Sweethearts

Chapter 1 – Still Sweethearts

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

{ NOTE: This is the first chapter of a novella describing the evolution of a Female Led Relationship (FLR) from divorce to… Well, you really should find out for yourself. The entire series was first published in serial form on my website, jqgraves.com. It is now consolidated into book form and available for purchase here: jqgraves.com/ebooks. }

We were high school sweethearts. I was the class nerd, into math and science, and Mary was the poet, never without a good book. My social skills were limited to answering direct questions with direct answers, rarely initiating a conversation. She was friendly and outgoing—at least compared to me—but not a risk taker.

We always knew we would marry, and when I was nineteen—she a year younger—we tied the knot. I married my high school sweetheart, and we settled down together, me working my way through college, and Mary taking a clerical job to make ends meet. And it was good. At first.

By about the six-year point, our relationship stagnated. We still got along. We had always been and still were good friends. It’s just that we never should have married. We made it through the tight years, hoping from month to month we could come up with the rent money. The “rice-and-sauce” years, I liked to call them. When our money was tight, we would buy a cheap bag of rice and a can of whatever soup was on sale. Many nights, steamed rice and half a can of condensed soup as gravy made a meal.

It sounds like we were poverty stricken when I describe it now, but it wasn’t that bad. We were young; we had our dreams, and we just had to get through the initiation years first for them to come true. Eventually, most did. I got my degree in chemical engineering and thanks to my education, my logical approach to things and a strong work ethic, I did well in industry. We bought a nice house in the burbs and Mary had her garden, her book club, and spent the rest of her time taking excellent care of the house and me.

Meanwhile, the sex that was such a major factor in the early days of our marriage, gradually grew boring and infrequent. Occasionally, I would make a hesitant attempt to introduce something new in the bedroom, but even with Mary, I was never eloquent, and she was not attracted to anything she considered “perverted.”

Looking back, I secretly wanted a mate who would take charge—be the leader and hold me to account. A wife I could come home to and not have to be the boss, as I was forced to be at work. A Social Scientist probably could have predicted back when I was in high school, I would be more comfortable as a follower in an intimate relationship. For someone as shy as me, being an alpha male requires effort, and after a full day at work, my heart wasn’t in it. And for her part, Mary would have preferred the role of loving wife to an alpha male, or so I thought.

Ultimately, before Mary hit thirty, we decided to go our separate ways and perhaps try again with other marital candidates. We filed with mutual consent, and unlike most divorce situations, we made it through the process still remaining good friends. Financing two households until Mary found the right guy wasn’t going to place an undue strain on me. Our savings and my income were adequate, and we were both frugal enough that Mary did not have to go job hunting, and neither of us had to revert to rice and sauce.

In our state, there’s a waiting period of six months after filing for a Mutual Consent Divorce, and neither Mary nor I was in a hurry for me to move out of our house. So, during the waiting period, I moved my things to the larger of our two spare bedrooms. Mary was okay with that. Though no longer intimate, we were still sweethearts. My intent was to find a place closer to where I worked I could move into when the divorce was final. I thought it would be great to ride my bike to the office, or even walk on nice days. I just hadn’t taken the time to do any serious looking. In retrospect, I should have hired someone to do the looking for me.

Now and then, Mary would get depressed about the passing years and having to start over, but when that happened, Mary’s lifelong friend, Sue, would be there to support her. We saw a lot of Sue, those days.

Susan was Mary’s Maid of Honor at our wedding. They grew up together, best friends forever, and Susan was the gregarious type. All the girls liked Susan. The boys… not so much. She was pretty and smart, with a wit like lightening, but taller than many boys, me included. She had a knack for scaring the boys away. In those days, most boys did not want a girlfriend who was either taller or smarter than they, and when it came to intellect, Susan ran circles around all of us.

It seemed Susan was at our house more and more as the process dragged on. I didn’t think Mary was having that much trouble adjusting, but when it was just Mary and I, she seemed down in the dumps, then Susan would appear and the two of them would start whispering to each other and often break into laughter when I entered the room. I never questioned their rudeness, just glad to see Mary, with Susan’s help, handling the transition.

With just under four months to go, I came home from work Friday night to find Mary and Sue at the kitchen table. Nothing unusual in that. Sue was frequently there with us for dinner, but on this night, they were both staring at me as I came in the door from the garage.

For no reason I understand, the commute from work to home always takes twice as long on Fridays, and that length of time is usually about what it takes for my bladder to fill. I smiled and waved to the ladies as I strode through the kitchen.

“John,” Sue said, “when you have a minute, we’d like to talk to you.”

“I’ll be with you in just a few,” I said, not pausing in my direct path to the bathroom.

After a few minutes, when I’d relieved the pressure, I returned to the kitchen. “So, what’s up?” I asked.

“Mary is experiencing a little anxiety, John,” Sue said, “and we think you can help. Your divorce is final in a few months, and Mary is concerned it not get derailed.”

“Derailed? Not sure what you mean.” I looked at Mary, who looked back without speaking. Apparently, Susan was the designated spokesperson for this topic. So, I spoke to her. “We’re a third of the way through the waiting period. What could go wrong at this point?”

“Probably nothing,” Sue said, “but Mary worries you might jump the gun—get involved with another woman before the divorce is final.”

“That’s not going to happen. The way things have been at work, I haven’t had time to meet anyone, much less get involved with them. Besides, how would it change things if I did? It’s not as if Mary and I are still having sexual relations.”

“I know. Mary has told me, but if you did… with some other woman, it would upset her and she might change the terms of the divorce from mutual consent to suing for infidelity. If that happened, it would not only restart the clock on the waiting period but also involve lawyers and complications neither of you want.”

“I really don’t see that happening,” I said, starting to get concerned over the direction of this discussion. We’d filed under mutual consent, and as far as I knew, that description still accurately reflected both our feelings. But if Mary changed her status and pulled me into court, my confidence about being able to easily support both of us living separately could change dramatically.

“I guess I still don’t see the reason for concern,” I said, “but you said there is something I can do to assuage Mary’s anxiety? I’d like to keep this as pain free as possible, so what can I do to help?”

In answer, Sue slid a small box across the table in my direction.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I took off the lid to find a small navy-blue cloth bag cinched tight with a golden cord. I looked quizzically at Mary, then loosened the cord, opened the bag and dumped its contents on the table with a metallic clatter.

“Do you know what that is, John?” Sue said.

I spread out the pile of metal pieces with my finger, then recognized it. I’d never seen one outside of pictures on the net, but the tube shape of the barred enclosure made it pretty obvious. It was complete with a small lock. The lock hung open with a key in the keyhole. “You two are kidding, right?”

“No, John, we’re not kidding, but it’s a small request… sorry, shouldn’t use the word small when talking about a man’s… um, endowments,” Susan said. (I did mention she was quick.) “It would be a little concession on your part. Sorry. But if you would wear that, it would really relieve Mary’s anxiety. We’re only talking about less than four months, after all.”

“Isn’t this getting a little extreme? I’ve already said I would not have relations with another woman before the divorce is final. But being locked up by my soon-to-be ex-wife… It seems weird.”

“I can see how you might feel that way, John,” Sue said. “But if you could play along with us, it would make a big difference to Mary’s emotional state. And, I’ve suggested to her if you kept that key in a kitchen drawer in case of an emergency, then you would feel less trapped and Mary would know it was there when you were off at work, or wherever.”

I was concerned about being trapped in this thing. Not that I was about to run out and bang the first woman I met on the street, but I confess I do occasionally masturbate when Mary’s not around. Four months would be a very long time before my next release, I thought. I’m used to a couple times a week—maybe three or four, some weeks. Especially since I’m not getting any action from my wife. But if the key is readily available… I’d never need it except when I’m home and Mary is either out for the day or down for the night. What the hell. I hate conflict and the girls have this all worked out. Sure beats talking to lawyers. And it would satisfy a certain curiosity.

“Okay,” I said, looking at my wife, “if it will make you more comfortable. So, what’s for dinner?” I swept the pieces back into the bag and dropped it in the box.

“John, if you wouldn’t mind,” Susan said, and nodded at the box.

“Now? I’m not planning to go out tonight.” Mary was wearing that look. The one every married man can instantly recognize. “But okay, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Oh, and you might want to shave first,” Susan said. “I’m not an expert, but I’ve heard that male chastity devices have a tendency to pull on those sensitive little hairs down there.”

As if that’s any of your business, I thought, and kept walking. On reflection, this whole thing was getting a little irritating. If I had not already agreed, I might have chucked Mary’s little box in the trash. But I do hate conflict, and, well, it’s not a big deal.

I changed out of my work clothes, put on a robe and walked across the hall to the bathroom I’m using. I pulled out all the pieces and laid them on the counter. The way they fit together, I could see a couple places that looked likely to snag a hair or two.

I got in the shower and washed myself down, then used a razor to denude my genitals. I felt a little weird doing it, but I figured the hair would grow out by the end of the waiting period, and it might be more comfortable hairless while I wore the cage. If I’m going to do this, I told myself, I might as well get the full experience. And yes, that did seem weird, and it looked surprisingly strange as well. I’ve not been without pubic hair since I was eleven. Things had grown some since then, and they really stood out with no bush to hide behind.

I washed the cage while I was at it, then tried to put it on. I got the ring in place, working my cock and balls through one at a time. When I read about these things, I thought most manufacturers provided several size rings and spacers to ensure a comfortable fit. This kit included no extra parts, and the parts that were there were on the small side. Then, I tried the cage itself. That was a problem. It had a definite downturn and was both narrow and short for me even though I was not tumescent. Stuffing me in was a challenge. I used the hand sprayer to shoot some cold water where it would do the most good, then by shoving with a Q-Tip I managed to fit me in. The tube was a cage design with metal bars and hoops, and there was enough open space to poke my soldier down to the end. I mated the tube to the ring, snapped on the lock made of the same material, pulled out the key, et voilà. Caged. It felt weird. It wasn’t heavy, probably aluminum, but I was very conscious of its presence. This was going to take some getting used to.

I put on a clean pair of boxers, jeans, a polo shirt and my crocs and left the bathroom in search of dinner. I walked into the kitchen, brandished the key for the ladies to see, and put it in the corner of the drawer we use for small tools and random stuff.

“Good for you, John,” Susan said. “That’s most appreciated. Now, if you’ll show us, Mary can put that worry out of her mind.”

END of Chapter 1

I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter of Sweethearts.  The story continues with our hero falling ever deeper under the women’s control, until he has completed the “Five Milestones for a Submissive Male.”

The complete edition is available on the eBook page of my website at  jqgraves.com/ebooks.

For the curious, here is the Table of Contents. Anything grab your attention?

Chapter   1     Still Sweethearts

Chapter   2     Chastised

Chapter   3     Spanked

Chapter   4     Permission

Chapter   5     Laundry

Chapter   6     Sissy Thong

Chapter   7     Three Down

Chapter   8     Plugged

Chapter   9     Staying Healthy

Chapter 10     Pegged

Chapter 11     Reflection

Chapter 12     Milestones

Chapter 13     Pantie Challenge

Chapter 14     Free to Choose

Copyright © 2022 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.