Adrian got home from work at 6:45pm. The first thing he saw as he came through the door was the candle, burning brightly in its glass jar on the hall table where he usually put his keys, and straightaway he knew he was in for an evening of arousal, sex and -- if he was
really
lucky -- an orgasm at the end of it.
The candle had first appeared like this several years ago, on the anniversary of when Adrian and Isobel got married. Its aroma had been alluring when he'd come in through the door and saw it for the first time, even though he didn't realise what it signified at that point. When they'd married, the wedding venue had been filled with candles and the scent had enchanted them both. He hadn't realised that Isobel had spent weeks tracking down the specific brand and ordering a stock of them. He hadn't known any of that, when the candle was first waiting for him on the hall table -- he'd only known that its perfume triggered memories of joy, love, and wildly enthusiastic sex.
That first time, a note had been propped up against the glass jar, in Isobel's handwriting. "Go straight to the bathroom," it had said. "Shower, shampoo, and shave, face and groin. Put on everything that's on the bed, and nothing else. Join me in the living room when you're done. You have thirty minutes from when you opened the door." Adrian had given a surprised grunt, and then followed the instructions to the letter. What had followed had been
spectacular.
Since then, the candle had appeared on random occasions, with instructions, and Isobel had deigned to accept his servitude while he did his best to please and pleasure her. Isobel always made sure she came at least once, and often more than once. Adrian delighted in seeing his lovely wife in the throes of an orgasm, knowing he'd given her such pleasure -- it made him feel like he'd earned his own climax, at the end of the night. But sometimes, he succeeded
too
well, and Isobel was too worn out to return the favour; on such occasions, Adrian lay beside his gently snoring wife, frustrated -- but smugly satisfied, all the same.
More recently, the note had just said, "You know what to do. Thirty minutes. Don't be late."
This time, there wasn't even a note. Adrian saw the candle, in its jar by itself, and headed straight upstairs to begin.
After shaving and cleansing himself appropriately, Adrian towelled off, rubbing his scruffy, sandy-coloured hair dry before giving it a quick comb. On the bed, placed neatly in the middle of the duvet, he found a Chippendales-style white collar-and-bow-tie affair, with matching cuffs, some cologne and a cock cage. This time, it was one of the stainless steel ones; naturally, there was no key with it. While he was snapping everything into place, he noticed the restraining straps on the mattress, just visible where they disappeared under the duvet.
As usual, the hardest part of "dressing" was the cage, and Adrian struggled to get his somewhat excited member through the metal ring and into the sleeve of the cage. Once he snapped the padlock shut, he spent his remaining few minutes trying to redistribute his compressed shaft throughout the sleeve so that the skin wasn't bunched tightly anywhere; he didn't want pinching later. Once ready, he slapped on some of the cologne, and went back down the stairs with two minutes to spare.
His wife Isobel was waiting in the living room, as promised. lounging in one of their armchairs. She was dressed in her light summer robe and cream-coloured high-heel shoes. She was reading something on her tablet. She looked up as he entered, and then checked the time.
"Cutting it close, I see," she said, archly, while she smiled at him. "But you've avoided a punishment this time. Let's have a look at you." She beckoned him closer, so that she could examine the quality of trimming around the cage. He stood in front of her, hands behind his back, for inspection. He had an excellent view of her wonderful cleavage. A small, silver key dangled from a silver chain between her breasts.
"Hmm. I suppose it'll do," she said. She kept stroking his testicles, and touching the small patches of skin reachable through the cage. Adrian shivered in pleasure. "
This
, however, is not nearly good enough. I want you harder than that." She playfully swatted the front of the cage, as she stood.
She tapped at her tablet, and music started playing from the audio system, a sensual R'n'B beat. Adrian watched Isobel as she began to move to the music.
Isobel was slightly taller than Adrian, especially in her high heels. She had a thin, muscular body. They were both in their thirties -- Adrian early thirties, while Isobel was a couple of years older -- and they were tall and skinny, with reasonable fitness for their age. In Adrian's case, it was because he was a climber; scampering up rock faces (real or artificial) gave him a wiry, taut physique. In Isobel's case, it was because she was a dancer. They were both amateurs, but each devoted a couple of evenings a week to their hobbies, and over the years that had shaped them.
Adrian would describe himself as "average-looking", with his boring sandy hair that never behaved, though Isobel found him attractive. "A rugged, weathered, rogue," was how she put it. Isobel had one of those long faces that, at rest, would not go beyond "pretty" -- especially with her long, wavy hair that always gave the impression it had been raining recently. But photos did not do her justice -- it was when she
moved
that she took Adrian's breath away. Isobel had a natural grace greatly enhanced by her long years of dance, and whenever she walked past, heads turned to follow. Her face was, weirdly, the same: her expressions brought it to life, with her twinkling eyes and her mischievous smile.
Those eyes held his, now, as her hips swayed to the music, and she approached him, intent written all over her face. Her robe, cream like her shoes, was belted at the waist and reached just past her hips. Its movement emphasised hers, captivating him. Then her hands were on him, on his shoulders first, before moving them down over his upper arms and onto his chest, feeling his abs. She closed in on him, sliding her body over his. Adrian
could
dance -- in truth, he wasn't all that bad -- but he always felt like a lump next to Isobel, and he struggled to match her elegance. He had no problem matching her rhythm, though -- his body couldn't resist.
She used her body to excite his, always touching him sensuously, grinding her sex or her butt into his cage, or stepping away and bending at the waist, showing him those long, long legs, with the robe just giving a hint of what lay beneath. Finally, she dropped in front of him, knees wide, grasping his testicles in one hand and the cage in the other, as she licked along his length again and again, as the track ended.
By now, Adrian was straining, his penis filling the cage as it fought for erection.
Isobel looked at it in satisfaction. "Much better," she said approvingly, as she stood. "I think I would like a drink. I'll have a martini, please." She sat back down in her chair.
HIs member bulging within its cage, Adrian went through to the kitchen to collect a glass of ice, and soon he was back in the living room, presenting Isobel with her beverage.
