His New Rule

I walked into the master suite carrying the try of drinks, heels clicking and clacking on the hardwood floor, the petticoats of my French Maid’s uniform rustling softly. My wife looked at me as I set down the try, caught my eye, so I took a chance and mouthed the words. “Is there anything else,” I asked her silently, hopefully, mentally begging and pleading.

She bit her lip, looked down as if embarrassed, and while he may not have seen me ask her the question, it was quickly obvious that something had passed between my wife and I, something that bothered her.

“What is it,” he asked her, putting an arm around her possessively.

“It’s…it’s nothing, don’t worry.

“What,” he asked again in that tone only a man, a real man, an alpha man could use.

She looked up at me, her eyes silently apologizing for what she was about to say, for the imminent betrayal. “It’s nothing, Jason, she just asked me if there was anything else, that’s all. But there isn’t, this,” she pointed to the tray of drinks, “this is all we need.” Her words were meant to diffuse the situation, to diffuse something, but her tone betrayed her. And me.

“That’s not what he’s was asking, is it,” Jason challenged my wife, purposefully referring to me as a ‘he’ instead of a ‘she’ something he did when he was displeased with me, knowing it only reinforced my humiliation.

She paused before answering, but did just the same. “No,” she said quietly.

“He’s asking about the key. Again.”

“Yes, but please, don’t worry about it Jason.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Jason…”

We looked at each other again. Tell me what, my eyes asked, but she looked away again.

“I told you to tell him, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And if you didn’t, I would…is that what you want? For him to hear it from me?”

“It’s just hard Jason, I mean, I know he’s just a sissy cuckold to you, but…but I still love him.”

“As you should,” Jason said, “but that has nothing to do with this, so again, do you want me to tell him?’

“No, no, Jason, I…I need to be the one,” she sighed, then looked to me again. “Honey, Jason’s upset with, well, I guess I told him you’ve been bugging me to unlock you when he and I are together and…”

“Pestering you,” Jason chimed in, “you said he’s been pestering you non-stop, even after you said no.”

“Yes, well, he…he said that sissies shouldn’t pester their wives, I mean, you can ask, but, well, he’s right, I said no and you still keep asking and…”

“Go on,” Jason encouraged her.

“And he doesn’t want to hear me complaining about it anymore, you know he doesn’t like to hear me complain about anything about you, so…” She paused, looked me straight in the eyes again, seeming to steel her will, then rushed ahead and finished quickly. “He’s going to be holding the key from now on.”

My eyes widened, the walls of the room seemed to rush in quickly, smothering me. He was going to hold the key? Jason? My wife’s lover (a bad word because she did not love him), boyfriend (perhaps a better description), fuck buddy (also accurate, as he and he alone fucked her)? He was going to hold the key to the lock on my chastity cage? He was going to…to…

He snorted. “Obviously I’m not going to tolerate you pestering me to unlock you,” he said with a smirk.

“But when will I…will you…,” I started to ask, quickly thought better of it and shut my mouth.

He decided to answer just the same. “Rarely. Depending on your behavior, very rarely, and much less than you are now.”

Now was once a month, minimum, at least once a month she would unlock me and play with me, once glorious time a month, though often more, often twice a month, sometimes three or four times.

“But…but…I…one should…should

He held up his hand, stopped me. “Rarely,” he said with finality, “you’ll be unlocked rarely, a few times a year, maybe, and if you pester me like this, like you did her, never.”

“I…” I composed myself, tried to take hold of the terror running through my brain at the thought of my wife’s lover holding the key, controlling my chastity, determining when I was unlocked, when I could cum. I felt terror because I knew I could play on my wife’s love, on her sympathy, to let me out if I really, really wanted to, but Jason would never listen to that, would not care. “Sir,” I started again, knowing addressing him by title, formally, was ALWAYS a good start. “May I…may I say something.”

“Yes.”

“We, she, unlocked me monthly because, well, I know because I liked it, I know, but…but for health reasons, too.”

“I understand,” he said, “she told me. And I agree, completely. She’ll still drain you monthly, you’ll just remain locked.”

“He said I can milk you, honey, you know,” she lowered her voice as if ashamed of the words she was about to say, “massage your prostate until you…squirt."