Into the Dog House Ch. 02

Gregory sat kneeling in his cage, waiting for his wife to process the sight in front of her. The dog crate was formed of black metal bars all over, maybe an inch apart, scarcely obscuring the sight of her husband kneeling inside of it. It was set up by the couch, directly facing the front door, latched closed with a hook that should be easy to flip open.

It would be, at least, if Gregory had the hands to manage it. But as part of his costume, his hands were locked into leather mittens that kept his fingers curled into paw-like fists. It was among the few things he was wearing, including some socks with a pawprint pattern on the sole, leather harnesses that framed his chest and groin, dog ears attached to the harness over his face, and the leather collar from which his nametag dangled, gleaming silver.

Oh, and the cock cage. Rachel's unknowing input.

Gregory had calmed down a little during his impromptu nap on the blanketed bottom of the crate, but now, watching Rachel stand in place and stare down at him, watching her drink in his mostly naked form, he could feel his cock begin to fill its cage.

He pawed at the door, rattling it to show that he needed to be let out. "Wanna help me out here?" he asked.

"Oh my god," Rachel said, a laugh leaving her as her smile widened. "Look at you in there. You're so cute."

Her heels clicked along the hardwood floor as she approached, and Gregory expected her to reach for the latch and let him out. Instead, she stayed upright, peering down at him. The cage was short enough that he'd have to roll around to peer up through the top of it comfortable, so instead he found he could only look at her legs. They were bare, freshly waxed and moisturised, her feet strapped into sandals and the hem of her dress only just hitting her knees.

"Is that a tail?" Rachel giggled, from above him. "Wag it."

Gregory felt relief course through him -- following the same paths as the arousal that was still trickling through his bloodstream. She seemed pleased, at least finding it funny even if she didn't find it hot. He obliged, wriggling his hips just enough so that the tail attached to the belt of his harness, just over his bare ass, swayed to and fro.

"Good boy," Rachel said, a laugh still in her voice, but there was warm affection, heavy praise. "Who's my good boy?"

Inside the leather mittens, Gregory's hands clenched into tighter fists, bracing against the pulse of arousal these words sent through him.

"Let me out of this cage and I'll show you," he said.

"Stop."

Rachel's voice changed -- stern, suddenly, commanding over his head. Gregory went still, tail drooping aside.

"Don't talk, don't ruin it," she said, a little gentler. At his baffled silence, she said again, soothingly, "Good boy."

Gregory watched as her feet turned away from him, walking away. He wanted to ask where she was going, wanted to ask her to come back and let him out, but he swallowed down the impulse. It seemed like she was going to take this seriously -- maybe even more than he expected, but wasn't that the ideal outcome? The only real issue he could see in the short term was that he wasn't prepared to show her how much he was responding to it.

And as for the long term, well, anything was better than the snowy tundra that was their sex life currently.

He watched her disappear into their bedroom, and subtly tried to stretch his muscles. The cage denied him the ability to stretch his legs out fully and he was starting to feel it, and there was an ache developing between his shoulders from being on all fours, but he didn't want to settle any more than he already had. While rolling out the tension in his shoulders, he heard her voice drift from the bedroom.

A conversation. She was on the phone. Gregory went still, straining to listen. Shuffling, movement, a laugh echoing out into the main living area, and then he thought he heard her say dad. She was on the phone with her dad? Her parents? Probably returning a birthday message, but he felt a small twinge of irritation that she hadn't done him the courtesy of letting him out first.

A minute later, Rachel emerged, her phone pressed to her ear as she continued to talk. "We didn't really have big plans," she was saying, not looking towards the cage even as Gregory stared through the bars at her. "You know Gregory -- and me. We usually just have a quiet night at home."

The muffled sound of her father's voice on the other end was too quiet for Gregory to make out, but whatever he said had Rachel laugh. "No, no, it's fine," she assured.

She turned to the cage, Gregory making eye contact briefly before she approached, and once again it became difficult to peer up at her as she towered over him. "We're both a little boring," Rachel continued. Her feet were bare, now, but she was still wearing her dress. The skirt of it flared as she turned to face away from the cage. "And Gregory gets kind of tired at night. He's been slowing down lately. And that's okay with me."

Before Gregory could even process the desire to object, he watched as she flicked her skirt aside and delicately sat down on top of the crate. The bars bowed a little beneath her weight, but otherwise stayed sturdy as she sat just above Gregory's head.

Now, he twisted around to look, and he caught his breath at the sight above him. She wasn't wearing any underwear and her dress had been flipped aside entirely. Her ass pressed against the inch-gapped bars, and the strip of her pussy neatly followed along one of those gaps, her labia lips pressed together and protruding just a little between the metal.

"I'm sure if I really wanted to do something exciting, he'd make the effort," Rachel said.

The instruction was clear, the kind of clarity that came with unstoppable impulse. Gregory positioned himself to sit on his ass, leaning back on his paws so he could tip his head back. Breathing a shivery exhale, he studied the slight slickness that was already painting his wife's neatly shaved cunt, and felt the dull ache of his cock straining against his cage, pushing it up high on his groin.

He lifted his head until his mouth brushed against Rachel's skin, and then licked a gentle stripe along her labia. She continued to chat on the phone without missing a beat, and, well, that simply read to Gregory as a challenge. Her licked again, giving a quiet sounding groan at the taste of his wife as he tongue dipped inside her folds. He'd always been a fan of this particular sex act, the effect it had on women, making them as crazy for him as he felt for them. Rachel, he recalled, had always been a fan of it too.

He pushed aside the thought of wondering what had gone wrong that they did this so little, focusing instead on the present. He tilted his head so he could suck against the lips of her pussy, what he could get at her between the narrow gap of the bars, before resuming his licking. Her clit was not in reach from this angle, but he strained anyway, probing his tongue through the bars with the desire to get at it.

"At least I'm not cooking tonight," Rachel was saying, and by now, Gregory thought he could detect a hint of breathlessness in her voice. "Oh, no, Gregory doesn't cook. We'll order some Chinese, probably. I mean, Greg will. No, daddy, I don't pay for everything--"

Gregory flushed at the injustice of the conversation carrying on like he wasn't able to listen to it. No, like he wasn't being forced to listen to it. It only made him want to stop it from happening, distract her enough to hang up, and he pushed his tongue inside of her as much as the cage was willing. He sensed her give an involuntary thrust forward, and leant back enough to notice that Rachel was cupping a hand against herself, fingers around her clit.

"Hey, I need to go," she said, her voice now unmistakably tight in her throat. "Greg's nearly home. Love you, dad. Tell mom I said 'hi'."

The phone beeped, and was abandoned -- had to be, because Rachel's other hand slid down, Gregory feeling her fingers slide between his mouth and her skin. He backed up just enough to watch as she spread herself open, readjusting her sit enough that she could trap herself exposed against the bars, and he hungrily pushed his mouth back against the top of the cage to lick and suck at the sensitive skin he could get at.

"Oh," Rachel moaned, leaning forward, legs spreading wider. "Yes, just like that."

She had angled her hips enough that Gregory could get at her clit, and he eagerly pressed his tongue to it. He was confined to licking her through the bars, unable to wrap his lips around that sensitive part of her like he normally would, but from the way she was starting to grind her hips, maybe she wasn't missing it.

All the while, the pressure of his cock trying to harden itself inside its cage was immense. Gregory moaned to himself as he pleasured his wife, the position meaning he couldn't comfortably take his weight off his own hands to soothe himself. And even if he could, there was little he could do with his hands locked into their mittens, and his cock locked inside its cage.

Urgently, he lapped at his wife's cunt, sucked at the flesh that pushed through the bars enough to enjoy such treatment. She was wet, very wet, her slickness easily coating his face, the scent of her overwhelming his senses. The cage shuddered under her movements, but stayed sturdy as Rachel thrust down against the bars and Gregory's eager mouth, and the room was filled with her moans. Wanton, unabashed sounds, as if she were all alone in her apartment, pleasuring herself.

Finally, she gasped in with a shrill sound, arcing her back, and Gregory kept his mouth pressed to her and the bars between them as he felt the swell of moisture coat her cunt and his face. As the last of her orgasm pulsed through her, Gregory sank down on his elbows, breathing hard and staring up at her swollen, wet pussy.

"Wow," Rachel murmured, before pushing herself to her feet. The hem of her skirt swung back into place, covering her again, and then rippled up her thighs as she ducked down low to kneel in front of the cage. "That was very good," she said, as Gregory moved back around on all fours to face her. Her voice was pitched a little high, in a classic 'talking to dog' tone, at odds with the way she was still catching her breath. "That's a very good boy in there."

Her gaze slid down to Gregory's paws, then to the latch on the cage. "You really can't get out like this, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess I--"

"Stop."

Gregory closed his mouth, and at the same time, felt his body respond to her stern tone -- reprimanding, sharp, sudden, like the manifestation of a newspaper swat to the nose. He subtly moved his arms so that his caged cock was blocked from view.

"Good boys don't talk," Rachel said. Control regained. She had her index finger raised, disciplinary and brooking no nonsense, before her manner softened, and she touched her fingertip to the latch on the cage door. Her voice softened too, pitched again at that higher warm tone. "Good boys make cute little puppy sounds. Good boys woof and whine, don't they?"

Gregory had had a particular notion in mind, when he'd set all of this up. He didn't expect to still be caged, for instance, and unable to open the door -- he just hadn't thought that part through, or had at least taken for granted that Rachel would want him out right away. He'd also imagined he'd be taking more control of this, maybe picking her up and tossing her into bed, and certainly, he figured he'd be as talkative as he always was.

Most of all, he hadn't expected Rachel to take the reins as firmly as she had. That she would slot herself into a role so fast, and shape his own around him. He wanted to object, to tell her to quit it and open the door, and the fact that he stayed silent didn't have anything to do with whose birthday it was.

No, it was the way her words seared through him, a fiery arousal that seemed to follow the same paths of humiliation -- hot and spreading through his chest, trickling down to his stomach, and then curling tightly around his cock. Did she really expect him to bark?

"Does my good boy wanna come out of his cage?" Rachel asked, her smile broad enough to make her nose wrinkle. "Does he? Who's a good boy?"

Gregory glanced at her hand on the cage latch, and it wasn't hard to tell what she was implying -- that he might just stay in here longer if he didn't play along with her riling. Still, as much as he felt his body respond, he couldn't quite bring himself to do more than remain frozen on his hands and knees, looking at her through the bars with a semi-pleading expression. Come on, baby, don't make me do this.

Rachel's smile dimmed, although it didn't go away entirely. Her hand slid away from the latch, and she stood up in one smooth motion. "Well, if puppy doesn't want to play, he can keep napping in his little cage," she said, voice feeling like it was a mile above his head.

Her watched her feet rotate, and could almost feel the reverberation of her footsteps as she started for their bedroom.

"Wait," he said, knowing a twinge of frustration -- indignance, too. He'd just gotten her off with his tongue alone, and now she was just gonna walk away? "Rachel, come on, let me..."

And the door closed behind her with a firm click.

***

To the sound of the shower in their bathroom hissing, Gregory tried to work at the cuffs at his wrists with his mouth. There was a magnetised lock that triggered when closed, and a delicate release that was clearly designed to only be manipulable by human fingers. Neither his tongue or teeth were able to get leverage over it, and each time he almost had it, it simply sprung back into place.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been in this cage, since he'd drifted off waiting for her. Probably a little over an hour, now, and there was a distinct ache settling around his knees. He tried to curl around and stretch them out as much as possible, managing to soothe it a little, even if it meant bending his spine uncomfortably.

His arousal had dwindled some, left alone -- it hadn't gone away completely, remaining as a subtle ache that came with over-sensitive awareness of the metal ring around his dick and balls, of the bars encasing him, and the gentle weight of the padlock. But he was less feverish with it than he had been, given a chance to cool down, and in its wake, resentment was starting to catch.

Maybe this had gone better than Rachel had even intended, when she'd left behind the cock cage in her drawer. Two cages for the price of one, and a husband easily ignored.

The shower shut off, and Gregory lifted his head. He heard the bathroom door open, immediately smelled the scent of soap and fragrance. Heard her footsteps as she went back to their room, and listened again as she exited, dressed now in her nightdress, her hair damp and tumbled loosely around her shoulders. He tried to catch her eyes, but she only looked at her phone as she entered the living room, walking past his cage to settle on the couch just next to it.

The cage itself wasn't tall enough for him to see her over the arm of the sofa, but he could see her bare feet, crossed now at the ankles. The television flickered to life, and she started scrolling through the menu to get to their Netflix account.

Gregory almost laughed -- a disbelieving sound in a breath out, watching her scroll through to the latest bingeable dating show. Garbage he couldn't stand, normally, but would have let her choose for tonight if she'd asked him.

Probably.

"Am I just going to stay in here all night?" he asked, and Rachel only replied by hitting play on the latest episode.

Her disregard felt like a slap in the face. It also felt a little like a hand squeezing his cock, and Gregory had to will himself into silence at the spike of arousal he felt. He could recognise he was being ignored, yes, but he also felt it like his words didn't exist. Like speaking had no power at all, like she hadn't heard a single syllable -- all this, because he had a feeling that if he had barked, she might have responded.

If puppy doesn't want to play...

God, he needed this cage off his cock. While unseen by her on the couch, Gregory reached between his legs to feel the strange sensation of the steel trap encasing his cock. There wasn't much he could feel -- he rubbed it with the blunt pocket of leather his fist was caught inside of, unable to make out details like the lock or the bars or his skin through the mitten.

But the brush of even that against the swollen tip of his cock was like a little zap of electricity, sending a renewed pump of arousal up through his groin. Gritting his teeth, Gregory continued to tease himself, chasing that elusive sensation as if it could satisfy him. He had a flash of a memory -- the sight of himself on all fours in the bedroom, wearing only a collar and jerking himself to completion, the warm weight of his erection in his hand.

This was a truly poor substitute, and rather than the freedom of feeling, fully, the arousal of that moment, it was a frothing wave of frustration that ran through him. He gave a subtle groan, before strangling that noise down so that Rachel wouldn't hear.

It was a sharp knock at the front door that broke his distraction, and then sudden silence from the television as Rachel hit pause.

"Oh, good," she murmured -- a 'talking to herself' kind of voice, but easily heard anyway. "Love it when they tailgate into the building instead of making me go down there."

Gregory watched as she stepped into view, padding over towards the front door. The front door, which was directly in front of the cage, this realisation hitting him at the same time as Rachel putting her hand down on the doorhandle -- and turning to him.

She'd ordered food, and the guy had come up to their floor. Of all the times for UberEats or whoever it was she'd ordered through to be about as convenient as it ever got, it just had to be tonight. Gregory met her eyes through the bars, shaking his head no at the threat that was looming over him -- of her opening the door, of some stranger catching the sight of Gregory in a doggie cage, naked and collared.

A second round of knocking at the door. "Rachel," Gregory said, at a whisper. "Please don't."

Rachel smiled, and mouthed a word at him: beg.

At the short second that followed, full of silence, Rachel shrugged, and started to turn -- and then stopped as Gregory whined, looking back over at him. He whined again, a high pitched doggish sound, as pathetic as it was convincing. Determined to sell it, he pawed his paws gently against the cage door. Please, please don't. He felt the potential of humiliation like a cool prickle over his bare skin, even as he felt it pulse deep and hot in his groin.

Her expression shifted. It was a strange transition to witness -- aloofly cool, fluttering into a warmer flush. An expression that said she liked what she saw.

"Hi there," she called out. "So sorry, I'm actually isolating right now. Can you leave it outside?"

"Order for Rachel?"

"That's right. From Tommy's All-Day? I'll tip over the app."

Gregory felt himself weaken with relief, but didn't dare speak up as she stared him down through the sound of something being set outside the door, of footsteps moving away. After a few seconds, she turned and opened the door, picking up the paper bag that was left outside in the hallway. Gregory could see the featureless wall directly opposite, could sense the slight change in air temperature as warmth escaped out into it, and squirmed uncomfortably as Rachel stood in the open doorway, opening the bag to inspect its contents.

Finally, she stepped back inside, closing the door. "I got breakfast for dinner," she reported. "After those measly little berries my husband delivered to my bed this morning, I haven't been able to stop thinking about pancakes and bacon and syrup."