Things Happen at Weddings Ch. 07

"No, you should just go, go have a good time," Maddie told her new husband, sipping her orange juice.

"Without you?" he asked, his face showing his disappointment. And maybe something else.

"Yes!" she responded. "I'm completely serious. I'm overdue for some down time. I just want to hang out by the pool, and maybe nap." She popped a bit of toast into her mouth. "Be all refreshed for when you get back tonight."

He smiled at that. "Well, if you put it like that. But I think I'll do the deep sea fishing trip instead of snorkeling."

"Umm, that would be fine," Maddie agreed, wrinkling up her nose. "Just, uh, don't come back smelling like bait."

Graham laughed and promised. He finished his coffee and then realized he needed to get going. When he came out of the bathroom ten minutes later -- Maddie thought it was adorable that he still went into another room to change clothes -- Maddie had changed, too.

She was standing in the window, looking out over the beach, wearing a bright cherry red bikini and three-inch wedge-heel sandals that made her long legs even longer and accentuated the curve from the small of her back to her perfect little ass.

"Wow," was all Graham could say.

She turned to him and struck a pose, one hand on one alluring hip.

"That's... red," he stammered.

"I know," she replied.

"I've... never seen that one before," he commented. She couldn't help noticing the touch of discomposure in his voice, the unspoken second half of that sentence... "and now you'll be wearing it when I'm not here."

"I wanted to surprise you with a couple of things on your honeymoon," she said.

"Well... I like it," he confirmed.

"I'm glad."

"It's just so... attention-grabbing..."

"That's the point, baby," she replied, batting her eyes at him. "Red. You know. To get the bulls all riled up."

Graham flinched. The double-entendre was not lost on him. She laughed and came over and kissed him; leaned into him; cupped the sudden erection in his cargo pants with one manicured hand.

"Hmm, I figured as much." He just whimpered.

"Go have fun," she laughed again. "I'll be... fine."

***

Wednesday was a tough day at work for me. I just couldn't get the previous evening with Alex out of my mind.

Last night my daughter's 26-year-old best friend had invited me over to her place, and let me out of the chastity cage for which she had been keeping the key since Saturday. We've been playing kinky tease-and-denial sex games for months, unbeknownst to any of our friends or family members. Yesterday, for the first time, Alex had released me from my cage and allowed me sit back and relax on her sofa, while she got naked on her knees in front of me, and gave me the most delicious handjob.

Of course, it ended with a ruined orgasm, which Alex appeared to enjoy immensely, watching as I writhed and bucked in frustration, desperately just short of ecstasy.

And then within five minutes, she had given me another one.

Then she had traded positions with me, so she was back in her familiar spot on her sofa with her shapely tanned legs spread wide, and I was back in mine, on my knees between her thighs, my tongue buried between her buttery labia.

She had two orgasms, too.

Whereas mine had been quivering little tremors that stopped at rattling my dishes, hers had been cataclysmic earthquakes, 8.5 on the Richter scale, the kind that topple skyscrapers and reduce mountains to rubble.

But what I couldn't get out of my mind was the look on her face as she ruined me, executing the move to perfection, nailing the landing with a perfect ten, watching me twitch and tremble in frustration and listening to my whimpers with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with intrigue.

I'm sure she was familiar with the grimaces that men made when they came in her or on her; but it was as though the power she felt as she brought me to the brink of such an orgasm and then snuffed it out was overwhelming even to her. I loved that my stunted, surrendered pleasure had given her that sense of excitement and power.

I couldn't wait to do it again.

But that would have to wait for another day, for the next time Alex found a vacancy in her busy social calendar and called me over for more cunnilingus on demand.

Meanwhile, I had a class to teach on Wednesday morning and an interdepartmental faculty meeting that afternoon. And that meant seeing Candace.

Candace was the executive assistant to the Provost, a position which allowed her to throw her weight around, figuratively, if not literally.

She was what some people refer to as a Big Beautiful Woman. I certainly found her attractive, and I had been able to enjoy her brassy, boisterous personality without finding her intimidating or off-putting -- or undesirable, as some men no doubt did, due to her size -- because there had been no sexual tension or judgment.

Candace was also my ex-wife's best friend. She had been my friend for years, too, but I had seen less of her since my divorce.

Until this past weekend, that is. Sunday night, I had seen quite a bit of her. All of her, in fact; although with a decided concentration on the parts of her between her ample thighs.

I had ended the weekend of my daughter's wedding with my face in my ex-wife's best friend's pussy, while she worked her way through a half a pack of Virginia Slims and a half-dozen orgasms, while I had none of either. Because I had let my daughter's bridesmaid and best friend lock my cock in a chastity cage and take the key home with her.

And Candace knew it.

Well, she knew that I was a submissive in chastity. She didn't know who my keyholder was, thank God.

"Hello, Professor Tolliver," she greeted me with a wink as people gathered outside the conference room.

"Hello... Ms. Bridges," I replied, feeling myself begin to blush a bit. "How are you doing?"

"Hmmm," she sighed. "Well, in truth, earlier in the week I was terrific." She arched an eyebrow, allowing me to finish her thought for myself. The effects of my attentions had dissipated, and she was ready for a repeat performance.

I glanced around the room, certain that others could pick up on my tension, could tell that Candace and I were quietly not-quite-discussing a recent and unorthodox sexual liaison. Many of our colleagues knew that we were old family friends; a private conversation between the two of us would be unremarkable. Unless someone could decipher the subtle power dynamic, of a woman indicating her desire for a man to spend another evening with his tongue on her clitoris. And the man acknowledging his... duty.

At that point, the Provost entered the room and brusquely called the meeting to order. I was relieved to be able to slip into a seat where the table hid the erection poking against the front of my trousers.

Candace took a seat to the right and behind her boss, from which she could take notes, and make smirking eye contact with me throughout the meeting. Bemused at my predicament.

I sat there, distracted, imagining more than actually fearing that everyone in the room could read the muted body language.

"Candace!" I pictured Mardena Sanders, from Sociology, asking her after the meeting. "Do I detect a certain je ne sais quoi between you and Ryan Tolliver?"

"Mmmm, perhaps," Candace demurs. "We, um, spent some time together this weekend at his daughter's wedding."

"Good for you, girl," Mardena muses. "I told you you needed a good railing this weekend, but the Father of the Bride? I'm impressed. How was he?"

"Actually, quite satisfying. Very, very attentive."

"Well, good. But I mean," Mardena whispers, suggestively holding her forefingers five or six inches from each other, then sliding them closer together and then farther apart, "how was he?" (Yes, yes, I know, women aren't nearly as obsessed with penis size as men are, but this is my humiliation fantasy.)

"Actually, his penis actually didn't come into the equation," Candace says. "It stays locked in a little plastic cage."

"Seriously?" Mardena gasps. "I mean, I've heard about such things, but... wow."

"Oh, I heartily recommend it," Candace replies. "It really does seem that the longer he licks and nibbles without any attention for himself, the more aroused he gets, and the better he licks and nibbles."

The meeting ended and I remained at my seat, pretending to make notes, as the room emptied. Candace engaged in some conversations but remained near the doorway until it was just the two of us remaining, and I got up and approached her.

"My place at nine," she said. I didn't hear a question mark.

"Okay," I replied. Not "yes, ma'am," or "yes, mistress," or any of those phrases I imagine submissives using to address their dommes. She wasn't my domme. I wasn't her submissive. I was something less than that. I was just a colleague who she knew would get on my knees when told to.

She didn't mention the chastity cage. I wondered whether her preference was that I come to her tonight unencumbered, prepared to pleasure her in additional ways; or whether she found my frustration and endlessly unrequited arousal as I writhed between her legs part of the fun.

I was going to wear it.

Alex had as much as told me that she liked the idea of me being a submissive little slit-licker, of having reduced me to that, even for the benefit of other women.

She hadn't told me that she didn't want me to have actual penetrative sex with another woman.

That, I realized, was my preference. Alex had pushed me into the kink pool, and now I couldn't help swimming further into the deep end.

I liked the idea that Candace saw me as an instrument of pleasure, a tongue available on demand. The idea aroused me. And I wanted to stay that way.

But I wanted Alex to own my orgasms. To do with as she saw fit. Even if only to ruin them.

***

When Graham got back to the honeymoon suite from his day of deep-sea fishing, he found his beautiful bride taking a nap, an innocent and radiant angel, with her golden hair in a halo around her head on the pillow.

He felt a pang of remorse in his chest. The vision was so lovely, so demure; and he had spent the day, in between the rare moments of excitement when a fish hit his line, obsessing over the image of her sunbathing by the pool in her candy-apple red bikini. Basking in the sunshine, and the turgid attentions of a parade of would-be suitors, young men with bronze tans or gleaming ebony pecs and dangerous, pendulous weapons thickening in their swim trunks, contemplating their strategies for the conquest of the gorgeous young woman reclining before them.

He suddenly realized she had opened her eyes, and was watching him with amusement.

"Hey there, husband," she said. "Did you have fun?"

"Uh huh," he replied.

"Catch anything?"

"Nothing worth keeping," he replied. Not like you, he was thinking.

She wrinkled up her nose when he sat down on the bed. "Huh uh," she responded.

"Go take a shower. Then take me to dinner."

He laughed and agreed. As he stripped off his shirt, he teased her back. "So, is my bride hungry?"

"Yes, I am," she replied. "But I waited for you.

"Even though I had lots of other offers."

He laughed again, but felt his cock getting stiff inside his cargo shorts. He headed to the bathroom.

They ended up dining in the patio area of one of the two restaurants in their own hotel. They still had three or four more days to check out other bistros along the beach, but Graham just wanted to be as close to their room as possible when it was time for dessert.

It was a resort, of course, so even though the menu was upscale, the clientele was all dressed extremely casually. Men in Hawaiian or linen shirts, some in dockers, some in Bermuda shorts. Women in sundresses or even bikini tops with sarongs around their waist. Maddie was wearing a peasant blouse and a flowing floral print skirt, the picture of innocence and modesty.

They had placed their order and were sampling an appetizer when Maddie picked up the game again.

"Don't look now," she said, "But the guy who wants to cuckold you just came in."

Graham's eyes grew wide -- not so much from the tease itself, as from the fact she was doing it in public -- but he quickly regained his footing.

"That's every guy in this place, babe," he replied.

"Uh huh," she replied, pretending she didn't believe him.

He looked around the deck. Most of the other customers tonight were couples. A couple of four-top tables had small groups of women chatting together. A few single men were standing at the bar or browsing the buffet table.

Graham was game for a little fantasy role-playing. He nodded his head toward a tall young beachcomber, with a golden tan and a mop of curly blonde hair. "That guy?"

"Nope," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "Haven't made his acquaintance yet."

Graham looked down at the other end of the bar, where a dark-haired, dark-skinned man, perhaps Arabic, was chatting with a younger woman. "Omar down there."

Maddie looked, then looked back at her husband. This time she raised both eyebrows, twice. "Try again."

She nodded toward the buffet bar, where an overweight middle-aged man wearing a ridiculous white captain's hat was piling shrimp onto a plate.

"What, behind the goofy guy in the Skipper costume?"

"Not behind him," Maddie said, slyly. "Him."

Graham laughed out loud. The guy was a caricature. He must have been all of 5'6", but he may have been carrying 260 pounds. In addition to the skipper's cap, he was wearing white shorts and an unbuttoned white captain's shirt, complete with epaulets. An oversized gold chain with an even more outrageous gold medallion hung over the thick pelt of black fur on his chest.

"HIM?" Graham snorted. He took a closer look at the man's face. A bulbous, sunburned nose over thick lips, especially the lower one which protruded as he concentrated on stacking another shrimp onto his pile. Heavy, untamed black eyebrows over deepset eyes, one of which seemed to wander off to the right. He didn't find him attractive at all, and he found the idea of this guy approaching his stunning young wife to be comical. And a bit disconcerting.

Maddie was watching her husband's face during this, and when he looked back at her, she shrugged and took a sip of her wine. "Fortune favors the bold, baby," she explained.

"Well, he's definitely, um, not self-conscious," he said, shaking his head. Then he chuckled, realizing how his afternoon of imagined jealousy of young studs hitting on his wife, had just run aground on the shoals of reality. This is who hits on a married woman on her honeymoon.

"I'm sure he fancies himself a master cocksman," Graham smirked.

"Maybe he is," Maddie replied. "He asked me if I've ever made love on a sailboat."

Graham's jaw dropped open. "He asked you that?"

"Well, not right away," Maddie noted. "We had been chatting for a while before that came up. Anyway, he knew I was on my honeymoon. It wasn't that big a stretch..."

Graham was nonetheless feeling a weird mix of queasiness and arousal. "And I'm sure he happens to have a sailboat..."

"Of course he did. And he made it clear he was offering me the use of it."

Graham bit his lip, and Maddie noticed, and twisted the knife.

"Me. Not you and me."

Graham's face had moved past scowling, to glowering. "Cocky bastard."

"He is cocky," Maddie agreed, reaching out to put her hand on her husband's hand, calmingly. "He may be cocky enough to let you watch."

Graham caught his breath, trying to think of a retort, when he suddenly realized to his horror that the misshapen gnome was waddling straight toward their table.

"Maddie, dear!" the man called out, "Good to see you again!"

Maddie turned in her chair to greet him. "Well, hello, again. Roy, this is my husband, Graham."

Roy grinned at the taller, younger man, and switched his plate from his right hand to his left, sticking his thumb into his cocktail sauce. "Hello, Graham."

Graham was standing, out of habit, and extending his hand. "Hello, Roy," he found himself saying, not enthusiastically.

The older man stuck his thumb between his thick, liver-colored lips to suck off the cocktail sauce, then grabbed Graham's hand in his. "'Captain' is fine," he said, then guffawed as Graham blanched. "Lovely wife you have here, son."

"Um... yes, thank you. I agree."

"I'll let you kids go," Roy said, to Graham's relief. But not before reaching down and giving Maddie a shocking little pat on the shoulder. "Have a good evening, sweetheart."

Graham sat back down, stunned, and looked at his wife's mirthful face as the fat sailor ambled off. Her eyes were lustrous as she enjoyed his absolute discombobulation.

Graham, for his part, was flustered beyond belief. A minute ago he had been enjoying the familiar sense of arousal that came from his wife teasing him about the imaginary but invariably tall, strong, handsome men with whom she might expand her sexual horizons. Worthy rivals, deserving of his jealousy, if they had actually existed.

He had never pictured her cuckolding him with a short, fat, hairy troll with atrocious fashion sense and no social graces. Or that such a guy would dis him with casual ease.

Let alone that he would be real.

Graham had always been simultaneously attracted to and repelled by his cuckolding fetish, finding the jealousy of other men, possibly (alarmingly!) better men, both disturbing and intoxicating. The idea of Maddie being pursued by someone so blatantly undesirable (let alone that she might entertain the pursuit!) had never occurred to him, and he found it distasteful and humiliating. But for some reason, he was nonetheless hard as iron.

Maddie reached across the table and seized the toothpicked olive out of Graham's martini, and popped it into her mouth. "You need another one of those?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

Shortly thereafter, the waiter arrived with their entrees. Afterwards, Graham could not for the life of him remember what the meal tasted like.

Later, back in their room, Maddie did not mention Captain Roy again as she and her husband undressed and made love. But Graham did notice that somehow her cherry red bikini, the one she had been wearing when the hairy dwarf had chatted her up by the pool this afternoon, had mysteriously reappeared on the nightstand beside their bed. And although neither of them mentioned the man, when Graham closed his eyes to concentrate on the warm soft sensation of his beautiful bride moving gently underneath him, what he saw in his mind was a disturbing vision of a dinghy tied up alongside a sailboat, moored crosswise to the surf in the harbor. And inside the cabin, as the boat rocked gently from side to side, his lithe, lustrous bride was being rocked fore and aft, her tanned arms around the hairy back of that audacious, foul little man, her long legs open wide to accommodate the stout clenching buttocks rutting wildly between her thighs.

While on the nearby nightstand, her blithely-discarded cherry red bikini moved gently with the rocking of the boat until it slid off the tabletop and landed unceremoniously on his scungy floor.

Afterwards, after Graham had cum harder than usual but far sooner than he had intended, and he had rolled over on his back beside her, Maddie propped herself on one elbow and watched him, a devious grin on her face.

"So what was that all about, hubby?"

"I... I don't know," he lied.

"Hmmm. I don't believe you. You were thinking about him, weren't you?"

"Who?" he fudged, then folded. "Roy?"

"Captain Roy to you," she replied. He let out a little moan.

"Yes," he admitted.

"So interesting," she commented, stroking his hair. "I mean, I understand this game we play is about jealousy. But you're kind of into the humiliation, too, aren't you baby?"