Chaste Honeymoon First Karaoke

Chaste Honeymoon: First Karaoke.

The bride sings on stage while the caged groom dances cuffed.

### Disclaimer. This is completely imaginary fiction. All the characters are over 18 years old. After their very fetish wedding, Dean and Britney are on their Chaste Honeymoon, but it is not necessary to read previous episodes of the series "Here Comes The Bride (Only)" https://www.literotica.com/series/se/here-comes-the-bride-only. English is not my mother tongue, forgive my mistakes.###

*** Recap. Dean and Britney got married two days ago and are now on Honeymoon at a naturist resort on a tiny island in Croatia. Two rules apply: the Resort Internal Regulation and a Couple's Agreement.

The Resort's Internal Regulations allow heterosexual couples who consensually practice willing male chastity, with special devices locked by the wife (Keyholder); for gay couples, there are more Resorts in Greece, near Mykonos.

The couple's consensual Agreement is that Britney will receive as many orgasms as she desires, while Dean will only see a release when Britney feels like it: which hasn't happened for 122 days, including the wedding night.

This episode between "Chaste Honeymoon: Welcome Cocktail Party" and "Chaste Honeymoon: Almost Released" ***

.

Chapter 1. Resort's Guests on stage for a little Karaoke.

.

A girl from the resort who was in charge of karaoke approached my wife Britney.

She presented any couples with a flyer and smilingly offered to sign up for a singing performance.

For fun, of course, she wanted to state in a friendly manner: "None of us is Beyoncé or Bocelli, that's clear, but we can have fun and entertain others, can't we? I can see your husband can't sing with that gag in his mouth, but what's your name, new bride?"

My wife hesitated. Karaoke is not exactly the pinnacle of entertainment for her. But in a way she was involved and she was sorry to shirk a 'social duty', which is to entertain people at a Cocktail Party (or rather, a 'Caged-Cock-Tail Party').

So, she muttered, "My name is Britney... And you don't have to worry about my husband, it's a simple gag with holes in it and he can breathe without any problems. But it's better if he doesn't sing, he, for the sake of the whole community.

And as for me-I am not a real singer, except in the shower!

So please don't offer me difficult songs!"

"Britney! Like my favorite, lady Spears!" exclaimed the organizer, pointing with her finger at a title on her playlist: "So, here's what I propose: it's easy and there are no challenging vocal high notes, everyone knows the hit, and it offers a lot of fun hints!".

My wife smiled in a threatening manner (What song, and what hints?) and nodded in agreement, without giving me any clue of what song they had agreed on!

What had they chosen?

"I'm a Slave for You", maybe, or perhaps "Oops I Did It Again", even "Toxic", or which of the countless songs by my favorite singer?

Yep, when I was a kid I had jerked off thousands of times thinking about putting my Longsword between the two Spears, and Shake Spears all night... Maybe I was not the only one in the world.

Completely clueless, I followed her as she advanced on her sky-high invisible heels and stepped onto a tall stage lit brightly by wide spotlights.

I was dramatically aware that in all that light, my wife's elegant, long dress would appear completely see-through, showing off her firm tits and the very thin black string that furrowed her wet labia.

I caught myself mulling over the meaning of those tan lines. In the previous months Britney had gone to the pool. The skin on her shoulders and navel was very tanned, but her boobs and groin were pale.

Her body had very large tan lines, both up and down there.

I was painfully aware that the tan difference appeared sharply under the spotlight, highlighting the pale tits in contrast to the dark nipples.

Over the next few days, all of us resort guests would see her naked, or in skimpy swimsuits smaller than a postage stamp: and I would be in charge of slathering on the cream to avoid sunburn.

Besides, those tan lines conveyed a message to those watching. Before the wedding, my fiancée was a shy girl who exposed ordinary, opaque swimsuits to the sun. After the wedding, my fresh bride shamelessly sported micro-bikinis, skimpy G-strings, or topless, covering the fresh groom in humiliation.

After Britney had stepped onto the stage elevated above the heads of the spectators, everyone could see her ankles beneath the long (elegant but not opaque) dress.

Now everyone could contemplate her lovely feet. Everyone could admire the arched shape of my wife's feet. The transparent silicone heel was invisible from afar, and with the flesh-colored laces, she seemed to be walking on toes like Margot Robbie in the "Barbie" movie (2023).

And me, myself...

Just looking at my wife's delicious feet arched in those magnificent invisible shoes, I could have cum ropes and ropes of spunk... if my penis had not been tragically imprisoned by curved metal bars that forced it to bow humbly as my eyes followed her ass cheeks as she walked up the stage.

Stairs always have this magical effect of placing a woman's ass in front of the eyes of the man following her. Etiquette and good manners were invented in Italy in the 16th century, I think specifically to men to stare at the ladies' asses.

From the stage, we were above the heads of the Resort guests. I was also aware that everyone could see from below my humiliating blue balls under the gleaming metal cage, and my wife's glistening labia under the thin black cord, framed by the less tanned skin due to the swimsuits worn in the previous months.

The gag allowed me to breathe smoothly, but it was uncomfortable. Already climbing the steps to reach the stage, I had been sweating all over my body and drooling from my mouth.

The song was from the movie "Crossroads" (2002). Spears was 21 years old and sang "I Love Rock And Roll" together with Zoe Saldana (24 yo) and Tarin Manning (24 yo), each one so wonderful.

In contrast, my Britney was 25 years old, had only been married for two days, and was singing on stage together with her fresh groom.

The difference was that Zoe and Tarin sang the choruses, while I was gagged, caged, cuffed, and collared.

Oh! I almost forgot: with the difference, that Spears hit the audience winking, while my wife winking hit my aching testicles!

My wife unhooked the leash from my leather collar, and hissed an order in a tone of voice that allowed no hesitation from me: "You can't sing, so, you must DANCE!"

Even without taking into account the predicament caused by the gag, I am not a dancer and she knew it. I am rather clumsy and wooden. Usually, I would say 'stiff', but not this evening.

Then she smiled at the audience, and imitating the Spears' voice tapping her finger over the microphone, my wife wondered, "Hey! Is this thing on?" tapping her outstretched hand over my brass padlock.

Everyone in the audience shouted "Yes!" "Sure thing!" and "Make IT dance for us!"

These encouragements came from female voices: some husbands were gagged, others were silent, perhaps fearing that in the next song, they would be on stage instead of me.

My wife had that light of joy mixed with exhibitionism in her eyes, which she also had on the night of the bachelorette party. For a moment I wondered if she would order me to lick the pussy of all the guests at the resort, just to prove my level of obedience.

She always had a beautiful voice, and the song suited her tones.

"I saw him dancing there, by the record machine!" and to me, she said, "Dance, Dean dear, move your sweaty pelvis for these Ladies!"

"I knew: he must have been MORE THAN a seventeen!" and she winked at the audience, showing her wedding ring.

The ring was greeted by a roar of applause.

"The beat was going strong playing my favorite song: I could tell it wouldn't be long until he was with me! yeah, with me... I really could tell you, he wouldn't LAST long inside me, yeah, inside me!" and they all laughed...

"Singing: I love rock and roll!" and she slapped me on the buttock, to make me dance swaying my imprisoned genitals for the amusement of the audience.

Every time the song said "rock and roll", she rubbed the tissue over her shaved pussy against my sweaty body, often changing position: my hip, my elbow, my knee, depending on what position I had or she had. Drool was dripping from my lower lip, and I was in danger of wetting her dress, making it even more transparent.

She noticed, so she pushed a nipple against my drooling chin to moisten the silk covering it.

On contact with the air, the nipple stiffened. A female voice from the audience shouted, "Yay! We finally see something hard and erect!" and everyone laughed. It could have been Trixie's voice.

My wife kept on singing: "So put another dime in the jukebox, baby: I love "rock and roll", so come and take the time and DANCE WITH ME!"

Turning to the audience she stated out loud: "I haven't allowed him cum in weeks, so the only thing he can do "with me", is dance on this stage!"

Another female voice (Fiona, maybe) asked loudly: "I thought he was your newlywed!"

"Yes, he is my groom by two days, and I will always be faithful to him. But we agree that he will only have a release when I am in the right mood, and guess what? I was never in the right mood for weeks on end!" She laughed, delighted, and the audience reacted with glee too.

In a flash of lucidity, I realized that my wife had just declared to all the guests in the Resort that she would always be faithful to me in the future!

A public declaration in that situation was almost more important than wedding vows!

Especially considering that it was a holiday Naturist Resort (kink-friendly), full of attractive men and uncharted opportunities!

I was shaking my hips, but in the meantime, I was thinking: how many wives cheat on their honeymoon? And how many husbands? Not me, this one was solid as a lead pipe. But Abigail's husband (my wife's sister) had cheated on her on the Love Boat during their first cruise.

Meanwhile, the song had gone on.

Britney looked at the screen and saw that speaking to the audience, she had lost the song's part about the boy's name. But she already knew my name anyway, so...

So she resumed singing from the next verse.

"I said, "Can I take you home, where we can be alone?" And next, we were moving on and he was WITH ME BUT NOT INSIDE ME!" A laughter from the audience "And we were moving on, and singing that same old song of love."

Pointing to the pussy, she stuck out her tongue, twirling the tip between the open V-shaped fingers of her right hand, to let everyone know that I was giving head down there a lot:

"I love MY rock and roll yeah because it soothes my "soul" yeah!" (Britney wiggled her fingers for the air-quotes gesture: my tongue soothes her pussy, indeed, and everyone understood the not-so-secret meaning perfectly).

The song went on for very long minutes, in which I was forced to dance naked and handcuffed while my wife, in her elegant long black (but see-through) dress, rubbed her pussy on my harmless body looking for her "rock and roll".

I was all sweaty, red in the face, and with an arousal I had never seen before (despite the metal bars).

The female audience encouraged her to tease me, so she knelt in front of my cage, spreading her thighs to allow her dress to dangle in the space between.

The slits were up to her navel and the fabric offered no resistance to her thighs - Britney could have won a Manspreading contest against the worst bullies in an Metro Subway.

Kneeling and with her thighs open, she grasped my hips with her hands to steady me as a target for her tongue.

Then she gave my testicles a long lick in front of everyone as my cage dangled dangerously close to her eyes.

Feeling the heat of her breath, and the contact with her delicious tongue, I wished so badly I could have flooded her with a facial treatment of cum.

But the cage wouldn't allow it, and she fiddled with my impotent testicles, yelling out for Rock and Roll.

Everyone in the place was singing the refrain to cheer her on.

Fortunately, after a few long minutes, the song ended.

I couldn't have lasted a second longer.

My breathing was gasping because of the gag, and my skin was covered with sweat.

Smiling, my wife stood up and leaned on my hips. Then she placed a chaste kiss on my cheek.

"You did good, Dean dear!" she said, hanging up the snap-hook of the leash and walking on her clear heels towards the stairs.

We walked off the stage amidst roaring applause from all present and howls of encouragement.

Well, no. More to the point, the voices were almost all female, because the husbands were mostly gagged, except for Frank who was holding the leash of the submissive Red Vixen.

And the applause almost all came from the delicate hands of the wives because many husbands were handcuffed or bound in some way.

Anyway, it was a success.

As I walked slowly down the stairs, guided by my wife by the leash on the collar, Britney stopped. At that moment I realized why good manners dictate that the gentleman follows the lady even when she is descending the stairs. If she stops and turns around, her face will be level with his cock.

She turned around and had her mouth at the level of my curved, captive cock.

"Is everything all right my love? Was that too humiliating for you?"

I shook my head and squinted. I couldn't speak but I was happy.

"I have told everyone in the audience from the stage, that I will always be faithful, and I intend to be.

I will never betray you.

I will always be a loving and faithful wife.

Nod if you love me too, Dean dear, I love you and will always love you."

I nodded so intensely that I almost fell down the stairs!

.

Chapter 2. Two leashes.

.

As we descended the stage steps, Frank walked towards us, beaming!

"May I hug you, Britney? Your performance on stage was fabulous!"

I thought that seeing a man hugging my wife, covered only by three strings around/inside her pussy and a transparent silk dress, would make me jealous. Or it would have aroused a primal instinct to claim her as a possession.

But no. Frank looked like a serene and satisfied man, so happy in his cage, and his wife smiled at me, moving her whiskers around her foxy nose, still on all fours, wiggling her red tail without lecherous intentions, just to express joy.

The embrace was quick and non-sexual.

I was relieved.

Stepping back, Frank looked into my wife's eyes and told her: "As a part-time submissive myself, I suffer when I see a man forced by his wife to endure all kinds of humiliation... I suffer on a generational level because I have the impression that all the males of my generation had to swallow the propaganda that movie producers and publishing houses pushed down everyone's throat, even against their will.

But since you two were talking about safe words earlier, I assumed he was voluntarily consensual, am I right?"

My wife nodded, adjusting her long skirt over those transparently heeled shoes.

That way, she exposed her pale tits and dark nipples even more, and drew his gaze downwards (to the big target, or to the delicious uncovered feet).

But not even this gesture from her induced Frank to break eye contact.

I looked at him with sincere admiration. How could he avoid staring at my wife's labia, furrowed by a thin black string rubbing her clitoris?

Maybe because he was older than me, or maybe because he feared that tomorrow Fiona would make him pay with painful punishments?

My wife's perfect nipples were a short distance from her chin, yet he never lowered his gaze, never disrespecting her.

I know other men crave to see their wives turn hotwife and let any Bull screw her raw and wild, making me a poor Cuckold forced to watch (caged, gagged, leashed, and cuffed), but not me: it was not my cup of tea. Nor was it my wife's tea.

Speaking with great haste, Frank asked to my wife:

"May I entrust you with the leash of Fiona the Red Vixen? You and your husband seem like two decent guys, whereas I fear someone might misinterpret the presence of a naked woman on a leash. But... there are times, in the hard life of a Wild West man, when he must face his Destiny, alone.

In other words: I need to run to the bathroom. Really.

Answer me honestly, you won't mind, Britney?"

Fiona wagged her tail to greet her new temporary 'Leash-holder'.

"Of course! Your pet, has she eaten yet?" mocked my wife, as she accepted the soft and comfortable leash's handle he handed her.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, stop it please. When we two are together, the rule is that she only drinks from the bowl, but if I am not there, she is freer. Cocktails and appetizers are all allowed, my wife is a grown-up woman with children. She can drink all she wants on holiday." And then he rushed off, having entrusted the leash to my wife's small hands.

I thought for a moment that Frank would run to their junior suite, open the lock with the key, and jerk off thinking about my wife's tits that he had recently embraced. But his key was dangling from the snap-hook, embedded in a small chain. Perhaps he had fastened it there to entrust it to his wife. He trusted that the two of us would not allow anyone to steal it.

Then I thought maybe in the junior suite they too had a spare key. But he went straight to the toilets in the beach bar. I had been completely wrong: Frank was a decent man, who respected the honor system, and on that welcome night, he would keep the cage on, even if he was temporarily in the dominant position.

Besides, what was the point of masturbating, when after dinner he could have been giving orders to that magnificent redhead with the freckles? Sure, she wasn't as young as Britney, but she was a respectable MILF, and from the way she acted and talked, I had the idea that in bed she was available for all kinds of sexual perversion.

At least in my imagination.

At this very moment, she seemed like a good little dog.

Now Fiona, naked and collared, was on all fours next to my wife. Britney looked like one of those guys who walk rich people's dogs outside in fancy parks: in her right hand, she held my leash, as a submissive devotee of her (momentarily standing), in her left hand she held the leash of that red vixen full of freckles on her pale skin.

But Fiona, despite her posture and the long vixen tail sticking out of a sturdy anal plug, was not submissive to anyone but her husband, Frank.

To speak woman to woman, my wife bent her knees, fluttering her transparent dress.

Damn! Now the mouths of two beautiful women were so close to my penis! And to my testicles that had been denied for so long! Blood flowed to feed an erection, immediately blocked by the bars of my cage.

I was still mute from the gag. Instead, the two women had their mouths free to drink cocktails, eat appetizers and snacks, and talk without being interrupted by my well-known mansplaining (I'm famous for it, at work and everywhere).

I realized that my wife was not making idle chatter to fill time.

I could hear in her voice an intense motivation.

"I was also very reluctant, you know, Fiona? Can I call you Fiona, or should I continue with the dog game?"

Fiona smiled with her eyes, very beautiful and serene. "I like you, Britney. Fiona is the real name, Red Vixen is just a game.

When I am involved in a game session, at my husband's behest, then I will be a Vixen, biting and with a long tongue! Ha, ha!

When, on the other hand, my husband has simply handed over my leash to a trustworthy person, to prevent anyone from coming to bother me while he is in the bathroom, then I am Fiona to you, Britney."