Morning
It wasn't until morning when your wife finally came upstairs to the guest room, found you sitting naked on the edge of the bed, tired, anxious, irritated, horny, scared, sore.
He was only supposed to stop by for a quick fuck, but fifteen hours later, he finally left.
"Honey," she said softly when she entered the room.
"Angela, what the fuck?" you demanded.
She looked down, looked between your legs, saw your chastity cage twitching, saw you blue tinted balls. "You've been swollen the whole time?" she asked softly.
"It was just supposed to be an hour or two," you said, "did you forget about me?"
"He...I mean...he didn't want to leave; I couldn't just kick him out," she said. "Like every time he finished he, I don't know, he just kept going."
"You...he...you did it more than once?"
She looked down. "Like...like four times," she said. "Just after he sent you up here, a couple of hours later, at midnight, and..." She moved to the window sill, sat, leaned back, "and just before he left."
You looked at her, naked but for nude thigh highs, looked at her thighs, her pussy, saw a sheen, crust, matted hair. "When...when did he leave?"
She shrugged. "Five minutes ago," she said.
She saw it in your eyes, the knowing look, saw your irritation flow away at the realization her lover had cum in her four times, the last time just minutes ago. "Angela," you moaned.
"It's all yours now," she said moving her feet apart, exposing her pussy. "Be a good boy and crawl over here."
You slipped to the floor, part of you wishing you were him, wishing you were not caged, wishing you got to fuck her just once, hardly understanding what it would be like to do it again and again all in one night. But another part of you knew the cage only served to enhance a moment like this, that without it you'd have jerked off and never wanted to do what you so desperately craved in that moment.
Comments
Post a Comment