Sub30 · 0 hearts · 0 replies

From the outside, we looked perfect. Sarah and I held hands at dinner parties, kissed goodbye at the door, laughed at each other’s jokes. Friends called us the golden couple. No one knew the truth. Behind closed doors I belonged to her. The day she locked the chastity cage on me she smiled and said, “This stays on until I decide otherwise.” That was eight months ago. The key never left the thin silver chain around her neck. My cock had learned its place: useless, denied, aching only when she wanted it to. I cleaned the apartment every morning before she woke. Floors polished, laundry folded exactly the way she liked, her coffee waiting on the nightstand. If a dish was left in the sink or a towel hung crooked, she would simply point. I would drop to my knees and fix it while she watched, barefoot and calm. Her wish was law. “Kneel.” I knelt. “Kiss my boots.” I kissed them. “Get the strap-on.” I fetched it, already hard and lubed the way she preferred. The only sex we had was her taking me. She would bend me over the bed or the kitchen counter, push in slow, and fuck me until I was shaking and whimpering. Sometimes she made me thank her out loud for every thrust. My locked cock would throb uselessly against the cage the entire time. When she came she would pull out, wipe the toy on my tongue, and tell me to clean up. That was my release. That was all I got. And then there were the other women. Sarah dated openly. She would bring them home—soft-spoken girls with painted nails and curious eyes. I was required to serve them drinks, take their coats, then disappear into the guest room until she texted me. Sometimes the walls were thin. I would hear laughter, the wet sounds of kissing, Sarah’s low voice ordering one of them onto her back. Once she made me kneel outside the bedroom door while she fucked a pretty redhead with the same strap she used on me. When they finished, Sarah opened the door, still flushed, and told me to clean the sheets. I did it without complaint.…