Ladies' Man

What the hell was I going to do with them? I didn't know. But I stuffed them in my bathrobe pocket and sneaked through the bedroom toward the guest bathroom. Once there, still without a plan, I pulled the damp panties out of my pocket and slipped my bathrobe off onto the floor. I inhaled Val's scent again and watched as my caged cock struggled against its confinement.

It suddenly occurred to me that I might be able to get this contraption off. I hadn't even really examined it closely. So I postponed whatever I was headed toward doing with Val's panties, setting them down gently on the counter, and sat on the toilet to examine my chastity device. I'm sure that with the proper tools, someone who was skilled (and careful) could get this thing off without causing me any damage. But I had neither the tools, nor the skill. And the damn thing was locked around my scrotum so tightly that the only way I would be able to get it off was by tearing my balls off.

So, I stood up again and regarded myself in the mirror. Here I was—a relatively young, healthy, attractive guy. I should have been having a great sex with some beautiful woman. Instead, I was hobbled and humbled. I was in a fine mess, I realized. But there was nothing I could do to fix that now. No point dwelling on it. I put Val's panties over my head so that the moist crotch covered my nose and I could see myself in the mirror through the leg holes. I couldn't stroke my cock, but I could run my hands over my chest and thighs. This got me hard, which was frustrating and still a little painful, but it was exciting, too. Deprived of the ability to feel my touch on my most sensitive body part, I became intensely aware of the sensations in the other parts of my body where I could touch myself.

It was especially exciting to touch my nipples. I'd never been particularly sensitive there before. But now, my nipples hardened and I felt a tingling through my body when I grazed them with my fingers. I realized that, while I couldn't expect any release, I was enjoying the sensations I was feeling.

Then, with the panties still covering my face, I took this novel way of playing with myself to a new level. I didn't really plan any of this out. I just found myself doing things automatically. What I did now was to grab Val's hair brush, and push the fat handle of it into my mouth while I caressed my body with my other hand. I was sucking on the brush handle like it was a cock. This was remarkable to me. Of course there had been times when I'd thought about gay sex. Hell, I thought about a lot of different kinds of sex. But I was never attracted to men—not in the slightest. So why was I sucking on Val's brush handle like I was giving a guy a blow job? I didn't know. But thinking about that gave me another idea.

I stopped my sucking and pulled out some hand lotion. I smeared lotion over the brush handle, stroking it with my hand, and then lay down on my back on the floor. I bent my knees and spread my legs. And then, slowly—very slowly—pushed the brush handle into my ass. I'd put things up my ass before, but only when I was beating off. The sensation of something stretching my sphincter and pressing on my prostate intensified my orgasm. But this was different. I couldn't stroke my cock and I certainly couldn't get off—I mean, ejaculate. This was a new sensation. Like the new sensations from caressing my thighs, my chest, and my nipples, this was different from any erotic experience I'd had before when masturbating. It wasn't about getting myself hard and shooting my wad. Now I was completely focused on the feel of this hard shaft penetrating me.

This wasn't leading to any sort of orgasm, not even some sort of pseudo-feminism orgasm. I wasn't building to a climax. But I was enjoying what I was feeling. Unfortunately, because it wasn't leading to a climax, there was no natural stopping point. I tried this in several different positions. I lay on my side and fucked myself as if being taken from behind. Then I got on my hands and knees as if I was getting it doggy-style. And I got up on my knees and rode the brush handle, rising up and down on it the shaft as it pressed against the floor. After ten minutes or so, I just felt as if the need had passed. I got up, washed off Val's brush handle, put on my bathrobe and tucked Val's panties back the pocket. I went back to our bedroom, dropped the panties back in the hamper and climbed back into bed. Strangely, I slept like a baby, despite the weirdness of having my cock encased in hard plastic.

The next day was Saturday—the day for my 'date' with Cindy. Most of the day I spent doing ordinary things, but from time to time I was reminded of my situation. Of course I was reminded of it whenever I took a leak. It was kind of hard to aim at the toilet bowl without straddling it with my legs. So I took to peeing sitting down. I'd also get a reminder when I moved in a way that caused my cock cage to rub against my leg. By mid-afternoon, though, I was pretty much accustomed to it. Don't get me wrong. I didn't like it any more than I had when Val had first locked it on me. But I didn't notice it as much as I had.

As evening grew close, Val gave me instructions on how to dress. It seemed that she wanted me to look good for Cindy. This was to be a full date, Val instructed: drinks and dinner and 'whatever cindy wanted'. Cindy had gone a long time without that kind of male attention and I was to provide full service. Well, not quite full service. It wasn't as if Val was giving me the key to my cock cage. She wanted to do something nice for Cindy but apparently she had her limits—though I suspected that the limits were based less on jealousy or possessiveness than on the desire to control and limit me.

"Make sure Cindy has a good time," were Val's last words.

The date was actually quite pleasant. Cindy is very attractive. I didn't know her well before the night of our date, but I'd seen her and enjoyed thinking about what she would look like naked. She was petite, just over five feet, with a very trim figure, small but, it appeared, well-rounded breasts, and a cute heart-shaped face with shoulder-length hair. As we talked over dinner, I fell in love with her smile. When she smiled, the corners of her mouth turned up in the cutest way. I found myself thinking how nice it would feel to have my cock in her sweet little mouth. The swelling those thoughts caused quickly reminded me that this particular fantasy would not be played out anytime soon.

Cindy wanted to go dancing after dinner. I don't like dancing and I'm certainly not much of a dancer, but it was Cindy's call. So we went to a bar that had a live band and a big dance floor. Though I don't like dancing much, I certainly enjoyed watching Cindy dance. She'd been a dance minor in college, which I'm sure helped her. But she moved in ways that I suspected she hadn't learned in any dance class. When she had her back toward me and was gently undulating to the music, I found the pressure of my cock against its constraint almost unbearable. Still, it was nice to watch her move.

Later, when we got to Cindy's house, she poured us some wine and put on some music. Now she wanted to slow dance. At least I don't feel so much like a fool slow dancing and, besides, here no one could see us. It was nice to hold Cindy in my arms. She was so slender that I could almost reach completely around her with one arm. And she smelled wonderful.

When we sat down on the sofa, she didn't make any moves so I suspected that she wanted me to take the lead. Maybe she wanted to be reminded of being seduced by a date. (It doesn't matter that we're now in a post-feminist age; lots of women still want to be "taken".) And, to tell the truth, the idea of seducing my beautiful date held its attractions for me, too, despite the limitations I knew existed.

I kissed her and caressed her—first gently, then forcefully and insistently. And Cindy responded wonderfully. There's nothing like the excitement of first times with a new, and beautiful, woman: the first kiss; the first time she opens her mouth to your tongue, the first grope of her breasts; the first time sliding your hand under her blouse and bra to feel her breasts skin-to-skin; the feeling of sliding your hand up under her skirt, gently caressing her smooth thighs and finally resting your fingers on the warm, damp destination of her crotch (an ugly word for such a beautiful thing).

I undressed her like one would on any first date with a gorgeous woman who was not only willing but eagerly responding. I kissed my way down to her lovely breasts. They were as beautiful as I could have imagined. Small, but firm and full, with well-defined nipples that stood up hard as I played my tongue over them.

When I began to move further down, Cindy stopped me and suggested that we move to her bedroom. I followed her and watched as she unhooked her skirt and let it fall from her hips in the hallway. She was a lovely sight, walking into her bedroom in only her panties, high heels, and thigh-high stockings. If only I could take this evening to its natural finish.

I lowered Cindy down onto the bed and picked up where I'd left off in the living room. I kissed her passionately and she opened her mouth to accept my tongue. As I kissed her neck and worked my way down her body, I was burning with passion—passion that I realized was not going to be quenched. But my desire was so intense that I couldn't have stopped myself if I'd wanted to, and I definitely didn't want to.

Kissing Cindy's breasts, and sucking them into my mouth, was heavenly. I'm not a big-breast man but I'm a big breast-man, if you know what I mean. And I found Cindy's breasts absolutely perfect. I loved the way my hand could almost—but not quite—completely encircle them. And her nipples! They were the epitome of eraser-tip perfection.

It was hard to tear myself away from Cindy's gorgeous breasts, but her sweet cunt was calling and I was eager to answer the call. As I moved down toward her crotch, I inhaled deeply. The scent was intoxicating.

Over the past few months, I'd become especially familiar with the "scent of a woman," of course. But it had been so long since I'd been with any woman but Val that I'd sort of forgotten that there wasn't really *a* scent of a woman; there were *many* scents of *many* women. The sweet aroma of Cindy's was similar to, but different from, that of Val's. I probably couldn't say that Cindy's scent was objectively better than Val's. But—variety is the spice of life and I was definitely loving the spicy dish that was inches from my nose.

I put my mouth over her mound and blew hot air through her panties. Cindy writhed with pleasure and I felt my cock pressing even harder against it's cruel restraint. I pulled her panties completely off and gently pressed her legs apart to give me access to her treasure.

I'm not sure who got more pleasure when my tongue touched its target. Cindy twitched wildly and moaned loudly. But I, too, felt as if all the neurons in my pleasure center were firing at once. I was tingling with excitement, pushed all that much higher by the awareness of the effect I was having on Cindy.

When I settled into a rhythmic motion with my tongue, Cindy's hips were rocking in synch to the rhythm. Though my tongue was mostly on her clitoris, from time to time I would slip down to run my tongue between her soft, warm, and now very wet lips.

Cindy's taste was everything her scent had promised. I savored it, inhaling deeply to boost the experience even higher. When my tongue moved from her lips to her, now hard, clit, I moved one hand up so that I could slide my finger between her slick lips while I teased her clit with my tongue. For a man who was sentenced to chastity for the night, I felt incredibly powerful. I wouldn't be able to fuck Cindy, and that was a shame, to be sure. But I knew she wanted me desperately. And that made me feel great.

As Cindy climbed the incline to her orgasm, she put her hands on the back of my head and controlled both the pace and the pressure of my mouth on her mound. Her breathing became ragged and her hips rotated in ever quickening orbits. And then she came!

Cindy's climax was amazing. She screamed out with pleasure and grabbed my hair so tightly that it would have hurt if I hadn't been in my own strange world of pleasure—albeit pleasure without sexual satisfaction. Her orgasm went on, and on. I tried to pull away to catch a breath but Cindy would have none of that. She pressed my head back onto her mound—not violently, but with great urgency.

It was clear that Cindy hadn't had this kind of satisfaction for a long time and she was not about to have it cut short. So I was back on her clitoris with my tongue. Breathing would have to wait. When her orgasm subsided from epic to merely incredibly intense, I moved my lips back down to her now drenched cunt and hungrily lapped up the juices I'd coaxed from her sweet cunt.

When her orgasm had finally passed completely, it was as if Cindy wasn't inhabiting her body anymore. Her body lay limp, like a rag doll. There wasn't a flicker of a muscle movement, except that her chest was heaving to allow her to catch her breath.

I pulled away and looked at her gorgeous body—stunningly gorgeous, it seemed to me now. I realized then that having your own orgasm wasn't the only way to feel sexually satisfied. I'm not saying that I didn't yearn to fuck Cindy and shoot my cum in her hot slippery cunt. I craved that! But I also realized that I did feel great satisfaction at having so completely satisfied such a beautiful woman.

Eventually, Cindy rejoined the world.

"That was wonderful," she said. "Amazing, really." She smiled at me and I smiled back.

"I liked it too." And it was no lie.

"You did?" Cindy asked innocently. "I wish ..."

And then there was an awkward pause. It was as if Cindy was pondering the normal protocol where she would provide me with pleasure. Her awkwardness confirmed what I'd suspected. Val had told her of the limits of our "date" tonight and, I'm sure, told her how those limits were enforced. I'd suspected it when Cindy made no attempt to touch me, to feel my cock. But now I was sure. Cindy knew that I was impotent—by technology, not biology—but impotent nonetheless.

Suddenly, I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I wasn't quite sure why. I don't think it was just being made vividly aware the Cindy knew my predicament. I think it was the fact that she seemed to want something from me, that I couldn't give her despite desperately wanting to. My impotence was driven home to me and I hated how that made me feel.

By the time I got home, all I really wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go to sleep. That wasn't what Val had in mind, though, and what Val had in mind was always what I had in store for me.

Apparently the thought of her husband impotently servicing one of her friends was very exciting to Val. She pushed me down on to my knees and pulled apart her silk robe to expose her unpantied cunt. Even before I brought my tongue to Val's twat, I could smell and see her arousal. Her crotch was positively steamy; the aroma was almost pungent; and her lips were already swollen and slick with her juices.

Tasting Val so soon after Cindy underscored the difference in their taste. What a wonderful thing, I thought, that there are different ways for a woman to smell and taste perfect. My thoughts of curling up and sleeping were behind me now. I was enjoying not only Val's smell and taste, but the effect that my tongue was obviously having on her.

Val lay down on the bed and I climbed between her legs to finish her off. Now I could spread her thighs and really get into her cunt—only with my tongue, of course. Val was strong and aggressive. She held my head tightly and barked out orders to lick her faster and harder. The orders were completely unnecessary—for me, that is. Maybe that kind of dominance helped get her off. But I was willingly, eagerly, doing everything I could to please her pussy.

When Val came, it was explosive. Her hips were bucking so hard she could have broken my nose if I hadn't pulled back. For the first time ever, at least with me, Val squirted when she came. It wasn't piss; it was a squirt of her love juice. Strangely, I found her ejaculation incredibly satisfying.

Val was spent and just floated in ecstasy for a while. I collapsed beside her. I'd gotten incredibly aroused while I was licking Val's clitoris. My cock strained painfully against its plastic restraint. But I'd made my piece with the belief that I wasn't going to get any relief.

I was surprised, then, when after a few minutes, Val began fumbling around with my cock cage. Her touch, which sometimes grazed the tip of my penis, got me aroused again. Then Val sat up and dug something out of the drawer of her night stand. She turned toward me and I saw that what she had in her hand was, literally, the key to my salvation.

"Dare I hope?" I wondered. I did hope, and my hopes weren't dashed. Val carefully unlocked the cock cage. It was a little difficult for her to pull it off because my cock was semi-hard and quickly getting harder. But she got it pulled off.

God that felt good! I didn't realize how awful the constraint was until it was removed. My cock was at full mast and I reached down to touch myself. I don't remember ever responding to my own touch as I did now. My whole body tingled with pleasure as I touched cock. And the feeling of my cock, hard in my hand, was incredibly empowering.

For a moment, I hoped that Val would touch me. I wanted more than her hand lightly grazing the tip of my cock. What I wanted was her to stroke me with her hand, then—unable to resist—for her to take me in her mouth. And, finally, I wanted her to beg me to fuck her hard, the way I used to.

Those hopes were dashed.

"Do you want to have an orgasm?" she asked, as if there could be any doubt.

"Yes ... please," I begged.

"Okay. I'll let you." Shit, what had I become that I needed her permission to have an orgasm? But she was going to let me and that was all that mattered to me now. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be by her hand, even literally by her *hand*. It was going to be by my own.

"Get on your knees," she said. When I didn't do it like she wanted, she said, "No, you idiot, get on your knees next to me and stroke yourself over my cunt."

It's humiliating to admit, but I was happy to have even this opportunity to get off. I did exactly as Val instructed. I didn't want to take a chance on angering her and losing this opportunity to get off.

"Now, you can stroke yourself as long as you keep telling me all the details of tonight. Start at the beginning and don't leave anything interesting out. And if you don't do it well, you'll be back in your cock cage without shooting your load.

So I was kneeling over my quite beautiful wife's body, stroking my cock while I detailed my date with Cindy. I moved along pretty quickly through the early parts of the evening and soon I was describing the caressing and groping on the couch, then in the bedroom. It was pretty clear that this was getting Val excited again. She moved on hand down to her slick, swollen cunt and ran a finger between her lips. But it was having even more of an effect on me. This whole evening was Val's doing. Still, telling your wife about having sex with another woman and watching her get aroused by the thought is astonishingly exciting.

It wasn't just for Val's sake that I timed my tales of tonight's events so that I described Cindy's orgasm just as I reached my own. I shot string after string of white cream onto Val's cunt and thighs. It was as if a huge reservoir had been gradually filled over the events of the evening and, suddenly, the damn had burst.