I checked my phone again. My wife had texted me three hours ago telling me she was on her way home. She would be here any minute. My cock twitched in its cage thinking about what she had been doing, and why it was locked away.
This was the third time in five weeks my wife had gone to my dad's place, ostensibly to help him paint and settle in to his new bachelor apartment. It was two months since he had visited us, and she had started teasing me about cuckolding me with my own father.
Of course, at first the idea had shocked and disturbed me, and after she had enjoyed my turmoil, she assured me she was just taunting me. But the tease was just too addictive, for both of us.
I am a cuckold. She is a cuckoldress. She does find my father attractive. She does love tormenting me.
She wasn't driving three hours to spend two days with my dad every other week just to tease me. I know it, and she knows I know it. But we're still maintaining the charade, because it's just so fucking hot. Perverted, but hot.
When I heard the car in the driveway, I got up to greet her, feeling the cage tighten around the neck of my genitals.
I opened the door for her. She was radiant, smiling, dressed in a yellow sundress with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
I embraced her and pressed myself into her soft, warm body. She kissed me, chastely at first, then provocatively flicking her tongue around my lips. When I tried to respond in kind, she pulled away, and patted me on the chest.
"How have you been?" she asked.
"Oh, you know..." I said. "Fine" would not have been an honest answer.
"Hmmm," she replied. She reached down and cupped my package in her small hand, her fingers closing around the metal device that was keeping my manhood even smaller. "Good boy. Can you go get my bag?"
Of course. It only took me a minute to retrieve her suitcase. When I returned, she was at the dining room table, looking through the last couple of days' mail.
"How did the painting go?" I asked.
"Fine," she replied. "Mostly he just painted my insides."
I felt my whole body convulse at that. She saw it, too, and laughed. It wasn't the first time she had taunted me with something like that, and later claimed she was joking; but by now I knew that, too, was just part of the game.
"Go get undressed," she told me.
I didn't have to be told twice. By the time she appeared in the bedroom doorway, I was lying on the bed, naked except for my metal accessory. She walked seductively across the room and mounted the bed, mounted me, seating herself across my legs while her dress rode up her toned thighs and she reached up to undo her ponytail.
"You've got such nice shoulders," she said, leaning over me and stroking them.
I sighed appreciatively. This is why our game has always worked. She loves tormenting me, denying me, cucking me; but she always eventually reminds me that she's mine.
"You went to the gym while I was gone?"
"Yes," I answered. "I, um, didn't shower there."
"Wise choice," she smirked.
She reached down and gathered the hem of her dress in her hands, and pulled it up over her head. With conviction. My breath caught in my throat at the site of her lovely, ripe body -- clad in matching baby-blue bra and panties, translucent enough that I could see her areolas and her trimmed bush through them. I felt the surge of angst, and pressure against my cock, thinking of what this meant. This is what she had been wearing when she left my dad's house this morning. I was confident she had packed nothing but matching undergarments for the trip. I groaned.
"What?" she asked, dropping her dress on the bed beside us.
I inhaled and exhaled deeply. "That's... very pretty lingerie."
