A cuckold story: Leftovers for the Man Who Waits

The plastic of the chastity cage pressed against my groin, a constant, dull ache that had become as familiar as my own breath. Tanaya’s rules, etched into the very fabric of our lives, felt sharper today, each one a fresh cut. “Wait outside, Tom. I’ll call you when it’s time.” Her voice, smooth as silk, carried an undercurrent of steel. She knew how much I hated this particular cage, its unyielding nature, the way it chafed with every nervous shift of my weight. She liked it because it was clear, a constant, humiliating reminder of my impotence.

“You know I don’t like this one, Naya.” My voice came out a strained whisper, the words catching in my throat.

She turned from the vanity, her eyes, the color of warm honey, met mine in the mirror. A slow, knowing smile stretched across her lips. “That’s precisely why I chose it, darling. It keeps you on edge. Keeps you hungry.” Her gaze drifted past me, landing on the closed bedroom door. “He’ll be here any minute.”

A shiver traced its way down my spine, not entirely from fear, not entirely from anticipation. It was a cocktail of both, a familiar brew that churned in my gut. This was a new rule, a fresh layer of humiliation. Creampie. Fresh. And then, the immediate departure. No lingering. No comfort. Just the taste, and then, absence.

A soft chime echoed through the house, the doorbell. Tanaya’s smile widened, a predator’s grin. “That’s him.” She ran a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair, then smoothed down the curve of her hips, her dress clinging to her form like a second skin. “Remember the rules, Tom. No peeking. No sounds. Just wait for my call.”

I watched her walk away, her hips swaying with a confidence that both thrilled and tormented me. The bedroom door clicked shut behind her, a final, definitive sound. The silence that followed was thick, heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of Christina, our maid, vacuuming the living room. She moved through the house like a phantom, oblivious to the dramas unfolding behind closed doors, or perhaps, perfectly aware and simply choosing to ignore them. Her rhythmic movements, the whirring of the machine, were the only anchors in my swirling world.

Minutes stretched into an eternity. Each tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to hammer against my skull. My heart thrummed a frantic rhythm against the plastic cage, a prisoner beating against its bars. The air grew heavy, charged with an unspoken energy. I imagined them in there, the sounds I would never hear, the sights I would never see. My imagination, a cruel master, painted vivid pictures, each stroke more torturous than the last.

Then, a faint sound, muffled but distinct, drifted from the bedroom. A low moan, followed by a deeper, guttural groan. My breath hitched. Derek. She always chose Derek for the really deep dives. He was her favorite, the one she would cuddle with afterwards, the one whose seed she trusted me to consume. The thought twisted my stomach, a knot of revulsion and perverse desire.

More sounds followed, a soft thud, the rhythmic creak of the bed. My body responded despite myself, a traitorous surge of blood to my groin, the plastic cage a cold, unyielding barrier. The ache intensified, a dull throb that pulsed with each imagined thrust. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sounds, but they seeped into my mind, painting an even more detailed picture.

A sharp, piercing cry. Tanaya’s voice, a raw, uninhibited sound I rarely heard, even in our most intimate moments. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. The humiliation, the envy, the strange, twisted pride – it all swirled together, a bitter elixir.

The sounds continued, a symphony of passion and raw lust. I could almost feel the heat radiating from the bedroom, the scent of sex, thick and musky, permeating the air. My mouth grew dry. My tongue felt like sandpaper. I yearned for the call, for the release of this agonizing wait, even though I knew what it entailed.

The creaking stopped. Silence descended again, a heavy blanket that smothered the air. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum. Had it happened? Was it over? The tension was unbearable, a wire stretched taut, ready to snap.

Then, her voice, clear and sharp, cut through the silence. “Tom! Come in, darling.”

I pushed myself off the wall, my legs unsteady, a puppet whose strings had been cut. Each step felt like wading through treacle. The doorknob, cool beneath my trembling fingers, turned with a soft click.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of sex. It clung to everything, a primal perfume that assaulted my senses. Tanaya lay on the bed, her hair a wild tangle around her flushed face, her lips swollen, a faint sheen of sweat on her skin. Her eyes, half-lidded, met mine, a triumphant glint in their depths. Derek, a mountain of muscle, sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me, his broad shoulders gleaming with sweat. He was pulling on his pants, his movements slow, deliberate.

Tanaya gestured to the bed, a lazy flick of her wrist. “Come here, darling.”

My gaze dropped to the pristine white sheets. A small, glistening puddle sat in the center, a viscous, milky offering. My stomach lurched. This was it. The creampie. Fresh.

I approached the bed, each step a reluctant pilgrimage. The plastic cage pressed harder against me, a constant reminder of my place. Tanaya watched me, her eyes never leaving my face, a cruel amusement playing on her lips.

“Don’t be shy, Tom.” Her voice, a low purr, broke the silence. “It’s warm for you.”

I knelt beside the bed, my knees protesting against the sudden pressure. The scent of him, of them, was overpowering now, a heady mix of sweat, sex, and something else, something distinctly masculine. My eyes fixed on the puddle. It pulsed faintly, a living thing.

“Open your mouth, Tom.” Her command was soft, but absolute.

My jaw felt stiff, unwilling to obey. But her eyes, those honey-colored eyes, held me captive. I opened my mouth, a silent, unwilling participant in her ritual.

Tanaya reached out, her fingers, still slick with his fluids, dipped into the warm, glistening pool. She brought her fingers to my lips, pressing them against my mouth. The taste was immediate, overwhelming. Salty, thick, distinctly masculine. I gagged, a small, involuntary sound.

“Swallow, Tom.” Her voice was a low growl now, a warning.

I swallowed, the warm, viscous liquid coating my tongue, sliding down my throat. It was a vile, humiliating experience, yet a strange, perverse thrill shot through me. This was Derek’s seed, the essence of the man who had just pleasured my wife.

She dipped her fingers again, bringing another dollop to my lips. I swallowed again, the taste becoming less foreign, almost… familiar. A strange warmth spread through my belly, a perverse satisfaction.

“Good boy, Tom.” Her hand stroked my hair, a gesture of perverse affection. “Now, lick it clean.”

My gaze dropped to the sheet. The puddle was still there, smaller now, but still glistening. I hesitated, my stomach churning.

“Don’t make me ask twice.” Her voice hardened, the amusement gone, replaced by a steely resolve.

I lowered my head, my tongue tentatively touching the warm, sticky residue. The texture was thick, almost creamy. I licked, my tongue circling the stain, gathering every last drop. The taste lingered, a potent reminder of what had just transpired. My cheeks burned with shame, yet a strange, dark pleasure pulsed within me.

When the sheet was clean, not a single trace remaining, I pulled back, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My eyes met Tanaya’s. A slow smile returned to her face, a look of utter satisfaction.

“Good. Now, you know the rules, Tom.” She waved a dismissive hand towards the door. “Derek and I need some alone time.”

My heart sank. The words, though expected, still stung. No lingering. No comfort. Just the taste, and then, absence. I stood, my legs still shaky, the taste of him lingering on my tongue. Derek, who had been silently watching, finally turned, a smirk on his face. He offered a slight nod, a gesture of male camaraderie that felt like a punch to the gut.

I turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me. The silence in the hallway was deafening now, the maid’s vacuum long since gone quiet. I heard a soft murmur of voices from the bedroom, then a low laugh, Tanaya’s. They were cuddling now, as she always did with Derek. The thought was a fresh wound.

I walked to the bathroom, my reflection staring back at me from the mirror. My eyes were wide, a strange mix of shame and something else, something unidentifiable. I ran the tap, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering taste, the lingering scent, the lingering humiliation. But it clung to me, a second skin, a permanent tattoo. The plastic cage pressed against me, a constant, dull ache, a reminder of my place, of her rules, of the life I had chosen. And as I stared at my reflection, I knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning.