, you’re in trouble,” said Rowan.
“Let’s see how fast you can move in those heels,” mused Taylor.
Chris moved at a trot, clopping across the living room to stand next to Blake. He stood so tall over the seated man that Blake was about eye level with the hem of his short dress.
“Lean down,” said Blake. Chris hesitated until he saw the serious look on Blake’s face, then leaned forward carefully, trying not to make the dress rise too high on the curve of his ass. It did, anyway.
Blake took one finger and hooked it onto the small, dangling hoop of the choker, pulling Chris forward until his ear was close to the man’s mouth. The breath in his ear excited him again, exciting in how uncontrollable the thrill of it was.
“What kind of sandwich did he just say he wanted made?” he said, apparently not kidding at all. The words came through his teeth, so low and deliberate it was unmistakably a prelude to something worse. His other hand was resting on the back of Chris’ thigh, cupping it, feeling the whole circumference of it as if to say it would be easy to physically force him to do whatever he wanted.
“Uh, turkey on rye,” said Chris, in a sardonic teenage voice.
“With?”
Rowan chuckled watching Blake squeeze the boy’s ass, barely dressed in the skimpy panties. Chris’ eyes closed and when he came back, he answered in a tremulous, weak voice.
“With mayo.”
“So get your tight little butt in the kitchen and do as you’re told.”
Chris stood up straight, cursing that the dress hid nothing. The apron just wasn’t good enough. He brushed past and felt another hand, a bit coarser than Blake’s, slap him on one of his bouncing cheeks and take a light grope. Chris leapt away about as much as he could on the precarious stilt shoes and shuffled off, his heart jumping. His mind was on nothing but hiding the tremendous excitement pressed against his stomach.
“Atta girl,” said Rowan.
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