Secrets Ch 25

25

I threw my whole self into pleasing her. I couldn't see and my arms were trapped behind me, but I had my lips and my tongue and my enthusiasm. The taste of another man had faded, but she was delicious. Perhaps even more so to me, as she seemed to accept and even enjoy the submissive part of me that she had never seemed to understand or want before.

I loved searching her body with my tongue. Not being allowed the use of my eyes or my hands forced me into a different kind of service. My tongue stretched and danced, both inside her and up and down the length of her. I kissed her lips and moaned against her. I could feel my closeness to her arousing me, but of course the cage held my erection in check. I couldn't help but think of some other man's hard cock inside her. She'd gotten me to give her permission, even if it was after the fact. That also meant that there could be more men for her, and men that she wouldn't bother keeping secret from me.

I felt her fingers in my hair as she got close and then suddenly came. She pulled my face against her and soaked my lips and chin and face with her juices. She moaned and screamed out and came with abandon. When she was done, she eased back and I heard her fall back onto the sofa in front of me. After a few minutes in which I just knelt there, waiting, listening to her breathing, she moved once more.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," she said. "Would you like to wait for me here?"

"Yes, okay," I answered. "I'll wait here for you."

I didn't fully realize what she had meant until I heard her stand up and walk away, leaving me there blindfolded and cuffed, with the sticky sensation of her juices drying on my face. It didn't take long before I felt sore and humiliated and silly, as the bliss of arousal faded. Reality sank in, and the truth of knowing that I'd willingly agreed for my wife to open our marriage to other men. She made it clear that it was just for her, of course, but that was without knowing that there was someone else involved in our marriage. She didn't know that even if she might have allowed it, Master had me thinking of men and only men.

Finally she returned and freed my wrists, telling me then that I could remove my blindfold.

"Go ahead and grab a shower," she said. "I seem to have made a bit of a mess of you."

"Thank you," I answered, not quite knowing what tone to take.

I rushed upstairs and showered quickly, washing her juices from my face and cleaning the cage, as my arousal at pleasing and serving her had gotten me leaking. Afterwards, I dressed, still thinking how strange it was to be able to wear the cage under normal clothes, finally able to wear it around her, but having to accept that the control was now so permanent and real and total.

When I came back downstairs, she interacted with me as though it was just a normal Sunday afternoon. She was happy that the cleaning and groceries were already completed, leaving the day open for rest and relaxation. It tried to act normal with her, talking with her and interacting as we normally did, but there was an added truth between us now. I wasn't on equal footing with her. I'd wanted to feel like this with her for so long, but the reality of it was hard to navigate.

We watched some TV together and chatted, catching up on work and other little things that seemed small and meaningless, but got me feeling at ease with her again. As the evening approached I offered to make dinner but she said that she preferred to go out. We never really have time to get to restaurants during the week, so we tried to take advantage of the opportunities on weekends to get out, either to new places or proven favourites.

We settled on something simple and before long we were seated in the middle of a bustling roadhouse-style steakhouse. I made it clear that I would drive home, so Jane was free to have more than one glass of wine. We talked and joked and by the time the appetizers were done and she had her second refill, she was smiling wide with a bit of flush at her cheeks, with boisterous laughter ringing out. She was starting to draw attention and I could tell she liked it.

I hadn't said anything when she chose her sexiest and most body-hugging pair of jeans to wear out, and somehow during the course of the evening a button or two on her blouse had opened, displaying her cleavage generously. Her eyes were moving around, noticing the men around us noticing her. When her eyes came back to me, she noticed that I was watching.

"So, in the light of day, when I don't have you teased and handcuffed, are you still really okay with what we talked about?" she asked.

"I am," I answered. "I think it will take some getting used to, but I really do like the idea of your pleasure being the most important thing."

"I do too," she laughed. "I honestly didn't think that I'd like the idea of that chastity cage so much, but I do. I really kind of love knowing that you can't even get hard without me letting you."

"I'm glad," I answered, blushing, genuinely nervous about her voice carrying.

"So you can imagine that it would have put me in an awkward predicament, getting turned on by that idea, and having to unlock you for sex. I know that your mouth is mine to use, but sometimes I'd need more."

"Sure, I can understand that," I answered, my eyes darting around, keeping track of who was near us and if they were turning their heads.

"Does the idea turn you on?" she asked. "I guess I've heard that some men like knowing that other men want their wives."

"Yes, it does," I answered.

It was true, I'd come to realize. The idea did turn me on, though for different reasons than she imagined. It wasn't just that other men wanted her. Of course they did -- she was beautiful and she clearly knew how to dress to show off her body. I was turned on by her power expressed by it. She got to choose who she slept with, while she also got to make my sexual choices too. She was putting me in my place. I was a cuckold, and a chaste one at that. The key between her breasts made that clear, to anyone who might recognize it.

"I turn you on, don't I?"

"You do," I replied, but any further explanation was cut off as I felt her toes on the inside of my thighs.

"I'm glad," she said. "I want you to ache for me. I want you want to fuck me so badly that it hurts."

"I do... and it does."

I could see her smile widen. She emptied her glass of wine and held it up so that the server would bring her another.

"Is it wrong that I like the teasing part of this?" she asked.

"Wrong? No, I don't think so," I answered. "I think that we like what we like... Can you tell me a bit more about what you mean?"

"Well, to be honest, I think that sometimes the challenges we've had, you know, in bed... they've upset me. I felt, just sometimes, like I didn't get to have the kind of marriage or sex life that I thought I would. I guess I've kind of blamed you for that."

My face reddened. I had not been prepared at all for our conversation to move from playful to something so real and raw.

"I can understand that. I know I've not always been the kind of husband that I could have been."

"I know, and I've mostly tried to accept that and be thankful for what we do have, which is great. I love you, and I love our life. But, you know, sometimes it hurt, and it could even make me doubt myself."

"I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to feel like you were anything less than beautiful and sexy and desirable."

"I know. I get that. It's kind of like you said, that you like what you like. I want you to know that I'm getting there, but I want you to also know that what also makes me enjoy what's happening now is that there's a bit of me getting to punish you for the past with this," she said, as she leaned in and reached up to unbutton another button of her blouse.

The trim of her lace bra was now readily visible, as was the gleaming key laying between her firm, perfect breasts.

"I... I can understand that," I answered.

"Even when you told me that you were happy to be just going down on me, part of me heard that as you saying that you didn't want to fuck me."

She had said "fuck" loud enough that there were a few turned heads, which only made me more aware of how public this discussion was.

"That isn't what I meant by that at all," I stammered, speaking as quietly as I could. "I wanted to let you know that I was happy with you being in control of how I gave you pleasure."

"Oh, I get that. But now I am in charge, aren't I? I get to pick when your tongue gets me off and I get to pick when you get to jerk off. I get to pick when and if you ever get to be inside me again. I was worrying, before now, about how I'd probably need to let you out just to satisfy my own needs, but I don't need to worry about that anymore do I?"

"I suppose not," I answered. The link between her sexual freedom and my lack of it was becoming more and more direct.

I didn't know if it was the wine or the feeling of the eyes of men upon her, clearly and obviously appreciating what she was showing off, but she was so emboldened -- more so than I had ever seen her.

"You like what you see, don't you? I know that you've always been a breast man."

"Yes, I do. You're so sexy. I've never seen you dress or show off like this."

"I know," she laughed. "I've always been so nervous before, or afraid to show off. But look around. You can see these men looking at me, can't you? Do you think they want to fuck me?"

"I'm sure they do."

"You can't fuck me, can you?" she asked, nearly giggling out loud.

"No, I can't."

"Say the whole thing. Say it all, and say why."

"I can't fuck you because I'm locked up and I'm not allowed to," I answered, my face burning.

Thanks to her appearance and her volume, I knew there were people at other tables around us paying attention. They might have started listening to hear her words, but they would be trying to hear my responses as well.

"That's right. You're not allowed to fuck me, or even get hard without me letting you," she said, lifting the key from her cleavage and starting to fiddle with it. "How does that feel?"

"It can ache sometimes, physically. It's kind of embarrassing. Humiliating. Emasculating," I said, then paused, thinking that sometimes the hardest thing in the world to do was trust someone enough to tell the truth. "It's exciting too. I like it, especially seeing you now, like this, enjoying it. I think I'd do anything to make you feel this kind of happy."

"That's good," she said. "I like feeling this happy and I like feeling like I'm desired and alive. I like that you're not allowed to have me, and that any of these men here could."

My eyes widened, as I was sure those of any man who overheard her.

"I'm glad... I like that you like that."

"I remember what you said before. I know that I kind of made you say it, or led you to it, but you said you wanted other men to have me, to touch me, to grope me and, yes, even to fuck me."

"Yes," I answered, squirming in my chair. "I said that. I said all that."

"Do you still mean it?"

"Yes, I do," I answered, confident that I wouldn't be aching in my cage the way I was if I didn't.

"Say it again," she purred. "And don't whisper."

"I want you to be with another man. I want you to feel them touch you and please you and pleasure you, like I'm not allowed to."

"Do you want them to take me to bed, honey?" she lifted her wine, sipping it without letting her eyes leave me.

"Yes, I want him to take you to bed. I want him to please you in every way that I can't. In every way that I'm not allowed to right now."

"What if he's bigger than you? Better in bed?"

"I'm sure he'll be bigger than me," I answered, feeling this strange rush of getting so close to admitting one of my most intimate, long-standing doubts about myself and my size. "I want him to be better than me. I want him to please you better than I can. If... if I could please you like you deserve, I don't think you'd need this."

"You're not just going along with this, are you? You're not just fantasizing or talking dirty with me?"

"No, I know it's not just fantasy. I can tell, I think, that you really want it to happen. Maybe you won't like it after you try it," I said, trying to keep my face from displaying my knowledge of what I'd tasted, "but you hold the key -- to this and to me."

"Will you still love me after?" she asked, and I saw a flash of raw wonder in her eyes.

"I will love you even more. I understood what you said about how you've felt, what I've put you through, so I love that you're reclaiming that, with this, in a way."

"I'm going to go to the ladies room, and I'd like you to pay the bill. Then we'll go."

"Okay, of course," I answered.

She rose from her chair, just a bit unsteady from the wine, then walked toward the back of the restaurant. I saw heads turning as she sauntered by. I waved down the waitress and paid the bill, adding a generous tip. Jane returned and I rose as she approached the table. I led her out and walked her to the car. I opened her door for her and watched her take her seat, amazed at just how much of her cleavage was visible as she moved, with her blouse as open as it was. I pulled out of the driveway, feeling very surprised that the evening seemed to be ending this way.

"Turn right up here," she said after a few minutes of driving.

"Here?" I asked, darting my head to look over at her.

"Yes, just up here."

I made the turn and then proceeded to follow her directions, street by street, until I was guided to pull into the covered driveway of an apartment building in a nice-looking part of the city not far from downtown. She leaned across the centre console of the car to give me a quick kiss.

"Remember this address," she said. "I'll call you when I need to be picked up. Work tomorrow, so it's not like I can be out all night."

"Oh, yes. Of course," I stammered.

"Be good," she said, smiling and reaching over to cup the trapped bulge in my pants.

She opened her door and slid out, walking to the glass door and brightly lit entry of the building. I watched her move, seeing the way she made her curves dance and sway. Someone must have been ready for her, since she barely had to wait a moment for the inner door to be buzzed open. She slipped inside without looking back.

After a minute, I pinned the location on my phone and I pulled away. Even after everything, it was hard to believe that it was really happening, but it was. Caged and cuckolded, I drove slowly home, caught between imagining what she was about to do and trying not to.

Interlude

Jane wasn't sure if it was the wine or the seeming overflow of orgasms she'd experienced over the past few days, but she felt like she was floating on air. Perhaps the most surprising thing about it all was the way she herself was letting herself act. She looked at herself in the large mirror in the restaurant ladies room and laughed at how she normally would have been scandalized by her own behaviour and appearance. Now, all she could think of was how sexy she looked and felt.

Men were lusting after her, and not just theoretically. She saw them staring at her tits and turning their heads to get a look at her ass in her tight skirt. Hell, even her own husband obviously feeling the effects of the limitations she's placed on him. After all the times she'd been angry and how they had not been able to get in sync sexually during their marriage, this was an unexpected set of emotions. In the past when he felt so distant from her, she'd been sure he was cheating on her. Maybe it was in person, or maybe it was online with some girl from his past, or some online skank, but the idea of it had left her disgusted.

Now, the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak. He'd given her permission to open their relationship and she was thrilled to take it. He'd freed her from guilt, even if his permission was a bit belated. It was all a game anyway -- she knew in her heart that he had secrets from her -- he always had -- but she was going to get what she wanted without them. She was tempted to call Theo, but the words of the counsellor's email echoed in her mind. She ducked into a stall and pulled out her phone. She could feel how warm and wet she was, inside her panties. She let the fingers of her left hand reach under her skirt and graze over her panties as she found Mark's number in her contacts.

"Do you really want me to show you how good I can be?" she texted him.

The little dots showing him typing a response appeared after just a few moments.

"I want to see how good you can be, and how bad you can be," came the response.

"Text me your address, and I'll show you in person."

"Sorry to ask this, but what about your husband?"

"Send me the address and he'll be the one driving me over there," she replied.

"Now I just have to see this," he answered, followed by the details of his building and suite number.

Jane's heart was pounding. She was tempted to finger herself to orgasm right then and there, but she wanted to save that lust. She wanted to wear her heat as she walked back through the restaurant again, and she wanted David to see it and feel it as he made good on his promises.

The way she enjoyed teasing him and punishing him was another surprise for her. He said the right things about wanting her to be happy, even in ways he couldn't provide for her, but there was still a pang in the edge of his voice, and somewhere in his eyes as he answered her questions. She was going to others for this most base need, her need to be properly fucked, and that could not help but make him feel less of a man. How could he not? She had made her pussy off limits for anything but his mouth to pleasure, and that wicked little cage turned his "manhood" into a tamed nub of soft flesh. Its purpose had been transformed from an instrument of his pleasure into an implement of her control. She was really starting to love the idea of him aching with a dull pain as his blue balls filled up and as her beauty on display provided him with physical, throbbing punishment.

She rode that high all the way over to Mark's apartment. She only looked forward as she strolled into the lobby and as he buzzed her up. She realised she was excited to see him. She'd been wondering about his body ever since she'd seen him in his workout clothes. In the elevator, she opened another button on her blouse and adjusted it, putting the lace trim of one of her sexiest bras on display.

The elevator pinged and the door slid open. She strolled out and marched down the corridor with purpose. He was there, standing in his doorway, waiting for her, so he got to get the full effect of her body in motion.

"Wow," he said. "Your husband drove you over here dressed like that?"

"Yes, he's really starting to show some promise," she answered, sliding by him and grazing his chest as she strolled right into his apartment.

He followed her in, closing and locking the door behind them. His apartment was spacious, sparsely but elegantly decorated and surprisingly clean and tidy. She walked to the floor to ceiling living room windows and admired the glittering lights of the city view.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Mark asked.

"That sounds delicious," she answered. "I don't suppose you have champagne?"

"As a matter of fact," he laughed, "I do try to keep at least one bottle chilled at all times."

"Perfect," she said. "Let's celebrate."

He bustled about in his small kitchen, making only a minor display of popping the cork, then filled two crystal glasses.

"Cheers," he said.

"Cheers to you," she replied and tipped the glass back, tasting it cold and delicious. "I love your place. I half expected to find you living in a man-cave of a bachelor pad with a Playstation as your primary living room feature."