I felt the weight of the evening pressing down on me from the start, the air in our spacious suburban home thick with the scent of gourmet food—truffle sauce mingling with the sharp tang of fine red wine—and the subtle perfumes of the women: Moira’s signature vanilla and musk, Lisa’s crisp citrus, Tara’s sweet floral notes, and Sophia’s warm spice. The crystal chandeliers overhead cast a warm, golden glow across the polished hardwood floors, making everything feel deceptively elegant, while the sheer curtains on the tall windows fluttered slightly in the air-conditioned breeze, offering a false veil of privacy. At 35, I’m lean and unassuming, with short brown hair and soft blue eyes that I knew were already betraying my anxiety. I moved through the room in my button-down shirt and slacks, playing the perfect host, refilling champagne glasses that bubbled effervescently, their cold fizz tickling my fingers. But beneath it all, the steel chastity cage locked around my cock for three unrelenting weeks dug into my skin with every step, a cold, unyielding pressure that sent dull throbs of frustration through me. God, why does this turn me on even as it hurts? Moira owns me completely, and I hate how much I crave it.
Moira, my 32-year-old wife, was the radiant centre of everything, her fiery red curls cascading like silk over her porcelain shoulders, framing those full crimson lips that curved in a knowing smile and her piercing emerald eyes that sparkled with that familiar dominant mischief. The emerald cocktail dress she wore clung like a second skin to her voluptuous curves—her narrow waist, wide swaying hips that I could hear whispering against the fabric with every movement, and her generous, perfectly rounded breasts straining against the plunging neckline, rising and falling with her breath. Nestled deep in the warm, soft valley of her cleavage, on a delicate silver chain that brushed her skin, dangled the tiny key to my cage, glinting mockingly in the light. Every time I see that key, my stomach knots; it’s her power over me, dangling right there, so close yet untouchable.
She’d invited her three closest friends: Lisa, tall and sharp-tongued, her sleek black sheath dress rustling softly as she crossed her endless legs; Tara, petite and bubbly, her flirty short skirt swishing with her animated gestures and her silk blouse shimmering under the lights; and Sophia, sultry and curvaceous, her red dress hugging her full hips and heavy breasts, the fabric stretching with a faint creak as she leaned forward. To make the night feel more upscale, Moira had hired caterers: two athletic young male waiters. One tall and blond with a perpetual smirk that made my skin crawl, the other shorter and dark-haired with watchful eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. Both in crisp black uniforms that smelled faintly of starch, and a stern female chef in a white coat, her movements efficient as she directed from the open kitchen island, the clatter of plates and utensils punctuating the air.
Champagne flowed, its bubbles popping lightly against my tongue when I snuck a sip, and the gourmet meal unfolded—the succulent filet mignon juicy and savoury, the truffle sauce earthy and rich, paired with fine wines that left a velvety warmth in my chest. The women lounged on the deep burgundy sectional, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings as the conversation inevitably turned intimate. I hovered nearby, the cage shifting uncomfortably with every refill, the cold metal warming slightly against my skin from my growing arousal.
“You know, ladies,” Moira said, swirling her cabernet—the glass clinking softly against her ring—with a satisfied smile, “I’m truly spoiled. Kevin is the most pliable husband imaginable. Tell him to do anything—literally anything—and he obeys instantly. No hesitation, no backtalk.”
As Moira boasted about my obedience, the words landed on me like hot wax. She’s offering me up again. I don’t know what’s coming but I know how she thinks…
Lisa arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Anything? That’s a bold claim.”
Tara’s eyes lit up. “Then prove it. Make him do something outrageous.”
Sophia leaned forward, her dark waves falling over her shoulder with a soft rustle. “Something deliciously humiliating. Have him strip naked for us—right here, right now.”
Tara gasped in delight. “Yes! I need to see if he’s really that obedient.”
Lisa smirked. “Come on, Moira. Test him.”
Moira’s throaty laugh filled the room like velvet, sending a shiver down my spine. She toyed with the key in her cleavage, the chain tinkling faintly against her skin. “Strip naked? In front of you three… and our caterers?” She glanced at me by the fireplace, where the flames crackled warmly and almost giggled. “That would certainly be a demonstration.”
Tara bounced on the sofa, the cushions sighing under her. “Exactly! Tell him.”
Sophia nodded eagerly. “Please.”
Moira’s gaze locked onto me, her eyes like emeralds cutting through me. “What do you think, pet? Shall I make you strip for my friends?”
My throat tightened, the air suddenly thick and hard to breathe. “Moira… please. Not with everyone here. The caterers—” My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears.
Lisa cut in, grinning. “Already protesting. Makes it better.”
Tara giggled, the sound light and teasing. “Come on, Kevin. Your wife says you’ll do anything. Prove it.”
Moira’s voice turned to steel wrapped in velvet. “Kevin. Come here.”
I crossed the room slowly, my pulse hammering in my ears, the hardwood cool under my shoes. The caterers paused, the clink of plates stopping as they watched openly, the air now charged with anticipation.
“My friends want proof of your obedience,” Moira said. “So you’re going to strip. Everything off—shirt, pants, underwear. Fold each piece neatly on the coffee table.”
My face burned scarlet, heat flooding my cheeks like fire. “Moira, please… not in front of them. It’s too humiliating.” Even as I say it, I feel myself stirring in the cage, tightening cruelly, the ring biting into the base of my cock. I’m begging, and I’m getting harder. Why does her command make me ache like this? I’m terrified, but part of me wants to obey, to see that approval in her eyes. They’re going to see everything
Her emerald eyes narrowed. “You will strip right now, or I’ll add a full extra month to your lock-up. Maybe two. Picture four—or five—more weeks with that cage squeezing you every time you get aroused. Your choice.”
If I refuse, that extra month… I can’t handle it. The cage is already torture.
The room fell silent except for the soft crackle of the fireplace. I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I began unbuttoning my shirt. One by one, the buttons gave way, the fabric whispering apart to reveal my smooth chest, the cool air raising goosebumps on my skin; my nipples stiffened painfully. I shrugged the shirt off, folded it precisely, the cotton still warm from my body and placed it on the glass coffee table with a soft thud. My belt buckle clinked loudly in the quiet room; pants slid down my legs with a rustle, exposing my trembling thighs to the chilled air. I stepped out, folded them, and added them to the pile.
“Leave the socks on; you know how ridiculously endearing that makes you look.”
Finally, with a deep breath that did nothing to steady me, I pushed my boxer briefs down, the elastic snapping lightly against my skin as I bared the gleaming steel chastity cage that confined my cock. I left the black dress socks on as ordered, the wool itchy against my calves, the absurdity drawing immediate giggles from Tara—like tinkling bells—and a low whistle from Sophia that cut through me. Standing there fully exposed, I felt the air caress every inch of my bare skin, my nipples hardening painfully, the weight of their stares like physical touches.
I’m naked in my own living room. The hardwood is cold under my soles. Everyone’s eyes are burning holes in me. And I’m leaking.
Tara pointed first. “Oh my God, look at that cage. It’s completely packed. He’s swollen against every bar, and there’s a drop of pre-cum leaking out the tip.”
Lisa leaned closer, her breath audible. “He begged not to strip, but he’s clearly turned on out of his mind.”
Sophia laughed richly, the sound vibrating in the air. “His body is screaming how much he loves this.”
Moira rose and circled me slowly, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood, her perfume enveloping me like a cloud. “Exactly. All that protesting, and one simple command has him desperately hard in his little prison. Pathetic… and utterly perfect.”
She’s right. I’m throbbing in this thing, the metal pinching my swollen flesh. Does their laughter make it worse… or better?
For the next twenty minutes, I remained stark naked while the evening dragged on in excruciating sensory overload. The caterers cleared the dessert plates with clattering efficiency, the scent of chocolate lingering, and refilled liqueurs—the glasses chiming as they poured amber liquid that burned sweetly in the air. They moved slowly, their eyes lingering on me without shame, the blond one’s smirk making my skin flush hotter. Moira made me fetch napkins when asked, the paper crinkling in my hands as I bent over, feeling the air brush my exposed ass; adjust coasters on the table with a soft clink; and stand still while she ordered me to turn slowly, the floor creaking under my socked feet so her friends could “admire the full view.” Light, teasing touches grazed my skin. Lisa’s manicured nail tracing a circle on my hip, leaving a trail of fire; Sophia giving my caged balls a playful flick that stung sharply, making me gasp and twitch, the pain shooting through me like electricity. The women chatted casually about holidays and restaurants, their voices a melodic hum treating me as if I were just background decoration, occasionally tossing out idle comments: “His nipples are still rock hard,” or “That cage looks even tighter now, bet it hurts.” The blond waiter smirked every time he passed by, his cologne—a sharp, masculine scent—wafting over me; the chef watched with folded arms and a faint, approving smile, her white coat rustling. My arousal only intensified, the cage biting painfully into my swollen flesh, another bead of pre-cum forming and dripping slightly, warm and sticky against my thigh.
Why does this make me leak more? I’m nothing but their plaything.
Eventually, as their glasses neared empty, the clink of ice shifting, the conversation lulled, and Sophia stretched languidly, the fabric of her dress sighing, fixing her dark eyes on my groin. “Dios, it’s been twenty minutes, and that poor cock is still throbbing in there. The skin around the bars is red—he must be aching terribly.”
Lisa nodded, her voice breathy. “Unlock him, Moira. Let it breathe. We’ve seen the cage; now we want the real show.”
Tara grinned eagerly. “Oh. Yes, please!”
Moira gave a soft, knowing laugh that vibrated through me, tracing the key in her cleavage with a finger that made the chain tinkle. “Oh no, ladies. If I unlock him now, that cock will spring straight up—rock hard in seconds. And after three weeks locked, plus all this teasing? He won’t be able to keep his hands off it. He’ll start stroking himself like a desperate animal before he can stop.”
The room stilled for a beat, the tension thick like humidity.
Then Tara’s eyes lit with wicked delight. “Wait… that would be incredible to watch. Him completely losing control, pumping away right in front of us? Come on, Moira. That’s the hottest part… make him do it.”
Sophia and Lisa added enthusiastic agreement, their voices overlapping in excitement.
They were really going to make me jerk off in front of everyone. My legs are shaking.
Moira pretended to hesitate, biting her crimson lip, then shrugged with a predatory smile that made my knees weak. “Well… since you all insist.”
She rose, her heels clicking across the floor like a countdown, and approached me, her perfume enveloping me again as she drew close. The caterers edged closer, their breaths audible, openly spectating. Moira drew the key slowly from its warm nest between her breasts, letting the chain slide sensuously over her skin with a faint whisper. She knelt just enough for her dress to ride up her thighs—the fabric stretching taut—and inserted the key, turning it deliberately with a metallic click that echoed in my ears.
The cage fell into her palm with a soft clatter.
My cock surged forward instantly—fully erect, veins pulsing hotly, head flushed dark and slick with pre-cum that gleamed under the lights. It bobbed desperately in the open air, the sudden freedom making it throb with painful intensity.
Moira stepped back, her heels retreating. “There. Just as I predicted.”
She let the silence linger, the air heavy with expectation, then commanded, “Now, pet—stroke it for us. Slowly at first. Show everyone exactly how incapable you are of keeping your hands off yourself.”
My hand closed around hot, velvet-smooth flesh. The first stroke drew a helpless groan from my throat; pre-cum coated my palm instantly, making each slide slick and loud in the quiet room. Their voices urged me on—breathy, mocking, delighted. The scent of my own arousal mixed with the room’s heavier notes of wine and perfume. Friction built fast, skin sliding over swollen head, balls drawing tight.
“Faster,” from Tara, her voice husky;
“Look how desperate,” from Lisa, sharp and mocking;
“He’s leaking even more,” from Sophia, rich and amused.
I can’t stop. It’s too much, the build-up, their eyes on me. I’m humiliating myself, but it feels so good.
When Moira finally granted permission. Her voice like silk. “Cum for us now.”
My strokes grew frantic under the women’s teasing encouragement until release crashed through me like a wave—thick, hot ropes splattering my stomach, thighs, even the floor with wet, obscene sounds. The aftershocks left me trembling, cum cooling rapidly on my skin. I erupted in thick, desperate ropes across my stomach and thighs, the hot splatters landing with wet slaps, amid delighted laughter, cheers, and applause that rang in my ears.
Breathless and shaking, my legs wobbling, I remained on display as Moira calmly wiped me down with a napkin—the rough paper scraping my sensitive skin. Then relocked the cage over my softening, sticky cock with another decisive click, tucking the key back between her breasts where it nestled warm and secure.
But the night was far from over, the air now thick with the scent of arousal; musky and heady.
As I knelt there, spent and humiliated, my knees aching against the hardwood, the conversation shifted seamlessly. Tara sighed dreamily, her breath still ragged. “God, Moira, you’re so lucky—being a hotwife, free to fuck anyone you choose while he stays locked and obedient.”
Lisa nodded, her voice low. “Must be incredibly liberating. No jealousy, just pure pleasure.”
Sophia grinned, her lips glistening. “So. Who’s next on your list?”
Moira’s gaze drifted to the tall blond waiter stacking glasses nearby, the clink echoing, his athletic frame straining his uniform that now carried the faint sweat of the room. “Actually… I’ve got my eye on one right now.” She beckoned him with a sultry curl of her finger. “You. The blond one. Come here.”
He approached, his smirk deepening, his cologne cutting through the air. “Yes, ma’am?”
Moira trailed a finger down his chest, the button popping slightly. “How about some real after-dinner entertainment? All three of you,” she added, glancing at the dark-haired waiter and the chef, whose stern expression had melted into intrigued hunger, her white coat already unbuttoned.
The room exploded into raw, unrestrained lust, the sounds overwhelming—zippers rasping, fabric tearing, gasps and moans rising like a symphony.
Clothes were torn away in seconds, the air filling with the rustle of silk and cotton hitting the floor. The blond waiter shoved Moira back onto the sectional. The cushions whooshing under her weight. Yanking her dress up to her waist with a rip and tearing her lace panties aside, the fabric snapped. His thick, veiny cock, already rock-hard and throbbing, slammed into her dripping pussy in one brutal thrust, the wet squelch audible. Moira cried out sharply, her back arching, legs locking around his hips as he pounded her mercilessly, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin echoing. Her heavy breasts spilled from the dress, nipples stiff and pink; he mauled them roughly, pinching and twisting with calloused fingers while she clawed his back, nails leaving red trails, moaning filthily. “Fuck me harder. Give my husband a real show.” Wet slapping sounds filled the room as her juices coated his shaft, dripping down her ass onto the leather with sticky plops.
Tara, meanwhile, straddled the dark-haired waiter on the thick rug. She sank onto his rigid cock with a gasp, her tight pussy stretching around him visibly, the veins on his shaft pulsing as she rode reverse cowgirl. Her short skirt bunched at her waist, ass bouncing hypnotically with fleshy smacks while his hands gripped her hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. “Yes. Fill me up,” she begged, grinding her clit against his balls, the musky scent rising, until he growled and thrust upward, slamming deep with grunts. Soon he flipped her onto all fours, fucking her doggy-style, balls slapping her swollen clit wetly until she screamed through her first orgasm, her pussy clenching around him visibly, juices squirting lightly.
Lisa and Sophia tangled with the chef, who shed her coat with a whoosh to reveal toned arms and a thick, black strap-on already harnessed…
Where did that come from? Was it in her bag? Under the coat the whole time? These thoughts flickered through my mind amid the chaos, before being dismissed as frankly irrelevant right now.
She bent Lisa over the arm of the sofa first, the leather creaking. Spitting on the silicone cock with a wet glob before driving it into Lisa’s soaked cunt from behind, the intrusion making a slick, sucking sound. Lisa’s long legs trembled, her heels scraping the floor as the chef fucked her hard and deep, one hand fisting Lisa’s hair with a yank, the other reaching around to rub her clit in furious circles. Sophia knelt in front, feeding Lisa her wet pussy. The scent pungent and arousing, Lisa’s tongue lapped eagerly, slurping audibly while the chef switched to Sophia, pounding her against the wall with thudding impacts until Sophia squirted in shuddering waves, hot liquid splashing down her thighs and onto the floor.
I, freshly relocked and throbbing uselessly in my cage, the metal now slick with my own dried cum, was ordered to the corner. “Sit and watch, pet,” Moira panted, impaled on the blond’s cock, her voice breathy and broken.
The humiliation seared me like hot coals as I witnessed every detail; Moira’s face twisted in ecstasy, sweat beading on her forehead, her pussy stretched wide around the thick shaft, creamy arousal frothing at the base with every thrust, the scent of her wetness filling the air; Tara’s petite body shuddering through multiple orgasms, her cries high-pitched; Sophia’s juices spraying as the chef railed her, the liquid warm and sticky on the hardwood.
The group swapped freely, bodies slick with sweat. The blond pulled out of Moira, his cock glistening with her cream and throbbing, and fed it to Lisa’s eager mouth. She sucked with wet, slurping sounds while the dark-haired waiter took Moira from behind, slamming into her used pussy with grunts until she came again, screaming his name, her body convulsing.
Orgasms cascaded like waves: the dark-haired waiter groaning low as he flooded Tara’s tight pussy with thick, hot cum that overflowed in white rivulets; the blond pulling out of Lisa’s throat, her saliva dripping, to paint Moira’s tits and face with ropes of seed, sticky and warm, before plunging back inside her to finish deep, pumping her full with pulsing jets; the chef making both Lisa and Sophia squirt in turn, their cries mingling with the wet splashes.
Finally, as the blond waiter roared and unloaded pulse after pulse of cum deep in Moira’s spasming cunt, the overflow trickling down her thighs, she locked eyes with me, her gaze hazy with pleasure. “Come here, pet. Cleanup time.”
I crawled forward on trembling knees, the hardwood rough and unyielding, the mingled scents of sweat, cum, and arousal overwhelming. Moira guided me first to Tara, who lay sprawled and leaking, her pussy red and swollen. “Offer your tongue to my friend. Be a good little cleanup tool.”
Tara spread wider, laughing breathlessly, her skin flushed and damp. “Oh yes! Lick every drop out of me, Kevin.”
I buried my face between her thighs, the heat radiating from her, my tongue delving into her swollen, cum-filled pussy, lapping the salty, thick load mixed with her sweet, tangy juices. The taste was overwhelming, bitter, musky, viscous, but I swallowed obediently as the group watched and cheered, their laughter ringing in my ears.
This was rock bottom. Tasting another man’s cum from her friend. But for Moira… I’d do anything.
Moira pulled me next to her own dripping folds, her scent stronger, more familiar. “Now me. Clean your wife properly.”
I plunged my tongue deep, the warmth enveloping me, scooping out the blond waiter’s massive creampie. Rope after rope of hot seed that oozed from her stretched hole, thick and creamy on my tongue. Moira stroked my hair, her fingers gentle yet possessive, cooing, “Good boy. Swallow it all. This is your place—locked, denied, tasting what real men leave inside me.”
The orgy continued well into the night—new positions with grunts and moans, more loads deposited with wet spurts, more cleanup duties for my eager, humiliated tongue as the air grew heavier with exhaustion and satisfaction. The key swayed between Moira’s sweat-slick breasts, a constant, gleaming reminder of my exquisite, unrelenting submission.
How did I end up here? And why do I never want it to stop?
