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>
B.R.Saiph 