Things Happen at Weddings Ch. 09

"Hey there," said Alex, my daughter's best friend, as she opened the door for me.

"Hey," I replied, stepping into her apartment. She was dressed casually, as usual. A loose t-shirt, screen-printed to look like a football jersey, and a pair of cut-off jeans. And below that, just her shapely, well-tanned legs, all the way down to her bare feet with their pink toenails.

She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me, a chaste little peck on the lips.

"How was your day?" she asked.

I grinned. "How do you think?"

"I don't know," she replied, coquettishly. "Tell me about it."

"It was... tortuous."

"Huh."

She knew how my day had been. Seven hours ago she had called me, during my office hours, and let me listen in on what I assumed had been a quick and furtive sexual encounter with some anonymous man, and then left me to stew about it the rest of the afternoon.

"Well, maybe we can do something about that," she added. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure," I responded. "Whatever you're having."

I watched her step into her kitchen, watched the hip pockets of her jean shorts tilt with each step. She returned a moment later carrying two bottled beers. She sat in a chair, swinging her legs sideways to dangle them over the arm, and leaving me to choose a seat, alone, on the sofa.

"So," she asked, "Did you like my little surprise today?" And then she extended her little pink tongue, just enough to lick gently at the rim of her beer bottle.

I sighed deeply and shuddered. "It was intense," I acknowledged. Actually, it had been incredible, but pretending that she was giving me a bit more anguish than pleasure was part of what made this game fun for both of us.

"Did it make you... wish you were there?"

"Uh huh."

"There to watch, or there to be the one making me moan?"

I arched my eyebrows. To be honest, the latter had never even occurred to me. It was outside the parameters of our... "relationship."

"Well..."

"No, I don't think so," she cut me off. "I think you were right where you wanted to be. In your office, in your little cage, just... listening... and imagining..."

"Hmm," I responded. The humiliation was intensely arousing to me, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of agreeing or protesting. Yet. I could tease her, too, I thought.

"You've still got the cage on?" she asked. I nodded.

"And you left the key at home?" I acknowledged that, too.

"Good boy," she purred. "So I've got the only key here tonight..."

I squirmed in my seat, but tried to hide it by rolling on my hip to put my beer down on the end table. Three nights ago, she had removed my cage, and stroked me to two ruined orgasms. It was a major step forward in our play, and I had been hoping to maybe take another step tonight, or at least have a repeat performance.

"So," she said. "Why don't you get undressed, and let's get comfortable on my bed."

Well! Talk about another step forward! I had to restrain myself from jumping off the sofa like a Jack Russell terrier hearing the doorbell ring.

She led me into her bedroom, the inner sanctum where I had never been. In the months that we had been engaging in our gentle domme/sub relationship I had knelt on the floor with my face between her soft, warm thighs, and tongued her to dozens of orgasms, but always on her sofa. I had never been in the room where, I was certain, she entertained the young men who didn't keep their cocks in cages.

"Go ahead," she said, "Strip for me." She leaned up against the doorway to her en suite bathroom and smirked. I had changed clothes after work, of course. I pulled off my polo shirt, knocking my glasses off, which made her giggle. I kicked off my loafers, and undid my belt, lowering my trousers. I could feel my cock aching in its cage, inside my boxers.

"Socks next, please," she instructed me. I complied. Then I dropped my boxers, too, and stood naked in front of her, naked except for the hard clear plastic cage making sure that my penis turned purple but didn't get more than two and a half inches long.

"Nice," she told me. "Go ahead, lie down."

I took a deep breath, and started to pull down the comforter. She laughed, making me pause.

"What, you think we're going to be making a mess?" she smirked.

"I... just..."

She grinned, and reached down and pulled her t-shirt over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, of course. Her luscious tear-drop breasts jiggled, her pink-brown nipples already stiff and pointing at the ceiling from the centers of her oval-shaped areola.

"No, it's okay," she said. "Go ahead, strip it down to the sheets. Get comfortable."

Comfortable, I thought. How comfortable can you get when your genitals are encased in hard plastic and a sultry 26-year-old vixen is driving you wild? But I complied.

She wriggled out of her cut-offs and the black cotton high-cut panties she wore underneath them. I wondered if she had been wearing those panties earlier today when she had let me listen in on what I had to assume was some virile young stud taking her in an office or a restroom or a storage closet across campus. Or whether she had worn a lacy French thong for him, which he had taken home as a souvenir.

She was gloriously naked in front of me now. But before she dropped her shorts on the floor, she fished a little gold chain out of her pocket. The key dangled from it, enticingly.

"God," she said. "I wanted so much to come straight to you after I was with him today.

"Left you locked up and sat on your face and fed you his fresh creampie. Would you have liked that?"

Jesus. I couldn't help myself. "Uh huh," I agreed.

"Too bad," she said. And then climbed on the bed beside me.

"Do you want to do what we did the other night?"

Oh, yes, I nodded. Yes yes yes. Even if I didn't get to have a real orgasm. At least it meant I would get out of this cage and feel her soft hands on my blissfully full erection.

"You seem eager. Do I need to tie you up?"

"Maybe," I replied.

"Hmmm. That would be disappointing."

"Oh. Well, then..."

"Good boy," she said. "You can grab the headboard. But you can't touch me."

"Okay," I agreed.

She knelt beside me, naked, her knees together, her arms pushing her gorgeous breasts together as she reached for my penis.

My penis, straining futilely to expand beyond the two-and-a-half inch confines of its plastic prison.

She had told me, the night that we had first discussed engaging in this kinky game, that this was something she had read about and always wanted to try. And that I was the perfect candidate.

I still enjoyed thinking of it that way. I was special. I wasn't just the fifth or tenth or twenty-seventh hapless male she had tormented this way before casting aside, mournful and unfulfilled.

But it also meant that every other man who had been in this bed -- and knowing Alex, there had been more than a few -- had been free to get fully erect, gloriously engorged, before plunging into that delectable body, experiencing a pleasure that I had never known.

She unlocked the tiny padlock, and my cock immediately surged, pushing the cage portion of the device up away from the ring around my scrotum.

"Goodness," she said, gently rotating the cage to slip it off my painfully sensitive glans.

"You know I'm just going to ruin you again."

"Okay," I nodded. It was more than okay.

"Okay?" she grinned, amused. "You like just getting a ruined orgasm?"

I released a long sigh. "Uh huh."

"Tell me what you liked about it."

I hadn't even noticed when, or from where, she had produced the little tube of lubricant. But now she was drizzling it down my shaft, and beginning to stroke me.

"I loved watching you."

"Watching me? Tell me more."

I felt my entire body twitching, responding to the exquisite sensation of her soft hands on my desperate erection.

"Just... the entire experience," I gasped. "But... more than anything... the look on your face."

"The look on my face?" she prodded.

"Uh huh."

Her dark brown eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"Most guys like cumming," she told me. "But you like watching me?"

Well, hell. But I couldn't resist. I just nodded.

"More than you love a full, complete, exquisite orgasm?"

I just closed my eyes, feeling my entire body quiver.

"Well, then, open your eyes, silly." I did.

"Would you like me to keep stroking you... keep moving my hands up and down, up and down, and twisting from side to side at the same time? Rubbing my thumb over your head to smear every drop of your pre-cum down over your twitching..." she looked up at the ceiling, deciding which word to use next... "penis?"

Ohhh, I thought. Penis. Not cock. Other guys had a cock. I had a penis.

"Clutching you and grasping you and squeezing you all the way through a glorious orgasm, almost as good as cumming inside me?"

"Uhhh. Uh huh."

"Would you like me to do that?"

"Uh huh."

"Would you let me blindfold you first?"

I just whimpered at that.

"Or would you rather have your eyes open, and let me ruin you again?"

Another whimper. "Ruin me?"

"Ruin you," she nodded. "I love ruining you. Watching you groan and twitch and flop around on your stomach and spill out your... semen... without getting a full release.

"I even love the word. "Ruined." It just sounds so... sad. So... final. Like such a waste." She sighed, dramatically.

"And apparently you like it, too. You just told me. You told me you love watching me while I do that."

I whimpered again. "I do."

She cocked her head, and asked, in a little girls' innocent sing-song voice. "Why-ee?"

"Wouldn't it be better to feel me stroking you and squeezing you and milking you, all the way through to the end? The way I do to other guys? With my... tight... wet... pussy?"

I just whimpered, again.

"But you know, I love it that you would rather let me enjoy myself."

Suddenly, she got up on her knees, and swung her right leg over my body. Settling herself down on my stomach.

Facing the other direction.

I could no longer see her hands, working so skillfully up and down and around my erection. I could no longer see her lovely face, her eyes wide and bright, her pouty lips parted in a wicked blend of teasing and her own arousal.

I could, of course, see her perfect heart-shaped derriere, one of my favorite sights on earth, jiggling just slightly as my torso flexed underneath her. But it wasn't what I wanted to see, what I had craved to see, when given the choice between a blindfolded handjob to orgasm or an unimpeded view of her exquisite face as she devastated me.

I wanted to see her hands fly open, releasing me just before my turgid erection pushed a thick spurt of semen through her perfect slippery grasp, and two feet up into the air. I wanted to see that exquisite face, eyes wide with delight, mocking me and glorying in her ownership and mastery and denial of my pleasure. And, truth be told, I wanted to see my own penis flopping helplessly on my belly, slowly emitting my semen in stunted, twitching, failed attempts at satisfaction, a reminder that I was putty in the hands of the most deliciously wicked vixen I had ever known.

I had seen it before, and I wanted to see it again, even more than I wanted a real orgasm.

Oh, God. She had figured out a way to double-devastate me. I felt my body beginning to rise toward climax, triggered as much by her diabolical act of denial as by her slick, slippery hands milking my desperate erection. I felt my testicles tense, drawing up against my perineum. I felt my frenulum swell at the base of my cock, the first spasm of my orgasm, the first spurt of semen beginning its half-second race up the length of my erection, under the incredible grasp of those slick slippery fingers --

which were suddenly, achingly, gone.

It was like we had spent hours, days, building one of those elaborate domino towers, where you flick down the first domino and then watch all your work tumble down in seconds, in a fascinating kaleidoscope pattern that can never be repeated again. And she had covered my eyes before knocking down the domino.

At least I could hear the dominoes falling. At least I could hear her laughing.

All I could feel was a pool of warm, slippery liquid oozing out onto my stomach.

***

Graham woke up on Friday morning, groggy again, for the second morning in a row. For the second night in a row, he had slept poorly, frequently awakened by his dreams.

The night before, he had had a series of vivid, specific, detailed dreams, in which he had clearly seen his lovely blonde bride being ravaged by Captain Roy, the short, fat, hairy troll who had flirted with her at dinner -- and who she had subsequently, shockingly, teased him about.

Tonight, his dreams had been more, well, dream-like; amorphous, shifting visions. Involving his younger brother Connor. Who Maddie had confided, last night, teasingly or no, had become the real-life object of her fantasy about cuckolding him, at home, for real, with someone they actually knew.

So, of course, some of nocturnal visions had been sexual. But unlike the previous night's dreams, which had rolled out like uninterrupted scenes from feature-length films, in technicolor, tonight all he remembered were little flashes, one-second jump-cuts from a movie trailer. Just enough to see two young, lithe bodies intertwined -- his wife's, and his brother's.

But whereas previously, he had had these vivid extended images of Maddie lying, inert, supple and supplicant underneath a vile older man, allowing him to use her to slake his lust, a vessel into which to pour his foul seed -- tonight the flashes of images were of two lovers, participating equally in pleasing the other.

Two lean, smooth bellies, inches apart, and then centimeters, then disappearing from his view as Maddie's thighs came up to wrap around his brother's waist.

His brother's long, strong fingers, snaking through Maddie's golden locks, tangling them as he clenched his fist and drew her head to him, against some unseen part of his body... his mouth, his chest, his...

Maddie's delicate hands, palms down, slender fingers clutching at the sheets, then Connor's hands moving up, over her wrists, slipping each of his fingers between hers, while meanwhile, outside his field of vision, he pictured her lying prone, arching her back, tilting her bottom up to receive his brother's long, hard cock from behind.

But he also remembered countless images in which Maddie hadn't figured, at all. Visions of himself playing games with Connor. Tennis. Driveway basketball. Pool. Backgammon.

And always losing.

And Connor looking at him afterwards. Self-satisfied. Amused. Ready to claim the spoils of his victory.

Connor, knowing. Knowing that Graham was a cuckold. And that he, Connor, was reaping the benefits.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Maddie spoke from across the room. She was sitting in a side-chair, in a diaphanous gown, holding a mug of coffee between her delicate fingertips.

"'Morning," Graham acknowledged, looking for the clock. It was after ten.

"Another rough night?" she asked, with a smirk.

"Ummm. Maybe. I guess."

"Goodness," she said. "Why was that?"

He didn't reply immediately. She stood up, and he could see that she was naked under her dressing gown. No nightie, no panties. His breath caught in his throat. She walked over to the counter outside the bathroom and poured a second cup of coffee from the carafe.

She turned around, holding a cup in each hand. "I mean... you were so... vigorous... last night. I hoped maybe I had worn you out.

"But apparently not."

He realized that she was looking at the tentpole that his morning erection was creating under the sheet.

"So what were you dreaming about?" she teased. "Surely not your little brother."

Oh, Jesus, he thought. "Talking in my sleep again?" he said, sheepishly.

"Something like that," she answered, handing him his cup.

Something like that. He took a sip and thought about what she was implying. If she could read his mind, he was doomed.

"So, it's the last full day of our honeymoon," she sighed.

"Yeah. Are you sad about that?"

"No, not really," she said. "I'm ready to get home and get comfortable."

"I'll miss the beach, and the lanai..."

"Yeah," he agreed. He realized that he was waiting for her to tease him again about Captain Roy. Hoping she would, actually.

"And the sex has been fabulous. I was worried that once I was an old married woman, you'd lose interest in me," she teased. "But for some reason, you've been more attentive and... possessive... than ever this week!"

Graham grinned slightly. "For some reason," he repeated.

She set down her cup on the nightstand and laid down beside him. "It is hotter now, isn't it? Thinking about me with other men... now that I'm actually your wife."

He took a deep breath and considered that. He wasn't sure that was quite right. He hadn't been any less aroused or jealous, thinking about her being with other guys, when they were still merely engaged. It was more that he was amazed at how much more aggressively she was playing the game with him now. On their honeymoon. It excited him to consider that she liked this game at least as much as he did, and that she might be even more adventurous than he had dared to imagine.

Adventurous enough to draw his brother into their play, though? He wasn't sure about that, at all. But he had no doubt that that is why his cock was so stiff.

"My goodness," she commented, placing her hand softly on top of the mound in the sheets. "Maybe we should get you one of those little cages."

Graham gasped. He had watched enough porn, since discovering his fetish, to know what she was talking about. The idea of being locked in chastity drove him wild. He hadn't realized she even knew about them.

"Would that be fun?" she asked.

"Ummm..."

"I'll take that as a yes," she giggled, as he twitched and swelled under her palm.

"Should we get one of those metal cages where you bulge out through the bars? Or one of those smooth plastic numbers with just a little hole at the tip, so the rest of your penis can't touch anything at all?"

Graham just bit his lip and gazed into her twinkling blue eyes.

"Should we get one that lets you get half hard, maybe three inches, but bending down?" she asked, using one hooked index finger to mimic the shape. "Or one of those tiny little flat discs that keeps your whole penis up inside your body?

"Maybe I'll ask Alex what she recommends."

Oh, God, thought Graham. Please, don't let your sex-crazed best friend know we're talking about this. But immediately, he could picture Maddie's sultry bridesmaid: her brown eyes getting wide and shiny with excitement, her face breaking into a wicked smile of surprise and delight, as his bride confided to her that she had him locked up. It made his erection twitch with erotic shame and arousal.

"Alex... knows about chastity devices?" he couldn't help but explore the idea.

"Well, of course," Maddie laughed. "She's actually told me she's got a guy locked up right now."

Graham couldn't be surprised, but the thought of his wife and her friend talking about such things was driving him wild and simultaneously filling him with dread. "Who?" he couldn't help but ask.

Maddie shrugged. "She won't tell me," she replied. "But she says you can't believe how much fun it is."

Graham shook his head, and then had a thought. "I wonder if it's Connor."

Maddie laughed. "Oh, I don't think so. From what I hear, he would never fit in one of those things.

"But," she continued. "Wouldn't it be hot for you to be wearing it when we have him over for dinner?"

Oh, God. The thought made Graham's head spin.