"I am going to help you. Do you trust me?"
If you haven't been following our story, we probably looked like a regular couple eating breakfast. My wife, Carol, was in her robe, at the table, as she asked. I was at the stove, making breakfast, in a tee shirt and boxers. Normal looking stuff.
Of course, if you have been following our story you know there is more. My cock is locked in a cage. And the only thing my wife is wearing under her robe is the key.
Six months ago, I was found in a compromising position. My wife has locked me up; to help me, as she put it, ever since. I won't confess it has made me a better person; I am probably still a pervert. It has made me, in a way, a better husband. Carol gets to have sex and cum as much as she wants. We both sleep nude and get handsy as we sleep, which makes her want it more. I provide my services. Usually, I am locked up, limiting me to oral and manual services.
Sometimes she unlocks me and rides my cock. I am simply not supposed to cum. And Carol always locks me up when she is done, especially if I seemed like I was getting close.
Every couple of weeks she let me jerk off. Except for the last two. Just under three weeks ago, she was riding my cock. I told her I was getting close. She didn't stop. Neither did I. I came. It was good. I won't pretend I didn't enjoy it. It was just like sex before the cage.
Carol didn't say a word. We both snuggled in together and drifted to sleep, just like we would have before. The next morning, she quietly handed me my cage. I locked myself up after my shower. Nothing more was said over the next few days. And then she didn't unlock me when the two weeks ended.
"I am going to help you," Carol repeated.
I turned from the stove and sat down with her. "What's up?" I asked.
"I think you've learned your lesson," Carol started. When I opened my mouth to ask a question, she raised her hand and continued, "Let me finish. I think you've learned your lesson. Are you going to get caught jerking off to my friends again?"
"No!"
"Good," she smiled. "So...."
"So, what?" I asked. Where was this going? I thought.
She twirled the key, my key, in her fingers and took a deep breath, "Do we need this anymore or can things go back to normal? Can I trust you?"
"Yes," I said. Or maybe asked.
Carol knew me well. As if she read my mind, she asked, "Was that a Yes with an exclamation point, a period, or a question mark?"
"Yes," I joked.
"Thought so." Carol slid over a sheet of paper that had been sitting on the counter. "Read this, if you want"
I had noticed it, but thought it was from Carol's job or something. Clearly, I didn't look that closely. Right at the top in big, bold font it spelled out what it was
"Agreement for a Better Marriage?" I read.
"Yes," Carol said, as if she was just asking me to sign a check for someone's wedding present. "Read it."
She didn't ask me if I wanted to. Or even say pleased. My cock twitched inside its prison. I started to skim it, asking myself what I was getting into.
"Aloud?" she asked, almost begging.
"No," I snapped. Carol jumped back. And then in a whisper, "No, I am not going to read it. I am just going to sign it. I love you. I trust you. You are going to help me."
I signed it.
"Read it," Carol demanded. "Out loud. Slowly. And let me explain as you do."
"Yes, ma'am" I replied obediently.
She patted the key between her breasts and whispered, "Read..."
