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

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

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

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

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/m0LBz7

When Is A Cuckolding Issue A ‘Me Problem’?

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

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>

The Last Leaf

The Last Leaf

We went to ‘The Club’ last night to celebrate Valentine’s Day. We love going there whenever possible, and special occasions always make it naughtier! No expectations preceded us as we entered, only that we enjoy the evening for whatever it may offer us. You know what they say about going into anything with none, and then enjoying whatever it is that exceeds them and all that…

@MrsBR_Saiph looked ravishing in a little red number, with her succulent breasts accentuated by a delicate silver key teasing the flesh above, while her playful eyes lit the room and her full red lips beckoned for… My eyes were not the only ones feasting upon her, but mine were the only ones that knew she was the huntress, and they were but prey. I started the evening in a good mental place as a cuckold (spoiler alert – I finished that way too), but I had no way of knowing that my self-perception was about to be irrecoverably changed.

We danced, we held each other regardless of the tempo, and at other times she ground her ass into my caged crotch with a dexterity and fervor that never ceases to blow me away. At some point, we took a break and I went to the washroom. And, that was when the night became one for the books.

As I sat and pissed through the steel bars of the cage incessantly reminding me that I was chaste and all the ‘real’ men stood while using the urinals, Her eyes locked on His.

He was a younger Black man, muscular, and had a great smile. She was in, and so was he. When I came out They were waiting for me. Friendly introductions imbued with a vibe that this was a chill cool guy in all the good ways, quickly led us to the playroom. They were on a red leather bed removing each other’s towels, and I was beside them (wearing mine).

He was strong! He held her tight as he moved her around the bed. Over against this pillow with legs in the air, and then to the opposite side, on all fours. As I moved around in an attempt to keep my eyes on her face while this stallion took my wife away in a gallop across the plains of pleasure, her primal self cried out. It was loud, unabashed, and had a tenor to it I’d never before heard.

His dark flesh glistened with sweat as he rode her hard while her light skin played against his as they lost themselves in each other. My lady never forgets me (for long, and good for her when she does!) and would consistently reach for my hand throughout. I’d let her know I was OK with a squeeze and then let go, for I had no desire to distract her from what was unfolding before me.

At one point she broke the kiss, breathless and eyes wide with an as-yet unsatiated hunger. “You’re a lot!” The corner of her mouth pulling her lips up into a mischievous smile told me how much fun she was having.

His stamina was unparalleled and I watched in amazement as he came inside her, rested for an impossibly few short minutes, and then began anew where he’d just left off. As they tumbled across the bed in a frenzied tangle of arms and legs, mouths mashed together, and a cock making her cry out to the world how good it was, I witnessed that which every cuck surely yearns for.

As a cuck, I’ve been forced to face that which most men bundle up into a predefined set of misconceptions about themselves. I’ve had to acknowledge that there were sexual Olympians out there and that I could never stand on the podium with them. I’ve had to admit that there were men with really big cocks, and I most certainly could not hit ‘that special spot’ like they could, no matter how much society told me that size didn’t matter. I’ve wiped the splatter off my face as a man, in a matter of seconds, found her g-spot and showed me that it was indeed not a myth, merely a place I had never taken her to. I’ve faced off with and lost the battle against my conviction that at least I could kiss her like no other.

It’s all good, don’t get me wrong, but it was a long journey and one fraught with many an emotional wipeout on my part to get me to where I was yesterday. I don’t want to detract from this post with how much we’ve taken to our Joque Spare Parts harness and eight-inch dildo, but I must mention it nonetheless. It has kept me caged in a brutal lockdown for almost five months, and pussy-free for two.

I’d hopped on that train without a thought because with my friend (we call him — — that’s another story) I was able to draw those guttural noises from her that those men with all the ‘right stuff’ could. We were having sex on a level that brought us both pleasure, unlike anything we’d experienced together before. I had her panting. I had her moaning. I had her gyrating under me and crying out like a champion. I was a champion…finally…I could bring her pleasure the way those other men did!

I didn’t think I was an Olympian, but I was circling that podium with conviction. Then I watched her fingers dig into his flesh as she tumbled with him to where I sat, amazed. She giggled and slapped his ass, then moaned as he drove deep inside her. I watched as the energy passed between them like high-voltage rippling down a power line in an uncontrolled need for release. I watched as he came yet again, deep inside her.

I watched, and the last shred of self-delusion was peeled from my eyes, leaving my ego naked and exposed. Fragile, as the last leaf grasping to hang on to that which must inevitably come to an end. The autumn leaf that falls from the branches of the mighty oak, strong and sure as the world gazes upon it, yet unable to deny the will of the world it exists in. I was forced, as was that leaf, to realize its perception of its place in this world had been misguided. I was forced to realize that even on my best day, I could never bring the sexual energy and ensuing passion to the table in the way he could.

Fragile was my ego in the moment, as I contemplated there not being a need to get out my harness later this night, but my faith in us had not wavered. I won’t lie though, I was feeling a little confused about what I could bring to the table now that I knew that with or without a harness I would never be what this man, and those like him, could be to her. Yet, as her hand blindly found mine once more, I felt joy. I felt release. I felt…in my place.

I had shed (what I hope is my last) ego-fueled self-delusion, the sort that just gets in the way of truly embracing what this lifestyle can bring to those who travel it. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t be him, and in fact, that was what made it all so delicious to both of us. We had our own passion, one with a burning heat fueled by our love that could never be matched by that of the flesh. That other heat would be served up to the woman of my dreams on a platter of muscular flesh, dark and rippling with sexual prowess that men like me rightfully stand in awe of.

We took his phone number with an intent we’d naught once had before, to actually contact him again, and returned to our hotel. We’d brought pizza and wings to satisfy the late-night need to refuel after an experience such as we’d had and settled in. As we climbed into bed, we talked about our night and she told me with her loving smile and warm embrace that I was her man, and that was all that I needed to remember—no matter what. I snuggled my cage against her warm ass, as close as I could get to the well-fucked pussy that was in my mind sending teasing waves of heat through the steel and into my denied dick. But, I had guessed correctly. There would be no need for my friend tonight. Not after what she’d experienced with Him. She was satisfied physically, and spent sexually.

She didn’t need that from me tonight. She needed only me. And, that was more than OK, it was fucking awesome.

I don’t know what the future has in store, and I’m not about to tell you I won’t go off the rails about this thing or that at some point, but I can tell you I’m in a great place. A place I’m beyond grateful to be in, thanks to the woman I love. Thanks to the woman I dared bare my soul to so many years ago as I confessed my desire to submit to her cage, and then later yearned to be her cuck.

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>

The Bikini

A Word From The Author:

We’re back home after enjoying a wonderful vacation in Cuba. @MrsBr_Saiph had purchased a new string bikini for this holiday, which I found very distracting while trying to write. So, what else could I do but write about it, and her?

~~~~~

The Bikini

The surf lapped at the shoreline as he lapped at her pussy. It was a calm day and the surf languidly played with the sand, whereas he was eager and impatient with her pussy. His tongue pressed into the gusset of her bikini, then moved it aside so he could do that which she always insisted he do. He’d already licked up the tiny grain of sand lounging atop her bikini, a little to the right of the valley between her legs. A valley that had throughout time led more than one legion to war in a quest to kneel before its grandeur.

He wasn’t necessarily impatient to swallow the other man’s cum, but it was what needed to be done if he wanted the prize, and so he was eager to get there. Her sweet juices would only coat his tongue and slip down his throat if they were preceded by the other man’s seed. It was thick and still hot, and today it was saltier than usual, perhaps because of the lunch he’d prepared for them earlier.

Perhaps impatient wasn’t quite the correct word. Perhaps ‘hastily’ was a better fit, for he never enjoyed this part of the bargain, but it was required by Her, to please Her, and therefore he did what he had to do. For Her.

Rushing through it was allowed, and so he did because slurping another man’s seed from his wife’s pussy was never something he could brag about to his friends, nor think about as he stared in the mirror the next day. He lapped, and swallowed, trying not to think about what he was doing to be a good husband, for Her.

His dick throbbed in his cage as he took in the close-up visual of the little black string bikini he’d bought her just for this trip. He’d worked some overtime to pay for it because that store was never cheap. The other man liked black, not because he was Black, but because of how it accentuated her white skin. So, he’d bought her the black one. If it had been for his own pleasure he may have picked out the yellow, or perhaps the white, but it had not been for him. It was never about him, nor should it be.

It had been for Him, and Her.

The sun was shining bright, and the cool breeze was heralded by the goosebumps rising up to embrace it from the flesh just above her bikini line. Individual bumps formed a chanting crowd egging him on with fervid voice, coming together as one.

“Lick!”

And he did.

“Suckle!”

And he did.

“Nibble!”

And he did.

“Now, swallow!”

And he did.

The crowd of goosebumps celebrating her flesh cheered him on as he lapped up the other man’s cum from his wife’s pussy.

The material stretched over her lips, caressing them in a gentle embrace, full of awe and appreciation for the gift that they were, simply by existing. The light chased the shadows over the folds, vying for his attention. He savored every inch of the bikini as it traced the contours of her flesh, appreciating how it drew out the very best of her, as his tongue strove so desperately to do the same.

She moaned and moved her hips ever so slightly, urging him to press his tongue a little more ‘that way’, as opposed to where it had errantly strayed. Could she fault him, for wanting to explore every inch of her, whilst in turn perhaps not entirely doing all he could to satisfy her the way she wanted? Perhaps. Well, actually the correct answer was ‘Yes’, but he was still a man, albeit a denied man, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself. All of her was delicious, and all of her was enticing. All of her was divine. All of her called to him, every time, even if it was slathered in another man’s cum, and he could not resist. Her flesh was a siren, beckoning him in the middle of the night, and in the bright mid-day sun at the beach. Her call was music to his ears, but it was not his ear that listened. It was his heart (and his dick that she did not need and thus kept locked in its immutable and unyielding steel prison).

His heart sang for her, yearned for her, rejoiced in all that She was, and he was grateful. He was grateful for living his best life with her. He swallowed again, and then licked the last remnants of her lover from her pink lips. He took one last lick, savoring the taste of her that he’d so fervently sought, and then stood up. He was about to turn away, to go clean up the kitchen he’d sullied in his desire to please her with a good meal, and of course her lover.

“Did we forget something?”

Her tone was playful, but the look in her eye was anything but. If there was one thing she would not condone, it was bad manners.

He blushed, and momentarily looked down. He was embarrassed on many levels, the least of which was forgetting himself in the presence of her lover.

He drew a breath and looked up, resolute in his commitment to her, and to being the very best version of himself he could be. For her.

He turned his gaze to the beautiful Black man whom she freely and unabashedly called’ lover’ in front of him, her husband, and her cuck. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the aftertaste of the man who now stared at him expectantly. The man knew his wife, far more intimately in ways most men never would of a married woman, and more importantly he knew and understood the dynamic the husband and the wife he was fucking, shared.

It didn’t make what he was expected to do any easier, but it helped. Knowing the other man understood very well, the relationship they three all shared, made it just that little bit more palatable as he spoke. As he submitted to the lifestyle he’d urged his wife to embrace, and now had to fully embrace himself, because the choice was no longer his.

“Thank you, Sam, for fucking my wife, and pleasing her in ways I never could.”

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>