Monday, October 20, 2014


Matthew and I had an, er...interesting text message exchange early this afternoon (technically it was an iMessage exchange, since we both use iPhones and Macs and were both on our respective Macs at work, but I digress with nerdy stuff).

So, he texted me to first congratulate Emily and me on our race and to congratulate me on a PR (Emily did not PR as her time is faster than mine and she so lovingly paced me the second half of the course.

He is, of course, totally in favor of Emily and me doing things together as a couple (except that one thing, that's his thing only now). He's healthy himself and encouraging about diet and exercise. Some, perhaps, is for selfish reasons-Emily's very attractive, in-shape body of the type he likes. Some, though, for encouraging Emily and I to do things as a couple. And running, in particular (according to Emily last week), because he thinks it's a good activity for a guy like me (as opposed to lifting anything more than moderate weights). "Keeps him trim," or something like that.

Later, he asked about my progress on picking a costume for Emily. And that's when things got a bit warm and tight. Like I was blushing and my once again caged penis was swelling.

When asked on my progress, I told him I'd looked at some things, considered a few things, but hadn't come to a decision yet.

"It's coming up, make a decision by Friday," he said, in that way he commands.

"I will," I promised. "What's the party like, I'm not sure how sexy to go."

"Sexy? Your instruction was slutty," he responded immediately.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, "sexy, slutty; I appreciate how you want her dressed."

"I don't think you do. Sexy is beautiful, slutty is hot. Sexy is one item of revealing clothing, slutty is an entire outfit."

"Sexy is a peak of lingerie, slutty is an entire lingerie set."

"Sexy says I want to meet a nice guy, slutty says I want to get fucked. There's a difference between Sexy Halloween and Slutty Halloween..."

And then I got the bubble response, the long text coming response.

"Sexy Halloween is for women who want to be risqué. Sexy Halloween is for women who want to be safely adventurous. Sexy Halloween sends the message, to the other people at a party, that a woman feels frisky and may light a few candles for her husband before switching things up and being on top. Sexy Halloween is for good girls who just want to pretend to be bad. That's Sexy Halloween. Sexy Halloween is what a good, beta provider husband looks forward to. It's his wife climbing on top of him, thrust, thrust, thrust, ugggghhhhhh and asking her in that soft, nervous voice, 'wwwwwas it good for you when he knows it wasn't.' Sexy Halloween is a woman hoping the sexy costume and the candles make a difference and she doesn't have another night of unsatisfying sex. Sexy Halloween is for good girls. That's NOT what I instructed, is it?"

I swallowed, felt myself tighten in the cage. "No."

"Sexy Halloween is what I'd allow you to have if I was otherwise engaged that night. Minus the thrusting, of course."

More typing.

"But I told you Slutty Halloween. Slutty Halloween is a woman who needs a man's attention. Slutty Halloween is for women who want to be taken to places they're afraid to admit exist. Slutty Halloween sends the message, to other people at a party, that a woman wants a man to fuck the ever loving shit out of her, to make her cum like she never has before. Slutty Halloween is a woman who want a man to take control. Slutty Halloween if for a woman who wants a man to do things she'd never dream of asking her husband to do. Slutty Halloween is for bad girls. Girls who fuck, girls who beg a man for his cock. Girls who swallow That's what I instructed you. Slutty Halloween."

I responded the only way I could. "Fuck."

"That's right, that's what you're looking for, slutty, NOT sexy. I want to fuck, not I want to make love. I'm his whore, not I'm his wife."

"But it's a party. And other people."

"It's an adult party...not that kind, before you ask...but she won't be the only one there dressed like that, sending the message that she's someone's whore that night. I expect her dressed so every single person knows what she's doing that night, so every single person assumes, when she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, that's she's not going to pee, but to get on her hands and knees and suck cock!

I wasn't sure what to say, just sat, let my mind run.

"Things getting 'tight'? Tell the truth."


"Sexy is wondering if a woman's husband is going get 'get luck' later that night (hint, not usually), slutty is wondering if a woman's boyfriend is going to fuck her in the club's bathroom, in the alley, or in the car."


"Tighter still? Tell the truth."

"Yes, but..." I paused, he didn't.

"Here, let me give you a visual. This is Sexy Halloween..." He texted me a picture:, right?"

"Yes, very," I typed.

"The kind of thing a beta husband would die for, right?"


"He's spend all night hoping against hope she'd do that special thing he begs for, you know, take him in her mouth just for a few seconds, cause that's all he gets (no you can't in my mouth, dear, that's gross). That's Sexy Halloween. Get it?"

"Yes," I responded. 

"Well this is Slutty Halloween...the kind of thing a real man demands..." He texted a second picture:

...that's what your going for. Slutty, so there's no question in anyone's mind...Emily's, your's, everyone at the party, there's no question that she's my whore. And that the only thing she wants that night is my cock."

"Fuck," I responded again, the only response.

"Oh I will, trust me, I will. Several times. So keep shopping and make a decision. Find Slutty Halloween."

Ten minutes later, one last text. "And don't forget, because I won't, Emily's maid is on duty that night."

"I...I won't."

"All night. To help her get ready, to meet her boyfriend, and...I love this part, it's so naughty, so clean up later."

Tight. It was tight the rest of the afternoon.

Our Interests as a Couple

Consider it mundane, but in the spending time together vein (very important for our kind of relationship), Emily and I were out of town this weekend as we ran a half marathon yesterday.

She paced me to a PR (yay Emily and yay Sara).

She's the best.


For inquiring minds, no, I don't run in a chastity cage. I do wear this cute Freya Active sports bra and short set, though, under my rights and running shirt.

See, aren't girl's clothes so much better?

Monday, October 13, 2014


Someone mentioned, and it's true, I don't update everything that happens with Emily, myself, Matthew, etc. That would be repetitive. And boring. I don't even update on all the exciting things, either (like when Matthew texted that he's pleased I wear a chastity cage and that conversation).

They did go out on Saturday, which was nice, it had been several weeks, and it was great watching her get dressed, great seeing the way he touched her, controlled her and us. Great pampering her afterwards.

And great what he said before they left.

"Halloween's in a few weeks, I'm taking Emily to a costume party on that Saturday. I want you to get her a costume...I know it's a cliche...the whole 'slutty this and slutty that' for Halloween, but that's what I want."

"Of course," I said watching the man who had both hands on my wife's body.

"And one other thing your wife and I talked about..."

I looked at Em, she smiled, looked down.


"It seems appropriate, Halloween and all; I expect her maid Sara to be on duty that night." My eyes went wide, he grinned. "Enough pretending, don't you think."

Thursday, October 2, 2014

The Word

My phone buzzed. Matthew. He texted both of us the other day, during the day, something he does, for obvious reasons.

"Emily is my _____."

I swallowed, immediately felt myself swell in the cage, picked up my phone, typed, fingers shaking. "Whore."

I watched my phone for half an hour, unable to focus, waited for him to respond. He knew I was on edge, her too. Wanted it. Planned it. The text was about roles, asserting his dominance, his control. And, I think, about sexualizing Emily. Not in a bad way, I mean, it was kinky, dirty, sexy, erotic, and the entire thing was about sex, but a subtle reminder their relationship was based on sex, not love. It wasn't that he didn't respect Emily (or me), it's that he set the tone. And in a way reminded both of us he understood his role in, mine.

Finally, it buzzed. "Very good. Emily, how does a whore greet a man?"

"On her knees," Emily responded immediately, "waiting..."

"For," he asked.

I saw the text bubbles from Emily. Typing. Then nothing. Bubbles again. Nothing.

"Emily." Just the word, on the screen, was a rebuke. I knew...she must have too.

"Waiting for his cock." If a phone could show a blush, I'd have seen her blush.

We both waited now, for his response, my wife an I in separate buildings, sitting at our respective desks, waiting for him to respond. He knew what that wait did, of course he knew.

Finally...finally, he answered. "Such a good girl. So how do you greet me, Emily?"

I knew what was coming. "On my knees...waiting for your cock."

"She ever greet you like that," he typed, directed at me.

"No," I typed, fingers shaking. "No, Sir."

"Why," he asked, no waiting this time.

I swallowed, dared to type it...after all, he invited it. "Because I'm not a man?"

"Exactly. Something we need to talk about...soon."

Oh, I do...every day...every single day.

I love the taste of them

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Just sayin'

A properly trained sissy should be able to do this while wearing a chastity cage. I certainly can.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Implicit Questions Answered

A few questions from the comments I wanted to address.

Anonymous says, "You've never discussed (I don't think) whether you and Emily play with strap-on or other simulated cock play."

Answer: Um, we totally play with strap-ons and I can totally cum like a girl (i.e., from penetration only, no stimulation of my sissy clit).

Tanya wonders about Matthew (Anonymous jumps in, too), whether he'll accept Sara.

Answer: I don't know. When he said words to the effect of, Well then, I suppose I'm going to have to meet her," his tone suggested not mere resignation that he would have to meet Sara for Emily's sake, but instead amused teasing. I think he's drawing it out to tease me, to control me. He's going to meet Sara when he wants. And to some extent, to me, it's like chastity-I'm released not when I want (always) but when Emily wants (more rare). And because of that, I enjoy it more.

Emily is coy on the subject, but I judge from her reaction I'm not wrong. It's when, not if, and it's willingness, not acquiescence.

Ritemate commented he likes controlling couples, not just wives. I think he likes controlling us, not. Ritemate also says, "I’d be surprised if Sara doesn’t eventually find herself on her knees in front of Him."

Answer: Oh god, I hope so!!! (Emily, too.) If I do, though, it will be when Matthew wants it, not when I want it (now.)

Anonymous comments about Matthew's "she's my whore" comment and whether Emily will do whatever Matthew wants, using examples of entertaining his friends, going to swingers clubs, substances.

Answer: Substances? Never. Emily would never in a million years. Not a question in my mind. His friends? Don't see it. Swingers clubs? Nope. She's just not that kind of person. (Yes, I recognize the irony of what I'm saying, but it's true.)

Friday, September 19, 2014

I know he gets it

"Remember," he texted me the other day. I was in the study, working, Emily was in bed, reading.


"Roles...mine and yours."

"I do...I think about them all the time," I told him.

"Good. Remember then she's your wife and the things you do with her are sweet, loving, and tender. But..."

I watched the dots, watched, waited while he typed.

"She's my whore, there to do with as I please. And the things we do are unspeakably dirty."

I just stared at the screen, felt the tension, the tightness in the cage, the fluttering in my stomach. Increased by his next text.

"Right, Emily."

Right? I looked at the top of my phone, saw she was on the text, too.

"Yes, Sir." her text appeared in the conversation.

Half an hour later I went into the bedroom to go to bed. She was awake still, reading still, blushed when I walked in.

My wife. His whore.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

The Lunch Conversation

Matthew and I had lunch last week. We talked about the mundane...interests, etc...and the topics at hand...Emily...Sara.

One of the things we talked about when we had lunch, Matthew and I, was roles. We talked about it before, in the context of sex, intimacy, friendship, etc.

We talked about what women, in general, want in a relationship, Emily specifically.

"She likes to feel wanted," I said when he asked. "She likes to feel special."

"What else," he asked.

"In a relationship? Friendship. Emotional security and safety."

"No question about that," he laughed.

"Communication. Support. Doing things together."

He sipped his coffee, nodded. "You realize you're listing all the things that make you special to her, don't you?"

"Maybe," I admitted.

"That's good, I want you to understand those things...those are  the things you give her, the things that make you special to her. Anything else?"

"Intimacy," I said softly, looking down.

"Now that's the dividing line, isn't it?"

"What do you mean," I asked.

"Well, my point...the things you think she wants...those are all things I'll never be good at giving her. My point...that's why you're more important than me, of course, always will be. That's the dividing line, that's what why I'll never take her from you...why I don't want to take any woman away from her husband."

"I still..."

"What," he asked.


"That's natural for anyone in your situation. But remember, I don't want that from her. Nor does she want it from me."

"What about intimacy," I asked.

"That's a dividing line," he repeated. "Emotional intimacy versus physical intimacy. Everything you mentioned deals with emotional intimacy, not physical."

"We're physically intimate," I protested.

"I didn't say you weren' fact, I know you are, but your physical intimacy least from most married couples, isn't it?"

"I suppose," I granted.

"You suppose," he chuckled.

I shrugged.

"Isn't that what she's missing? Physical intimacy with a man. Not emotional, though it can be emotional, but primarily physical? The kind of physical relationship you two don't have?

I frowned, nodded

"Hasn't she...for some time?"

I thought of Evan, of Dallas, of the almost three years of our marriage, nodded. "Yes."

"She's a complicated woman...just like you're complicated. Me, too, for that matter. She wants a level of emotional intimacy most men could never give her. But you can. Because of Sara." I looked down, blushed. "But she wants something physical, too, something you can't give her. Right?"

"Yes," I said.

"And I want a kind of physical relationship, physical intimacy without any real emotional intimacy. I'm not a sociopath, I'm just not good at things a woman wants outside of the physical. It took me awhile to understand that."

"I think that's what we hope."

"My point, is that the thing that makes you two so close is the very thing I want nothing to do with. I want the physical, not the emotional."

"I...I want both," I said softly.

He grinned, sat back. "Yes, and luckily for me, the physical intimacy you want is very different from what I want." He said nothing for a moment. "She said you two were intimate after our last date." I might have blushed more, I don't know, but I didn't look up. "That's important to her, to me, too."

"To you? Why?"

"Well, two reasons, I guess. First, because it was important to her it's important to me just like it's important to you. Second, because I like to be in control, not just of a woman, but in this, something like this, of both of you. It's a very symbolic act, we all know that, don't we?"

There was no way to disagree. "I don't know what to say," I finally said.

"Are you happy?"

"Yes," I said.

"Are you getting what you wanted out of this?"

"Yes," I said again.

"And you understand the roles we both play? I don't want to take your role...but I don't want you intruding on mine, either."

"I told you, we...we don' that...often."

"I know, Emily and I talked all about that, too."

I looked up, saw on his face everything she told him. I hadn't talked to her about that, specifically, but it didn't surprise me. "She told you"

"It?" He raised an eyebrow, but it was obvious he knew what it was, wanted me to say it.

"The...the chastity cage." I swallowed.

"We didn't do that before...but I think it's ideal, don't you? Symbolically and practically. For any cuckold."

I nodded.

"Emily can decide the particulars of it, but I think the more the better, no?"

"Oddly, yes."

"But intercourse should be..."

"Rare," I finished his sentence. "It is. Trust me."

"Rare...if at all. But again, that's what you want, no?"

"Yes," I agreed. "I...that's for you."

"About the other thing...Sara..."

"I don't have to..."

He held up his hand. "But you do, don't you? Don't be dishonest with me," he scolded me.

"I...I suppose...yes."

"Well then, I suppose I'm going to have to meet her."

"You don't have to..."

He held up his hand again. Stopped me again. "I do. And I want to. And I wonder just how much you're afraid of it." My eyes went wide, he laughed. "It's one thing to fantasize about it, sometimes reality is much different."

So true, so true.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

So, where were we? Oh yes, she embraced me, told me hot this was, whispered in my ear she loved me. I moved my arms up to hug her back, felt the thin fabric of her dress, knew how he felt. "We're good," she asked softly.

"Yes," I half moaned. 

"Tonight, I'm his whore," she said, moved her mouth to mine, kissed me as deeply as she kissed him.

Matthew cleared his throat after a few moments. "Bring your wife to me, John," he said.


How does one pass the time? Thinking about it? Trying not to? At first I didn't want to think about it, but that's all I could do; after some time, it faded and I read, watched tv, not really into it. I carried my phone with me everywhere, waiting for a text, but for the first half hour, nothing. Then a short text from Emily. "Top drawer of the desk in the study."

"What," I responded. "You having fun. Everything good?"

She didn't respond.


"Top drawer of the desk in the study!"

I quickly went to the study, opened the top drawer to the walnut desk; there was an envelope with her handwriting, "Sara."

I opened it, a card, on the front, simple printing: You're the best thing in the world.

Inside, her handwriting:


Today I'm getting two of the best things in the world: a strong, masculine man and my soft, feminine sissy. And I'm getting them only because of you.

I can't wait to be alone with Matthew, I can't wait to lick him, taste him, and feel him inside me. I want it, I need it, you understand, I know. A man, Sara, I need a man. Sometimes a girl needs a man. And I do.

But that's not enough, that's not all I want, there's so much more. It's not just a man, it's you, too. I need my sweet sissy, I need her more than I need a man, for without her, without you, a man means nothing. You. You come first. You. Always.

So as much as I want Matthew tonight, as much as I look forward to our date, as much as I yearn to feel him inside me, to fill me (really feel him inside me, really fill me), even more I yearn to come home and share it all with you!

I know it's not fair, I get what I want all night while you have to wait till later, but I'll make it worth the wait, I promise. I promise.

I know waiting's hard-no pun intended-but I hope waiting is part of what makes it exciting for you.

Love always and forever,


P.S. I don't know what time I'll be home, so you don't have to wait up, but wear something pretty to bed because I'm definitely waking you up when I get back!

Waiting was hard, since all I could do was think about it, wait, wait.

I wasn't awake when she got home, but not asleep, either. I was in bed, candles lit, wearing something pretty, dozing. I heard the alarm chime when the door opened, waited still, waited.

She came into the room, slowly, quietly. "Sara," she whispered.

I sat up, looked at her. Her hair and makeup were disheveled, her hose gone. "Em," I whispered back.

She walked up to the bed, saying my name, Sara, Sara, Sara, as she reached around her back, undid, took off her dress and dropped it to the ground, standing there only in her black panties, heels.

"Em," I said again, staring at her panties.

"I want to share with you," she said, "I need's important."

"Em," I said again, "did...did he..."

She nodded. "Twice."

"Did he...did you...use..."

"No," she shook her head. "No." She moved to the bed, next to me, touched my face, kissed me. "He started here," she said between kisses. "And it was...powerful."


"Powerful," she kissed. "Different," she kissed. "You beg and I almost always say no. He didn't ask, he didn't beg, he word...kneel."

"You knelt."

"I knelt, of course I knelt. I felt him grown in my mouth, I felt him take charge, I felt myself surrender, I was so wet, so wet. I always good it feels to do a man."

He was inside her, his cock, in her mouth, the mouth kissing me. "Did he..."

"No...I wanted to...but no...another time, he said."

"Fuck, Em."

"He did, I told you, he did. The first time was good...the second time...I got dizzy...I got confused. He was on top of me...I was on my stomach...he was on top of me, holding me down...fucking deep..."


"I'm sore," she said softly.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No...yes...I'm just sore."


"What do you want, Sara?"


"What do you want?"

" know," I mumbled.

"Share, I want to share..."

I don't know what was left, the mesh front of her panties were damp and crusty at the same time, from him, from her. The smell was...powerful...musk...masculine...but she was there, too, soft, feminine.

I licked her body, licked her breasts, licked her stomach, lower, flicked my tongue once, twice, three times against her panties. "I want to share," she said again.

"I know," I said.

"It's important."

"I know," I told her, "I know."

I licked, panties first, her swollen lips second, inside her last. I licked...everything that was there, shared, participated. I tasted her, tasted him. Feminine, masculine, both. Emily. Matthew.

I licked, tasted, tender, gently; she orgasmed again, then again, then again.

"I want to unlock you," she said at one point, "I want to see...if you're excited."

"I am," I promised.

"I want to see," she said. "It's important."

I was. How could I be otherwise.

Free, I didn't last a minute, gentle as she was, it had been too long, was too much.

"Shhhh, that's it," she said lovingly when I shook, "that's it, that's it."

We fell asleep like that, her taste and his on my mouth. My mess on the sheets. Proper places. A man cums inside a woman, a sissy does not. Proper places.

The text came sometime after we fell asleep, to both our phones. "Sweet dreams to both of you."


We've had several interactions since.

She went to dinner with him the following week, no sex, though, no time that night. I think Emily and I were both disappointed.

I met with him for lunch last week, we talked about Emily. Me. How important she was. How important I was to her. He reassured me then, before, and after, he knew that, respected that.

I was afraid to ask about Sara...I wanted to...was afraid.

But Emily isn't...she wants him to meet me...the real me...knows it's important to me. "He will," she said, "trust me."

Monday, September 15, 2014

Don't Worry...

Things are fine, they really are, I've just been busy. Too busy.

Unanticipated busy at work.

Unanticipated closeness with Emily.

Unanticipated home repair.

Writing is an outlet for certain...urges. And as happens with me from time to time, when given other outlets, I write less.

But things are good, they really are.

Emily is good. Emily and I are good. Emily and Matthew are good. And Matthew and I are good.

That covers it, right?

And I know, I know, I write more.

So I'm a bad girl. Spank me if you must :)

Monday, September 8, 2014

Engagement Presents

He bought her a $6,000 ring:

She bought him a $200 cage:

Friday, September 5, 2014

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

I love practicing

Laundry Instructions

Hand Wash Only,
Cold Water
Dry Flat
To Pretreat Stains,
Soak In Sissy's Mouth,
30 Minutes

Some, not all.

I read somewhere (I read a lot about it because I need the validation that my fantasies are desires are real and healthy, at least for me…and Emily) that cuckolding takes what should be a marriage's biggest threat—infidelity—and transforms it into something that instead brings a couple closer together.

That's the essence of our experiences, both before (Evan, Dallas, Jeff), and now. Both in fantasy and role play and the reality of Matthew. I know this would not be true for many people, even most people, but it's true for us. 

Every time it brought us closer together, emotionally. Her dalliances with Evan, her teasing play out of town, even Jeff. Oddly, it brings us closer together intimately, too. 

Why? I have no idea what makes me tick—I can tell you my fantasies and desires, but barely understand them. The same with Emily. Our needs are unique, powerful, and difficult to understand.

But they are our needs.

Emily picked out my outfit first, wanted me to dress before she did. He didn't want Sara, not yet, but she thought I should still dress less masculine, disarming. She suggested I start with a microfiber camisole and panty set. "He doesn't have to meet Sara yet, but you should feel feminine inside," Emily said, "he'll get the mood."

"You're sure," I asked.

"I'm sure," she promised. She got a shirt and slacks from my closet. The shirt was a pink, trim, and while it buttoned on the 'correct' side for a man, the cut, the darting in back, made it un-masculine. The same with the slim cut wool pants, androgynous. 

"He may as well meet Sara," I said.

"No, love, there's a difference," she said, "effeminate, not feminine, emasculated. It sends the right message, doesn't it? Who's the man, who isn't?"

"You're cruel," I said in a mocking tone.

"Am I," she teased.

When I was dressed, Emily asked me to get her small travel bag, asked me to pack toiletries, perfume. I raised an eyebrow, afraid to verbalize what I thought. "Don't worry," she laughed, "clubs get sweaty, I might want to shower me, I won't shower after."

I blushed, looked away.

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

"I...I don't know," I mumbled.

"Because I can shower after, too, before I come home..."

"No," I whispered, quite only partially from shame, more from excitement.

After I packed her bag, she went to her closet, took out the black slip we'd bought, set it on the bed, went to her dresser, took out coordinating black panties, a new package of black, lace top thigh highs. "These too."

"Aren't...isn't that what you're wearing," I asked.

"You're cute," she flashed a smile, "I'm wearing it...later...I bought a dress." I had a surprised look on my face at that, too. "It's too much, even for a club," she said, touched my arm. "I'll do it another time, though, meet him at the door in lingerie, maybe in the fall, wear it under a coat and go surprise him."

"He...Matthew said to dress...risque," I said. ""

"Like his whore," she finished. "Trust me, love, I will, I will...I don't want Matthew, or you, wondering who I belong to tonight." She walked up to me, I knew what she was doing, what she was going to say, but the words still ran through my body like electricity. "I'm his whore, love, I'm Matthew's whore."

I moaned softly, grew in the cage. She hugged me tightly, her breasts pushed against me through the fabric of her satin dressing gown. "I want to feel him, love," she said, "the warmth of his skin, the heat he gives off."

"Emily," I moaned.

"I want to taste him, love, I want to take him in my mouth."

"Hmmmmm," I felt dizzy, jealous, excited.

"And I want to feel him inside me, bare, I want to let him do things only a man does to a woman." I pressed my torso against her, a hopeless, helpless gesture. "My poor little sissy...all locked up where she belongs. After, I want to come home. And tell you. And show you. And if you're a good boy...if..." Her voice trailed off, an unspoken promise.

" promised..."

"Hmmmm...if you're a good boy."

After she showered, she kicked me out of the room, asked me to take her bag downstairs and wait for Matthew while she dressed. 

I was nervous, pacing back and forth. I was anxious. I was excited. I was everything. 

I heard his car, looked at the clock, he was almost ten minutes early. I stopped pacing, started for the door, but didn't want to appear too anxious, took a step back, waited until the doorbell rang, lunged for the door.

"Matthew," I said softly, looking him in the eye, then quickly lowering mine.

"John," he said with a grin as he eyed me up and down, held out his hand for me to shake.

"Come...come in," I stood back, "Emily isn't ready just yet."

"I assumed she wouldn't be; I'm a few minutes early, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh," I said, surprised, forgot, for the moment, the bourbon I'd gotten for him.

"So," he said as he sat in a club chair, "Emily's mentioned the device you've been wearing, the..."

His voice trailed off, he looked at me standing nervously, his eyes went to my waist; his tone demanded the answer as much as anything, demanded I name it, his silence reinforced my uncomfortable feeling and I had to answer. "The chastity cage," I said, looked away.

"How long have you and Emily been experimenting with it...with chastity," he asked calmly.

"For a..."

"Sit," he pointed to couch.

"For a few years," I said doing as he said. "On and off." I laughed nervously at my pun, he smiled.

"Who's idea was it?"

I thought for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure, really...mine, I guess, it's hard to remember."

"Who decides when you wear it? Emily, I assume?" I nodded. "And she decides when it comes off?"
I didn't answer right away; it was rather humiliating to admit my wife controlled something like that and part of me thought he would find it, well, revolting. "John, if you really don't want to talk about it, we don't have to talk about it."

"'s embarrassing," I said.

"Embarrassing or humiliating?"

"Both," I admitted.

"I'm not surprised," he said sitting back. Again, the silence was uncomfortable, at least to me.

"She decides," I finally said. "When it comes off."

"Thank you," he said. "I presumed, by the way. How often do you two use it...and for how long?"

I sighed. "We used to do it now and then for a few days at a time, we've started using it more often...most of the time..."

"And how long, John?"

"A couple of weeks to a month...sometimes longer," I said.

"Like now?" I looked up at him in surprise. "She said it had been awhile, John."

"She...we...we haven't since before the wedding, before she met you."

He nodded, almost seemed to understand. "Haven't taken it off of haven't had intercourse?"

"Either," I mumbled.

"But you're intimate, right? Just not intercourse?" I looked up, shook my head again. "I'm glad," he said. "About both. Especially when this is all new. I don't mind your intimacy with Emily, hell, I encourage it, but intercourse...that's a different matter."

"We hardly do that," I said, "'s rare..."

"Good, it should be. I mean, for the record, permitted, but very rare. Some things are best left to me, agreed?"

I did, that's the thing, I did agree. Totally. Some things should be left to him. "Yes."

"Good. But I mean it, intimacy shouldn't be rare, okay?"

"I...I know," I said, then chuckled.

"What's humorous, John?"

"I guess it's're encouraging me to be intimate with my wife."

"Of course I am. This is about the two of you, first. I'm an outsider. A very influential outsider, but still an outsider," Matthew said. "I get that. If the two of you aren't strong and if you don't both enjoy this, we'll all get hurt."

I sat quietly for a minute, looked at the clock. Emily should be ready by now.

"Can I ask you something, John? Two things actually, before Emily comes down."

"Of course," I answered.

"You know what she and I are doing tonight, right?"


"Is that what you want?"

I looked at the masculine man sitting in the chair in our great room, the man asking me if I wanted him to fuck my wife. Bareback, as they call it. If I wanted him to do what only a husband should do. If I wanted him to take her, fuck her, cum inside her. If I wanted him to treat her like his whore. "Yes," I said almost in a whisper.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I said again, "I...I can't begin to explain it, but yes."

"Good. I have to make sure. Second thing?"


"Who picked your outfit?"

I blushed. "Emily," I said.

"She's a bad girl," he shook his head, laughing.

"Did it wrong?"

"No, John, it isn't. I told both of you I didn't want to meet Sara...yet...I mean...well...never mind, it's too complicated, let's go with yet. This is sets the right tone between, should we tell Emily we're done, then?" I looked at him...she knew he wanted to talk. He smiled, confirmed it. And on cue, like she'd been listening, I heard Emily's heels coming down the hall.

We both turned, I sat stunned at her beauty, but Matthew rose to greet her.

Here's the dress she wore (bought without me knowing...she's so bad!) with black platform heels and super sheer black nylons (Matthew, it seems, like a certain sissy, has a thing for nylons, though I like wearing them, he doesn't).

She looked stunning...the dress was short, and with heels, her legs seemed to go on forever. She was obviously braless, I the lace didn't quite hide the swell of her breasts. "Hello Matthew," she said quietly.

He walked up to her, put an arm around her, pulled her to him, kissed her long and hard on the mouth. She put her hand up, for a moment, as if to protest, but dropped it. I just stared, I'd never seen something like that, my wife, kissing a man, enjoying it. I'd say I was torn...I was torn...but I couldn't look away, couldn't protest, couldn't do anything but watch my wife melt into into Matthew's arms in a long, sensuous kiss.

Finally, he broke it off, she looked like she might fall over, but kept her balance and was embarrassed, either at the kiss, her reaction, or both.

"You...look beautiful," I said to her, wanting her to know I was okay...good.

Matthew leaned over, whispered in her ear, and she blushed. Whatever he said was their secret, though I may have guessed. "She does look beautiful, doesn't she, dressed the way I like. Do you feel pretty, Emily," he asked.

"Yes," she blushed, "but..."

"But it's more revealing than you're used to, I know," he reached up, touched her stomach through the sheer lace. "Does it make you self-conscious? Showing off your body?"

"Yes," she said, "I...I'm not used's...different."

"Good girls don't dress like this, do they," he said hand still on her stomach.

"No," she swallowed.

"John, I'd like that drink now, just a single-I'm driving-and a glass of wine for Emily."

I went to the kitchen, poured Em a glass of white wine, poured Matthew a single serving of the Blanton's Bourbon I'd bought. When I brought the drinks (none for me), he was sitting in the chair again, this time with my wife on his lap.

She was leaning back against him, eyes closed; he had his arms around her, his left hand was cupping her breast, his right was running up and down her thigh, teasing her through her nylons, moving higher and higher. I knew from touching her how excited she got when her thighs were played with, how she'd start shaking in anticipation, how wet she'd get.

I set the drinks down next to them, sat on the couch, quietly watching him touch her like he owned her...and the reality was, now, at this moment, he did.

She was breathing faster, rubbing against him; I saw her hands open, tense, she was close, if he moved his hand up slightly, if he merely grazed her, she'd cum. "Please," she whispered when his hand stopped.

He looked at me, spoke to her. "Please what?"

"Please...please don't stop," she said.

But he did, still looked at me, "I will for now, Emily, but I won't later, I promise."

After a minute he said it was time to go. "Sorry the drink, John, if we don't go now we might not leave." They stood, so did I. Emily embraced me, told me how hot it made her to do this, how excited.

More later.

Saturday night...and Sunday morning...

They went well. Very well. Like, fucking amazing well (like, ahhhh, release!)

I just haven't had time to write about them, but I will.

I was too busy Sunday and Monday simply spending time with my beautiful, loving wife.

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Feel like his...

I'm excited.

We're dress shopping tonight, a date night.

Yes, our date night is shopping for a dress for her to wear on her date night with Matthew.

I know, it's strange, I know...only a sissy likes dress shopping with his wife; only a cuckold likes picking out a dress for his wife to wear on a date with a man.

I'm both so I'm doubly excited; there it is.

She must have asked me fifteen times yesterday if I was sure, each time I said yes and asked her if she was sure. I think we're both sure. Nervously sure. But sure.

We were sending ideas to each other this morning, inspirations, though we have to see what we can find when shopping.

I sent the first one, almost a joke.

"You like," I asked, "for tomorrow night?"

"Sweetie, if a dress could talk, this one would say 'you're not getting laid tonight,'" she emailed back.

"You're hilarious. Shorter? Like this," I emailed her a little black dress.

"Now we're getting somewhere. Better...a bit formal though. You need better inspiration, love," Emily said.

"So give me some," I teased.

"Fine," she emailed back a bit later. "Here. I think this sets a better tone. You know, leaving no doubt in Matthew's mind...or anyone that sees us...that I'm his."

"I don't know we'll find something quite that...skimpy, Em."

"We can try," she said, "can't we? I mean...he said go beyond what we'd normally go."

Right before lunch she emailed again. "I found what I want," the email said.

I looked at the picture. Fuck. "That's lingerie," I emailed back.

"Actually, it's not," she replied, "close though. They don't have it locally or in my size online, but this is similar, just as sexy...for club wear."

"Love the necklace, no?"

"Fuck," was all I could say.

"They don't have that either...but there's another option..."

"What," I asked.

"Instead of looking for a slip dress, just look for a slip."

We talked about it, that night, after we got home with a dress, er, a slip, how it made her feel.

"It's not how I picture you," I told her.

"I know, believe me, it's a bit...uncomfortable. When we went out last time, I felt like I was on display, like I was naked, even."

I heard the quiver in her voice. "You liked that? The feeling?"

She nodded. "With him...yes. It makes me feel, I don't I'm..." She paused, bit her lip.

"Like you're his whore," I finished.

Emily blushed deeply. "Sara, I don't mean to," she started to say, perhaps misjudging my thoughts.

"Em," I held up my hand, stopping her; she certainly saw my eyes now, the reaction to the erotic presence of Matthew. "Say it...finish..." She understood, her words didn't hurt, humiliating as they were, her words were the thing, the essence of the thing we were doing, the thing we both craved. "When you dress for him, how does it make you feel?"

She looked at me, our eyes met, I could see the wheels turning in her mind; she too felt the erotic charge between us that Matthew was causing, the intimacy he brought to Emily and me. "I...I feel...I feel like I'm his whore," she said in almost a whisper.

"When else do you feel like that," I asked. "When else do you feel like his whore?"

"When...when he touches me," she said, eyes half closed. "I feel like his whore when he touches me."

"And," I asked, "when else?"

"I...I feel like his whore when I'm undressed in front of him."

"What else?"

"I feel like...his whore when I'm kneeling on the ground."

I half mumbled, half moaned.

"I feel like his whore when he's in my mouth.

"What else? When else do you feel like his whore?"

"I feel like his whore when he fucks me."

"Em," I said, touched her breasts.

"I'll feel like his whore when he cums inside me." We were holding hands, squeezed them together, I was as hot as she was. "And I want you to feel like his whore," she half moaned, "when I get home and you lick me and taste me."

But I feel like his whore now, already, his whore, her whore. It's such a bad word, so, so bad, but so erotic, too, so fucking erotic.

Friday, August 29, 2014

Tomorrow then

I texted Matthew this afternoon, I don't know why, it felt like the right thing to do.

"Matthew, I'm glad we met the other night, it was reassuring."

He responded, quick for him. "I'm glad too. It's important you participate, that's what makes Emily happy, you know that...she's not cheating, you know that...this is very different."

"I know," I texted back. "It makes me happy, too. Participating."

"We talked about this, John, always understand I don't want to exclude you, just the opposite, I want to include you. Tomorrow...I told Emily I'll pick her up a half hour before we have to leave, I'd like to have a drink with you two first. I assume you picked up some Bourbon."

"Yes, I did. I hope you like it, I did some research, but I'm not a whiskey drinker."

"Of course not, it's a man's drink. Tomorrow then."



So tonight, Emily is dreaming about this:

And Matthew is dreaming about this:

And I'm dreaming about this:

I'm not sure who is having the best dream, but I wouldn't trade places with Matthew, even if she let me. (I don't want to admit whether I'd trade places with Emily or not).

Thursday, August 28, 2014


I was a bundle of nerves, of course, while he was calm, controlled. I'm sure he was nervous, too, but unlike me, he didn't show it. His nerves were channeled into dominance, mine into submission. Simply the difference between us.

He was polite, even friendly, from the moment I sat down, but in charge of everything. He interacted with the waiter. He ordered the drinks. He controlled the conversation.

As always.

"Before we talk about what you didn't tell me about," he started, "I want to talk about Emily and you…she seems happy…with this…but I'm not her spouse, you are, am I reading it right?"

I told him she was happy, nervous, but happy. Satisfied.

"Why," he asked.

I said she was drawn to his assertive personality.

"My little whore," he said, sipping his drink. I blushed, deeply. "That turns you on, doesn't it? Hearing me call her that."

"Yes…but she's not really."

"A whore? Of course not, no more than she's a slut. It's ironic, she's monogamous, of course. But I call her that, my whore, my slut, just the same, because in the bedroom she is."

"So she says," I said.

He picked up on the slightest twinge of jealousy in my voice, raised his eyebrows. "Does the jealousy excite you? Honestly? I want you to be happy, too, this is about Emily…but you, too.

"Yes," I said softly.

"I mean it, more than you might know…you both have to be happy. All three of us, really."

"I…I'm happy…but I'm nervous."

"Of course," he said, "I expect you are, but I expect it feels natural, too, doesn't it, letting a man take charge."

I looked down. "I…I was never good at that role."

"I imagine not," he said, staring intently. I blushed. Sara. He meant Sara. "Why didn't you tell me, I asked for you to be honest."

"I don't know…I guess I was afraid, I…I didn't want you to think I was…strange."

"I'm fucking your wife, it's all strange."

"I…we…we're afraid you'd…I don't know…run…flee."

"I get to make that decision, not you," he scolded me. "Besides, I told you before, I don't do competitions…I presume that means that's less likely to happen with Sara." I blushed, he smiled, pressed on. "I don't know that I'm ready to see Sara, but I like to think of you thinking like that when I'm around or out with Emily."

"I usually do," I said.

"Sara's submissive, I assume."

"Of course. I mean…yes."

"You seem to respond to a strong man as much as Emily, maybe more."

I told him it was part of the attraction, not just a man fucking my wife, but a man as a part of us, as a couple, a dominant man in our lives, not just her life.

"I'd like to be friends," he said, "I want to talk from time to time, too. I really do want you to be happy, this is about Emily, of course, but you, too. And I want to respect boundaries. Yours and mine. I get what you're nervous about, believe me, we all share that, it's important for you and your wife to be strong, as a couple. There are boundaries for me…your families, your friends, hobbies, vacations. Even the intimacy of your marriage." I looked away, my tell. "You two are intimate, she says."

"We don't…I mean…we are."

"But not sex," he said, "not intercourse, right?"

I looked down, blushed. "We don't usually…um…"

"Screw," he suggested.

"Rarely," I admitted.

"I understand that's a part of it, the whole cuckolding thing, that's one of my boundaries. Intimacy I encourage…she said you're very good a certain activities, I encourage that, but intercourse…"

"We rarely do," I cut him off.

"You're okay with that?"

"Yes," I said softly.

"Good, because except for rare events, that's mine."

We talked for awhile, I grew comfortable, though no less nervous, ate dinner.

When we were finishing, he circled back to Sara, the weekend. "I'm picking her up on Saturday, later though, like a ten. We're going to a club, then to a hotel across the street. There's no reason for modesty when you pick out something for her to wear; I want other guys staring at her, it seems to put her in the mood when she's shown off."

I nodded, agreed.

"I'll bring her home late, four or so…you don't have to wait up…I assume she'll wake you." I blushed, he knew why. "No condoms, remember, that's a boundary we don't need."

A deeper blush, a surrender to control.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Men don't ask, they tell.

The text from last night, no inquiry as to my plans, my availability, simply a command. I would have cancelled anything, anyway, as he full knows.

Matthew: You and I are having dinner tonight at 7. Pick a place halfway in between us and make a reservation.

Yes, we're having dinner tonight. My day is pretty much shot.

Monday, August 25, 2014


We were sitting on the couch in the living room on Friday night, both in provocative lingerie at Emily's insistence, not that I was reluctant in any way. After opening a second bottle of wine, Emily stretched her bare legs out onto my lap so I could resume the foot massage I'd been giving her for the last half hour. As minute after minute went by, I silently hoped she'd move one of her feet, slightly, touch me between my legs, but she seemed to purposefully avoid doing that, instead letting the sexual tension build more and more.

Finally, I said what had been on my mind the entire evening. "Matthew…texted me."

"Did he," she raised an eyebrow.


"I've been wondering when you were going to bring it up," she said.

"He…he told you," I asked, surprised.

"Only that you had something to tell me, a message. From him." For the first time that evening, her foot brushed against my swollen balls, the chastity cage, but just briefly. "What did Matthew want," she asked innocently and I had the impression she really didn't know.

"He…he said the test results are in."

"And," she sat up slightly, brushed against me again, eagerness in her eyes.

"All negative," I said softly. "And…"

Her eyes sparkled. "And?"

"I'm supposed to tell you that…that he said…," I bit my lip, "next time, no…no condoms." She inhaled sharply, my words repeating his, but the flush of her face was obvious. "Emily, he…he wants to…"

"Yes," she said softly, finding me again with her foot.

"I mean, he…"

"Yes," she said again, slowly flicking my balls with her toes.

"Next time…," I said, "Is…is…"

"Is kind of a big deal," she said softly, "is really a big deal. Is…is that what you want?" I bit my lip, stole a glance between her legs, she laughed. "You're naughty," she shook her head.

"What," I said, looked away.

"I know what you're thinking about, Sara, don't pretend, it's what you think about all the time, fantasize about all the time. No condoms…no condoms. A man's right, that's what he wants. A man's right."

"Emily." My eyes were closed, I pictured it, him inside her, his bare cock touching her wet lips, his naked cock pushing them apart, entering her.

"It's humiliating, isn't it? Emasculating, thinking of him inside me."

"You…you're incorrigible," I half moaned.

"Am I? I'm only verbalizing what you're thinking, love, how erotic it is to think of a man fucking your wife." If I hadn't been in the cage, I would have exploded right then and there, but I couldn't, didn't. "I want to feel him inside me, love, but…"

"I do, Emily," I said, knowing what she wanted, "I…I do."

"You did this before, with her," she said, half statement, half question. "When she cheated on you." I nodded, memories flooding. "And when she came home…and you…"

"I…I didn't know…for sure," I said

"But this time you will."

"Yes," I said, "yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I said again, "yes…yes."

Was I sure? Yes, completely, totally. I wasn't sure, before, what I was doing when I was cheated on; all I knew then was that it was an incredible turn-on. Now, though, older, wiser, more fully aware, it's something I want, something I need.

"Tell him."


"Yes," she nodded. "You should text him, he'd appreciate the gesture."

"Em," I looked down at her foot, touching me, rubbing me. "Can…can we…"

"I don't like when you ask," she said.

"I know…it's…been awhile and I…I really want to."

"It's difficult, isn't it? Being the only one who isn't…you know," she giggled.

"Yes," I said, "I'm not complaining…"

"No, I know. You've been so…patient."

"It's a turn-on," I said.

"Can you be a little more patient, love," she asked. "Just until…you know…after…"

I sighed. I knew what she asked, of course, and it made sense. "Yes," I said.

"It's better that way."

"I know, Emily, I know."