The Cuckold & The Cuckoldress

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

I drive with heed, finding clumsiness in shifting gears. The mass of steel between my thighs is felt, more so when working the clutch. Mrs. Larson informed that I would acclimate... in a few weeks. That in time I would accept my chastity... a tribute to the women in charge. That I would soon understand the beta male’s sacrifice, mentally and emotionally acknowledge... concede... that superior women prefer the attention of the alpha male.

How many has she locked in chastity?

Yes, I am pierced... a Prince Albert piercing well down from my urethral opening. But no ring. Instead the steel tube, the inserted end slightly bulbous and most aggravating, was slipped into my well iced and thankfully benumbed p***s and the one inch post thrust through my new opening. In twisting it is secured within my urethra to the tube, assuring it is not to slide out or be removed. Next deft fingers slipped a very tight... obviously well measured... ring over my p***s and scrotum. It resides pressed to my pubes bone. The steel mesh of the cockcage then encased my p***s and was locked to the ring. For good measure, assuring both inescape and flaccidity, the post, protruding through a small opening in the mesh, was padlocked as well.

Overall, Mrs. Larson’s nimble efforts resulted in locked wrist bands, locked ankle bands and a well locked p***s.

Bringing more dismay, the key to the many locks was handed to Johnny. He now presides over my maleness. Still I console myself in noting that while clothed, no one will know that I can be placed in instant bondage and that my manhood is under another’s control. My employment, sales efforts, though dismal, may continue.

In thought, it dawns that wife Linda cannot offer the mercy of release, the steel configuration ineluctable without the key. That brings distress. For some reason I had always hoped that once again I would be permitted to please her... as a man. Now it will not happen... cannot happen... not on my terms... and certainly not spontaneously.

I become retrospective, recalling our conversation, our discussion, that which served as the catalyst for all this. It’s over coffee, Saturday morning, when the pressures of a busy week’s labor have lifted...