Husband, Husband, Neighbor (Part 6)

Read part 5 of “Husband, Husband, Neighbor” to get caught up before reading on…

Every time I thought I’d reached a new low, another one awaited me. Two days in chastity had turned me into a whining, sex-starved basket case, and my husband—stranded on a work trip by an ill-timed blizzard—had had enough of me. After finding out he’d be delayed getting home, I uncharacteristically bitched him out over the phone. He punished me with a full day of radio silence. With no idea when he’d be back to unlock my chastity cage, I wasn’t just horny. I was hopeless.  

As my knuckles rapped against my next-door neighbor Mike’s front door, my face and neck flushed with embarrassment. I knew he was home—I’d been paying hawk-eyed attention to his comings and goings ever since my chastity-fueled arousal kicked into overdrive—but with every second I stood on his stoop, I felt more and more like the loser I’d become. If he didn’t answer the door soon, I feared I might melt into a puddle of horny humiliation.  

After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open. Part of me expected, or perhaps hoped, that Mike would be shirtless or wearing his workout gear from earlier that morning, still shiny with sweat. Instead, he wore a pair of frayed jeans and a plain navy blue T-shirt. I wasn’t disappointed. When he was undressed, the effects of his workouts were on full display, but he looked just as sexy when fully clothed. The cotton of his T-shirt hugged his chest and arms so tightly that I could practically see the seams stretch each time he inhaled, and the bulge in his denim crotch left little to the imagination. Precum leaked pathetically out of my caged cock, and I anxiously shuffled back and forth, hoping to prevent a wet spot from forming in my trousers.  

“Dylan. Hi,” Mike said. His voice sounded polite but surprised. I had never dropped by before. “Is everything all right?”  

“Yes,” I said, then backtracked. “Well, no. I mean, it’s not an emergency or anything.”  

Sensing my odd behavior, Mike took a step back and opened the door wider. “Come on in, buddy.”  

I gratefully accepted his invitation and followed him into the living room. I didn’t know what I was expecting from inside his house—I supposed a divorced guy in his early 30s would have flat-pack furniture, mattresses on the floor, and leftover protein shake bottles everywhere.  

I couldn’t have been more wrong. Mike had great taste. I accepted his offer for a beer and waited on the low-profile sofa while he got them from the kitchen. My cock throbbed against its confinement, and I distracted myself with a pair of abstract paintings on the opposite wall. Judging by the collection of books and travel souvenirs on the floating shelves between the paintings, Mike loved art and adventure as much as he loved bodybuilding. I’d clearly underestimated the guy, and discovering these unexpected aspects of his character only deepened my adulterous attraction to him.  

When he returned, he lowered himself into a leather armchair beside the sofa and placed two beers on the coffee table. Almost by instinct, my attention was drawn to his manspreading and the ample bulge nestled between his thighs. I self-consciously thought about my own cage bulge and shifted in my seat to keep my legs together.  

“What’s up, man?” Mike said between swigs of beer. “You seem out of sorts.”  

You don’t know the half of it, I thought. I downed a third of my beer in one gulp and then took a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could ask you something. Paul left on a business trip on Wednesday, and—”  

“Oh, I was afraid of this,” Mike interrupted. He leaned forward and rested his beer on a coaster. “Listen, Dylan. I’m flattered, but I’m not looking to get into anything complicated right now. You seem like a nice guy, but I’m just not into that.”  

He gave me a polite smile, the kind a salesman gets from a customer who is “just browsing, thanks.” It was yet another humiliation to add to the list. Mike thought I came over to proposition him, and he interrupted to let me down easily. Part of me was offended at the assumption, but the dirtier, chastity-fueled part of me would have given anything to have played into his ego. 

“No,” I said, trying to moderate the desperation in my voice. “It’s nothing like that. This is kind of embarrassing.”  

Mike’s expression changed from conciliatory to curious. “What’s going on, man? Are you and Paul having problems?”  

I let out an exasperated laugh. “Sort of,” I said, “but not in the way you’re thinking. It all started when we decided to spice things up in the bedroom.”  

I told Mike everything, more than I probably should have. I told him about the cage, Paul’s business trip, my horny visit to Buzzwords, the blizzard, and how my desperation to get off had pissed off my husband hundreds of miles away. If I hadn’t been so immersed in my story, I might have noticed the subtle changes in Mike’s body language and the opportunistic smirk that formed on his ruggedly handsome face.  

“So I came by to ask,” I concluded, “whether you might have some tools I can borrow to try and get this thing off me. I don’t know if I can make it another day.”  

Mike settled into his chair and spread his legs even wider. My eyes involuntarily dropped to his package. “I’ve got a lock picking kit.”  

“Oh, god,” I practically gushed. “I don’t know how to thank you—”  

Mike held up his hand. “Not so fast.” His smirk turned into an unsettlingly evil smile. “Stand up and show me.”  

“S-Show you?” I stammered.  

“You heard me,” he said. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end with the rising tension between us. “Don’t make me say it twice.”  

Mike’s smile faded, and he stared directly at my crotch. Dumbstruck, I sat frozen momentarily and then slowly rose off the sofa. As I undid my belt and slid my trousers down, I studied Mike’s face. He never took his eyes off my junk, as if I wasn’t even there. Feeling confused and humiliated, more like a piece of meat than a human being, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear and pulled them down.  

The corners of Mike’s mouth turned almost imperceptibly upward. He eyed the softball-sized device fully encasing my cock and balls. The silence grew deafening, but I knew deep down that it wasn’t time for me to speak. Mike leaned forward, grabbed the cage with his whole hand, and pulled. With my trousers and underwear around my ankles, I pathetically shuffled toward him.  

“You look ridiculous.”  

He spoke the truth. “I feel ridiculous.”  

Mike pulled me closer and inspected the lock on my cage. I could feel his breath on my thighs, and my knees went weak. “Easy enough lock to pick. Go get me another beer.”  

I paused. “And then you’ll unlock me?”  

“Sure.” Mike settled back into the armchair, grabbed the TV remote, and started flipping channels. I bent down to pull my trousers back up, and he snapped his fingers at me. “No. Show off that stupid cage while you get my beer.”  

My balls churned with three days’ worth of cum. I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of the puddle of discarded clothes on the floor. Mike ignored me completely as I collected his empty bottle and disappeared into the kitchen. I pulled another bottle from the fridge and rifled through drawer after drawer to find an opener.  

“Hurry the hell up,” he called after I’d been gone for a minute. “I want a foot massage.”  

“Right away, Sir.”  

I hated myself for what I’d just said, but I hated how easy it was to say even more.  

What the fuck had I gotten myself into? 

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