Sometimes I think back, try to remember when it started. I have a memory of something Emily said years ago, when we were in bed, both dressed in lingerie, cuddling, talking. I started to swell as I always did and I saw her frown, disappointed. I was scared back then, that the feminine me was something she'd experiment with, reject, so I was worried to.
"What?" I asked her. "Do...do you want me to change?"
"No, it...it's not that," she said, "it...it just doesn't look right."
"What doesn't look right?"
"That," she pointed to the erection in my panties.
"What about it?" I asked, voice shaking.
"I don't know, you want to be feminine, I get that, I try it, but that...that's not very feminine."
"I can't help it," I laughed, half relieved, "it's kind of got a mind of it's own."
Emily shook her head. Boys, she must have thought. Boys and their erections. "Of course," she said, "but it's confusing...am I supposed to think of you as a boy or a girl right now?"
"A girl," I said.
"Well girls don't have that," she said, "girls are soft, smooth, feminine."
"Well make it soft," I joked, moving her hand between my legs.
She did, and after, she touched it again, when it was soft, shrunken, and she smiled. "See," she said, much better."
The next time we were in bed, dressed, she asked me to focus, focus on staying small, soft, feminine. And I did...for a few minutes, I stayed soft, stayed small.
But it grew. Of course it grew. And soon I was hard, erect again. "Sara!" she scolded me.
"I told you, I can't help it," I laughed.
I remember when she ordered it, back in the Spring of 2010, the first chastity cage. I remember it sitting on the bed, on top of the panties I'd set out for the day, sitting there after I got out of the shower.
"What...what's that?" I asked her when she walked into the room, knowing exactly what it was.
She put her hands on her hips, looked at me. "You...you said you couldn't help it," she said, "I thought maybe I could.
So I was caged for the first time and we played with it for a bit, then abandoned it for a long while, then played with it again from time to time. Always as a tease, though.
So how'd it come to this? How'd it come to approaching a year?
Matthew, of course. Matthew.
We started playing with it again when he came into the picture. We started playing with it when she started trying to look pretty for him.
We started playing with it when she started trying to seduce him.
We started playing with it when she started exploring with him.
We started playing with it when she started letting herself go with him.
We started playing with it when she started submitting to him.
We started playing with it when she became his.
We started playing with it when she became his whore.
The cage went on more and more. And started to stay on longer and longer.
Until last April, the lock clicked shut to be rarely opened (only to clean), to be rarely removed (never to squirt), and to become a fixture of my day to day.
So now, it's no longer a game, now it is life. Chastity is life. The normal. The expected. Me. Her. A part of us.
And soon it will be a year. Chastity for a year. Living in chastity, day after day, for a year. Soft for a year. Small for a year. Denied for a year.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Speaking of The Alpha Bull, something he said really struck home:
The difference between beta cuckold fantasists and actual cuckolds is substantial: once that line is crossed, there is no going back. A beta male whose wife has been fucked by another man will always be a cuckold.
That's so true, isn't it? Once Emily fucked another man (er, a man), once I knew about it, I was a cuckold. And would always be a cuckold.
Even if she wasn't now (she still is), even if she stops dating, even if we take a break, I'm a cuckold. Forever a cuckold.
It's a line, that once crossed, can never be uncrossed.
Posted by Saragirl at 6:23 AM
In the early days of a cuckold relationship, I will permit the beta male to see his wife nude, but eventually this will be my privilege alone. This is why I encourage the cuckold to help his wife prepare for dates with me, so that moments like this will live on in his memory, after I have claimed her exclusively.
Posted by Saragirl at 6:13 AM
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Monday, March 7, 2016
Don't think of it as a cage, think of as freedom.
Freedom from thinking like a man (think like a sissy).
Freedom from worrying about trying to please a woman with your penis (use your mouth).
Freedom from the pressures of masculinity (you'll never measure up).
Freedom from the urge to masturbate (self pleasure is for men).
Freedom from selfishness (worship and obey your wife).
Freedom to be the sissy you always wanted to be (you were never a man anyway).
Posted by Saragirl at 1:14 PM