The First Day of Caged Honeymoon

A Bride Holds the Key to the Groom's Cage in a Naturist Resort.

### Disclaimer. It is not necessary to read the other chapters related to Britney and Dean's wedding; it will be enough to know three brief things. Britney does not like vaginal penetration. Dean loves wearing a chastity cage, and licking both his wife and her bridesmaids when Britney orders him to do so, as hen party entertainment. They both think this shows his devotion and submission, that he endures torture to give women orgasms. Britney is exclusively monogamous and she deeply resents the concept of cuckolding. In addition, Britney is very proud of how much of an alpha male Dean is in real working life, and she does not find it funny to see him wearing women's clothes (zero cuckolding, zero sissification).

English is not my native language, please forgive my mistakes.###

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§1 Arrived at the Resort For Our "Romantic" Honeymoon.

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My wife Britney and I had just arrived at the island with the resort for our honeymoon.

As all her girl friends already know, I have been wearing a metal chastity device on my penis for months. A ring goes around the swollen testicles, and a tube of metal bars prevents the penis from having even the slightest erection.

I proposed it to her: it is my idea, a sign of my devotion. For medical reasons, Britney does not like vaginal penetration: she usually only orgasms with the Magic Wand that vibrates externally near the clitoris, and even the internal vibrator she uses is much thinner than a penis.

I was already in love with her brain and heart, but when she confessed this to me, I realized that our couple was etched in heaven: I also don't like vaginal penetration. Believe me, I don't fear pussy: I don't have "Toothed (or Fanged) Vagina Syndrome" or other arcane anxieties.

I am simply happier with other sexual acts. I like much more to cum in her mouth, on her tits, on her hands, on her feet, and most of all I like to give a woman an orgasm. To my wife, whenever she wants. And to any of her female friends, whenever my wife orders me to, as proof of my submission and obedience.

Some might interpret this activity as a form of cheating. Some girls asked my wife about it. But she, joyful laughing, chased them away with a wave of her hand, "How could it be cheating, if he does it to carry out an order from me, in front of my eyes? We are all consenting adults, and besides, he doesn't cum! What kind of a cheater would he be, a male who doesn't spurt? To me, Dean looks like a butler, who obeys his Owner's orders. If I ask him to pour wine into the goblet, he does it; if I ask him to suck vaginal juices from the hairy goblet of one of my sisters or girls, he does it. For me, it seems to be the same thing. It is much more: it is proof that he is obedient and devoted."

The two of us had often talked about this together in the months leading up to the wedding and were in complete agreement were on the same page. Maybe that's why we were using almost the same words to express the same concepts. The girls could see without a doubt that Britney was much more serene and happy with me than when she was giving dates to some hasty and selfish guy; and during the night of the bachelorette party, each girl had been able to test my ability to deliver orgasms even if my penis remained imprisoned.

Therefore, I spent the entire night before the wedding licking the tits and pussies of his bridesmaids: the longest bachelorette party ever. I didn't sleep a minute, me. She slept while the girls took turns turning me on.

Locked between the metal bars, my penis almost exploded from excitement, and my testicles were increasingly swollen and sore. The different smells of the pussies (one was even pregnant!) and the different shapes of the tits and nipples kept me aroused all night long. Fortunately, Abigail, my wife's elder sister, helped me use the restroom without opening the cage. But in no way did either the sister or any of the girls do anything to relieve my sexual tension.

On the morning of the next day, I did not sleep: Britney's sister was constantly checking on me. She kept her eyes on me while I was showering (caged), while I was shaving my beard, while I was wearing my groom's suit, and then throughout the celebration with older relatives and co-workers.

After the guests had said their goodbyes and gone home, the girls threw a second party in the evening. Later, my wife arrived on the lawn barefoot still wearing her white dress. Britney commanded me to kneel in front of the girls and lick her toes and ankles, then her calves, and finally her pussy.

After witnessing the bride's first orgasm (and the groom's frustrated suffering), each of the bridesmaids removed their heels and in turn demanded the same treatment from me, who acted as a submissive entertainer (not like a vanilla groom).

Each girl drank pink champagne, I drank vaginal juices from each girl. No bubbles for me, because I had to stay sober: meanwhile, however, the blue balls fizzed like champagne in the glasses.

I spent my wedding night licking their toes, pussy, nipples and armpits. One of the bridesmaids, Priscilla, was pregnant, and I gave her more attention in two nights than her husband had in the past eight months.

That was my wedding night as a groom, and I didn't cum once. And I didn't sleep a single minute, for the second night in a row.

The next morning, some girls drove us to the airport. With long, drawn-out hugs, each of them provoked me again, rubbing her nipples against my chest and kissing me with all her tongue in front of my laughing wife.

Then they left us alone in the airport. A drop of precum had wet the front of my pants. Britney frowned at me and asked sternly, "Did you cum?"

"But no, honey, it's just a drop of precum, you know that can't be controlled!"

Her radiant smile lit up her face. "Silly you! I was playing a joke on you! You are so cute when you protest vainly! Now let's take care of airport matters, I can't wait to reach the island of our romantic honeymoon! I know some people are smug in reporting that they were searched by airport personnel because the metal detector indicated the presence of bulky "jewelry" on their penis. But I shall be too sorry to disturb these workers from their hard jobs. Hard. It's hard enough to run an airport without having to deal with the sex games of a perverted couple."

I tried to reply, "But I can put up with this hard humiliation, and besides, the factory guarantees that the hard metal is not dangerous, it reads so even in the warranty..."

"Yes, of course, I don't say you wouldn't be able to pass through the police. And I'm not saying it wouldn't be fun, for me, to watch your face as these good and honest and pretty policewomen make you undress to look closely at the curved bars that force your penis to keep your know humbly bowed. My concern is not to inconvenience honest working people... and not to delay the departure of your flight only for the sake of a kinky game. So. Here are my orders for the device. Remember, you always have your safe word if you want. I order you to go to the men's room, with my key. You must return with the lock open and the cage in your hand within exactly sixty seconds. Swear to me that you will not masturbate and not a single drop of semen will come out of those blue balls."

"I swear."

"I have full confidence in you."

I smiled. But I had a backup plan. If Britney had been an untrusting woman, she could have ordered me to film everything on camera to prove that I had not masturbated.

I calmly went into the men's room. I locked myself in (it was spotlessly clean, and smelled good: the cleaners cared a lot about hygiene). I placed my cell phone on the coat rack and filmed myself opening the lock and removing the cage. My swollen balls ached a bit as I slid them inside the large metal ring at the base. I closed my pants and was out in less than sixty seconds, my phone in one hand and the empty cage in the other.

I went out calmly, knowing that I had carried out my Owner's orders to perfection.

Britney was sitting in an armchair. Apparently, she was killing time scrolling pictures on her phone. But I knew that in reality, she was checking the seconds on the inner stopwatch.

"Look, Britney! I filmed the whole thing!"

"No need, Dean dear, I have faith in you."

But I insisted, so she agreed to watch to kill the boring time. She chuckled and giggled. In one frame, the cock seemed to take on a life of its own and look toward the camera, begging for mercy. It was very funny, we both laughed.

"How do you feel without the cage on?" She whispered, bringing her mouth close to my ear. The contact with her hair and the wave of perfume made my cock immediately rise, hard as a marble column. Obviously, I was commando under my trousers: the cloth rubbed against my bare skin with no pubic hair.

"I feel... so stupid, and naked, and unprotected. It's like you've taken your hand away after you'd held my penis tightly between your fingers for months at a time."

"How long has it been, Dean dear?"

"I don't know!"

"Silly you! I know well that males keep a calendar by counting anything!"

"Oh. Well. Then..."

"What if I order you to tell me the exact date?"

"If it's your order, I have to answer to my Owner. The last time you allowed me to cum without the cage on was... 122 days ago. Four months and two days."

"Geez! Really? You make me feel guilty! And how many orgasms have you given me, with your delicious and skilled mouth, in that same time?"

"Sincerely, I don't know, Britney. I don't know if you gasp because you're having a real full orgasm, or if you're simply in a blissful situation, or if you're tired of my licks and pull away from me before you reach orgasm. And I don't ask... I can't keep an account for you."

"Maybe you're right. All the things you said have happened, sooner or later. And some days I'm not in the mood... sure, it's nice to have a man licking your pussy, but some days I'm too tired or too nervous..."

"I know."

"You're always excited in your metal cage, though..."

"I am a male and more of that, I am MYSELF. I would be aroused every day at least three or four times, and if you didn't keep my penis in the cage I would masturbate until I lost my mind. Instead, this way, I think of you all the time, and any gesture of yours turns me on. It's enough for me to even see you take off a pullover or unleash a shoe, and immediately the cock tries to go erect. And the balls are swollen and blue because I haven't cum in months."

"Do you want me to make you cum here at the airport? If you pronounce your safe word I'll acquiesce right away, and you're also already with the lock open, what better occasion? What does your heart truly desire?"

"Ah! You sound like the character "Lucifer" from the TV series, Britney. But what my heart truly desires is to remain chaste for you, until you will decide (IF, more than WHEN) to release me for a short release, and not a quick wank in an airport."

"All right. Do you want a sleeping pill?"

"No need... and thanks to the perpetual attention of the girls instigated by you, I haven't slept for two nights now. However, I always sleep on planes. It's a conditioned reflex. As soon as I hear the sound of the engines, I fall asleep. Which relieves you from having to check on me during the flight: it would be easy to masturbate under a blanket, but I'll sleep all the time, you'll see."

And indeed I did sleep as a newborn. Too bad, because I am told that having sex during a flight is a great experience. That will be for another time.

###

As soon as we landed, my wife woke me up with a sweet kiss. We were amongst so many people, and I couldn't masturbate without leaving a huge cum stain on my pants.

In front of the luggage room, my wife held out the key to me and said, "Your TIME... OUT, is over, Dean dear, ha, ha! Now I'm ordering you to close the cage, and by all means, take your time: the balls are swollen and the cock is strained, and you may need some strenuous exertion. You may use some cold water! I have this thermos with ice, it might come in handy. And... this time, I order you to film the whole thing: not because I lack confidence, but because of your previous footage, I realized it's so much fun to watch together, ha, ha! And maybe we can decide to send the video to my sister and the other girls... if you don't mind your submission showed to my best friends."

I nodded.

I entered an airport restroom. On one hand, I had her thermos, filled with ice. The restroom was hygienic and smelled good. I hung the video camera to record the scene. Without hesitation I slipped my cock inside: the cold made it flaccid. I grabbed the aching balls and shoved them impetuously inside the metal ring, then took the flaccid cock and pushed it inside the bars. The spongy knob squinted from the slits in the front of the tip. I took the padlock and closed the lock with the key. Mission accomplished. A smile for the camera.

###

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§ 2. The Resort My Wife Chose for Our Romantic Honeymoon.

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I know that some FLR theorists (Female Leaded Relationship, or Marriage) argue that all decisions should be decided only by the wife. We are not like that.

I don't know if there ever existed in the past a family model in which the father or grandfather decided everything alone. As far as I know, the grandmother and the wife always influenced the male's decisions, even though it may not have transpired from the outside. Are you guys sure that a man like Washington, or Hamilton, decided everything on their own? Or did it never occur to you that Martha Washington or Eliza Schuyler were making decisions together with him?

In my family, my grandfather and father always decided things together with their wives. They never underestimated female opinion and never overreacted. My mother used to say, "I don't understand anything about banking and finance. I have studied other stuff, but not these. In these, my husband is much more experienced. Besides, how am I supposed to decide? I have clothes in my closet that I have worn only once, I buy too many bags, I have too many shoes! I am not the right person to make financial decisions on my own!" And my father would tell her, "You help me make the right decision." And they never got divorced.

I read many stories about marriages where the Wife (or some Dominatrix) decides everything, even financially. Maybe that can be okay if she has a degree in economics. But usually, the protagonists in those stories are only concerned with cocktails and heels and nails, and every time I wonder if it wouldn't be better if the financial decisions were decided together.

The two of us have decided that we will behave differently than in fairytales. I have a degree in economics and I work in a bank, and I am highly respected in my work, and I am the head of a highly respected team. My wife has a degree in chemistry and does not distinguish between the currency of Bolivia and a golden ingot.

We agreed that I would take care of the finances, always consulting with her; we have already planned to have two children, if Fates allow it; and as soon as it is possible we will buy a house big enough for the four of us to live in, near a nice school. That's it. Easy.

As a plus, we agreed that as a surprise, Britney will decide everything about the honeymoon. Starting with the choice of resort. I just set a total budget, and she was given carte blanche to choose any sort of thing or idea.

Britney doesn't like surprises.

I don't like to exceed the budget.

In this way, the two of us prevented her from unwelcome surprises. we had some savings, so the budget was quite high: but it was still a reasonable limit, an acceptable percentage of our total assets. Within that amount, Britney had complete freedom to choose what she wanted: helicopter rides, speedboat excursions, belly dancing lessons, performances by female pole dancers to taunt me inside the cage. What will happen in the honeymoon will have been predetermined by her, booked by her, decided by her: I am just the faithful submissive who will obey her every order.

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A cab took us directly from the airport to the resort.

I was wearing a fancy white button-down shirt with French-style tips, a pair of long dark trousers, thin socks, and leather shoes. A leather belt. A pair of simple sunglasses. And the cage, commando. Nothing else.

As soon as we arrived at the resort I realized that I was distinctly overdressed compared to the average guest. My wife had chosen a resort for naturists!

Two completely naked women were chatting near the entrance: one of them was pregnant, perhaps in her seventh or eighth month, perhaps full term. An older gentleman, naked like a Greek statue, was chatting with a naked girl wearing only a tiny thong and heeled shoes.

I saw a woman, naked in high heels and a wide hat, walking with ostentatious elegance dragging a naked man on a leash, his wrists locked inside a wooden pillory, and walking while keeping his knees wide apart. In the middle between his legs, I could see a cock locked in a short cage. Turning around, I saw that his testicles were locked by a wooden humbler, which made him ache with every step. His Owner walked quickly on her high heels, and he was forced to follow her in pain.

My wife squeezed my hand tightly as the bars of the cage gripped my penis tightly.

"Are you happy, Dean dear? Here's the surprise! I choose this wonderful naturist-friendly and BDSM-friendly resort!"

I was quite stunned. I was excited but also nervous.

In front of the reception desk we met a nearly naked woman wearing a see-through negligee, and at her side was her husband, naked, caged, gagged, and with handcuffs behind his back.

"Good morning, newlyweds!" she said.

"Have we met before?" asked my wife.

"No, but you can tell by your husband's blush that you are newlyweds, and besides, a brand new ring still sparkles on your finger! And another ring sparkles around his balls, and the key sparkles at your necklace, ha, ha! Let me introduce myself: I'm Charlotte."

I waited for the woman to introduce us to her husband, but instead, she said nothing, as if he were not her husband but an object of the furniture.

Britney softly shook her hand, as only polite women can do. "I'm Britney and this is my husband Dean. Yes, this is the key to the lock: he proposed... that I'll be his keyholder and I agreed."

"Well, well. It's wonderful to start the honeymoon this way. Us, unfortunately, we discovered the lifestyle a few years after we were married -- and wasted a few precious years trying to satisfy my husband's urge to cum. Then, finally, we both discovered that our lifestyle would be different... very different, ha, ha!"

With a smile, Charlotte pointed to her skin, between her pierced navel and her pussy. There was an indelible, perfectly legible tattoo that said "Happy Cheater" and a drawing of a cute female bunny with a basket of eggs.

"Funny, isn't it? The original drawing said Happy Easter, but we changed it because my husband likes to watch while other men fuck me."

My wife was not happy. "It seems unromantic to me!"

This Charlotte dry chuckled: "Romance! what is romance, in books for females and TV series devoted to housewives? Serviceable men, who buy gifts and accompany ladies to expensive events, Italian restaurants, and classical ballet theaters... what is romance? It is just the removal of carnal desire: pandering to the laziness of women sprawled on the couch, swallowing ice cream and wine alone while watching improbably handsome actors who do not kiss, caress, or fuck the woman in their arms... what is the so-called Romance? It is the dream of spoiled little girls, always princesses and never queens, like Alice before she entered the chessboard! But do you know the difference between a princess and a queen, dear? A princess is a virgin maiden before the wedding; a queen is a woman who has been penetrated on her wedding night!"