Graham couldn't believe it. It wasn't supposed to be this way, but here he was; here she was. Here they were. In a strange hotel room -- a
stranger's
hotel room. Not the cabin of a gently-rocking sailboat, as he had pictured. But his legs felt just as unsteady.
He couldn't remember how he got here; how he, or his bride, had agreed; how the offer and acceptance had transpired. But it had.
He couldn't remember when or how Maddie had slipped out of her bikini, or
been
slipped out of it -- a white one this time -- while leaving her sheer, flowing white sarong in place. All he knew was that she was naked now except for the sarong; her limbs and stomach and back a golden tan, punctuated by the milky white triangles where her swimsuit had been. The half-up French braid on one side of her head allowed her flaxen hair to fall past her shoulder on the other side, while still letting her husband see her face as she got on her hands and knees on the bed and arched her back, making a presentation of her body.
To the man behind her.
He had always imagined that she would make frequent eye contact with him, perhaps with frequent little teasing smiles, reminding him and herself that this was a game they were playing together; but she had not returned his gaze in some time. In fact, her eyes were rarely open at all, as if she was lost in her own focus on her own sensations, thoughts, and emotions. Almost as if he no longer existed for her.
But he existed for Captain Roy.
The short, fat middle-aged man with the chest full of gray-tinged hair and gold chains looked up at Graham and leered at him as he got onto his knees on the bed behind Graham's near-naked wife, her perfectly-framed pudenda an offering on the altar of a vile and undeserving god.
"Don't worry, son," the older man was saying. "This doesn't change anything."
Graham closed his mouth -- he hadn't realized it was gaping open -- and was startled to find that his mouth was too dry to swallow.
"You were already a cuck," the captain was saying, staring at Graham again now with his deep-set eyes beneath his heavy, unkempt brow. His thick lips, the color of braunschweiger, twisted into a smirk. "You were born a cuck. This just makes it official."
"He
is
cocky," Maddie had said of the captain at dinner that first night. "Maybe cocky enough to let you watch." Graham tried again to swallow, again, unsuccessfully.
The Captain looked down and gently lifted Maddie's sarong, bunched it at her waist, so her perfect bottom was completely naked now, without even the gossamer fabric between her pristine pink labia and the fat pole of flesh that he was maneuvering into position behind her. Then he gave her right buttock a playful but shocking slap; Maddie whined and bit her lip, but didn't open her eyes.
He knee-walked forward, closing the gap between his crotch and Maddie's intimate offering, so that from Graham's point of view he could no longer see the obscene details. If there was anything Graham could do at this late moment to stop this from happening, this was his last chance; but he was transfixed, apparently immobilized by his shame and his lust.
She was kneeling obediently before Captain Roy, face down, ass up. One thickly-pelted forearm disappeared behind Maddie's upturned buttocks, and Graham knew with sickening certainty what he was positioning with it, and where, but still he was frozen and mute. Maddie, eyes still resolutely closed, mewled slightly at what was no doubt the first sensation of the captain's bare, broad glans parting her moist outer labia. Then, alignment obviously achieved, Captain Roy's hand re-emerged, and joined the other in grasping each of Maddie's hips. His fat lips pursed and his eyes closed in bliss, the older man then pushed forward and Made. It. Official.
Graham bolted upright. The room was still dark; it was not nearly dawn yet. His bride slept contentedly beside him. It had all been a dream. An extremely, painfully vivid dream. Just like the three other ones that had jerked him awake over the course of the past five hours.
***
I awoke gradually, aware of the pleasant sensation of morning wood. Most men experience that so regularly that they don't even stop to think of it as a pleasure. For me -- well, I don't take it for granted, since I'm spending more and more time in a chastity cage these days.
Last night I had only worn it for a couple of hours, while I had dutifully responded to Candace Bridge's expectation that I should come over to her house and service her orally. Candace is the Provost's secretary and my ex-wife's best friend. It had only been four days since she had discovered -- through my ex, of all people -- that I had developed a submissive streak. And so I went, and spent ninety minutes with my face between her ample thighs, while she worked her way through a quarter pack of Virginia Slims and a half a dozen orgasms.
It wasn't my ex, however, who had unlocked my submissive compulsions. It was my daughter's best friend Alex, a sultry vixen half my age who, six months ago, had confessed to me that I had been her first crush. And who had subsequently crushed me into a dominance-and-submission relationship unlike anything that I had ever imagined.
Among other things, I had never imagined being in a relationship where the woman who I couldn't resist actually
wanted
me to submit to other women. As long as I saved my orgasms for her. Whether she deigned to give them to me, or not. But that's where I found myself.
I wrapped my hand around my pleasing erection. I was overdue for an orgasm, and it would only take a moment, whether I achieved it thinking of Alex, or Candace, or my ex-wife. But before I could get into a rhythm, my cell phone buzzed.
I don't even know why I picked it up, but I did. It was a text from Alex.
"Good morning, babe," it read. "Babe." I liked that.
"Morning," I replied.
"I wanted to catch you before you got your day started," her message read.
"You did," I responded.
"Good," she typed. "I'd like to put on your cage."
Well, this was new. I guess my morning shower was going to be in cold water. "Okay."
"What time today are you going to be free for a phone call?" she asked.
Ummm. "Between 11 and noon," I responded.
"That'll work," she replied.
Oh, Jesus. I figured that meant she would be calling or texting me at that time, to torment me at work. I couldn't wait.
"When can I see you again?" I typed.
"I don't know yet. Depends."
Depends on what? I thought. Probably that someone else would be seeing her before I did, and he wouldn't be locked in a chastity cage.
"I'll call you at eleven," she typed. And then she was gone.
***
The daylight was spilling through the curtains when Graham finally woke up, after finally getting some uninterrupted sleep over the past couple of hours. He could smell coffee. He could tell that he was alone in the bed.
He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. His bride was sitting across the room in one of the side chairs, smiling coyly at him over the brim of her coffee cup. Wearing a silk kimono over her sheer nightgown.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Maddie said.
"G'morning," Graham responded, still groggy.
"Rough night?"
"Ummm... yeah, I guess it was. Sorry. Did I disturb you?" he asked.
"A few times," she acknowledged. Her smile broadened. "Dreaming about Captain Roy?"
Graham sat up abruptly. "Why would you say that?"
"Because you were mumbling his name in your sleep."
Graham was stunned. His troubled dreams came flashing back to him, and he felt a surge of shame and nausea. He also realized that his normal morning erection was already almost painful.
"So you were dreaming about him... and me," she smirked.
Graham lowered his eyes. No sense lying. "Yeah."
"Looks like he's already got inside your head. Maybe I ought to go ahead and let him get inside your wife."
Jesus, he thought. He couldn't believe things were happening this fast. She had discovered his shameful cuckold fantasies a long time ago, and he admitted to himself that he loved it. He didn't really think it would actually ever happen. Least of all on his honeymoon. With a fat, entitled middle-aged asshole. Surely she was still just playing with him.
