The Cuck in a Cage
Mistress Honey brings her latest lover home. Not that I can complain.
Home in 20. Be in the cage.
Not much time. I go to the bedroom, strip, put my folded clothes inside the closet. The hood is on the floor of the cage. Thick leather with mask and gag ready to pop shut. That’ll come in a minute. First I take my cock and balls in hand and rest them on the semi-circular cut-out in the door of the cage. Gently close the top half, trapping them on the outside. It’s a little high, so I stand on tip-toe while I shuffle back.
Not quite ready to close it yet.
The gag is a rubber plug that I have to push through the steel lined hole over my mouth. The thick end sits outside the hood, held in place by a strap fastened with poppers that pull it tight. Another thick strap, shaped like an eye mask, sits over the rings above my eyes, and I’m trapped in darkness.
I fumble for the catch on the outer door. Memory guides me and it clicks loudly when released. It’ll swing shut and hide me behind a door that looks as if part of the long fitted wardrobe.
Shuffle back until my heel taps the slight rise. Then up and back again. My bare bottom presses on the cold wooden board. There’s only enough space to stand upright, arms by my side. I can just pull the inner door shut and it clicks ominously as the locks catch. A moment later the outer door pushes against my trapped genitals and locks me in darkness.
There I stand. Waiting. Listening. The thumping in my ears is almost deafening. The cool air circulating in the cage chills my bare skin. My shivering is as much from anticipation as the cold.
The apartment door closes. My hearing perks up, focused on the sounds of the world outside. Movement. Two people in time with one another.
My mind plays tricks. It shows me her exactly as I’d dropped her off at the bar. Natural black hair pulled into a puff. Make-up perfect to enhance her beauty. Emerald green dress clinging to every curve from shoulders to just below her knee. Zip eased down enough to expose deep cleavage. Material so tight she discarded her underwear to keep the lines perfect. And the heels. Black sandals with a high, spiked heel and her painted toes left open.
“He’s here,” she says.
Jealousy makes itself known. My hand rests on her arm as if it would somehow stop her.
“I love you.”
She turns and puts her hand on my cheek. I feel her warmth and can’t help but sigh.
“Do you want me to call it off?”
Yes, my vanilla self screams. Remember the vows. Remember the promises we made to one another.
“I want you to be happy.”
Her lips quiver into a smile. It reassures me a little.
“Cheating on you makes me happy,” she says softly.
Jealousy intensifies. My vanilla self is on the verge of rage.
“I love you too, but you’re not a good lover. Sex with you is disappointing, and your penis is that small it’s not worth talking about.”
How often had she told me this? No matter how often its impact never diminished. Nor its truth. Finally my vanilla self met my submissive, and the two combined. I would endure the humiliation of my wife having sex with others because I loved her. Because it was the only way she could satisfy her need for sex.
She pulled the door handle.
“Anyway, you’ll get your thrill later.”
The bedroom door bangs open. They stumble into the room and crash onto the bed. Our bed. The one we share. The one I’d put fresh sheets on.
Breathlessly she tells him to please her. Where to place his hands on her body. How to touch and stroke and squeeze. Each gesture drawing a gasp of delight from swollen lips.
I can please her. My hands should be on her soft, dark skin. I should be smothered under her heavy breasts, sucking on her hard nipples. My face should be buried between her buttocks, tongue teasing her anus. It should be my lips on her hot, wet pussy, pleasuring her just as she’d taught me.
She moans loudly. I know the sound so well. Pleasure from being entered. From having a man inside her. Another man. A better man.
I can do nothing but stand in my small dark cage and listen. Listen to their love-making build towards its climax. The bed creaks loudly. Her moans are joined by his.
“Oh baby, I want you to cum in me.”
Desperation in her voice. I see her above me, cheeks flushed, full lips swollen. Her eyes lock on mine, hunting for that last moment before orgasm strikes. Pleading with me for release.
Only it’s not me she’s with. It’s not me who grunts and gasps as he tries to delay his ejaculation to the last possible moment.
The crescendo arrives. The sound is an elation, two ecstatic voices merged into one heavenly choir. It sweeps through me, destroying whatever was left of my dignity. With it went my strength and it took all of my power to stop my knees from buckling. There was no space to collapse, and if I had my balls would have been torn from my body.
Would that matter? What use did I have for them?
“Fuck, baby,” she gasps.
“Fuck yeah,” replies a man’s voice. Deep and strong.
They kiss and move on the bed to be closer.
“God, I needed a fuck.”
“He ain’t doin’ it for ya?”
“Told you. Little white dick.”
He laughs. I grimace.
“He know you do this?”
They always ask. Always after the first time. I assume she weeds out the ones who ask before bed. It isn’t as if the advert doesn’t make it clear what this arrangement is.
Married black woman seeks younger black bull for no strings sex.
And two photos. One of her deep cleavage, the other of her naked body from behind. Neither identifying her.
“How many do you think I’ll get this time?”
At least a dozen. They vary from one-liners to entire essays full of excruciating detail. Usually with their own photos attached. Almost always of a penis. As if that would impress her.
“Read them to me.”
We lie in bed together, both naked. I read them to her, discarding the shortest ones first, bringing the longest to life as best I can. She watches, amused by my growing shame as I tell her how other men want to have sex with her. With my wife. The woman I love.
But I am denied.
My cock is locked in her metal sheath, refusing to give anything to the erection I so desperately need. As I spin the yarns I put myself in their place and imagine I’m the one plunging into her sex.
She knows, of course she knows. That’s why she asks me questions. Asks me how I would do it better. Strokes my shriveled balls.
Then comes sex. Not for me though. A harness fits over my cage and a large silicone dildo slips into its ring. We make love as husband and wife. Or as near as a submissive cuckold is allowed.
My cage won’t come off. Not until the morning of her encounter. Until then I endure endless frustration. Sometimes I wear the harness for her. Sometimes my mouth is put to use. I watch her masturbate as she tells me about her lovers. How they fuck her. How they’re better than me.
All of which reaches its climax the night before when we visit a “playspace” and she unleashes hell. Such names she calls me. Such violence is visited on my pale skin. The domination scenes we play in our modest home are nothing compared to the imagination of a sadist let loose on a willing masochist.
“Yeah, he knows,” she says and I’m back in my prison.
A long, awkward silence.
“Couldn’t do it,” he tells her. “My girl having sex with someone else? Nah. Not for me.”
“And yet you’re fucking a married woman.”
I know that tone. It’s disappointment. He doesn’t realise it yet, but he won’t be coming back. I breathe a sigh of relief that, for the moment at least, my humiliation won’t be shared.
“I like my sub knowing,” she says and the bed creaks as she clambers off it. “Sometimes I like him watching.”
The outer door thuds as she leans against it. My heart picks up pace again as the possibility of exposure returns. What he says next...
“Nah. I mean, I’ve been with two girls but another guy? Nah.”
“So all that shit in the pub was just chat?”
That was anger. Contained for now.
More movement on the bed. The door bangs, I think from where he’s tried to kiss her.
“You know my husband’s been here the whole time?”
The door clicks open. Every fibre of my being screams out, begging it to close. Hoping he couldn’t see. Anything but being exposed as the helpless cuckold forced to stand and listen to his wife being fucked.
“What the fuck!” he screams. I hear him fall over the edge of the bed as he throws himself backwards.
Gently her hand cups my balls. It’s warm and soft and I can’t stop myself moaning when her thumb strokes and squeezes a testicle.
“I told you, I’m a cuckoldress,” she says, sounding as if she’s facing me. Speaking to me. “I fuck other people to humiliate and dominate him. Show him who’s boss in our marriage.”
Fingers reach through the bars and massage my chest. Then her nails dig into my nipple and I gasp as sharp stabs of pain rush through tortured flesh.
“I’ve never been faithful to him. Even when we met I was sleeping with other people. When they rejected me for it, he stayed with me. Stayed loyal. Isn’t that right, my little cuck?”
Every word. The day she’d told me about her other lovers was burnt into my memory. We sat in a park on a bench and she told me how she was cheating on me. I should have been outraged. I should have finished it.
And yet.
Something in me knew. I think she knew it too, albeit at some deeper level. And I think she knew how I’d react. Not with anger, but with the fascination of a masochist. I’d craved humiliation, and she had the means to deliver it in spades.
“You’re fucking perverts.”
“Technically you fucked a pervert,” she quips. “You better go now.”
Rustling as he gathers discarded clothes. She stays with me, fingers still playing with me.
“I should fucking warn people about you,” he hisses from the next room.
“You won’t be the first to try.”
The apartment door slams shut. We’re alone in silence. Only the faint moans from my gagged mouth and the sliding of her thumb over my smooth balls puncture it.
“Shame,” she tells me in a soft voice. “He had such a nice, thick cock. Long too. You’d have enjoyed deep throating him.”
Loud clicks as the cage is unlocked and my genitals freed. I stagger forward a step, then regain my balance.
“Bend a little bit.”
She undoes the zip at the back of my head and pulls the hood off, tossing it into a corner of the room. My eyes hurt a little, overwhelmed by the sudden transition from dark to light. I see the bed, sheets ruffled, pillows thrown here and there, discarded condom leaking into the mattress protector.
Then I see her. My beautiful wife in her naked glory. Hair pulled apart into a wild mass of black hair around her head. Makeup smudged. Lipstick faded. Marks on her perfect skin where he’d manhandled her.
And that smile. That glowing smile of a woman satisfied by sex.
She gets on the bed, pushes the pillows behind her and sits with her legs open and knees bent.
“Clean me.”
I settle there, the rich aroma of her spent orgasm filling my nostrils, the taste of another man tormenting my tongue.
She makes a sound like a satisfied kitten purring.
“Do you want me to tell you about it?”
Shame rises. Self-disgust. An overwhelming sense of my own inadequacies.
“Yes please. Please tell me all the details.”
Her hands press against my cheeks and lift my head up. She looks at me, that cruel smile twisted on her lips.
“Oh, I won’t leave anything out, my little cucky hubby. Now put his condom on and lie back.”
I lie still as she straddles me and gently lowers herself onto my erection. After weeks of frustration and torment I will finally have my release. Fucked by my wife while she tells me how much better her lover was.
Looking for more cuckolding from Mistress Honey?
Banished to the Balcony, where she leaves her husband outside to watch her with a lover, is available on Amazon.