A Seductive Beginning
The Bali air enveloped us, warm and humid, carrying the tang of salt and the whisper of change. Devika and I sat at a beachside café, the sunset painting the ocean gold, its waves crashing in a primal rhythm. My wife, Devika, was a vision of raw desire in a sheer sarong that clung to her voluptuous curves, the translucent fabric outlining her hardened nipples and the faint shadow of her shaved mound, her 34DD breasts straining against the cloth. Her dark eyes, smoldering with an unspoken hunger, caught the fading light as she sipped a coconut cocktail, her glossy lips leaving a crimson mark on the rim. At 28, I was a tech entrepreneur, my wallet heavy with credit cards, ready to fund her every desire during this Valentine’s week. Yet, I was unaware of the transformation awaiting me, the descent into my role as her devoted cuckold.
A tall, bronzed Australian named Daniel approached, his linen shirt unbuttoned to reveal a sculpted chest glistening with sweat. His piercing blue eyes raked over Devika’s body, lingering on her breasts and the sliver of thigh exposed by her sarong.
“For you,” he said, his accent a low growl, offering a red rose, its petals soft, its thorns sharp.
Devika’s lips curled into a wicked smile, her crimson nails brushing his calloused hand as she took the rose. “Bold,” she purred, her voice a silken caress, her eyes locked on his.
My seven-inch cock twitched in my shorts, a spark of curiosity igniting. I paid the fifty-dollar tab for our cocktails, my hands steady but my pulse racing. Daniel leaned closer, whispering something that made her laugh, her head tilting back to expose her throat, her pulse throbbing.
“Walk with me?” he asked, gesturing to the beach, his tone a command wrapped in charm.
Devika glanced at me, her eyes glinting with mischief, testing my trust. “Just a stroll,” she said, rising, her sarong slipping to reveal her lace thong, the fabric catching on the curve of her ass.
I nodded, my throat dry, imagining her barefoot in the sand, her body close to his. As they vanished into the dusk, my erection strained unbearably. In the restroom, I locked myself in a stall, freeing my cock and stroking frantically, picturing Daniel’s hands on her, her lips parted for him. I came hard, cum spilling over my fingers, my breath ragged with shame and arousal.
The Cage of Control
Devika returned, her hair tousled, her skin flushed, scented with Daniel’s sandalwood-musk cologne, a potent mark of his presence. Her eyes narrowed, catching my flushed face.
“Raghav, did you touch yourself?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
I stammered, unable to lie under her piercing gaze. “I couldn’t help it.”
Her smirk was cruel, her eyes steel. “You don’t pleasure yourself without my permission.”
From her purse, she produced a metal chastity cage, its cold surface gleaming. Back at our villa, she ordered, “Strip.”
I obeyed, my cock hardening as she locked the cage around me, the metal tight, a constant reminder of her control. “This stays on until I say,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the cage, sending a jolt of frustrated desire through me.
She straddled my lap, her thighs parting, her soaked thong pressing against my caged cock, her arousal seeping through the lace. “Daniel was persuasive,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear, her lips grazing my jaw.
My cock strained painfully, the cage a torment as she ground against me, her pussy dripping. I paid for dinner—two hundred dollars for lobster and wine—my role as provider cemented, the cage marking my submission.
Public Humiliation
In Ubud’s vibrant market, Devika was a goddess in a tight sundress, her 34DD breasts bouncing, nipples visible, her thong outlined against her hips. Daniel appeared, holding a woven silver ring, dropping to one knee in a mock proposal.
“Marry me, goddess?” he teased, his eyes locked on hers.
She laughed, slipping the ring onto her finger. “Only if you can handle me,” she purred, leaning in to kiss him, her tongue plunging into his mouth, a wet, slow dance that left her lipstick smudged, a trail of saliva glistening.
The crowd cheered as I snapped photos, my camera trembling, capturing her body arched against his, his hand on her lower back, inches from her ass. The cage bit into me, my arousal a constant ache. I paid for the ring—seventy-five dollars—plus silk scarves and jade bracelets, two hundred dollars total, my wallet her altar.
At a dimly lit bar that evening, Devika leaned close, her tequila-scented breath warm. “What if he takes your place?” she whispered, her nails raking my thigh, leaving red lines.
My voice thick, I rasped, “I’d watch.”
She smirked, her fingers brushing the cage. “Good cuck.”
I paid the one-hundred-fifty-dollar tab as she danced with Daniel, her hips grinding against his, her dress riding up to flash her thong, his hands cupping her ass as she moaned into his neck. In our room, she made me kneel, kissing her bare feet, her toes crimson, her skin salty.
“His fingers slipped under my dress,” she recounted, her voice husky, “circling my clit until I was soaked.”
The cage tightened, my submission absolute.
Escalating Torment
At the resort spa, under jasmine-scented fairy lights, Daniel offered Devika gold-dusted chocolates, feeding her one, her tongue licking his fingers.
“For a sweeter woman,” he said, his accent a velvet growl.
She moaned, sucking the chocolate, then fed him one, her thumb brushing his lip. They played truth-or-dare, her dares pushing my limits: straddling his lap, her bikini bottom exposing her ass, grinding against his thick erection, a wet spot on his trunks; untying her bikini top, revealing the sides of her breasts, her nipples barely hidden; kissing his neck, her tongue tracing his pulse, his hands squeezing her ass.
I fetched drinks—twenty dollars per round—and massaged her feet, my fingers trembling on her warm soles, her moans for Daniel echoing. I paid for the spa—three hundred dollars—the chocolates, every detail, my role etched in every swipe of my card.
In Seminyak, Devika’s crop top bared her navel piercing, her shorts outlining her pussy lips, damp with arousal. Daniel led her through boutiques, his fingers entwined with hers, occasionally slipping under her shorts.
I paid five hundred dollars for bikinis, dresses, and lingerie he chose—black lace, red satin, all revealing. At a candlelit restaurant, her hand disappeared under the table, stroking him, her moans soft as his fingers fucked her under her red dress.
I paid two hundred fifty dollars for their meal, watching her breasts graze his arm, my cage a searing torment. Later, she made me kneel, recounting his fingers in her pussy, her clit throbbing, my tongue tracing her calves as I worshipped her.
The Breeding Climax
At a secluded waterfall, Devika and Daniel stood under the cascade, her sarong transparent, her nipples hard, her pussy glistening.
He tied a red thread around her wrist. “I’ll worship you like a goddess.”
She tied one on his, whispering, “I’m yours this week.”
They kissed, his fingers slipping inside her, her hips bucking as she moaned. I guarded their clothes, paid the one-hundred-dollar guide fee, my devotion unwavering. That night, she made me watch her touch herself, moaning Daniel’s name, her pussy dripping, denying me release.
“You’re my cuck,” she said, my soul hers.
On a moonlit yacht, Devika danced with Daniel, her dress a second skin, their kiss raw, his hands gripping her ass.
I paid one thousand dollars for the yacht, filming their passion, my heart soaring in submission.
On Valentine’s Day, the villa glowed with candles, rose petals leading to the bed. Daniel gifted Devika black lace lingerie, its open crotch exposing her swollen clit.
She modeled it, her pussy glistening, then rode him, her moans peaking as his eight-inch cock stretched her, her juices dripping.
I knelt, kissing her crimson-painted toes, her scent intoxicating. I paid two thousand dollars for the villa, dinner, lingerie—every thread of her pleasure.
As Daniel filled her, his thrusts relentless, her pussy pulsing, I felt life spark within her, her cries confirming his seed had taken root.
“Thank you, cuck,” she gasped, pulling me close. “Next year, more bulls?”
I nodded, my soul hers.
Epilogue: A Cuckold’s Vow
Weeks later, Devika’s pregnancy was confirmed, Daniel’s child conceived in that final night.
“He gave me this,” she said, her hand on her belly, her eyes unapologetic.
I kissed her fingers, my love unshaken, the cage a permanent symbol of my place. The five thousand dollars spent that week—drinks, dinners, gifts, the yacht—was my offering, my wallet at her temple. She promised more bulls, her dominance absolute, my heart and body forever hers to command.
