Friendzoned Into Accidental Cleanup — Book 2: Chapter 1

Cover in part by Depositphotos, Adobe Express

It’s only been a short while since Maddy caged James and turned his life upside down—although if you asked him, it’s been an eternity.

Book 1 was about two friends stumbling into something neither could have ever imagined. Book 2 is about the reckoning.

Everyone has choices to make in life. Maddy knows what she wants. James… well, I guess we’re going to find out.

Here’s a little read to thank you for your support, dear reader. And for your patience. Book 2 is coming sooner than later. I promise.

Chapter 1. The Day To Day

Maddy’s tongue probed his mouth, and his responded in kind. Their lips pressed together as their mouths moved in an embrace he’d dreamed of before he knew conscious thought. He’d spent his life chasing after the girl who was now the young woman making love to him with her mouth. Every sweep of her tongue over his told him how much she loved him, as he’d always loved her.

His hands roamed over the soft black wool of her bodysuit, found her pert breasts, and teased the already rock-hard nipples into angry attention. He pinched them roughly because he was the kind of man Maddy wanted to suffer for, and drank in her gasp with his mouth pressed to hers. He moved on as she moaned, down the sides of her slim waist to the pleats of her grey wool skirt that had settled over his lap when she sat astride him. They slid over the black nylons, tracing the lacy elasticized edges of the stay-ups hugging her thighs, then moved upward. The time for enjoying the subtle pleasures of her femininity was past.

His fingers almost reached the ultimate destination—that which occupied his every waking thought and had since puberty awakened that desire in him. His cock was raging hard and ready to burst through his jeans. Her hands slapped his away in frustrated impatience for him to get to it. Her fingers worked his belt buckle loose, then she lifted off him to yank them down to his knees.

She dropped back onto his lap, and he sought to return the favour, to expose her pussy that was surely as wet as his dripping cock. The crotch of her bodysuit was soaked through as his fingers probed it.

Oh yeah man, this it, she’s running hot for you. After all these years, finally!

He found the button snaps in the reinforced seam joining the two halves of the soft wool that was nothing more than a barrier to his pleasure. He’d enjoyed the visual of her wearing it earlier; now was for the physical. They popped open, and her bodysuit parted, offering no resistance to the man in him. The one who had wanted her since forever, the one who needed her even more. The man who was now going to finally fuck the living hell out of her and show her what she’d been missing out on.

“Yes, James,” She panted in his ear as one hand gripped the back of his head, and the other guided his cock to her hot and ready cunt. “Fuck me, James. I’m sorry I made you wait so long. Ughh… fuck me now!”

He could feel the heat of her slit as it drew close and…

His eyes flew open from the fantasy that had haunted his dreams ever since ‘it’ had happened, and he crashed into the reality that Maddy had created for him instead.

“Grrr!” James moaned and gripped his cage and his balls, squeezing the entire package as hard as he dared without crossing the barrier from pain-relief to outright agony.

When are these morning boners going to leave me the fuck alone?!

He’d been caged for longer than was humanly possible to endure, in his opinion, though in Maddy’s it had been only a couple of months. As though it was nothing. Just a couple of pages flipped on the calendar, the day-to-day giving no indication of the heaven and hell she’d thrust him into. In that time, he’d woken without fail somewhere on the scale no man should know existed, ranging from “this is bullshit!” to “Jesus, I’m going to lose my mind, I can’t take this!”

He clenched his stomach and held still, drawing deep, ragged breaths to calm himself. The pain was two-fold. His body wailed with a yearning for release that had transcended the physical, that had become all-encompassing and reverberated through every molecule of his being. His soul ached as a solitary word wove through his consciousness, as it did every time he awoke and the last remnants of the fantasy were yanked away by the ache between his legs.

Shame.

It was a brutal word that did nothing to describe its crushing weight when rendered upon that which he’d allowed to happen. To which he’d submitted.

The dream was but a cry for a pleasure that would not be allowed to exist. Not in Maddy’s world. And since he was a moon helplessly captivated in orbit around her and could do nothing to escape the pull of her will, her world was his. In that world, in the real world, where he had agreed to being locked in chastity the night she’d seduced him in that wool bodysuit and pleated skirt, he’d had no idea of how powerful that word could be.

But he did now.

The only good thing about that word was that by the time it had done all it could to remind him of the place he’d willingly put himself in, it also drained the blood from his dick. The pressure eased in the cage in direct proportion to his troubled thoughts, and on this day, as on every other, he was thankful for that. At least he had that.

He groaned in exasperated frustration as the thin walls of his bedroom did nothing to mute the sexual antics occurring on the other side, inches away from his head, in Maddy’s bedroom. He’d listened to it last night, right before being ‘fed and watered’ as she put it, and now here he was listening again, only a few short hours later.

Hasn’t this guy had enough?

It was a nonsense question because James knew there could never be enough of any part of her, never mind what she freely gave to that other man, Marcus. Several inches taller than James, all muscle, a killer smile, Marcus was the first Black man Maddy had ever fucked. He sighed, because along with the cage had come his acceptance of becoming pussy-free and her cuckold cumdump. He’d been a cumdump for many weeks before the man currently in Maddy’s bedroom had introduced them both to the word cuckold, but it had stuck. Because that was what she’d made him. Fostered throughout their lifelong friendship, and blossoming in their burgeoning chastity-enforced pussy-cleaning ‘relationship,’ the cold truth had become undeniable. She’d made him accept that his cock would never be inside her.

Just then, a deep baritone voice delivered a question along with a resounding slap on what sounded like a bare ass cheek, demanding an answer. ‘Do you like that?’

James’ mouth went slack. Why does she let men treat her like that?

He couldn’t imagine it. She was… Maddy. Perfection personified. She deserved to be treated like a goddess, not a… fuck-toy. When she’d only gasped and failed to answer, Marcus had slapped her ass again. Harder this time, and her squeal was loud, raw, honest as he asked again. ‘Hmm?’

While James questioned what the hell Marcus was thinking in treating her like that, never mind Maddy allowing him, he’d heard her bed protest with a sharp groan. The worn springs, stretched by countless men pounding her pussy raw, couldn’t help but complain at yet one more carnal scene unfolding as their tired metal coils kept the scene aloft.

She moaned, as did her bed, and James could only suffer the image the sounds painted in front of his angst-filled eyes. Of her grinding back into the hand that had just caused her (sweet) pain.

A moment passed, but it was an eternity for James as his cage held him in her grip. A grip of devotion, and of knowing she would only allow him to listen to that kind of lust dripping from her one-word answer. Never experience it. Sure enough, she gave the answer he knew she would give, for she was a woman. And James wasn’t blind to the attributes of the man slapping her ass. One word. Panted. Reluctant—she was a proud and an independent woman, dammit—but honesty was the only way through the heat coursing through her. Edged with the carelessness of passion for all that would hear her.

“Yes.”

Marcus laughed. Easy. Confident. Knowing. Then the bed began to violently protest what ensued.

James couldn’t ignore the chub forming with nowhere to go as his dick imagined it was the one fucking Maddy any more than he could avoid the question screaming in his mind. If I’ve done all you’ve asked, ‘submitted,’ as you like to call it, then why the hell can’t I at least cum? A growl escaped past his clenched teeth. It’s been over a month!

James closed his eyes and, with effort, calmed his swirling thoughts and pushed down the emotions they brought with them. The thin wall could not hide the quickening tempo of her rocking bed. James sighed and got up. He’d done what she expected of him last night. As much as he craved the taste of her once he worked through his cleanup duties, he’d had his fill of it all for today.

The shower calmed him and blocked out all sound of everything he didn’t want to hear. There was not a doubt in his mind that over these last couple of months, he’d experienced intimacy and eroticism with Maddy that was light-years beyond anything he’d ever dared dream of. It had also cost him erections, orgasms, and, of course, sex. And worse yet, depending on how his reality was hitting him, his pride. Despite how good she could make him feel in the moment, when her touch and her words made it all seem so natural, none of this was. No matter how many times she told him how special he made her feel, at the end of it all, she didn’t want his dick unless it was in a cage. Most of the time, he made peace with it all because the reward was out of this world. He got to have something with Maddy that the old ‘vanilla’ James never had. Days like today, though, starting the way it had… well, yeah. He’d heard enough, and besides, he was hungry.

By the time the kettle boiled and the bacon and eggs were frying, Maddy and Marcus appeared. James nodded amiably at them, then turned to his work. He didn’t see Maddy gesture to Marcus to have a seat while she moved toward James. He’d made them breakfast last weekend at her impish ‘request,’ and he’d planned ahead this morning. If they’d been drawn to the kitchen by the sounds and smells of breakfast once, it stood to reason they would again. That their hunger was in large part from fucking all night long was something he tried to ignore.

He’d figured making enough for three from the start would spare him the embarrassment of her asking him to cook for the man whose cum he’d lapped out of her last night. Downplaying it, acting as if cooking for her date was the most natural thing in the world, had seemed like a stroke of brilliance to him. He should have known better. Maddy didn’t need an excuse to make him blush, and sure enough, she took the opportunity to remind him.

James felt her a heartbeat before she touched him, his finely tuned Maddy-radar sending him a silent alert. She pressed into him from behind, sliding a hand around his waist before slipping a daring finger into the front waistband of his shorts, just past the hip bone. It wasn’t close enough to actually touch anything, if there were a raging hard-on under those shorts instead of a dick mashed into a dome of steel. But the tender, sensitive flesh responded to her finger like it was a lightning rod, and he caught his breath. Her finger traced a tiny looping trail from just below the waistband, down and inward, tempting his caged dick with something only his big brain knew wouldn’t happen. At least then and there, while he tried not to drop the spatula.

“Are you making us breakfast, James?” The words were window dressing, the amount of food cooking made it obvious, but she wanted to hear him say it. Own it. That he was cooking for the man she damn well knew he’d listened to railing her last night and again first thing this morning. She gave him a second to gather himself. When he delayed further, she pressed her fingernail into the soft flesh where thigh met pelvis, and he gasped.

“Yes!”

He immediately chided himself for the intensity of his reply. This was supposed to be his chance to get ahead of her, to take back some control, even if only by anticipating what she’d insist he’d do anyway.

Too late. She’d taken the control back, knowing he’d tried to sidestep this very moment. She withdrew her finger as the heat raced up his neck, then traced her hand along the path it had come. She lifted it and brought it down with a loud slap on his ass. The sharp crack reverberated off the laminate cupboards and straight into his ears. He strove not to jump, wishing in vain he could absorb every bit of the sound so none would reach Marcus’ ears. He jumped anyway. No control of the scene. No control over his body around her. Yet again.

She leaned in, lips close to his ear so only he could hear the reward for doing what he’d known she’d expect. Slowly whispered, delivered with the heat of a woman running hot on the high-octane dynamic they’d stumbled into together over the last while. “Good boy.”

She walked to the table and waited to be served while James stewed in the sting of the slap. If they’d been alone, he might have enjoyed it. As startling as it had been, it was still her touch, and she knew how much he craved that. With Marcus there, it became possessive. The crispness turned something playful into a not-so-private reprimand. Flirty but strict, and judging by the shades of red he’d turned, he’d understood the difference perfectly. He’d tried to outplay her and instead had been reminded that this was her game, and he’d bloody well play by her rules. If she wanted to toy with his mind while he made breakfast for her ‘guest,’ then she would.

The toaster popped, and James took a beat to spread the butter over the toast, buying time for the blush to fade. He was going to do what he could to act like none of this was a big deal. You got this buddy. It was just a playful slap. He slid two eggs onto a plate. Yeah, but he knows. He’s the one who called it cuckolding! He laid strips of bacon beside them and turned, determined to act normal. He thought about all the different ways someone could judge how his weekend breakfasts had become. Who does this?

Maddy could see him struggling, not to let anything show, to just be a guy making her breakfast and not the cumdump she’d turned him into. She never got tired of watching him dig deep and master his emotions, his actions, when any other man she’d known would have lost all control. For that, she would let up and allow him to breathe. At least until he’d finished eating.

James set a plate down in front of Marcus, who thanked him with a genuine smile. When he turned to Maddy and placed hers before her, she placed her hand over his—just for a moment. Their eyes met, his racing with a thousand thoughts, hers smouldering with calm confidence. She spoke softly, and her smile said she meant it. “Thank you, James.”

He cleared his throat as he absorbed her words. The wild, untamed, searing energy of the him-give and her-take dynamic they’d fallen into with the cage had only grown more intense the longer he was locked. She watched him take all three words and savor them, and how she’d delivered them. She figured it had been an even trade. He’d tried to pull a fast one, and she’d schooled him, but even she could admit it had been perhaps a bit much. The way he was looking at her now told her that she’d righted his out-of-kilter world, at least long enough to enjoy breakfast together.

They did too. With Maddy’s boot off his ego, James was able to relax and watch her shine. Maddy looked at the two men sitting with her and marvelled at how her life had changed since she’d mistakenly sat on James’ face and fed him their mutual friend’s cum. There had been a whole lot of water under the bridge in the short time since, but here she was. Marcus on one side, tall, dark, and so very everything the cheesy innuendos about Black men promised. James, on the other, tall, tanned, and so very everything the huntress in her craved that she’d never known existed.

Her energy, though the men could not entirely know the nuances of its origin, was contagious. Her eyes were alight with laughter and satisfaction, and when she paralyzed James for long seconds in their grip, with mischief. Conversation was easy, and for a while, James felt like a regular guy simply enjoying breakfast with a man he’d only recently met, and with Maddy. He listened to every word she spoke, her lips moving in a seductive dance solely in his mind, forming each syllable.

Far too quickly, it was over. As he watched her place her fork and knife on the side of her plate, he wished he’d made more. Just for the extra time it would take for them… for her… to eat.

Marcus reached for their plates. “Man, that was so good. Let me get these.”

“That’s quite all right, Marcus.” Maddy placed her hand over his wrist, urging him to lower the plate. She smiled warmly at him, because this man was not the type to take what she was about to give to James. Her smile said she appreciated the gesture, that it was nice of him, but it wasn’t necessary.

When she turned her gaze to James, it was still warm, but those same lips that had mesmerized him only minutes before now pulled up to one side in a playful smirk. She wasn’t sure when he’d learn to anticipate the zinger when she wound up to deliver one, but she could tell he definitely hadn’t this time. That made it all the more fun, because after all, wasn’t life about having fun? Going with what one moment cajoled the next to be? She didn’t know, but as much trouble as that line of thinking had gotten her into over the years, the Gemini in her could not resist its call.

She waited a beat, just one, just long enough to give him fair warning since he obviously still had not yet learned to fully read her. Then brought him back under her heel, where her rapidly moistening pussy told her was right where she wanted him to be. She kept her voice light, but her eyes told him she knew exactly how the words would land. Reeling him in, putting him back where she wanted him. He had agreed he liked pleasing her. Right now, this did.

“James doesn’t mind cleaning up.” She pursed her lips until they joined the smirk, because there was no such thing as too much when it came time to truly fuck with his mind. She’d cut him off at the knees when she’d walked in, and the breakfast respite she’d allowed him had been lovely, but it was time to get on with the day. “Isn’t that right, James?”

James stared at her, embarrassed by her words at face value and the innuendo. I might do… that—he doubted he’d ever be comfortable calling himself a cumdump—but I’m not your… servant! That last bit felt hollow because as much as her flaunting his willingness to cook and clean for her was embarrassing, he loved doing it. But for her, not for anyone else, and not here and now. He His eyes flickered towards Marcus but fell short. In this moment, he really did not want to look that man in the eye. The one witnessing this. The one who was well aware of all the things James did for Maddy. And I’m certainly not his!

Maddy watched her words knock him back against the ropes, snapping him back into his proper reality, where he was not a regular, everyday, normal guy, because nothing about any of this was normal. She watched him struggle to come to terms with what he could not deny, after the illusion the pleasant breakfast had temporarily granted him. When his eyes met hers, she snuffed the remaining defiance with a single raised eyebrow. Expectant. Daring him to deny her whim in front of Marcus. Daring him to do anything but keep this crazy ride going, the ride they’d both agreed to.

He could no more deny that he’d served them breakfast, because he had, than he could deny her anything she asked. So as she watched him put on a brave face and say it was certainly his pleasure, she gave him one more reward, without words. No less devastating for his caged dick. She winked, slowly, maintaining the smile so Marcus would not be aware. This was just between them.

A short time later, James lowered the dirty frying pan into the soapy water and then turned at the soft, wet sound coming from the doorway. Marcus’ hand was on the back of her neck, the other weaving into her hair, pulling, urging, then welcoming her lips to his. He watched, a victim bound by his need for her and unable to escape the freight train of angst barrelling toward him as she gave Marcus a lover’s kiss. It was slow, so damn slow, hungry, and open-mouthed. They pulled apart, a thin trail of saliva streaming from tongue to tongue until it had to admit the kiss was over. It snapped and disappeared as they brought their lips together one last time for a quick peck and a shared laugh at how crazy hot that kiss had been. Then Marcus thanked him for the breakfast and walked out the door.

Maddy turned to him, and her look told him she’d known he was watching the whole time and that she’d wanted him to watch. How much of that kiss had been performative to fuck with his head, he’d never know. He suspected it was equal parts authentic, performative, and all combinations in between. That was her playbook, they both knew it, and that he’d fall for it every time. Walking slowly toward him, the gentle sway of her hips threatened to draw his eye, but she held his gaze with her own. His pulse raced as she neared, her intentions unclear, but his body didn’t care. Maddy closed the distance to nothing, and the devilish heat coursing through her veins radiated into him.

She perched on her toes and brushed her lips over his as he stood at the kitchen sink, then pressed them to his cheek. It could have been a lover’s kiss, but for where it had landed. A salacious hint of what could be, but his reality had already been made abundantly clear to James ever since she’d first sat on his face. This was merely a kiss between friends. Sure, friends with benefits (lopsided benefits, if you were to ask him), but only that. Not a kiss between lovers.

There was no more poignant emphasis of that than the kiss he’d just witnessed between Maddy and Marcus. James had almost drooled in his craving to be on the receiving end of that. As that moment had teased emotions best left buried, he told himself this moment was still pretty damn good. His dick agreed, surging in the cage as it always did when she gave him anything of her. The cage bit into his flesh, his balls railing against their swollen, plump state, reminding him that nothing was free.

Yeah?

The thought flashed in his mind that Marcus’ tab seemed pretty fucking blank. Guilt quickly followed because Marcus had been nothing but decent to him, and then his aching balls brought him back to the moment.

The playful glint in her eye eased the sting of her lips landing on his cheek instead of his always-ready mouth, her choice lashing his ego even as it eternally hoped for more.

“I’ll see you”—her eyes dropped pointedly to what his pants did nothing to hide from her knowing gaze, then rose to enjoy the blush creeping up his neck—“boys later.” She was chipper and acted like she hadn’t just put him under her heel.

James watched her leave, yoga pants clinging like a second skin, so thin his mind’s eye could see the faint red lines Marcus’s fingers had left an hour ago. He began to scrub the pan feverishly, trying not to think about some of her choices. Case in point, not pressing her lips against his, as she’d done with Marcus. The ‘why’ began to clamour in his head, but he pushed it down because he’d already heard just about every variation of her answer. The answers brought no relief to the discord between the opposing versions of the ‘man’ in him. The one who’d been free to fuck whoever he wanted and enjoy his own cock all he wanted, could not reconcile with the one who existed now. The one who no longer enjoyed those freedoms, but did get to have Maddy in a way no other man did.

The one who’d been free wanted to be like those other men, because the price to be unique, even for her, was unthinkable. What the one who’d been free wanted was irrelevant. Maddy wanted what she wanted. The James she had now.

He sighed as the imagined taste of her, fed by the memory of last night, coated his tongue. Like Pavlov’s dog, his mouth began to water, and his dick throbbed. Visions of her hands gripping the back of his head, mashing his face into her gushing cunt, reminded him of why he was here. In the now. Caged, denied, and yes, doing whatever it took to please her.


This will be an erotic novel with scenes of female domination and control, humiliation, CFNM, chastity, tease and denial, interracial cuckolding, creampie cleanup, and of course, hardcore friendzone angst.

Here is a link to Book 1 if you would like to get to know James and Maddy a little better: https://books2read.com/u/bMMPZX

Locked on the Precipice of Permanence: Her Decision, My Submission

Photo: Grok AI

Author’s note: While there are some sexy parts to this post, it is a sincere reflection on the physical realities of hardcore long-term chastity.

The previous two years have witnessed a rapid escalation of my chastity when compared to the varying levels of intensity in dabbling with it over the previous twenty. My most recent post marked a spectacular end to a 2025 that left me fairly certain of how my 2026 was going to go—locked 24/7/365, cucked (of course), and full-on pussy-free.
The chastity fantasy has evolved in my mind over the past 23+ years, as has its relationship with, and its function within, my marriage to @MrsBR_Saiph. The initial introduction of it, unbeknownst to me at the time, almost caused irrecoverable harm. The obscenity of it, and the fear of what it might possibly mean beyond anything I could have said in explanation at the time, was beyond measure for her. That, my friends, is a story only she can tell, if and when she is ever ready. Suffice to say, I came in like a freight train, turning her entire perception of me upside down, and nearly derailed our relationship in the process.
It progressed over the years, albeit slowly. I convinced her to join a chastity forum, and she learned her man wasn’t the only one who wanted his dick locked up. More importantly, she learned she wasn’t the only woman with a man like me. She wasn’t alone. We weren’t alone.
All that said, this isn’t a post about the past, merely a lead-up to the present. As such, I won’t go on (much) about how we got to where we are today. Suffice to say, I always wanted ‘more’ of anything denial. Isn’t that the case with something that turns a man’s crank? A day locked here, to a month there, to… Naturally, simply being caged became no longer enough.
We evolved as our lifestyle did. As we grew into being a cuckold couple, so did her desire to see me locked, as did my desire to remain so. It became a mutually gratifying existence to be locked as well as denied. The releases (of any sort) became fewer, as did the PIV. I could say something spicy about the bulls fucking her ‘need’ for my cock right out of her, and it is (mostly) true. But the extreme denial with the omnipresent option of being cuckolded was hot as hell for us both, so it became the norm.
So there I was at the end of 2025. Despite three weeks of freedom, I had failed to fully regain my ‘bedroom standing’ prior to the near-constant lockdown shenanigans of late. As I wrote my last post, I thought I knew where I was with that. I thought I was all in for the path we’d found ourselves on. After all, I was living the extreme fantasy I’d built in my mind. I was living the dream. Every captioned picture on the internet that made me throb in my cage reinforced that I had made it to where I was meant to be. I could always change my mind and go back to something less intense, right?
Yet, even as I doubled down and faced 2026 head-on, I couldn’t shake a nagging doubt. Being unlocked had always unleashed the beast—tall, proud, and raging fucking hard for anything it could get. It had never let me down, but now, despite a valiant three-week effort, despite almost being what it always had been, it no longer was.
That made me seriously read up on what was happening to my body. I should have done this two years ago, before things hardcore ramped up. I realized what I’d read on the forums about the cage effects being temporary was not necessarily correct. If I stayed the course, my denial fantasy would become a permanent reality. The sole purpose of the cage would be nothing more than a shiny reminder to be careful of the denial you wish for.
I had locked my dick up around the clock, in progressively smaller cages, and gave it no opportunity to stretch. You can read up on nocturnal penile tumescence (NPT) and all the other fancy jargon, but let’s just say that if you fuck ‘it’ up long enough, and you’re no longer a young man, the path to permanence is a real thing.
Locked in for a pivotal year ahead, we found ourselves at Temptation Resort just a couple of weeks later. We had sexy vibes, great times, and I received a vacay cagegasm that rocked my world. I enjoyed it immensely, of course! However, the knowledge I’d recently gained was banging around in the back of my mind. Nagging at me, robbing me of the complete satisfaction I should have felt in being allowed to cum at all.
The sand had begun to shift.
@MrsBR_Saiph pulled out all the stops the following evening wearing a satin corset, a short miniskirt that could only be worn on a holiday such as this, and heels that made me want to drop and press my lips to her toes. She was a vision in white, and the key dangling between her breasts, silently taunting me as we swayed to the music, doing its best to cajole my worries away.
When we returned to the room, ‘as a special treat’—her words—the white satin bikini panties went on, where there had been nothing prior. Everything else remained the same because she knows me. I had watched her all night, and now my patience was to be rewarded. I would be allowed to touch, to savor the feel of all of her and all that had moved with her. Every breath she’d taken had pushed her breasts outward, toward my hungry eyes, forced to watch the satin cups of the corset glide over hardened nipples denied my tongue. The boning, hidden beneath the satin, restrained her, controlled her, and demanded an act of submission from her with every breath. And she did. She submitted—where (she says) she would never submit to any man, and most certainly would never dream of submitting to me, her subby-hubby.
My hands roamed as my tongue told her how incredible I thought she was, and as I felt the boning of the corset bending her to its will, where men (like me at least) never could, I throbbed in my cage. I grabbed her and made as if to throw her onto the bed, and she let out a little surprised squeal in return. The carnal fun had begun!
“I’m going to fuck you, woman!” I proclaimed, in pure theater as we fell into bed together, the key bouncing between her breasts keeping me grounded in my place.
As I hiked her skirt up around her waist, ready to plunge my face between her legs, she raised her hands to my chest and stopped me. She grew slightly serious, but the playful light never left her eyes.
“Do you want to?”
I knew what she was asking, and didn’t hesitate, because.. the sand had shifted. “Yes!”
Her eyebrow arched because my lady does indeed know her man. “But then you won’t be pussy-free this year…”
“Fuck all that!”
I could only stare as the key left her neck and found its way to the lock, and then set my already surging cock free.
I mashed it into her pussy lips, the satin barrier teasing the sensitive head with a feminine promise of seduction whilst denying me entry to the promised land beyond. I flipped her over and ran my cock over her ass, the satin slip ‘n sliding over her cheeks as the glossy material kissed my balls.
I pressed into the crack of her ass, feeling the slippery smoothness all around me, stretched tight beneath, and in loose waves to the sides. I rammed my cock as hard as I could against her, up and down that crack, savoring every inch of the sensuousness that was her, covered in satin. I pulled back and watched myself move between her legs, ramming my head into the silken barrier that stood between me and nirvana. I had always l loved this bit of play. The contrast between her satin femininity and the roughness of my manly cock pounding at the gate and demanding gratification. It was always a sensation overload, both visual and tactile, and tonight was no different.
But I was different. Regardless of how minute thus far, there had been a definitive alteration in my structural elasticity. And so as we fucked, the lovemaking would come after, for this was too urgent, too primal to call it anything else, the nagging doubts solidified. It felt amazing, don’t get me wrong, but with every thrust, I knew I could do better. I had been better. And as I came, as I growled aloud, the voice in my head shouted louder.
Enough! I will be my best once again!
It was an awesome night, and my orgasm was far from the end of it, but the winds of change had howled so loud they could not be ignored.
The following day, we lounged at the sexy pool, with @MrsBR_Saiph sitting on the edge, legs spread, ankles dangling in the water, and me in between. I was standing in the water, looking up at her, when a natural pause in our conversation signaled the time to share my concerns.
“I think the cage is fucking things up ‘down there’, and I’m worried if we keep going, as we have, that eventually I won’t even need a cage.” I paused to draw breath, as yet unsure of even where I wanted this to go, and thus couldn’t fully voice what I had to. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
Of course, she got it, because it took two to tango whenever that cage had come off. She looked thoughtful for a long minute. Not a moment. A minute. I sipped nervously on my beer, and she sat with a thousand-yard stare. Finally, she looked down at me. Serious.
“I don’t want to give up your chastity.”
It took me a moment to process the words I had not expected to hear. “But, I don’t think you’re getting what I’m saying—“
“I get it just fine. I’m saying that your chastity has given us this”—she gestured to the sexualised chaos around us—“amazing, crazy life we live.” It wasn’t the resort she was referring to, I knew that, and she confirmed it. “The lifestyle, the… cuckolding, I don’t want to give that up.”
The pool music and the antics around us faded away until all that remained was her, and her words. I must have looked shocked at hearing the love of my wife literally saying something that I could have written in a story, but wasn’t at all what I had been expecting. I had expected her to say, as she had in years past, that of course we could stop, that she didn’t need any of this, that she only needed me. She frowned as she weighed her words, brushed her hand over my cheek as if to ease those words, then continued.
“You’re different when you’re in chastity. You’re submissive, and I never used to know just what that meant, for us. I do now. You’re kinder, gentler, thoughtful… everything you’re not when you’re free. You used to be selfish, and I don’t want that man. I want the man you are now—locked.”
She paused to take a sip of her drink, but looked just as serious when she put her cup down. “And I don’t want to give up the cuckolding. The cage gives me both.”
Not gonna lie, it was a lot. I don’t think I can remember the last time, if ever, I’ve truly been speechless. But as I absorbed her honest truth, that truth felt… right. It was profoundly terrifying, but she was right. We had evolved and could not go back, because the past was not the present and could not be our future. My male ego would have to overcome this one last hurdle for me to be the best chaste cuck I could be, for the woman who was my everything. But that man hanging on to that ‘ol male ego had to make sure, because let’s be honest, what man couldn’t?
“You know what we’re committing to, right?”
She nodded, then left no doubt. Her voice was quiet, yet firm with conviction. “I want you locked.”
It was a heady feeling. As I said, it was terrifying, but it was also freeing. We were both now fully aware of what our commitment to chastity was going to mean for me… for us. Nothing is free, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t just make it clear she was OK with the cost. I told myself I was too. If I wanted to be all those things she had grown to love about me, how could I not? The rest of the week flew by for me in a mind-fuck induced fog of renewed devotion to her.
Spoiler alert, the crafty man in me wasn’t done with this yet. That ‘ol male ego in me, the one who loves a rock-solid erection and forcefully spurting unfettered hot ropes of cum while enjoying one, was not done. So, I researched a bit more and found a potential solution.
A week after we returned, I put forth my idea, but I wasn’t sure if it would fly. She had, after all, been adamant about keeping me locked and paying the piper for the future time spent. I decided ahead of time I would accept her answer no matter what, because I had long ago chosen to follow her lead. Besides, I’m all about seeking ‘more’. Submitting to her monumental decision regarding my body, to dictate my dick follow a path of irrevocable adjustment to a life in a cage is as about as submissive as it gets. You can ask my big brain or the little one, and they’ll both agree, I assure you.
She isn’t cruel by nature, though she enjoys a hint of it with me when the mood strikes her. This wasn’t that. It wasn’t smack talk or playful teasing. She’d simply weighed the consequences against what our life together needs, eyes wide open. Now it was my turn to submit fully, in a way I never could have imagined. This wasn’t porn. This was my body, no longer mine, and our life together about to be lived in the most intimately one-sided controlling way imaginable.
I love our life and cherish all that her willingness to explore the unknown has brought us. I did not want to mess with our recipe for success. If that defined the word permanent in a way I never could have imagined 23 years ago when I showed her my first cage, then so be it. In for a pound…
Turns out she was perfectly OK with allowing me to unlock at night. She’d been thinking about her decision too, post-vacation. Not undermining herself, just reflecting on the seriousness of it, and how far we’d come. So when I presented an alternative solution, she was already primed for the discussion. For her, making my denial permanent wasn’t about kink; it was about balance in the quality of our life. If you have read my other posts, you know I have long accepted I can’t please her like those bulls can. I had long stopped thinking of my dick as something that could give her pleasure. We’d long achieved mind-blowing sexual intimacy without my penis (she calls it that to remind me it’s not a ‘cock’), so it wasn’t like not being able to use it would change anything. We were only committing to never using it again. In her mind, it was more nuance than difference. Yet, the alternative I presented would still achieve what we both craved, without the extraordinary cost. She’d only been making a logical decision, and this was but one more.
I got excited, I must admit, about what this might mean, but she set me straight before I barely formed the thought. It wouldn’t be every night, because too much of a good thing might lead to errant thoughts of independence! She did say, once she’d thought about it, that she’d missed (a little bit) our free-play time. She missed bringing me to the edge, holding me there in a quivering mess, and sometimes letting me go right over it. We had simply lost our way in pursuit of that which we had found mutually exciting and fulfilling. Now we could have it all with no illusion that the scale would always tip toward the cage. I was a cuckold, and I’d remain so. I was a locked submissive, and would remain so. I just didn’t need to sleep like one all the time.
It’s been a month, and I’ve had plenty of those nocturnal stretches. I am so much better now, able to be the man I want to be in body and in mind, for her—because of her. In my moment of most terrifying fear of the future, she had shown me once again that she was there for me. I was ready to freely fall, and she was there to catch me, and together in the lifestyle and in life, we remain a rock-solid force of love and commitment. In her love I trust, and all else in life will be as it will. Of that, I am sure.
I am a lucky man. I’m a man who has learned to truly be careful what you wish for. And one who now gets to say he is not locked 24/7, and is not pussy-free (though I’m assured I will still be able to count the times a year with one hand). I once strove to be a member of the hardcore permanently-locked club. I tip my hat to it, and freely give respect where due, but being in that club is no longer a goal for me. I don’t blog-post to garner sales, my books are for that, and I don’t do it to sensationalize my life. I do it to share my life, through the lens I live it, to give back to the wonderful lifestyle community that helped me navigate and learn to be who I am today. So while I know my new direction may be disappointing to some who may have followed my progression, that is OK. I can only meet my own expectations, and those of my Queen.
I am living my best life because the woman I love stands beside me, even as I kneel before her. And that, my friends, is fucking eh.

The End.


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

Taking the Train: A Chaste Cuck’s Journey from Hope to Exquisite Surrender

Photo: Grok AI

Our journey into chastity and the lifestyle has never followed a straight path, as I’m sure is the case with most of us. This year was defined by my near-total lockdown and the ensuing denial of that warm, moist slice of heaven between MrsBr_Saiph’s legs. A year in which I’ve cum much more often pressed against the steel dome of my cage than I have erect and outside it.

And certainly never inside Her.

It’s taken me into uncharted territory of how I view myself, and my place in the world around me. I’ve already written about that, so won’t I belabor it here. Suffice to say, I made it to the other side. I got to where I needed to go, and the view from that headspace has been… grand.

However, just when I thought I knew the rules of the game, MrsBr_Saiph threw me a serendipitous carrot. Three weeks ago, as I stripped down for a Saturday morning shower, she appeared with the key in hand. That was nothing new, because I am not allowed to unlock myself even if it is to shave the boys smooth. The look she gave me once I was free was.

Pity mixed with concern, but mostly pity.

I assure you, it’s a brutal combination that left me wishing I could cover up and pretend the cage had never been worn. That whatever she was seeing as I stood there naked and exposed, on display for her to appraise and then judge, was all in her imagination. We could share a laugh about her eyes playing tricks on her. Then I’d run her up against the wall of the shower and fuck her senseless. The steam would curl around us, as her legs would curl around my hips. Her moans of satisfaction would dance around the water drops and fall into my ears as they serenaded my manly soul.

But wishing for an alternate reality is a fool’s game, and I immediately came back to her. All was not lost as those full red lips I fell in love with so many years ago pulled up into a cruel smirk, and I dared take a breath. How bad could whatever this was, be?

She reached out and cupped my balls, her thumb working magic on the end of my dick. She played with me for a beat, then wrapped her fingers around my shaft, stretching it outward between us and held it there.

“Look.”

I bent my head and did just that.

“Do you see my hand gripping you, or just my fingers?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. Those lips of hers teased my mind, but her eyes spoke of her concern lockstep with her words. “I’m worried about how small this”—she tugged on it further then eased up a hair—“is getting in that cage.”

I looked down once more, then back up into her knowing eyes. She knew I was now seeing what she already had for a while. I mistakenly had thought I was long past feeling embarrassed, perhaps even slightly ashamed, when she’d see me naked but for the cage, or in this case just the ring. Cage or not, that ring is a collar—one that signifies my loss of freedom and her taking control. It waits silent and obedient, for its master to attach the leash and make it, and me, heel. And in that moment, I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, hoping like hell she was about to offer me an alternate reality from the one I’d just been forced to face. Fool or not, I was wishing like a muther in that moment, and this one time at least, it came true.

The walls of chastity have been built around my manhood, one brick set slowly into place at a time, over decades. We’ve gone hard at it, and backed off, only to return with conviction renewed. But we’d never hit it as hard as we had this year. There were enough moments with Black men to satisfy her in so many more ways than I ever could, that time just slipped by. I was locked, denied, being reprogrammed to cum as readily in my cage as I once did outside it, while she learned to shed her inhibitions and explore her most carnal desires for Black men. Her needs had always been there. The ones that exist unacknowledged inside so many women because the expectations of society demanded it. But the cage and this lifestyle had set her free. That freedom had led her to explore many things and ultimately discover that there was indeed truth in the expression ‘Once you go Black’… It had been an amazing year, and neither of us had any regrets.

But life… You never know how it will go. The last couple of months presented her with some health issues, and we didn’t get out much. I remained locked, and together we enjoyed each other as she got better. That fateful day, right before my shower, was the moment when she’d felt better than she had in a long time. Not quite ready to ‘play’, but ready for something. And that something was me.

We lay in bed, the cage and ring put away in the closet, and she teased my dick as we talked. Mid-morning, a rare moment of having the house all to ourselves, the sun smiling in through the window, matching the grin on my face. For while I’m kinky as hell, and love feeling her boot on my ego, barely letting up to allow me to breathe, I also love times like this. Where we put it all aside, and we’re just a guy and a girl loving each other as they are. Because sometimes, that girl just needs her guy. No games, no kink. And when my girl needs her guy, fuck do I feel like a champ when I deliver. Chest puffed out, head held high. Hey, who wouldn’t?

My little brain desperately wanted to rise to the occasion, to swell to immense proportions and satisfy her in all the right ways. Thing is, while I’d done pretty damn well the two other times this year she’d unlocked me, it seemed that there was now a cumulative effect at play. The only thing rising was yet another blush on my cheeks. Her sensual touch shushed my concerns, and we made love like we had all year, using touch and my tongue. Later, she pulled back the sheets and held me once more. I said it had only lost an inch and a half, but she was adamant it was closer to three. I’m not sure who was right, but I suspect her eyes were more unbiased than mine. And no, I didn’t need another look at how few fingers were needed to hold it.

We, or rather she, decided I’d stay unlocked until it got back to normal. She wanted to experience all of me, and that wasn’t going to happen that day. Everyone knows the shrinkage is temporary, right? Yet two weeks later, not much had changed. I, being an optimist, was convinced things were ‘hanging’ a little more. I even commented at some point that weekend that I had to ‘hang one out’. She’d laughed, and I knew the zinger was coming. She didn’t disappoint.

‘Baby, you’ve never hung one out.”

So yeah, two weeks on, and not only had my size not returned, neither had my ability to pound her pussy like I had just the year prior. When I was freed a hell of a lot more often than this year past. I woke each day with eager excitement at what that exact moment should have entailed. Yet my morning wood had, at best, been a morning chub. The first weekend’s sex had been something best not talked about, and that second weekend… well, there’s a first for everything. For me, it was a one-thrust orgasm. She says I didn’t even get a full thrust in, and again, I suspect she’s the objective one. We wondered how long it was going to take. How long until I grew back to my original size? Would it get thicker again too, because it’s not all about the length? How long until I started waking up with a morning wood you could jack the house up with? How long until that wood was hard enough, and big enough, that she could actually feel it inside her? While I could never take her around the world like a Bull could, when would I at least be able to take her around the block?

We weren’t sure. This was new.

I wanted more than anything to fuck like a madman. My mind was going crazy. I was horny as hell and wanted to prove it. But after two weeks of freedom, the best I could do was barely put it in before spilling my unworthy seed on her belly. As I grunted and panted out how sorry I was for my shameful performance, she giggled and assured me all was fine. In that moment, alarm bells went off in my head, but I didn’t want to acknowledge they were there. The primal warning system that could sense that which my conscious mind wanted to deny had just gone to DEFCON One. It was warning me I’d turned a page, but only she could read the words.

I had no way of knowing she hadn’t been worried about the state of things down there. Time would sort me out, she was sure of it, but she was done waiting. She was feeling better physically. Sexually, the non-stop seductive teasing by her, and my unintentional self-denial over the last two weeks had moved her needle. From needing me that way, to not. She’d had fun, had loved all of our sexy talk and all the many hours of sensual play beneath the sheets. She’d read me like a book and knew I was losing my mind being free and not being able to take advantage of it. All those hours and days being allowed to get as hard as I wanted, as often as I wanted. To fuck and cum like all those other men did with her. Cock engorged, quivering as mountains of cum spewed out, uninhibited by a steel cage. She knew I was fucking my own mind as the panic grew in the back of it. In that dark place that whispered taunting words of prescience. Telling me I was wasting time, and that my time would run out if I wasn’t careful. If I didn’t give her a reason to extend it. How many times over this past year had I yearned for this exact freedom I now had, and was now wasting? Tick tock, the minutes, days, and weeks of wasted time and opportunity echoed in my mind, and she heard it loud and clear. It had been a heady time for me. It hadn’t been sex, but it had been two weeks of intense desire unleashed, and a cruel reminder that serious chastity truly is a one-way street.

As the end of the third week barreled toward me, she messaged me at work on Friday. “Do you want to go to ‘The Club’ tonight?”

We both knew the answer. When I got home, she joined me in the bathroom as I was getting ready to shower. The cage and the key in her hand. I’d had my chance to give her what she needed when she needed it, and now it was too late. Coming up on weekend number three, the rules of the game had changed once more. The tick-tock countdown in my head had been real after all. I’d run out of time, and as the key turned, she told me so.

She’d already texted that stud I wrote about earlier this year. The one who’d effortlessly moved her around all four corners of the bed and all points between, all while they passionately kissed with his cock buried deep inside her. The one whose number she’d actually kept in her phone, ‘just in case’.

I helped her into her red dress, the one I knew I’d be slipping off her later, so another man could enjoy her while I watched. I unrolled her nylons over her feet and up her legs, tugging gently, carefully, adjusting them into place as they caressed the flesh that would not be pressed to me.

We danced, and I drank her in. And then he was there. They kissed, and they danced. And I watched. The playroom quickly beckoned, and they were in each other’s arms, naked. I watched their mouths press together, hungry, wet, sloppy kisses barely containing the tempest building between their legs. His cock was hard, and as I watched her bend over to wrap her mouth around it and suck it to the back of her throat, I felt cuck angst like I’d never felt before. I’d had my chance to get hard. I’d had my chance, she’d given it to me, to give her something she’d want to draw into her mouth, and suck. As he threw her down and plunged deep inside her, I reflected that I’d had my chance to do that too. And on both counts I’d failed. For three weeks, I’d been taken out of the cage, but the chaste cuck could not be taken out of me.

He did great, at first. Confident. Wanting her all to himself. I know because a new Black man had appeared behind me as I stood at the side of the bed, still deciding where I wanted to watch from. His cock was tenting out the front of his towel in a very impressive way, and when he asked if he could join, I said yes—if She was OK with it. After all, this scenario of two men at once had become a bucket list item for her. When the man moved in, our first guy sent him packing before she even knew what was happening. That’s good, because it should have been her choice, but no harm, no foul. The other guy stepped away, because no drama is the golden rule, and I was left a little surprised. Hey, I’m not a bull, so what do I know about sharing or not, from their angle?

However, tonight the bed was in a room with three others. The first time we’d met him, it had been a smaller, more intimate space. That room, with only two beds end to end, and the doorway blocked by the thick braided privacy rope had been, for him I guess, more private. So tonight, despite his brilliant launch, and his initial unwillingness to share, his blazing thrusters began to fizzle. He slowed, then pulled away. I saw him lean in and whisper something before standing up and waving the second man over. He tapped him in and stepped back to join the growing crowd of watchers. Selfish he may have been, but as stage fright overtook him, he cared enough about her pleasure to keep the party going. Points that had been deducted were partially added back to his scorecard.

I took note and settled at the head of the bed, one leg dangling off the side, positioned so I could maneuver if needed. The towel shifted as I sat, leaving my bare ass and balls nothing to shield them from the indifferent touch of the red vinyl mattress. It felt cold on the flesh of my dick pressing through the steel bars in its pitiful attempt to ‘man up’. At least the first guy had started strong. We were here last-minute tonight, in large part because I hadn’t even been able to leave the starting gate. I always feel more than a little exposed when we’re here, caged, denied, in a room full of men with erect cocks more than able to satisfy the women who came to sample their wares. I adjusted so I could keep an eye on the crowd and, of course, drink in the magic happening with my girl. We had locked eyes at the tap-out, and I knew she was all in with the new man. She’d seen the tent in his towel too.

This new guy had no stage fright, and that tent… whoah. It was not false advertising. Thick and long, and by that, I mean everything you’re envisioning right now. She took it hesitantly, suckling on the end before loosening her lips to allow it further in. She’s a champ though, and things progressed quickly from there. Introductory cock-sucking out of the way, her legs gripped his hips, and he thrust into her. The tempo increased until his obsidian flesh glistened with effort, muscles rippling with every thrust.

A white guy sidled up, hand trying to keep whatever he was gonna call that sad offering under his towel in a presentable state. His eyes spoke the question, and my (what I hope was not visibly condescending) eyes answered. The almost imperceptible shake of my head making my decision final.

Yeah, it was my decision. We have roles to play, and mine was gatekeeper. I know what she likes and what she needs. That guy wasn’t it.

Nor the next, but the one after was. Tall and fit, friendly questioning smile. He was in. I didn’t need to ask her because like I say, I know what she wants. And she’d wanted to double-fist it for a while now. I had mistakenly cock-blocked her with the group of three friends on our last visit, keeping them to one at a time. Only later had I learned I should have dropped the privacy rope and let her go all in. Hey, I’m learning here too, okay?

I’m not going to assign any more numbers because its too much. There were too many after the rules of engagement were announced. Another guy approached. He was foreign, muscular, and seemed like a decent catch. But there was one thing he wasn’t.

Enough of this. I said to myself. I loudly announced, “Sorry pal, she’s Black-only.”

Someone in the crowd shouted out, “She’s biased!”

One of the guys fucking her responded without breaking his stride, “No, she’s not…”

From somewhere under the tangled mess of Black on White came her voice—tinged with laughter, but borne upon her conviction. She set things straight, loudly, so there would be no doubt left to all who need not apply.

“Yes, I am!”

She later told me that after shouting it so boldly, she felt a twinge of guilt. For naming the very attribute that lit her fire, because she knows damn well every man is more than just a label. “I feel like I should apologize…”

He’d chuckled, “No baby, you don’t need to apologize for anything.” Then he’d kissed her deeply, right before sliding into her mouth so his buddy could take a run between her legs.

They came in all sizes as the train formed up. Large men, thin men, and every cock was magnificent. Some thicker, some longer, all forming a beautiful harmony to her moans as she writhed beneath them. At one point, there were three. They could sense she wasn’t ready to go airtight, so instead, their cocks, hands, and mouths took pleasure from the flesh she was willing to give.

One would call out, needing a condom. I’d oblige. Another would ask for lube. I’d oblige. Over and over. Lube. Condom. Tag in, tag out. Lube. Condom. It went on and on. I liked being involved. I liked being in my place. I liked it a lot. I wanted more. I wanted to bury my face between her legs while another man fucked her mouth. Of course, my dick has no place in this picture we were painting, but my devotional tongue… She later told me she’d have loved it if I did. She also loved how I snuck in and fingered her during a tap out moment, while she sucked on a cock. And that I gotta tell you, makes me proud.

I watched a beast of a man use both hands to grab the back of her head, fingers carelessly weaved into her hair as he gripped and pulled her forward. In and out, roughly fucking the back of her throat—and she let him. She’d let herself go in the moment, surrendering to the primal response of a woman submitting to the alpha in him. Blow jobs were not generally on the menu of delights she’d gift me, and I certainly would never presume to treat her like this. But this man did, and the moans slipping past the meaty cock shoved into her mouth told me she liked that he had.

Finally, she was done. I had no idea how long we’d been in the bed, nor for sure how many men had joined us. She couldn’t say either. Five? Six? Seven? Who knew? We didn’t care. It had been… magic. Unadulterated Black magic, and on this night, a box had been checked off her list, and then some. It would not be the last time either.

We moved to the lounge, and she settled into a sofa while I fetched her a drink. When I returned, the first guy, the shy guy, was with her again. He’d returned and apparently had leaned in, one hand on her thigh, and the other cupped behind her head. “I owe you some cock…”

They were still in the throes of a kiss when I sat beside them, and then she was on all fours. Knees and hands pressed into the red vinyl cushions, our fingers intwined as he began to thrust. It was hard and fast, and she groaned as he hit the special place deep inside.

Then he panted, “Can I come on you?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes!”

He pulled out, tore off the condom, and jerked hard. Hot ropes of cum seared her flesh in thick lines. One after another, until the final drop fell in a solo punctuation of what he’d done. He had marked her with his seed. For a full beat, I stared at it. After the night we’d had, and the place she’d taken me to in my mind, I was ready. I wanted to clean her. I didn’t know him, he only represented the alpha to my beta. Unlike me, he’d been erect, and he’d fucked her hard. He’d taken, and she’d given, and he was the one she’d allowed to mark the small of her back with his cum. It was only fitting that I play my part in this twisted dance of debauchery.

But it was not to be. Before I could rally from fantasy to reality, he’d wiped her clean. We all chatted for a bit, then he moved on, and we went back to the hotel. And it was there, alone at last in the room, that she delivered the coup de grâce. Putting me well and truly in my place. There would be no imagining in my mind that, on my best day, I could be like the men she’d just fucked. Not after what she had in mind.

I slipped the dress from her, kissing her breasts, her tummy, and then her smooth mound, because the panties she’d worn to the club were now in my pocket. I knelt to slide the white satin French bikini panties up her legs, anticipating the treat she surely must have intended. The one she gifts me after other men have had their way. The one where I worship every inch of her, while the satin slides over her well-fucked lips and my tongue breathes the heat of my longing into them with butterfly kisses. Not tonight.

She pulled me up to stand before her and took them from my hand. I stared at her, confused, as she knelt before me. What was this? Surely not a blow job, I was caged, and besides, I knew that wasn’t for me. As she guided my feet into the panties and slipped them up my legs, I had to ask. Because this wasn’t something we did. Sure, who hasn’t tried on their wife’s panties in a drunken bit of kinky fun as they fucked after a party? But that was on our rarely-done naughty list, not on the post-club fuck-fest list.

She shushed me and tugged them into position, running her hands over my bum, the satin slippery under her fingertips and on my skin. She pulled me onto the bed and lay down on her tummy.

“Lick me clean.”

I did. My tongue slid over the small of her back, tasting the salt of her skin and the faint salty memory of him. I sucked, and lapped, and devoured every molecule of my acceptance of another man marking the flesh of my lady with his seed. She giggled and teased me about ‘knowing my place’ and then turned over to draw my eager tongue between her legs. Where all those men had been. It smelled of cock and her cum, and she gripped my head as my tongue coaxed the memory of the fucking she’d had back into the moment. She’d tell me later that she really liked the thought of me being down there after all those cocks had fucked her, when I wasn’t allowed to.

I came up for air, and she pulled me into a kiss. Wet ‘n sloppy, she was running just as hot as she’d been in the club, only on a different level. The one reserved for us. She wrapped her legs around my hips and drew me closer. I thrust without thinking, for a lifetime of natural motion could not be halted. She chuckled, low and deep, and I looked down.

At a satin-covered nub, the bulge barely discernible in the muted street light seeping around the curtains, the white glistening in a mockery of the ghost between my legs. The ‘man’ in me had tried to fuck, but the locked cuckold in me could only press my ‘mound’ against hers.

“Is that your big cock, baby?”

Her words were meant to eviscerate my ego, to strip me down into the panty-wearing cuckold I was, as I paid homage to her feminine power she wielded over me like a Queen. She wanted me in my place, and she knew exactly how to put me there.

“Come on baby, fuck me with that big cock. Show me what a man you are.”

She ground into me, and my body responded. I thrust back. Once. Her legs pulled me in hard. Twice.

“Come on baby, fuck me!”

The third time I stopped myself, and she pulled my head down and kissed me deeply. Her hands caressed the satin as her words guided me to the finish line.

“Cum for me baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

No taunting. Just said like she truly meant it. Which twisted her wicked words all the more, her intent clear.

And I delivered. I ground my nub into her sopping wet cunt, and I came. At first shamelessly, as the orgasm rocked me. Then, with shame as the last bit dribbled out, into my panties as her hot breath teased my ear.

“That’s how you cum baby.”

We finished off with the Magic Wand, because no night is complete without it, and then we went to sleep. She’d allowed me to take off the cum-soaked panties, or maybe I had taken them off before she could say otherwise. I can’t recall. It was a crazy, amazing night, brought on by her desire for all of me three weeks prior. I had given her everything I had, with every ounce of my being. I did. I just couldn’t give her the one thing those other men could.

We all have a place in life, and in this one, I know mine. This weekend, she made sure I knew it and wouldn’t forget it. She taught me that my satisfaction need not be from pleasures of the flesh, even as she’d delivered emasculating pleasure that night. Instead, it was about the exquisite ache of knowing my place. We had started on one path three weeks ago and finished on another tonight. That’s what I love about our journey, and about her. It’s a wild ride, and one I cannot dare to presume to know which direction it may take next. But I suspect if anyone does, it is her.

I love that about her, and that I can trust in the journey, with her. She leads, and I follow, and I wouldn’t change a thing. What I love most, though, is that I know without a doubt that she loves me back—for all that I am, and more so for all that I’m not.

The End


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

New Release! The Tithing: It’s Not About The Money

Cover in part by Depositphotos, Adobe Express, diybookcovers.com

The Tithing: It’s Not About The Money
Hank’s a man’s man, a big man, driving a big rig. The only thing bigger is his ego. He’s got a wallet full of cash, and he’s on his way to Vegas. It’s a town full of women just waiting to show a man like him a good time. He knows it.
Pulling into the Double-Six Diner was just supposed to be a quick stop. A cheap meal at a cheap diner becomes so much more than he could ever have imagined when he meets Lila and her sister Mary.
A sundress, a key, and a bet whispered from lips that would scramble any man’s brain are more than enough to detour Hank. What he has no way of knowing is just how permanent that detour will be.
He had plans, but at the Double-Six, it’s a woman’s world, and they make the rules. Plans change.

This tale features chastity, denial, dominant women, foolish men, and blackmail. It’s a findom short story where secrets have a price and obedience is never free, by B.R. Saiph.

Link:https://books2read.com/u/4j6ZkZ

Locktober Reward

Photo: Grok AI

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


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

Her Pleasure, My Place – A Locktober Reflection

Photo: Depositphotos

I’ve been reflecting (a lot) about my place in this world as a man, as a husband, and as a lover. 2025 has been a heady year. MrsBR_Saiph and I kick-started it with a commitment to my being pussyfree, and of course, to continue my 24/7 chastity. It was the culmination of many whispered conversations in the dark after our first Splash Mocha. Where, afterward, she found herself only interested in Black men and how they made her feel. Many a night, her lithe fingers teased my cage while mine explored her moist lips, as we talked about her lovers. How big their cocks were. Thick, so very thick, some longer than others, and all of them stretching her, sometimes to her limits. To a one, each awakened the primal beast between her legs.

It had taken countless of these erotically fuelled conversations before she felt comfortable enough to be honest. About how truly amazing they felt inside her. Or, how it felt to be manhandled in all the right ways by a beautiful Black man who moved in all the right ways.

And, how I had never been able to satisfy her, not even close, the way those men do.

It took gentle prodding on my part because honesty, even when it stings, is the cornerstone of this lifestyle. As the new year approached, she finally admitted that she didn’t need my dick, that our lovemaking was perfect the way it was. The SpareParts Joque Harness & Strap-On, the Hitachi Wand, my tongue, and my butterfly kisses. It was all she needed—from me. There it was, the honest truth, ‘I don’t need your dick,’ whispered on tentative breaths that feared hurting me because of her love.

Honesty did bruise my ego, a lot for a millisecond, and a little for a beat after that. Just as I knew it would. Then I gave my head a shake and let her words settle into my soul, where ego has no place. Her words echoed what I already knew, but needed to hear. Words I’d been ready to embrace long before she was comfortable enough to utter them.

You see, I’ve held her hand and listened to guttural moans of pleasure come from her as another man fucked her, far too many times to ignore the reality. I have never, in my life, made her sound like those men do. I love watching her get railed hard, and she loves me watching. In this equation, where we were both enjoying the reality of the Bull, my dick had no place. In fact, by it not being part of the equation, she had found sexual nirvana. And in her sexual freedom and bliss, I had found my place.

With that out in the open, and my masochistic desires unfettered, it only seemed natural for us to experiment with me being ‘pussyfree’.

It’s been a life-changing ride. Or, at least, it’s altered my vision of my reality. Months of not coming, and most certainly not experiencing erections. The endless teasing touches and whispered naughty desires—of beautiful Black men, and her digging deep to just ‘make it fit’. It all took me so far down into the sub-zone I couldn’t see daylight. But I wanted to. Desperately. Had my fantasy been too much in its reality?

I wasn’t sure, but then on a whim, she unlocked me for my birthday. PIV had never felt more glorious! I swear I saw stars when I came. Then I felt guilt. For cumming. For my erection. For taking a bite of the forbidden fruit when I had committed to truly putting her pleasure before my own. But hey, I got over it!

The year moved on, and I remained chaste while she moaned and writhed under the thrusting embrace of one lover after another. I was allowed out shortly after Splash Mocha, and when I came far too quickly, her words said it all.

“That, my dear, is why I keep you locked.”

She was smiling as she said it, so I knew she was only (partially) playing with me. Yet the words were once again, the truth. We both knew it, and I felt it powerfully. She delivered the coup de grace a few short weeks afterward. I playfully asked if she needed my cock. I was simply enjoying the banter. Except this time, with a pause and a thoughtful look, she lost herself in her matter-of-fact answer. “No. Actually, I don’t think about your dick anymore. Not really.” She paused again, blinked, smiled nervously, then frowned. “Is that bad?”

Fuuuck. I’ve never loved her more. Our journey has never been rushed. We have struggled and overcome, and learned so much about ourselves and each other. Our love has never been stronger. Our faith and commitment to each other has never been stronger. And to watch my Lady venture into a place of absolutely crushing honesty, because of her trust in us, was epic.

It’s been a hard lockdown since. I still try to banter about her needing my cock, but now she just smirks and doesn’t bother replying. Our lovemaking is intense, and the Joque is our best friend, or is it the Hitachi? Either way, it’s been exhilaratingly scary for me at times, and at others a little crushing, because the truth does hurt, doesn’t it? But, only if we let it, only if we fail to look at what that truth means. For us as a couple, for her as my Queen, and for me as her man.

I hadn’t planned on writing anything for Locktober this year, but our Friday night visit to ‘The Club’ showed me how far we’ve come in embracing her pleasure and my place as a locked cuckold. I realized it was the perfect month to share where we are at.

She scooped up three beautiful Black men. Two consecutively, and then the third shortly after. They were all friends. The third guy asked if she had ‘one more in her’, and of course, she did. As he came deep inside her while she was on all fours, her hand in mine, he asked her. “Was I the best?”

She giggled and told him what he wanted to hear. When we were back in the room, she held my cage, her eyes full of concern, checking in because that’s what my Lady does. “How are you?”

My mind went far and wide over the past year, our journey, and where we are today. In the span of an hour, I watched three men put their cocks where mine was no longer needed or allowed. I watched them take long strokes, spreading her lips with their meaty cocks, making her cry out and close her eyes in pleasure/pain.

I remember how incredible it feels to be inside her!

I immediately chided myself because I had never made her respond like that. The cage hidden beneath my cotton towel reminded me that was all part of why we were here today.

I watched them thrust hard and cum deep inside her.

When have I last done that?

As my stomach clenched with envy, I realized I didn’t know. While PIV had only recently been denied me, cumming inside her had already been long a thing of the past. I hadn’t done that since her first lover had years ago. When she’d first been taken around the world on another man’s cock while mine had been caged.

I don’t know what the future holds. I’m nervous about living a life where I cum in my cage far more often than I’m allowed an erection, while other men cum inside my wife. I’m nervous because it’s a road I’ve never traveled. But I do know I’m traveling it with her. I know the cuck angst I felt as they came inside her was transcendent. I felt… at peace. I was in my place. I was confident I was where I belonged and was the man I was born to be. Her man. At her side, living our best life together. So, I looked down into her eyes and met her concerned look with a smile and answered like I meant it, because I did.

“I’m good, baby. I’m good.”

Happy Locktober, my chaste friends. May your journey be all that you wish it to be.

The End


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

Packing For Splash Mocha: A Cuck’s Viewpoint

Cover in part by Depositphotos, Adobe Express

Packing For Splash Mocha: A Cuck’s Viewpoint

The REO Speedwagon Radio playlist played softly in the background, while muted amber hues from the LED candles danced around us. Our suitcase for Splash Mocha lay open before us, ready to be filled as would she, once we arrived at our destination. Her eyes lit up with that mischievous smile I love, as she held the Spareparts Joque harness and its well-endowed accoutrement. I blushed, one part excited at the prospect of her pegging me. One part, even after all these years, was still that little bit embarrassed that she knew what I was thinking.

The candlelight streamed through the glass plug, glinting a wicked mockery of my asshole as her lithe fingers placed it beside the harness, right next to the lube. She had already packed her heels, and I ran my fingers over them. The gold accents teased my eyes. Visions of her wearing them, calves taut and feet arched for another man, filled my mind.

She laid her hand over mine and guided my curious digits upward and to the left, to where her panties lay. Black lacy numbers, and red ones too. Then she paused as we reached the white satin bikini ones shimmering innocently back at us. She gently pressed my hand down onto them and brought her lips to my ear. Softly whispered, her words were like pouring gasoline on the ever-present embers of my caged lust for her. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll wear these while I fuck you.”

I lost myself for a minute, as I often do when she burrows deep into my grey matter like that, but then she brought me back. Like she always does. Cupping my face in her hand, drawing me to her, to her mouth and… those lips, reminding me the present is better than anything that yet could be.

Later, we lay in bed, and the candles continued their silent melody of light, every flicker a celebration of our excitement about that very thing. The ‘could’ that would be this weekend, and all that entailed. Her pleasure. Oh, yes. And — as she inevitably gets stretched and taken as a quivering mess to her very limits — her pain. That delicious pain that hurts sooo damn good in all the right ways. A melting pot of pleasure and sweet pain, and ecstasy as massive obsidian shafts take her on a ride around the world. They will take her to places ordinary men like me can only dream of, as I witness it all, in rapture, from the comfort of my cuck chair.

Slipping her leg over mine, she cuddled against my side. Resting her head on my chest, her fingers began to brush lightly over my balls. The music played, and her fingers teased, and my cage grew tighter. She gripped me and slowly pulled down, inexorably down. Further…

I drew a quick breath.

Further…

My finger tapped the sheets, and then I stilled myself because she does not tolerate weakness.

Further…

I gasped. There was no way I couldn’t have. I was certain.

Further…

Now, however, her fingernails dug into my tender flesh as punishment, and a reminder that it can always be worse. I tensed, my body rigid as a board, as I dug deep, and I remained silent. And, we both knew that only a moment before, when I could have pleased her with that silence, I had failed.

She held me there without a word, as my body quivered with the exertion of receiving her focus, and then… it was over. The precum dripped down the steel dome of my cage, betraying any protest I might have offered about how sensitive my balls were.

Her finger slid over the slick trail of betrayal to the source. The head of my dick had squeezed out of the tiny hole at the tip of the dome, forming two small angry red lips squished into a lurid pucker. No more than a few millimeters in height, and only slightly more in diameter, it was everything a man’s dick shouldn’t be.

She teased it, drawing more tears of anguished denial before smearing them on my lips. Her finger probed my mouth, pressing onto my tongue as I sucked it clean. As she slowly withdrew, she brought her lips to my ears. Her whispered breath, hot and moist, cut through the fog of arousal she’d wrapped me in and thrust right into my cage. Her finger met me there, teasing the flesh fervently struggling against its confines.

“Is this your little erection?”

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but… had nothing. It didn’t matter anyway, because she’d already rolled over to go to sleep. She was done with me. She’d had her fun and had left me to my thoughts, and my now incredibly tight cage.

The End.


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

New Release! Friendzoned Into Accidental Cleanup

Cover in part by Depositphotos, Adobe Express, diybookcovers.com

Friendzoned Into Accidental Cleanup
James has loved Maddy forever, but to her, he’s just a best friend.
One fateful night thrusts them into a world of dark desires and shifting power dynamics, forcing them to reckon with a future together neither of them had known was possible.
To be the man she needs, he must conquer his shame.
His friendship is everything to her, yet she wrestles with his wants as a man and her feelings as a woman, while striving to have it all.
All she can do is lead, and trust that his feelings for her are enough to make him follow.

He dreams of love.
She demands loyalty — on her terms.
In the end, they must decide if her needs outweigh his wants.

There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to make a choice. For some, it’s clear. For others…

What would you do?

An erotic novel with scenes of female domination and control, humiliation, CFNM, chastity, tease and denial, interracial cuckolding, creampie cleanup, and of course, hardcore friendzone angst. By B.R. Saiph

Link: https://books2read.com/u/bMMPZX

When Is A Cuckolding Issue A ‘Me Problem’?

Photo: Depositphotos

When Is A Cuckolding Issue A ‘Me Problem’?

I’d like to start by saying that I’m a very happy man living my best life with the amazing @MrsBR_Saiph as her chaste cuckold. But how did we get to this magical happy cuckold utopia, and is it pure bliss all the time?

Both answers are intertwined. Finding a consistent sense of joy about our version of cuckolding (for me, and therefore for her) took a while. And, nothing on this earth is pure bliss all the time. I say ‘our version’ because every couple walks their own path in this, and all facets of their relationship.

Initially, we were both shocked at how many issues I had. If my issues hadn’t resulted in such emotionally unpleasant experiences for us both, some of the things that sent me off the rails would be laughable. But, they were not nice, and nobody was laughing. We laugh now about the hors d’oeuvre tray incident as we’ve come to call it, but it’s one of the very few.

Now, even after so very many incredible cuckolding experiences, amazing bulls, and my complete certainty that I am living as I was always meant to be—a chaste cuckold, neither of us can let our hands off the wheel (for long). Just like driving (don’t tell me you haven’t at least once lol). The road looks straight, there are no visible potholes, and the lines are freshly painted and clear to see, but accidents can always happen. Unlike my country road daily commute where I’m most likely to get hit by a deer, in cuckolding it’s the bull effect causing the crash.

I still, on a rare occasion, wobble, and even rarer yet, go off the rails. When I do, I try so very hard to practice what we (I) have learned along the way to our relative success at navigating this lifestyle.

-Remember she loves me. We don’t play to hurt me. I’m a cuck because I want to be a cuck.

-Don’t let things fester.

-Communicate immediately any concern/feeling, no matter how embarrassed I am at having that feeling.

-Remember she loves me. We don’t play to hurt me. I’m a cuck because I want to be a cuck.

-When we talk it out, keep my shit under control and rejoice in the fact that she is trying so very hard to help me/us understand my feeling and work towards a solution. So… talk quietly, and in a controlled fashion. Keep it as a conversation. She knows I’m upset, I don’t need to yell.

-Remember she loves me!

Sounds like I’ve got it figured out eh? I don’t, but I do try so very hard to heed my own hard-learned advice.

When I do, it’s only a ‘wobble’. The ‘Me Problem’ becomes an ‘Us Problem’ in all the good ways. It starts with our tears and ends with hugs and kisses (and if I’m lucky some time with my head between her legs). She is an incredibly intelligent woman, with layers of perception, understanding, empathy, and compassion I could only ever dream of having. She transforms my wobble into a loving, caring moment for us to explore the nuances of ourselves and our complex lifestyle, and always makes me feel like a fucking champ when we’re done. It’s amazing, and she leaves me gobsmacked every time. I can’t say this enough—‘What a woman!’

When I don’t, it’s a horrible train wreck. And that is a ‘Me Problem’ but unfortunately in a bad way, it becomes an ‘Us Problem’ too. Because, when I don’t follow my rules I hurt her emotionally. That’s shitty, and that makes me… well let’s just say I have lots of words for that man in me. After all, I’ll give you one guess as to who the guy was that asked (begged) to get his dick locked up and cuckolded?

See, here’s the thing. When she hurts me emotionally, or I feel insecure, or something else creeps in, it is never intentional on her part. She is a woman, a mother, my soulmate, and a human. I am a human. Our being human means she doesn’t always get things right, and for me means most times I’m not looking at things clearly or from all angles. That’s why I have my list of rules.

I’ve often said to her that someday I’ll write a book about our journey just because there were so many surprise train wrecks and so many learning points along the way. However, I likely won’t because there are more than enough podcasts and books covering this already. I’ll stick to keeping my filthy mind in the gutter with my next raunchy story, and do the occasional blog post such as this.

And yeah, the point of this post, well… I can’t tell you what is or is not a ‘Me Problem’ because for us to have found the success we now enjoy in cuckolding, everything is an ‘Us Problem’. And when the next problem arises, we both can only hope and pray that I follow my list of rules. She deserves that. She deserves the very utmost best version of me, no matter what.

The End.


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

Dreams

@MrsBR_Saiph

Dreams

I had little sleep last night. We snuggled close under the heavy comforters, as the cool bedroom air tickled our noses (we love it cold for sleeping), and I ground my uselessness/cage into her warm ass crack. She felt nothing because in reality, and despite how full my balls feel, when caged you run out of ‘dick’ long before you can even think about having one.

I throbbed all night, awakened time and again by the conviction that her hand was caressing my inner thigh, and then moving on to cup my balls before playing with my cage. At one point I had even earnestly dreamt she was stroking my cock, standing rigid and proud and lapping up her ministrations.

Yet time and again I’d come to my senses and realize that the only thing happening was in my fevered mind. I’d listen to her gently breathing beside me and give it my best effort to subdue the yearning threatening to consume me. Desperate to rip off that damn cage I’d for so long yearned to have ruthlessly locked upon me (and still maddeningly do), I’d then eventually drift off once again.

When my alarm went off for work I dragged my ass out of bed instead of under the sheets to slide my face up between her legs. This wasn’t the first time of late I’d experienced a night such as that, and yet it was by far the most intense. I am so glad the weekend is here, and I can properly express my gratitude to @MrsBr_Saiph for being the kind of woman that after 26 years of marriage, can still keep me up all night thinking about her.

The End.


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