Though I may be locked pretty much all the time, Locktober still brings its own special time of teasing fun. Scrolling through our feeds yields plenty of reminders that others are with us, lockstep, in their own journey of denial. Those locked and the ones holding the keys to their pleasure, or the denial thereof, are as one in this month where we collectively extol the possibilities that this lifestyle presents.

I’ve posted recently about my struggles with being locked down so hard, so very hard, but I don’t wish to digress, and of course, the austere lack of PIV. So, you can understand that even as I posted into the wee hours of October 31 about hoping for release, I didn’t really expect it.

I woke Saturday with the usual morning frustrated semi-hard ‘boner’ — if I can call it that, squished and deformed, not physically able to fully form, forced upward inside me. I touched the dome of my cage as I always do, pushed on it with that indomitable human spirit that just doesn’t know when the battle has been lost. My barely awake mind not processing the futility of the base need propelling my fingers to help my cock find any sort of damn relief.

The steel is resolute, and as with any other morning, I was quickly reminded that if I wish to have pleasure down there, only She can grant it.

I knelt at the foot of the bed, as I do on the weekend, and sucked on MrsBR_Saiph’s toes, rubbing lotion into her legs. My thumbs gliding up the warm, soft soles of her feet became thrusts of my cock as my tongue pleaded my case to all ten succulent digits. Legs smooth as silk, and her contented sighs telling me I’d done a good job of gently introducing her to a new day, I lifted the sheet to crawl between her legs.

“Go get your key.”

My heart stopped. What?

My mind raced. Did she just…?

I was up to grab the key in a flash, lest this be a dream and I awake before… well, I wasn’t going anywhere near that thought, not now!

Cage off, her silent judgement and her smirk as she looked at the state of what her brutal lockdown had yielded in my rearview mirror, I was then under the sheets. Face between her legs and my tongue thanking her with every stroke. My dick shucked off the shame of what the cage was doing to it, and surged forward. Hard. Into the side of her foot, and I thrust.

It felt so good!

I thrust again, and she shifted so the angle of her foot aligned perfectly with how I was able to dry hump against her. Maximum pleasure response achieved, and her innate ability to play me like a fiddle demonstrated once again. Her moans grew as I suckled her clit and my tongue thrashed against her lips. The long strokes of my foot along her now slick sole were echoed by the deep thrusts of my tongue inside her.

I was inside her in the moment — my raging hard cock, so long denied that sensation, and my tongue ravaging her pussy had become one in my mind. I was free. I was fucking hard. I was fucking!!!

I thought of how other men could be, for real, inside her. I remembered how the bodies, glistening with sweat, of those Black men quivered and shook as the last drops of their seed were spent inside her. They were allowed that. They had, casually and taken for granted as something to be had whenever they hunted for it, what was no longer for me. I had her blessing to have this moment with her foot, and as the erotic cruelty of that washed over me, I felt my balls quiver.

She knows what makes me tick and has only ever sought to ensure I enjoy this life we live as much as she does. And so, in the quiet of the early morning light, she gave me exactly what I needed, not what those other men do. In the way that was right for me — for us. I used to grasp at the memories of being like those other men. I used to think that as one, we all needed the same things. But those men do not live my dreams. I do. And in my dreams, I follow Her lead.

And her lead whispered softly upon the echoes of the moan my hungry tongue had plied from her swollen bud. “You can cum.”

I did!

I exploded with a growl, then a groan as it ended, savouring the last drop as it dribbled out, knowing this rare mind-blowing experience was already coming to an end.

She gave me a moment, and then without trying to hide the giggle forming, she said. “You know what to do…”

I did, and after being allowed this honour, I did not hesitate despite never enjoying this part. I licked up every pent-up chunk and thick drop of cum. I sucked her flesh clean until she was pure once again and not sullied by spunk that was not worthy of spilling inside her.

Cocks that came inside her were not caged. They were not… my size. They were Black. They were massive, and she had to ‘make them fit’. They were borne upon the wanton fleshly desires of men who knew just how to deliver what she needed from them. From men who stayed in their lane, while I stayed in mine.

It was an altogether fitting reward for my weakness in choosing release. In choosing to give in to my wants over staying tuned, like a tightly wound string, humming on silent notes of yearning for her.

Nuzzling afterward, I thanked her. From my heart, from my soul. For her gift, and its implied forgiveness. For even in my shame at being weak, at giving in to the weakness of my flesh over the desire of my heart to be pure to all that is Her, I had loved it. Every fucking thrust, and surging splash of cum that had followed. For I am weak. I am a man. Her man. And in her wisdom, she has shown me once again the power of the carrot, and as the past year has shown, the power of the unyielding stick.

The End

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Thank you for reading. If you would like to read more of my work, links to my published stories can be found <here>