Locktober – 3
Penetrative Sex
Jonathan Quincy Graves
{ Note: This is Part 3. If you have not read the earlier parts. This part will make more sense if you do. Part 1 Part 2}
Poor John. He desperately wants to cum, but it is only halfway through Locktober. Strange, before I locked him up, we had sex maybe once a week. So, by that measure, he has only missed one, maybe two sexual releases. But the way he is acting, you’d think he’d been deprived far more than that paltry number. It makes me wonder just how often he brought himself off without me present to enjoy the act with him.
Of course, I also indulge privately, but not more than a couple times a month. The way John is acting, he must have been doing it multiple times a day. In the past few days, his “hints” that I might want to let him out of his cage to “enjoy some regular sex” (as if penetrative sex is the only sex act I enjoy) have gotten out of hand. I finally forbad him from making any more such overtures and emphasized my point by taking him over my knee, again, and giving him a good hairbrushing.
There is some truth to what he says, though. I do kind of miss penetrative sex. And since Locktober is supposed to deprive John, not me, I’ve taken steps to arrange satisfaction for myself without breaking John’s month-long sentence in penis prison. That is what he asked for, a solid month locked away. He even purchased the device of his confinement himself. It’s hard to feel too sorry for the poor boy when it was his own doing. Actually, I’m rather enjoying it. I haven’t had as much sex with such frequency since our honeymoon, which was years ago and only lasted ten days. We’re fifteen days into Locktober and there are another sixteen yet to go.
I said I’ve taken steps. I considered looking up one of my old boyfriends, but I’m not quite ready to cuckold John. Plus, all my former boyfriends are now husbands, married to former girlfriends. I haven’t completely written off penetrative sex through cuckoldry, but it is off the table for now. To be honest, I’m not sure how I would go about it. I’m not as young as I was when I did the bar scene, and even then, I never went alone. And it’s not as if I can ask a friend if she knows any good unattached lays. So, time to try something else—something revolutionary.
“I’ve made a decision,” I told John over the dinner table Wednesday evening. “Saturday, we’ll have a date night. We’ll dress up, go to a nice restaurant. Indulge in good food and wine, then come home where I’ll let you fuck me. How does that sound?”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said. “But maybe we should do it Friday night. You know, to celebrate the end of the work week, the beginning of the weekend.”
I knew he would try to move up the schedule. “No,” I said, “I’m usually beat by the time I get home from work Fridays. Saturday will be better. Oh, I almost forgot, I want to kick off the evening with a nice little over the knee spanking, just to warm things up. Would you like to be spanked before we go out, or after we come home from dinner? You’d probably sit more comfortably in the restaurant if we did it after. Plus, the idea of you having a freshly hot bottom while you’re fucking me is kind of a turn-on. Yes, I think we’ll do it that way.”
I could see the consternation coursing through my husband seated across the table. He’s learned to respect, if not outright fear, my hard hand smacking his bottom. And I have not told him whether it will be a hand spanking or a good hard hairbrushing. I don’t plan a session with my brush, not unless he drives me to it, but I’m not going to tell him now.
“Do you think you can be a good boy between now and then?” I asked.
“Aren’t I always?”
“Only when you make a special effort. Otherwise, you can be very naughty.”
John made a special effort through Thursday and Friday. I put his tongue to work both nights. My plans for penetrative sex Saturday night titillated me as much as the anticipation seemed to excite John.
Saturday, we slept in, then after breakfast I sent John out to mow and edge the lawn. I didn’t want him moping around the house, giving me calves eyes and suggesting our fancy dinner be a brunch at a fast-food joint instead. After the lawn, I sent him down to the basement to rearrange the boxes in storage and dust and vacuum the rec room. Then, since it was still a few hours before we needed to get ready to go out, I made him wash the car and clean the inside.
I warned him over breakfast that all his chores that day had better be done to perfection if he did not want a super hard spanking before he fucked me. Without that warning, he would have done a half-assed job to get each task over with as soon as possible. I didn’t want him nagging me to have an early dinner, and I had no doubt he would, if he had too much time on his hands.
Evening finally arrived, and we dressed for dinner. I did my makeup—more carefully than I would if this were not a special occasion. The secret to makeup at our age is to highlight your assets, deemphasize your deficits, while making it look like you are wearing little to no makeup at all. Bold statements are for the younger set. This, of course, takes time.
John dressed quickly in his blue dress shirt—open collar—gray wool pants and a navy blazer. This he did in under ten minutes, and he was ready to go by 7:00. Our reservations at an upscale steak and seafood house were not until 8:15, and it was only a twenty-minute drive.
I put on my long red dress, which I had not worn since last Christmas. The neckline is low enough to leave no doubt that the bosom is all me. I don’t wear it often, and when I do, I take a certain pleasure from the fact that it still fits. A touch of perfume and I was ready to go by 7:45.
I let John drive. A woman’s arrival is more elegant when assisted from the passenger side by the valet attendant. I had to remind John three times to watch his speed. He seemed to think the sooner we arrived, ate, and returned home, the better. I can’t imagine why.
I could write two pages describing our dinner. It was so good. We don’t go out often, and almost never to a restaurant this nice (or this expensive). In a paragraph, we started with Seared Ahi Tuna. John ordered the New York Steak, and I opted for the Crab Cakes. John announced he did not want dessert, but he had to sit and watch me enjoy an Apple Crumb Tart. (I gave him a third.) Of course, all of this required four different wines, and I kept John’s glass full. (It’s not as if I had to worry about his performance in bed that night.) We got out of there for a little over $200, counting tips, which was okay given how infrequently we indulge.
I drove home. There is something commanding about a woman who, leaving a fine restaurant, tips the valet, takes the keys, and strides to the driver’s side of the car. It just screams feminine success. Plus, I’d consumed far less wine than John.
Back in our bedroom, I did not allow John to just fling his good clothes at the nearest chair, but made him hang everything carefully in the closet. He was quickly down to his cage.
“Would you help me with my dress, dear?” I said, turning my back to John and lifting my hair off my neck.
John unhooked the top, drew the zipper down to the crack of my ass, and lifted the fabric off my shoulders. I let it fall and stepped out. “Hang that in the closet for me, please,” I said. I was wearing a complete set of delicate red lingerie and smoky gray hose, and I was still in my heels.
“I think somebody needs a spanking for being in such a rush this evening,” I said with a smile.
John groaned and looked like he would object, but a raised eyebrow quickly aborted that. His cage stood out from his body as his member strained to break free. It did not look comfortable the way it pulled his balls along with it.
I sat at the end of the bed and tapped my thigh. “Over you go. Be careful not to run my hose.”
John carefully lay across my lap, and I patted his ass, gently covering the entire surface. At random, I punctuated this treatment with a firmer slap. Gradually, the pats became fewer and the spanks more often. I was not delivering a punishment spanking, but it pleased me to do a thorough job of warming him up. The way I was dressed turned John on—as if he needed turning on—and it affected me as well. I wondered if I could turn his ass a red to match my panties. If he had been a bad boy this week, I might have made that my goal.
When John began to stretch his legs out and groan to the rhythm of the spanks echoing off his bottom, I eased up and did more stroking with just a few good slaps. It occurred to me I have given John only a half-dozen spankings that involved my hand since the beginning of the month, and yet my hand no longer hurt as much as his ass did. It’s like anything else. You need to practice and keep in shape if you want to be good at what you do. I intend to be very good at spanking, well beyond the end of the month.
I helped John off my lap, being careful of my hosiery, then stood and turned my back to him. “Unhook my bra, please,” I said. He, of course, complied. “Now the panties.” I stepped out of them, but remained in my red suspenders, hose, and heels.
“Wait right there,” I said and strode to the bathroom. When I came back out, I had my hand behind my back.
“Do you have the key?” John asked. I could sense his mind ticking over: She must keep the key in one of her drawers in the bathroom. Good to know.
“Of course not,” I said. “It is only halfway through the month. I would not deprive you of the complete Locktober experience.”
“But then what…?”
I sat on the end of the bed in front of John, brought my hands out where he could see them, and lowered the harness for a strapon dildo to the floor. “Step in, dear,” I said.
John took a step back and said, “What is that? No, I know what it is. What are you doing? You said I could fuck you tonight. You promised.”
I didn’t actually promise, but I certainly led hubby to believe I was going to free his member for penetrative sex. So, I did not correct his choice of words.
“Yes, I did, and you will. You just can’t use your own cock. He’s not due to make bail from his incarceration for another two weeks or more. But since you have been so concerned these past few weeks about my missing out on penetrative sex, I got you a stand-in, so to speak. Come back here and step in. I’ll help you adjust the straps. It will be almost like the real thing. You’ll love it. Well, maybe not love it, but I know you love to give me pleasure, so you will at least like it,” I said. “A lot, if you know what’s good for you,” I added under my breath.
“I don’t want to wear that thing,” John said. He did not come any closer.
I turned the harness around, stepped into it, and stood as I pulled it up my body. “Hey,” I said, “no problem. The straps can be adjusted to fit either of us, and no matter which of us is wearing it, we can still fuck. Ever had a hard cock up your ass? No? Well then, this will be a novel experience for you.”
“Take that thing off,” John said. “It looks obscene on you.”
He had a point. It did look more than a little lascivious—a lifelike cock hanging there, framed by my red garter straps. When I ordered the dildo, I based its size on the measurements we originally took of John for his chastity cage. Well, okay, I bumped it up a centimeter or two, but it is nowhere near as large as some of the dicks they offered in their catalog. I mean, are there women who can actually accommodate an eighteen-inch cock four inches in diameter? Ouch!
“One of us is going to enjoy penetrative sex tonight, sweetie. It’s up to you which of us will wear the cock. And you might want to give this some serious thought. If I do the fucking, I may discover I enjoy it and will want to do it frequently. Think your ass could stand a good pounding three or four times a week?” Actually, I was warming up to that idea. I would not need any added lubricant tonight if I was on the receiving end. And if I was delivering, that might be fun too.
“Well, shit!” John said. “Take it off.”
I dropped the harness down my legs, sat on the end of the bed, and used my left foot to raise it up to him. I was still in my heels, so even that was way sexy.
John took the harness and stepped into it. I helped him adjust the straps so it fit snuggly, resting above his own caged cock. If you ignored the harness, he looked really sexy with his hard—only a wee bit larger—cock standing out.
I giggled, scooted up the bed, and spread my legs. “Tongue first,” I said. I wanted to savor the anticipation through my first orgasm.
John crawled up and had to adjust the position of “his” member to lie between my legs. It was the prelude to a night of sexual delight that lasted into the wee hours of the morning. I was really proud of John. He never went soft, no matter how long I used him.
END of Part 3
The tale continues with Part 4 Prostate Health.
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