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."

Friday, August 22, 2014

Test Results

"Log in," he texted, "the results are in."

I stopped what I was doing, logged into the website, negative, negative, negative...all negative. I expected as much for us, hoped as much for him.

"All negative."

"Yep," he replied.

"I'm glad," I texted.

"I want you to tell her something...John...remind her."


"Next condoms."

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Post Saturday

It's like everyone asks for updates and sometimes I don't want to give them. Selfish? I don't know, it isn't like I keep all this a secret. Part of it is time…it takes time to give updates, time to rethink it, time to relive it.

Saturday, Emily came home; he dropped her off again, didn't come in, left her to me, me to her. I was anxiously waiting, of course, the yin and yang of jealousy and excitement.

I didn't know what to say first when she walked in, what was foremost in my mind—Sara or what he did to her. But she stopped me. "Get changed," she said (I was still dressed as a boy), "I can't see you like that, not tonight."

I went upstairs, dressed for bed, dressed for play. Feminine, soft, sexy, flirty. Emily followed, was in the doorway after I dressed. "You make such a pretty girl," she said watching me. "That's what I told him, when he asked."

"He didn't," I said.

"He did, love, of course he did. He wasn't surprised. He asked how long you've done this…all your life."

"Did he…did he want to see."

"Sara? God, you're so predictable," she laughed. "I don't know, he didn't say, I guess we'll just have to see…why are we talking about this," she asked, knowing full well why. "He's never…he's not experienced in something like this," she pointed to me.

"How'd he react? What did he say?"

"Not much, love, I know you want more, but not much. He didn't react badly, but I don't know…I think he wants you to be unsure."

"He…he said we'll discuss it later," I said.

"I know…can I give you one clue about his reaction?"

"Yes," I said, eagerly.

"I'm sore," Em said.


"Sore…he…we…he did…twice," she looked down, blushed. "The second time was…I…"

"Emily," I...

She walked over to me, pushed me back to the bed, looked down. "I felt like his whore…"

"Emily," I was shaking, swelling.

"Before…on my knees…sucking his cock…I felt like his whore."

"Oh god," I mumbled.

"The first time," she touched my face, "riding him, I felt like his whore."


"But the second time, Sara, the second time…he put me on my hands and knees, pushed my face into the pillow, and fucked me, really fucked me. Every stroke made me shake, every stroke made me cum…that's when I was his whore, Sara, then, right then."

I was too turned on to speak, too ashamed, too jealous. But I wanted more, I knew it, so did she.

"I'm sore, love, I'm so sore…and I want you to be my whore now, lick me, softly, Sara. I love when you lick my sore pussy, I love when you're my whore."


There's no date this week…life…busy…him…us…

But he texted me, he wants to meet, talk, to me, about this, him, Emily, me.

Monday, August 18, 2014

Our Day, Yesterday

Yesterday was our day, Emily and me. Intimate time for us.

I woke first, made coffee, brought it to her in bed, where stayed for more than an hour just cuddling. Intimate time for us.

We did a few things we wanted to do around the house, a small project. Intimate time for us.

We made brunch together. Intimate time for us.

We took a nap. Intimate time for us.

We went on a bike ride. Intimate time for us.

We made dinner together. Intimate time for us.

We sat on the patio with a fire, had wine. Intimate time for us.

We showered together. Intimate time for us.

We read leaning against one another in bed. Intimate time for us.

We went to sleep together, holding one another, kissed and kissed and kissed. Intimate time for us.

Yesterday was our day. Intimate time for us.

He wasn't mentioned by name, not intentionally, but yesterday was our day. Intimate time for us.

What sissy little princesses dream of…..

Source | SissyNylons

Erotic? Yes. Why? Two things: 1) the ring and 2) the perceived glance over at her husband


Is this what we want? Is this too much? Is there too much risk? Is it too fast? Is he the right man? Is any man the right man? Should we forget all of this? Are we risking our own relationship?

Who know. Ultimately, I think not. We both think not. And that's the thing. This…not just Matthew…but this…cuckolding…a man…a more open relationship…these are things we both want, full aware of the risks.

I risk that Emily will fall in love with someone else, which would be bad, and that she'll fall out of love with me, which would be devastating.

Emily has a similar risk, that I'll fall out of love with her. That I'll be so jealous, too jealous, that I'll not see her relationship with Matthew (or another man) as part of my relationship with her, but as a betrayal.

We know this. Both of us. We are totally aware of the risks.

But there are rewards, too.

For me, there is the incredibly liberating experience of not being the man, because at times, the pressure to be a man for my wife is, well, overwhelming. Part of this, part of what I like, emotionally, is stepping back, as letting the 'maleness' fall away, of settling to a more subservient, a more submissive role. Emotionally, I do not like trying to be both man and woman for Emily. She wants, like man women, the strong presence of a man. I know this, I feel this, and sometimes I feel pressured to try to fill that need for her and I can't and it bothers me. I'm happier when I don't have to do that.

For me, there's also the incredibly sexual experience of having a strong man in her life as well as mine. Aren't we sexual creatures at our core? If so, I get strong emotional fulfillment when: 1) there is a man being a man, sexually, in our lives and 2) being the submissive sissy.

For Emily, of course, there is much the same.

But the risk…he breaks up what we have.

But the other risk…we're always missing something. Not something that just she wants-this isn't simply about my wife wanting to cheat, wanting someone different, wanting cock-but something we both want.

Saturday, August 16, 2014


Matthew: Seems like you were not 100 percent honest about your ideal situation...Sara. Seems like you and I have something to discuss...Sara.

Me: I apologize...we...I...didn't want to...scare you. I'm sorry.

Matthew: Do something for search...cuckold and many results?

Me: Lot's...I assume.

Matthew: I said do the search. How many results?

Me: About 2,920,000 results.

Matthew: You think I've never heard it before? I'm not mad, but we'll discuss this later. I have other things to distract me the woman sitting next to me who kept whispering in my ear all through dinner that she wants to be my whore.


There was a heightened tension when Matthew came to our home, a heightened awareness. I know Emily, the sexual lust was written all over her face, and if Matthew was any kind of man, he was totally aware of the way she looked, acted, felt.

They kissed, not passionately, but certainly erotically. He looked at my wife, told her how sexy she looked, obviously meant it. Emily smiled, even blushed. "I feel…" I waited for her to say the word again, but she didn't. "Exposed."

"I know," Matthew said, looked over at me. "You picked the outfit, John," he asked.

"Yes," I said, blushing.

"Good choice, this is exactly what I want, John, this is exactly how I want Emily to look and feel."

I felt guilty at my pride at his compliment, after all, she said she felt like a whore. His whore. "Thank…thank you."

"Matthew, would you like a drink before we go," Emily asked to my surprise. "I…I don't know what you like, we…"

"I'm a Bourbon man," he said.

"We…we have wine…beer…gin," I said, "we don't really drink brown liquors."

"I assumed not, John, that's okay, you two don't strike me as the whiskey types. I'd rather not drink yet anyway, we're driving soon. I'll text you what I like, though, you can pick up a bottle for when we stay here for a while."

I blushed at his easy confidence, his assumption he'd be back, that he'd be entertained at our home. Not incorrect assumptions, but not ones I would ever make. "Coffee, tea, water," I asked, blushing at the words.

"A glass of water, sure," he said, I left for the kitchen.

When I came back, they were sitting on couch, touching, snuggling. He had his arm possessively around her, his hand casually resting on the side of her breast, the other hand on the bare skin of her thigh. Emily was touching his thigh; she looked half ashamed at the display of affection in front of me, but when she looked up at me, when our eyes met, I saw the need, the desire, the hunger. She wanted him, was embarrassed, but wanted him just the same. For a moment, I wondered if they'd make it out the door, wondered if I was ready for that.

He saw the dynamic, took charge. "We should get going, Emily, the sooner we eat the sooner…" He stood, sentence unfinished, pulled her up with him. She kissed me softly on the lips, passion but no eroticism, love for me, not lust. Awkwardly, water glass in one hand, I pulled her ear to my mouth with the other. "I love you," I whispered.

"God, I love you, too, Sara," she said softly, too quiet for him to hear. "You good?" I pondered my response. Yes, of course, but…

"Be his whore," I said, released her to him.

"You ready," he looked down at her clutch, pointed. Em blushed, so did I, she nodded. "Good," he said. "Results come Monday," he said to me, "you understand we'll use them today, John; but if things are good, and I assume they will be, today will be the last time."

"I…I understand, Matthew," I blushed, jealous, excited at the same time.

"That's a ground rule, then, no condoms…after today." I thought my wife was going to faint hearing her lover, her boyfriend, tell her husband of his intent to fuck her, to cum inside her. "Something Emily tells me you're both looking forward to, John." Speechless. Utterly speechless. He wasn't though. "I told you I get it, both of you. I know what Emily wants, I know what you want."

As he turned, I hesitated, said his name. "Matthew." He looked at me patiently, I looked down. "What time…"

He smiled. "That should be a ground rule, too. I'll have her home by 1…maybe 2, no later."

"Thank…thank you," I said.

I meant the time, thanking him for telling me the time. He knew, but answered otherwise. "You're welcome, John, she deserves it. You both do."

Casual Date

She usually wears the top with a more conservative, high waisted skirt. Or the shorts with a less revealing, conservative top. Tonight, she'll wear them together.

For her boyfriend.

For her lover.

"I'm going to feel like I'm on display," she said looking at herself in the mirror.

"I think that's what he wants, Em." She looked down, bit her lip like I often do. "What?"

"I don't know how I'm going to make it through dinner. I'm saying this in a good way...if there is a good way...I feel like..."

"Like what," I said. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Yes, yes, it's not's just not a nice thing to say, but I feel like...a whore."

I felt my stomach flip when she said the word.

"But his whore."

"Em," I groaned softly.

"I want to be his whore, Sara, and later, when I get home, I want you to be my whore."

"Jesus, Emily."

"I'm going to be his whore, Sara, I'm going to do what he says, whatever he wants. And when I get home, you're going to do whatever I say, whatever I want."

I grunted, "Em...fuck..."

"I plan to, love, I plan to. Maybe someday Sara can be his whore, too."

"Don't mess with me," I almost sneered.

"I know what you want, don't mess with me," she stuck out her tongue. "You want to be a whore, too."

"He...he might not like...Sara."

"I don't think he's going to have any problem with Sara, not when this," she touched her breasts, her stomach, "not when this is what's waiting for him."

Friday, August 15, 2014

Makes my mouth water, how about you?


He texted me last night. Matthew.

"I'm picking Emily up at 7 on Saturday. We're going someplace casual for dinner first, so when you pick out something for her to wear, it shouldn't be formal. Sexy, but not formal."

First...I knew what he implied by that so I didn't ask, I assumed, but that's part of what this was all about.

"Okay," I texted; when he didn't respond, I texted again. "I understand, she has a few casual, cute things."

This time, his response was immediate. "I didn't say cute," he texted, "I said sexy. And by sexy I mean risqué." I saw the ellipses, he was typing more, it took a minute, I waited, waited.

"Sexier than she'd normal wear, John, sexier than what she'd wear for you. Not safe, but sexy. Risqué. Daring. I want people to stare, I want YOU to stare. Emily is a beautiful woman, she has a beautiful body; when she meets her lover, that body better be on display. This is one of my ground rules, John, when she's with me she should be sexy, always. If I wanted a woman in sweat pants, I'd get married, if I wanted a conservative woman, I'd date a woman from church. Are we clear on this? I don't want her dressed the way she would to meet her parents, her boss, or you, I want her dressed to meet her lover."

I stared at my phone, hand shaking, finally responded. "You're clear," I texted, "we'll pick something sexy."

He didn't respond again. He's a man, men don't text like women. Men aren't needy, testing. He's a man.

I have to check with Emily, but I have an idea what she should wear, what she will wear.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014


I don't want to use the word 'literal' improperly, of course, so the tension couldn't 'literally' be cut with a knife. But metaphorically it was that thick. That tense. 

For me.

For Emily.

Even for Matthew, to some degree, but not as much as my wife. Or me. 

But then he was a man. He was the dominant one. He was the alpha.

This isn't a verbatim transcript, it's from memory, it's not all of it, and some parts are still a blur. But it captures the essence with my writing flair.

I'd met him twice before, so I shouldn't have been too nervous, especially since the second time was as he was picking up my wife. For a date.

But this was different.

Even with the activities of the last time, this was different. We were all testing. We were all interviewing. We were all feeling one another's goals and ambitions. Our hopes. Our fantasies.

He arrived before we did, so the hostess told us when we arrived. "You're meeting a gentleman," she asked. 

"Don't know how gentle," I thought, "but certainly a man.

So he was waiting. 

The predator waiting for the prey. The willing prey.

He stood when we approached the table, looked carefully at Emily. She was wearing a new dress I picked out from Urban Outfitters, a pink open back skater dress, that he obviously approved of. Why wouldn't he? It showed off her long, wonderful legs, her skin.

"Emily," he smiled, hugged her. My eyes were drawn to his hand on her back, on the bare skin of her lower back, and I felt the familiar flutter of jealousy mixed with excitement, that familiar feeling so ever present inside me. His strong hand touched my wife. His masculine fingers warmed her skin, deeper. After several moments he released her, held his hand out to me, the hand that had just touched my wife.. "Nice to see you again," he said looking me straight in the eye.

"Hello Matthew," I said, took his hand, looked down as I shook it, aware instantly of the submissive gesture, the deference. It was unconscious, natural.

He kept my hand in his, shook again. "I'm glad you came," he said to both of us, though emphasizing with his firm grip he was talking especially to me. "We needed to talk." A comment, not a question. To both of us. To me.

"Yes," I said still unable to look back at his face, so aware he'd gone out on a date with Emily, so aware he'd been with her, intimately, so aware he wanted more.

"We all needed to talk," he said.

I finally looked up at him, swallowed. "I know," I said.

He took the lead, sat us down at the square table by pulling out a chair for Emily, pointing for me to sit across from him, placing her between us, physically, where she already was, mentally.

He took the lead, ordered a bottle of wine.

He took the lead, steered the conversation, directed it to inconsequential things until our wine arrived. Established a level of comfort, trust. 

It was obvious, Emily's attraction to him, to his strong presence, his masculine looks, his dominant personality, his aura of authority and confidence.

Nervous as he must have been, he projected unshakable confidence, the ability to take charge of a situation. I could see him in high school or college, quarterback of a football team, the natural leader of men. I could see him in business, commanding a room. I could see him here, with us, unquestionably confident, unquestionably assertive, not betraying the nerves that were obvious on Emily and me. From the moment we sat down we both looked to him to lead and he did with an easy manner.

"So," he looked at me, the subtle change in his tone directing the conversation immediately from the mundane to the serious. I bit my lip, looked down.

"Shall we talk," he asked but didn't wait for a response. "Tell me, what's your ideal situation, what is it you're looking for?"

I looked up, he was looking at me, Emily too, the question was directed to me.

"I...I don't know," I half mumbled eyes down.

"You know," he said with a subtle disapproving frown. "And it's important to be honest. To your wife. To me. To yourself. This," he motioned to the three of us,"is...risky...we all need to be honest or else someone, all of us, are going to get hurt. I don't want that, neither of you want that."

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

"I respect that you're a married couple," he said and sounded genuine, even though he had violated what most husbands would consider a sacred trust. "So what are you looking for? Your wife to have a fling? What turns you on? If she has sex with random guys?"

I looked up at him, eyes narrow, remembering something she said, understanding it. "She's not a slut," I said defending her, for the first time since we sat acting confident.

"No, no she's not," he said. "Do you want her to be? I'm simply asking; some men do, some men fantasize about that. You've seen the porn," he said, "so I'm asking, is that what you want? Is that what turns you on? Is that your ideal?"

"No," I said, "not...not that."

"I'm asking what you want," he said simply, "for her, for the two of you. What do you fantasize about, what most turns you on? Watching her have sex?"

"I never have," I said.

"But she has, right? Had sex with men since you've been with her?"

I nodded. "Twice," I said looking down.

"Twice," he asked in a disbelieving tone.

I looked at Emily who shook her head every so slightly. Evan. Jeff. I thought for a moment, blushed, understood. Matthew. "No...three times."

"Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is pattern," he said. "The first two were wrong?"

"No, they were..." I saw the look on his face, he was drawing it out. "Answer the easy question, do you fantasize about watching her have sex or is there more?"

Emily reached over, touched my hand under the table. "Both, more," I said.

"So then...what do you want," he asked again. "Be honest."

"What do I want? My ideal situation?" He nodded. "A...a it what you want...lover...boyfriend...something cruder...but a relationship with a...a strong man."

"You've never seen her with a man?"

I shook my head.

"You fantasize about it," he asked, "many do."

"Yes," I lowered my eyes.

"You fantasize about a man inside her, having sex with her, finishing inside her?" I squirmed in my seat, part of me thankful he didn't use the word. "How does that make you feel? What do you feel thinking of her with a man? What did you feel when I took her out? Submissive?"

I felt like I'd been slapped, physically recoiled. I felt Emily's hand squeeze mine. "Yes," I whispered.

"You said a strong man," he said when I sat up straight. "That's the heart of it, right? Not just a man, but a strong man, a dominant man...I mean...if she's going to date."

"I suppose it is."

"Why? I ask based on my own experiences. I'm not interested in competing with a woman's husband, to fight out who is in charge."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," I said in carefully measured words.

"No, I don't think I do either," he said. "I was friends with a couple who thought they wanted one thing, but perhaps didn't. Him especially. He said he wanted one thing, but he saw me as a challenge. I didn't want that, I don't want that. If my date with Emily made you feel like you needed to protect her, to assert yourself, to be in charge of this situation...I'm not the man for her...or you. I...that's not what I want.

"That's not how I felt," I said.

"He felt his masculinity challenged, did you? Do you? He didn't think he would, but he got possessive, he felt protective, started to be aggressive."

Emily squeezed my hand again, I almost laughed but didn't. "No. Quite the opposite," I said, "I didn't feel that way at all. I...I felt..."

"Submissive," he said again. "How else did you feel when she went out...with As a husband?"

Emily squeezed again, looked at me. I thought about the word that immediately came to mind, finally said it. "Emasculated."

"Is that a bad feeling," he asked, "or something you look for."

"Bad...but good. I don't know how to explain, I'm sorry, I'm nervous."

"That's okay," he said.

I shook my head. " asked about ideal...I guess that's idea."

"It's a turn on? Feeling emasculated by a man?"

"Yes," I said.

"Any other feelings," he asked. Emily looked at me, him, back at me. "Submissive, emasculated, and...anything else"

I looked at Emily, she nodded. "Effeminate," I said almost in a whisper. "I..."

"The point," he interrupted me, "is that I'm the opposite. Dating a married woman makes me feel strong. Masculine. Dominant. I don't want to compete with a woman's husband. I learned that turns what is erotic to me to the opposite."

"Why...why a married woman, then?"

"Two reasons. First, honestly? Because I'm bad at relationships. I'm bad at sharing my feelings. I'm bad at emotional intimacy. I'm bad at the day to day interactions with a my ex-wife would be the first to attest. I had an emotionally distant mother, I don't blame her, that's just what it was. Connecting with a woman emotionally is...difficult for me. Emily tells me you don't struggle with that."

"No," I half laughed. 

He leaned forward, filled our wine glasses. Again, his presence, his confidence were palpable. "The second reason is, well, if you find submission erotic, I find dominance erotic. In my ideal situation, a woman's adoration...her strongly appealing and a woman seeking from me what she doesn't As is her husbands."

"So what do you want, then," I asked.

"A woman who wants a strong man...a couple that wants a strong man. Emily turns me on, I'm sure you get that, she's a beautiful woman, but it turns me on even more that she's married, that she's looking for something she doesn't get from her husband. It turned me on picking her up at your house. It's so much more than sex with a beautiful woman, but you get that, don't you?"

I nodded, I did. The opposite side of the coin.

Emily, what do you want," he turned to her, "you're in the middle here...literally." My wife looked down, blushed. "You love your husband?"

"Very much."

"Yet something's missing?" She nodded. "What?"

"I...I feel so different with a man than...than with..."

"He gets it, I suspect," Matthew said.

"I do," I said. "Than with me, she means."


"I have a few ground rules," he said at one point. "You may, too, of course. If this is a thing. If it's something we want to do...all of us.

We looked at him, waited.

"As ironic as this sounds, I expect monogamy. I don't share well. I don't think that's an issue with either of you, but it needs to be understood."

"That...that's what we want, too," I answered when Emily didn't, but she nodded.

"If this is a thing, if this is what we all want, this is the thing. We need to be tested. All of us."

"We discussed that," Emily said to him. 

He was watching me, saw my blush. "I don't like condoms more than any man, I presume that's not a problem. But we need to be tested.

"She's on the pill," I said, dodging the question. 

"A ground rule important to both of us," Emily said.

"All of us," Matthew answered, "believe me." He looked at me. "You didn't answer my question," he said. "is that a problem?"

I blushed. A problem? Fuck, how often I wanted it, what he demanded, how often I wanted it. "No," I whispered.


It was a 'where do we go from here' moment, we all sensed it, he seized it. "I'm taking her on a date again," he said after we sat in silence for several minutes. "Saturday." He didn't ask if we had plans, he just announced his own. "I'll pick her up, seven or so."

He was dominant, assertive, masculine, in control.

Maybe I thought there would be a ceremony-here, he's her boyfriend.

Maybe I thought we'd sign an agreement-the thing is a thing.

But we didn't.

She has a date, Saturday. No less, no more.

Yet so much more.

When we got home we didn't make it past the living room before I was between her legs licking her, tasting her. She was soaked, totally and completely soaked.

And but for the cage, I would have been hard.

"You get it," she asked me at one point.

"What," I asked.

"The attraction to a man, to him?"

I looked up, my face covered with her juices. "I get it, you're attracted to him," I said, not unkindly.

She pulled my face to her wet lips, pulled my tongue to her clit, shook for a minute, pushed me back. "Do YOU get it?" I looked at her, puzzled. "I saw the way you looked at him, Sara," she said, "I saw it. You're drawn to him as much as I a woman."

"Em," I started to say, but before I finished, her foot snaked it's way between my legs, rubbed my caged clit through my trousers, through my panties.

"Like a woman, Sara."

"Em, I..."

"I want to tell him. After Saturday."

"Tell him what," I said, but I knew.

"Everything," she said. "Everything.

"Why," I said, suddenly afraid.

"Because he should know. Because you want him to know."

"Em, what if he...I mean...he might..."

"What," she smiled a guilty smile, "suddenly not want to fuck me, suddenly not want to do this? Sara, don't you get it? He's afraid of you challenging him, of you reacting by trying to become more masculine, more dominant, that's what his fear is. Our fear is losing one another, his fear is fighting you. He'll be relieved, not afraid."

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

"He's afraid you'll try to be a man, love, that's what he wants, to be the man. Some husbands might have trouble with that, but not you...being the man is the last thing you want to do, right?"

True, so true, so true.

"And it's honesty," she said. "That's important. And you want him to know, be honest with yourself."

"Yes," I admitted.

"Lick me," she said, "please...lick me..."

I did. Over and over and over.


I think Saturday decides it...that was the unspoken resolution. How do we all react to Saturday.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Friday, August 8, 2014


Most guys would love seeing their wife dress like this around the house, right? 

Well most guys aren't sissies, like me.

And most wives aren't dating, like mine.

And most guys aren't in chastity, like me. 

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Texts With a Man

"Emily, you, and I are going to meet for a drink next week to discuss some things. Does Aug. 12 work? - Matthew."

I stared at my phone, confirmation of the meeting I'd expected, surprised though he texted me directly, not Emily. Hands shaking, I texted back.

"Yes. Where? What time? What are we going to discuss?"

He didn't text back for awhile, close to an hour, an hour wasted for me because all I could do was stare at my phone, waiting.

"Sampson's. 8:00. Make a reservation. - Matthew" Sampson's is a nicer bar/restaurant halfway between our place and his. He ignored my question about the discussion.

"Okay, I'll do it now."

I called Sampson's, took care of it, texted him back.

"Matthew, I took care of that, reservation made."

I texted again a few minutes later. "8:00 at Sampson's."

Then again when he didn't answer. "We'll see you there."

He didn't answer again for an hour, kept me on edge again the entire time. "Yep. You pick her outfit; I prefer her in a skirt or a dress. Sexier than she'd normally wear out or for you. Risque even."

"Okay," I texted back, adding a few minutes later, "she has a few things like that." But no reply from him.

When Emily got home she dropped her bag, walked right to me, and kissed me deeply and passionately for several minutes. "Fuck, what was that for?"

"Show me," she said.

"Show you what?"

"Your phone, his texts, come on, he said he texted you."

"Em, it was nothing," I said.

"Nothing," she kissed me again, " buddy...what ever he is...texted you! Show me...please."

I sighed, though inside was excited, showered her my phone.

"God, Sara!"

"What," I asked, afraid I'd done something wrong. "Shouldn't I have said okay?"

"No...yes...not that," she laughed. "Look at texting like a girl...all needy...all responding right away...fuck, why don't you just text him and tell him how excited you are. Not that I'm one to talk, I do the's just funny to see you do it with a man, too."

"I do not," I said.

"Oh, you do, love, you do. Don't think he doesn't see it, too. I mean, fuck, Sara."

After a minute, she took a breath. "He's right, want to talk."

"I know...I'm already nervous, though."

"I think that's part of his plan, love, part of his plan."

Monday, August 4, 2014


The key was sitting on my pillow when I came out of the bathroom from brushing me teeth; Emily was in bed, reading a magazine.

"Emily," I said when I came around to my side of the bed, "what...what's that for?"

She looked over at me, smirked. "Has it been that long you forgot? That's the key know."

"I know," I blushed, "I want to..."

"The question isn't whether I want to, love, the question is whether you want to. You need release now and then, you know that...and I thought might be...I don't know...needy."

"How," I swallowed, as if it made a difference; after a month, the how of the orgasm meant less than the orgasm itself.

She set her magazine, shrugged. "However you want, sweetie." My eyes went wide, but she quickly nipped that at the bud. "Sara, not inside me...that's not...he...I could touch yourself while I whisper in your ear, or I could touch you myself...with my hands...or my feet...or I could..."

"Lick it," I blurted out but quickly felt ashamed at what I'd set. "I mean...not in your mouth..."

"Maybe," she said. "If you really want to...we could."

"Why wouldn't I really want to," I asked her.

"I don't seem so much more...attuned to things."


" this thing we're...doing. Like, the longer you go the closer we are, the more intimate we are. Like you have these frustrations and they make you more...submissive...more attuned to making me happy. I mean, this isn't a shock, right? The longer you go the more, er, needy you are, the more devoted."

"I suppose."

"I'm right, right," she asked. "Wouldn't you touch yourself every day left to your own devices."

"I don't know," I blushed because she was right.

"Don't you always say the most exciting thing you can do is use your mouth on me?"

"Doesn't wearing the cage make you more excited? You wouldn't have wanted to be free when...when Matthew and I..."

"No," I said before she finished.

"Were intimate," she finished anyway.

"No," I said again, fully blushed this time.

"So if you want to use the key, you can...but isn't, sometimes, better this way, better excited, better on edge, better serving.

I was throbbing now, and that was the irony of it, for the longer I was in chastity, the longer I wanted to be in chastity, the longer I wanted to be denied, the more exciting her orgasms were compared to mine.

She stared at me, saw the confusion on my face, the opposite desires, release versus chastity, orgasm versus denial. "What if he didn't want you unlocked," she asked softly.


"I'm just saying, she said. "What if he wanted some say."

"Emily, didn't tell him???"

"No...I mean..."


"I didn't tell him, hon, really, but... but isn't that part of it? Part of what an alpha man does? Not denying intimacy with me, but denying that particular kind of intimacy. Ultimately isn't that what this is all about? Wouldn't you rather have your kind of special intimacy with me and let him worry about the other things."

It wasn't fair in some ways, but in others, it was as fair as things could be.

"You can decide, but wouldn't you rather put the key away and get one of our special toys."

That kind of release was the best and the worst; it was release, it was draining, it was milking, but, especially locked, it wasn't a real orgasm...immediately after I was as desperate as before.

"Wouldn't you rather save those manly things for a man and just be my pretty girl," she asked.

I would...I was...her pretty girl...milked...her pretty girl...moaning...squirming...her pretty girl.

"He didn't say this is what he wants, Sara," she told me after, "but isn't it obvious this is what we want?"

"Yes," I kissed her and she let me, even with my own cum still on my lips.

"And if he wants it...that's okay?"

"Yes, Emily, yes...yes."

It may be counterintuitive, but it led Emily and I to experience more intimacy.

Today, tomorrow, and every day thereafter