I sat there caged, straining in exquisite agony against the unrelenting bars of my steel prison, reveling in the pleasure of never ending denial, of being on edge for the better part of six months with no release. My arousal never took a break. I was at the peak of horniness seemingly at all times, the frustration of not ever being allowed to climax at odds with the feeling of heightened arousal. Denial seemed like the better alternative to a vanilla sex life when this journey started more or less four years ago, and the progress in my chastity lifestyle had evolved into this mostly permanent state I was in now. I had suspicious notions of my wife never letting me out again. It was terrifying yet strangely exciting.
My wife lay tantalizing on the hotel bed, exuding an air of confidence and sexuality rarely seen before I was locked up. Her long brown hair was down, how I preferred it, and framed her kind and youthful face nicely. Heavy eye makeup gave her a sultry look, almost as if she knew she shouldn't be trusted. She wore my favorite combination of sexual uniform- a strange mix that didn't seem to compliment each other, but really did it for me. A dark green corset that accentuated her ample feminine curves, evidence of her womanhood, paired with bright white 90's-style skater shoes, a throwback to her youthful days of flirtatiousness and mild promiscuity. While her attire didn't seem to mesh together, it drove me wild, a mess of current and forgotten eras, of maturity and youthfulness, a conflict not unlike the predicament I now find myself in.
She lay there in silence on the bed, staring deeply at me as I sat naked across the room in the chair, quivering uncontrollably as I often do in anticipation of her unrelenting teasing and ultimate denial. She didn't speak, just turned to her back, spread her legs open to display her sex to me, and began to tickle the inside of her thighs slowly, never breaking her gaze. Her sneaker clad feet rested on the bed wide apart, her knees up high and turned out slightly. I swear I could smell her arousal in the air as her hand slowly moved from within inches of her neatly trimmed pubic hair to her knee, gently tracing her fingers along the inside of her thigh.
When she was ready for me, she simply pointed at her pussy, simultaneously commanding me and inviting me to lap at her delicious folds. I jumped as if I had been hit with a cattle prod, my feet barely touching the ground as I flew to her and landed on the bed between her creamy thighs, anxious to devour her. I was met with a flat hand on my forehead, stopping me dead in my tracks. She then roughly grabbed my chin and forced my face back up to her gaze. After several moments of her piercing stare, her eyes told me everything- slow the fuck down. She wanted to be tickled, seduced, encouraged. Our eye contact was broken with the hardest open-hand slap across my face that she had ever administered. It hurt like hell. My eyes immediately teared up, my ears ringing loudly, while the pain turned to tingling and settled into a dull ache. My dick strained in my cage. Pain was such an aphrodisiac to me. She knew it.
My duty to her right now was unsaid, yet obvious to me. Tickle her until she was ready. So I did. Slowly my hand replaced hers as I drew little lines along her thighs with my fingers, reminiscent of the Japanese tradition of using miniature rakes to tend to a bonzai tree display, relaxing her all while building her arousal. I couldn't look away from my prize just inches away, salivating with anticipation while admiring how perfect and inviting her vagina looked, her neat hair framed with the creases of her thighs and the corset sitting delicately across her belly.
I continued to tickle her until she was ready to proceed, again without words, as she cradled my head with both of her hands and guided me towards her pussy. I had to continually remind myself of her desired pace, and she reinforced this with firm pressure on my forehead with her thumbs before she released her hands from my head. I wanted to ravage her with my tongue, eat her with unbridled fervor, to devour her sex and have her pull me in closer to force my entire head into her so I could lick her from the inside.
Clearly that is not what she wanted though. My wife has had to teach me that in all aspects of our current sex life that this is a marathon, not a sprint. Slow, steady buildup over an agonizingly drawn out period of time is what she prefers. It's one of the hardest lessons to learn and deal with, and the one thing I struggle with the most. The chastity cage has been a helpful tool for me to learn this, but at the same time enhancing my carnal desires. Like everything else associated with chastity play, the conflicts within my head become more pronounced the longer I am locked.
I have learned that she gets what she wants one way or the other. I force myself to slow down, gently exploring her folds. Light kisses alternating with long, slow licks with the flat of my tongue, teasing her tiny clit by circling it with the pointed tip and sucking it into my mouth. I feasted at her tenderly for as long as she would let me, soaking my face with her juices. I wrapped my arms underneath her splayed open legs and tightly gripped my favorite part of my wife's beautiful body, her womanly and ample hips. I loved eating her this way. I felt as I had a small sense of control over her. My wife never allowed me to eat her as long as I would have liked to, and I always felt like I enjoyed it far more than she did. Cunninlingus seemed to prime her, but never took her over the edge. This was a very sore spot for me, and hurt my ego greatly because I truly wanted nothing more than to be the source or her orgasm. I never have been able to make her cum, and it was the driving force behind our chastity journey, my feelings of sexual inadequacy eventually led to my desire for denial and confinement, an attempt to make up for my lack of skill and stamina with the forfeiting of my own orgasms to her.
When she finally had enough of my my oral worship, my wife again gripped the sides of my head and pulled me from her and I put up a small fight in vain, not wanting to be finished with her. She always gets her way though, and I knew she was done with me whether I wanted to be or not. I sat up on my knees and looked at her lovingly, silently thanking her for the opportunity to taste her juices, frustrated as always at my inability to give her a "little death." She often reminds me that I'll never be able to do it, that only her vibrator can. Today she said nothing to me, allowing my own mind to condemn my poor oral performance.
My dick was involuntarily pouring precum, or chastity tears as we called them, all over my tight and swollen balls. I was soaking wet. Like a girl, she often reminded me, getting wet as my arousal built. I refused to wipe my face clean of her, wanting to savor her flavor as long as I could. She sat up and climbed off the bed, leaving me there alone, a dripping, soggy, horny mess.
She finally spoke to me. "Stare at the wall," she said flatly as she moved to the table behind me. She had packed our bags for this trip, I was not allowed to see what she brought, although I hoped for an exciting variety of our accumulated yet rarely used toys.
I heard her rummaging through her bags, my mind imagining all sorts of possibilities, my dick continuing to leak profusely in anticipation and my mind going wild. I found myself uncontrollably shaking with desire and desperation. My sense of hearing had been heightened, as it was all I had to go on as to what came next. I listened intently while I heard clothes being moved around, the occasional click of plastic on plastic, what sounded like straps being pulled, and her tender skin rubbing together. My heart and mind raced, both looking forward to whatever was coming.
Her first contact with me was extremely rough, which I loved. My wife is rarely as assertive as I desire her to be. I would love for her to take what she wants, with no regard for my pleasure or comfort whatsoever. I was about to find out that she was going to give me what I always wanted, albeit her way. She grabbed a handful of my hair and swiftly pulled me backwards off the bed, landing hard on my ass. She never let go of my hair as she brought me up to my knees and turned me towards her, inches from her newly donned strapon cock.
This was all for me, I soon realized. Years of trying my damnedest to put her satisfaction first had trained me to push my darkest fantasies deep inside. Yes, she kept me in chastity, which was what I wanted, kept me teased, humiliated, and denied, again for me, but in the past years I strongly attempted to shift my focus strictly to her desires. No, this was different. She was doing this for my benefit, I realized it and was grateful. The dominant nature inside of my sexually docile wife was coming out solely to fulfill my fantasies. My wife usually has to be coaxed to be verbal with me, I never really understood why. I very much enjoy verbal sex, and humiliation and degradation coupled with tease and denial was very much my thing. I was about to find out how much she had really listened to me when I asked for her this. Like most men, I think, fantasy and kink tend to dominate our sexual thoughts, and the more I pushed her to go deeper down the rabbit hole, the more resistant my wife had become.
