The Key

The Key - 2


The key to my cage wasn't the only way Charles had chosen to cuckold me. He convinced Amanda that he should have his own key to our house. It was a Sunday afternoon when he and Amanda sat me down in our living room and told me. Charles sat beside her on our sofa and explained his request as though it was something I should have expected. It wasn't.

"It'll make things easier for all of us," he told me. "I can be with Amanda whenever I want, or whenever she wants me, and we won't have to find a hotel after a night out. You'll never have to worry about her safety or where she is all night. It'll be a favor to you, really."

"But, people will see you together when you take her out, won't they?" I asked. "Are you promising that will stop as long as you can keep things private here?"

"Of course not," Charles explained. "We'll still go out on our weekly 'dates'. Amanda loves the fine dining and nightlife. It wouldn't be fair to her. You wouldn't want to deprive her of the things she loves, would you?"

I couldn't help imagining her in the scandalous dresses she wore for him, her arm in his as he paraded her here and there through the city like a trophy. Everyone would see them together. Everyone would suspect. Our friends, neighbors, the people I worked with - they'd all assume he's fucking my wife. I imagined Amanda there beside him, her delicious body irresistible, her face glowing, and though unseen to others, her cunt dripping in anticipation for the end of the evening when he'd slide his immense cock inside her and she'd cum for him, over, and over, and over.

"But, what will I tell people?" I asked, nervously. "The other managers at work will all know. What will I say to them when they see you and Amanda together? I have to work with these people. How will I face them every day?"

Charles put his hand on Amanda's knee and moved the hem of her cotton dress higher as he spoke to me. She glanced at me, then watched his fingers trail along the inside of her bare thigh. Her dress was nearly at her waist when she moved her legs apart and his finger began to stroke the dampening crease of her panties. I heard her take a sudden, halting breath, then saw the corners of her wide mouth rise in a shivering, shy, helpless smile.

"The people you're so concerned about know who I am, what I do. They won't say a thing. They won't act any differently toward you. Why? Because they'll do anything to protect the extravagant lifestyles I provide. And, I've had their wives, every one of them. And believe it or not, they let me have them, without a hint of objection. Oh, and their wives, well, I can assure you, they have absolutely no objection either. I'm no longer surprised at how so many neglected wives dream of a cock like mine and greedily accept it while their limp-dicked, overworked husbands slave away just to please me. I'm sure you know the feeling - well, you do now."

I shouldn't have been surprised at what he told me. His reputation as a player, as a wife-fucker, was legendary. But had I neglected Amanda? Had I spent too many hours at work and too few satisfying her in our bed? Had I missed his perverted interest in her early on? Had I taken for granted the attention men constantly showered on her and carelessly assumed he was just one of many envious admirers?

"So, what happens now?" I asked. "Do we just go on like this, you and Amanda fucking while I stand by trapped in this cage thing? Does it ever end? When will making me wear this thing night and day end?"

"What happens now is up to you," he told me. "How willing are you to behave? To do what you're told? Without question?"

Amanda struggled to appear calm while his fingers pried aside the narrow strip of panties and began to milk her clit with maddening precision. She had spread her knees with her legs splayed; I could openly see her wet center and engorged clit and labia. Her head was turned away from me, her eyes closed, her breathing even and deep.

"And if I don't?" I asked. "If I refuse and go to the board with the truth about your little wife-fucking game?"

He just grinned at me, still busy between Amanda's legs. "Fine. Go ahead. Make it public. Let everyone know how much your wife loves my cock. I have pictures to prove it. And you'll probably never work again, at least not for any of the businesses where I have any influence, and there are quite a few. Meanwhile, the life you've provided for Amanda, the privileged one she's grown to love, will vanish. Maybe then she'd be happier with someone like me - someone with money and a big cock. Would you like that, Amanda?"

She was panting, still looking away from me, when she moaned, "Unh..Unh..Unh.." She was so utterly in heat, her breasts rising and falling as though she struggled to take in the air she needed to go on.

"I'm not sure that was a 'yes', but I'll let you imagine it was," he suggested. "She's always so delirious while she's coming. Have you found that to be true? Or, maybe not..."

In the moment, I couldn't see a way out. He had obliterated every option I could think of, except one.

"If I agree?" I offered. "To have you do what you want with her? And to 'behave'?"

"Then I take your sweet wife upstairs to your bed, just as I'll so immensely enjoy from now on, and fuck her senseless as you sit here and ponder your successful future with me. But I would like an additional favor from you first. As an offer of your willing participation in our little threesome, why don't you strip her before Amanda and I go to bed? You'd like that, wouldn't you, Amanda? Witnessing your husband's eagerness to let you have my cock in you again?"

Then she was standing before me, her body trembling, head bowed with her green eyes hidden from sight.

"Now Amanda, be a good girl," he said. "Tell your husband what you want."

Her words were quiet but clear. "Do what he says. Strip me."

The light cotton dress slid from her body after I unfastened the last button, and she stepped out of it. Her breasts fell free, round and heavy, as I unhooked the clasps of her bra and pulled the straps from her delicate shoulders. I had never imagined stripping Amanda naked for another man. It was as though I was his servant, ****** to prepare her for some yet unseen act of depravity. The sleek lines of her naked body never failed to get me hard, and the cage dug into me as I stood there beside her waiting for his final approval.

"I'm curious," he told me, finally. "Do you expect me to fuck your wife with her panties on? Is that how you fuck her?"

Surrendering all hope of escaping my final humiliation, I began to lower her panties, at first over her round little ass, then down along her thighs.

"No no no, man! Show a little respect, will you? On your knees, from the back, so I can see what I own now. You know? That part of your wife that I own? What is it? Tell me!"

I wasn't to be spared anything, even the gut-wrenching admission that I had no choice other than to offer him Amanda's body, piece by piece.

"Her pussy," I told him, burning with shame. "You own her pussy."

"Then show me what I own. Be a good husband. Strip her naked for me, then beg me to fuck her. And make it sound like you mean it."

I could feel the heat pour from her body as I lowered the panties down her legs, then over her bare feet as she stepped out of them. Her slim thighs were parted just enough for me to see between them, her swollen, juicy cunt open and hungry for cock. I wanted to touch her there, to put just a single finger between her sopping pussy lips and enter her before he put his cock in her. I told myself even that would be some consolation, to enter my wife however briefly before he did - to feel her clenching pussy around my finger and know it was me who excited her first. But would I dare take the chance, there on my knees before the man who could ruin us?

"Amanda and I are waiting to hear you beg," he warned. "I'm sure it's frustrating for her, waiting here impatiently for my cock while her husband keeps her from it. We need to hear you beg!"

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll do it." The words stuck in my throat with consuming, helpless surrender.

"P-please, fuck my wife."

"That doesn't sound very convincing to me," he said. "We need to hear you beg like the life you now know depends on it."

"Please, please fuck my wife! Please fuck Amanda! I want you to - I really do! Please!"

"Did you hear that, Amanda?" he asked, leering at her naked breasts and pussy. "Do you think he's sincere? That he wants my cock in you? Upstairs in your bed? Any time I want you?"

She lifted her eyes to meet his when she answered. "I do. I do, Charles."

Her words sounded almost like marriage vows. Words so soft and certain, words that made her pussy drip as I stared between her legs on my knees behind her.

I stood, and he took her hand and led her to the stairs. He stopped her there while he whispered in her ear. Then she turned toward me, her delicious body on display, so warm and inviting under the dimmed overhead lights.

"I do want him to fuck me," she promised. "I want you to know that. I love his big cock. You have to let me have it now. You have to. You have no choice."

I told myself he had made her say those things, that in her heart she was still mine. I told myself his huge cock couldn't take her from me, that she'd still love me, still be my wife, in spite of the sex she now craved with him. But his hands were on her as they climbed the stairs - on her tits and ass, his fingers bunched together and thrust up inside her. And then her breathless response, "Oh Charles, Oh God, yes, Charles..."

I had never heard the sounds Amanda made before as I listened for hours at the foot of the stairs. At first there were the familiar moans, then guttural animal sounds that finally became shrieking obscenities. Then came her desperate begging for more, more of his "amazing fucking cock" that filled the house with no concern that I night overhear. Her shrieking would rattle me again soon after, sounds that made me imagine his cock so impossibly large that she was barely able to take it. Finally, it was his growls and grunts that assured me he was filling Amanda with unending jets of semen that would pool inside her until morning. Leaving his sperm in Amanda long after he departed was his ultimate claim to her, his certain reminder to me that her pussy was his alone now - that I had no rights to it at all. She may still be my wife, but as long as I was caged, sex with Charles would be the only sex she'd want or need. And Charles would see to it that she needed it more often than I ever imagined.

And yet, while I waited through the night for him to use Amanda, hour after hour, my erection returned again and again inside the cage. Images filled my mind of his cock stretching her, filling her to depths she had never known. I'd imagine her long legs wrapped around him, her hands gliding over his chest and arms as he plunged into her, the sweet face of my wife staring up at him in wonder and awe as she begged him not to stop. I wondered if she was having the best sex of her life, and if she'd always compare me to him. Would she remain some kind of sex trophy to him, always craving, always hungry for his huge cock, made to 'service' him at a moment's notice in our own bed? I thought about the possible future, Amanda and I still in a loving marriage, except that all her sexual needs would be met by Charles while I learned to accept that he truly did own her body for as long as he wished.

I was tortured with all that through the night - sick that all of it might actually come true. Yet under the surface, churning and boiling, was shameful excitement, teasing a constant flow of precum from me that soaked the cage and the sofa under me by morning. How could I want my Amanda to be ravaged and ultimately satisfied by a man with total power over me and our future? How could I envision her delicate, stunningly perfect body willingly enslaved by the ultimate Alpha male while I stood by and watched him use her as a receptacle for his cum, mere meat for his voracious, depraved appetite. And yet, over and over, the image of her, fully impaled by his immense cock and begging desperately for more, had me endlessly hard.