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And then you would know in advance that you would be 70% or 90% of your journey, but I don't want that.
But I want you to constantly think that the next minute might be the right time for the release. Every single minute, of every single day."
To show him that she was in Charge, Cathy chose an ordinary Wednesday.
For no reason, and without him having said or done anything special to earn a release, she went to his library, as if to engage in one of many tease sessions. She walked down the hallway, tapping her heels loudly on the floor to announce her arrival, as she usually did: she was wearing a long, almost transparent purple silk robe, under which the outline of a dark purple thong could be seen.
It could have been a session like so many others.
But, just to demonstrate her power over him, Cathy took the gold chain off her neck and handed Richard (in disbelief) the key.
Staring straight into his wide-open eyes, Miss Cathy ordered, "Free yourself. Now."
Then, unceremoniously, she disrobed.
Cathy knelt before him, wearing only a crotchless purple thong and thin heels, and in a very calm voice ordered him to jerk off and come on her exposed breasts.
Since the afternoon of the Barbecue, ten days of chastity had passed. Richard had been ordered to be naked in the house, always with the cage: available for his tease, whenever Cathy was in the mood. And it happened often.
After ten days of perpetual tease, Richard could have cum in seconds, but out of pride, he tried to hold out as long as possible... But her commands were commands, and as soon as she ordered him to cum on her face ("oh wow - his heart gulped. - she had never asked me to do, in previous years!") he lost control and covered her with cum on her eyes and hair, chin and neck. Then he slumped down exhausted.
Without putting the cage back on him, Cathy lay down beside him to let him rest. But she stayed awake and kept talking to him softly, stroking him and keeping him awake...
After a few minutes, in a loving voice she told him, "I would love to hug you, honey, but my face and tits are covered in cum..." and he hurried to lick her and swallow it all... (without objecting that she could have wiped it off with a handkerchief)... then slowly they climbed up on the couch to be cuddled together and she kept him awake by talking about stories of domination and tantalizing...
After half an hour or a little more, Cathy began gently stroking Richard's cock, which responded to the gentle dance of her fingers with an erection at first tentative, and then increasingly swaggering.
When Cathy found in her hands a cock as straight as an ancient obelisk, she spread her enjoyable thighs and ordered him, "Fuck me. Now." In the sternest voice she could forge, she instructed him to last as long as he could (and since he had just come, he managed to last much longer).
She felt the rush of cum inside her pussy, and felt an emotion of deep happiness: she had not come, although it was pleasurable, because the focus of the day was all a gift to her husband.
With a smirk on her lips, she decided that the last order would be nonverbal: with her index finger, she showed him her cream-filled pussy.
Without saying a word, he swallowed all of his cum, then embraced her and they remained embraced for a long time, cuddling. When he became completely flaccid, she took the cage and made him put it on again, without much talk or threat, without explanation as to why she had given him a release that very day. She smiled happily: talk less, smile more.
### To the Reader. Dear Reader, are You unsatisfied with the brevity of the previous chapter? Great! Now, think how unsatisfied Richard was, that after ten days of enforced chastity, he had cum twice, enduring little time on both occasions. And with the obsessive thought, that from then on, things might get worse for him. (The Author). ###
§ Chapter 15 -- Shift of power: Maledom and Femslave for once
That evening, Cathy demanded an elegant, candlelight dinner, as she had read in an erotic story she had loved. "You could be my caged butler, and serve me dinner...me sitting and you standing, as if I were an important guest and you just my waiter..." giggled Cathy, with a mocking gleam in her eye
"As you wish, Madam..." said Richard, soothed by the recent cumshot and willing to perform any roleplay she asked of him. He was about to stand up and stand at attention, but Cathy stopped him with a gesture of her delicate hand.
"Ah, ah, no, not today, thank you, gracious Butler of mine... this evening sit here with me... You've had your release today, I don't want to overload you too much."
Cathy took his hand across the set table and conversed with him like a loving, caring wife fascinated by his plans for archaeological research. After dinner, and two drinks staring into each other's eyes, she asked for no sexual performance but was content to cuddle in bed, Little Spoon and Big Spoon, with the only odd curiosity of a cage on his cock, innocently pressed against her buttocks.
The next day, Richard had two meetings to prepare for the expedition: one in the morning with other teachers, and one in the afternoon with the Dean. But the brain kept trying to derive a prediction of when the next release day would be. Mentally, as he put on his pants (for the first time) and knotted his tie, he did a whole series of calculations.
He mulled, "Since it was the tenth day, then maybe that meant my wife would want to release me every ten days, meaning three times within a month; unless it was a half time each time, then I could get another release in five days and then in two and a half."
Richard briefly smiled.
"or, by contrast, Cathy could double the time between one release of my cock, and the next: if the Doubling applied, I would have a release after ten days (yesterday), another after an additional twenty days (i.e., the day of the takeoff to Greece), and another in forty days (i.e., after the return), and another in eighty and one hundred and sixty... OMG!"
While he was all caught up in calculations (during the lunch break) a little message came to his cell phone:
***
"*** Honey please come home at 7 p.m. on the dot, not before, not after. I love you C. ***"
***
On a normal day, he would have come back earlier, but evidently, his Keyholder had commanded a specific time, and he certainly did not want to inconvenience her.
The meeting with Dean Reynolds would have been long and tedious. On the elevator, Richard met the second in command of the accounting office, Tyrone Lancaster. They both knew each other because Cathy had sometimes invited him to the garden along with the Teamsters. But this was the first time the cage worn by Richard was so close to someone's eyes. Tyrone had achondroplasia and was just over 4 feet tall. On the elevator, as was his habit, Richard turned toward him to avoid showing his ass. But that instinctive gesture put before Tyrone's eyes a close-up view of his cage, and Richard feared that the metal lock would jingle.
Tyrone saw nothing and heard nothing.
Or perhaps Tyrone noticed the chastity cage worn by Professor van Middenstorm, a notorious female hunter, and silently thought with satisfaction that, at last, Cathy his good friend and colleague, had taken up the suggestion that many friends, both male and female, had suggested. Tyrone himself, who was very familiar with her, had secretly confided to her that he often wore the chastity cage alone, with set times, and practiced the lifestyle in solitude, as a Training: dreaming of finding, sooner or later, a woman who would love him and his also be his Keyholder.
Tyrone was short, with short arms and legs, but he was handsome, and over the years he had dated several girlfriends: none of whom had ever complained about the size of his penis or his ability as a lover. Tyrone was college-educated, clever, and muscular: as a child many bullied him, and he had devoted much time to martial arts. As a teenager, aware that he could not do anything about height, he had worked on his muscles: with the advice of a doctor (a dwarf himself) he had biceps, deltoids, and thighs as strong as a short buffalo, and abs to put a professional boxer to shame. His friends liked him for his humor and cheerfulness: among his friends, he counted Miss Cathy, who had chosen him as her assistant and then as second in command. He was quite successful with women, although at times his stature alienated some people. But Tyrone was very confident and did not demur, even though he had been single for almost a full year now.
How long was the ride up that elevator? Because of embarrassment, Richard believed that the elevator took three hours to go up to the third floor. They finally arrived at the Dean's floor and could begin the meeting.
The Dean explained to Professor van Middenstorm that each Scholar had to forward documentation of each expense directly to Accountant Lancaster, to avoid suspicion of conflict of interest since... um... Caterina Rizzo, the office manager, was the wife of the expedition leader.
Both confirmed that there would be no problem. Wearing his nerdy mathematical glasses for the first time, Tyrone went into a series of tedious explanations about new forms needed for reimbursements, but Richard was not listening, all caught up in his calculations about an upcoming release, in 5, 10, 20, or 100 days...
Thank goodness the Dean declared the meeting over: it was half-past five. The strict order was to enter the house at seven o'clock sharp.
To avoid both anticipation and delay, Richard got as close to home as possible, then stopped at a small diner very close to the house to have a small beer and watch TV, to arrive in front of his own house as punctually as possible. A small conversation with the bartender, nothing important, chips and sports on TV.
At seven o'clock sharp, Richard arrived in front of his own house and found an unopened envelope hanging on the door.
Inside he found a scented card, on which she had handwritten (in very similar handwriting to that free Font, called "Gloriousity Two") a real love letter:
***
*** "Honey, on the living room table you will find your key: I order you to release yourself. Starting at 6:55 p.m., I will be in our bed, almost naked: blindfolded and handcuffed, with a vibrator turned on at a slow pace in my pussy and a plug in my ass. In my ears are earphones with music and I will not be able to hear anything else.
Today I masturbated many times thinking about you, about us... but I always stopped before I enjoyed, to save my orgasms just for you... if you will.
Until midnight, you are completely free today: the house is yours.
I never will be aware of your arrival, neither with my eyes nor with my ears. I will be like Andromeda, chained to a rock in the sea waiting for an underwater monster to come and eat me with its slobbering mouth. But you are neither Perseus nor St. George: you don't have to be a Hero. If you don't want to join me, you can.
Today you can leave me here alone as punishment, tied up all night, with the vibrator at a pace too slow to achieve an orgasm.
I only wish for a quote from the most classical Greek mythology: "I'm a Damsel, I'm in Distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day." 😊 Watch the game on TV or hang out with friends... or look for some women in a bar.
For today, my last order is: do liberally whatever you want. Let it out, I want you to feel free to express any emotion: anger, resentment, you can even whip me if you want, I know you like it. I love you so much honey, your lovely wife, C. xoxoxo." ***
***
For a moment Richard was reminded of that funny meme, of the vanilla novice wife who tells her husband "tie me to the bed and do whatever you want" and the husband goes fishing at the river...
As he chuckled, he closed the front door very quietly. He went to the living room, wondering what he might want to do if he were completely free. But his heart already knew: he would want to be with Cathy, his beloved wifey.
Screw clubs, sports games, and lonely women in bars-Richard wanted to love his wife. He knew enough about the mechanics of self-bondage, though, and he was sure Cathy would have liked to bask a few minutes (or more) in the anticipation. The presence of vibrators was significant: if she had just wanted to wait for him, she would have avoided any form of arousal.
However, Richard was also concerned about the duration of the position, which might hurt her, and wondered if she was hungry, thirsty, or needed to use the bathroom.
Just to make sure Cathy didn't need anything (self-bondage can be very dangerous), he quietly walked up the stairs and saw the door slightly open. The room was in semi-darkness, and the only source of light was a ceiling light with the voltage set to the lowest level across the room.
The bed was facing the footboard toward the door, and Richard stood motionless contemplating the marvelous spectacle his wife was offering him.
She was not naked: in this way, she would appear vulnerable and submissive. She was not: Cathy was wearing clothes, but she was clothed, but in a way so obscene as to be dirty, and for that very reason all the more arousing to him.
She was wearing a dark brown, lacy silk top, all ruffled above her tits, and held tightly between her teeth: it was not a real gag (lacking knots) but it was still a fabric that after a few minutes had soaked through with saliva. Uncomfortable, but at least safe: if he chose to come out, at least she was not in danger of choking! Richard smiled proudly, noting that even in lust, his wife had proved reasonable and wise.
She had earphones in her ears, held in place by the blindfold over her eyes. Music was her favorite: the volume was loud, Richard could almost hear it through the door, and it certainly kept Cathy from noticing what was going on in the house: she was completely isolated.
Her left hand was dangling from a brass pommel of the headboard bed with leather handcuffs she had used on the day of the barbecue.
Cathy had tied the metal ring hooked to the strap on her right wrist to a rope, which she then pulled: she probably could not reach the pommel by herself.
Two more manacles wrapped around her pretty ankles, forcing her thighs into an obscene position: spread eagle. Each was joined to a pommel of the footboard with short metal chains.
Beneath the ankle cuffs, she wore very thin twelve-heeled booties on her magnificent bare feet. They were stilettos, with the thinnest heel: Richard was surprised to remember that perhaps Cathy had never worn them for walking, but only for standing over the bed. And even this thought contributed to his excitement.
Over her pussy, she had laid a dark brown panty, but without tying the laces: the fabric shuddered every time the vibrator made an abrupt movement. Cathy, as she had written, was "almost naked," but she was not naked: she was still her Keyholder even though she had tied herself to the bed.
Between her legs was the riding crop they had bought for fun a few years ago. They were soft corrections of light leather and caused no pain, but they hardly ever used it. A post-it was stuck on the handle of the riding crop: "use me, if you will."
Richard stood looking at it for what seemed to him a very long time. His cock became as hard as a marble statue. He squeezed it with his hand and gave a few slow strokes, proud of the energy that was finally flowing freely in his flesh.
In previous days he had often thought about her, about what they might do when he was free of the cage.
Now he was free, and he had written permission to do whatever he wanted.
But now that he was free, the only thought he had was to release her and fill her with loving kisses. But he understood that this was not what his Keyholder desired, so, he hesitated to do so.
After what seemed a very long time to him, he made his own decision.
Cathy had offered herself as Andromeda, captive and chained. The heroine of myth was naked but could speak: Both elements contradicted Cathy's choices.
His wife was not naked (which would have meant: weakness) and although she spoke, she had written precise orders.
The most obvious was that Richard was neither Perseus nor St. George. He had no obligation to undo her blindfold or unlock her handcuffs.
Another difference from the myth was that there was no slobbering monster rising from the sea to eat her. Consequently, thought Richard, "there is no hurry: Perseus and Giorgio acted quickly out of fear of the monster, and so did Roger delivering Angelica in the the Renaissance epic poem by Ludovico Ariosto..."
A metaphorical light bulb suddenly lit above his head. That's what the message meant!
Richard left the room quietly (an excessive caution, because she could only hear music on her headphones). He went down the stairs and into the living room--and on the table, he found the book about the exhibition they had visited together during a vacation in Italy.
One chapter was devoted to Andromeda's paintings... Piero di Cosimo, Titian, Veronese... flipping through the pages, Richard remembered how many questions she had asked him, and how she was drawn to those chained women...
That day she kept asking for details, and even though he told things she was not interested in (about a possible African, or even Indian, the origin of the myth; about the color of the skin, maybe white like marble, maybe instead colored like for Ethiopian women, because the Ancients painted marble, etc.)...
She always brought back the talk about chains and padlocks.
While looking at the paintings, Richard noticed that the artists' attention was always focused on the woman's body, naked and chained.
He thought, "material that would sell very well today in sex shops for BDSM lovers. But in each painting, there were also at least two other characters: the liberator, and the monster.
The liberator was the solar hero, flying from the sky thanks to the magic of the god Hermes: in many paintings, Perseus descends from above like a dive-bomber plane.
But St. George also struck with his spear from the top-down, since his horse always placed him higher than the dragon's head (ah, "the Dragon and the George": but don't digress, Richard, at a moment like this...).
And Roger had flown to the moon on the Hippogriff, so he is a flying hero, and it shows in the Ingres painting as well.
But if I'm not Perseus...I'm certainly not St. George...and neither is Roger...
I am the monster?"
Richard's throat went dry. The cock, which a few minutes before was hard, was now flaccid.
"My wife thinks I'm a monster!?"
For a moment it seemed that anger must have taken over. Perhaps these were insults and humiliations aimed at instigating his anger, to induce him to use the riding crop?
"No, that's not possible. Crap, I'm an expert in hermeneutics, there must be some meaning in that message..."
Suddenly he understood. No, his loving wife had used the words precisely, to send him a precise message.
A loud laugh bubbled in his throat. He understood, and he was even more in love with her. He climbed the stairs in a flash and entered the room, ready to do what he had to do.
Chapter 16: Chained Andromeda and the slobbering monster.
Richard entered the bedroom.
His wife moaned tenuously as the vibrator moved very slowly inside her pussy, pressing against the anal plug.
She could not see him, because of the blindfold, nor hear him, because of the earphones with music.
But, as Aristotle would have said, there are five senses: even if two were temporarily excluded, touch, smell, and taste would remain.
Richard sat on the edge of the mattress, and Cathy jerked, thinking, "Will it be my husband her husband or a burglar who came in through a window to steal?"
