[ Note: This is the third in a multi-part story series. Each installment can stand alone, but to start at the beginning, read: Erin Ch. 1 – Female led Relationship. Followed by: Erin Ch. 2 – Female Led Marriage JQGraves ]
Erin and I celebrated our second anniversary enjoying the outdoor attractions where we live. We spent the day riding the gondola up Aspen Mountain, enjoying the zip line and rope challenges of the Hidden Forest and reveling in the scenic peaks surrounding us. We ate where and when we were hungry—the area is filled with restaurants and cafes with a wide variety of fare, all of it good. We immersed ourselves in what this fabulous part of the world has to offer.
Erin and I finished the day in bed (the best way to celebrate your anniversary), where I performed as the stud I can, on occasion, be.
“That, was amazing,” Erin sighed.
She enjoyed four, count them: four, orgasms. What man can top that on their second anniversary with the woman they married? Okay, three and a half resulted from cunnilingus, but still.
“I aim to please, my darlin’. I love you. Still have trouble believing your mine.”
“I love you too, very much, but you flipped the relationship, dear. I’m not yours, you are mine. And, I could not have made a better choice.”
“Hmm,” I murmured as I spooned Erin. It was a long day, we’d packed as much into it as humanly possible, and I was on the edge of sinking into sleep.
“I’ve been wondering,” Erin said, pulling me back from the fog of hypnagogia. (It’s a word, honest. You could look it up.) “I’ve told you I would decide if, when and how we are to make love—and you have adjusted to that decree nicely—but why is it you rarely even ask for sex?”
“Umm, Well, I don’t want to be a pest, you know? I’ve learned that sex is about pleasing the woman in your life. And besides, you’ve been more than generous; I’ve got no complaints.”
“That’s sweet, dear, straight out of the catechism I’ve taught you. It occurred to me we can’t always be on the same rhythm. Surely there must be times when you are in the mood and I am not. I could accommodate you if that were the case, but you never bring it up.
“It calls to mind the problem you had two years ago on this date. Do you remember? The first time you met Lucile?”
How could I forget Lucile? That is the name Erin gave her flat-backed, wooden hairbrush. I get to, “meet Lucile,” as Erin likes to put it, two or three times a month. That first meeting she referred to was our wedding night when I was overstimulated—partly circumstance, partly my good right hand—and came prematurely on our first married coupling. That was a night for firsts, not only meeting Lucile for my first real spanking as an adult, but also earning and “enjoying” my first ever cream pie. I remember that night and I remember Lucile.
I was awake now and trying to think of a response. She wasn’t asking whether I remembered that damned hairbrush spanking, she was asking me whether I remembered the masturbation that triggered it. That was a question I did not want to address.
“Never mind,” she said, “You’re tired; we had a full day. I was just wondering. Good night my husband. Happy anniversary.”
“Good night, dear. Happy anniversary. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She was asleep in the time it took for those words to travel from her lips to my ears. I was wide awake. Why did Erin raise that topic? We had such a wonderful day together; what brought masturbation to mind now? I masturbate on the off days, when she is not in the mood. Hell, I was in my mid-twenties when Erin first came into my life. Prior to her, my sex life was primarily solo. I had years of experience in bringing myself off whenever I pleased. The habits of a lifetime were not likely to disappear just because I now wore a wedding band.
Sex between us was aimed at Erin’s pleasure. That’s well and good, but I have needs too, and while she is never selfish, my internal schedules do not always follow the same rhythm as hers.
Erin goes off to work each morning, leaving me behind to write, deal with editors and publishers and market my product. I rarely have a firm schedule and often have time on my hands; time available to employ my right hand to its best advantage. Plus, there is the internet. I rely on the net for much of my work, and when not working… well, there are hundreds of sites that cater to men like me. Men who appreciate a firm young body, who enjoy fantasies involving playful spanking, teasing and coitus.
Many of my meetings with Lucile stem from chores I fail to complete, and more than a few of those are due to losing track of time while performing self-gratification to the stimulus of a seductive story on the net. There is no way Erin could know of this underlying cause. No way.
I’ve always been careful to hide my web history—maintaining adequate evidence for the sites expected of an author in my güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri line, while deleting any tracks to the sites I enjoy. Erin could not have discovered anything on my machine the least bit incriminating, even if she went to the trouble to look. And, as far as I know, she has never looked. So, what brought this on?
It was hours before I managed to sleep that night, and I woke up tired the next morning when Erin, fresh from a restorative slumber bounded out of the sack, eager to meet the challenges of a new day. (I hate cheerful people in the morning. That’s a little strong, but you know what I mean.)
I was relieved Erin did not raise the subject of masturbation the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. It seemed wise to declare a moratorium on self-gratification in case there was a hidden camera in my office, or perhaps she’d hired someone to hack the camera built into my computer monitor. (I’ve read they can do that. A small square of masking tape took care of that possibility, but there was still the microphone input to worry about.) Foolishly paranoid, I know, ours is truly a loving and trusting relationship. But still…
Friday night, the end of a difficult work week for Erin, is when she is in the mood for sexual release, and that was the case this week. She gets a little frisky with a glass or two of wine with dinner. I cook most of the meals and usually fix something nice for Fridays. That evening it was Boeuf Bourguignon—beef stew in wine sauce, not as fancy as it sounds.
After dinner, Erin adjourned to the family room to put on the news, while I took care of the remnants, cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen. I joined her on the couch when I was done.
“Same crap, different day,” Erin said and switched off the set. She pulled me into her arms and we began the delightful ritual of stroking, kissing and unwrapping. Erin loves it when I kiss and nibble on her neck and work my way up to her earlobe. I love what she does with her hands, even before she has my clothes off.
I kicked my shoes off, and Erin pushed me back on the couch and pulled my pants and boxers off with one long movement. She was down to bra and panties at this point. Holding my hands out of the way, Erin’s lips latched onto my nipple, which always makes me squirm, especially when her free hand squeezes my member. A minute of this and her mouth moved down to take over from her hand. I don’t have wide experience to judge, but Erin has to be among the best at giving head. She bobbed up and down, taking in my entire length. Her hand massaged my testicles, with her little finger tickling between my ass cheeks.
Erin brought me within millimeters of cumming, then lifted off the end of my cock with an audible “thock” and left poor Chuck to bob in the air. She kissed and tongued my abdomen until I’d come down enough there was no danger of my shooting off. Then, it was back to work again. Erin brought me close two more times before she rose and said, “Meet me in the bedroom.”
I struggled not to shoot off, just from the breeze on my wet dick while I walked down the hall. Cumming at this point—cumming before my lady—was a proven bad idea. So, I was on the bed, careful to not allow my hard cock to touch anything it might consider stimulating. I’m convinced the point of Erin’s tactic is to make me zealous at bringing her pleasure and release with my mouth, while giving myself time to regain control. Control that will ensure I not pop off with the first full thrust into her vagina. Even when she has enjoyed two or three good orgasms before I enter her, cumming too soon is a very bad idea. One that has consequences.
Tonight, I was up on my knees—ass in the air, mouth at her entrance—kissing and working her clit with my tongue while pumping a finger, then two, into her opening. Erin held me there, hands entangled in my hair through two orgasms and well on the way to a third. When she invited me to slide up her body and enter her, I’d regained enough control to not embarrass myself. She came first, as required, then I let loose. With all those preliminaries, it was wonderful.
We lay next to each other, recovering. My hand was on her tummy (her breasts are much too sensitive after), which convulsed at my touch.
After a few minutes, Erin rolled out of bed and said, “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”
Go anywhere? Fat chance of that, I was destroyed. Sex is a lot of work. Not complainin’, it’s well worth the effort, just sayin’.
When Erin returned, she climbed onto the foot of the bed, wearing an evil grin and crawled up between my legs, slapping them apart. She held something, and the first thing I felt was a warm washcloth she used to clean me up.
“It will take me a while longer before I’ll be ready for an encore,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m good for tonight. Let me take care of you and Chuck.”
That warm cloth güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri felt great, and I grew tumescent despite what I’d just said. It was a shock, when Erin slapped something freezing on my package.
“What the hell is that?”
“Frozen peas. I’ve done a little reading, and this is the recommended vegetable. Although, I imagine whole kernel corn would be just as effective. For that matter, frozen broccoli would probably do the job.”
“Okay, let me rephrase the question. Why are you applying frozen peas, or whatever vegetable, to my cock and balls? You realize cold does nothing for my ability to perform?”
“Oh, to the contrary, my love, cold has a very definite and predictable effect on your performance tools. It shrinks them in preparation for their new home.”
Erin removed the peas, wiped the area with a dry towel and lifted a small, velvet bag which she waived for me to see. “I bought us a new toy.”
“What’s that?” I asked, dread sinking into my gut. The internet, remember? I was well versed on what sexual toys were available for the male, and the little sack she held was the wrong shape for any of the penis extending or prostate stimulation toys I’d seen on the web. Sure enough, Erin removed a plastic ring from the bag and pulled my cock and balls through it. It was a snug fit, and she had not yet even installed my member into the adjoining tube.
When it was fastened with the thundering “click,” of a tiny lock, she said, “A perfect fit. I don’t know if you realize it, but you are a very sound sleeper. I took measurements over several nights to get good averages, and you never even blinked.”
“Is this necessary? You know I’m not unfaithful.”
“I know, dear, this is just for fun. In the stories on the internet, couples use male chastity for tease and denial. Doesn’t that sound tantalizing? And, since you are so good about performing to my schedule, it won’t inconvenience you at all. At the store they told me this model can be worn twenty-four/seven. They tried to sell me an additional piece with teeth designed to discourage unauthorized erections, but I thought that might be a little extreme, at least for now.
“So, how does it feel? No pinching?” she asked, taking hold and pulling my new plastic jail left and right. “Some writers recommend shaving the area.”
“It’s fine, I guess. Shouldn’t we talk about this first? I don’t know if I will be able to sleep with it on. You know, unfamiliar substance in a vital area… Maybe you could take it off for now, and I could take a while to get accustomed to it?”
“Oh, I think I wore you out enough tonight. You’ll sleep. Let’s try leaving it on for a week and see how that goes. We can shoot for longer stretches once we have a little experience with it.”
“A week? We often have more sex than once a week. What if you want me to please you? This may not be a good idea.”
“Putting you into chastity should have no effect on my pleasures. I’ve taught you well to use your tongue. And, if I didn’t think this was a good idea, I would not have bought the device and put it on you.” Erin’s demeanor was diverging from the playful to the more intimidating. “Oh, and be assured, if I even suspect you have tried to escape this cage,” she added, giving my testicles a hard flick, “you’ll be meeting Lucile for a very extended session. Are we clear?”
End of discussion.
I went to sleep just fine that night, but woke to an ache in my balls the next morning. The presence of the cage between my legs apparently encouraged morning wood. No problem, right? Wrong. When your dick tries to expand, it pushes the short plastic tube out with it, which pulls the backing-ring along, which is held in place by your balls. Your balls object to this treatment.
I beat Morning-Person out of bed that day and took my shower first. Cold water did the trick, but did not improve my mood. There must be a way to gain release from this prison without meeting Lucile as a result.
As I came out of the shower, Erin walked into the bathroom. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said, patting my package as she headed toward the shower. “Any problems sleeping last night?”
“I hate this,” I said. “Can’t we take it off?”
“No, dear, we can’t. Not until next Friday night. Don’t forget my warning. Too much pestering for removal might be interpreted as an attempt at premature escape, and you know what the consequence of that would be.”
The sound of cascading water ended our short discussion.
I survived the weekend okay. Not happy about my situation, but a two-day abstinence was not difficult. I was still a little bitter about the whole idea, but controlled my temper. Erin didn’t help, patting my crotch at every opportunity, and making frequent double entendres and other suggestive comments. For her, it was a great new game. I struggled to join in the fun, despite the fact the güvenilir bahis şirketleri joke was on me, literally.
By Monday, I was resigned, and even gave my wife an honest smile when she kissed me goodbye and patted my prison on the way out the door. Mondays were days for me to see if there were any new entries on my favorite web sites, but I abstained that day. By Wednesday, I was feeling a real lack in satisfaction of my favorite itch. It got worse Wednesday night because Erin started teasing me, losing her bra and rubbing against me even before dinner. After we ate and I completed my usual chores, she pulled me into the bedroom and put my mouth to work for an extended session.
“Please…” was as far as I got when she interrupted with, “Friday night, remember? Don’t nag,” and pushed my face more deeply into her pussy.
She was in the mood again the following night. “I’m amazed at how much having your cock in my complete control turns me on.”
I love my wife, and I love to turn her on, but damn! My mouth had not seen so much exercise since we first started living together.
With the added stimulus, plus the fact I was used to wanking-one-out three times a week, I felt seriously deprived by Friday. That morning, Erin took the time to kiss me with plenty of tongue until I was out of breath, the whole time rubbing my imprisoned package. Watching her ass as she walked out the door made me ache.
That was just the beginning. Before lunch, Erin texted: “Are you looking forward to tonight? I’m wet already.” In the afternoon, it was: “Are you suffering with blue balls? Imagine if you waited another week. My panties are soaked thinking of it.” That worried me. She wouldn’t change her mind about releasing me tonight, would she? I was considering whether a meeting with Lucile might be worth the relief of taking a hacksaw to this damned cage.
Potatoes were baking in the oven; a Caesar salad was in the fridge, and a salmon steak was ready for the grill when Erin came home that night. I was planning an early dinner so we could get to the fun and games as soon as possible. A nervous wreck, I broke a wine glass setting it ready for Erin’s arrival. The sooner I could get her relaxing and in the mood, the better. Although, judging by her texts, getting her ready would not be a problem.
I turned off the oven when I received the next text. “Leaving the office now. Strip, shower and be naked on the bed when I get home.” No argument here, I thought. We can eat anytime. All I want is to get out of this gods-forsaken confinement.
I’d moved the wine bottle and glasses to the bedroom, lit a few candles and was waiting as instructed on the bed when Erin got home. This intro to male chastity was generating a significant ache between my legs. I was on my back, my dick straining against its shackles to rise. It had only been a week, but it had been the longest week of my life. I kid you not.
The sound of her heels striking the parquet floor in the hall as she approached the bedroom resonated with the pulse in my frustrated member. When she came through the door, I noticed she was carrying another package.
“Good boy. I see you can follow orders. Denial seems to have a very good effect on you,” she added with a smirk.
She walked to the bed and dumped the contents of her package on the sheet (I’d thrown the covers down to the footboard). The package contained four padded leather cuffs each attached to short lengths of white, nylon rope.
“Are those really necessary?” I asked as she cuffed me and tied me spread-eagle on the bed.
“Oh yes. I’m not taking any chances on you refusing to let me lock you up once I’m done with you. I’m loving this way too much to risk that. You should be grateful. Lucile would love to change your mind if you tried to escape. This will eliminate that possibility. It’s actually in your best interest,” she said as she tied off the last binding. She stretched me tight, leaving little mobility.
“I need a shower. I’m amazed no one smelled my arousal in the office today. The control those little bits of plastic give me over your little bits is the best aphrodisiac ever.” Erin stripped, dropping her clothes on the floor until she got to her panties. Those she removed and draped across my nose and mouth. “Now, don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”
Surely, she could have thought of a better cliché than that for a parting remark, I thought. And, Little bits? Take off this cage and you’ll see how little my bits can be. She was not exaggerating how wet her panties were. The moisture and the lust-based smell made me suffer all the more. I pulled experimentally at my bonds. I was not going anywhere. On reflection, why in hell would I want to leave when I was about to get the relief I’d been panting for most of the week?
Erin was still naked when she returned, slick with moisture from her shower. She started at the foot of the bed, prowling like a panther up between my legs sliding up my body, challenging me to break eye contact. Her breasts on my chest, her crotch pressing against the chastity device drove me higher.
“Take if off, please,” I whined. I have never been so needy and it was clear in my voice.
“In time. You have to earn it first.”