A Choice, in Theory 3.8/5 (12)

Jerome looked down at Brett, who was on his knees. “How long has it been? Since your last orgasm. I bet you know exactly, don’t you?”

Brett did know. “Ninety—ninety-seven days,” Brett admitted. “Sir.”

Jerome chuckled, a mixture of pity and disdain, and when he did, his cock, hard and bulging, quivered in front of Brett’s face. Jeanine was always telling Brett how big Jerome’s cock was, both compared to Brett’s tiny thing and in general, and once she’d texted him a picture of it. But this was his first time being present for one of Jerome and Jeanine’s “sessions,” his first time seeing it in person, up close—a little too up close. He couldn’t believe Jeanine had had this…in her.

“Ninety-seven days without nutting, shit,” Jerome said. “If I went a day or two without sticking it in somewhere, I’d kill myself. No, that’s not true. If I went a day or two, I’d find somewhere to stick it in. Ninety-seven days!”

Usually it was Jeanine teasing Brett about how long it had been since his last orgasm. She was the one who had locked him up, after all. Who wore the silver key around her neck, between her breasts. The key to his manhood, such as it were. She’d taken Jerome as a bull, as her lover.

But Jeanine was a bit indisposed at the moment. Jerome had stripped her, bent her over the ottoman in the corner of the bedroom—our bedroom, Brett thought—and used several of Brett’s ties—expensive, designer ties—to bind her there. Her shapely butt faced up, her legs spread helplessly.

“I’ll give you a choice,” Jerome told Brett. “What do you say?”

“Thank you.”

Don’t look at it, Brett thought. But how could you not, when it was that close and that big? He wished Jerome hadn’t made him get down on his knees for this conversation, hadn’t told him that was the proper level for him to be on as events ran their course.

It was giant, dark, gleaming, thick as a Coke can. Brett felt puny—not just about his penis, but about his predicament—about himself on the whole. What kind of man, he wondered, would put up with this?

“Thank you what?” Jerome said.

“Thank you sir,” Brett said.

“That’s better.”

Jeanine had told Brett how strict Jerome was. Not that she’d had to tell him. When they had sessions here at the house, he usually had to do the dishes or the laundry. But even from the kitchen or the mudroom, he could hear his wife begging. Usually it was “yes, yes, yes,” but other times, “no, please no, Jerome, please, no, no.” And from the way she said the same thing over and over, it did not seem as if her pleas were to any avail.

“You see, ” Jerome told Brett, “I’m a believer in free will, in letting men, even ‘men’—here he used his fingers to make air quotes—”have an opportunity to fight for what they want, to better their situations. So here’s my offer. On the one hand, you can crawl over to the nightstand, get the lube, and wet my cock up nice and good so I can slide it up your wife’s tight little ass. Or, you can get up off your knees and fight me.”

Brett gulped. “F-f-fight you?”

“A simple fight. Like men. Hand-to-hand. Til someone says uncle. You win, then you get off your knees, and you go over and get the key from around your wife’s neck and unlock your little clit and have your way with your wife.”

Brett’s cock twitched painfully in his cage—why did Jeanine insist on keeping it so tight, wasn’t it enough that he was locked away, that he couldn’t act on any impulse he might have?

“And, w-w-w what if I lose, sir?”

“If you lose,” Jerome said, “then I take your wife’s ass dry.”

“Mhhphmm,” Jeanine protested from the corner. It was the best she could do—Jerome had stuffed her panties in her mouth, which Brett knew from experience was no treat, especially at the end of a long day.

Brett thought of it: teaching this smug jerk a lesson, his own cock free and hard, his wife’s body sprawled lewdly, taking her however he wanted, finally getting what he wanted. And at the end, a glorious orgasm. Maybe several.

Then he thought of getting his teeth knocked out, of Jerome fucking Jeanine in her bottom hole, without any aid. No. He Brett would lose. He knew it. And Jerome would—look at that thing—it would destroy her. His wife would be destroyed.

“I-I-I can’t fight you, sir,” Brett said.

Jeanine moaned what sounded like thank you and a relieved sigh.

“You can fight me. You’re just too scared. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes sir,” Brett said.

“Well then,” Jerome said. “You know what to do.”

Brett started to stand, but Jerome put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “No,” Jerome said. “On your knees.”

Brett crawled over to the nightstand, feeling completely humiliated, lower than he’d thought was possible. The tile was cold and hard on his knees. His little dick bounced meekly in his cage. Fight back. Fight back. Be a man. “Keep that back arched and that ass high,” Jerome said, and Brett complied as best he could.

He looked through the nightstand, but he couldn’t find the lubricant.

“It’s—it’s not here, sir.”

Jeanine moaned nervously through her panties.

“You better find it fast,” Jerome said. “I’m in no mood to wait. And if you don’t find it, the options are either a dry fuck—or we find another way to get it wet.”

Brett gulped, imagining what that would entail, and redoubled his efforts. The drawer was crammed with catalogues and vibrators. His knees hurt on the tile. Finally he found the lube.

“Crawl back over here,” Jerome said, and Brett did. Jerome looked down at him smugly and expectantly.

Brett did it. He lubed up Jerome—Jerome’s dick. Brett had never touched another cock before. Hell, it had been months since he’d touched his own—since it had been touched by anyone. Jerome’s dick pulsed his hands; it felt hot, heavy, like a club, a weapon. It was a weapon. It could hurt you. Unlike his own locked up little dick.

“Mmm,” Jerome said. “Admit it, you’ve played with black cock before.”

“No, no, sir,” Brett insisted.

“You’re a natural then. Some are. Keep stroking, keep lubing it up.”

What?! A natural? Was he? Brett didn’t want to be a natural, not at this. He couldn’t even close his hands around it.

“No,” he protested weakly.

Jerome laughed. “Now use that tongue to give your wife’s hole a dab.”

At once relieved and ashamed, Brett crawled over to where Jeanine was bound to the ottoman. Her rear hole winked at him, tiny and helpless. He knew what to do—Jeanine had him servicing her this way often in this new “phase” of their life together—and he went to work. He licked her, first around the rim. She’d been to the gym earlier and Jerome hadn’t let her shower, so the smell was—not necessarily unpleasant, just…strong. She had an odor.

The truth was, he was used to the smell. It was more the idea of the act that shamed Brett. He was on his knees. Licking his wife’s rear hole. This was not something he’d grown up fantasizing about. Anal sex, sure—but not this. Not with his tongue. Jeanine had said he was a natural at it—why was he always a natural at things he didn’t want to do, at things real men wouldn’t do? But Jeanine had never let Brett do anal.

Not in all their time together. She’d said it was gross, it was dirty, it wasn’t proper, that it would hurt. Then she’d come home from her second date with Jerome, walking uncomfortably, and admitted that Jerome had taken her in the rear.

Brett remembered how shocked he’d been—the second date! “Wha—how—why did you let him?” he’d asked.

She’d only shaken her head wistfully, and told Brett he didn’t understand.

Now he redoubled his efforts, slipping his tongue inside and feeling Jeanine relax slightly. It was all so dirty, so humiliating. But his little cock twitched in his cage. Somehow this made it worse. He told himself he was doing it to help her, to ease her pain. But she was so tight! It seemed impossible.

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