Justin opened the door to a beautiful suite. We entered, the lights went up, a curved UHD TV proclaimed "Welcome to the Media Harbour Hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Bernau", a sound bar played beautiful Balearic chill-out music, a small table boasted a bunch of roses, in a silver cooler waited a misted up bottle, an open door lead to a brightly lit bedroom with a virginal white king-size bed and an adjoining, equally white bathroom, and a vast panoramic window provided a wonderful view over the Rhine, the Media Harbour with its restaurants, bars and clubs, and some of the most spectacular post-modern buildings in Germany. Justin wanted to impress me.
Leaving the elevator, I had not bothered with putting on the coat. I had simply picked it up from the floor and followed Justin, not able to think straight, barely able to walk straight. Now, still naked, I threw it carelessly over one of the chairs and, more than aware of the young guy's fluids still wetting the insides of my thighs, went to the window and pressed my hot forehead against the cool pane. Against beeping and hissing in my ears, I listened to Justin open the bottle and pour two glasses.
I did not hear him approach, the thick carpet muffled his steps, but I felt his kiss on my neck. I shivered. He turned me around and put a glass of bubbling Rosé in my hesitant hands. "Drink, dear... It will do you good..." He gave me a toast, but I did not react. Instead, I looked absent-mindedly into the strings of carbon dioxide emanating from the glass' walls.
After an awkwardly long silence, he said, "Excuse me for a few seconds, dear. I need to pee... " He shrugged apologetically. "I'll be right back. Feel free to refill your glass..." My eyes followed him through the bedroom to the bathroom. He did not close the door. Did he want to see me or did he want me to see him? He pulled his trousers down and sat on the toilet as quickly as he could, but no doubt, there was something between his legs, something dark, I could not really make out what it was, and before I could think further, he smiled and said, "Stay like you are, dear. It's a breathtaking sight, you, naked, ravishing beautiful against that cool Düsseldorf nightscape...
I listened to the sound of his pee lapping into the water and then, as a kind of displacement activity, sipped at my champagne. It was unexpectedly good. The bubbly fizzled on my tongue, had a beautiful color, just the right temperature, and a hint of red summer fruits in its taste. It must have been an expensive bottle. I emptied my glass watching Justin pee, taking small slugs, admiring the champagne's poise and allowing my taste buds to get in close contact with the yellow liquid's multifaceted components.
Slowly I started to feel better. I spread my arms and pressed my whole body against the glass, mimicking the pose of the girl in the PINK FLAMINGO video. Behind my back I heard Justin rustle with his clothes and flush the loo, then my smartphone's fake shutter noises. Was he taking pictures again? I did not care. Not any more.
When I turned around for another glass, he had my phone in his hand and watched the pictures he had just taken. He looked agitated, even excited. "You're so beautiful, dear. Please, can I download these to my phone?"
I shrugged. "Why not? If this is what you're most interested in... Would be good to download them to the BF's server as well... He'll be wondering what I'm up to anyway, he doesn't know I'm with you..."
He smiled. "You really want me to do that? All of them? Those from the taxi too? From the hall? From the elevator? It will take time!" He started to work. "Good thing your phone is not locked. Why didn't you secure it with a PIN? Or a fingerprint?"
"That's easy. The BF doesn't want it. He wants my phone accessible. He knows that I have all those kinky pictures on it - as you can see even the home screen boasts an explicit picture of my privates that I have to swap every day. Most of all he wants to humiliate me, and keeping my phone open for everybody takes away another piece of my privacy. He gets off on such mind games... As if it would matter, after all I'm visible on his website in all debauched details... What more can he do to me?" I broke off, not sure he was still listening, and poured me another glass.
His concentration was on swiping and typing and tapping and scrubbing and pressing and holding down. I waited for the beeps from my phone and the ring tones for his phone to announce that all my pictures had been transferred, but nothing happened.
To get his attention, I said, "I mean it, Justin. I really want you to transfer the files to the BF's server... and to Ben's... " He looked up when I started to give him the BF's URL and my user name and my password and Ben's phone number, but he shook his head, "Not so fast, dear, give me a break, let me finish this first," and went back to work.
I downed my glass and waited for him to come to an end, but it took a long time before he asked me to continue. I repeated my data, slowly, so he could type them in and watched his fingers dance expertly over the phone's screen. Unruffled even when his phone announced that it had received a message he ignored the disturbance, finished typing, pushed send and switched his phone off. "That should keep the BF satisfied.... and you too," he said and smiled his lopsided smile.
He looked cool and elegant leaning back in his chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him, but at the same time there was a strange tension in his movements, a sad absence in his eyes... like a child left alone in the wilderness. His eyes were dark like deep waters. Tired and emotional as I was, strung up by the champagne, doped by the events of a long day, I suddenly felt a strange affection for him, and yes, even after all the sex I've had, a stirring in my loins, a getting-wet down there. I wished to make him cum, to fuck him bareback, as all the other guys who had filled my pussy had fucked me.
I got down on my knees and crawled to him on all fours, never breaking eye contact, until my face was between his legs. Then, sitting up on my haunches, I opened his trousers and pulled them down. He did not wear undies, but his cock was enclosed in a rather short, slightly bent shiny black rubber tube that was secured with a sturdy, completely out of style brass padlock to a tight cock-ring-like cuff around the root of his penis... I had seen pictures of similar devices, but never one worn by an actual guy. It was a chastity device.
I did not know what to say. He did not know what to say either. After an awkwardly long pause his voice came out, diminished and hoarse, "Now you know, Dear... I can't have sex. I'm denied. I'm owned. I'm a cuckold...."
Flashbacks of memories flooded my worn out mind, throwing me back to the times when I first tried D/s. "Holy Fuck!" I cried, "Just like Ben's! He's to blame for this whole mess! He and that stupid BF! He explicitly ordered me to fuck him and he's responsible for his blackmailing me...." And I broke off. It was no use. Whether I liked it or not, I had to obey. Figuratively speaking, I was owned by Ben and the BF and they had sold me to Justin, who was nothing but a depraved cuck. It was their power he used to make me fuck strangers...
I tentatively touched the cage. He closed his eyes and let it happen. The material of the cage felt soft and warm. Cock and balls had been put through the cuff and his dick had been inserted into a 2,5 cm wide shaft, plenty of room for an unerect cock, but surely not enough for a normal-sized hard-on. In addition, where the shaft widened out to give place for the head, there were about three rows of small silicone spikes, 3-4mm long, not hard enough to do any real damage, but hard enough to chafe the head's sensitive skin, especially with a circumcised penis.
A clear perspex strap with a hard plastic nipple that fitted into the strap holes was tightened closely around the cuff and kept the device in place. The padlock was clipped into a hole in the nipple, so that it was impossible to get rid of the device without damaging it. It could stop erections rather efficiently and there was no way to escape, at least not unnoticed. To avoid any hair getting pinched, he was completely depilated, especially his balls. A rubber band went between them and kept them nicely aligned and tight. They looked soft and neat, but slightly swollen.
In a more subdued voice I said, "Forgive my outburst, Justin... I was overtaken by seeing you caged." He did not move, his eyes still closed. Getting down on him I kissed his balls and his cock stirred, but the shaft was too small for him to get hard and the pointy spikes at the end of the tube dug into the head as soon as his cock started to grow. It looked quite painful...
Rattled, I kept talking, "You know, Ben was my first online master, or should I say my first master ever? I've never seen him in real life, but he taught me all I know about D/s and certainly all about his kinky fantasies. Most of all he wanted his girlfriend to cuckold him. He wanted her to cage him and to deny him. He wanted her to humiliate him. He seemed so cool and ironic and worldly-wise and yet... in the end, I virtually begged him to control me, and he complied... You know the end of the story?"
"No, I do not."
"But yes, you do! It's always the same. Girl falls in love with a guy and gets used. That's the way it is... But what about you? How come you are locked?" I held the cage in my hands and played with it, pushing it from left to right and from right to left.
"Because I love my wife. Because I'd do everything for her..."
"You would? Truly? Like I do everything for the BF?"
"Even more so... and more willingly." He smirked. "I really love her... " The spikes still dug into the soft skin of his cock's head." Will you stop teasing me when I tell you the rest of the story?"
I said, "I might.... " but did not stop to play with the device. It turned me on to see him fight against his growing erection.
"Four years ago my first wife left me. She took our children. Three years ago I met my second wife at a party given by one of our clients. She was his girlfriend, but she wanted to leave. She was - and still is - a striking beauty. It was love at first sight. I proposed to her after only two weeks and she accepted after two days thinking time. Strangely enough, she did not want to fuck me before our marriage, but at that time I did not think much about it. She comes from a very conservative family and her father is a traditionally minded guy, even if I found out later that in business terms he can be quite venturesome, so I bowed to her wishes. However, in our bridal night, when we had sex for the first time in our newlywed life, she turned out to be an uninhibited slut... under her wedding dress she wore nothing but the slinkiest and most provoking lingerie I have ever seen on a woman and that night she made me feel like the greatest lover of all times... Our first twelve months were amazing, but half a year later our sex life deteriorated rapidly and after another half a year with no sex at all stupid me grew bored and started to fool around. In my job I was surrounded by beautiful girls, models, interns and students, and most of them - let me put it like this - depended on me doing something for them. It was easy to find willing prey...."
By now I was squatting on my haunches and listened attentively. My hands were at my crotch, my fingers circled my clit. "The first year my wife and I fucked bareback. Of course she wanted to get pregnant, at least I thought so, but when she came up with the idea to limit our sex life she demanded that I use condoms. I did not like it so it came as no surprise that, when I started to fuck around, I had developed a strange kink - I could only get an orgasm with a girl that fucked me bareback. I did not really want to knock them up, but I told them to get off the pill, to not use contraceptives, it was crazy. Only the feeling that a girl was impregnatable pushed me over the edge. I even lied to them, claimed that I was infertile and that there was no risk in fucking me. At the same time I encouraged them to have sex with other guys, but don't let them cum in their pussies... I told them they should take them in their mouths or on their tits or in their faces, even their asses... anything to make them cum. I even told them that, if one of the guys insisted on fucking their pussies, they should insist on him using a condom, as any whore does... I did not want the girls to cum with these guys; I wanted them to cum only with me... I can't tell you what went on in my mind. I loved these girls and at the same time I took my pleasure from humiliating and degrading them...."
His hands were on my knees, his thumbs nervously poking my thighs. I wanted him to touch my pussy, but he disregarded the invitation. "What happened was that my wife found out. She was furious and told me that I had to stop sleeping around or she would be gone. In the same breath, she informed me that she had been cheating on me too, and bluntly advised me to respect her freedom if I wanted to keep her in my life. She said, having a faithful husband while having fun with other men was the perfect solution for her, and when her father told me en passant that he had bought most of the shares of the agency I was working for I understood there was no way out and agreed to the new terms of our relationship."
He looked so helpless and his cock was so limp that an odd pity filled my heart and a growing heat streamed into my groin. My face was close enough to his cock to perceived every detail. The tiny veins on his shaved balls, the goosebumps on his shaved pubes, the tight cuff almost strangling his dick, his nicely swollen testicles... No doubt, he being caged turned me on.
I asked, "Does it excite you that she spurns and humiliates you?"
Without thinking he replied, "No, but it reminds me of the facts of life. I feel jealousy, desire for her, reluctance, acceptance, humiliation and submission, all at the same time... But it's the only way our relationship works and being with her is more important to me than anything else, so I happily accept my position... Her pleasure comes first and she gets to cum whenever she wants while I remain chaste."
I persisted. "But it excites her that you are looking on as she flirts and takes lovers?"
He smirked. "You can be sure of... She just takes them, pretending that I am not with her, and she does it whenever she can. She says it's such a thrill. And she expects me to say, 'Thank you, M'am for allowing me to be your cuck'... You know, when she first advanced the idea of me being chaste, she made fun of my penis size, she said it was way too small to provide sexual satisfaction to any woman. She said she had never had an orgasm with me, she had only faked them and she was tired of faking and that she was sure I had not been able to bring the girls I fucked around with to an orgasm either... She said if I had made them cum, they would not have accepted being mere one night stands, they would have come back for more..."
I untied his shoelaces and took off his patent leather shoes and black silk socks.
He nodded pensively, "She said so to undermine my self-confidence, I know, but I fell for it. When she told me that she was not really interested in the direct stimulus of sex, but in the thrill of being cruel to me, I allowed her to cage me, at first for hours, then for days. She was delighted and very sweet, we were holding hands, like lovers, and she kissed me, something she had not done for ages. And then she smiled and said that my sorry excuse of a dick penetrating her pussy did nothing for her compared to the sheer pleasure she gets from looking at it in a cage so small that I can't get hard and that therefore I will never have an orgasm again..."
I urged him to stand up, pulled his black suit trousers down and made him step out of them.
Slightly annoyed he continued, "That evening, she came to my bed and asked me to eat her out, and I gave my best and she came in a way I had never before experienced. Afterwards, she held me in her arms and told me, 'You see, sweetheart? I've let you perform the fundamental male role - that of bringing a woman to ecstasy - even though your penis is completely inadequate to the task. You should be grateful that I've shown you how useless your dick is. There is no need for you to have an orgasm to satisfy my needs. I'm sure you do not mind that useless thing locked away forever...'"
I took off his suit jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, let it fall to the ground - and there he stood, naked, hands limply at his sides, his black chastity device the center of attention.
"Since then I've stayed caged. She lets me out now and then to clean my dick and to rub some lotion into my skin, for hygienic reasons, but only under strict supervision. Apart from that I'm denied. I can't even get an erection. That's what really turns her on: denying me to get off."
I took a step back. "And she?"
"She'll ride a cock or two each week, if for base physical pleasure or just to show me she can do it - who knows? She tells me that she gets off more on knowing I'm home waiting for her all locked up and that I will never have an orgasm again simply because it pushes her buttons to keep me denied than from all her lover's gyrections."
By now he was almost sobbing. Waves of self-pity washed over him. I took him by the hand, led him to the bedroom, pushed him onto the bed and whispered in his ear, "Oh my poor boy... Such a mean Mistress.." I embraced him and kissed him softly. The device pushed against my belly. I smelled his sweat and my juices - or better, the juices of the guys he had made me fuck...
The phone interrupted us with another message. He winced, wriggled himself free and started to read. I watched incredulously as his shoulders slacked in an oddly defeated pose. After a long silence, he threw the phone on the bed, fell back on the pillows and continued as if nothing had happened, "That's not all. She found more ways to humiliate me. She makes me go hunting for young girls, tells me to seduce them, to manipulate them into getting fucked by other men, with me watching. She says when I see how they're getting filled up by other guys, knowing that I will never again be allowed to shoot my load, I will regret that I have cheated on her so often and understand how she had felt back then..."
I grabbed the phone. The message was still on the screen. It read, "Cool pictures hubby... I hope you had fun watching that slut fuck around... But now, I want you to slobber and slurp. Clean her up. That's all you're good for... "
He tried to kissed me. I pushed him back, but he was not to be discouraged. "Yes, it was her, she's in touch with me all the time. She has seen all of your pictures and now she orders me to lick you clean. For me that's what adultery consists of: coaxing unsuspecting girls into getting fucked by as many guys as possible, and then to lick them clean... tasting and swallowing the other guys' spunk, knowing that I'm not allowed to cum, least of all in one of these girls' willing fuck holes..." With this he moved down to my overflowing pussy...
While I enjoyed his tongue, something Ben had told me drifted into my mind. I had not paid heed to it back then, maybe I should have, maybe things would have gone differently with the BF. Ben had said that submissive males don’t really like punishments. They only love that the mistress has the power to punish and discipline them. It makes them feel enslaved and committed to obey their powerful mistress who holds the whip. But, he had added, when a Mistress uses the whip for real, he will become more submissive and obedient. He will respect her and the power she has even more. Justin's wife had used the whip for real.
Despite my fatigue, he stirred strange feelings in my over-utilized pussy. I decided to take advantage of his eagerness and grabbed his hair. He reacted by licking me with even more enthusiasm, enhanced vigorousness and renewed commitment and I reacted by feeling good and when I was close I made him decelerate, just long enough for me not to cum, and felt better, and then I made him speed up again until I was close and after the third edge I felt more than better and passed the threshold and came for the umpteenth time during this evening... I had long lost count of the number of my orgasms...
He pulled the duvet over my naked body, snuggled against me, whispered, "We are like ships that pass in the night. We see each other, but we never meet. We are doomed to stay alone..." and slept. I could not sleep. I kept thinking that he might be right, but that I did not want to stay alone forever. That night, I made myself a solemn vow that I would change that.
The flight back the next day was uneventful. We were both tired and taciturn. From Tegel airport, I took a bus home. I had just passed the Beuselstrasse bus stop when my phone rung with a text message. It was the complete verse from the poem he had quoted the night before.
Quote:
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
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I entered it in my search engine and found that it was an excerpt from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "Tales of a Wayside Inn", written in 1874.