A Lazy Keyholder Wife

"Ha! How satisfying! Now that you are handcuffed, I am much stronger than you! We could have a fight, and I would win! We could have a pillow fight, and I would still win! It's fun!"

I nodded, because I still had orders not to speak.

"So, to recap the rules: I never have to reciprocate. But you do: now I did oral to you, so you have a duty to go down with me. Right? Don't say anything, just perform. Don't get up, uh, that's funny. Neither you nor your cock can get up, ha ha! Stay with your neck on the mattress, I'll sit on your face."

Reverse facial cowgirl: my nose was buried inside her rosebud, my tongue buried inside her pussy, while she teased my poor imprisoned cock with her hands. Only at first, for when my tongue began to succeed, she began to touch her nipples with her fingers, and groaned. With one hand she touched her tits, with the other hand she stroked her clit, and she moaned and laughed. From the beginning the pussy was soaked wet, perhaps the novel chapter was particularly hot (I don't think it was because of me: or maybe seeing the cage had aroused a new excitement in her) Then she began to contract the muscles of her vagina, and moan louder and louder. Then suddenly she froze, as if electrocuted by lightning, and then slumped down on the mattress, almost fainting.

That was a saving grace for me, because I thought I was suffocating down there.

After several minutes, which seemed like an eternity to me, I heard her voice. "Oh, hubby, that was the most intense orgasm of my entire life. And undoubtedly the most beautiful part was passing out without worrying in the least about reciprocating for your pleasure... I thought about it, indeed you know, but I drove that thought away right away! Now, I command you to speak, hubby. Short, unceremonious baroque phrases... no «My Goddess» nor «My Queen», my life is not a «Game of thrones» episode, ha, ha! Just tell me you are fine and all is good."

"I'm fine and all is good."

She smiled with dreamy eyes.

"Aw... how sweet you are... but I'm too tired to talk. You do the talking. You have three minutes to tell me what's on your mind, but remember you're still handcuffed and I don't want to hear any complaints."

"No complaints. I saw that you had an intense orgasm and I'm happy. It's strange for me, too: ever since I was a teenager, I always thought the most important thing in the world was my cumming. But instead... honestly, I'm happy that you had an orgasm."

"And you don't want anything for yourself?"

"Not if you don't want it, no."

She smiled at me understandingly. "Look you might want to take advantage of the benevolent mood of this moment. Who knows if I'll feel like indulging you in the next few days..."

"Never mind. Really. I'm being sincere. I don't want to beg you to make me cum, I don't want to pressure you. I am serene, it's like the big brain is finally free from the urgings of the small brain. The key is yours. When you want, you will give me a release, if you don't want, I will know how to resist. I love you."

"I love you too, silly. But I understand that this...little...twisted...game...intrigues you greatly. I am reluctant but I understand that it is important to you. Okay. New orders. Let's go to the pool. You without handcuffs, but with the cage on, and boxers on. Don't wash your face. I want you to come to the pool with all the skin on your face smeared with my vaginal juices... my pussy juice."

We stayed poolside for the rest of the evening, until dinner. My wife took off her bikini top piece and sunbathed topless. She politely asked me to rub sunscreen on her boobs: it was not an order, but a sweet request for pampering. "Do you know why I never used to tan topless? Because I was afraid that you would get turned on and ruin everything by demanding to make love, or that I would suck you off like a slut on the beach. Today, however, I know that the cage keeps you from taking nasty initiatives, so I can sunbathe topless. Does it turn you on, smearing cream on your nipples?"

I grunted. "Ngh! Yes...but the cage..."

"Sure. THE CAGE. If I had known years ago...that a small metal device would change our lives, bringing me so much serenity..." a mischievous light shone in her gaze. "Tell you what. I'll go out wearing a thong. Remember you gave me one with a very thin shape last year? Well, I never wore it, because it was obvious that it was a gift FOR YOU and not for me. Or at least: that was the situation last year. But now that your little friend is locked behind bars, I can wear it without fear of your "urgent" requests to cum... look, honey! The thong you gave me is still in the original bag at the bottom of the summer suitcase, I never opened it! I wonder if it fits me..."

Without hesitation, she leapt to her feet and began to open the package that contained the thong. It was so thin! Who knows what I was thinking when I had purchased it. She had never wanted to wear it, lest I bother her with my erection and my selfish desire to cum, but the cage had changed all the balance between us.

I looked at her. She was showing me her buttocks, furrowed by a very thin thread of dark blue fabric. I heard Brittany's merry laugh: something had amused her. She did not turn to me, but she slid the thong down. Then she said to me, laughing with her eyes as well as her lips, "Oh honey, how funny! I had set up my groin hair removal in anticipation of the shape of my usual bikinis, like the one this morning, but this sling you bought, it's so thin! Ha, ha! Now, there are two possibilities: either you shave my pubic hair, leaving a thin landing strip less than the width of a finger (that's right!), or we'll go tanning with all this forest of hair sticking out of the thong."

In a moment I had set up a real Barber Shop, and I was humming the Opera from Seville's Barber: "Figaro here, Figaro there, everybody's after me, everybody wants me, I'm the City's barber!"

And then, while sunbathing, she was constantly ordering me to smear protective cream on the skin around her pussy, because she had just been shaved and was in danger of sunburn. So my fingers were constantly inches from her clit, without my cock being able to get a decent erection.

#####

During those hours, I had stared at her magnificent bare tits under the sun, while she had only stared at her cell phone without ever speaking to me, without deigning to give me a glance. She had politely asked that I bring her a cup of coffee from the pool cafeteria, without getting up, but nothing more. Brittany was completely absorbed in the novel about aristocratic, muscular werewolves, and my presence by the pool was almost forgotten.

We stayed poolside until sunset.

She wanted to watch the sunset as she embraced me: her chin on my shoulder, her arms around mine, her bare nipples stiff against my back. If I had been free, after twenty seconds I would have shoved two fingers into her pussy, but because I was caged, I was forced to control myself.

After the sun had set, she said, "You know how I've read some interesting texts, of advice for Vanilla wives from a caged husband? Yeah. You thought I was reading my usual erotic novels, but instead I was studying for you! And I read a lot of really smutty stuff... sissification, cuckolding... but are you sure that's what you really want?"

"Oh, well, no. Not really. I know it often seems in pornographic sites that caged husbands and total sissification are almost an inevitable consequence, but I don't think you would nterest an effeminate husband...I don't really understand what kind of wife would like that. If a woman wants an effeminate husband, she can find him right away, there are thousands of them. But if a woman marries a straight male, it is because she wants to be in the company of the masculinity and virility of a straight male. And the same goes for cuckolding: if a wife wants to cheat on her husband, she can do it just as well in secret as in front of him, swingers have existed for over a century, no need for chastity devices."

"Ah, it seemed strange to me. I know you well... all right: I too could not tolerate a husband dressed as a female, and I have no desire to offer my body to some mindless stud whose only merit is that he has a big dick. So, to recap: Sissification: zero. Cuckolding: zero. Some generic form of mild humiliation, okay. All right. Here's my first order. Go to the resort restaurant and say I don't feel well. Ask for Room Service to bring us dinner on a tray in the junior suite. Order octopus and prawn salad, with potatoes; a wine to go with it; and fruit salad. For you, order whatever you want... total freedom."

An illusion had grown in me that she had decided to be my Keyholder.

She went straight to our suite, while I walked slowly toward the restaurant.

I was daydreaming as I walked....

I imagined I would find outside the door I found the handcuffs hanging over the doorknob and a note in her lovely handwriting.

"Here are my Orders for dinner, hubby. Strip naked in the hallway. I don't care if anyone sees you, there are plenty of naturists in this resort. Put on your handcuffs and lock them with your wrists behind your back. Only after you have closed the handcuffs, knock to enter. Do not enter unless you are handcuffed. XXX The Brat."

Without hesitation I would have denuded myself in the hallway. I would have put on the handcuffs. My heart was pounding and blood was flowing to the pubic area, but the cage prevented a satisfactory erection. The door was open: the gesture of knocking was enough to open it.

I imagined that I would find my wife naked on the bed, thighs apart, masturbating with the Magic Wand: with eyes half-closed and mouth open, tongue out.

But instead, my daydream had no match in reality.

I found no note, no order, no humiliation.

Only bored disinterest.

Brittany was reading and not looking at me. I was disappointed, and frustrated.

Suddenly, she said "In the shower."

"Come again?"

"I thought a lot about what you said, and that distracted me from focusing on the novel, and for that reason I am very disappointed. But... I must admit that you are right on one point. Before dinner I need a nice warm, romantic, scented shower. And I need a very large sponge... at least as tall as you: the full body, but especially those nice swollen testicles, which I want to use as a Blue Sponge over my thighs and over my nipples."

Brittany stood up. She was naked, and her pussy glistened with her humors: was she soaking wet from all the steaming scenes she had read in the novel, or had she been fingered while I had gone in person to place our order at the restaurant? Or perhaps she was aroused because of my cage?

She rubbed her nipples against my chest. They were as straight as two iron nails. If I could have, I would have immediately grabbed her buttocks with my hands, spread them apart and claimed the hot pussy for myself. But with the cage on, my hands merely gently caressed her shoulders.

She smiled. In her eyes her gaze had a special, new light: as if Brittany was proud, but also flattered, by this new sweetness of mine toward her.

"Eat my pussy. Kneel down, right now. No hands."

I immediately knelt down, with my wrists behind my back.

She spread her thighs wide and imposed the glistening pussy on me. I licked her energetically as she pressed my face against the pussy. I was aroused, and a large drop of precum was swinging down from the tip of my cage. I was trying very hard to give her pleasure.... But before she had an orgasm, we heard a knock at the door.

With a quick jump, Brittany hid herself in the sheets of the bed, pretending to be asleep. Giggling, she ordered "Open the door, Nick! Now, and naked!"

I got out of bed, hesitantly, and approached the door. I was aware of my current predicament, aggravated by a large drop of precum that threatened to fall on the shiny spotless floor at any moment.

With my cuffed elbow I opened the door, hesitant. The room service maid was a girl in her twenties who had already brought us breakfast on the tray in the past few days: one morning the air was very hot and the girl had seen my wife standing in the nude, but with no reaction.

But the maid had never seen ME naked, and especially never wearing a chastity device. I blushed and looked down as she exclaimed, "Oh! Sir, do you need help?"

"No, I'm so sorry, kind girl, I didn't mean to bother you..."

"Oh, Sir, don't worry, this is a naturist-friendly resort, and we staff are used to seeing naked men -- some while masturbating, some are exhibitionists, but they never disturbed me. Rather, you look very fatigued... do you need help? Shall I call our locksmith?" the maid's voice was quiet as if it were something that happened in the routine of every day, but I was aroused for my embarrassment as if I had been naked in front of a Queen and her whole court gathered.

"No, it's a new life style for me and my wife, but it's okay," I said, straining to smile.

"It's fine sir. Remember that the resort staff is here to help you have a relaxing and satisfying stay. Nothing sexual, of course, but if you need our ice, or our usual locksmith, just call the front desk, number 9!" The waitress smiled understandingly at me and walked away, leaving the tray with dinner.

Brittany emerged from under the sheets, asking me in a nonchalant voice, "honey, why don't you offer our room maid a small tip? There's a bill on the floor..."

I looked down. There was a crumpled bill that I could have picked up even with my wrists behind my back. But I would have had to kneel down and bring my nostrils closer to the fragrant lace of the room maid's short skirt.

The girl tried to spare me this humiliation: "If you want, Madam, I can pick up..."

"Ah, no really, dear! A maid never collects money from the floor. My husband is there on purpose and I'm sure he can handle this..."

I knelt down, but that was not enough. I had to thrust my pelvis forward, and almost touch the girl's gorgeous ankle with my swollen blue balls. I didn't really touch her; I just grazed her without touching. I was afraid she would retract in disdain, but instead she remained still. Perhaps I could have rubbed my dangling balls on her leg--but my Keyholder's orders were different. I picked up the bill and placed it in the girl's hands.

She smiled at me understandingly, and without mouthing words she communicated with her silent lips "call Nine if you need Help." Then she turned and stepped out of our junior suit.

Still partially hidden under the silk sheets., Brittany was laughing. "You seem to have gotten very excited about being exposed like this to that nice waitress! Yet, you saw that she didn't mock you...I wonder how many couples are practicing this lifestyle on this very resort today? The girl didn't look astonished... perhaps many husbands open the door wearing a chastity cage as naturally as they would wear a robe or flip-flops."

"Do you want me to lick your pussy again?"

"No, thank you honey, it was just a mood moment, but now hunger overrides any other desire. We'll shower some other time, now let's eat."

During dinner, she asked me a lot of questions.

"Nick, the girl was talking about a 'usual locksmith,' what do you think?"

"Honey, there are some very distracted people who misplace their keys. My lock has two keys, and I have entrusted them to you, but it would be convenient for one to remain in the room, while the other hangs from your necklace: that way, if a wave steals it from you, or if it slips into a path, at least we have the other as a spare. Oh! Sorry. You. You will have a spare."

"But you couldn't get out if I didn't release you, right?"

"I don't WANT to get out of the cage, and so I didn't even try. But I read that no cage is inescapable. Apart from the intervention of the Locksmith, who can break the lock with pliers, even a burglar with a universal lock pick could open the lock without the real key (it's not a bank safe). Or, penis and testicles are very elastic when they are flaccid and cold, sometimes all it takes is a grease (like olive oil), and a little ice, to slip out of a locked cage... the problem is that the Keyholder would find out, because it's impossible to get back in."

"I understand."

"Some argue that with a piercing on the tip of the penis you could hold the cage permanently... but also the piercing screws in, like an earring, and also the piercing can be broken by a smith. it would be a shame, because some of them are very beautiful and precious, with gemstones and gorgeous colors... but..."

My wife smiled. Perhaps my voice was too dreamy as I described a piercing that I myself didn't have the courage to admit I would want. Perhaps she knew me better, than I knew myself. Maybe that was why I was so much in love with her.

She held back the words she wanted to say, licking her upper lip with the tip of her tongue: she said only: "No doubt."

"But those are extreme solutions, which may not be suitable for a short week's vacation. May I confess to you what I desire, my Queen?"

"First of all, I told you not to call me Queen. Neither is Goddess. Those are too overused, too fashionable titles. Considering the current prevalence of cages, chances are that if you utter the word Goddess at the beach, at least five or six wives of submissive men will turn around! Ah, no. I'm just Brittany to you, or Brit the Brat, as I was nicknamed as a child."

"But I..."

"No ME! Your wishes do not influence my decisions, it is clearly stated in this book. You want me to be in charge, you want me to have absolute control in bedroom. Okay. But then you can't dictate. Would you like me to wear a sadistic dominatrix uniform? The answer is no. You're going to have a paid actress do those things for you. Would you like me to strain my poor weak slender arms to whip you? No, that I won't do, I'm already tired just thinking about it."

"Yes...Brittany."

"What kind of submissive do you judge yourself to be?"

"What?"

"This text states that males fall into one of these four profiles: Suitor, Knight, Servant, and Slave. The Suitor wants to seduce me with charm and stamina, but he is convinced that he deserves all my attention. The Knight knows he is inferior, but he wants to prove himself: to face any challenge of physical and mental endurance in order to gain my approval and the prize that I might graciously grant him (or, that I might whimsically deny him despite the fact that he has completed the Quest, ha, ha!). The Servant is aware that he belongs to an inferior human category: like the butler in Downtown Abbey, or like the footmen and maids in Iron Throne. The Servant does not hope to impress the Lady with courage or self-sacrifice: he is aware that he is only performing his duty, and if anything, he fears punishment more than he hopes for reward. The Slave believes that he deserves all kinds of punishment and humiliation because of his sins... I don't think that's the case with you."

"No."

"Tell me how you perceive yourself as a percentage..."

"I would say, 5% Suitor, 20% Knight, and 75% Servant. I know the extreme practices that masochists joyfully undergo, but I'm not like that... or at least, I don't perceive myself that way."

"Mumble, mumble...I may have been too optimistic, and had noted different values: 20% Suitor, 20% Knight, 40% Servant and 20% Slave...but if you say you don't feel ready, I'll try to keep that in mind. Maybe I misinterpreted some of your very kind behaviors as a propensity for total slavery..."

"Maybe instead you have the exact perception because you see me from the outside!"

"We'll see. What profile do you see me in instead? To use the words from the book... Nurse, Mistress, Queen or Goddess?"

"75% Goddess and 25% Queen." I answered, too hastily.