Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth - Sex Stories

Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth

... swell of my dicklet forcing the cage away from my body, the back-ring tugging at my balls, tightening them, the flesh darkening from pale to blue. I adjusted, steel now warm, my cock flesh angry red and squeezing through the tip of the cage like a clit, my foreskin pulling back like a hood.

I grabbed at the cage and jacked at it, trying to stimulate my cock, desperate to resolve the need, the maddening need, but nothing but the hardness of steel and the near frictionless slide against my dicklet.

Fuck. I felt nothing. Fuck.

My dicklet dripped precum. I dabbed at the angry-red tip with my finger and shuddered at the near painful sensation. That was something. I sucked at my finger, the taste salt and sweet but now craving more, now needing this. I wet my finger with drool and worked at the tip of my dicklet, fingers swirling across the nub as if it were a clit, hips thrusting as if to increase pressure, as if to create friction.

Fuck. But needing more, more to tip me over, more to get me off, the pressure and tightness and pinch of the cage counteracting any suggestion of pleasure.

I thought to call Sarah, I thought to say that this is enough, I thought to say that this is too much.

But I'd promised. Whatever it takes. That's what I'd said. I'd promised and to turn away from that, to turn that promise in on itself, threatened everything and more.

That afternoon passed in a blur. The need lingering, the need ebbing, the need surging, the need forever ...

... there but with no resolution. The weight of the cage a constant reminder, tugging at my dicklet, pinching at my dicklet, tightening against my dicklet. The world fogged, obscured, distorted and I at the centre of it all.

It was too much. Yes, I'd promised. But not this, no, not this.

I arrived home intending to ask Sarah to remove the cage. Whatever the outcome, whatever the consequence, this needed to end.

Instead, I found her waiting for me.

'Jesus,' I said.

Sarah, red dress, moulded tight against every dip and swell and curve. I'd always wanted her to wear red, I'd always wanted this for her, but she would not.

'I'd feel slutty,' she'd say, with a blush.

Only this dress cut short, two inches, perhaps three, below her pantie line, the suggestion of more each and every time she moved. The milk-white curve of her breasts accentuated by the cut of the chest. Her finger, her long finger, wedding ring sparkling, tugged at the silver chain. She tugged and the key, the small key, lifted and then sank back between the deep valley of her tits.

'Well?' she asked.

'You look perfect,' I said.

In the bedroom she watched me undress. She tugged at my balls with her left hand and pawed at the cage, now a sticky mess, with her right.

'This will never do,' she said, holding her palm against my mouth. I lapped at it, the bitter taste causing my dicklet to twitch. 'Go clean up,' she said, 'I'll pick you out something to wear.'

I emerged from the shower to find ...