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“It’s adorable,” my ex-wife said, taking my hard plastic cage between her thumb and forefinger and gingerly moving it from side to side.
Julia was seated on the edge of the bed in her hotel room, and I was standing in front of her, with my hands behind my back, my pants around my ankles, and my manhood encased in its acrylic prison.
Her eyes widened as she observed the response she was eliciting. “Ooh.” I could tell without looking that my glans had expanded to fill the plastic knob, and was probably turning purple. I could feel that my body was trying to force the ring down my shaft, which was struggling valiantly but futilely to grow.
“Isn’t it uncomfortable?” she asked.
“That’s, um, kind of the point.”
“Fascinating.” She looked up into my eyes. “So this is a kind of… masochism?”
I nodded. “I guess so.” I watched her think about this. Our sex life, while once exuberant and then for several years quite above average, had never strayed outside of ‘vanilla.’ It suddenly occurred to me, though, that I had learned to eroticize frustration and denial by longing for her during those endless months of our separation and divorce.
“So this new woman of yours… she seems to have figured out what it is you really want.”
I shrugged.
“And she’s okay with you being here?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “In fact, it was kind of her idea.”
Julia shook her head and chuckled. “I’d love to meet her.”
“Um, yeah, I don’t see that happening.” Kinky and twisted as this weekend had been for me, there was no way I was letting my ex-wife find out that the woman who had put me in chastity was our daughter’s 26-year-old best friend.
Julia shrugged. “Pity. Oh well. So, let’s get you up here between my legs.”
She stood and reached up under her lavender sundress to pull down her sensible cotton panties. Not granny panties, by any means, but also not the skimpy lace concoctions that Alex always tormented me with.
Then she settled back against the pillows, after hiking her sundress up around her hips; crooked her knees, and opened her legs for me. I stood awkwardly at the side of the bed, my pants still around my ankles but still wearing my oxford shirt. Undressing further seemed inappropriate in the presence of this woman who had rejected me; but it also felt humiliating, and I had also developed a taste for that. So I took off my shirt and kicked off my shoes and then pants, so I was naked except for my socks and the plastic prison encasing my swelling genitals.
I settled in between the warmth and softness of her plump thighs. The heat and fragrance emanating from her center felt distantly-familiar; but the inner lips of her vulva, already shiny with moisture, appeared darker, more dusky-rose than I remembered; and the golden curls around them were platinum now. But she was obviously aroused, and that gratified me and drew me to her, even though I still couldn’t understand why I was there.
There was a time — a long, long period of time, during our separation and early after the divorce — when I would have jumped at the chance to be on a bed with her again, eager to reconnect, hoping to earn my way back into her life… although I had never really understood why she had pushed me out of it.
I was still attracted to her. But I was finally emotionally disconnected from her, even emotionally unavailable. Maybe she sensed that. Maybe that’s why she had coyly invited me into her room, with the full knowledge that I was not only involved in another relationship, but that, at least for this afternoon, that istanbul travesti other woman had effectively neutered me. Or at least removed my cock from the equation.
Anyway, that’s what ran through my mind in the surreal seconds between getting on my knees between my ex-wife’s thighs, and finally touching my tongue up against the little spot where the ridge of her perineum met the very bottom of her vaginal lips.
I felt her convulse and heard her gasp as I drew my tongue up one side of her moist vulva; and took the opportunity, as she writhed, to slip my hands up the back of her thighs and under her round bottom, clutching her to me. Then I inhaled deeply and extended my tongue into her, down one side, up the other. Studiously avoiding her clitoris for now.
We settled into a rhythm like that for a while, comfortable and familiar. I focused on savoring the distantly-remembered taste and texture of her body; feeling the downy wisps of her pubic hair on my cheeks. I was enjoying the way her hips were undulating beneath me. I found myself gently rocking my own hips against the mattress, wishing I could move up three feet and be moving in and out of her. But that would be fruitless.
After about twenty minutes — during a slight shift in position, I checked the bedside alarm clock — I finally moved up and flicked at her clitoris. She tightened her grip in my hair and pulled me away. “Not yet.”
Huh, I thought. Her voice had been surprisingly dominant. Passive-aggressive, I was used to from her. Not dominant. It gave me a thrill.
So I went back to teasing her, and myself. For another half-hour. And then another after that. I kept rotating between swirling, thrusting, and nibbling. Inserting my fingers, but only one at at time. She continued to roll her lips languidly under my touch. It was gratifying to me, but also obviously not the writhing of a woman on the edge of an orgasm.
We were engaged in a competition, it occurred to me, to show the other who had become more sexually liberated since our divorce. Me, by my submission, or her, by her dominance.
Finally, at one point, her gentle sighs and hums formed into words: “God, that’s good.”
Damn straight I’m good, I thought. Alex tells me that all the time; and frankly, my dear, I’m pretty sure Alex has had a lot more tongues in her pussy than you have.
“Okay,” Julia said after a long while. “Make me cum now.”
For a moment it occurred to me to just keep doing what I was doing, tease her a bit, even deny her. But that thought passed. Instead, I finally, and eagerly, drew her by-now-engorged clitoris between my lips, simultaneously sucking and licking it. I pushed two fingers into her, palm upward, and hooked her behind her pubic bone, pressing into the textured flesh of her g-spot. She gasped and bucked against me. Her thighs closed tight around my head and she straightened her back, thrusting toward me as if she was trying to penetrate me with her pelvis. I licked faster.
“Stop, stop, stop,” she finally gasped, pushing my head away. “Too much.” I looked up and watched her flushed face. I still had two fingers inside of her, feeling the pulses of her aftershocks for several seconds after her panting had begun to return to mere heavy breathing.
After a moment she scooted up on the bed and leaned back against the headboard.
“You enjoying this?” she asked, surprising me a bit. I had kind of felt that we both understood that the whole point of this encounter was *her* enjoyment. Still, I nodded.
“Even though you’re obviously not going to be getting travesti istanbul laid?”
I shrugged. Something had already told me that I was only here *because* of the chastity cage, because of the little secret about my BDSM relationship that I had recklessly confided last night. I understood that she hadn’t invited me to her room to rekindle a romance or even to have one more romp for old time’s sake. She was here out of curiosity, and maybe even something slightly more…wicked? And I also understood…that’s that why I had come.
“Well, I’m happy for you,” she continued. “Candace said that some men get off on being used.”
Oh, shit. “You told Candace?” I asked. Of course she had. Our vivacious and lascivious friend knew my secret, too. That wasn’t good. Except, I realized that my stunted erection was surging again inside my cage.
“Uh huh,” she responded, cavalierly. “So, anyway, I hope you don’t think you’re finished.” And with that, she rolled over on her stomach and tilted her bottom up toward me.
***
Maddie — Mrs. Maddie Tolliver McRae, she thought with a smile — reached over and played with her new husband’s hair. He looked over at her and smiled as he steered the rented convertible back into the driveway of the resort where they had had their wedding reception the previous evening.
They had slipped off to a nearby boutique hotel for a quiet wedding night away from the ongoing party, but many of their guests had stayed at the main resort last night. They were only returning so her husband Graham could drop off a house key so his brother could feed the cat while they were on their honeymoon. Then they would be off to the airport.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Graham said, setting the emergency brake after pulling into a front-row parking spot.
“That’s fine,” Maddie responded, indicating that she was content to sit in the convertible and enjoy the breeze and the sunshine.
She leaned back and bared her throat to the sun, and adjusted her sunglasses. If she only had a headscarf, she thought, she could imagine she was Audrey Hepburn.
Then she saw Colin walking up the sidewalk from the tennis courts, carrying a racket. Unlike the older guests who were sporting neat white tennis togs, he was wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. Maddie smiled. Colin was a kid. A kid, though, who had boffed her vixen of a best friend last night, and apparently rocked her world.
She called out to him, and he came jogging across the parking lot to greet her. “Hey… sis,” he grinned.
“Hey Colin. Graham just went inside to look for you.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” the young man nodded. “The keys to your house. I thought about that last night after you guys left.”
“Yes, well…”
“He had his mind on other things,” Colin said with a wink. Maddie felt herself blushing.
“Um. Probably,” she replied, flustered a bit by the mild innuendo from her husband’s younger brother. When she had just been thinking about him as a sexual athlete.
“Well, I might as well hang out here rather than go looking for him. He’s got to come back here soon, right?”
Suddenly, he absent-mindedly pulled up his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. For a moment, she was at eye-level with a glimpse of his lean and impossibly long bare lower torso… his gym trunks riding low over his exposed hipbones, his stomach moist and shining from his rib cage to well below his navel, where the beginnings of a treasure trail led her eyes toward the hidden secret within his shorts. In that second, she couldn’t help but picture istanbul travestileri that delicious taut abdomen slapping rhythmically against her best friend’s belly just last night. And in the next second, she was picturing it slapping against her own…
She realized that she was biting her lip just as he dropped his t-shirt. She quickly returned her gaze to his face, hoping she didn’t look too guilty or embarrassed. Their eyes met, and she tried to assess whether she had embarrassed him. He had an odd look on his face, she thought, but it wasn’t shame. She quickly looked away, just in time to see Graham skipping down the steps from the lobby.
Maddie sat back and watched with bemusement as the two brothers — her 26-year-old husband and his 22-year-old kid brother — spoke and joked together just out of her earshot. They exchanged the keys, and then a fist bump. As Graham walked around to the driver’s side door, Colin loped over to her door and leaned in to give her a pantomime of a hug. He recognized that he was sweaty, Maddie thought. Although as his chest briefly hovered over her, she didn’t find his aroma unpleasant at all.
Then they were on the road to the airport. Graham was chipper, and Maddie was feeling both relaxed and slightly aroused. She was headed off on a romantic honeymoon with her handsome husband, of course. But something else was stirring below her stomach.
She adored her new husband. She adored that he had cuckold fantasies, and she had embraced not only indulging them as fantasies, but actually relishing her own cuckoldress nature, although she had never acted on it. Yet.
She was actually far closer to doing it for real than Graham imagined, she knew. He was too gentlemanly, too benign, to pressure her or manipulate her, and he assured her that the mere fact that she was willing to role-play with him made him the luckiest guy in the world. She could tell he wanted more and was afraid to push for it. Well…
She had teased him with pillow talk just this morning. He had seemed a bit unprepared for it. She understood that his first instinct had been that he should set his kinks aside, bury them, for the duration of a fairy-tale honeymoon. But she didn’t want to do that.
“So, I didn’t know Colin played tennis,” she offered after a few minutes.
“He’s a jock,” Graham replied. “He plays everything. But, yeah, we played quite a bit growing up.”
“See, I didn’t know you played tennis,” she commented. “Are you any good?”
“I used to be,” he said. “Kind of got away from it after I graduated.”
“So did Colin ever beat you?”
Graham laughed. “Only at the very end,” he admitted.
“So you never let him win, growing up? Competitive much?”
He shrugged. He was smiling. Relaxed. Oblivious. “Guys are always competitive.”
“I’ll bet. And I’ll bet nothing’s better for a little brother than finally getting over on his big brother.”
He drove on. He still hadn’t put two and two together. Maddie turned her face to the sun, her eyes twinkling with mischief behind her sunglasses. She was going to have fun with this.
***
“Mind if I smoke?”
Actually, I would prefer you didn’t, I thought; but I merely shook my head “no,” as I climbed up onto the bed. Naked, again, except for the cage around my equipment, still.
Not that it really mattered, I thought further. Cigarette smoke probably isn’t going to be reaching my nose for the next half-hour anyway.
I settled in between Candace’s ample thighs, which she was spreading for me as she took her first drag on her Virginia Slims, and then exhaled toward me. She reached down with her other hand and gathered up a fistful of my curls.
“An obedient boy with a willing tongue and a locked-up cock,” she mused. “You’re going to be so popular around campus.”
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