“What a day!” I mumbled to myself, pulling my house key out of my pursuit. The smallest key on my keychain caught against the doorjamb again. I grunted in frustration, untangling it from the others. Little things like that made me want to throw it away completely. I smiled quietly at how my husband would react. Yes, I should share that idea with him. Every bit of motivation helps.
I pushed the door open. My husband was kneeing in the front entryway as instructed, naked but for his pink collar and matching calendar ankle and wrist cuffs. The sunlight through the doorway briefly glinted off his cock cage, matching just as well with the rhinestones in his collar. They spelled “PET”, both literally and figuratively. The ankle and wrist cuffs had been a new discovery: soft leather, with little leather bows on them. It was the detail that made the most fun. That, and the locks that ensured they stayed on all day.
I lifted first one foot and then the other, allowing himto remove my work heels and put them away. He gently kissed the top of each stockinged foot as he laid it back down. “Hello dear, I’m so happy you’re home!” He greeted me, also as instructed. “How was your day?” He rose to take my coat. He smelled nice – he had remembered to wear the cologne I had selected.
“Don’t ask,” I replied, “it was another long one. You can go ahead, I don’t feel like talking yet.”
Without another word he hurried off to the kitchen. I put my purse away, being sure to keep my keys in my suit jacket pocket. I walked into the living room, where he was already waiting with a glass of chilled white wine. I took a sip and plopped myself down onto the couch, remote in hand. He went off to the kitchen again, grabbing a pink apron along the way. I took a moment to admit his lithe Figure as he moved, then turned on my show and let my mind wander. Quickly the smell of sauteeing garlic permeated the room. I checked the time on my phone. Still 15 minutes left befor dinner time. Just enough time to finish this episode.
I reached over to the side table without looking, and found the little silver bell I kept there. I gave it a short ring and counted off the time in my head until my husband appeared beside me, obedient to its call. “Yes, dear?” He asked. 8 seconds, I noted with approval. He his broad shoulders and frame looked ridiculous in the pink, frilly apron, but it had the desired effect: he was improving at following my instructions.
I lifted my empty glass in his direction without taking my eyes off the screen. “Another glass, please.” He took it quickly from my hand, leaving the room the long way so he wouldn’t block the TV on his way out.
He returned shortly with my refill, and then went back to his cooking. He really was doing well tonight, I reflected. It was less than a year since he had revealed his chatity fantasy to me, and even less than that since I agreed to try playing along. How long had it been since I had the idea of designing my perfect after work ritual? Only weeks, surely.
It had been trickier than I expected; a regular process like this worked best when it balanced his effort with motivation: both humiliation, and the fear of what I might do if he failed. I had pulled out harder punishments than I expected. But all that care had paid off.
Gone were the days when I needed to punish him to improve his speed, or his memory for the details of the evening tasks. I was surprised to find myself a little wistful for those evenings, for the fun I had devising his reminders and consequences for the inevitable errors. Still, it was just lovely to know I would come home to a perfectly relaxing atmosphere, tailored just for my desires. Perhaps I should start building another ritual for weekend mornings, I reflected.
My show concluded on a cliffhanger as it always did, and I switched it off. It was exactly six o’clock, and my husband was arriving on time with my meal. I gestured his permission to bring it to me. The smell certainly had my interest!
He approached and handed me the loaded plate and utesils, then dropped to all fours in front of me. I placed the plate gently on his back, and started to cut my food. Italian chicken salad, the chicken breast perfectly moist and tender. He had even learned my favorite recipes!
I enjoyed my meal in silence, quietly browsing on my phone. I swear I could *feel* the energy returning to my body. This was just what I needed. Of course, I felt this way every night lately. Yes, this routine had turned out wonderfully.
Finished with my meal, I placed the plate and silverware on the floor in front of him. He rose to his knees and dug into my leftovers. Finally I felt ready to be present with him.
I asked him about his day, and we chatted easily while he ate. We both had demanding jobs; these rituals and this structure at home were a part of our release at the end of a hard day. He truly enjoyed pampering me, striving for perfection in every detail of the evening. And for my part, it really *was* much easier for me to relax like this. This whole routine was working wonderers for both of our stress levels.
When he finished the plate he rose without instruction and cleared the dishes. He had done really flawlessly tonight, I had to admit. This was the kind of good behavior I wanted to reform. But did I really have the energy left to reward him, I wondered?
Not really, I decided. I’d just have to make it something where he did all the work. After all, serving me should be its own reward. I chuckled quietly to myself at the thought, as the sound of dishes being loaded into the dishwasher emanated from the kitchen.
I rose and quietly walked to the bedroom to prepare what I needed. I slipped off my business clothes and briefly considered my options. I was already wearing a matching pink bra and panty set. That would have to be good enough, I decided. I grabbed the small velvet bag of toys I used for such occasions, adjusted my stay-up stockings, and quietly slipped back to the living room.
My husband returned to find me on the couch as before. I enjoyed the moment of realization in his eyes when he saw my bare form, understand what it might mean for him. He suddenly took extra care with every detail: he removed his apron and hung it in the right place, adjusted his cage and cuffs, and stood upright, legs slightly apart, his arms behind his back. I could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes, ensuring he had remembered everything. I was sure he had.
I leaned back slightly, crossing my stockinged legs slowly, and locked his eyes with mine. “Your performance tonight has been…” I hesitated, just to enjoy his suspension. “Exceptional.” His Shoulders relaxed obviously. He struggled to contain a smile. “I’ve had a thoroughly relaxing evening, so thank you.” He licked his lips, either nervously or in anticipation. I decided eitherone was fine.
“I have decided to reward you, but I’m still tired from my work day. So… you get to entertain me. Step back against the table.”
He obediently stepped back until his thighs were against the dining table behind him. I approached slowly, savoring his nervousness. I drew a small gold chain out of my velvet bag, and, looping it around the table legs, attached it to his ankle cuffs so his legs were fixed to the table. I plucked at the bows to straighten them. I rose slowly in place, running my hands up his muscle body as I went, until my lips were only inches from his. I could taste his breathing, increasing in pace. “Now,” I whispered, our lips practically touching, “you are going to masturbate for me.” I paused to hear his breathing change in anticipation. “Without touching your cock.”
With that I withdraw and returned to my position on the couch. He looked confused, so I offered him a lead: “start with your hair, your ears, your mouth. And make it good; Idon’t want to get bored.”
He awkwardly raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. Closing his eyes, his hand gently brushed his ear, his cheek, and finally his lips. His fingers hovered there for a moment. His mouth opened slightly and his index finger traced them gently before his tongue reached out to cares it. He pulled his finger slowly into his mouth, now biting gently, now teasing it more with His tongue. At last his lips closed around it and he sensitively sucked on the digit, his posture relaxing. I watched his cock start to fill its metal cage, and smiled. This was too easy.
As his hand left his mouth and traced the side of his neck, I found myself also lazily touching myself, the fingerprints of one hand idly circled my left breast and areola. His hand and mine found their targets at the same time. He gasped as his nipple felt the touch of his finger, still moist with saliva. My lips parted at the same time at the sensing of my fingertips through the gauzy fabric of my bra. My nipples hardened against the soft material, watching him cirlce his own sensitive areola. He pinched, hard, and his cock pressed against its confines, flesh protruding from the bars. His hips bucked a little into the air, the cage protruding usefully from his body.
I granted myself the permission I had denied to him, my other hand grazing up my thigh towards my sex. I hadn’t *planned* on doing anything, but it was my decision, after all! I could feel the building heat as my fingertips traced the vulva through my panties. He was now twisting and tweaking in earnest. One hand had found his ass and was gripping a muscle chef violently. His eyes remained closed, his browser furrowed in frustrated pleasure. He was lost in the inner world of his own sensing. I pulled my panties to the side and a finger found my wet slit. I moaned aloud, and watched him bite his lip, gasping softly into the room.
I couldn’t resist any longer. I stood and slipped my pAntis off. He heard my approaching footsteps and froze in place a moment before daring to open his eyes. I swwayed over to him, my dampened thong still dangling from my fingertips, and I revealed the second toy from my black bag: the key his cage. I silently tapped it against my pursued lips, and considered my options. He clearly wanted me – that was practically his resting state these days, anyway. How best to drag him further into my power?
I allowed my breasts to touch his body, the electric heat of our arousal mingling in the air. I raised my lips to his, and my tongue flicked over his mouth. His whole body tensed. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, “and maybe you’ll be lucky.” I placed the key on the table beside him.
His hands resumed their work on his ass and nipples, and he moaned into my open mouth. I bit his lower lip and kissed him. He locked to my lips like a pared mouth to water, his tongue greedily probing. His entire universe was focused on the kiss; I pulled my teasing lips back to gasp for air, a smile on my face. God, the intensity of this man! I guided one of his hands to my pussy and felt him push inside me, first one, then two fingers. His thumb circled my clip as the other two digits explored me. My mouth found his again and we were moaning into each other, bodies thrusting, pressing together.
He withdraw from me a moment and I opened my eyes at the sensing. I wanted – *needed* – more. We locked eyes and he tasted my juices on his digits, moistening the other two before moving them back into position and teasing the entrance to my eager body. This would not stand. Crumpling my panties into a ball in my hand, I pressed them against his nose and mouth. He was overwhelmed at the scent and sensing. His eyes practically rolled back in his head. His fingers obediently pushed inside me, four of them now. My pussy welcomed them.
I lifted one leg onto the table to give him a better angle and the sensing of fullness took me. His free hand left his body and gripped mine, fingers digging into my back, my hips, and my ass as he fought for purchase against the sensings washing over his world. His body and mine compromised together and I looked down to see his cock scanning in its confinement. I bit his neck and we moaned together again, his fingers still working in my pussy.
Pressing the panties into his mouth, I gasped “hold these” before fumbling in the bag for my vibrator. I pressed it against my clip and shut my eyes tight at the rolling wave of pleasure that threatened to knock me over. I leaned against him for balance as much as desire, and rode the swelling impulses from my clip, from his fingers, from his smell and presence. He moaned into his makeshift gag and clutched at my body with his free hand.
At once the waves of pleasure assembled into a tsunami, driving a primary scream from my throat. The vibrator drive the tidal wave further. His fingers, his groping hand gave the wave force. His smell,His heat, the frustration of his trapped manhood, and the sheer intensity of his lust swept over and through me for what seemed like an age. I saw nothing, thought nothing, experienced nothing except the wave as I came.
When the spasm released I withdraw his hand gently from myself and replaced my vibrator on the table. I stepped back, wiping the beads of sweat from my browser and breasts. Still panting, I examined his state – muscles clenching with need, a sheen of sweat proving his desire. His cock, still frustrated by its prison. I wanted more, and I wanted him to need it more, too.
Binding his wrist cuffs together behind his back, I grabbed the key and applied it to his locked member, fumbling a little with the security screw. His swollen cock made removing the device difficult – and there was certainly no way to remove the base ring. His cock stood proudly erect with all its force, every vein protruding, the indentations from the cage bars the only reminder of its’ frustrated state. Like this, I had to be careful: he could come at the lightest touch, and that’s not what I wanted this time.
From the bag I removed the last, and largest toy: a penis sheath, no longer than his cock but significantly wider. Almost comically so. After all his fingers in me – practically his whole hand – this was often what I craved. I slide it over his cock with difficulty, and pulled the bottom strap over His balls. He wouldn’t feel anything through the thick silicane, but I certainly would.
I turned away from him and bent at the waist, spreading my lips for his greedy sight. I heard his mumbled “fuuuuuck” as I slowly pressed the head of the giant member against myself. The stretch, the feeling of its seemingly impossible girl, was wonderful. Slowly I stroked the tip along my pussy, until I felt I could take a little more, and I pressed it just a little inside me. He groaned at the sight of the cock penetrating me, my lips spreading around the shake.
I cotinued to work it slowly, partly for my own comfort but mostly because I knew it drove him wild. When I wanted more, I slip back on the shake a little more… then a little more again. Now I was moving most of the length of it, and his grunts had turned into one long moan of frustration and arousal. Finally I had the whole thing inside me, the heat of his body pressing against me. It filled me completely, with pressure on my insides like nothing else. God that fullness! I pulled back, then let it fill me again. Now it was my turn to let out a long “fuuuck” of pleasure.
He groaned again, and I staarted to move faster. He had a perfect view: tantalizingly close, but with no sensing, no way to climax. Now he was pounding into me, my face a rictus of pleasure. “Fuck me.” I ordered, and his hips compiled. “Fuck me harder. Harder.”
He was pumping in earnest now, harder than he ever could with his real cock. His balls slapped against my pussy and I felt it pushing my cervix, mywhole insides wrapped around him. My moans got higher and higher as he fucked me harder and harder. My second orgasm came from deep inside, from the stretch and fullness and sheer hotness of taking something so big. I came around that giant cock and my husband shouted in frustration.
As the wave passed I slowed the motion and gradually withdraw the cock from myself. I gently removed the prosthetic from his member, which somehow seemed even harder than before, if that were possible. Precum dribbled from his tip.
Out of breath, I stood against him for a moment, just enjoying his sweat, his scent, and his heat. He was practically quivering with tension. After that fucking my body wanted me to lay down, but I knew I wanted to take advantage of this state while it lasted.
I repositioned myself, resting my pussy on top of His shake without letting him inside me. The lips practically enveloped him, and I imagined my wetness dripping down his cock. I gently rocked back and forth along the length of it, and he moaned. His arms strained in vain to bring his hands to bear. Again our bodies were enwined, again his heat and mine mingled with electricity. Again my lips brushed his as I whispered to him, “you want it so much, don’t you?”
He could only grunt in response. His eyes were wild with desire. Lust flooded his every sense. *Now* I really had him. My lips curled into the hint of a smile.
“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” Again the grunt of assent. His hips straining to push his cock up into the pussy he could feel so close. I kept struggling with the same rhythm, back and forth. Back and forth.
“Say it,” I challenged him, removing the panties from his mouth and struggling his nipples with their saliva-moistened fabric. “Tell me that you’d do anything for my pussy.”
“Fuck,” he grunted again, “yes I’d do anything for your pussy.”
“Say it louder,” I whispered into his panting, ragged breath, my pussy keeping its steady rhythmhm.
“I’d do anything for your pussy!” He shouted. Sweat was standing out on his body now, his muscles tight with desire.
I softly pulled his mouth open with a finger. He compiled immediately, eagerly.
This was my moment. I could have anything I wanted from him right now; he was completely mine in every fiber. In this state he wouldn’t just accept whatever degradation I thought up – he would beg for it. Beg for my spottle, or worse – and happy drink it from a glass! The feeling of this much control was heady, intooxicatig. I was horny all over again.
I picked up my vibrator and again applied it to my clip. He moaned at the sensing through my pussy lips as I continued to stroke against his shaft. My eyes closed involuntarily; I was already pretty close. I forced them open again and stared him in the eyes.
“Beg me not to let you cum. Beg me to deny your orgasm.”
He looked panicked, confused. I smiled and a shudder of pleasure rode through my body. Fuck. Yes.
“Beg me to lock you back up for another week, baby.” I tried for a sweet tone, but my voice came out shadowy.
He hesitated. “Two weeks.” I corrected myself, my body starting to shake with my voice. Still no response as he struggled to form words.
“A month. Fucking beg for me.”
He finally spoke, “Please don’t let me cum.” Through gritted teeth he continued, “please deny my orgasm and,” he gasppped as I clutched at his body, “and lock my cock up for another month.”
I was almost there. “Say please.”
“Please.”
My pussy exploded in a third orgasm. I throw my head back and let it consume me, his defeated whimpers fading into the background of the wash of pleasure.
When it had passed, I slid off his still-throbbing member. He was covered in my juices.
“Well,” I breathed into his ear, “since you asked so nicely…”
Leave a Reply