Things Happen at Weddings Ch. 08

Graham couldn't believe it. It wasn't supposed to be this way, but here he was; here she was. Here they were. In a strange hotel room -- a stranger's hotel room. Not the cabin of a gently-rocking sailboat, as he had pictured. But his legs felt just as unsteady.

He couldn't remember how he got here; how he, or his bride, had agreed; how the offer and acceptance had transpired. But it had.

He couldn't remember when or how Maddie had slipped out of her bikini, or been slipped out of it -- a white one this time -- while leaving her sheer, flowing white sarong in place. All he knew was that she was naked now except for the sarong; her limbs and stomach and back a golden tan, punctuated by the milky white triangles where her swimsuit had been. The half-up French braid on one side of her head allowed her flaxen hair to fall past her shoulder on the other side, while still letting her husband see her face as she got on her hands and knees on the bed and arched her back, making a presentation of her body.

To the man behind her.

He had always imagined that she would make frequent eye contact with him, perhaps with frequent little teasing smiles, reminding him and herself that this was a game they were playing together; but she had not returned his gaze in some time. In fact, her eyes were rarely open at all, as if she was lost in her own focus on her own sensations, thoughts, and emotions. Almost as if he no longer existed for her.

But he existed for Captain Roy.

The short, fat middle-aged man with the chest full of gray-tinged hair and gold chains looked up at Graham and leered at him as he got onto his knees on the bed behind Graham's near-naked wife, her perfectly-framed pudenda an offering on the altar of a vile and undeserving god.

"Don't worry, son," the older man was saying. "This doesn't change anything."

Graham closed his mouth -- he hadn't realized it was gaping open -- and was startled to find that his mouth was too dry to swallow.

"You were already a cuck," the captain was saying, staring at Graham again now with his deep-set eyes beneath his heavy, unkempt brow. His thick lips, the color of braunschweiger, twisted into a smirk. "You were born a cuck. This just makes it official."

"He is cocky," Maddie had said of the captain at dinner that first night. "Maybe cocky enough to let you watch." Graham tried again to swallow, again, unsuccessfully.

The Captain looked down and gently lifted Maddie's sarong, bunched it at her waist, so her perfect bottom was completely naked now, without even the gossamer fabric between her pristine pink labia and the fat pole of flesh that he was maneuvering into position behind her. Then he gave her right buttock a playful but shocking slap; Maddie whined and bit her lip, but didn't open her eyes.

He knee-walked forward, closing the gap between his crotch and Maddie's intimate offering, so that from Graham's point of view he could no longer see the obscene details. If there was anything Graham could do at this late moment to stop this from happening, this was his last chance; but he was transfixed, apparently immobilized by his shame and his lust.

She was kneeling obediently before Captain Roy, face down, ass up. One thickly-pelted forearm disappeared behind Maddie's upturned buttocks, and Graham knew with sickening certainty what he was positioning with it, and where, but still he was frozen and mute. Maddie, eyes still resolutely closed, mewled slightly at what was no doubt the first sensation of the captain's bare, broad glans parting her moist outer labia. Then, alignment obviously achieved, Captain Roy's hand re-emerged, and joined the other in grasping each of Maddie's hips. His fat lips pursed and his eyes closed in bliss, the older man then pushed forward and Made. It. Official.

Graham bolted upright. The room was still dark; it was not nearly dawn yet. His bride slept contentedly beside him. It had all been a dream. An extremely, painfully vivid dream. Just like the three other ones that had jerked him awake over the course of the past five hours.

***

I awoke gradually, aware of the pleasant sensation of morning wood. Most men experience that so regularly that they don't even stop to think of it as a pleasure. For me -- well, I don't take it for granted, since I'm spending more and more time in a chastity cage these days.

Last night I had only worn it for a couple of hours, while I had dutifully responded to Candace Bridge's expectation that I should come over to her house and service her orally. Candace is the Provost's secretary and my ex-wife's best friend. It had only been four days since she had discovered -- through my ex, of all people -- that I had developed a submissive streak. And so I went, and spent ninety minutes with my face between her ample thighs, while she worked her way through a quarter pack of Virginia Slims and a half a dozen orgasms.

It wasn't my ex, however, who had unlocked my submissive compulsions. It was my daughter's best friend Alex, a sultry vixen half my age who, six months ago, had confessed to me that I had been her first crush. And who had subsequently crushed me into a dominance-and-submission relationship unlike anything that I had ever imagined.

Among other things, I had never imagined being in a relationship where the woman who I couldn't resist actually wanted me to submit to other women. As long as I saved my orgasms for her. Whether she deigned to give them to me, or not. But that's where I found myself.

I wrapped my hand around my pleasing erection. I was overdue for an orgasm, and it would only take a moment, whether I achieved it thinking of Alex, or Candace, or my ex-wife. But before I could get into a rhythm, my cell phone buzzed.

I don't even know why I picked it up, but I did. It was a text from Alex.

"Good morning, babe," it read. "Babe." I liked that.

"Morning," I replied.

"I wanted to catch you before you got your day started," her message read.

"You did," I responded.

"Good," she typed. "I'd like to put on your cage."

Well, this was new. I guess my morning shower was going to be in cold water. "Okay."

"What time today are you going to be free for a phone call?" she asked.

Ummm. "Between 11 and noon," I responded.

"That'll work," she replied.

Oh, Jesus. I figured that meant she would be calling or texting me at that time, to torment me at work. I couldn't wait.

"When can I see you again?" I typed.

"I don't know yet. Depends."

Depends on what? I thought. Probably that someone else would be seeing her before I did, and he wouldn't be locked in a chastity cage.

"I'll call you at eleven," she typed. And then she was gone.

***

The daylight was spilling through the curtains when Graham finally woke up, after finally getting some uninterrupted sleep over the past couple of hours. He could smell coffee. He could tell that he was alone in the bed.

He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. His bride was sitting across the room in one of the side chairs, smiling coyly at him over the brim of her coffee cup. Wearing a silk kimono over her sheer nightgown.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Maddie said.

"G'morning," Graham responded, still groggy.

"Rough night?"

"Ummm... yeah, I guess it was. Sorry. Did I disturb you?" he asked.

"A few times," she acknowledged. Her smile broadened. "Dreaming about Captain Roy?"

Graham sat up abruptly. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you were mumbling his name in your sleep."

Graham was stunned. His troubled dreams came flashing back to him, and he felt a surge of shame and nausea. He also realized that his normal morning erection was already almost painful.

"So you were dreaming about him... and me," she smirked.

Graham lowered his eyes. No sense lying. "Yeah."

"Looks like he's already got inside your head. Maybe I ought to go ahead and let him get inside your wife."

Jesus, he thought. He couldn't believe things were happening this fast. She had discovered his shameful cuckold fantasies a long time ago, and he admitted to himself that he loved it. He didn't really think it would actually ever happen. Least of all on his honeymoon. With a fat, entitled middle-aged asshole. Surely she was still just playing with him.

"C'mon," she laughed. "Let's go get some breakfast."

***

My phone rang at 11:04. I had already closed and locked my door and turned off the lights, to avoid any interruptions. When I answered, I kept my voice low. I had a pretty good idea that Alex was going to torment me by having me listen in on something, and I didn't want my loud and eager voice to interfere with her devious plans.

Sure enough, after my quiet "hello," I didn't hear any verbal response. Just distant, muffled background noises.

I wasn't sure exactly what I was hearing. I was crystal clear on what she wanted me to think I heard. And probably that's exactly what it was. Her phone in her purse was just too far away for me to make anything out in detail.

But, yes. Somewhere, somewhere here in town, Alex was behind some closed door, plopped up on some desk or restroom countertop while some anonymous man dropped his trousers to the floor and shoved his erection up inside her.

Or she wasn't. The sounds were so muffled that I couldn't identify separate voices. It was possible she was alone, just creating a scenario to taunt me.

Either way, the ring of my cage was strangling my genitals. My cock was straining against the constraints of its prison.

It didn't last very long. But why would it? If it was what I thought it was, or what I knew she wanted me to think it was, it was an illicit and frantic encounter. If I could hear more clearly, would I hear this man's voice calling out her name as he came inside her? Or did he even know her name?

Then a minute of silence. A door closing. And then her voice, clearly back against the phone's speaker. "Hey there."

"Hey," I responded.

"Did you like that?"

"Oh, God," I responded. "Yeah."

"Good," she chuckled. "When's your next class?"

"Noon," I groaned. "Where are you?"

"Hmmmm," she responded. "Not near enough for me to come to you."

Fuck.

"It's too bad," she taunted. "I'd really like for you to taste him right now."

Double fuck.

"You left the key at home, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Of course I had.

"Good," she said. "I want you thinking about me all afternoon."

As if I wouldn't be anyway.

"You want to come over tonight?" she asked.

***

Maddie and Graham were on the lanai, tucking into the plates they had filled at the dinner buffet. They had also eaten breakfast there, before heading back to the room where Graham had taken his wife with great urgency and shockingly disappointing brevity. She had laughed off his mortification at his premature ejaculation, and happily suggested they just go shopping. Then they had booked a three-hour dolphin-watching tour.

"You seem distracted," she said to him, now, at dinner.

"Oh?" he said, returning his gaze from his relentless scan of the deck to his bride's sky-blue eyes. She had figured out what he was doing.

"Looking for anyone in particular?" she asked.

"No," he lied.

"Oh, okay," she said, spearing a cherry tomato out of her salad. "I thought maybe you were looking for Captain Roy."

Graham sighed. Busted.

"If he were here, would you want me to invite him to join us?"

"No!" Graham responded, far too quickly.

"I mean, just for dinner,," Maddie continued. She paused; took a bite; chewed. "I mean, what else did you think I meant?"

"Maddie," he sighed, his shoulders slumping, admitting defeat in this game of teasing.

She just pursed her lips in a suppressed smile, and shook her head gently. "Oh, baby..." she said. "I'm so glad I married you. I am having so much fun..."

He smiled weakly.

"Oh, enjoy your dinner," she chuckled, reaching across the table to spear one of his shrimp with her fork. "No more teasing.

"Until we get back to the room."

***

Graham was on the bed, naked and urgently aroused, when his bride came out of the bathroom. Wearing nothing but a sarong tied loosely around her high hip bones. Like the sarong she had been wearing in his fever dream last night.

For Captain Roy.

Jesus, he thought. How did she know what she had been wearing in his dream?

Get a grip, he told himself. He had dreamed about this sexy article of beachwear because he had seen it before. Duh. It wasn't like she was actually scripting his dreams.

Was she?

She sat on the bed beside him, and reached out with one hand to run her fingers through his hair. He ran one hand up her side, following the gentle curve from her hip to her narrow waist to her rib cage, then cupped one of her small, pert breasts. When he tilted his wrist back, he could almost hold the whole thing in his palm.

Captain Roy's grubby hands would engulf them. Both of them, at once, roughly. With undeserved self-assured entitlement.

"You're thinking of him again, aren't you?"

Graham just nodded. He felt a wave of shame, but he couldn't help himself.

"It's okay," she assured him. "It's exciting, to see you this way.

"Having someone specific, someone real, to picture... me with."

"Yes," he hissed. "But... that guy?"

She shrugged, and shifted enough that her breast fell out of his hand. She ran a hand through her own hair. The evening sun through the blinds made her look strange, exotic. Maddie didn't smoke, but he suddenly imagined her coolly lighting a slender cigarette. Pulling a drag between her lips. Then releasing it, into his face. He suddenly pictured her as Catherine Deneuve in "Belle du Jour." Or "The Hunger." Mysterious. Dangerous. Irresistible.

"Well, it's not what I had planned, but..."

He shuddered. It sounded like she had made a decision.

"Wait," it suddenly dawned on him. "You had something planned?"

"Mmm. Well, not a plan, yet. But a candidate."

"A... candidate?" he repeated.

"Someone young, and fit, and handsome. With what I have been told is a very big cock."

He whimpered.

"Is that more what you had in mind?"

"It's... more what my fantasies have always been," he admitted.

"Yeah, I know. Why is that, though?"

He considered how to answer. Certainly, he had read enough erotica, since discovering this kink, that he could recall how other husbands explained their forbidden desires.

"It's because you're so beautiful," he said, honestly. "I just... want you to be... totally satisfied."

"Even if he's hotter than you and fucks me better than you?"

Yes, he thought. God help me, yes. "You deserve it, baby."

"Uh huh. I like that. But what about what it does for you?"

Graham closed his eyes and chewed on his lower lip.

"Isn't it a little... humiliating?

"You want me to cum uncontrollably on some other guy's really big cock, to put you in your place? To put you to"... and she dropped her voice and lingered on the word, "shaaame?"

Graham moaned.

"And baby, it won't just be the one night that you'll think of it. It'll be part of us forever.

"Wondering for the rest of our lives, every time we make love, wondering how you measure up. Wondering just how far you fall short..."

He could feel himself breaking down. Her, breaking him down.

"Who is it?"

"Do you really want to know? Or would you prefer to just... wonder?"

He couldn't summon an answer. He really wasn't sure. Knowing. Not knowing. Both ideas were exquisite torment.

"Give me tomorrow afternoon, and you can always wonder if it was Captain Roy.

"Or stay by my side for the rest of our honeymoon, and then when we get home...

"You can go back to work. Wondering, every day, is it happening now? And, with whom?"

He felt like a mouse, being toyed with by a cat.

She got up and walked across the room, her perfect ass swaying beneath the sheer fabric of the sarong. She picked up the open bottle of Pinot Grigio and refilled their glasses, and came back to bed.

"So I was thinking," she offered, sipping her wine. "When we get home, we should invite Colin over for dinner."

Colin? His little brother? Had she changed the subject? Or...

"Maybe after the two of you have a game of tennis."

Graham felt his head spinning. He could barely remember their innocent conversation from the other day, when she had asked him about how competitive his brother was with him.

"Maybe a high-stakes game," she grinned.

"Colin?" he croaked.

She just nodded. Obviously enjoying herself.

"You know Alex slept with him. On our wedding night."

Graham took a deep breath, and nodded. "I wondered."

"She said he's really good," she said. "Really good."

He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Oh, no. He knew she was a magnificent tease. But this was too much. Too wrong.

But he couldn't deny that his cock was bobbing above his stomach, almost painfully rigid.

"So, do I cuckold you right here on your honeymoon, with a stranger? Or do we wait until we get home so your little brother can do the honors?"