I dropped the laundry basket on the bed. It bounced and turned onto its side, spilling clean clothes onto the bedspread. It was after ten o’clock at night, and my husband Paul, procrastinating as usual, sat shirtless atop the covers. He smirked and nudged the basket with his size 13 foot.
“Can I talk you into folding that for me?”
My playfully defiant expression was just a performance and a transparent one at that. Before Paul finished asking, I had already started picking through the pile of clean clothes, sorting out which were mine and which were his. I balled up a pair of his socks and lobbed them his way. They landed on his thick pecs and rolled down his furry belly. I bit my lip when they stopped right between his thighs, resting against the bulge in his briefs. Lucky socks.
When we first started dating, Paul played tennis, I ran half-marathons, and our metabolisms kept up with us enough that we turned plenty of heads at Buddies, our neighborhood bear bar, on Saturday nights. A decade later, we were married, living in the suburbs, and working from home. Our idea of date night was binging a true crime docuseries, ordering delivery Chinese, and turning lights out by ten. Last year’s brief experiment with gay rugby notwithstanding, we had both given up our dedicated fitness regimens and contentedly settled into being a couple of thick, middle-aged bears. Every new year and again around his birthday, Paul got fitness on the brain, but it never lasted more than a few weeks, and I was always grateful when the exercise bike in our bedroom returned to serve as a towel rack. Paul was handsome in his thirties, but in my eyes, my bear husband was only getting hotter with time.
“That didn’t take much convincing,” he said, tossing the socks back to me. “Our little experiment really has made you nice and docile.”
“Careful,” I said. My grin belied my serious tone. “I just want to ensure you have everything you need for your trip.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Paul wedged his foot under the laundry basket and flipped it, casting its contents across the bed and onto the floor. “Pick it up, servant.”
We held each other’s gaze for a few stern, tense moments before the façade cracked and we laughed. Our recent forays into spicing up our love life had been hot, but neither could deny that some aspects of our roleplaying had become almost comically theatrical.
“You’re forgetting one thing,” I said, pointing to the growing bulge in my crotch. “I’m not locked up anymore.” Paul’s green eyes looked me up and down before settling on the lump in my gym shorts.
“I know,” he said. He produced a small drawstring bag from the drawer of his bedside table. “I was thinking about that.”
Chastity might have been a curious kink to explore for two versatile guys like us. Paul was the most sexually compatible partner I’d ever had. Over our decade-long relationship, our fifty-fifty versatility had become almost eerily calibrated. When I felt like topping, Paul wanted nothing more than to take me deep inside him. When he sidled up next to me in bed and started grinding his stiff shaft against my ass, I wasted no time rolling over and letting him have me. With our sex life running like clockwork—sexy clockwork, but clockwork nonetheless—the little steel device Paul kept in his nightstand was like a shock to the system. He took it out of the drawstring bag and waggled it back and forth. His mischievous grin got my attention.
“What do you say we raise the stakes a little, Dyl?”
Intrigued and horny, I stopped folding laundry and sat on the bed. “What do you have in mind?”
“What if we lock you up tonight, and I take the keys with me when I leave tomorrow?”
I felt like I would fall into the chasm of silence between us as I tried to figure out whether Paul was joking. His grin was playful, but his bright green eyes stared intently into mine, adding weight to his words.
“You want to go out of town and leave me locked with no way out?” My voice cracked, and I blushed from how nervous I felt.
“It’s just for two days,” Paul said. The idea clearly turned him on. His cock was at full mast, tenting his tight white briefs, and his chest rose and fell with quick breaths. “Think of how amazing the reunion sex will be.”
Paul had a point. So far, we’d each spent a few hours at a time in the cage, and I did an overnight once. Feeling Paul’s hands on my encased junk, the slow, building anticipation of him unlocking the cage and releasing me from the confinement, made me hornier than I could ever remember being. Post-chastity sex was mind blowing after even a few hours in the cage. I couldn’t imagine the buildup and release I’d feel after a couple days. But my growing arousal was tempered by the likelihood of misadventure.
“I don’t know, babe,” I said. “Seems a little risky.”
“Risky how? You’ve slept in it before. You’ve pissed and showered with it on. Nobody’s going to know but us.” He pitched his beefy body forward and crawled across the bed towards me, the cage in his hand. “It’ll be hot knowing I have the keys to your cock with me.”
My husband’s gravelly voice was low and tempting. He whispered dirty talk into my ear, which wore me down faster than I’d care to admit. Before I knew it, he was fetching the lube from the nightstand, his playful grin now showing more desire than play.
Paul knelt and pulled my shorts to the floor, exposing my hard-on. As he lubed up my cock and balls, I tried thinking of baseball and work projects to will my erection back down, but a half-chub was the best I could do. I closed my eyes and gasped as Paul guided my balls one at a time through the steel ring and gently pulled my cock through. The pleasure of my husband’s attention and the discomfort of this part of the caging sent confused signals to my brain, helping to bring my erection down further.
The sales clerk at the kink shop called the cage a “seed pod.” It was stainless steel, with a clamshell opening that locked at the top and hinged at the bottom. When opened, it looked like a metal avocado cut in half longways. When closed, it encased everything, and the steel latticework made it just practical enough to shower in but impossible to get so much as a fingertip through. No stimulation. With my cock and balls safely inside, Paul fastened a leather strap snugly around them, preventing me from pulling out of the cage and heightening the pressure I felt when I was unfortunate enough to get aroused.
“This is gonna drive me crazy,” I said, clumsily attempting to calm my nerves through chit chat. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do while you’re gone.”
Paul closed the cage and slipped a padlock through the eye at the top. I swear I felt my knees weaken when it clicked into place. When I looked down, Paul was staring back up at me. His bright green eyes seemed deviously sexy. He nuzzled playfully against my caged junk for a few moments, and although it was sexy as hell to watch, I felt nothing. The sensation completely failed to break through my steel prison.
As his mouth explored the cage, I shuffled from foot to foot, getting used to the extra weight tugging against my balls. Paul stood and kissed me, and I drank in the scent of my own musk in his beard. He fondled the seed pod as we made out, which caused my hips to buck slowly. We always fucked the night before he went on a business trip, and up until a few minutes ago, I was in the mood to top him. All that changed now that I was helplessly locked away in chastity. My cock was the last thing on my mind, and all I wanted was for my husband to bend me over and take me.
Great minds think alike. I growled and did as my husband said. The chastity play might have shifted our dynamics, but our sexual compatibility was as true as ever. Caging me brought out the top in Paul, and with my cock out of play for the night, nothing stood in the way of him getting exactly what he wanted.
I leaned forward, placing the heels of my hands on the footboard and arching my back. I may not have become as beefy as Paul over the years, but my ass and thighs kept his attention. My weighty cage swung back and forth between my legs as Paul slipped a lubed finger into my ass, and I sighed with pleasure. My cock stiffened, and I looked down at the cage. It was only a matter of time before I expanded to fill all the available space inside my sexy steel prison. Already, the building pressure was causing discomfort. I moaned.
“Hey, don’t get too worked up in there,” Paul whispered into my ear. “Tonight’s all about me.”
I nodded as his hand slid down my chin and throat before settling on my chest. He pulled me closer. I bit my lip as he slowly entered me. The only one getting off tonight would be him, and at this moment, that’s precisely what we both wanted.
|Want more works like this? Buy Me a cup of coffee as a way to help support this and other writing endeavors.