A Change in Life
A Fictional Story by Shadykingcolor.
“Are we actually doing this?” I asked her.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” Kimberly looked over, one eyebrow raised. “You look anxious.”
“Well, that’s because I am!”
“Why? It was on your bucket list after all.”
“I mean, yeah. But that was before chastity.”
“That was your choice too!” She began to laugh, the sound light and teasing under the already-hot Canarian sun.
*A little backstory may help. Years ago my wife and I sat down and wrote a bucket list. I had almost died. Well, actually, I did… twice. Full-blown cardiac arrest at thirty-seven. Although it was a shock, I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was ten stone overweight, drank way too much, and lived on junk food.
Recovery was hard. The physiotherapy was grueling; being heavy didn’t help. I struggled to stay motivated, and, well, let’s just say it became hard in more ways than one. My wife suggested a reward chart. Hit a goal, make an achievement, get a reward.
The rewards varied: walking for 15 minutes on a treadmill earned a beer. Ten lunges meant I could have a steak. Climbing a flight of stairs unlocked sex. Lose a stone, and I could eat cheese again. It took a while, but after several months, I was healthy… again… ish.
My event didn’t just affect us. Friends and family were shaken too. Many were inspired to start their own bucket lists. That inspired us to do the same. Most of our lists were mundane, but I had one slightly out-there item. I wanted to go to a nude beach.
I still remember Kimberly’s reaction. You want to go to a nude beach?”
“Yeah. Not now, but give me a couple of years, and I’ll be beach body ready.”
“I mean, if it’s what you really want.”
“I think it’ll be fun.”
“It’ll have to be abroad. Nothing domestic.”
“The odds on…” I began, but she cut me off.
“If we’re doing it, it’s abroad.”
“Yes, dear,” I told her, kissing her thankfully.
I still remember her conditions. She was nervous as she felt she had a “Mum-Bod,” though I found her sexy as fuck. That didn’t seem to matter.
“The nude beach is your thing, not mine. So I promise. Day one, I’m wearing a swimsuit…”
“But…” I began.
“Day two, I’ll wear a bikini.” Kimberly continued. Ignoring my protests. Day three, I may, MAY go topless. Day Four, if three happens, I’ll go bottomless, but keep my top on.”
She instinctively put a hand up. Unwilling to engage in any conversation.
“If all goes to plan. Day Five, Six I’ll go completely nude…maybe…”
“Thank you,” I told her as I gave her a thankful kiss.
After my recovery, I took getting fit seriously. It took a solid three years, but my body became a chiseled masterpiece: lean muscle, defined abs, the kind of physique that turned heads even in London. With a perfect body came a more adventurous streak. I bought sexy underwear to seduce my wife, but the best stuff was in the gay stores… unbeknownst to her at first, which is, funny enough, how my fascination with chastity began.
Living in London gave me the luxury of cycling into Soho whenever I wanted and popping into the shops. On my second or third visit, I saw these plastic and stainless-steel novelty items with names like Penthouse Prison, The Enclosure, and other cheeky labels. To the initiated, you’ll know they were basically knock-off Holy trainers and stainless-steel ring cages.
Seeing them triggered flashbacks to my apprenticeship. We were renovating a house for a widowed woman. She asked us to clear out her late husband’s old office…he’d been dead a few years.
“Would you like this briefcase, young man?”
It was a battered brown leather thing. I thought, What the fuck do I want with this? But politeness won.
“Thank you, much appreciated. What’s the code?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but you’ll have fun figuring it out.”
My gaffer said we’d just take it to the dump. On my lunch break, I played with the combination locks. I called my dad, told him about the widow, and he laughed. “Nine times out of ten, if they haven’t reset it, the code is triple zero, triple zero.”Funnily enough, it was. Inside that brown leather suitcase were fetish magazines, vintage, old-school stuff. Hardcore BDSM (not my cup of tea), some shemale, some dyke, lots of proper bushy, dated photos that weren’t exactly masturbation material.
But in the back were comic strips, and, being a slightly immature young man, I loved them. Single-frame black-and-white cartoons by an artist called K.D. Pierre. Simple, nothing elaborate. They usually depicted a couple, a man and his wife, where the husband’s penis had a lock on it.
I remember one that showed a slightly larger woman lounging on a bed while her husband performed cunnilingus, with the cage still locked on… the caption read something like, “Let’s see what else you never used to do,” while she twirled the keys on her finger.
Another, the husband washing in the shower, complaining it was taking too long. His wife replies, “Actually, you’re taking half as long as you used to. Care to explain why?”
And one at the breakfast table, cage visible under the tablecloth, the pair filling out a sex survey. The wife smirks, “Boy, are you going to skew the curve.”
All quite innocent, playful things. They aroused me. I masturbated to the thought more than once. Young adulthood, eh.
Eventually I got rid of the magazines. Honestly, I wish I’d kept the picture now—some things you just can’t find online anymore.
Standing in that gay sex-apparel shop, seeing those cages, brought it all back. I thought, Hey, that would be something to try with the wife. It went down like a lead balloon at first. The first cage I bought was a metal ring with a two-inch O-ring. That thing practically fell off me. It ended up in my junk drawer (my side of the bed, of course).
Next was another metal cage with hinged O-rings that I thought would be easier…Wrong. They pinched, they hurt, they cut me so badly I had to take it off before I even showed Kimberly. She would not have been impressed.
I was about a hundred pounds down before I tried the Holy Trainer. That fitted well…or so I thought. The first time I showed it to her, she was very unimpressed. Locking up her favorite toy didn’t go down too well.”You know, I want to earn it,” I said. “Just put a marker down. Let me see if I can… maybe make you cum six or seven times before you let me out.”
Her reply was along the lines of, “I didn’t put you in it. What are you talking about?”
I argued my case without mentioning the cartoons. “I don’t want to live vanilla anymore. I almost died. I want to do this.”
She stared at me. “Just let me get this right. You want to wear something that prevents an erection so we can still have sex?”
I showed her the magic wand I’d bought, plus a few other toys. “This is something I’d like to try.”
“How long can it stay on?
“As long as you like.”She pulled a strange face. “You want us to have sex where I cum… and you don’t?”
“Yeah. It’s definitely coming off tonight because I want you to creampie me. But next week, Friday, my period starts. You can wear it again then…. At least I won’t feel guilty about not giving you a blowjob.”
I can’t lie, when those words left her mouth, my cock immediately tried to get hard inside the cage. There was something so arousing about the idea of her just leaving me locked and ignoring me. IT was like another major flashback to those old cartoons. We eventually moved on from there, and Kimberly loved me caged.
One day, I was back in Soho, in one of the shops, when I overheard someone ask, “Do you have the Cobra KD cages?”The assistant said no; try CloneZone down the road. I walked straight out, down the street, and into the other shop. Those cages were beautiful, sleek, and better engineered, with a properly contoured design. I tried one on, found the perfect ring size, and it came to just under two hundred quid. The one I settled on was a black Cobra S: matte black polycarbonate, smooth curves, a solid locking mechanism at the base ring, and a short, restrictive tube that kept everything pointed downward and completely contained. No escape, no real growth possible. Just constant, low-level pressure and the knowledge that I was locked.
When I told Kimberly how much I’d spent, she wasn’t annoyed. “It’s her birthday soon. We’ll call it an early birthday present. Good investment on your forever cage.”
My cock leaked instantly when she called it a forever cage.
*Now back to today, in Gran Canaria*
Kimberly looked at me and said, “You’re overreacting. You got through Heathrow no problem. The beach will be a cakewalk.”
I had thought the airport would be awkward. I’d told her I didn’t want to be caged for security, but she insisted it would be fine; the full-body scanners would just register it as a novelty item.
Technically it was fine. I went through, got scanned. The guy on the machine gave me a funny look; he clearly saw the outline of the black Cobra, but he didn’t pull me aside. He waved Kimberly over instead. They had a quick conversation; he wrote something down, sealed it in an envelope, and told her to open it when we got back to London.
I’d forgotten about that envelope. Kimberly had slipped it into her carry-on. When I asked what it was, she told me what he’d said, then demanded we get a drink. My wife is a nervous flyer. And that was the end of the convo.
Kimberly walked up to me, kissed me on the lips, and said, “Shane, you’re overthinking. This is what you wanted. Relax. We’ll go. If it’s really shit, we’ll leave after an hour. Don’t stress.” She gave me a playful smack on the arse and went back to doing her makeup.
I took a deep breath and stood in front of the hotel-room mirror. Defined chest, tight abs, the black Cobra S locked snugly around my cock and balls, the tube short and smooth, the base ring sitting flush against my skin. A faint sheen of pre-come already visible at the tip slit.”Let’s do this,” I told myself.
I pulled on black cargo swim shorts, a brown beach shirt, and a beige fisherman’s hat. “I look like a fucking chav,” I told Kimberly.
She turned, smiled, giggled. “Weirdly, it’s doing it for me.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, rolling my eyes.
She adjusted her swimsuit, an all-in-one with strategic openings that framed her beautiful brown skin, gold trim catching the light. She wrapped herself in a light shawl and settled a straw hat on her head. “I’m ready.”
We headed to reception and caught the shuttle to the beach. The shuttle dropped us at Maspalomas. We walked through the textile section first. Sand artists had sculpted Simpsons characters; for a small fee, you could sit and take a photo. Kimberly was adamant we do all the touristy things, so we did. Eventually we reached a big sign in Spanish and English: Nude beach beyond this point.
As we crossed, Kimberly asked, “Should we strip now?”I scoffed. “No. Let’s walk at least another ten or fifteen minutes, so we’re bang in the middle. No chance of offending anyone.”
Even though almost no one was there yet, we’d practically opened the beach. That was by design. I’d been convinced I’d chicken out and want to leave before anyone saw me. Originally the nude beach fantasy had been uncaged. Being locked made me more nervous. Kimberly just reassured me, then joked she’d like to see my cock develop tan lines from the Cobra.
We found a decent spot; she didn’t like it. She spotted sun loungers further along and wanted to get closer. When we reached them, she asked about hiring one and was told that all were reserved for an event that day.
Great, I thought. The beach is going to get fucking crowded. We set up a decent distance away, opened our pop-up tent, and laid out towels. Kimberly stripped down to her swimsuit and gave me the nod. I took off the brown shirt, took a deep breath, dropped my shorts, and tossed them into the tent. The black Cobra sat heavy and obvious against my pale skin, the tube glinting slightly in the sun.
“Do you want to go for a dip?” she asked. I looked around; still no one. “Yeah, sure.”
We waded in. Feet, then knees, until the Atlantic closed over the cage. The water was cool and clear; the lock’s restricted feeling intensified as the temperature changed. We messed about for twenty or thirty minutes until she warned me,
“Don’t you fucking splash my hair. I’ve only just had it done.”
When we turned to head back, horror filled me. The beach was filling up. At least a dozen loungers were now occupied; people were setting up blankets and tents further along. I had no choice but to walk back with the cage on full display. Stepping out of the ocean was terrifying. I felt every pair of eyes land on the black device locked around my cock. I kept my gaze fixed on our tent and marched.
The second we reached it, I wrapped a towel around myself.”Maybe this is a bad idea,” I told her.
“We’re here. No one gives a fuck,” Kimberly said. “Open the bag and pour yourself a drink.”
“Kimberly, it’s not even noon.”
“Who cares? We’re on holiday. It’ll relax your nerves.”
I opened a beer for myself and a small bottle of prosecco for her.
As I was handing her the glass, a tanned man in his late forties wandered over. He had an okay body, completely naked, semi-stroking his cock.”Hola, mucho gusto en conocerlos. Me llamo Marco. ¿Les gustaría jugar?”
Kimberly and I looked at each other. Neither of us speaks Spanish.
“Sorry… uh… por favor, no español,” I managed.
He repeated the question. I pulled out my phone, opened Google Translate, and stared at the result. Would you like to play?
We waved him away. Kimberly looked at me. “That was fucking weird.”
“I know. Did you see him touching his dick?”
“I thought he was asking where you got your cage.” She laughed nervously.
It happened two more times. Each time we shooed someone away, they looked annoyed. People on towels within viewing distance kept glancing over, clearly irritated. We couldn’t figure out why. We weren’t even looking toward the loungers. Then, while we were still bickering about how crazy it was, a shadow fell across the sand in front of us.
A man stood there, five-foot-ten, blond hair, pale skin, blue eyes, a silver chain around his neck closed with a small padlock. Good body, visible six-pack. And locked in the N version of the same Cobra cage I was wearing. Polished silver instead of matte black, slightly different contouring, the same restrictive design.
“Hola. ¿Hablan español, alemán, francés, italiano o inglés?”
I was mute with shock. Another locked man, right here. Kimberly answered awkwardly, “Um… English? We speak English.”
In a clear German accent, the blond man smiled. “Hello. I’m Timo. Your first time at this beach?”
We nodded.
He looked at Kimberly. “And he is your cuckold?”
“Cuckold? No. He’s my husband.”
“Yas, yas. Husbands are cuckolds?”
That finally gave me my voice. “I’m not a cuckold. I’m not her cuckold. We’re just husband and wife. This is just us.”
Timo pulled a face.
“Are you locked, no?”
“Yes, but that’s got nothing to do with cuckolding.”
He started to speak, stopped, put a finger to his lips, thought for a moment. “The tent is not good for you. The tent is for privacy…to invite people in to play with you.”
Kimberly looked horrified. “No. My husband has sensitive skin. We just need it for shade. That’s not our intention. We don’t want to play with anyone.”
“Yas, yas, I understand. But this will be a problem for you all day if the tent stays up.”
I stood immediately and started folding the pop-up tent: twist left, twist right, collapse it back into its bag. Around us, people on towels nodded or shook their heads as if we’d wasted their time.
Timo waved and walked off. I watched him go, curious. Another caged man on the same beach. He headed straight for the sun-lounger area. I tapped Kimberly’s arm. Do you see what I see?”
Around the loungers there must have been fifty men. At least two-thirds, maybe three-quarters, were wearing cages of some kind, pink, black, metal, plastic, various designs and sizes.
Kimberly stared.
“You’re not crazy. I see it too.”
“What are the odds?”
“That’s a good question,” she said, picking up her prosecco. “Grab your stuff. Let’s go talk to Timo again.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” She marched off toward the loungers.
It took me a second to get to my feet. I was in two minds about the towel or the shorts, but since she was walking straight toward the group of locked men, I reluctantly followed naked.
I called for her to slow down; she just gestured for me to hurry. As we got closer, I scanned the area; no women, only men, the majority locked like me.
Kimberly had already started talking to Timo and a few others by the time I arrived with an awkward “Hello.”
They nodded and kept speaking to her. The man she was mainly talking to was a big fellow, hefty, very hairy, with a strong German accent. He explained that the beach attracted many swingers. Kimberly told him that wasn’t why we were here and explained the bucket-list story.
He listened, then laughed. “So not only is this a notorious swingers’ beach, you’ve come during a major gay pride and kink festival.”
I started to apologize, saying we’d leave, but the hairy man…Bear, I later learned, stepped forward, put a heavy hand on the back of my neck, and patted my shoulder. You will be fine.”He turned to Kimberly and gestured at some empty loungers. “Friends of mine are delayed. They will not be here today. Join us.”
Kimberly told me to go back and get our things while she chatted. Timo offered to help.
As we packed, he asked, “So, how long have you been locked?”
“Currently on day five.”
“Well done, well done.”
He waited. I took the hint. What day are you on?”
“Two hundred and sixty-five.”
My jaw almost hit the sand. He smiled. “Oh, but don’t worry. Bear does well in making sure that this asshole comes enough for this locked clit.”
I politely smiled and nodded, finishing the packing. On the walk back, I thought about asking why he called his cock a clit, but I chickened out.
I rejoined Kimberly and her new best friend Bear.
We sunbathed. By noon the beach had settled into a lazy, party-afternoon rhythm. The sand was hot, the Atlantic glittered beyond the shallows, and nobody seemed in any hurry. I lay there locked in the black Cobra, embarrassed at first, until the sheer number of other caged cocks made it hard to feel singled out.
A familiar shadow fell over me. Okay,” Timo said with a grin. “Time for introductions.”
Bear laughed. “You say that like we’re running a conference, my pet.”
“Believe me, with this group a conference would be easier.”
There were six men scattered around the little camp they’d claimed. These are Lukas, Matthias, Stefan, Jens, Florian, and Markus.”
Waves, handshakes, cheerful hellos.
“Shane and Kimberly,” Timo announced, pointing to us. “They’ve joined us for the afternoon.”
“Welcome,” Lukas said, raising his bottle. Welcome to the chaos,” Matthias added.
Kimberly looked around. “I was promised this was the relaxed group.”
Laughter erupted.
Weirdly, all the locked men gravitated toward Kimberly rather than me. It left me feeling a bit sidelined. Whenever I felt isolated, I headed to the beach bar for another round, trying to stay useful.
When I came back, I’d ask her what they’d been talking about.
“They’re surprised you asked me to lock you,” she said. “In their community it’s more of a power thing…usually the bottom is the one locked. Especially,” she leaned in and whispered, “when the sub has a bigger cock.” She giggled.
About an hour later she went to the bar with Stefan. On the way back, her eyes were wide, bunny-rabbit excited.
She grabbed my arm. “They’re just like us,” she whispered.
“Huh?”
“Stefan and Matthias are a couple, but they’re both locked. Stefan wears a strap-on to fuck Matthias… just like you wear a strap-on to fuck me.”
*Okay, quick explanation. When I first locked up for her period, I managed ten days and was ridiculously proud. After she finished, I was convinced that, being caged, I’d become a god with my fingers and mouth….That was not the case.
She basically told me to take the cage off and fuck her properly. I wanted to hit the two-week mark…We negotiated. Two years earlier, when I was still fat, she’d had a sudden urge to peg me and had bought a harness and a ridiculously large dildo for her frame. I suggested we use that instead.
She said no, she wanted the real thing. I begged to stay locked until the two-week mark.
Long story short, she fucking loved it. It led to me being locked more often than not. No cleanup for her beyond washing the dildo. Plus she has intermittent bleeding issues, and a darker dildo that matched her skin tone let her relax more. The only mind-fuck for me was that the cock fucking her didn’t match my body.
Back to the beach.*
“How intimate are these conversations?” I asked.
She whispered, “They’re sharing everything. How they make each other come is low-key diabolical. Not now…when we get back to the hotel. But see, Bear… he doesn’t let Timo cum like a guy. He makes him always come like a girl.”
I muttered “what?” but got shushed, so I sipped my beer and wondered what other stories she’d collected.
Around five we started making our goodbyes. Timo immediately insisted we meet up later. Kimberly was polite but non-committal. They’d already swapped Instagrams; he’d send the bar’s details.
Gay bar, he said, but we’d have fun. Plenty of time to go back to the hotel, have adult time, dinner, pre-drinks, then meet them. Kimberly said we’d think about it. On the way back, she told me the secrets and intimate details she’d learned. My cage was straining, the black tube tight and wet at the tip.
Even though it was all gay dynamics, it made our own arrangement feel almost vanilla by comparison.
She squeezed my thigh. “When we get back to the hotel, I want a pre-game orgasm with the wand.”
My mouth went dry. “Kimberly… I’m sorry, I forgot to fucking pack it.”
She tapped my thigh again. “I packed two.”
Relief hit, then confusion. “Why two?”
“Because you said the old one was broken, but sometimes I think the old one works better. I couldn’t remember which was which, so I bought both. We’ll rotate. Keep one charged, see which is best.”
“Fair enough,” I laughed.
Back in the room, she peeled off her swimsuit. “Can you go down to the bar and get me wine and yourself a drink while I shower quickly before dinner?”
“No problem.”
She pulled both vibrating wands from the suitcase, tossed one on the bed, and took the other into the bathroom. I called after her, “I could get the drinks… or I could join you.”
“No,” she shouted back, “because if you come in here with me you won’t stay in the cage, and then you’ll be grumpy, and I don’t want you grumpy. This is your holiday. Your bucket list. We’re going to have fun. Okay?”
I agreed and went for the drinks. When I returned, she was already out of the shower, in a white lace bra and thong, hair tied up, doing her makeup at the vanity. I handed her the wine and showered myself. I lathered carefully, checking for any tan line around the black Cobra. Nothing obvious yet, though the rest of my skin had a nice golden glow.
I dressed before her and played on my phone for half an hour while she finished. We went to dinner and had more drinks at the hotel bar. Then her phone buzzed.
“Okay. Let’s go meet Bear and Timo.”
Bear was waiting outside the bar. As we approached, he told Kimberly she’d have to tell the bouncer she was in drag.
Her face dropped.
“Are you kidding me?”
Bear burst out laughing. “Of course I am.”
Inside, Sambuca shots were already lined up. Bear clapped me hard on the back and ordered “Toge” glass boots filled with beer. Exactly what it sounds like. The Germans did not relent. Shot after shot, drink after drink, waiting for the night’s entertainment. When it started, two go-go dancers appeared, naked except for armbands and what looked like black elastic bands constricting their very large, very erect cocks. They worked the crowd, stroking themselves, until one dropped to his knees and deep-throated the other in one smooth motion.
“Oh my God,” Kimberly breathed.
“Excuse me?”She looked at me.
“Don’t give me that. I’ve caught you jerking off to lesbian porn before.”
I was taken aback, then muttered, “Lesbians are universally loved.”
“You want to ask all the guys in here if they agree?”
I was ready to drop it, but she leaned closer. “It’s a power thing, you know. That’s a big cock. It’s impressive to handle it. Seeing him take it is… if I had a penis, that’s what I’d want a guy to do.”
I stared. “Are you telling me you get aroused at the thought of me sucking a cock?”
“No. Not you. I’m just saying I can look at something. Like when you watch lesbian porn, you don’t imagine being a girl, do you?”
“No.”
“Same sort of thing.”
“But you just said you imagine being the guy in this scenario.”Yeah, because I’m usually the girl.” She sighed.
“You’re confusing the fuck out of me now,” I told her.
“It’s like when I wanted to peg you. I was desperate. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch. We bought everything, I did it, I thought I was shit at it, and we’ve never done it again because it ruined the illusion. I just wish I hadn’t spent the best part of two hundred quid on a harness and dildo.”
“You’ve got your value for money out of it.”
She pulled a wry smile. “Yes, I did. Just not for its intended purpose.”
The drinks kept flowing. The outrageousness grew. Some of the locked guys got pantsed. There was open fellatio on the dance floor. It was a lot. Kimberly seemed to love every second of it. I felt increasingly out of place.
Eventually she was properly drunk. Bear insisted on getting us a cab; I accepted because of her state.
In the taxi she announced she was going to suck me dry better than any of the gay guys could dream. She took my right hand, slipped my thumb into her mouth, and started performing wet, enthusiastic oral on it. My cock stirred uselessly inside the black Cobra, pressing hard against the tube.
When she decided my thumb had “come,” she sat up, smiled, kissed the tip of my nose, and whispered, “I can’t wait for you to fuck me with that big old dildo back at the hotel.” Then she collapsed across my lap.
Once out of the taxi, it was obvious she was gone. She couldn’t stand properly, kept falling, and her words slurred. I had to carry her back to the room. The mood was dead for me.
Inside, she yanked out her earrings, kicked off her shoes, and started listing everything she wanted done to her pussy. She unhooked her dress; it dropped to the floor, leaving her in the matching white lace set.
“Strap up,” she ordered drunkenly. “My pussy needs to be filled.” She fell back onto the bed.
“I don’t think you’re in the right mind right now, Kimberly…”
“I said dick me now, bitch.”I walked to the suitcase and started unzipping it, only to hear snores.
“Told you so,” I muttered. I tucked her in, brushed my teeth, stripped naked down to the black Cobra, and climbed into bed beside her.
I woke groggily to a loud buzzing and the words: “Fuck me. Yes. That’s where you belong. Yes, bitch. Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah.”The sheets had been kicked off. Kimberly had pulled her white thong aside and was pressing the magic wand hard against her clit, grinding her hips, forcing herself toward orgasm.
My cock immediately tried to swell inside the cage, the pressure sudden and intense. I leaned in to kiss her neck, letting her know I was awake.
“No. Too late,” she panted. “I’m almost there.”
“Can I get the key and unlock?”
She grunted, reached to the nightstand, and threw the second wand at me. “You can cum like a girl.”
I sat there, hard and trapped, holding the wand.
“Are you cumming or not?” she screamed.
I turned it on and pressed it against the cage. The vibration shot straight through the black polycarbonate.
“Lay down,” she ordered.
I lay beside her. She kept her own wand working with her left hand, pressed hard against her clit. Her right hand grabbed my thigh, nails digging in.
“Cum with me. Cum with me,” she ordered. “Cum with me, come with me,” she begged.
The wand hadn’t been on the cage a full minute before semen started shooting out of the tip slit in thick, involuntary pulses, forced out by the relentless vibration against the locked, restricted flesh. It spilled over the black tube, ran down my balls, and kept coming in helpless spurts. As Kimberly finished, she switched her wand off, tossed it aside, dropped her head onto my chest, and immediately passed out, mumbling incoherent nonsense. I lay flat on my back, still locked in the black Cobra, feeling my own cum run down my thigh, between my arse cheeks, and pool beneath me, wondering what the hell had just happened.
—
The cage woke me early morning. Nocturnal erections are a fucker caged. To be fair, if I had gone to bed sober, it’s bearable. I can usually ride it out.
But after a night of beer, shots, and glasses of lager, there is no riding this out. Like, waking up uncaged with a Piss Horn and trying to piss through an erection is already problematic.
But with my cock already straining against the black Cobra, and the desperate pressure of needing to piss made everything ten times worse.
I swung my legs out of bed, adjusted the cage and my testicles with a careful twist, cracked my back and stood up. Dry, flaky semen still coated the cleft of my arse and streaked down the insides of my thighs. I felt filthy.
Even though I had cummed hours earlier, the release had not felt real…well, not, not real. Just not a feeling you’d associate with an actual orgasm.
I grabbed my iPhone and AirPods, sauntered quietly to the bathroom, and sat on the toilet.
Now anyone who has tried to piss in a cage in the middle of the night knows the routine. You sit. You breathe. You wait for the erection to subside just enough that you can force out the first weak squirt of pee. It usually takes about a dozen of those reluctant bursts before the pressure in the cage softens enough for a proper stream.
The whole process can take anywhere from several minutes to almost half an hour, so I developed a habit. Put the AirPods in and let an audiobook or podcast take my mind off the problem.
Ironically, while we were in Spain, I had been secretly practicing French. Kimberly’s first bucket list item was a trip to Paris, and even though she is fluent, she becomes painfully self-conscious speaking it in public. So I had decided that with the trip almost a year away, I’d try and learn the language too.
So I had been listening to *Coffee Break French* in the hope of being able to order and navigate without her feeling she was embarrassing herself the whole time.
So here I am, eyes closed, quietly repeating “Ça va?” between forced squirts of piss…
My eyes opened when I heard the shower suddenly cut through the podcast.
My head felt heavy, neck stiff. And my lower back was unforgiving. I had fallen asleep on the toilet, and my body was not taking it well.
“Sorry you were taking forever,” Kimberly said as she stepped under the spray and began washing her body.
My legs were completely numb. I lifted one, then the other, wiggling my toes until the pins and needles started.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I dozed off.”
“I thought I heard snoring.”
“Didn’t want to wake me?”
“You would have just told me I was imagining it. You do it at home all the time.” She gave me a playful wink over her shoulder. “Once you’re finished, come and join me. I owe you from last night.”
*You fucking do*, I thought.
When the feeling finally returned to my legs, I stood and stepped into the shower behind her. Steam hit my face as I opened the shower door. Water ran down beautifully on my wife’s back and over her round arse.
“Wash me,” she instructed.
I did, soaping my hands and working them slowly across her shoulders. “So… about last night?”
“I know. I’m sorry. I drank too much. Passed out. Between the heat and the sun, I was exhausted.”
“That’s not really what I wanted to talk about.”
She turned, water splashing across her chest, and gave me a puzzled look. “Really? You always get sulky when I fall asleep on you.”
“I expected that with the amount you put away. The more pressing thing was the ‘cum like a girl’ comment.”
Her face went blank. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t be coy, Kim.” I gave her a light smack on the wet backside.
“Shane, I honestly don’t know what you mean.”
*A little backstory is useful here.
Kimberly has a form for doing things while drunk and then claiming complete amnesia. Before we properly settled into chastity, I had wanted to try a penis extension sleeve. She gave me the full “Your cock is perfect, I only want you” speech. I begged until she reluctantly agreed. The first sober attempt was deliberately awkward; she shut it down within minutes. Three weeks later she came home wrecked after a night out with her friends, crawled into bed and asked if I felt like putting the sleeve on and fuck the shit out of her.
She came harder than I had seen in months. The next morning, “I don’t remember that.”A week later, “Maybe we could try it again sometime.” Eventually it became our established routine.
I have learned not to call her on the amnesia. If I do, she clams up and everything becomes awkward. The same thing happened with the chastity cage.
At first she was unimpressed. “It seems cruel…take it off.” But once I started using the strap-on she had bought years earlier, fitted with the darker sleeve she liked, her opinion changed…quickly. She could be fucked for as long as she wanted, come as many times as she wanted, and only stop when *she* was ready.
No cleanup beyond washing the toy. The intermittent bleeding that sometimes made her self-conscious disappeared as an issue. It became beneficial for me to be locked for sexy time.
Now, despite her having the best sex of her life and being *truly* satisfied. She still felt guilty afterward, almost a female version of post-nut clarity, what I privately called “cummer’s remorse.” So I learned to be enthusiastically vocal, “I want this. I prefer this. Look how good it feels for you.” A little deliberate reinforcement so she could relax into enjoying it.
That is why I was not going to press her too hard now. Because she has form.*
You did, Kimberly. I woke up to you using your wand. I asked if we could take the cage off. You grunted, grabbed the spare wand, threw it at me and ordered me to ‘cum like a girl.'”
She pulled a face. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Oh my God, that’s so horrid of me. I should never have said that. I have no recollection. I’m so sorry I upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me. You just caught me…off guard.”
She looked genuinely embarrassed. There was a short pause, then. “But… did you actually cum that way?”
“I did.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck, eyes curious. “Really?”
“Really.
“What was it like?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Erm… I’m not really sure myself. It felt like. I felt it leave me. But it was like, erm. A jolt? Yeah, like several jolts that pulsated out of me.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No. Well, I mean. Yes and no because I came. But normally. The orgasm goes through the shaft, and I feel it shoot from me. Last night it was like, I don’t know, like shaking a Champagne bottle and keeping your thumb over the end. The pressure eventually pushes out. But it doesn’t flow if that makes sense?”
“But you came? Like there was cum?”
“Yeah. But this morning it almost feels like I haven’t.”
“Interesting,” she murmured, finishing underwater. She turned, kissed me, and gave the black Cobra a playful tug.
“He seems to be enjoying the memory, at least.”
“I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it. I was just surprised. I keep wondering what brought it on.”
“I have no clue. Honestly. No recollection at all.” She stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel, and told me to hurry up. “Remember, we’re meeting Bear and Timo again. They’re saving loungers for us.”
She left the bathroom. I stayed under the water a little longer, letting it run over my face. Kimberly’s words from yesterday echoed in my head. ‘Bear makes Timo come like a girl.’
At the breakfast buffet, I grabbed a plate for each of us. At the same time, she went and made our drinks.
“So one more time?” She asked, eating a piece of melon.
“What?”
“The cum like a girl thing.” She whispered. Smiling mischievously.
“It’s not gonna change. I woke up. You were masturbating. I asked you for the key. You tossed me the wand and said what you said.”
“I can’t believe I did that.” She giggled. She looked like she was off with the fairies.
Back in the room, we changed for the beach. I noticed Kimberly had put on the thong bikini she had originally planned to save for later in the week. I said nothing, despite my curiosity. And instead, I packed extra water and aftersun, determined we would not get as dehydrated as the day before.
When we arrived at the beach, no tourist stops today; straight to the loungers. The Germans greeted us with exaggerated delight.
“We half thought you wouldn’t come back,” Bear said.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kimberly answered, already untying her sarong. She peeled off the bikini top without ceremony, freeing her breasts to the open air, and dropped the top onto the towel.
I was completely caught off guard by her actions. Watching her stand topless on a nude beach on only the second day, completely unselfconscious, made my mouth drop.
She walked over, eyes bright. “Hurry up. Strip down to the cage. I want to go in the ocean.”
I nodded, smiled, and began undressing, wondering how best to address what had so dramatically accelerated the schedule.
Timo drifted over while I was still removing my shorts.
“Your Kimberly is such a bad influence on Bear,” he said, giggling.
“I think you’ve got that backward.”
“Nein.” He scoffed. “Bear is big, manly… but your wife had him gossiping like a schoolgirl last night.” He laughed, then looked me up and down. “You stayed locked all night, yes?”
“Yeah. How can you tell?”
“The balls. When you sleep locked, they get this compression.” He lifted his own silver Cobra so I could see the matching faint ring indentation at the base. “It fades during the day. Usually not before lunch… or a drink.” He laughed again.
I gave a nervous laugh of my own, not entirely sure what was funny but willing to play along.
Kimberly appeared with two drinks, handed me one, and clinked the plastic cups. “Ocean?”
We walked down to the water. Today she led. Head high, breasts bare, arse flexing with each step in the thong. She looked magnificent. My cock strained uselessly inside the black tube, the pressure sharp and constant.
In the water she splashed me once, then warned me off her hair. I took the opening.
“What’s different today?”
“What do you mean?” She cupped water and let it run over her shoulders and breasts.
“You’ve moved the schedule up. I’m not complaining, but the topless thing was supposed to be day five or six. You’re doing it on day two.”
She bit her lip and rolled her eyes skyward for a second. “I was thinking about it yesterday afternoon, and again at breakfast. All those guys who came over… it was kind of empowering.”
“The ones who wanted to fuck you?” I asked.
“Yeah. I would never do anything with them…you know that. I only love you. But knowing they’re looking and thinking *God, I want to fuck her*, and then there’s you, my husband, locked in a cage, choosing not to fuck me because you care more about my pleasure… I didn’t realize how hot that combination is. They want me and can’t have me. You can have me but deliberately deny yourself for me. It’s… arousing.” She giggled.
If it had been physically possible, I would have cum right there in the Atlantic. Alas, it was only a thick pulse of precum that leaked from the tip of the cage and drifted away in the water.
She stepped in close, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me. Her bare breasts pressed warm and soft against my chest. When the kiss broke, she kept her face near mine.
“I know this was on your bucket list and something you always wanted. I just never really pictured myself embracing it like this.”
I found that quietly hilarious. When we first got together, she had always talked about wanting to be more dominant. On our very first holiday as a couple, she had packed a book titled *How to Be More Dominant in the Bedroom*. After a few drinks, she would describe elaborate scenarios of teasing and denial in vivid detail. Once, while we were still experimenting with cages, she had asked what colors they came in. When I listed them, she had smirked and said, “Maybe you should get a pink one. Since you’re not going in me, you might as well go in something else that’s pink.”
When she spoke like that, it was electric. I tried to encourage it when she was sober, but the moment the alcohol faded, that version of her vanished also.
Now, in the clear water of Maspalomas, she gave me a cheeky smile, slid her left hand down, and wrapped her fingers around the black Cobra. She turned and led me back toward the loungers, towing me by the cage like a leash.
I felt eyes on us from every direction. Timo was grinning. Bear was watching with open amusement. The rest of the group tracked our progress. My wife was literally catwalking me across the sand, topless, leading her locked husband by his cock.
On the walk, I noticed again that we seemed to be the only mixed-gender couple in this section of the beach. Given the event, that was hardly surprising.
When we reached the loungers, she released the cage. Looking down at her hand, she giggled. “Oh. You were leaking. I thought it was just seawater.”
Bear raised his bottle. “It’s good to see you growing in confidence, Kimberly.”
She shrugged, smiling. “I’m on holiday. No one here knows me. I’m among friends…kinky friends. Have to live a little, right?”
A small cheer went up.
We sunbathed for a couple of hours as the beach filled. Eventually Kimberly, Matthias and Stefan went for another round of drinks. Jens dropped into the lounger beside me while Timo worked oil into Bear’s shoulders.
“So what’s your longest lock-up?” Jens asked.
“Two weeks is the record so far.”
“What got you into chastity in the first place?”
I told him the condensed version, the old magazines, the K.D. Pierre cartoons, the later discovery of the real devices in Soho.
He chuckled. “Refreshing. Most people just say Tumblr.” Then, more carefully, “And Kimberly? Does she know everything? Sometimes we’re not as open with our partners as we could be.”
I gestured at the obvious black cage between my legs and laughed. “I’m pretty sure she’s aware of the kink.”
He gave a knowing little smile. “Chastity is rarely a solo kink. It’s usually a tool that supports something else.”
The midday heat suddenly felt heavier. My heart rate climbed. I decided to be a fraction more honest.
“You’re not wrong. And I’m probably not as forthcoming with her as I should be.”
“Go on.”
It felt strange having this conversation with another man while my cock twitched inside the cage. Part of me worried he would misread the signal.
“I have a… fairly hardcore femdom streak. I would love Kimberly to be more consistently dominant. At the same time, the idea terrifies me. The thought of her locking me and simply… not unlocking me, of properly surrendering that much control…it’s both the hottest and the most frightening thing I can imagine.”
“And?” Jens prompted quietly.
“And what?”
“Is that as far as it goes?”
“I guess?”
He studied me for a moment. “What’s your socials?”
“I don’t really do social media.”
The look he gave me was pure skepticism. “Be honest, Shane. I believe you have an alternate account. Let me look you up.”
I swallowed, leaned in a little, and rubbed the side of my nose. “I’m not going to sit here and lie. Yes, I do. Kimberly has no idea.”
“Okay. What’s the handle?”
I stayed silent.
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
I exhaled. “Look… I’m not going to pretend I’ve never watched cuckold porn. I have. I’ve come to it. But there’s a difference between fantasy and reality. Just because something gets me off on a screen doesn’t mean I ever want to live it, or even tell Kimberly about it.”
“Of course.”
“You know what the chastity scene was like until recently. If you wanted to see a cage, you were watching pretty hardcore stuff…”
“Or gay porn,” Jens interjected mildly.
My throat went dry. A small, involuntary sigh escaped me. Then I told him the handle.
He reached into a small man bag, pulled out his phone, and typed it in. Cold sweat prickled across my back. What the fuck was I doing? I barely knew this man.
Jens sat expressionless, index finger scrolling slowly through the account. After a long minute, he nodded.
“I see why you wouldn’t tell Kimberly.”
“It’s bad, right?”
“It’s not bad. It’s… understandable. But it would be very confusing for her.”
He genuinely seemed as uncertain as I felt.
Timo appeared behind him, peered over his shoulder at the screen, and lifted his sunglasses for a better look. Dozens of thumbnails flicked past.
“Jens. What is this?”
“Shane’s account.”
“Jens!” I hissed.
“Relax, Shane.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I said I wouldn’t tell Kimberly. But with this lot we share everything.”
Timo nodded enthusiastically and told Jens to add the whole group’s accounts so we could all follow each other.
“Guys, I’m begging you. Kimberly cannot find out.”
“Relax,” they both said.
At that moment, Kimberly, Stefan, and Matthias returned with the drinks.
“You all right?” she asked, frowning. “You look pale.”
“Just went a bit giddy from the heat,” I lied.
“Have some of your drink and lie back.”
I took a long swallow of beer, stretched out on the lounger, and pulled my hat down over my face while I waited for my heart to slow. Through the gap under the brim I watched my wife, this woman who two days ago had still been relatively reserved, standing topless in a thong on a crowded nude beach, laughing easily with a group of locked men. I still could not quite believe the speed of the change.
I closed my eyes and let the sun press down on me. I lay there with the hat over my face and listened. Kimberly was in her element, laughing, asking questions, completely at ease topless among the group.
Everything stayed light until Lukas said, almost offhand, “Oh. Dwight is here.”
“Really? Are you sure?” Timo asked.
“Yas. I would recognize that cock anywhere.”
“What?” Kimberly said, then, a second later, “Oh my.”
I opened my eyes and lifted the hat. Her eyes were wide, almost comically so. She gave my arm a quick, excited tap without looking at me.
“Look. Look, look.”
I scanned the crowded beach until I saw him.
There was no mistaking Dwight. I didn’t know the man walking the beach, but the second I saw that cock swinging in the distance, I knew who he was.
It was soft yet hung well past mid-thigh, thick as a wrist and heavily veined, which was apparent from a distance.
The Germans called out, “Dwight! Dwight!” and waved him over. Kimberly turned to me, half covering her eyes with one hand, giggling in pure disbelief. “Oh, my God.”
The closer he came, the more unreal the thing looked. He greeted the group in an easy American accent. “Hey, guys.”
A flurry of questions followed. At the same time, I had an existential crisis. This literal dick was within feet of my wife.
I fell back into reality to the words “Spur of the moment. Got some PTO at the last minute.” Then Dwight’s eyes landed on Kimberly. “You’re new.”
She glanced at me, a little awkward, then offered her hand. “Kimberly. Nice to meet you. This is my husband, Shane.” She gestured toward me. “We’re friends of Timo and Bear.”
Dwight shook her hand, smiled, then looked at me. His gaze dropped straight to the black Cobra locked around my cock and stayed there a little too long.
I would like to pretend that this was the moment I stood up, put a possessive arm around my wife, and projected calm dominance. The truth is I simply froze. The sheer size of him short-circuited something in my brain. I only snapped back to the present when he leaned over and extended a large hand.
“Dwight.”
“Shane,” I managed, shaking it.
He stepped back so he was facing Kimberly again.
“What brings you to Maspalomas?”
That was when I finally stood, moved beside her, and slid an arm around her waist. She immediately reached for my free hand, laced our fingers together, and lifted both our hands slightly as she answered.
“This was on his bucket list.”
Dwight’s smile turned distinctly villainous.
“So you guys are doing the hotwife and cuckold thing?”
“No,” I said, calm and clear.
A flicker of genuine disappointment crossed his face.
“No?”
Kimberly answered easily. “Not our thing. He likes the cage. I like the way he looks in it. It’s nice knowing he’s locked for me and I get to decide when he comes out.”
Confusion, mild bewilderment, and residual disappointment all passed across Dwight’s features.
“Oh. Right. That’s… not really how it usually works.”
Behind him, Jens caught my eye and gave a small, knowing nod.
My first day locked on the beach had been a mixture of terror, arousal, and a strange kind of camaraderie once I realized half the men around me were in the same situation. Standing in front of Dwight was different. The sheer visual weight of that cock made something primitive in me shrink. I felt my own cock try to retreat inside the Cobra, my balls pulled up tight. The feeling of inadequacy was sharp and immediate.
“It shouldn’t matter anyway,” I said. “I mean, you’re gay, right?”
Dwight let out an awkward laugh and took a half step back. “No, I’m not gay.”
“But you do have sex with men,” Lukas reminded him mildly.
“Yeah, no, that’s different. I fuck them, and they blow me. I don’t do any of that gay shit.”
I found the phrasing offensive, but the Germans seemed used to it. Apparently this was a recurring performance.
Dwight looked between Kimberly and me, clearly trying to regain footing. He reached down, wrapped a hand around his cock, his fingers didn’t quite meet, and lifted the heavy length, giving it a casual slap against his other palm.
“Thing is, having a dick this size makes for slim pickings. You gotta go where you can get some.”
“So you’re bi?” Kimberly asked.
“Well, not quite.” His voice had an edge now.
Lukas added helpfully, “But you do sleep with men.”
“That’s not the same thing.” Dwight was openly annoyed. “You guys do this to me every year.”
“It’s confusing,” Timo laughed.
“It’s not. I like women. I’m attracted to women. But a hole’s a hole. If you need to cum, you need to cum.”
“Kinda sounds a little gay,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Dwight’s head snapped toward me, lip curling.
“Yeah, well, you’re locked in a cage, so who gives a fuck what you think.”
“Wow.” Kimberly’s voice was flat and clearly offended.
Bear stepped in, throwing a heavy arm around Dwight’s shoulders and giving him a playful shake.
“Relax, Dwight. You take this too seriously. No one cares. We don’t judge.”
“I’m not gay, and I’m not bi.”
“Sure,” Bear said soothingly, shooting the rest of us an apologetic look.
Dwight mumbled an apology in Bear’s direction, then toward Kimberly and me.
“You know this is triggering for me.”
Kimberly reached into her bag, pulled out her bikini top, and put it back on without a word.
“Everything okay?” I asked quietly.
She gave me a look that was half disgust, half exhaustion.
“Just… killed the vibe.”
I felt an ungenerous but very real surge of relief. Years of porn had trained part of my brain to expect the opposite reaction, the woman overwhelmed and suddenly obsessed with the monster cock. Watching her actively put clothing back on because of him felt like a quiet victory.
She finished tying the top, then grabbed my wrist.
“Come to the bar with me. I don’t really want to stand here.”
We joined the short queue. It always felt oddly exposing to stand naked in front of a fully dressed bartender. I never quite worked out why an apron-only uniform would have felt less strange, but it would have.
“Sorry,” Kimberly said once we had a little space. “That fucking dick just really irked me.”
“Yeah. Awkward.”
“I get that he’s insecure, but fuck… there’s something grotesque about him.”
“Insecure? About what?”
She gave me a look that clearly said I was being dense.
“The man is a self-proclaimed straight guy who has to resort to gay men because he can’t find women willing to deal with that thing regularly.”
“I’m sure he could find someone.”
“Maybe a porn star being paid to shoot with him. Not organically. Not casually. Not ongoing. That thing looks like it would cause a prolapse.”
She finished the sentence just as we reached the counter. The bartender’s expression did not change.
We took our drinks to a high table inside the shaded bar area. I was not the only locked man in sight; Kimberly was still the only woman. She was clearly still annoyed, but she looked beautiful even in irritation. My eyes drifted to the bikini top and lingered. Something was missing. The key. It had been threaded on a thin chain and nestled between her breasts since we left London. But today the space was empty.
“Where’s the key?”
Her hand flew to her chest. She looked down, groaned, and slapped the table lightly.
“Fuck. I took it off when I put sunscreen on. Left it on the side cabinet in the room.”
“What if housekeeping takes it?”
She gave me a deeply unimpressed look. “They’re not going to steal a random key, Shane. That would be weird.”
I felt humbled pretty quickly. She was right, of course. Housekeeping isn’t going to steal a key on a necklace. I guess being locked had me spooked, though it was more likely Dwight. Plus the idea of spending the rest of the holiday locked because we had to wait to get the spare key back in London, or worse, buying another two hundred quid device, was not appealing.
We finished the drinks and headed back to the group with a fresh round. Dwight was still there. As soon as he saw us, he launched into a more formal apology, voice lower, almost sheepish. Bear and Timo looked relieved. For a few minutes it seemed the earlier tension might actually dissipate.
Then Dwight’s eyes drifted over Kimberly again, lingering on the bikini top’s return as if it were a personal challenge. He shifted closer, voice dropping into something he clearly thought was charming.
“You know, if you ever wanted to see what a real cock feels like while he’s locked up and watching…”
“That’s not cool,” I said, stepping half a pace forward.
Dwight raised both hands, but the smirk was already back.
“Just offering. No harm in asking.”
Bear’s voice cut across, calm but final. “Dwight. Enough. Just because you have the biggest stick on the beach does not mean you get to swing it at people who have already said no.”
A couple of the others murmured agreement. Dwight’s face darkened, but he backed off.
Kimberly’s fingers found mine and squeezed. “I think we’re done for the day,” she said to the group, polite but clear. “Thank you for the loungers. We’ll see you around.”
We collected our things in silence. The walk back to the path felt longer than usual. Neither of us spoke much on the shuttle or in the hotel lobby.
The moment the room door closed behind us, she turned. “Go get us proper drinks from the bar downstairs. I’ll be waiting.”
I did as I was told. When I returned with a bottle of cold white wine and two glasses, the room was dim, curtains half-drawn against the late-afternoon light.
Kimberly stood at the foot of the bed completely naked. The only thing she wore was the thin chain with the key resting in the soft valley between her breasts. “Put the drinks down.”
I set them on the desk.
“I want you to make me come.”
I crossed the room, dropped to my knees on the tiles, and buried my face between her thighs. She was already wet. I licked slowly at first, then with more purpose, sliding two fingers inside her while my tongue worked her clit in tight circles. She threaded her fingers into my hair and held me there.
The first orgasm hit her fast, thighs trembling, a sharp cry, her hips rolling against my mouth. I kept going. She came a second time with a longer, shakier moan, then a third, quieter, almost overwhelmed, before she finally pulled me up by the hair.
She unfastened the chain, took the key, and unlocked the black Cobra with steady hands. The tube and locking mechanism came away. The solid base ring stayed in place, sitting snug behind my balls. She wrapped her fingers around my shaft, already painfully hard, and guided me to the edge of the bed.
“I want to feel you in my mouth.”
She took me in deep, wet and eager, one hand stroking what she couldn’t fit. The ring kept everything tightly restricted at the base, heightening every sensation. When she eventually pulled off and told me to remove it, I tried. I was far too hard. The swollen shaft and tight, drawn-up balls made it impossible to work the ring forward and off. It was trapped securely behind my testicles.
She laughed softly, almost darkly. “Leave it. Fuck me.”
I pushed her back onto the mattress and slid into her in one long thrust. Missionary first…deep, steady strokes while I kissed her and watched her face. She hooked her legs around me and demanded more. I pulled out, turned her onto her hands and knees, and drove back in. She arched, pushing back to meet every thrust.
“Spank me. Fuck the shit out of me.”
I did. Open-handed smacks landed on both cheeks, the sharp sound filling the room. Her brown skin darkened with heat under each strike, the flesh warming and growing more sensitive as I kept spanking while I pounded her without restraint. She came again, clenching hard around me, and still demanded I keep going.
“Come inside me.”
I buried myself to the hilt and let go with a broken groan, pulsing deep into her. The ring kept me locked in that final, intense spasm longer than usual. We stayed like that for a few seconds, her face pressed to the sheets, my chest against her back, before we both collapsed sideways onto the bed, still joined, sweaty and breathing hard.
I slipped out of her. Kimberly immediately shifted, lying half on top of me, her head on my chest, one leg draped over mine. Her fingers found my cock. The base ring was still trapped firmly behind my balls. The blood hadn’t fully drained, leaving me thick and half-hard in her hand. She traced slow, idle strokes up and down the shaft, not trying to start anything, just feeling the lingering firmness the ring refused to let go of.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
“You gonna get that?” I asked, voice still rough.
“No.”
She let it ring out. The buzzing stopped. A few seconds later, a single short buzz arrived, a message. Then another.
Kimberly sighed, rolled just far enough to snag the phone, and settled back onto my chest. Her left hand stayed resting on my stomach while her right held the screen so we could both see it.
Missed call from Bear.
Then two messages – *Sorry about Dwight earlier. He’s always a lot.*
*You two coming to the club tonight? I can put you on the guest list.*
She tossed the phone onto the mattress beside us and tilted her face up toward mine.
“What do you want to do?”
I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I don’t mind. I’m happy to go out again if you want.”
She was quiet for a moment, still slowly running her fingers along my half-hard cock.
“Okay. Let’s say we do go.” Her eyes met mine. “Are you going caged… or uncaged?”
I blinked. “What?”
Kimberly’s voice stayed soft, almost careful. “I still feel guilty about what I did last night. Making you cum like a girl. I don’t remember it, but you do. So this one’s entirely your decision.”
She kept looking at me, waiting, her fingers never stopping their slow movement along the ring that trapped my cock.
To Be Continued…?
