The Small Dick Club: SPH-THEMED STORIES

*****

Part 2…

I woke at just gone midnight, balls aching and the steel of the cock cage pinching against my shaft and cockhead. I clutched at the cage and pulled up, trying to relieve the pressure. I turned to Sarah, the key, threaded on a silver chain, hung between her breasts. I thought to wake her, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the whistle of her breath as it cut between just parted lips. She shifted a little, and her slip rode up, revealing milk white thighs and the suggestion of her blonde, trimmed pussy. I could still smell her, the scent of her need, her sex, her fuck, and I thought to reach out and run my palm across the swell of her tits, trace the darkened turn of her areola with the flat of my tongue, the twist of her hardening nipple.

None of which was helping, all of which tightened the steel cage as my cock filled and pressed against the mesh.

I turned, half-sat, my hand still clutching at cold steel. My thickening cock had pushed the cage away from my body, pulling the steel base-ring tight against my balls. I pressed the cage back into my body and cupped and tugged at my scrotum, the tightness tormenting with pain and pleasure in near equal measure.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sarah mumbled, half turning, eyes lidded, her breath still soft.

‘Uncomfortable is all.’

‘Go to the bathroom then,’ she said. ‘Try passing water – it’ll help.’

In the cold white light of the bathroom, I stood naked before the mirror. My hairless cock and balls looked tiny, and the cage protruded, swollen flesh squeezing and purpling against the confines of the steel mesh.

I lifted the toilet seat and pissed.

‘Fuck,’ I said, as the cage constrained and redirected the piss-spray splattering the toilet seat and against the floor.

‘From now on, you’ll need to do that sitting down,’ Sarah said, ‘as a good sissy should.’ She stood at the bathroom door, her smile cruel, but not entirely and not quite.

‘Sit. Try again,’ she said, ‘and then clean up your mess. A good sissy always cleans up her mess.’

I wiped the seat, sat, and discovered that Sarah was right. Sitting was easier, necessary even. I pissed down into the bowl and, as I did so, my cock returned to its flaccid state, partly resolved through the physiological act, and partly through the realisation that Sarah wasn’t entirely wrong. Sissies do, indeed, piss sitting down, and here I was, my tiny cock locked, inaccessible, making me tinier still.

Later, I lay against the pillow thinking about Kayla, thinking about Sarah, thinking about how we’d arrived at this. I thought about it all, and mostly I thought about how I’d fucked up and how I might begin to make it right.

Sarah turned towards me. I reached for her hand – she pulled away.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘It’ll take time,’ she said. Her eyes were bright, but sad. Sad, but not like before. This was a different Sarah. This was a harder Sarah. This Sarah was in control.

‘I want to fix this,’ I said.

She held my gaze, not saying a word. She took the cage in her hand, made a fist, and swallowed my cock and balls whole.

‘It really is a ridiculous thing,’ she said. Now, I could feel the pressure, the pressure of her hand rather than the cage. ‘A silly thing even: a silly thing serving next to no purpose.’

She held my dicklet for a moment and a moment longer. She swiped at her right eye with her free hand, smearing the wetness across her cheek. She swiped at her right, not her left; her left eye remained dry.

‘I’ll do whatever it takes,’ I said.

‘I want to believe you,’ she said, as her expression turned from sadness to indifference to anger and then to something else, something that I did not recognise.

She squeezed harder, and my dicklet began to stiffen. I winced, shifted, uncomfortable. She let me go.

‘It’ll get easier,’ she said, ‘You’ll adjust. You’ll see.’

I pulled the covers across my crotch, my chest, and up to my neck, willing my cock not to harden, not now and not again. Sarah saw me squirm, laughed, but the sound was hard and with sharper edges. She leaned towards me, and I thought, for a moment, that she might kiss me. But, instead, she reached out one last time, patted my dicklet as if it were a small pet, and turned away.

The night shrank down to nothing, and, instead of counting sheep, I tried to recall how many times the average man might expect to suffer an erection while sleeping. I counted, and, as I did so, my cock again began to harden.

The morning and Sarah woke first, showered, and returned clutching the towel against her slight body, holding it tight from beneath her arms just across the curve of her areolas. She pulled back the bedsheets with a flick of the wrist.

‘Shit,’ I said with a gasp, pulling my knees up to my chest.

‘Present,’ she said.

I blinked like a dumb animal.

‘Let me see,’ she said. ‘Present.’

I remembered my promise to fix this. ‘Whatever it takes,’ that’s what I’d said. And so I straightened my legs and lay flat on my back. My steel sheathed cock hardened, painful, and pressed upright.

She cupped my balls and then raised her long finger from my taint to the cold of the steel cage.

‘Good girl. Nice and smooth,’ she said, ‘and you better be sure to keep it that way. Because I will be checking.’

I showered, taking care to scrub the cage clean. Sarah readied herself in the bedroom.

‘What’s this?’ I said, into the bedroom, towel wrapped around my waist.

Sarah had laid out my suit, a tie, a white cotton shirt, socks, and a red lace thong.

‘Dress,’ she said.

I slid open my draw to grab a pair of boxer shorts. My underwear had gone, all of it replaced with thongs, g-strings, lace panties, red, black, pink, yellow, and electric blue.

‘Where have my things gone?’ I asked.

‘I’ve made some changes,’ Sarah said. ‘Now get dressed.’

I held up the red lace thong. ‘You can’t be serious?’

‘Completely,’ she said.

‘But I’m going into the office.’

‘And?’

‘What if someone sees?’

‘How will someone see?’ she said, ‘unless you’re planning on dropping your pants.’

‘But…’ I said and then shut my idiot mouth.

‘Do I need to remind you why we are here, Tom?’ she said. ‘That had you been capable of keeping your pants on, things might look very different this morning.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘I don’t want to hear sorry. Now put the fucking thong on.’

I pulled the lace against my legs.

‘Wait,’ Sarah said. She was behind me and stretched around to clutch at the cage. She tugged at my dicklet to position me, red panties around my ankles, and threatened to trip. She ran the flat of her hand against my ass.

‘No, no,’ she said, ‘This won’t do.’ She led me by the dicklet into the bathroom and, again, reached for the foam and razor.

‘Bend,’ she said.

I leaned forward as she used the showerhead to rinse and then lather up my back, legs, ass cheeks, and crack.

‘Hold still,’ she said, beginning with my back and then my legs. I trembled as she worked the razor along my thighs. ‘Enjoying this, are we?’ she said as blood surged, my dicklet filling the cage.

She traced the swell of my ass with the blade. ‘Now spread,’ she said, and I reached back, clutched and pulled both cheeks apart.

‘Cute,’ she said, and ran the thick of her thumb across my starfish. My hole winked, and my dicklet ached. ‘Hold,’ she said as she swiped with the razor, working out from the centre to the rise of my ass. She hosed me down with the shower, rubbed cream into my legs and crack, and then finished the job.

She positioned me before the mirror and swept her hand across the smooth of my skin. I shivered, the chill of the morning, the vulnerability of what she had done to me, the thrill of what I might become.

‘Pretty,’ she said, ‘Now dress.’

I pulled the lace against my calves, over my knees, and along my thighs. My dicklet twitched, my dicklet throbbed, my dicklet thrummed.

‘Wait,’ she said, and scooped up a dribble of precum which had begun to gather at the tip of the cage. She fed it to me, and I sucked at her thumb like a starving thing.

‘Good girl,’ she said.

I pulled the thong on tight, the crotch cupping the cage, which, despite my unimpressive size, now bulged obscenely.

‘It doesn’t fit,’ I said.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘There’s more than enough room in there for that tiny dicklet.’

The crotch began to darken as my dicklet pulsed and oozed within the tightness of the cage. Sarah sniggered.

‘I should take those off you and make you suck them clean,’ she said.

My chest fluttered, and the cage pulled up as I hardened. My chest fluttered, and I began to flush, worrying that Sarah might see. But it was too late, she grinned, pressed the palm of her hand against the sodden lace, and held it up to my face. I understood and lapped at her hungrily with my tongue.

‘See,’ she said, ‘just like a sissy. And sissies wear panties. Always.’

I pulled my trousers up and over the thong, the sensation of lace causing my skin to crackle and my cock to pinch. I fastened my belt and checked myself out in the mirror. The presence of the cage was not visible through my trousers, but the thong straps stood up in vivid red against my hips.

‘You’re going to need to be careful about that,’ Sarah said. ‘Unless, of course, you want people to know.’

And although I wasn’t expecting it, and although I couldn’t explain, the thought of being seen, perhaps by Charlie from Accounts, caused my skin to prickle and thrill.

Charlie, head shaven clean. Charlie, stacked like a boxer. Charlie, sneering and mean. The Charlie who knows what he wants. The Charlie who takes what he needs. The Charlie who never apologises.

The thought of it, the idea of him, caused my dicklet to swell and pulse and ooze. Now shaved bare for the first time, and I could feel my boy-hole twitch at the thought of him, the thought of Charlie.

And remembering Samantha and Jill at the coffee machine, and me, pretending not to hear, but listening to every word.

‘He’s the biggest I’ve ever had.’

‘How big?’ asked Jill.

And me, measuring the milk into my mug, but watching Samantha at the very edge of my peripheral vision, gesture with her hands, widening and widening and widening, all to denote a size and scale that I could but only imagine.

‘Oh god,’ said Jill, ‘I’m surprised you’re still walking.’

Samantha and Jill were giggling, only now, the constriction of the cage, the softness of the lace, those same giggles were now transformed into sniggers. Sniggers because Samantha and Jill had been able to guess how unlike Charlie I might be.

All because of my tiny cock. No, my dicklet. My boy-clit. My cute boy-cage is tucked into red panties. My smooth boy-hole. This thing I was becoming. This thing, perhaps, I’d always been.

At the thought of it, my dicklet twinged, my dicklet seeped, my dicklet pulsed, the crotch of the thong now a darker red. My dicklet pinched, and my boy-hole blinked.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck was happening to me?

And Sarah, Sarah watched, Sarah watched it all. Unreadable, immovable, serene.

I pulled on my shirt, my tie, my jacket, and leaned to kiss Sarah’s cheek. She pulled away and instead squeezed the cage through my pants.

‘Tonight you’re taking me for dinner,’ she said, ‘And tonight we talk. I want to know everything. I want to see the truth.

‘Whatever it takes,’ is what I’d promised. And so I worried through the day. I worried about that night. I worried about what Sarah might ask. I worried about what I might say in return. And I worried whether the shape of the cage might be visible through my trousers, and I worried whether the vivid red strap of the thong could be seen through the white of my shirt.

I worried about it all, and I worried about what any and all of it might mean.

By lunch, I desperately needed to piss. I’d put it off, not wanting to risk the restroom, worrying that others might guess at what I was hiding beneath my clothes. Worried that others might see what I was becoming.

I needed to piss, so I rushed to the bathroom without thinking. Except Charlie was there. Right there. Shoulders wide, arms thick, frame solid. Charlie was there, right there, pissing at the urinal, and I thought to turn, I thought to leave, but he caught me.

‘Hey,’ he said with a lazy familiarity.

Without understanding it, without knowing why, I began to redden. But my dicklet tightened, just a little, but enough to feel.

I mumbled something in return and lined up beside him. I dropped my hand to my zipper, knuckles brushing against the hardness of the cage, and I remembered and then hesitated.

Charlie turned.

‘All good?’ he asked.

And I didn’t intend it. I swear to the infernal gods above that I gave it no thought whatsoever. But, as he turned, gravity took hold, and my eyes tipped down, down to his waist, then further still, down and down to where his cock hung. His cock, a slab of thick white meat. His cock, flaccid, but twice the length of mine, and maybe more besides.

I caught myself, but not before Charlie had seen, had seen it all.

‘All good?’ he asked, but this time his lips formed a crooked grin, sly, sneering.

I stepped back, half stumbled, trying to look away, but his body square, following me, his right hand gripping his thickness, shaking ever so, as if to entice me, as if to draw me back, as if to draw me to my knees, as if to tempt me to press my palms against the tiled wall, arch my back, present myself before reaching with hands and fingers to spread the smooth tightness of my cheeks.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

I turned the catch with a click. In the dim of the cubicle, I stood panting. Panting and listening to the sound of his footsteps as he made his way from the urinal to the sink, and then back again, pausing there, right there, just beyond the door.

‘Good talking,’ he said, his voice loud, too loud, reverberating, and I worried that someone might hear, and I worried that someone might know, and I worried that someone might understand. That someone might realize what I did not. My dicklet spasmed, and although I did not intend it and would not have, I groaned. I groaned and then worried that Charlie might have heard.

He stood for a moment more. I imagined that I could hear the soft sigh of his breath, the soft thump of his heart, the scent of his fresh sweat. I leaned back against the door, the turn of the world steadying by perceptible degrees. He tapped his foot, once, twice, and then the trip of his step as he walked away, the door swinging shut behind him.

I dropped my pants, my thong, the swell of my dicklet forcing the cage away from my body, the back-ring tugging at my balls, tightening them, the flesh darkening from pale to blue. I adjusted, steel now warm, my cock flesh angry red and squeezing through the tip of the cage like a clit, my foreskin pulling back like a hood.

I grabbed at the cage and jacked it, trying to stimulate my cock, desperate to resolve the need, the maddening need, but nothing but the hardness of steel and the near frictionless slide against my dicklet.

Fuck. I felt nothing. Fuck.

My dicklet dripped precum. I dabbed at the angry-red tip with my finger and shuddered at the near-painful sensation. That was something. I sucked on my finger, the taste salt and sweet, but now craving more, now needing this. I wet my finger with drool and worked at the tip of my dicklet, fingers swirling across the nub as if it were a clit, hips thrusting as if to increase pressure, as if to create friction.

Fuck. But needing more, more to tip me over, more to get me off, the pressure and tightness and pinch of the cage counteracting any suggestion of pleasure.

I thought to call Sarah, I thought to say that this is enough, I thought to say that this is too much.

But I’d promised. Whatever it takes. That’s what I’d said. I’d pledged to turn away from that, to turn that promise in on itself, threatened everything and more.

That afternoon passed in a blur. The need lingering, the need ebbing, the need surging, the need forever there, but with no resolution. The weight of the cage is a constant reminder, tugging at my dicklet, pinching at my dicklet, tightening against my dicklet. The world fogged, obscured, distorted, and I was at the centre of it all.

It was too much. Yes, I’d promised. But not this, no, not this.

I arrived home intending to ask Sarah to remove the cage. Whatever the outcome, whatever the consequence, this needed to end.

Instead, I found her waiting for me.

‘Jesus,’ I said.

Sarah, red dress, moulded tight against every dip and swell and curve. I’d always wanted her to wear red; I’d always wanted this for her, but she would not.

‘I’d feel slutty,’ she’d say, with a blush.

Only this dress cut short, two inches, perhaps three, below her pantie line, the suggestion of more each and every time she moved. The cut of the chest accentuated the milk-white curve of her breasts. Her finger, her long finger, wedding ring sparkling, tugged at the silver chain. She pulled and the key, the small key, lifted and then sank back between the deep valley of her tits.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘You look perfect,’ I said.

In the bedroom, she watched me undress. She tugged at my balls with her left hand and pawed at the cage, now a sticky mess, with her right.

‘This will never do,’ she said, holding her palm against my mouth. I lapped at it, the bitter taste causing my dicklet to twitch. ‘Go clean up,’ she said, ‘I’ll pick you out something to wear.’

I emerged from the shower to find that she’d laid out dark trousers, black socks, a crisp white shirt, and electric pink panties. I held the panties, an open question.

‘What?’ she asked with a smile. ‘Tonight I’m feeling playful.’

I pulled the panties along the smoothness of my legs and then tight around the cage. I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. Naked, shaved bare, wearing pink too-too small panties, two words stitched across the crotch, ‘Dirty Girl.’ Sarah, behind me, ran her hand along the smooth curve of my ass. She reached up, fingernails sharpened, and tweaked at my nipples. I shivered, hardened, pinched, diminished.

‘Such a cute sissy,’ she said, and, without understanding why, I shuddered with something like pleasure.

Sarah scooped up precum from the tip of the cage, fed it to me, and I sucked on her finger.

‘What do we say?’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Good girl,’ she said. My dicklet throbbed. ‘Now get dressed,’ she said.

We arrived at the restaurant and the Maitre d’ led us to a booth in the far corner. He lit a candle, and we sat at the table amidst flickering shadow.

The waiter, a dirty blonde, young, smug, and stacked, took our drinks order. Sarah ordered champagne.

The waiter took it down and, as he turned to leave, Sarah called him back, leaned forward, her breasts threatening to spill out onto the table. She took his name tag between her fingers; her ring finger sparkled.

‘Jordan,’ she paused, holding my eyes while I held my breath, ‘thank you.’ She said it, her hand against his, fluttering, restless, for but a moment.

‘A pleasure,’ he said. He looked to me and winked, smug, then to his friend behind the bar. ‘What the fuck?’ That’s what his expression said. His friend shrugged with a grin that suggested he’d seen it all and more besides.

Jordan left, and I reached for Sarah’s hand across the flat of the table. She withdrew, but with a smile, with something like playfulness.

‘Tonight is for me,’ she said.

Jordan returned, poured the champagne, and Sarah emptied the flute with a single swallow. ‘More, please, Jordan,’ she said, and he refilled the glass.

‘Thank you, Jordan,’ she said his name with emphasis, as if savouring the rich texture of his consonants and vowels. ‘Right now, my husband has some explaining to do. But you and I may talk later, okay?’

He rested his hand against her bare shoulder for a moment. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ he said, his eyes on her, her eyes on me.

‘Now talk,’ she said to me. ‘How many times did you fuck her?’

‘What?’ I said.

‘How many times did you fuck her?’

I sighed. ‘Sarah, what good is this going to do?’

She leaned towards me, her gesture soft, lazy, but her smile all menace.

‘You’ll tell me because I want to know,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll tell me because you promised to do what it takes. Now talk.’

Across the restaurant, Jordan watched, Jordan waited, Jordan boded his time.

I took a long sip of the champagne, already feeling the effects, already experiencing the lightness.

‘Okay,’ I said, with something like resignation.

‘So how many times did you fuck her?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

She slid her phone across the table, opened to a calculator app.

‘You’re a smart guy. Do the math.’

I took the phone from the table. I’d fucked Kayla for 6 months. We started fucking a couple of times a week, and then added the weekend. In the end, we’d been fucking four, five times a week. And sometimes more.

Like the afternoon she’d found me in my office, lowered the blinds, crawled under the desk, and sucked my cock while I took calls and pretended to clear email. At least until it became too much. I lifted her by her hair, bent her over my desk, and fucked her until she violently came over my cock, my trousers, her skirt, the desk, the carpet. I sent her out into the corridor dishevelled and wearing the stink of what we’d done.

Or the time we couldn’t wait, we couldn’t wait until the Marriott, and so I fucked her over the hood of my car while the city rumbled and churned all around us.

‘Daddy,’ she’d said, ‘This pussy is for you. This pussy is all for you.’

‘Well?’ asked Sarah.

I simplified the math and averaged it out to 4 times a week.

‘I don’t know. Probably a hundred times.’

She watched me, sipped from the glass.

‘You fucked 100 times, or you met up to fuck 100 times.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘What I’m asking is how many times did you fuck her. Not how many times did you meet?’

‘Sarah, I don’t know.’

She held my eyes, her look inscrutable. Not quite angry, not quite sad, something more, something other, something else entirely. Something that caused my dicklet to twitch, something that caused me to yearn.

She turned away and towards the bar, gestured with a tip of her wrist, and Jordan returned with a fresh bottle. He filled her glass and then mine.

‘How many times did you fuck the slut?’ she asked again. Jordan was there, right there, uncorking the bottle and pouring the champagne with a still and steady hand.

Across, just by the window, a couple – young, money, fresh – paused, broke off, and looked towards us. The woman pulled her hand away, but he held tight. The moment stretched like tissue paper, threatening to tear.

‘I’m waiting,’ Sarah said, and I could feel myself redden. My cock cramped within the cage. I reached down to adjust. Jordan caught the movement and smirked.

‘That’ll be all, Jordan,’ said Sarah. ‘Well, for now, at least.’

Said Sarah.

Her hand against his hip. Her fingers were a length away from the tautness of his ass. Her hand was just a span from the bulge of his crotch. He was eye level with me now, and I could tell that Jordan was packing.

‘You need anything?’ Jordan said to my wife, ‘Just ask.’

Sarah drank half the glass in a single draw. Then back to me.

‘No more fucking around. Do the math.

I tapped at the calculator.

We started off fucking in the office, but pretty quickly we moved things to the Marriott, where we’d fuck through the afternoon into the evening. Oftentimes, we’d fuck twice. Sometimes we’d manage three times. And once I even made it to four.

That was the night Kayla asked me to take her to every hole.

‘Daddy, I want you to fill me with your cum,’ she’d said, her fingers already sunk deep into her cunt. ‘Everywhere, Daddy, I want you to fill me everywhere.’

Ever accommodating, I took her mouth first. She had no problems swallowing my four and a half inches, but this time I was rough, this time I was unrelenting, this time I made her work for it.

When I finally finished down her throat, her eyes were smeared with shadow, her lips vivid and swollen, and her tits smeared with cum and fuck-drool.

Next, I did her in the cunt, her anguished squeals driving me on and over the edge.

Then her in the ass, I took her on the hotel bathroom floor, angling my thrusts to compensate for the shortcomings of my modest length. Shallow fuck strokes, but hard. And I’d cum twice and so I was in no hurry. She groaned, and then she whimpered, and in the end, she took it with stifled sobs. But I made her beg for it, and in the end she did. Through sobs, she prayed for it, ‘Daddy, thank you for fucking my ass. Daddy, please breed my ass. Daddy, please give me your cum.’ And when I was finally done, I came with a roar.

That was the third, and she assumed we were done. We showered, we packed, we were leaving, but there, right there, between the bed and the door, remembering that she’d taken everything and all, her mouth, her cunt, her ass; remembering, I pressed her to her knees and fucked her face again, this time harder than all the times before.

This time, I finished, wanting to mark her, wanting to make sure she knew that she was mine. I finished with her hair clumped into my fist, her head twisted back, her eyes wide and wild. And I painted her with it, across her face, her tits, and in her hair.

‘Thank you, Daddy.’ That’s what she said. I shit you not.

And so I sent her out there, just like that, fresh-fucked-meat, slavered with cum, out into the corridor, across the lobby, into the street, staggering, reeking, marked as mine and no one else.

That time I managed four. And that was the last time I saw her. And now this. My dicklet pulsed with need, and I could tell, without looking, that I’d leaked through the cage, the panties, and my trousers. If this continued, I knew that I’d end up smearing and staining the seat.

‘How many times?’ she asked again.

‘At a guess, 150 times.’

‘What did you do 150 times?’ she asked.

‘We fucked.’

‘You fucked your slut 150 times,’ she said, but a little too loud. The couple sat at the table, just by the window, turned again to look. Sarah, hard like flint, held my gaze. The guy by the window leaned into the woman by the window, whispered something, and then laughed.

My heart began to race.

‘And how many times did she suck your tiny dicklet?’

‘The same,’ I said.

‘So you fucked 150 times. And she sucked your tiny cock 150 times.’

‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘Or maybe more.’

And it was true. Kayla loved to suck cock. Kayla loved to take a face fucking. Kayla loved when I fucked her cunt, her arse, and then offered up my spent and wilting cock for her to clean off with her tongue.

And I found myself wondering whether a tongue bath really counted.

‘How much more?’ she asked.

‘Maybe 200 times. She sucked me off maybe 200 times.’

‘She sucked what?’ said Sarah.

‘Sucked my cock,’ I said. Sarah raised her eyebrows and then tapped the champagne glass with her fingernail just once. But it was enough. I understood. ‘She sucked my dicklet around 200 times.’

My heart began to canter, and blood began to surge and pound in my groin, but with no purpose and nowhere to go—just the coldness of steel.

‘What else did you do together?’ she asked.

‘Sarah…’ I said.

‘Did you fuck her arse?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A few times,’ as if the fact that it was a few somehow made it better.

‘How many times?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe 40 times, maybe 50?’

‘You fucked a 21-year-old intern 50 times in the ass? Were it not for that pathetic excuse of a dicklet, the poor girl wouldn’t have been able to walk.’

I groaned, pushed at the cage with my palm. Sarah caught it and smiled, but it was a hard smile, carrying meaning I did not understand.

‘And where did you cum?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When you fucked her, did you use a condom?’

The moment stretched painfully, like flesh against steel. Sarah signalled again to Jordan. He returned with more champagne and made as if to pop the cork.

‘Wait,’ Sarah said to him. She turned back to me.

‘So, when you were fucking this 21-year-old intern, in the mouth and in the cunt and in the arse, did you wear a condom?’

I felt myself flush and shrink; only my cock was solid, throbbing, aching as it swelled against steel.

‘No,’ I said.

She nodded to Jordan. Jordan popped the cork right on cue.

Jordan, not even trying to hide the shit-eating grin, refilled my glass and turned to Sarah, the bottle steady in his hand, the glass steady in her hand.

‘And did you ever fuck us both on the same day?’ she asked.

And Jordan was still there and at her side, right by her side. Jordan with the ruffle of dirty blonde hair. Jordan of the dimpled cheek. Jordan of the crooked grin. Jordan of swelling cock. I could see it begin to fill and bulge his crotch. And he knew that I could see. And he could feel my wife’s eyes on him, watching, savouring, enjoying.

‘So, after you fucked your slut, you came home to give me your sloppy seconds?’ she asked.

Time stretched long. I knew the answer, I knew the answer, and I guessed that she knew the answer to. But I didn’t want to say.

‘Yes.’ I said.

‘Fuuuuuck,’ said Jordan through a widening grin, ‘Nasty.’

And it was because I remembered that first time.

I’d fucked Kayla twice that night, once in the office and once in the toilet of a local bar. She’d followed me into the gents, not giving a shit about the queue of guys waiting for the urinal. She’d pushed me back into the cubicle, the place stinking of piss and stale man-sweat. She shimmied off her knickers, lifted her skirt, and bent, hands spread against the cubicle door.

‘Give it to me good, Daddy. Make sure that they hear, Daddy. Let them know who owns this pussy.’

And so I had, clutching at her hair, arching her back, rough fucking her from a mewling mess into a ruinous thing. After, she mopped at her spoiled cunt with her panties and pushed them into my pocket.

I was done with her, and we left the cubicle. Four, five guys were gathered around, listening, waiting.

‘Now you’re done with her, can we have a turn?’ one of them asked, and Kayla hesitated, as if considering. I’d felt myself grow hard, hard and needy and wondering.

That night, I arrived home to find Sarah reading in bed. Sarah of the sensible pajamas. Sarah of a glass of warm milk. Sarah of the early night.

‘You’re late?’ she said, a matter of fact, neither question nor accusation.

I climbed in beside her, stinking of Kayla, tasting of Kayla, vibrating with the memory of her. I pulled in close to Sarah.

‘It’s late,’ she said, my hand against her stomach, then reaching for her cunt. ‘Really,’ she said. She was dry, dry at first. She ran her fingers through my hair, trying to guide me down. But this wasn’t about her; this was about me. So instead of tasting, I spat onto her folds and worked it in with my fingers.

‘Tom?’ she asked, but working her up, working up to something.

And then my cock in my hand, still sticky, still stinking of Kayla and me knowing it. That this was the moment of conjunction where one thing became another and never more to be.

With a groan, I eased into Sarah, and with a mewl, she let me. Thoughts of Kayla, thoughts of Sarah, thoughts of Kayla, thoughts of Sarah. Over and over and round and then around.

I came on the fourth stroke.

After, I half-dozed while Sarah stroked at her pussy with something like embarrassment, with something like shame. Sarah stroked quietly, a whimper, a sigh, then quivering with something like disappointment as she tipped over the edge.

‘You smell funny.’ She said it later, as I began to slip away.

‘Funny how?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, just funny.’

And now Sarah is watching me, reading me, remembering.

‘This is some dark shit,’ Jordan said with a laugh.

The two of them, Sarah and he, together. Her hand was behind him, stroking his ass. His arm against the bare of her back, and she leaning into it. Jordan against her ear, and then she against his, whispering.

To me.

‘Ask for the check, Tom.’

‘Can we have the check?’ I asked.

‘Ab-so-fucking-lute-ly,’ he said with a grin.

And then, ‘I’ll be right back.’ But he said that to Sarah, not to me.

Jordan returned with the bill, and I settled up.

‘Jordan,’ Sarah said, ‘Walk us out to the car.’

‘Of course, Sarah.’ And I, wondering where he’d learnt her name and when he’d first thought fit to use it.

We’d parked out back; the car park was away from the road, ill-lit and empty. Out beyond the restaurant, out to the road, traffic rumbled across the asphalt and off onto the ringway.

Out by the car, my wife to me,

‘You fucked your slut nearly 400 times.’

‘I didn’t actually fuck her that…’

‘Let’s not quibble, Tom. You stuffed your tiny dicklet into one of her dirty fuck holes on nearly 400 occasions.’

I nodded just the once, not daring words. Jordan stood to her side, his face part-shadowed in the street light, but his teeth glistened like a shark.

‘So then, you owe me.’

‘Owe you what?’ I said, stupid, blind, deaf, and dumb.

‘You owe me 400 fucks. And I owe you.’

‘What?’ I asked, the world once again threatening to tip, slow, and then topple.

‘I owe you,’ she said. ‘I owe you sloppy seconds.’

‘Sarah, wait,’ I said, ‘Let’s talk… just the two of us.’ I said it with something like panic. I said it with something like desperation. I said it with something like exhilaration. And my dicklet began to chub and swell.

‘Jordan,’ she said, ‘Do you think me pretty?’

‘Sarah,’ I said.

‘Shut the fuck up, Tom.’ Her voice was stern, her voice was brittle, but her smile was soft. Her smile was for Jordan, not for me.

‘You’re so fucking hot,’ Tom said, his left hand against her cheek, and she leaning into it. His right hand pressed against her thigh, his fingers teasing the hem of her dress.

She met him with an open mouth, the wet turn of her tongue against his, and Jordan biting at her lip, distending then releasing. She broke away, sucked at the fat of her lips as if she wanted to taste more of him.

‘Fuck,’ she said, ‘I’ve so missed this.’

Jordan lifted her onto the hood of the car. Out at a distance, an engine spluttered, spat, and then roared. Sarah clutched at him around the neck. She pulled him into her, his neck, his ear, his mouth, the slop of saliva and breathy sighs.

His hands into her dress now, tugging at her knickers, the silk catching at her thighs.

‘Fuck it,’ Jordan said, and with a single tug ripped them loose.

Sarah shuddered, and I stood, silent and stupid, the cage pressing and tugging and forcing my throbbing flesh to conform to the shape and dimensions of confined steel. She shuddered again, the softest of whimpers, and I wondered if, from these preliminary moments, from this alone, whether maybe she had cum.

‘Fuck,’ said Jordan, not to Sarah, but to me, ‘Your wife is so fucking wet. Taste,’ he held his fingers out, slicked with her juice, and I took him into my mouth without considering otherwise. And he was right. She was sopping. I pulled at my balls trying to relieve the pressure, trying to find the edge, desperation, and need driving all of this to this very moment and no other.

‘Oh fuck,’ Sarah said, Jordan’s hand gathering pace, slapping against her thighs, slapping against her cunt, the sound of it sloppy and nasty.

And Sarah, Sarah fumbling at his belt.

His pants slumped to his boots with a clatter of buckle and keys.

‘Oh god,’ Sarah said. ‘Tom, look at him.’

And I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to see, but the deeper part, the real part, the very heart of this new me drew closer. She held his cock, and he was immense. Fat and thickening, solid and hardening, his length of him long and improbably so.

‘Tom, show him.’

‘Sarah…’

‘You fucking promised, Tom. Whatever it takes, Tom. Now this is what it takes. Show him.’

And she spoke true. I had promised. I had said I would do whatever it took. And now I understand that I had intended every word.

I trembled, I flushed, I quivered. My belt loose with an easy tug, and I dropped my trousers.

‘You’re fucking kidding me,’ Jordan said, breaking away, his fingers gleaming in the fractured light. ‘What a fucking sissy. ‘

I stood, hands to my side, pink panties darkened with precum. The nubbin of my cock cage twitched and pointed to Sarah.

‘Lose the panties,’ Sarah said, jacking Jordan’s cock with a ferocious eagerness. Jordan rocked into her fist, her wedding ring sparkling against his thick, white, rigid flesh.

I eased my panties down my legs and stood straight.

Jordan laughed, full and unrestrained. ‘What the fuck,’ he said, stooping down to see more clearly. ‘What is that thing?’

‘It’s a cage for his tiny dicklet.’

‘No,’ Jordan said, ‘Not the cage, this.’ He flicked the slick red tip of my cock that had squeezed through the steel of the cage. I gasped. Jordan snickered again, ‘It looks like he’s got a fucking clit.’

He turned back to Sarah, his mouth against her mouth, his hands working at her tits, pulling them loose. He bent forward and lapped at her nipple, teased at her nipple, then chewed at her nipple. He sucked at the fleshy flab of her tit and pulled away, leaving his mark.

‘Fuck,’ Sarah said, ‘I need that cock right now.’

Jordan stood, shifted his weight, then pushed her dress up and over her hips. And that’s when I realised, that’s when I truly understood. She’d shaved herself bare. She’d considered this. She’d planned for this.

‘Bet she never gets this wet for you,’ Jordan said, easing two fingers into her cunt, before adding a third and then frigging her like a mad thing.

‘Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh,’ she said, squeezed his hand between her thighs, and shook for a moment as she came.

Jordan pulled his fingers free and flicked a splatter of slop down onto the tarmac.

‘You and your wife are totally fucked up,’ he said.

Sarah laughed. ‘So, you going fuck me or what?’

‘Am I ever,’ Jordan said, as he slicked his cock up and down her fuck-slit, teasing, making her wait. Sarah rocked with her hips, Sarah begged, Sarah pleaded.

Jordan grinned and leaned into it, his cock head parting her slick lips.

‘Sarah,’ I said. ‘Condom,’ I said.

Jordan hesitated. Sarah bit her lip.

‘Actually, he’s right,’ she said, reaching for her clasp and rummaging through the contents.

She paused. Her eyes were cold against mine.

And then she laughed, and Jordan laughed along with her.

‘Tiny clit-cock, but check out the balls on this guy,’ Jordan said.

Sarah laughed. ‘Fuck him,’ she said. Then, to Jordan, ‘Actually, second thoughts, fuck me.’

Jordan grinned, his hands cupping and then spreading her thighs. Without intervention, his cock settled against her cleft. He pushed, Sarah grunted, her labia parted, and, hands free, he sank into her wetness.

‘Wait, wait,’ Sarah said, her hand against his pelvis holding him just so. ‘Tom, come and look.’

I hesitated, and she took me by the hair and pulled my face down to where his body and her body now joined.

‘See,’ she said, ‘Four and a half inches deep and still so much more to go. Now watch.’

She leaned back, and Jordan eased forward, his cock sinking deeper and deeper into her cunt. Sarah groaned, Sarah sighed, Sarah whimpered, and then he was balls deep and tight against her.

‘Oh, look, Tom. You’ve never been this deep. It’s like he’s taken my cherry all over again.’

Jordan pulled back, his cock slavered with her fuck juice, holding her open with just the tip of his crown. He lifted her hips, just a little, and then pressed forward with a slow and relentless fuck stroke.

‘So big,’ Sarah said.

I clutched at the cage, my dicklet vibrating and weeping with need.

Jordan, teasing her with the tip, waiting, waiting, waiting. Sarah whimpered. Jordan pushed deep and all the way.

‘Oh,’ she said, her sigh tremulous with need.

Jordan withdrew, pulling free, watching her gape—a breath, half-a-breath, and then more. Jordan pushed deep, this time with intent. Again, now rocking with a steady force, the slap of his flesh against her flesh. Again, and then again.

And Sarah held onto his asscheeks, pulling him deep. Jordan pressed against her thighs, then her calves, pushing up with his palms, pushing her knees back towards her chest, opening her up, lining up his cock, and then sinking deeper than ever before.

‘Fuck, Jordan. Fuck, Jordan. Fuck, Jordan.’ Sarah’s voice trembled, then broke. Her ankles quivered. She shuddered. Then Sarah came. Sarah came with a gasp. Sarah went with a whimper. Sarah came with a sob. And then Sarah to me, her fingers still tangled in my hair, desperate, ‘I didn’t know that it could be like this, Tom. I didn’t know.’

She tipped her head back, her throat a tight arch, ‘Oh Tom.’ She said my name, but it was his cock that tipped her over the edge yet again. And she shook and shook and shook.

‘Now it’s my turn,’ Jordan said, nose to nose with Sarah, his eyes, her eyes, neither blinking.

‘Do it,’ she said, ‘make this pussy your own.’

He stretched her back, her cunt, her ass, her all, there for the taking. Sarah tightened her hold against my head and pulled me in closer. She chewed at her lip, the concentration, the discomfort, the necessity, the desire. My dicklet trembled and drooled onto my thighs.

This time Jordan took her hard. This time Jordan took her rough. This time Jordan was relentless.

‘Fuck yes,’ she said.

‘Is this what you wanted?’

‘Fuck yes.’

‘Is this what you need?’

‘Oh yes.’

The dull thwack of body against body, flesh against flesh, need against need, one driving the other.

And now Sarah gasped.

And now Sarah groaned.

And now Sarah grunted.

‘Take it,’ said Jordan. ‘Fucking take it.’

Harder now, the pace quickening, Sarah’s hands clawing deep into his ass-flesh, her ring, her ring, her wedding ring, glittering and brilliant.

And again.

Sarah whined, deep, low, but expanding.

Again. Jordan growled, a rumble low in his chest.

Again. Hard enough now to shift the car, the suspension creaking.

Again and again and again.

Sarah came, this time unafraid to be heard.

‘Oh, oh, oh, oh.’

Jordan stifling her with his mouth, his lips, his tongue. His hand against her cheek, turning her chin to his, and then against her throat.

Then once again, his hips against her hips, relentless and pitiless and unyielding.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.’

Jordan all pace, now frantic, now desperate, now driven.

‘Where do you want me to cum?’ he asked, breathless, panting.

‘Inside me. Cum inside me.’

Then with a roar, now erratic, his fuck stroke deep, holding it, holding it, keeping it.

Jordan pulled loose with a wet plop, his cock slicked with her cream and his cum, slapping wetly against his thigh.

‘Fuck,’ he said.

Sarah, sheened with sweat, leaned back against the car, then against me.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘your turn.’

I made to stand, expecting her to reach for the key. Fuck did I want this. Fuck did I need this. Fuck, I’d never liked her so hard nor so much.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she said, with a sly smile. ‘You think I’d even feel your pathetic dicklet after that fucking?’

Jordan slumped beside her. Jordan sniggered. Jordan laughed.

‘I said I owe you sloppy seconds.’ Fingers tightening in my hair, she pulled me deeper into her thighs.

And although I thought to push back, and although I thought to pull away, I let her. I had promised this, that I would do whatever it takes. But this was bigger than the promise; this was more.

My caged dicklet throbbed, swollen and fattened with need, obligation, and desire now indistinguishable one from the other. And I understood, I finally understood. All of it, the caging, the humiliation, the shame, all of it had led to this, this moment, to this new self. Perhaps even Kayla, maybe even she had been placed by cosmic design to bring me to this moment, to this new thing, to this realisation of what I might become.

Sarah pulled me close, her cunt gaping, her cunt oozing, her cunt weeping, and I saw, and she saw me, and then she smiled, soft, gentle, familiar.

She pulled me close, the pungent scent of her cum and his cum now mingled. I lapped, first at her thighs, tasting her sweat, her fuck juice, a little more.

‘Good girl,’ she said.

Then to the slicked crevice of her sex, running the length of my tongue from her anus to her clit.

‘Mmm,’ she said.

Then with the thick of my tongue, tasting her, tasting him, savouring the slime and the mess and the salty bitterness of him and the sour sweetness of her. I pushed my tongue deep, not fighting, but instead, welcoming this.

And her need, her still unsatiated need, rocking against my mouth, grinding against my mouth, and then humping against my face.

She came with a tremor, my mouth enveloping the whole of her cunt. She dribbled, and then she oozed, and I took it and took it all.

‘Fuck me,’ Jordan said, as I clambered to my feet.

Sarah leaned into him one last time, her tongue filling his mouth, his lips sucking at her lips.

And then to me.

‘One down,’ she said, ‘Three hundred and ninety-nine fucks still to go. But you promised, remember, “Whatever it takes.”‘

To Be Continued…?

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