Saturday, September 2, 2017

State of Being




"What...what's wrong," Emily asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"N...nothing," I lied, eyes drawn to her thigh, to the bare flesh where her dress had ridden up, exposing her stocking top.

She followed my eyes, realized what I saw, tugged at the hem of her dress. "Are you mad?" she asked me.

"Mad? No," I said flatly.

"You're mad," she frowned, "why?"

"I'm not mad," I insisted, mostly telling the truth.

"What then?" she asked. "Please...tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing," I lied again.

"Honey," she said gently.

"I...I'm not mad, really. I'm...I don't know...disappointed," I swallowed.

"Sweetie," she said, understanding.

"I had dinner all planned," I said, looking at her in her sexy dress, her stockings.

"Sweetie," she said again, "you didn't...you didn't tell him..."

"I didn't think I had to; I thought he was out of town," I defended myself.

"You could have told him," she said.

That was all the difference, I could have and I didn't. I didn't want to, didn't think I needed to use a day. See, that was a rule he'd come up with. I got eight "Days of priority" a year. My birthday, our anniversary, Thanksgiving, and Christmas were scheduled days, days I got my wife to myself, regardless (notably absent was her birthday). I got to pick four more, days I could block with a month's notice, one a quarter, if spaced out.

They were important, for the other 357 days were his.

Not that he used them, of course, he and my wife only went out once or twice a month, given his work and travel schedule. But he was often available at the last minute, sometimes just an hour's notice, and unless it was a "Day of Priority", he got her when he was available and when he demanded it.

That was one of the rules of having a dominant man in our life. His schedule, within limits, dictated when he got to fuck my wife.

And today he texted me at four in the afternoon telling me he was back in town a week before he thought he was going to be and to tell me to tell my wife he was picking her up at seven that night.

"We have dinner plans," I texted back.

"Cancel them," he responded.

And so here I was, here we were, I was disappointed but not mad and she felt empathy for me, but was obviously excited, too, as she always was when he called.

"You're excited," I said to her, almost accusatory.

She looked down, blushed ever so slightly under her makeup. "Honey..."

She got like this every time, the excitement from a man treating her like this, his masculine confidence, his dominance. He treated her in a way I never did, never could. Like a whore. Not really, but still...like a whore. Not that he wasn't protective, respectfully even, but he demanded and received her submission. As he did to me.

"I feel...I feel like you'd rather be with him," I asked, letting my disappointment slip through, become too obvious. I didn't mean to hurt her, but that must have stung and she frowned, bit her lip.

"You want me to answer that?" she asked, "because it's complicated.

"Complicated?" I asked, surprised.

"Do you really want me to pick?" Emily asked.

"No," I quickly said, suddenly concerned.

"Because you're right,  I would rather be with him...the times he calls, the times he wants me, I'd rather be with him. But the rest of the time, I'd rather be with you...and if I had to pick, I'd pick you every time."

I felt weak, dizzy.

"I'll call him right now and tell him no," she said and I realized she meant it. Always meant it. Our bond was stronger than their bond, she was with me, not him, committed to me, not him, and as much as she liked him, liked dating him, fucking him, I came first.

"You...you don't have to do that," I said, "I...it...sometimes it's difficult."

"The chastity?"

I nodded. "I...I get jealous," I admitted.

"You miss it? Being inside me?"

I nodded again. "Sometimes."

"We've talked about that, haven't we? Sometimes I miss it, too."

"You do?" I said, surprised.

"Well not the actual sex," she said, "just that particular intimacy. It's just..."

"I know," I said.

"Do you?" she asked. "Sometimes I think you think this was always easy for me, it wasn't you know."

I blushed, knew she was right, knew discovering the 'man' she loved was as far removed from a 'man' as one could get. "I just...I get jealous sometimes...I'm locked up and he..."

"Gets me whenever he wants?"

"Yes," I swallowed.

"Why are you locked up?"

"You want it locked up," I said.

She paused. "That was the wrong question, I don't mean why are you locked up now, why did this start? It wasn't my idea, was it?"

I looked down.

"Who's idea was it?" she asked again.

"M...mine," I admitted.

"Why? Why did you ask me to play that particular game? Why'd you ask me to take the key?"

"Emily," I said, embarrassed.

"Why?" she asked again.

"Be...because I was m...masturbating," I stammered.

"Compulsively. You were compulsively masturbating." I said nothing, just looked at the floor. "Right?"

"Y...yes," I admitted.

"And what happened when you masturbated?"

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"You came. Like a boy. And then what happened?"

"Emily..."

"You started acting like a boy, you started trying to be the top, you didn't want to dress up anymore, you didn't want to serve."

"I...I did..."

"No, you didn't. Every time you came like a boy you acted like a petulant brat for days. What did we agree?"

"I...I shouldn't masturbate."

"Yet you continued," she said.

"I...I tried..."

"Who asked to be caged?"

"I...I did," I said.

"Because..."

"Because I wanted to feel more feminine, more often," I said.

She smiled, nodded. "Masturbation was bad for you, bad for us," she said. "Orgasms like a boy were bad for you and bad for us. Do you want to go back to that?"

"N...no," I said softly.

"I can unlock you," Emily said, "just say the word."

"No," I said again.

"I know part of you misses it, I get that," she said gently, "I know part of you wishes you were him."

"I'm not," I interrupted.

"No," she agreed. "You're not. You like being locked up, you like staying soft, you like being denied. I know part of you is jealous, part of you wishes you were inside me, but when push comes to shove, that's not what you want, is it?"

"I get jealous," I said, admitting the real issue.

"But not enough to stop," she noted.

"I...I don't know..."

"Do you want to go back to being a boy...trying anyway?"

"Not...not really."

"Do you want to be free to jerk off whenever the mood strikes?"

I laughed. "No."

"Do you want me to stop seeing him?"

"You really would."

"God, do you listen to anything I say?" Emily asked. "Do I want to? No, of course not. I like being with him, but I would, I really would."

"Em..."

"You like it, too, though."

"Yea," I admitted.

"I know it's hard on a day like this, when he just pops in, but that's kind of what he does, being the man and all."

"I just...sometimes he's selfish."

"He's a man," she laughed, "men think with one thing. Besides, it's part of it with him, with all of us, isn't it? Would you like him as much if he was timid?"

"I suppose not," I said.

"I know you're jealous," she said, "but it excites you, too, when he acts like he owns me, it's like he owns us."

"Jesus, Emily..."

"Do you want me to stay home?"

I looked at her, the way she was dressed, the glow she had, knew she was tingling inside, all over. "No," I said.

"I would," she said. "I don't want to, but I would."

"I know," I said softly, "I know."

7 comments:

  1. This turned into a great story. Thank you very much ~sara

    ReplyDelete
  2. Beautiful. Best Wishes to each of you. Always.

    ReplyDelete
  3. The interplay between you both is wonderful and the whole dynamic of your relationship is so loving. Matthew is lucky to have you both and you are better together because of what he lends your relationship. I so love the posts you make describing the interplay between the three of you.
    love stephanie

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  4. Hi Sara,

    Does Matthew allow Emily to unlock you on your Days of Priority? Or is this something she decides herself? Either way, does she unlock you ? If so, does she let you orgasm on these special occasions? (Real orgasms, not just milkings?)

    I hope I don't come across as being too curious.

    Regards,

    John

    ReplyDelete
  5. Dear Sara,

    I know exactly how you feel love.

    Kisses,

    Leeanne

    ReplyDelete
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