The Sultan, the Slave, and the Eunuch

I walked into the bedroom, saw my wife's costume, knew my eyes went wide, knew I didn't control my reaction.

"What?" she looked at me.

"N...nothing," I said, promising myself I wouldn't get overtly jealous and ruin everything.

"You don't like my costume?"

"I...it's...it's pretty," I said, "what...what's he going as?" 

He was my wife's boyfriend; they were going to his office Halloween party.

"A sultan," she said, "I'm his harem slave, of course."

"Of course," I swallowed.

"Do you like it or not?" she asked.

"P...people will...will assume..."

"We're sleeping together...yes...we are."

"I...I was going to say dating," I said.

"We're doing that, too," she said. "Kind of the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing."

"Y...yea," I said

"So..."

"So?"

"Do you like it?

I thought of him with her at the party, role playing her as his slave. Her body exposed, on display; him casually touching her. I felt the jealousy, the arousal. "Y...yes," I said, voice shaking.

She undid the cuff on her right hand, held it out towards me. "Here," she said.

"W...what?" I asked.

"Eunuch's take care of the harem slaves," she said. "He'll be here in a minute, you can had me over to him."

I saw her eyes flash down to my mid-section when she said 'eunuch', felt my penis swell in the cage I wore, the cage I'd worn for the last month. "Elizabeth," I said.

She shrugged, not cruel, just an acknowledgment of reality. "Play the role, sweetie, you know it makes you feel."