Striking Midnight

Discussion in 'Hotwifing, Swinging, Swapping Stories' started by don_jetman, Jan 6, 2016.

  1. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Striking Midnight

    by Don Jetman

    Chapter 1

    It's been a years of firsts for us. L took a regular lover at work, something she was formerly reluctant
    to do. Later, she seduced a very large bodybuilder-type at out gym, then went to bed with both him
    and his friend. They let me watch that, tied to a chair, my favorite fantasy. After many years of
    hotwifing, L discovered random sport-fucking was both fun and freeing, and finally felt confident
    enough to let the bad-girl inside her run wild. It was also a year of ups and downs. Each time L
    pushed the envelope, we later went through an equally long stretch of convention. It was as though
    we consumed every drop of libido in the blaze of each adventure, then cooled to a total loss of interest
    for an equal amount of time. Such was the case with the holidays approaching, and finishing last
    minute projects at work left little time for sex at all. We didn't think too much about it. We always
    travel to the neighboring state to visit relatives during the holidays anyway, so not needing another
    man in L's bed seemed to come at the right time. Until Dave reminded us we did.

    Dave is L's very first lover, a guy we've become friends with over the years, and who repeatedly
    reenters our lives at just the right times. Three days before New Year's he emailed L and asked if we
    wanted to party at his place on New Year's Eve. His parties are legendary (at least in our book), so we
    accepted his invitation, cut our family visit short, and flew down to stay with him for a few days. The
    chemistry between L and him is always hot, I think because by now they're so comfortable together,
    and one of my favorite pastimes is watching him parade her around at parties as though they are
    truly a couple. And, well, he bought our tickets, at the last minute which couldn't have been cheap. It
    also meant he had plans for L (or just really missed fucking her).

    When we arrived that evening, I discovered he really had plans for me as well - especially for me.
    After a few drinks, he explained that this time he wanted me to give L up to him completely. I said I
    couldn't think how to do that in a way I hadn't done before. I had not only watched Dave fuck her, in
    his bed, buy the pool, hell, just about everywhere, but had watched several of his friends do the
    same, once in front of a select group of couples at an after-party. I had willingly let him "own" her for
    stretches of time when she visited him alone, and found her still his "slave" for a while even after she
    returned. What more could I do?

    That's when he brought the small box to L and told her to open it. It was gift wrapped in Christmas
    paper, with a big red bow and small card attached. L read the card, couldn't suppress a grin, and
    opened it. I guessed she was a co-conspirator as she tried to fit the small plastic tube over my dick.
    Dave gave her instructions while she knelt in front of me, my pants hanging at my knees, her fingers
    spreading cold jelly-like material over my dick. She struggled a bit (L was never mechanically
    inclined), and eventually found parts that fit after trying what seemed like every plastic piece in the
    box. It didn't help that I kept getting hard while she worked, but after lots of trial and error, I was
    wearing my first cock-cage. These things always looked like they would be uncomfortable. I was
    right. Sleeping with the thing on me was like a kick in the nuts at times the first night.

    Dave explained that his truly owning my wife while we were there meant I had to make the ultimate
    sacrifice. "I have no doubt that you masturbate while I'm fucking her," he told me. "Not that I don't
    appreciate you giving her to me every night - but to me, it's just not truly giving her to me if you get
    sex out of it too. You like it too much. You get off on it, on imagining me fucking her, and that's not
    really giving up everything she is to you. You still get sex with her, in your head. I want all of her
    when she's here, Don. I won't allow you to use her in your fantasies to get off. You can love her as a
    husband while you're here, but you can't be part of her sex life in any way. I want you to be more of
    a brother or friend to her while you're here, and I think L would like that too while she and I are

    I couldn't see through the expression on L's face. I never know how much of these things are planned
    between them, but I guessed L was now playing this partly on her own. I doubted she even knew
    what a cock-cage was before Dave shared his plans with her. She looked, not shocked exactly, but
    maybe a bit confused, or at least undecided. She was sitting beside him on the sofa now. I sat across
    from them, watching him hold her hand. The jeans I had worn were too tight to get the plastic
    contraption inside, so my jeans and belt were open with the cage exposed. The humiliation was
    instant and intense. He had my wife. They were a couple. And for all intents and purposes, I was
    their eunuch, waiting for my wife to admit she wanted me castrated, at least for the length of our

    "I know how worked up you get," she told me. "But can you try this, at least while we're here? I think
    Dave's right. I don't feel like he and I are totally together when I know you're in your room
    masturbating while he and I have sex. You know I love you, but sometimes I fantasize about him as
    my husband and you as our friend. It's just fantasy, but I do. I've helped make your fantasies real -
    can't you help make mine real this time?"

    Had I not been part of Dave's games in the past, it would have been too much. But I knew L had been
    more aggressive the past year, enough so that she'd easily fall into the part he had her play. Her
    teasing had become more real, more to the core of the humiliation I was growing to crave. She had
    learned to play the slut convincingly, even throwing things once taboo to her in my face. She was
    fucking a guy at work in his office after hours, taking two bodybuilders at once, and moaning while I
    watched. Was it so hard to believe? That she sometimes thought about Dave and me in opposite
    roles, him her mate and me her loving "friend"? She was piling on, in her usual devious way, and I
    loved the way it stung.

    Last edited: Jan 6, 2016
  2. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Striking Midnight

    by Don Jetman

    Chapter 2

    It had been a long night for me. Turning the wrong way as I slept put my nuts in a vise until I found a
    position that worked. Out of pure frustration, I quietly climbed the stairs to the hallway leading to
    Dave's bedroom, saw that his door was open, and leaned against the wall six feet from the door.
    There was a light on in his room, but I was too far away to peer in. All was quiet. Just as I was
    wondering how long I might have to stay there to hear them, L walked through the door and into the
    hall. She made a little noise when I startled her, and I heard Dave ask if she was OK. She just smiled
    at me, looked down where the cage made a large mound in my shorts, then answered that she just
    tripped in the dark. The she put a finger to her lips (shhh) and continued down the hall and to the
    stairs. I inched back along the wall and ducked into a second bedroom, hoping Dave wouldn't follow
    her. She came back carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses, paused to take a look into the
    room where I was hiding, smiled again, then returned to his room. So, she wasn't going to out me, or
    chase me back to my room. But would she tell Dave I was there, secretly making their conversation
    not as private as it would have been had I not been spying? There was really no way to tell. So I
    stayed, eventually making my way back into the hallway not far from the open door. I knew the
    combination of silly and sexy L got from champagne, and felt the cage twitch.

    "Do you really plan to keep him in that thing until we leave?" I heard her ask.

    "Let's see how he handles it," he told her. "If I read him right, he's more submissive than he lets on.
    You need to play to that. It's what we've been working on, isn't it? Besides, I think you love it - you
    can be such a mean little bitch -"

    The champagne cork popped, and after that things got quiet. Soon I heard little gasps and "mmmm"s
    from L. Soon after that the light went out, and I listened to them fuck. I found that the small tube of
    the cage was not the only erection killer - the rings clamped against may balls as my cock strained
    inside the tube, and that was enough to kill my hard-on for the foreseeable future. It was then that
    the full force of the game hit me. Hearing them fuck was exquisitely exciting, but knowing my
    erection would never happen in spite of it made me feel so useless, in fact, more like a loving friend
    to L than a sexy husband. All that happened in those minutes as I stood against the wall. It was very
    strange, and more foreign than any thoughts I previously had of what it might be like. But I still
    couldn't move or walk away.

    It was then I heard Dave say, "Are you married, you little slut?" Jesus - he was panting and growling
    when he talked to her.

    "No -" I heard her tell him. Her voice was throaty, the word cut off by a sudden gasp.

    "You don't have a husband?" he went on.

    "No..." she told him a second time.

    "You belong to me now?" he asked.

    "God yes - only you..."

    I stayed and listened until they both came, and listening to the sounds they made, I was sure they
    came at the same instant. L and I come together now and then, but I wondered - could he do that
    every time he fucked her? Was he that good? I thought back to those times with her, and how she
    did love it when I exploded inside her at the moment of her own orgasm. It always took things up a
    notch for her the second I came - the sudden thrashing of her head, her hips bucking against mine at
    double the usual ferocity. But L never confessed that he had this particular skill in bed, only that he
    was very skilled. I had always been more interested in the size of her lovers, not whether they could
    come on demand.

    I'm not sure whether I had heard more than I had wanted to hear, or that I just felt guilty for spying,
    but I had had enough, and returned to my own room to try to sleep and forget. Although the cage
    didn't help me sleep, it did remind me that what I had heard was about the two of them, and not
    about me at all. I remembered Dave's words - "Let's see how he handles it". Strange as it sounds, I
    resolved to handle it just fine, to be the watcher while we were in his house, and to give him L
    willingly and completely. At a certain level, I refused to be a pussy, to give up, whining and
    complaining - not that many men would understand that. Maybe it was a piece of my manhood I
    refused to sacrifice.

  3. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Striking Midnight

    by Don Jetman

    Chapter 3

    The party was pretty much as I expected. We've been to a lot of these, and by now know many of
    Dave's friends. That means they also know L and me, and about our relationship with Dave. Still,
    there are always a few new men to ogle L, and to take their chances with her, predictably learning
    that I'm her husband but that she's her own woman. It's the best part for me. Who will seduce her?
    Well, it could just as easily be the other way around these days.

    L's only lament about our trip was that she didn't have time to buy a new party dress. Dave took care
    of that. They were up and out of the house early the morning after we arrived, before I was even
    awake. She left a short note:

    Went shopping with David.
    Thanks for being patient with me.

    Your friend, L.

    She had drawn a little heart after her initial. Cute, but loaded with intentional ambiguity. I didn't
    know if the salutation was her idea or Dave's, but I didn't care, much. I understood the game by

    They returned by noon with bags and boxes, no doubt all clothes for L. Dave did love dressing her,
    and frankly has been responsible for her much sexier wardrobe these days. She'll wear things in
    public she would never wear at my suggestion before. It bothered me at first, that he could change
    her attitude so easily when I couldn't. But I learned to appreciate the change in her, and how men
    loved to undress her with their eyes wherever we went together. God knows what kind of attention
    she got when she was on her own. She didn't even have to speak. She could flirt with her body as
    though it was a weapon no man could defend against. Clothes were just additional decoration on the
    bait, and the total package was mouth-watering.

    I wasn't the first to see L in the new clothes Dave bought her. He had a habit of secreting her away
    before these parties, especially when he took credit for dressing her. It was only after everyone had
    arrived that he led her down the stairs, hand in hand, for everyone to see. It certainly played to his
    Svengali image (which he loved to promote), but the undertones were clear to L and me. He knew
    the ambivalence it created in me; watching their entrance showed everyone he owned her, that she
    was in fact a vision of his making for the evening. Yet it excited me to recognize the expressions of so
    many people who knew I was her husband. There were, by now, all the knowing smiles of couples
    we had met before, along with the predatory gaze of men who had yet to discover she was my wife,
    and not just Dave's sex toy. Then there was L's adoring smile as she held his hand, descending the
    stairs in clothes I had never seen, clothes that always revealed the best of her, a body decorated for
    attention, flirtation, and sex. I was merely a name on his guest list, maybe even less. I had no chance
    of seducing her, only the opportunity of watching other men try their best. And on that night, the
    cage reminded me that fantasies of seducing her myself were farther from reality than ever before.

    Her dress was red - not a shade off of fire itself. L never dressed in red. She'd tell me it wasn't her
    color. Dave convinced everyone it was, in an instant. It was almost too much to take in at first - the
    tiny dress, her stunning body, bright, shining eyes that feigned modesty but betrayed her excitement
    and adoration for the man beside her. There was so much skin. The deeply cut V plummeted nearly
    to her navel, opening wide enough at the shoulders to display the delicate lines of her collar bones,
    and just below, an enticing view of the inner curves her breasts. The dress flared from the cinched
    waist, rising and dancing as she took each step down the stairs. High on the stairs, I was sure I'd be
    able to tell whether she was wearing panties - the hem barely covered her upper thighs. I suppose I
    wasn't quick enough, or the light wasn't right, but I could never quite tell. Maybe any one of the
    other men had seen between her legs at the right moment, but it hadn't been me. Or perhaps my
    attention had been on her face then, searching intently for signs she may have been completely
    owned by him, or at least deliriously happy. Her eyes practically guaranteed both at the same time.

    Dave and L mingled, as I had seen them do on many other occasions. The couples who knew her
    greeted her warmly; the men L met for the first time openly flirted with her, even with Dave beside
    her. I had seen Dave stand his ground against the best players at the height of their game, but knew
    that later, when L was alone, a few of the more persistent ones would be sniffing around her, testing
    the territory, some even offering her the best cock she's ever had. There was a time I detested these
    types. These days, honestly, I envied them a little. They had no fear, and most had the physiques and
    good looks to hedge their bets. L's shield against the most talented players, her claim that she needs
    a certain chemistry for a first-time fuck, always falls to one of these guys eventually, especially these
    days. I can never predict it - the time, the place, or the guy. It's a chink in my armor that I've learned
    to accept, even when I don't like her surprising choice.

    I watched her later, from a safe distance, after Dave left her to her own defenses. They approached
    her almost right away, one by one, predictably winning her attention with confident, handsome
    smiles and easy banter. The worst of it was not being able to hear how they manipulated her,
    flattered her, trying their best to dip their cocks into her by the end of the evening. The best was
    seeing her eyes light up when I thought the chemistry might be working, how her soft, welcoming
    touches encouraged them, signaling her potential physical surrender.

    A tap on my shoulder interrupted my fantasies as I watched L and her suitors. She was tall, easily my
    own height, with straight, dark hair that fell nearly to her waist. We met at a previous party - well,
    perhaps "met" is a much too formal word for our time together back then. Jing and I watched
    together as a well-muscled guy fucked L during a very late night orgy of sorts, right there in Dave's
    living room. She was a biochemist, and I remembered how our first meeting began - two scientists
    skirting the obvious sexual attraction with tech-talk, with me thinking her inner geek was equal to my
    own. Her thoughts, I would discover, were much more exotic. Her husband was many years older,
    and suffered from frequent impotence that went hand-in-hand with his age. So he willingly shared
    her, and she skillfully cuckolded him, an arrangement that apparently worked for them. The swift,
    practiced shift from articulate academic to wicked Domme had won me over in seconds, and my
    cage filled a bit as I recalled the sensation of her silky thighs and breasts under my fingers.

    "I know watching her is half the fun, but don't you want to play too?"

    I tried to back away a bit as she hugged me, but she pressed against me and refused to let go. To my
    embarrassment, I guessed she felt the cage, and was then was sure of it when she whispered in my
    ear, "I see she's locked you up. Have you been a bad boy?" She pressed harder against me, moving
    her hips slightly, working the cage back and forth as my dick began to rage inside it. She finally
    backed off and looked at me, smiling at the painful bulge in my dress pants. "I can't say I blame her,"
    she told me. "You must learn to behave - you know that, don't you?"

    We talked for a while. The white sheath she wore exposed every inch of her long legs when she sat.
    It was so thin and tight against her slim torso I was sure she was naked under it. Every time I turned
    my head to look across the room for L she'd turn me back with her hand against my cheek, always
    with some brief remark.

    "She wouldn't want you spying on her."
    "Don't look - you could never compete with him."
    "Why torture yourself?"

    I told her it was hardly torture - that I loved watching men hit on her. (What I didn't tell her was that
    the only torture was the damned cage cutting into my nuts.) Her answer was that the torture would
    come when I realized that all these men could satisfy her more completely than I could, that
    eventually she'd only want them to fuck her, and that was why she had put me in the cage. It was
    "Domme talk" - I knew that. But she made it sound so real, so sexy, that it cracked my confidence a
    bit, slicing into it as though she was able to extract the tiniest sliver of defense guarding what I
    needed to be true. Was L preparing me for chastity while she so easily sport-fucked these days? Of
    course not. But for a few seconds, Jing actually made me feel it may happen. She didn't know L at all.
    But the seed was planted. And the damned cage was a constant reminder.

    Jing eventually joined her husband, I went back to spying on L from my spot at the bar, and Dave
    took L under his wing again, holding her close with an arm around her waist. There seemed to be
    more intimacy between them. I watched her rest her head against his shoulder now and then, look
    up at him and smile when they were alone, and eventually raise her open mouth to kiss him for just
    a second before they stopped and turned to talk to another couple.

    When the magic hour came, I was overwhelmed when L showed up beside me, delivering the
    deepest, longest kiss she had given me in months - or maybe even the entire waning year. I had
    thought about standing by myself at midnight, watching the others celebrate with passion, maybe
    even watching L and Dave embrace as I was sure he'd want to do as a show of ownership, and
    although I'm not overly sentimental, the prospect did foreshadow some sadness on my part. I don't
    know why I ever doubt L, although Dave's games sometimes make it easier, especially when she
    appears to be so completely taken by him. I often think she knows me better than I know her, or
    maybe I'm just more transparent. In any case, she never fails to remind me that she has her limits,
    and always considers what mine might be as well. As much of a nagging reminder the cage had
    become, for those few minutes, I didn't mind it at all, even when she closed her hand over it as we

    As the party wound down and the guests left, it appeared that, although the wolves had tracked,
    cornered L, and licked their chops during the night, the very last of them vanished without dipping
    their cocks in her after all. I wondered whether she had fended each and every one of them off, or
    whether Dave's protective intimacy had chased them away. I also wondered if I'd ever really know
    for sure.

    After the last guest departed, the three of us sat in near darkness, L beside him on the sofa, me in my
    usual chair across from them. My head was swimming a bit from raiding his best single malt scotch
    through the night (a favorite I knew he stocked for my benefit), but I had taken care to pace myself. L
    was tipsy as well, but appeared more relaxed and happy than intoxicated.

    Then, after a prolonged silence, more pregnant with anticipation than awkwardness, Dave said,
    "Well, maybe we should go to bed and leave all this for tomorrow." He took L's hand and headed for
    the stairs to his bedroom. But then he stopped, looked back at me, and said, "You can come too. I
    know you like to watch."

    And follow them I did. He didn't give any instructions or orders. He just began undressing L, and I
    soon found they were both ignoring me. I didn't know quite what to do, so I backed away quietly and
    watched. This was the room where he took her so often, maybe even where she imagined she was
    his bride, or he her husband. It was the room where he took photos of her, naked, posed to entice
    his special friends to devour her at his next party. She had shared this bed with him while I was in his
    basement guestroom, and when I was a thousand miles away those times she visited him alone. I
    was sure she knew this room so well, while it was a fabled place to me where so often I imagined her
    cries and moans echoing off the walls, her orgasms so intense and frequent even Dave had lost count
    of how many times she begged him to finish her.

    I watched them fuck. No one would have mistaken it for "making love". She sucked him so lovingly,
    then soon with purpose and determination. She never once looked at me, but stopped several times,
    gripping his cock tightly at the base, staring at it, as if to show me what she had done, promising
    what it would do to her. She rode him with her back to me, her round little ass plunging up and
    down on his cock without a hint of modesty or inhibition. He fucked her on her hands and knees,
    slowly, violently, every way I could imagine him doing her. With her hips in the air, taking whatever
    he gave, she lowered her cheek to the pillow and moaned - again and again.

    "Don - come over - come closer." He had stopped fucking her and knelt on the bed between her
    legs. I had turned a chair from his desk to face the bed and had opened my pants to try to relieve the
    pressure of the cage after what I had watched caused some weak-kneed dizziness. I went to the foot
    of the bed, not knowing what he had in mind.

    "Touch her, Don. Feel how wet she is."

    Jesus - her head was still resting on the pillow, her ass in the air with knees apart, and I could see she
    was swollen and soaked. She shivered when I put the tip of my finger inside her.

    "Oh, go ON, Don. Feel inside her. Don't be such a pussy. You've had your fingers inside her before,
    haven't you?"

    My finger went into her like I was dipping it into water. She was dripping onto the duvet as I pushed
    all the way into her, so much so I wondered if he had come in her. I couldn't help move it around
    inside her a little, and it made her moan again.

    Be honest, Don. Has she even been that wet for you?"

    It was a gaming question, one right out of an old script that had been written and recited a thousand
    times. I was supposed to submit to his prowess, admit I had never made her this wet, and we'd go
    on. So, I confessed out loud - "No, she's never been this wet with me." Was it a lie? Actually, I wasn't
    quite sure.

    "Go on, Don. Play with her a little. Show me how good you are at what she likes."

    Now it was my turn. I ran my finger up and own over each of her swollen outer lips and watched
    them twitch. I went all the way inside her with two fingers and pressed down firmly, toward her
    belly, and she moaned again. I withdrew, opened the same two fingers slightly, and eased them
    along each side of the rubbery stalk of her clit.

    "No! Nooo! Pleeease! Don't!" she sobbed suddenly. She was shivering more violently, and I realized
    she was trying with everything she had to hold back her orgasm. I pulled away quickly and looked at
    Dave. He was smiling.

    "That's for me, Don. She wants that from me now - from my cock. And I think she wants you to know
    that. Yours is quite unavailable at the moment, isn't it?"

    There wasn't much to say. I slipped off the bed and headed back to my chair.

    "Oh, I think you've seen all we want you to see tonight, Don. You know I'll take good care of her for
    the rest of the night, don't you?"

    Shit. I even begged him to let me stay. I appealed to his ego, claiming to want to learn how he fucks
    her so much better than I do. Could I watch the more intense orgasm she has with him, just so I
    might remember after we leave? But my best begging wasn't good enough.

    "Didn't you hear her, Don? She doesn't want you here when she comes. She wants you to imagine it,
    to obsess about it, but she'll never let you know what it's really like when she comes with me
    tonight. You might be sorry if you knew."

    Dave could be an ass at times. Well, maybe not an ass, but he could get under my skin when I least
    wanted it. Maybe I couldn't get relief while we were here, but I thought the least I deserved was to
    see L satisfied. I couldn't get myself off, or even get hard, but I wanted to take away the image of her
    face when she came, that instant when it felt like I had given her at least part of the joy she
    experienced in those few unforgettable seconds. It was a new form of frustration I wasn't prepared

    "Good night, Don. And don't let us catch you hiding in the hallway again. L wouldn't like it - she tells
    me everything."

    I spent the first night of 2016 banished to my room, trying my best to imagine how well my wife was
    being fucked, out of sight and sound, two floors above me. Dave's always had this way of unwinding
    L's fantasies, then mine, twisting them into his own, spinning all three into some game L and I expect
    but never completely imagine. He pushes us, too far sometimes. Later, hindsight tells us it was just
    far enough. The cage still hurt, but I found it was nervous frustration that would keep me from
    sleeping most of the night. I could stay in the game - I was sure of that. I just wasn't sure whether
    later, when it was over, "too far" would still be "just far enough".

  4. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Striking Midnight

    by Don Jetman


    It's late and a little dark, and he leads us to a booth in the back corner. It sits alone alongside a
    narrow passageway that separates it from the end of the bar. It's secluded from customers, but not
    from the waiters and waitresses using the passage to go back and forth to the kitchen carrying trays
    of food out to the main room. L slides in first, then he beside her. I sit across from them after they
    take their seats - like a friend, a third wheel on their date - but already know where he'd want L. He's
    chosen her clothes (and probably dressed her with his own hands) while I imagined them together in
    his bedroom. She's wearing a simple white, long-sleeved blouse, short gray skirt, and matching silver-
    gray heels that make her calves tighten into little balls when she walks. Her hips sway just enough to
    make my mouth water. Across the table I can see the outline of her nipples through the blouse. It's
    unbuttoned halfway down the front, enough to tease me, but not enough to let me see more than a
    little of the upper curves of her breasts.

    He orders drinks for the three of us, martinis all around. It's not my drink, and I doubt L has ever had
    one. It's his drink, and it's clear it's his game, his rules. L takes a sip and wrinkles her nose. I take a
    sip, recall the unwelcome taste, the sharp piney sting and salty olives, a memory from the long past.
    He looks at me, unflinching, with a hint of a satisfied smile.

    "I suppose it's been hard on you this weekend. I mean, we've never locked you up before when L and
    I are together. Is it close to what you expected?"

    We've stayed with him in his home before, L sharing his bed while I slept in a downstairs guest room.
    "Owning her" had meant letting him have her, letting him dress her, letting him parade her in public,
    letting him fuck her repeatedly in his bed, and at times letting him share her with his friends. Yes, the
    pangs of submissiveness and humiliation were delicious. Yes, I jerked off in my room while they
    fucked. And yes, sometimes I'd get to watch, even when his friends that took her were men neither L
    nor I knew for more than a few hours before they enjoyed her body. But this time was different. He
    and L had obviously planned it, or L was at least an accomplice. That night, when she slipped the
    small plastic cage over my shrinking penis, L looked fascinated, and just a little too pleased as she
    closed the cold, hard contraption and fastened the lock with a miniature key.

    "It's - it's more uncomfortable than I expected, that's for sure," I answered.

    "I know how excited you get when L and I fuck," he said, "so how was it when you couldn't play with
    yourself when L and I were alone together?"

    I can't even describe it with words. By the second night a kind of nervousness had set it, and by the
    third I was knotted up inside, trying to find some way to find relief. After a while the beginnings of
    erections, repeatedly crammed into the hard plastic, began to subside even before the cage confined
    them, as though somehow the little guy knew it was futile. I leaked pre-come everywhere - more
    than I thought possible. But the nervous frustration was relentless, and my thoughts were always
    about L and him together. The more time passed, the more perverted the acts I imagined them
    enjoying. But the cage became an erection killer, refusing to let the mental obsession manifest itself
    in any kind of physical pleasure. It's more than I can explain to him, especially in a public place.

    "I'm, um, just really nervous, and I guess mentally exhausted," I told him. "I guess I've never given
    her up to you so completely before. It seems so - final."

    I look up to see our waiter standing at the table, for how long I'm not sure. He moves our drinks from
    his tray to the table and asks sheepishly if he can get us anything else. Has he heard me? He's staring
    at L, waiting for her answer. Dave lets him stare for a few seconds, then dismisses him.

    "Open another button on your blouse, L," he says.

    She looks slightly startled, and asks, "Really?"

    "For me, L," he tells her.

    And she does it. No pause, no objection - just a quick twist of thumb and finger to expose another
    two inches of skin. It isn't indecent. The fabric of the blouse simply falls against her, the button
    hiding behind the edge of the material.

    "Now another one, for me and your husband," he says.

    And she obeys him again, this time letting her blouse open halfway between her nipples and navel.
    This time it is obvious. The open edges pucker and fall away from her, showing me the deep inner
    curves of her breasts across the table. I imagine the view from the side, her nipples on display for
    anyone who passes. My nervousness is amplified as I glance around the room to see if our waiter is
    nearby. I finger my glass, my stomach in knots, worrying that he will get more than a fleeting look
    inside her blouse when he returns.

    "I hope you know how fortunate you are," Dave tells me after downing the last of his drink. "I've
    been surprised for years now how hungry she is for sex. Always. When we first met, I assumed she
    was just neglected, or maybe had these fantasies she needed to act out. But I think it's more. The
    things she does to a man, the way her body responds, no, not responds, pursues and attacks are
    better words. She's a natural, so adept, so quick to suck it all in, every obscene act I can think of,
    then spit it right back out at me again with a vengeance. Well, and then there's her pussy. Over all
    the years you've been married, have you appreciated how tight she is, how she can grasp a cock
    inside her like a fist, milk it, and show such pleasure on her pretty face while she does it? I've just
    never seen another woman like her - especially a married one whose husband is willing to give all
    that to another man."

    I can see L's nipples harden under her blouse, and my cage is straining under a renewed pressure I
    hadn't felt for at least a day.

    "Why don't you tell her? Let her know how much you appreciate her? Let her know how sexy she is
    to every man who looks at her? Take this opportunity, Don. Tell her to open another button. Put
    your heart and soul into it."

    She's blushing now, looking straight into my eyes for the first time tonight. I realize she wants this.
    She'll risk public embarrassment, taunting a young waiter she's never met, humiliating me in front of
    him, why? Because it pleases Dave? It's become everything to her tonight - maybe everything much
    more often than I care to imagine. I picture her using her body in the ways he describes, in
    contortions, with the "vengeance" Dave claims, a vengeance I may possibly have never seen. So I tell

    "Open another button, L. Please?"

    Again there is no hesitation. In fact, she seems to take even more pleasure in it. Her fingertips seem
    more sensuous, slowly massaging the smooth button through the yielding slit. And then, does she
    tug slightly at the open seam, or does it open on its own, baring her to her navel? Her breasts nearly
    pour out into the dim overhead light. I search for a hint of modesty or embarrassment on her face,
    but she's looking at him, not me. Is she breathing more deeply intentionally to flaunt her breasts? Or
    is it her adoring worship of him that's quickening her breath, making her wet, making her desperate
    for his hard cock inside her at that very moment as I watch? I know how I see her - my wife, so fresh,
    so loving, so tempted by him to do everything he asks. I know how he sees her - my wife, out of
    control, hungry for sex with him, openly slutting in front of her husband. If only I knew her mind,
    whether she sees herself as he does or I do, or someone else entirely.

    She sees the waiter approaching again and pulls her blouse closed. Still, she can't hide that it's
    changed, that she's undressing for someone. He brings a second round of drinks, and I catch him
    staring at her again. Surely he can see inside her blouse; I just can't tell how much he sees. She looks
    up and smiles at him, then again at Dave. She's enjoying this, teasing all of us with her body, knowing
    how it affects us, yet I'm guessing she's more proud of her submission to Dave than anything. My
    god she's beautiful.

    The waiter leaves us, and Dave smiles at me, almost a sneer.

    "She's wet, Don. Do you know how I know?"

    "I guess she's not wearing anything under her skirt," I answer, assuming he's kept her naked under
    her clothes, as he likes to do in public.

    "Well, that - and I have my fingers in her, up to my third knuckle."

    She squirms a little, and I wonder how I missed the signs - how she's leaning back in the booth, her
    right leg shifted toward him, his left arm flexing just slightly under the table. Her face flushes, and
    the blouse opens again, a little more with each breath. I glance over my shoulder to see if anyone's
    looking, but no one seems to notice. I wonder how far Dave will take us tonight. My stomach stiffens
    and sickens slightly just thinking about it.

    "Do you wonder why she does this, Don? Takes so many chances, exposes her body to others, lets
    me finger-fuck her, all in front of you, in fact, in front of the entire restaurant?"

    I tell him, as quietly as I can, that I do wonder, but think I understand by now. In fact, I expect almost
    as much, but never quite everything he wants from her. But yes, I do wonder to myself - always -
    how she can be anything, anyone he wants her to be, so easily, anywhere he decides to show her off.

    He brings his hand into view and rests it on the table. It's sopping wet, to the knuckles, as he
    promised. I stare, and L watches me stare. Then she leans toward me over the table, her blouse
    hanging open, breasts falling forward and down, into the light in front of me, and tells me as though
    it's a truth she's known forever.

    "I do it because he wants me to," she says, her confident, dreamy eyes targeting me, "and because
    you don't. But you know I love you. I know you like to hear that when, well, when I'm with him -
    when he fucks me so often and you can't."

    When we leave I follow them, his hand on the small of her back - his prize. But he hasn't just won her
    tonight. She's his every minute they spend together, and has been for a long, long time. The little
    gray skirt twirls and flares when they stop near the door and she turns suddenly to kiss him.
    Everyone looks. His hand drops to her ass, his fingers digging into the pleats that run from her
    narrow waist to mid-thigh, and he pulls her closer, crushing her hips against him. Everyone looks. I
    know she's naked under the tiny skirt, and I imagine her shaved mound rubbing against his erection,
    her wet little slit desperate to get him home. They hold the kiss, and everyone looks.

    Everyone knows he'll fuck her tonight, that she'll moan for him and beg for more, that he'll turn her
    inside out before morning. Everyone knows I wish I was him, that I'd give anything to be the one to
    get his cock inside her tonight, and that I have no chance at all of doing it. They all watch us, and they
    all know. But they don't know she's my wife. They don't know she flaunts her infidelity in front of
    me. They don't know about the cuckold who's watching his wife and her lover, or about the
    punishing cage that keeps me in my place and how hard I'd be if they would only set me free.
  5. wittol

    wittol Member

    Another instant classic


    Thanks Don! You know, you should consider compiling "The Story of L" into a book. Shouldn't take a whole lot of editing of an already outstanding body of work (about a great body).
  6. banhkemsua7

    banhkemsua7 Member

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