Leah came alive in a way Ethan hadn’t seen in years.

Not just sexually—personally. She smiled more. Her laugh was louder. She started working out again, wearing leggings that clung to her figure like liquid, low-cut tops that showed more skin than she ever had at home. Not for him.

For her.

She started going out more. With new friends—single, vibrant women she met through Marc’s circles or dating apps. They were flirty, free-spirited, magnetic. Leah fit in seamlessly, her confidence rising to meet theirs like a tide coming in. She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t give updates.

She made dinner. Took care of the house. She still folded Ethan’s laundry, still asked how his day was.

But she hadn’t slept with him since the arrangement started.

And somehow… that made it worse.

Because she was still his wife in name. But he was no longer her man.

Ethan finally landed a date.

It had taken weeks, dozens of failed attempts, and several humiliating conversations. But he matched with someone decent. Julia. A bit younger, pretty in a down-to-earth way. They shared a few interests. She liked sarcastic humor. Had a gentle laugh.

They met for drinks. Conversation flowed. She touched his arm when she laughed. When she leaned in closer after the second round, Ethan felt something he hadn’t in months: hope.

When she invited him back to her place, his heart raced.

They kissed on her couch, slowly at first, then hungrier. Her hands explored his chest, his back. His hands slid up under her top. She moaned softly, pressing closer.

When she reached for his belt, Ethan’s body tensed.

He hesitated—just a second.

She pulled his pants down and slipped her hand into his briefs.

And then she paused.

Ethan felt it. The way her touch stilled. How her body pulled back slightly.

She looked down. Just for a second.

Then her other hand flew to her mouth as a stifled giggle escaped.

“What?” Ethan asked, heart racing. “What?!”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, her voice high and tight. She tried to compose herself, but the smile was unmistakable. The kind someone tries to hide when they can’t unsee something.

Ethan glanced down.

He knew.

Her palm barely covered the length of him.

She tried to keep going, stroking gently—but the tension was shattered.

And worse—he was already close.

Two months without touch. Two months of building pressure. Shame. Humiliation.

His stomach clenched.

“Oh no…” he muttered.

Thirty seconds. Maybe less.

He came in her hand, barely making a sound. She didn’t move. Didn’t kiss him. Just wiped her hand on a nearby tissue, staring off at the wall.

“Small and quick,” she muttered, not realizing he’d heard her.

Or maybe she didn’t care.

She got up and started getting dressed.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” she said, casual, dismissive.

Ethan nodded, mortified, and gathered his clothes in silence.

The drive home felt endless.

He couldn’t stop replaying it—her laugh, her eyes, the way she looked down at him like he was something pathetic. Disposable.

What made his situation worse wasn’t just the humiliation.

It was the contrast.

She was out there being devoured. Fucked deeply. Worshipped and stretched and broken open by men who made her laugh, moan, come.

He was a joke.

A punchline.

And she hadn’t even touched him in months.

Ethan stood at the kitchen counter, staring blankly at his coffee. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes hollow. He hadn’t slept.

The memory of last night kept looping in his mind—the feel of her hand stopping mid-stroke, her shocked giggle, the stinging words.

“Small and quick.”

It had happened. He couldn’t take it back. And the worst part was how fast it had all fallen apart. How completely unprepared he was for the reality of being wanted—and failing.

He heard footsteps and quickly straightened as Leah strolled into the kitchen, still glowing from a long sleep, wearing a robe and nothing underneath. Her hair was tousled in that effortless way that drove him crazy, and her skin was still warm with leftover heat from the night before.

She poured her coffee, leaned against the counter, and gave him a bright smile.

“Well?” she asked, her eyes playful. “How was your big night?”

Ethan blinked. “Good. Yeah. It was good.”

“Oh?” Her brows lifted slightly. “Tell me everything.”

He forced a casual shrug. “We had drinks. Talked for a bit. Went back to her place.”

Leah’s smile widened.

“And?”

“And… you know. One thing led to another.” He gave a crooked grin he didn’t feel. “I think she had a great time.”

Leah chuckled softly. “Well look at you. Mr. Stud.”

He shrugged again, holding on. “I told you I still had it.”

She stepped closer, brushing his arm as she passed. “I’m happy for you, babe. Really. That’s… great for you.”

She didn’t say it sarcastically.

But something in her tone lingered.

And Ethan didn’t quite know if he believed her.

That afternoon, Leah was out with her girlfriends—Amber, Kayla, and Jules. They sat on a shaded patio, sipping sangria, laughing loud enough to turn heads.

Leah told them about her latest date with Marc. The hours they spent in bed. The way he whispered into her skin. The way her legs still ached.

Amber leaned forward, eyes wide. “Okay, wait, I have to tell you about my last one. God, you’ll die.”

The girls leaned in.

“This guy—sweet guy, decent looking, —but when we got to my place…” she paused, already giggling, “he lasted, I swear to god, thirty seconds.”

“No!”

“Yes. And it wasn’t just that—he was tiny. Like, pinky-and-a-half territory.”

The girls burst into laughter.

Kayla leaned over her wine. “What was his name?”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Ethan.”

Leah froze.

Just for a second.

Amber kept going, holding her fingers up in mock demonstration.

“I swear I looked down and was like, is this it? And before I even had my panties off, he—” she made an exaggerated gesture and laughed again.

Leah smiled.

But her mind was already turning.

Her Ethan.

That night, Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed when Leah walked in from the hallway, unbuttoning her blouse slowly. She sat beside him, soft and calm.

“I talked to Amber today,” she said casually.

Ethan froze.

“She told us about a date she had"

His shoulders stiffened. “What—what did she say?”

Leah tilted her head. “She said the guy finished in under a minute. In her hand. Before she even had her panties off.”

Ethan swallowed hard, shame washing over him like a flood.

“She also said he was… small. Held up her fingers. Like this.” She made a little space between her thumb and forefinger, just enough to twist the knife.

Ethan’s face flushed deep red.

“And all the girls laughed,” she said gently.

He didn’t speak.

She placed her hand softly on his back and rubbed in slow, steady circles.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice quiet. “That must’ve been so hard. To be seen like that. I can only imagine how that felt.”

He nodded, barely.

Her tone shifted.

Still calm, but colder now. "You know what really stung, Ethan? You lied to me. About Amber. About what happened.” She crossed her arms and stared at him, expression hard. “Was it to save face? Were you embarrassed that I was out there—getting taken out, getting fucked, getting stretched—while you couldn’t even get a second date?” She stepped closer, her voice like silk hiding a blade. “Were you trying to make me jealous? Thinking maybe if I heard you were out there, I’d come running back?"

Her lip curled slightly. “You want honesty, Ethan? Then let’s be honest. You lied to the one person who still wanted you after everyone else laughed. That wasn’t just pathetic—it was a betrayal."

Ethan’s throat tightened. “Can’t we just go back?” he said, voice cracking. “To how it was? Just us. Monogamous. I’ll try harder, be better. I just want to feel close to you again. I want to feel… enough.”

Leah was quiet for a moment.

Then she reached across the table, touched his hand gently.

“I loved what we had, Ethan. But I’ve changed. I’ve tasted something I can’t un-taste. Felt things I never knew I was missing.”

He blinked, his jaw tense.

She exhaled softly. “You want to go back because you’re scared. I’ve gone forward because I’m not.”

She pulled her hand away.

“I know what it feels like now… to be taken by someone who fills me. Who stretches me. Who fucks me until I can’t think straight. And as much as I still love you… I can’t pretend that your little penis satisfies me anymore.”

She stood, her voice soft.

“I’m not leaving you. But I’m not going back.”

She leaned forward and kissed his temple. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, okay?”

Then she stood, walked to her closet, and began getting dressed.

Another short black dress. Strappy heels. Red lipstick.

“Marc’s picking me up in twenty,” she said, slipping on earrings.

Ethan watched her.

And said nothing.

Because what could he say?

He had tried to impress her.

Tried to lie.

And she still ended up rubbing his back… before leaving to get fucked by someone better.

It was Sunday morning. Quiet. Still.

Leah moved through the kitchen like she owned it—barefoot, hair tied up, a loose tee falling off one shoulder as she sipped cinnamon-laced coffee. Sunlight pooled around her like it belonged there. Ethan sat at the table pretending to scroll his phone, but he wasn’t reading anything.

He was watching her.

She looked effortless. Glowing. Feminine in a way that felt out of reach now.

And he felt small.

Like the space between them was growing by the hour.

She sat down across from him, her mug clinking softly against the table.

“I want to talk,” she said, her voice calm.

Ethan set his phone down. “Okay.”

“I noticed you haven’t been on the apps lately.”

He hesitated. “No. I haven’t.”

“But you haven’t deleted them either.”

He swallowed. “No.”

She nodded once.

“Will you?”

He blinked. “You want me to?”

She leaned forward, meeting his eyes.

“I think it’s time.”

She let the words settle before continuing.

“You’ve seen what it’s like out there, Ethan. The rejection. The humiliation. What Amber said. What she told everyone. Not every woman’s going to be gentle like I was. For years.”

He looked away, jaw tight.

She continued, voice soft but firm.

“It hurts me too, you know. When they talk about you like that. When they laugh. That’s my husband they’re laughing at.”

“I didn’t want that,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

“I know,” she replied. “And I’m not punishing you. But this thing we started? It only works if you stop chasing something that’s hurting you.”

She reached across the table, lightly resting her hand over his.

“I want you to consider re-committing to me. Fully. Let me have that part of you again. Let go of the apps. Let go of… all that.”

“But you’ll still—?”

“Yes,” she said gently. “I’ll still see others. That won’t change. But if I know you’re devoted only to me, I'll give you things you need.”

He looked up slowly. “What’s that?”

“Affection. Touch. Connection. You need it, Ethan. You always have. But I can’t give you those things while you're still pretending you’re out there for someone else.”

She squeezed his hand, then let go.

“Think about it,” she said. “Take the day. Come back to me when you’re clear.”

Then she stood and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the weight of what he’d asked for.

He returned to her that night.

Quiet. Calm. Changed.

Leah was sitting on the bed, brushing her hair, her body wrapped in a soft robe. She didn’t turn to look at him right away.

“Well?” she asked.

He took a breath. “I want to stay committed to you. Fully. I’ll delete the apps. I’ll stop everything.”

She finally turned.

“Do you promise to remain faithful to me?”

His voice was soft. “Yes.”

She studied him. Then stood.

Walked to the dresser. Opened the top drawer.

And lifted a small, pink chastity device from its velvet pouch.

It was delicate. Plastic. Feminine.

A symbol, not just a tool.

“I’d like you to wear this,” she said, walking back to him. “Not as punishment. Not because you’ve done something wrong.”

She placed it in his hand.

“But as a symbol of your commitment. Of your loyalty. Something I can see. Something you can feel.”

She touched his chest lightly.

“A reminder that you’re mine.”

His heart pounded.

He looked down at the device—at what it meant. What it surrendered. What it sealed.

Then he nodded.

And the door he had once opened… quietly closed behind him.

Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the tiny pink cage resting in Leah’s hand.

It looked harmless. Even cute.

But it was anything but.

It was control. Total. Unmistakable. The end of the fantasy he once believed he’d live—the one where he’d have affairs, dates, admiration from strangers. The one where opening the marriage meant he would be the one indulging.

Instead, he sat here—soft, defeated, and hard only in his imagination—while his wife locked him away and got ready for another night of deep, wild sex with a man who could give her everything Ethan couldn’t.

And now, she wanted him to be denied even the smallest shred of relief.

“Are you ready?” Leah asked gently.

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

She smiled—not cruelly, but like someone pleased by a long-expected answer.

She helped him undress with quiet purpose. Her hands were soft, practiced, unhurried. She took him in hand—not to arouse, but to position. To measure. To contain.

When she clicked the lock shut, it was soft.

But it felt deafening.

“There,” she said sweetly, kissing his forehead. “Now I know you’re mine.”

That night, she curled up with him on the couch. Let him lay his head in her lap. She stroked his hair. Kissed his cheek before bed. Her body was warm and smelled like perfume and sin.

And when she left for her date, she kissed him on the lips.

“Be a good boy while I’m gone.”

She came back glowing. Hair tousled, thighs faintly trembling, breath smelling of wine and sex.

She didn’t tell him what happened.

She didn’t have to.

She lay back on the bed, pulled her panties aside, and beckoned with a finger.

“Lick my pussy.”

Ethan crawled to her, kneeling. His cage throbbed with useless pressure. His mouth watered.

When she came against his tongue—shuddering, gasping, sighing another man’s name—she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered, “That’s your reward.”

The next morning, Leah laid out the rules.

“You’ll stay locked,” she said softly. “But if you’re good—if you serve, if you obey—I’ll give you a release.”

He looked up, surprised. “Really?”

She nodded. “Every couple of weeks. Maybe longer. And only from me. A handjob, if you’ve earned it.”

His throat went dry. “And sex?”

She paused. Then sat beside him on the bed.

“No, Ethan.”

He blinked. “Not even once in a while?”

“No more intercourse. No more blowjobs. That part of us is over.”

His face fell. “But… I’m your husband.”

She touched his face gently.

“Your little penis does not satisy me anymore; well, it never really did..”

He started to protest, but she raised a finger—calm, commanding.

“If you want release,” she said, “you’ll be good. No arguments. No begging. Just obedience.”

He swallowed his pride.

And nodded.

She smiled.

“There’s my boy.”

Ethan was already hard when Leah called him into the bedroom.

She was standing in front of the closet, a black lace bra in one hand and a red satin thong in the other. Her towel was draped loosely over her shoulders, not even bothering to hide her full breasts, the curve of her hips, the soft shadow between her legs.

“I can’t decide,” she said casually. “Thoughts?”

His throat tightened. He couldn’t stop staring. Her breasts were heavy and natural, swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. Her ass—round, high, still damp from the shower—looked obscene in the warm bedroom light.

He cleared his throat. “The black.”

She smiled faintly, approving. “Good boy.”

He watched her dress, every movement deliberate. She wore the black lace bra he’d chosen, the satin thong sliding up over her thick thighs and hugging her perfectly. Then came the dress—dark green, low-cut, hugging every curve like it worshipped her. She turned around slowly.

“Zip me.”

He stepped behind her, trembling slightly as he pulled the zipper up along her spine. His fingers brushed the soft dip of her back, the swell of her hips.

Then she sat on the bed, lifting one leg toward him.

“Tie my boots.”

He knelt. Leather straps. Gold buckles. The scent of perfume rising from her thighs. She didn’t look down at him—she checked her lipstick in the mirror while he worked.

When she stood, fully dressed, her heels clicked sharply on the hardwood.

He was throbbing. Jealous. Desperate.

She was going out again.

And she looked goddamn stunning.

“Marc again?” he asked, unable to hide the ache in his voice.

She turned and kissed his cheek, light and controlled. “Someone new.”

He blinked. “You’re seeing someone else now?”

She smirked. “Of course. I told you I would.”

Then she grabbed her purse.

“Be a good boy while I’m gone.”

Ethan spent the evening on the edge of madness.

He replayed every detail of her getting dressed. The way the lace had hugged her breasts. The glimpse of her thong as she adjusted her dress. The soft, teasing sway of her hips.

He pictured the unknown man seeing all of it. Touching all of it.

He sat on the couch, hands shaking, hard and aching and locked in frustration. The cage pulsed with every breath.

Would she kiss him first? Or just drop to her knees?

Would she ride him slow?

Did she scream?

She returned past midnight.

He heard her heels clicking down the hallway before the door opened. When she stepped inside, she was glowing. Her hair was tousled, her lipstick worn down to a faint stain, and the slit of her dress had crept higher on one thigh.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Just walked into the bedroom, dropped her clutch on the dresser, and peeled her heels off like she’d been floating all night.

“Come here,” she said softly.

Ethan followed without a word.

She lay back on the bed and pulled her panties to the side, already glistening.

“Lick my pussy.”

He dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs. The scent hit him immediately—not just her, but him. Whoever she’d been with. The man who had just been inside her.

She gasped. Moaned softly. Came quickly.

When she was done, she pulled him up beside her.

“You were good tonight,” she whispered, brushing his hair back. “So I’m going to give you a reward.”

She reached to the nightstand and retrieved the key. He held his breath as she unlocked the cage and freed him.

His cock pulsed the second it was released—already wet with need, so sensitive it twitched from the air alone.

She wrapped her hand around him—warm, soft, cruelly gentle—and began to stroke. Slowly.

Then she leaned into his ear.

“His name was Andre.”

Her voice was calm. Even.

“Six-foot-three. Deep voice. Confident. Not cocky—capable. He picked the restaurant. Picked my wine. Looked me in the eye like he already owned me.”

Her hand slid up and down his shaft with slow rhythm, barely squeezing.

“He said, ‘You have the kind of body that belongs on your knees.’ And you know what, Ethan?”

She looked him in the eye.

“I agreed.”

Ethan whimpered, trying to stay still, but his hips betrayed him—thrusting softly into her hand, desperate.

She smiled. “Do you like hearing this?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Couldn’t speak.

“That’s what I thought.”

Her voice dropped lower.

“We made it to his place. He bent me over the kitchen counter. Didn’t even get my dress off. Just pulled my panties aside and slid in from behind. No warning.”

Ethan trembled.

“He was so thick, baby. I gasped when he entered me. Had to hold onto the counter just to stay upright.”

Her pace quickened, but not by much.

“He said, ‘You’re tighter than I expected. It’s going to take a while to loosen you up.’ And then he fucked me. Deep. Slow. Like he had nowhere else to be.”

Ethan shut his eyes. Tried to breathe.

Tried to last.

He wanted to impress her.

Wanted to show her he wasn’t just a weak, desperate thing.

But her words broke him.

“He made me come three times before he even thought about finishing. He told me he loved the way my thighs gripped him when I screamed.”

Her grip tightened.

“And when he came? He didn’t pull out. He just growled, ‘Take it,’ and emptied himself inside me.”

Ethan cried out—hips bucking helplessly into her fist.

His body shook.

He tried to hold it back.

But the shame and the arousal crashed together—and he came.

Hard.

Violently.

Messily.

The orgasm tore through him like a punishment and a gift.

He collapsed forward, panting, humiliated, pulsing in her hand.

She leaned in, kissed his forehead softly.

“That’s what you get,” she whispered. “You come because I let you.”

He nodded weakly, still trembling.

“And because I got fucked like I’ve never been fucked before.”