The View From My Cage

(Note from author: this story involves cuckolding, humiliation, and more. back out now if this isn't your thing)

Emma and I both agreed that the cage we'd purchased was one of a kind. For one thing, it was sturdy. I could bash it all day long with a sledgehammer and it wouldn't dent. This wasn't just some dog crate for people; it was a prison that fit in our bedroom. We both agreed that the size was ideal. And of course, ideal for us meant just a little bit too small. I could get up on hands and knees, but not comfortable. With my knees spread out wide to lower my hips and with my elbows bent, I would press tightly against the top of the cage.

The sturdiness and dimensions weren't our reason for buying it, however. For us the selling point was the added functionality. Two circles at the base of one end could pivot open wide enough to let my legs slip through. And above those two circles, centered between them, an ovular section of the cage about a foot wide and half as tall could be removed entirely. Maybe you can see where this is going. My wife could put me on all fours in the cage and open the two doors for my legs. Then she could take away the larger ovular section of cage entirely. I'd back up toward that side, putting my legs through the two openings so that they were outside outside the cage, until my ass was firmly pressed against the edges of the open oval. My legs would be outside the cage all the way to the bend of my knees, so that I could feel the cold bars along the length of the under side of my thighs. From this position, I could be strapped in place. First, three straps to each leg, binding me to the end of the cage -- one just above each knee, another mid-thigh, and the final one as close to the crease of each hip as possible. The next strap was longer, going around my waist and wrapping around the top part of the cage. With these bindings in place, I had no ability to move forward, and no ability to bring my hips down. My ass would be completely exposed, and my penis and testicles would be hanging down. A perfect position for Emma's strapon.

These were the main bindings of this position, but depending on the situation and Emma's mood, more could be added. My balls were an obvious target. She would sometimes wrap a thin rope around those and bind them to a point on the cage, stretching them tight. Emma had also experimented with various ways of binding my arms, but she had settled on a favorite and now we rarely did anything else. I will go into more detail about that later.

After nearly a month of texting back and forth, tonight was the night that we would finally meet her next lover, a man about my age named Ken. Emma had found him on her own (she never told me exactly how), and in the three weeks since they had begun talking, she refused to show me a picture. She knew how much this frustrated me. So all I knew about his appearance was that he was: Very sexy. Not cute like you. Sexy.

It was a Friday, almost 5pm. I was just finishing up working at home, and from my office down the hall, I heard water flow through the pipes as the shower turned on. Time for her to clean up and get ready. My wife was the same height as me, but tonight, she would be wearing high heels, making her noticeably taller. She always reassures me that it doesn't bother her that I am on the shorter side. When I heard the shower turn off, I decided to log out of work for the day and start getting ready. I walked past Emma on the way to the bathroom and we exchanged a glance, and I saw my own face reflected in hers: Nervousness, excitement, arousal. Neither of us knew how the night would go, but we both had a good feeling about it.

Every time I shower, I shave my genital region thoroughly, and tonight was no exception. When I finished, there was a surprise waiting for me on the vanity: a cock cage, one of my thongs, a pair of fishnet stockings, and a bottle of hot pink nail polish. This wasn't something that we had discussed, but it was my wife's silent way of pushing me down in to a more submissive role for the night. This was a good sign -- she was nervous but not timid. I sighed and got to work with the nail polish.

It didn't need to be spoken that this would be only for my toes; we like to keep things discreet in public. She is a doctor in our community, and I am a finance director at a large company. Our reputations are everything -- they trump these games. My feet always looked absurd when I put nail polish on them, but I had learned early that keeping them clean-shaven helped with this a lot. My toe nails were done. I was beginning to feel...womanly? Girly? I don't know, a strange emotion to convey. The ball of humiliation in the pit of my stomach swelled up just a little.

Getting the cock cage on was challenging. Maybe I should have started with that, because now I had to fight against my partial erection. I heard my wife moving about in the bedroom. Probably tidying up. She'd want things to be neat when we got back here later on tonight. I realized that thinking about cleaning had helped me reduce my erection, and now the cage slipped on easily.

I have this compulsion that my wife knows about. I like to test the lock before clicking it shut. Every time, she lets me close it once and unlock it to make sure the key still works before I click my dick away. But tonight she didn't leave me the key. Oh well. Click.

That ball of humiliation in my chest welled up again and my dick pressed firmly against the confines of the cage.

Next came the fishnets. I bunched them up down to the toes of the left foot and stuck my foot in, pulling them up carefully, feeling the light, uniform pressure of the elastic material make its way up my left leg. Then I did the same thing on the right side and pulled them up all the way. Cock cage, fishnets, nail polish -- she had me where she wanted me. I stepped bashfully out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, eyes pointed toward the ground. Emma stopped her tidying and I could feel her gaze fall on me. The keys to the cock cage were still at the forefront of my mind.

"You know where the keys are, right?" I asked.

"Yes. Ken has them," she said.

"Sure, very funny. So you're sure you know where they are?" I asked, hoping she'd stop with the joking. Maybe she just didn't want to show me where she'd stored them, to keep me anxious. Maybe she wouldn't even bring them to the bar. We always have a set of keys with us when I wear my cock cage, just in case of emergency. If I have it on, the keys are nearby as an assurance. I probably wouldn't put it on if I didn't know for certain that it could come off right away, if need be. This was a high quality cage, there could be no wiggling out.

"Well if you want to get technical, I can't say that I precisely know where they are. They are wherever Ken put them," she said, a touch of sympathy in her tone. Or was it mock sympathy? "He said that to get the key back, all you need to do is ask very nicely when we get back to the house tonight."

I was taken aback. I felt a quick panic rise up but I forced it down -- no need for that. I had given my wife control over my ability to get an erection, and she had given that away. I know this is something she wouldn't do if she didn't trust the man. And I trusted her, so I guess this wasn't something to worry about, all part of the big game. But now I was dreading the thought of asking for that key later. And who knows, maybe she had a backup key somewhere nearby that she kept secret. That wouldn't be unlike her.

Emma slowly walked over to me, out of a shadow and into the light from the bathroom behind me. Now that I had a good view, I was just noticing how sexy she looked. Makeup done conservatively, just enough to make her natural features pop. She had big, beautiful brown eyes that hinted at the deep and loving soul behind them. Her tight black dress showed off her cleavage, and unlike her makeup, this was not conservative. She had large breasts and right now they looked perfect as they fought equally hard to pop out of her dress. I was staring at those when the soft fragrance of her perfume hit. Her appearance screamed that she was available, but you had to earn it, and it wasn't going to be easy.

She took my hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze. Then she reached around and grabbed my ass, softly rubbing it up and down, enjoying the texture of my fishnets. She knew she had me hypnotized. In vain, my dick tried to become fully erect, but was met by the impossibly stubborn cage. She put her face next to my ear and spoke softly:

"Don't worry, baby. We'll get your key back tonight. You just have to behave for Ken," she said, then added, "I love you."

"Why does he have it?" I asked. "When did you give it to him?"

"Last night, on my way home from work. It was a little bit of a detour. I dropped it off in his mailbox." She hesitated before continuing, "It was his idea. Actually, demand is more accurate. We were talking on the phone Wednesday night. He was telling me all the things that he was going to do to me. He was really setting the stage. He had me really, really, horny. Helpless. You can't even imagine how sexy his voice is. And he wasn't letting me touch myself during any of this. Well, I think he started to realize the power that he had over me. And of course, I had already told him all about you. How you...are. That's when he said it. He promised that he would only fuck me if I gave him the key to your cage. He had to own both of us, not just me. At that point I couldn't say no. So the next day -- yesterday -- I gave it to him. Dropped it in his mailbox. He said we can't do anything sexual until he says it's ok."

Rage hit me first during her story, but that quickly cooled into jealousy and humiliation. I knew that my wife loved me and loved fucking me, but I could never seduce her like that. I could never make her so horny that she'd lose all control and do anything for me. But this only justified our lifestyle. She got the best of both worlds: the loving, affectionate husband caring for her emotional needs and giving her intimate love making and the ever-revolving opportunity for primal fucking. I guess I got the best of both worlds, too.

She continued rubbing my ass slowly, up and down, up and down; every once in a while she'd give it a little squeeze. I could tell she was really turned on at this point. The squeezes were getting harder and more frequent. The cock cage was causing me pain now, but I didn't hate it. I reached out and put a hand on her hip. A moment later we were kissing with a hot passion. Her tongue played with mine greedily. She wasn't usually like this. I could tell that she wanted to fuck here and now, but that wasn't going to happen, not with my cock locked away until Ken decided otherwise. I was grabbing her hips tight, grabbing her ass, giving her a light spank, all while we kissed like drunk teenagers falling in love on their first date. Maybe we couldn't fuck, but at least I could eat her out. I played with her tits for a minute while we made out, then reached down and started to lift her dress. I tried to do it slow and gentle, but the overwhelming impulses I was feeling made me move quickly and forcefully.

She immediately pulled away, a look of embarrassment on her face as she gazed at the floor. "Ken said nothing sexual, baby. I'm sorry. I want to, but we have our orders and I want to do things right. Nothing sexual until he says we can."

That's right. In the heat of the moment, I'd already forgotten the rules Ken had laid out to my wife. I was impotent until he gave the go-ahead. Ken had already taken a very dominating role in our relationship, and I hadn't even met him. Now I was feeling very frustrated. I looked down and saw that I was already dripping precum.

"Which reminds me," she said, "you need to finish getting ready."

"I just have to get dressed and I'll be good to go," I said, puzzled.

"No, you have a little bit more to do before you get dressed, sweetie. First you have to finish your nails," she said.

I looked down at my toes. I thought they looked pretty good, what else did she want? Cute little patterns? Then it hit me. No way. No fucking way.

"Then when those dry, find your favorite plug and put that in. You'll probably want the big one, since that has the best flared base and it will be in for at least a few hours. Sorry babe, this is how Ken wants it. He needs to know that you'll be our bitch tonight, and dressing the part is the first step," she said.

"I can't -- I can't put on nail polish if we are going to be out in public," I said.

"We both know that that isn't true. This bar is 20 minutes away, and it's not that big. There is no chance of anyone there recognizing you."

I knew she was right. We'd moved to this town only a couple months ago, and had met very few people in that time, since social distancing restrictions had been lifted only recently. Everyone there would be a stranger. Everyone except my wife and Ken.

"And think of it this way. No one will be paying as much attention to your nails as you. Sure, you might get a few curious or even judgmental looks. But a man wearing nail polish in public doesn't turn heads the way it did a decade or two ago."

Again, she was right. This situation had crossed my hard line, but before I put a stop to it, she had pushed my hard line back and made me re-think and re-define my limits. And the butt plug, I wasn't as worried about that. I'd worn a butt plug out in public before. I had several, but the one she recommended would have been my first choice anyway. Yeah, it was pretty massive, but once it was in, it was the most secure and most comfortable. Ken wanted to make me his bitch, and he was doing a great job so far.

"I'll even do the nail polish for you, so it looks nice," she said.

I appreciated this. When I did my own nails, they always came out looking just a little uneven or sloppy. I sat on a chair in the bedroom and set my left hand flat on the night stand while she meticulously painted each nail, and then painted each nail a second time to give it a thick coat. Then she did the same to my right hand. I now felt very exposed, very vulnerable. The painted nails dramatically intensified the feeling of humiliation and sense of submission that was already growing inside me. Before, I knew I could at least pretend to be a normal man out in public with nothing to hide. But now, my deviance would be glaringly obvious to anyone who so much as glanced at my hands. When she finished, my wife had me hold my hands flat while she snapped a picture, then she spent a couple more seconds staring down at her phone and tapping away and biting her lip, no doubt sending the picture to Ken to show him that she'd been a good girl, transforming her husband into her future lover's bitch.

She got back to tidying up and I waited patiently for my nails to dry. When they did, I went over to the closet and opened our chest of sex toys. Pushing aside a sensory deprivation hood and a leather collar, I quickly found the plug I wanted. Then I went to her night stand to get the good lube. It would be a little bit of a process to get this in. I lubed up the plug, lined it up with my hole, and began to press it in. I went until it hurt, held it there for a second, then let it slide back out. I did this again, getting the plug a little further this time. More lube. Press further. More lube. I pressed again and the pain was intense, but I knew that this time it would go in all the way. I forced the plug in until the widest part slid past my sphincter, and then I carefully guided it the rest of the way in, until the flared base pressed firmly against me. It hurt, but I'd learned from experience that it is important at this point to relax, so relax I did, and soon the plug felt very comfortable and pleasant. Walking with it in even gave a very faint feeling of sexual pleasure. A fraction of an orgasm that would never intensify but would happily subsist for as long as I was moving. This was when I transitioned for the night from reluctant husband at least pretending to put up a fight, to willing and enthusiastic cuckold.

I threw on some dark jeans and a button-up shirt, gave myself a spritz of cologne, and I was ready to go. My wife had been ready for a few minutes now, and she was sitting on the other side of the room staring at her phone and tapping away. Texting Ken? Or just browsing Instagram? I never knew which. The hour was getting late and it was time to get my wife to her date.

Dinner had been tolerable. We arrived at the bar at 7:30 -- a late meal, but a late meal felt appropriate for the sort of activity in which we were engaged. Ken was there already, sitting alone at a booth. Of course, I didn't recognize him, but after giving the restaurant a quick scan, my wife saw him and darted off in his direction. He stood up to give her a hug and I got my first good look. I didn't like what I saw. The first thing I noticed when looking at him -- besides his height which was clearly well over six feet -- was the confidence in his gaze, with eyes that held a sardonic smile. He was tall -- maybe half a foot taller than me. As they embraced, she had to look nearly straight up, even with help from her heels, to give him a kiss on the cheek. Then his attention turned to me. He reached to shake hands and took mine firmly, looking down at me to meet my eyes. His forearms were muscular and well defined. He didn't grip as if we were in competition like some men do, trying to crush your hand like a handshake is some sort of trial by grip strength. He didn't have to prove anything. He glanced at my hot pink nails and smirked, and I became suddenly very aware of my cage and plug. He knew I was wearing them, and of course he knew I knew that he was aware of them. But they didn't get brought up. Not by my wife, not by Ken, and certainly not by me. My goal was to be as quiet as possible, and to draw as little attention to myself as possible while my wife flirted with this good looking man.

The waitress had come over to drop off some glasses of water, and I noticed her gaze lingering on my hot pink nails, and when she caught my eye she give a little smirk. You go girl, her smirk said. She must have thought that I was just a friend arriving with Ken's wife or girlfriend. A third wheel brought along for some reason on their date. The gay friend in the romcom whose only purpose is to help the beautiful girl land the hunk.

There was some casual chit-chat between the three of us, boring things like work and weather, but before long I was excluded from all conversation and my presence soon forgotten as my wife and Ken grew more comfortable with one another. After weeks of texting, this was their first time meeting in person, but before long they were acting like they'd known one another for years. At some point she switched sides of the booth, so that she was sitting next to him, leaving me alone. They slowly sipped on wine throughout the evening, both becoming quite tipsy but never very drunk. Gradually, the distance between them shrunk until they were nearly on top of one another. Ken feeding my wife food from his plate. My wife bursting out in laughter and putting her hand on his shoulder after he told a clever joke. Ken putting his hand on her knee. My wife grabbing his wrist and sliding his hand further up her thigh. When the waitress came to clear some plates, they had been making out. She made an apologetic joke about interrupting the two lovebirds and quickly scurried off, but not before shooting me another curious glance.

In the car on the way there, my wife had made it clear: I couldn't go on my phone during the meal. I couldn't disappear into the bathroom for a prolonged period of time. I couldn't even stare at the menu. I had to watch the scene, take it all in. I had to see her get seduced past a point that I would ever be able to take her. The restaurant area of the bar where we were sitting had mostly cleared out, and they were once again making out. Ken set his hand on her hip and slowly moved it up her stomach to her left breast. I watched her breast compress in his grip as he gave it a soft squeeze, and I listened in agony to my wife's quiet moan of pleasure. I think they both realized that they had gone as far as they could go in the quiet restaurant, and then some. It was time to leave. Ken had already paid for the meal, so we didn't have to wait for the waitress to bring the bill. They got up to go and I followed them out to my car. The plan was that I would drive Ken back to the bar in the morning to get his own vehicle. Things were going as well as any of us could have hoped, and now I was driving all of us back to our home. As I got on the highway, my mind went to the cage that was sitting vacant on our bedroom. I knew it wouldn't be vacant for long.