A Choice In Theory

Jerome looked down at Brett, who was on his knees. "How long has it been? Since your last orgasm. I bet you know exactly, don't you?"

Brett did know. "Ninety—ninety-seven days," Brett admitted. "Sir."

Jerome chuckled, a mixture of pity and disdain, and when he did, his cock, hard and bulging, quivered in front of Brett's face. Jeanine was always telling Brett how big Jerome's cock was, both compared to Brett's tiny thing and in general, and once she'd texted him a picture of it. But this was his first time being present for one of Jerome and Jeanine's "sessions," his first time seeing it in person, up close—a little too up close. He couldn't believe Jeanine had had this...in her.

"Ninety-seven days without nutting, shit," Jerome said. "If I went a day or two without sticking it in somewhere, I'd kill myself. No, that's not true. If I went a day or two, I'd find somewhere to stick it in. Ninety-seven days!"

Usually it was Jeanine teasing Brett about how long it had been since his last orgasm. She was the one who had locked him up, after all. Who wore the silver key around her neck, between her breasts. The key to his manhood, such as it were. She'd taken Jerome as a bull, as her lover.

But Jeanine was a bit indisposed at the moment. Jerome had stripped her, bent her over the ottoman in the corner of the bedroom—our bedroom, Brett thought—and used several of Brett's ties—expensive, designer ties—to bind her there. Her shapely butt faced up, her legs spread helplessly.

"I'll give you a choice," Jerome told Brett. "What do you say?"

"Thank you."

Don't look at it, Brett thought. But how could you not, when it was that close and that big? He wished Jerome hadn't made him get down on his knees for this conversation, hadn't told him that was the proper level for him to be on as events ran their course. It was giant, dark, gleaming, thick as a Coke can. Brett felt puny—not just about his penis, but about his predicament—about himself on the whole. What kind of man, he wondered, would put up with this?

"Thank you what?" Jerome said.

"Thank you sir," Brett said.

"That's better."

Jeanine had told Brett how strict Jerome was. Not that she'd had to tell him. When they had sessions here at the house, he usually had to do the dishes or the laundry. But even from the kitchen or the mudroom, he could hear his wife begging. Usually it was "yes, yes, yes," but other times, "no, please no, Jerome, please, no, no." And from the way she said the same thing over and over, it did not seem as if her pleas were to any avail.

"You see, " Jerome told Brett, "I'm a believer in free will, in letting men, even 'men'—here he used his fingers to make air quotes—"have an opportunity to fight for what they want, to better their situations. So here's my offer. On the one hand, you can crawl over to the nightstand, get the lube, and wet my cock up nice and good so I can slide it up your wife's tight little ass. Or, you can get up off your knees and fight me."

Brett gulped. "F-f-fight you?"

"A simple fight. Like men. Hand-to-hand. Til someone says uncle. You win, then you get off your knees, and you go over and get the key from around your wife's neck and unlock your little clit and have your way with your wife."

Brett's cock twitched painfully in his cage—why did Jeanine insist on keeping it so tight, wasn't it enough that he was locked away, that he couldn't act on any impulse he might have?

"And, w-w-w what if I lose, sir?"

"If you lose," Jerome said, "then I take your wife's ass dry."

"Mhhphmm," Jeanine protested from the corner. It was the best she could do—Jerome had stuffed her panties in her mouth, which Brett knew from experience was no treat, especially at the end of a long day.

Brett thought of it: teaching this smug jerk a lesson, his own cock free and hard, his wife's body sprawled lewdly, taking her however he wanted, finally getting what he wanted. And at the end, a glorious orgasm. Maybe several. Then he thought of getting his teeth knocked out, of Jerome fucking Jeanine in her bottom hole, without any aid. No. He Brett would lose. He knew it. And Jerome would—look at that thing—it would destroy her. His wife would be destroyed.

"I-I-I can't fight you, sir," Brett said.

Jeanine moaned what sounded like thank you and a relieved sigh.

"You can fight me. You're just too scared. Isn't that right?"

"Yes sir," Brett said.

"Well then," Jerome said. "You know what to do."

Brett started to stand, but Jerome put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "No," Jerome said. "On your knees."

Brett crawled over to the nightstand, feeling completely humiliated, lower than he'd thought was possible. The tile was cold and hard on his knees. His little dick bounced meekly in his cage. Fight back. Fight back. Be a man. "Keep that back arched and that ass high," Jerome said, and Brett complied as best he could.

He looked through the nightstand, but he couldn't find the lubricant.

"It's—it's not here, sir."

Jeanine moaned nervously through her panties.

"You better find it fast," Jerome said. "I'm in no mood to wait. And if you don't find it, the options are either a dry fuck—or we find another way to get it wet."

Brett gulped, imagining what that would entail, and redoubled his efforts. The drawer was crammed with catalogues and vibrators. His knees hurt on the tile. Finally he found the lube.

"Crawl back over here," Jerome said, and Brett did. Jerome looked down at him smugly and expectantly.

Brett did it. He lubed up Jerome—Jerome's dick. Brett had never touched another cock before. Hell, it had been months since he'd touched his own—since it had been touched by anyone. Jerome's dick pulsed his hands; it felt hot, heavy, like a club, a weapon. It was a weapon. It could hurt you. Unlike his own locked up little dick.

"Mmm," Jerome said. "Admit it, you've played with black cock before."

"No, no, sir," Brett insisted.

"You're a natural then. Some are. Keep stroking, keep lubing it up."

What?! A natural? Was he? Brett didn't want to be a natural, not at this. He couldn't even close his hands around it.

"No," he protested weakly.

Jerome laughed. "Now use that tongue to give your wife's hole a dab."

At once relieved and ashamed, Brett crawled over to where Jeanine was bound to the ottoman. Her rear hole winked at him, tiny and helpless. He knew what to do—Jeanine had him servicing her this way often in this new "phase" of their life together—and he went to work. He licked her, first around the rim. She'd been to the gym earlier and Jerome hadn't let her shower, so the smell was—not necessarily unpleasant, just...strong. She had an odor.

The truth was, he was used to the smell. It was more the idea of the act that shamed Brett. He was on his knees. Licking his wife's rear hole. This was not something he'd grown up fantasizing about. Anal sex, sure—but not this. Not with his tongue. Jeanine had said he was a natural at it—why was he always a natural at things he didn't want to do, at things real men wouldn't do? But Jeanine had never let Brett do anal. Not in all their time together. She'd said it was gross, it was dirty, it wasn't proper, that it would hurt. Then she'd come home from her second date with Jerome, walking uncomfortably, and admitted that Jerome had taken her in the rear.

Brett remembered how shocked he'd been—the second date! "Wha—how—why did you let him?" he'd asked.

She'd only shaken her head wistfully, and told Brett he didn't understand.

Now he redoubled his efforts, slipping his tongue inside and feeling Jeanine relax slightly. It was all so dirty, so humiliating. But his little cock twitched in his cage. Somehow this made it worse. He told himself he was doing it to help her, to ease her pain. But she was so tight! It seemed impossible. That was no way she'd have been table to take that monster, not then, not now. It just wasn't physically possible. Jerome would just have to do something else, would have to settle for regular sex.

Suddenly Brett was torn away from his task and tossed aside.

"Wow," said Jerome. "She wasn't kidding, you really do get into that. I may have to let you try it on me some time. But that's enough for now. I like to feel a little friction, you know."

"Sir," Brett protested, "I think—I mean, you might have to—"

"Shush now," Jerome said. "Watch what a man does."

There was no other prelude, no romance, no warning, no warm-up. He lined up behind her, and the next second he was in her, slowly but inevitably sliding his giant cock into her too-small hole. She gurgled behind her panty gag and writhed across the ottoman. But there was nowhere to go. The cock kept going and disappeared—Brett did not understand the physics of it, how she had taken him. Then Jerome started to pull out, and out, and out—how long was it?! How much was there to it?! Then back in. Then out. Brett saw how Jeanine rim's stretched, red and painful, in an effort to accommodate the monster drilling in and out of her. He could only imagine what that might feel like—to be inside like that—to take—to have a forbidden hole tight around his own cock.

"C'mon, man," Jerome said. "Comfort your wife in a time of need. Tell her it will be okay, help her through." He cackled wildly and thrust in and out. Jeanine's cheeks rippled helplessly with every thrust.

Brett crawled around in front of his wife. Jeanine was making sounds Brett had never heard her make before—half moan, half nonsense, some guttural babble. Her eyes were glazed over, her teeth clenched. Her gorgeous breasts were smushed down into the ottoman. He saw the key tucked away in their crevice, jiggling with each thrust.

She looked depraved, used, a complete slut. You wanted this, he wanted to say. You're the one who wanted more. Who locked me up. You deserve whatever you get. But Jerome was treating her so roughly. He would have done anything to ease her pain-well, maybe not anything. But close to it.

"Shh," Brett said, "It's okay, hun, breathe in and out. It will be okay. I'm so sorry."

It wasn't even clear Jeanine heard Brett—she was in her own world.

Jerome began spanking her ass, harder even than Jeanine had ever spanked Brett. The slaps, like his thrusts came fast and furious, each with a resounding thwack and a moan from Jeanine.

"Please, sir," Brett said, "a little softer, please. She can't handle it."

Jerome cackled. "Please, she's taken far worse. You can always push them farther than you realize." He picked up his intensity.

Brett was overtaken with anger—it was so unfair. Brett was a good person, a good man, and he'd been given a tiny cock and a weak personality. This arrogant jerk got to walk around strutting this dark monster while Brett was locked up. He choked back tears. The fact that he was almost crying only made him feel more pathetic, more helpless.

"Please sir, can I at least take out the panties so she can breathe better."

"They come out her mouth, they go in yours," Jerome said, pounding away at his Jeanine's rear hole.

Jeanine's mouth half-opened. Brett didn't want to put the panties in his mouth, but it was too late now. He took them from her lips and put them between his own; the smell overwhelmed him immediately.

"But—" Jeanine was babbling, "but, but—"

"Butt is right," Jerome panted. "All the way in," he instructed Brett, "shove those panties all the way in, just like my cock"—and he thrust forward, filling her completely, stretching her tight rear passage, and then it happened, Jeanine shrieked and convulsed in pain and pleasure all at once—she was cumming, she was actually cumming on Jerome's dick, just from her ass alone.

"Oooohh," Jeanine said. "Ohhhh." Her face contorted beautifully. Brett couldn't remember the last time he'd seen this; recently any time she'd cum in his presence he hadn't really been in a position to witness it, as he was always trapped between her legs, servicing her orally.

"That's right, there it is!" Jerome said. "There it is. My turn now."

"So—so much," Jeanine panted, "please, please."

He was already cumming, filling her ass with his spunk, but he pulled out, unceremoniously and, Brett thought, judging from Jeanine's grunt, probably too quickly—it couldn't be healthy for something so large to exit so quickly—and continued to cum all over her back. Brett had a front row seat. He watched in astonishment as Jerome sprayed her back in sperm, thick, creamy, potent. It kept coming and coming, coating her. Brett thought of his own sperm, locked away in his balls, drained and dribbled out every once in a while if he was lucky. The room was filled with the scent of sweat, sex, ass.

Jerome looked at her ass and laughed. Brett could only imagine what it looked like. "What a hole," Jerome said. "Still a little tight for my liking. But we'll get there, won't we?"

Jeanine whimpered. "Please, Jerome, please."

Jerome ignored her and moved around front. "You know what to do," he said. "Kiss it."

No, Brett thought. She wouldn't—she couldn't stoop that low—not after what had just happened. But she did, she meekly raised her head and kissed the tip of his giant dick, gleaming with his cum and her cum and who knew what else if you looked closely. How was it still so hard after all that?

"Thank you, Jerome," Jeanine said weakly. "Thank you, sir. But I'm begging you, next time, I was good this time, I took it all, next time use my mouth or pussy."

"That all depends on your husband," Jerome said. "I kind of liked giving him a choice to protect your or not. I'm thinking we might do that again. He'll stand up for you, make the right decision for you, don't you think?"

Jeanine moaned in disappointment, not even meeting Brett's eyes. Had he made the right choice? Well, he'd kept her from getting fucked dry, that had to mean something. But he knew there had never been a choice, not really, not truly, and that again, next time, when a choice was proffered, there would be no doubt that Brett would roll over and submit. Brett swallowed, tasting all his wife's scents-from licking her rare hole, from her dirty panties in his mouth. A deep, pervading shame ran down his spine to his sore, bruised knees, then back up to his tiny locked cock, which again twitched helplessly and painfully in its cage.