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't...in fact, I know you are, but your physical intimacy is...different...at 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't...you know...do 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 about...it?"

"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 to...it...it'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 just...did...one 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 forget...how good it feels to do that...to 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 me...deep...so 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?"

"You...you 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 should...need...to 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 before...trust 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...like..."

"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.

"You...you 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."

"It...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, "it...it'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 ironic...you'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 I...is...was 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 fine...it sets the right tone between us...so, 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 to...flaunting...it'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.