My husband and I had moved into a one hundred year old colonial in Bretencourt Manor in June of 2022. It was our dream home, with plenty of room to entertain, an open floor plan, and plenty of nooks and crannies and character you could enjoy in a house of this age. The previous owners consistently updated but in a style that kept the old world charm to the house. It was also fifty thousand dollars under our budget. Our agent went through the house multiple times with multiple experts, but could never find any reason why it was priced so low.

We were only in the neighborhood for 10 months, but as the newest couple, our HOA stipulated that during the annual party they held every spring season, each house on the block was responsible for some form of hosting and planning and supplying.

The morning of, my husband and I found out exactly what our duty was:

Mine seals me into an armbinder, fusing my elbows together. It's black and shiny and adorned with belts and buckles for bondage abundance. It pairs well with the matching black latex hood. It fits me like a second skin and turns my well maintained eyebrows, perfect teeth, hazel eyed adorable face into a featureless black head akim to a store front mannequin. The zipper over my lips allows my mouth and lips and tongue to be free when called upon. I am trained well enough to know that when a hand is placed upon my hooded head and a set of fingers unzips the mouth portion, I am required immediately to open my mouth and stick my tongue out.

The collar is leather and locked on. From the front of it a pair of chains dangle down my chest and end at each of my nipples, where metal clamps bite down with a hunger upon my flesh. My heavy, otherwise flawless F-cups showcased moreso by the forward thrust afforded to them by the armbinder, are on display and turned into cupcakes by the leather cord wrapped sufficiently around each breast.

My waist is hugged by a metal chastity belt. Custom fitted and locked between my legs. After all, this is simply a blowjob uniform. My feet are forced into ballet boots, a bevy of straps keep my calves pressed against my thighs. I can shift my weight from side to side but for my time as the blow job unit I am left upon my knees and ass.

My husband is in a similar uniform. The black hood he wears ends below his nose, but a metal spider gag forces his mouth wide open and ready for a face fucking or whatever load my own mouth just worked to blow.

His collar is locking and leather and strict. Heavier and thicker than mine so that it forces a perfect posture for a blow job.

The rest of his body is sealed into skin tight latex that is shined to perfection. The bolero strait jacket that Miss Stephenson (the party planning chairwoman) chose for him leaves his shiny, faux-globed breast forms open for groping and slapping, the underbust corset cinched tight gives him support and a feminine figure to drive home the drone-like look we both sport.

His own chastity device is also metal and is the only portion of flesh one can view between us aside from our obedient mouths when called upon. It twitches and drips and leaks when were in use. His balls are extended downward by way of a rubber two inch thick ring. Were informed by our wardrobe stylist that his balls are the same shade of purple that my tied tits are.

His ballet boots match mine, as does the black inflatable plugs we both sport deep in our holes. The inability to deflate them is a gift and a curse. Miss Stephenson is adamant that nobody breaks the rules of The 25th annual Bretencourt Spring Fling Block Party, and that we are solely used for blowjobs and pussy worshipping, and nothing else.

Am I making myself clear when I tell you I expect nothing but complete and unabashed submission and obedience from you two?

We were positioned mere feet from the front door. Ready to welcome anyone who walked in.

Is this why the house was cheap?

(Hello all! Fun little idea I had. Feel free to fire away!)