Boy’s in the Hood

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After reading about and discovering male chastity, I wanted to try it, not as a lifestyle but more as a fun experiment, just to role play a little. I was a bit embarrassed but brought the topic up with my wife, Kate, to feel her out. She’s a “whatever blows your skirt up” kind of woman and has always been willing to indulge my perversions and fantasies.

“So, you’re going to wear that thing on your dick and do whatever I tell you to do for a whole week? Even your long list of chores that never gets done? Why would I ever say no to that?”

“Yes, and we’ll culminate the week with a weekend in New Orleans as your sex servant before going back to normal.”

“That’s a win, win, win for me,” she said more gleefully and enthusiastic than I imagined.

This will be the fourth time we’ve struck this deal over the last few years. I’m no longer as shy about asking and she now jumps at the offer without hesitation salivating at all the work she’s going to get out of me. She’s not completely sure why I want this or what I’m getting out of it, but it’s a no-brainer for her except for the extra work it takes to send out pithy texts to keep me constantly busy for a week.

Sometimes after instigating this game, I wonder what exactly it is that I am getting out of it? I’m pretty much guaranteed bad nights of sleep with excruciating four and five a.m. caged hard-ons that’ll wake any man. I become self-conscious about the slight protrusion in my pants and the sound of the mini-padlock knocking against the hard plastic prison as I go about my business during the day.

The reason I keep asking for it must be tied to some primal subservience in my soul. After a few days in the cage when the initial feeling of silliness from role-playing subsides, we both really get into it.

There’s something glorious about the smoldering lust that builds and builds for the woman that I’ve been married to for 20 years. By day three or four just the sight of her or accidental brush against her makes me melt. She calls it my “puppy” stage. I’m just so happy to sidle up as close as I can to her at night and sneak some skin-to-skin contact without disturbing or poking her with my cage.

It doesn’t take long before she starts enjoying the full power of her role. She’d make a great dominatrix as her sadistic side seems to come out easily and naturally. She’s smart, witty, and creative when it comes to her sassy remarks and commands. She knows exactly how to press my buttons and make me squirm. She loves it, cracks herself up while calling me “pussy boy” in jest, which still stings my manhood a bit.

My days are filled with task after task from long honey-do lists that I usually never get around to. I’m always amazed at how productive I can be when forced into indentured servitude. At night she gives me a treat commensurate with how good I did that day serving her.

Typically it’s getting to watch her masturbate to orgasm while remaining on the sidelines wishing I could jump in, but daring not. She pulls out her battery operated Magic Wand, lays back and plunges an 8″ inch dildo with a vac-u-lock handle in and out while moaning and writhing. Her pussy looks magnificent. Just the glimpse of it has me busting at the seems and wanting to dive in to help.

I call her “Mistress” for the week and ask permission for any sort of contact, involvement, etc., which is usually denied just for added realism. When done, she hands me the tools to wash and put away. It all ends so quickly, hours and hours of work for the seemingly shortest sex show in the world. She loves rolling over and telling me goodnight in the sweetest devilish voice I’ve ever heard. All I can think of is that I’ll have to start all over again in the morning, and that I asked for this.

This time I’ve been at it for five days already but tonight, before we head out of town, she’s blessing me with a special treat. She starts masturbating with her Magic Wand and inserts a dildo to warm herself up and sends me to the bathroom to uncage my cock and slip in a metallic butt plug.

I’m instructed to put on a full leather hood that I’d originally bought to use on her, but turned out to be too claustrophobic for her taste. There’s a leather cover snapped over the eyes to keep me from seeing anything. It laces up the back for a tight fit.

I can hear her going at it without me, amping my incentive to hurry up and get out there. I step out blindly from the bathroom and stand helplessly for a moment. She pauses and realizes that I’ll need to be escorted to the king-sized bed.

“You made it just in time, I almost finished without you” she teases.

She straps and buckles a gag on me that has a big dildo on her end and a small rubbery ball on the other that punches through the mouth hole of the mask and fully into my mouth. She handcuffs me, hands behind my back, and guides me to lay on the bed on my back, face up. It’s hard to breathe of course, but believe it or not, I’m beyond happy to be participating.

“Hold Marmaris Escort still,” she says as she grasps the top of my head while straddling it and starts to bob up and down on the face dildo. I can tell she’s working it in deep as the weight of her full seat presses my head down with each plunge. She’s obviously enjoying herself just riding and riding into the sunset.

All I’m thinking is “this girl likes to get fucked. I know I’ve never lasted this long so I’m obviously not satisfying her fully.”

Oh, what I’d give to see this scene with my own eyes. I have a good idea of what it must look like but I’d love to record these images in my mind’s hard drive.

I can feel her lean over and start sucking my somewhat limp dick. You’d think after days in captivity it would be eager and hard as a rock with this action, but in the frenzy of hurrying to take the cage off, the hood on, getting cuffed and in position, and struggling to breathe I haven’t had a chance yet at being aroused. The warmth and wetness of her mouth quickly changes that. I’m so starved for it, but I steel myself to focus on serving her with a spirit of “use me fully” while not getting too excited. The last thing I want now is to cum early and spoil my amplified lust before the weekend and suffer being chastised for not going the distance.

I tell myself, “you are not going to cum no matter what.”

After a good long jog on top, she dismounts and helps me roll over prostrate on my stomach. I can feel her shifting position and guiding me forward to slide up into her spread legs to meet the warmed-up crotch now in missionary position as her thighs brush against my shoulders. She wants me to face pump her. I’m a human dildo, completely extended, and she’s inserting me by scooching the last 6 inches forward with my hooded face resting in her clamp.

“Now fuck me pussy boy” she taunts.

I want to give it to her so bad, but my only leverage comes from bending my neck back and forth. I’m giving it my all and want to please her. I’m head pumping with the all the vigor my neck will allow.

She fires up her Magic Wand and I can feel the intense vibes rattle my skull on every down stroke. We get into an amazing rhythm and I disconnect from the thoughts of what my neck is going to feel like tomorrow. I ignore the pain of the handcuffs digging into my wrists as I aid my thrust by rocking my upper body up and down on the mattress in a core workout, losing myself in the pounding and pounding. She’s taking all I can give for a quite a while it seems. Through the thick leather hood, I start to hear the muffled sounds of pleasure building so I go full tilt and call up my reserve strength to accelerate.

The sensory deprivation is leaving only the perception of a pure energy transfer between us. I’m in total darkness but see and feel the electricity attempting to arc over to her as I pump my heart out. I start to feel the energy coalesce into a massive wave and in one stroke it explodes out and ripples the universe toward her like an atomic bomb. My mind has reached the point of some sort of phase change, like when water comes to a boil.

In the zone, I continue to deliver blow after blow until she finally erupts and collapses into stillness. I go limp and rest my forehead on the pillow of her mound in total exhaustion. I’ve never felt or experienced anything like this before and I vow to remember it forever.

I feel her pull away and she uncuffs me, unties my hood, and pushes all the toys to my side of the bed for me for clean up as she slips back under the sheets totally satiated.

“That was fun,” she says.

“Thank you, Mistress”

I’m ecstatic and appreciative of the experience. Who cares about ejaculating when you can have this? My tank is still full and ready for more versus My typical 3-day refractory period.

“Ok, put all of this stuff away and go lock yourself back up, we have a big weekend ahead.”

“Yes, Mistress”


A weekend in New Orleans is always an adventure. There’s something about the uninhibited vibe of the city that gives permission to whatever pleasures comes to mind, knowing it’s all been done before by someone.

I’m already feeling lucky having found an Airbnb on Decatur St. miraculously still available during French Quarter Fest. The girl said she’d just listed it a few days before.

Carrying the luggage up the long steep 100-year old stairs is quite a challenge, especially wearing this cage. My balls are swollen and pinching with each step and my loins are aching with lust for my skinny hot wife as she exaggerates the shakes of her ass a few stairs ahead of me. I didn’t realize we’d be staying on the 3rd floor, no elevator, and above a noisy corner bar.

First sight inside the door makes it all worthwhile. Exposed brick walls, ancient wide plank wooden floors, and 14 ft. ceilings. In spite of this place dating back to the 1800’s, it’s in mint condition with every modern convenience Marmaris Escort Bayan and a totally up-to-date kitchen. The floor to ceiling French doors out to the wrap around balcony are worth the price of admission. A peek at the street scene below triggers one deep breath and I relax into total happiness.

We spend the afternoon browsing the local shops and listening to music at the various outdoor stages before coming back to the apartment to squeeze in a little nap to rest up for the evening. There’s something magical about a nap with the french doors open and the sheer curtains pulled closed. You can still hear the street sounds and the gentle breeze slipping in creates a secluded sleep chamber.

When we wake, Kate lets me remove my cage just long enough to shower and get back in my clear hard plastic home. I hang out on the balcony people watching and entertaining myself while she goes through her two-hour ritual of getting ready. No hurry, this is a late-night town.

“How’s this?” she asks.

Oh my God, “wow, you look super hot.” I wish I had better words to let her know how amazing she looks, hot is just not enough and smoking hot seems corny. Her dark brown flat-ironed hair draping to her shoulders and connecting to the blackness of a silky short revealing romper with a plunging neck, no bra, fuck-me platform wedge strappy sandals, and I’m guessing no panties. Most of her 5’6″ is looking like long pure beautiful legs, with a delicious view of side boob. She adorns herself from an extensive jewelry collection with antique gauntlets around her wrists, large silver hoop earrings, a vintage black rhinestone choker, most of the fingers on her right hand covered in rings, and just a single diamond wedding ring on the left. The only pop of color comes from the orangey-red freshly pedicured toes peeking through the black straps of her shoes. I call this “wife candy.”

We step out onto our balcony and vape a little before heading out to the music venue, One-Eyed Jacks, a good clip into the Quarter, but walkable on a nice night.

Like all New Orleans buildings, it’s narrow with extra high ceilings. The bar is in eyeshot of the front door, and you can see a stage at the very back end of the next large room that was once some sort of small theater. It’s an open space and there aren’t many tables or seating, and most of it is grabbed up already. The people in-the-know are perched along an extremely narrow upper interior balcony in the theater section. It looks like you’d have to step over someone to get to any of the dozen total seats all in a single row. The sagging balcony is so ancient it seems to be grasping onto the wall for dear life.

One of our mutual friends, Josh, suggested we meet him to hear this band he loves, The Eagles of Death Metal. I can’t say I’m expecting much based on the name, but the gathering crowd says they must be special.

I queue up to the bar to get us a few drinks. It’s an old oval shaped wooden bar accessible from all around and somewhat poorly placed blocking the traffic flow to the stage area. Surely the bartenders have a system to choose the next customer, but I can’t tell what it is. Josh spots Kate and comes over to give us hugs. I’m hunkered down in line, if you can call it that, and Josh drags Kate off to introduce her around.

“I’ll come find you in a minute,” I say with a touch of doubt as I watch the frenzy in front of me.

I finally get my chance to order and plan to tip big greasing the wheels in advance of my next order. I navigate through the crowd and down a few steps without losing too much of Kate’s Cosmo in the crushable thin plastic cup. I spot them near a coveted booth on the side wall, apparently staked out and claimed by Josh’s mostly male buddies a good 10 years younger than us. Josh points around the table as each person bobs their head to claim their name I’ll never remember. We make small talk and catch up while waiting for the band to start.

By the time the opening act plays, the place is packed and we’ve already had three rounds, feeling pretty good. The main act steps onto the stage with a standing room only crowd chanting for action. I actually like the music, it’s a retro rock sound with a familiarity to it without ever having heard the songs before. Katie signals for another drink and I dutifully head to the oval bar to fight my way in. It’s taking a long-ass time now to get a drink. I’m halfway to my target with several rings of people pressing behind me. At some point, I glance back over to our spot and do a double take to see what I think I’m seeing. One of the guys has his button-up shirt pulled wide open and Kate is leaning in biting his nipple. The guy next to him is unbuttoning his shirt like he’s next. I can see them all cackling with laughter, she’s obviously made friends. I’m simultaneously furious and turned on by the scene itching to get back and make claim. I don’t want to relinquish my spot and run over there like a jealous twerp, so I hold my Escort Marmaris ground but start to keep a better eye on things.

By the time I make it back to the group with her drink, Kate is wedged in along the back of the booth and now part of the gang, happy to have earned a seat. I slide her drink across the table and she sends a loving face gesture and a thank you wink while cozied up in her tight guy sandwich. I attempt to watch the band and her too. Well into the second set I spot her empty shoes under the table and see her feet stretched over to the chair directly across from her and nestled in the guy’s crotch. I stare until she makes eye contact with me and raise my eyebrows as in “oh honey, what’s going on here?”

I can’t get close enough to her for a private word, but my look prompts her to lift her phone and signaling she’s going to text me. I pull my phone out bated for the explanation.

Phone vibrates: “I’m doing this for you”

I shoot back, “Hmmmm…”

Vibrates: “You always say you want to watch”

She’s got me there. I have to admit seeing her consumed by a group of men is turning me on. My caged cock is busting at the seems while I also realize just how jealous I am. I’m coming up blank on a perfect response.

Vibrates: “Bring me a drink pretty please.”

She’s so fucking cute and sassy there’s nothing she can’t flirt her way out of with me. I begrudgingly chuckle to myself shaking my head and walk off.

Instead of going straight for the bar, I head to the bathroom for a break from the scene to try and get my mind around it all. Nothing much has actually happened other than being a bit too friendly which usually happens whenever she drinks. She’s a cocktease at heart. I calm down a tad, think about how turned on I am, and how good sex is going to be when I get my hands on her again.

Recomposed, I head for the line at the bar and glance over to notice she’s doing shots with the table. Full on FOMO kicks in. She won’t even need a drink now, I do. I’m waiting for my turn when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

“Just checking if you’re ok?”

“Yes, Mistress”

“Am I still in charge?” she texts.

“Looks like it” I respond.

“I’m about ready to go” I read with relief.

I never really connected with any of these guys during the night so I didn’t feel the need to say goodbye or give them a chance to pity me for putting up with my wife. I hunted Josh down in the bounding throng near the stage to tell him we were bailing.

Vibrate: “Go grab a cab”

She was extricating herself and saying her goodbyes as I headed for the front door solo. Normally we would walk back but a taxi will avoid any chance of her falling off her tower of shoes.

The guy working the door whistles and the next cab pulls right up. I lean in to give him the address and stand at the curb with the back door open.

Here comes Kate supported on the arms of two of her boyfriends. Instead of handing her over to me to help, the guy on her left squeezes by me and climbs into the backseat to guide her to a safe landing. She flashes a devilish smile at me as she tucks her head in and disappears, closely followed by the second guy who slips right in behind her and starts to close the back door. A little stunned and speechless, I jump in the front seat and the driver pulls away.

I look back to see Kate making out with the guy furthest away from me. He looks like a cocky spoiled asshole type trading off his good looks and who’s surely pissed off all his good girlfriends during his extended adolescence. He’s got his hand on her left bare thigh and they are going at it. The prematurely balding wingman with a shaved head is twisted around towards her with his right hand up inside the leg of her romper shorts while stroking the side of her torso through her clothes, apparently waiting for his turn.

I don’t want to gawk, so I’m trying to look ahead while straining to expand my peripheral vision to monitor the situation. The cabbie seems wide-eyed staring straight ahead and furtively glancing in the rearview mirror. I’m shaking my head wondering exactly where and how far this is going and should I make a scene to put a stop to it?

It’s a fairly short ride when we pull up in front of our building. I pay the fare and step out as the backseat empties in reverse toward my side. Surely Party Boy could get out of his own door, but he’s glued to her backside sliding right up behind her and out. Kate breaks from her pack reaching her arms toward me for a drunken hug and presses up body to body to whisper in my ear.

“Go up and take your clothes off. Put the see-through hood on and wait in the chair. I’m gonna have one last drink with these guys and come up “

My crotch is bulging in disbelief at the pure gumption of this woman. She’s so fucking sure of herself, so sexy, so powerfully orchestrating every one of us. I’m seduced by the momentum and going along with her directives. I’m jittery and nauseous at the same time.

I hike the stairs to the top floor and let myself in. It’s a shotgun style apartment with all the rooms off the long hallway that ends in the kitchen/living area. The only bedroom is the very first room inside the front door with a double-wide cased opening from the hall.

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