My Father Visits Ch. 07 – Fetish


I checked my phone again. My wife had texted me three hours ago telling me she was on her way home. She would be here any minute. My cock twitched in its cage thinking about what she had been doing, and why it was locked away.

This was the third time in five weeks my wife had gone to my dad’s place, ostensibly to help him paint and settle in to his new bachelor apartment. It was two months since he had visited us, and she had started teasing me about cuckolding me with my own father.

Of course, at first the idea had shocked and disturbed me, and after she had enjoyed my turmoil, she assured me she was just taunting me. But the tease was just too addictive, for both of us.

I am a cuckold. She is a cuckoldress. She does discover my father attractive. She does love tormenting me.

She wasn’t driving three hours to spend two days with my dad every other week just to tease me. I know it, and she knows I know it. But we’re still maintaining the charade, because it’s just so fucking hot. Perverted, but hot.

When I heard the car in the driveway, I got up to greet her, feeling the cage tighten around the neck of my genitals.

I opened the door for her. She was radiant, smiling, dressed in a yellow sundress with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.

I embraced her and pressed myself into her soft, warm body. She kissed me, chastely at first, then provocatively flicking her tongue around my lips. When I tried to respond in kind, she pulled away, and patted me on the chest.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Oh, you know…” I said. “Fine” would not have been an honest answer.

“Hmmm,” she replied. She reached down and cupped my package in her small hand, her fingers closing around the metal device that was keeping my manhood even smaller. “Good boy. Can you go get my bag?”

Of course. It only took me a minute to retrieve her suitcase. When I returned, she was at the dining room table, looking through the last couple of days’ mail.

“How did the painting go?” I asked.

“Fine,” she replied. “Mostly he just painted my insides.”

I felt my whole body convulse at that. She saw it, too, and laughed. It wasn’t the first time she had taunted me with something like that, and later claimed she was joking; but by now I knew that, too, was just part of the game.

“Go get undressed,” she told me.

I didn’t have to be told twice. By the time she appeared in the bedroom doorway, I was lying on the bed, naked except for my metal accessory. She walked seductively across the room and mounted the bed, mounted me, seating herself across my legs while her dress rode up her toned thighs and she reached up to undo her ponytail.

“You’ve got such nice shoulders,” she said, leaning over me and stroking them.

I sighed appreciatively. This is why our game has at all times worked. She loves tormenting me, denying me, cucking me; but she at all times eventually reminds me that she’s mine.

“You went to the gym while I was gone?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I, um, didn’t shower there.”

“Wise choice,” she smirked.

She reached down and gathered the hem of her dress in her hands, and pulled it up over her head. With conviction. My breath caught in my throat at the site of her lovely, ripe body — clad in matching baby-blue bra and panties, translucent enough that I could see her areolas and her trimmed bush through them. I felt the surge of angst, and pressure against my cock, thinking of what this meant. This is what she had been wearing when she left my dad’s house this morning. I was confident she had packed nothing but matching undergarments for the trip. I groaned.

“What?” she asked, dropping her dress on the bed beside us.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “That’s… very pretty lingerie.”

“Thank you.” She stared at me, as if daring me to go on. But I was tongue-tied. So she continued for me. “Your dad liked it, too.”

I closed my eyes and groaned. I’m sure he did. I pictured my sixty-year old father, thick and robust, watching my wife, just this morning, putting on these sheer lacy undergarments. Interrupting her. Pulling her back down on the bed, rolling over on top of her, covering her, kissing her soft pliant lips that opened willingly for his probing tongue, slipping the gusset of her panties to the side and entering her yet again. Images like this had been all I had been able to think about for the past three days.

I released another deep breath that I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I pulled the trigger. “I think… we’re past pretending that you’re just teasing me.”

She reached down and ran her fingers through my curly hair. “I think you’re right.”

I felt like my cage was gonna break my cock off at the root.

She reached to her side and picked up her dress again, rocking herself gently on my thighs while she fished around with it. She found the pocket in it and pulled out a long, silver chain. It took me a second to realize that it wasn’t a necklace. It was a belly-chain. She drew it around her hips and fastened the clasp over one hipbone. The key to my cage dangled over her golden bush.

“Oh, God,” was all I could say.

“You like it?”

I just nodded.

“So did he. In fact,” she continued, reaching forward to touch my quivering lower lip, “He bought it for me.”

I heard myself whimper, and heard her chuckle. “So, yeah, he knows. He knows all about you. He’s not just fucking your wife. He knows that I’m coming to him with your knowledge, and that you’re back here all locked up in a little cage.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I sighed.

She inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and withdrew the little bronze mechanism. She giggled as my cock quickly expanded, lifting the entire cage portion of the device as it grew. She gently pulled the cage off, and smiled as she used a finger to trace the deep indentations in my swollen knob.

“Don’t tell your dad I’m doing this,” she whispered to me with a wink.

I was so desperately aroused that I almost missed the implication of that remark. Almost.

“Uh huh,” she said, as if answering the question that I couldn’t formulate. “So, yes, your dad isn’t only banging me six ways from Sunday; he knows now that you’re all locked up while I’m with him.”

She wrapped her hand around my now-engorged erection, and began to stroke it gently, continuing to anticipate my questions. “And, yeah, he was kind of weirded out about it at first, but he said he did a lot of reading since my last visit. And I can tell the idea has, um grown on him.

“How does that make you feel?”

A gasping groan was my only response. How did it make me feel? I had had two months to think about it, to obsess over it; but being presented with it as a fact instead of a fantasy left me utterly without words.

It had been the most disturbing aspect of this game for two months now, first while she was just teasing me with it and then as I became increasingly certain that it was actually happening. The physical image of my father pushing his cock up inside my lovely wife was crazy enough. But the question that made my head swim was this: Was he just abandoning himself to the unlikely, illicit seduction; putting me out of his mind as much as he could, assuming I was oblivious? Or was he aware of my shameful, inexplicable kink? And could he possibly be enjoying it?

I suddenly felt like I had been given the answer. He had *bought her a belly chain.* From which to display the key to the chastity cage in which she had locked up her husband. His son. While he fucked her.

She was watching me as she straddled my thighs, still stroking me gently, while the uncoupled ring of the cage loosened itself around the base of my shaft and the neck of my scrotum.

I was picturing her from my father’s point of view, watching her moving up and down on his lap, beneath his rounded, hairy stomach; his hands on her hips, feeling the delicate links of the chain against his thumbs. The chain that draped down below the soft swell of her belly, the little key bouncing slightly as she undulated on his lap, her blonde pubic hair intertwined with the gray of his mound; and somewhere, back two or three inches behind her navel, the head of his cock rhythmically nudged her cervix.

But his eyes were fixed on the key. The visual reminder, the symbol. The taunt. How many times had I tormented myself by imagining how smug and superior other men must feel as they plant their cocks up inside my wife, replacing mine, knowing that mine has been rendered small, useless, impotent? And now I was imagining my father having those thoughts…

The turmoil in my stomach was probably the only thing preventing me from erupting into an orgasm. But my wife, studying me carefully as she slowly stroked me, stopped and waited while the crisis passed.

“So, yeah,” she said, as my breathing slowed again. “It’s all true. I’ve been fucking your father. And he knows you know. And he seems to… sort of like it, you know?” She fingered the belly chain. “Sort of the trifecta, right?”

Without ever letting her hand leave my cock, she dismounted my thighs and stretched out beside me, snuggling in under my left arm, pressing her warm flesh against my torso.

“So all the little details you’ve given me… they’re all real?”

“Uh huh,” she replied. “Your dad is a very sweet and attentive lover. Although, yeah, once he gets going, he’s like a locomotive.”

I winced. Yeah, that all sounded right.

“You know that I get off on fucking other men because of what it does to you. Because it’s so taboo. And face it, this is REALLY taboo.” She licked my ear. “So, yeah, he makes me cum like crazy.”

“So… the first time… was it before or after you told him I was a cuckold?”

She paused, drawing a circle on my chest with one finger, as if she was thinking about how to answer. Then she whispered, “Before.”

I closed my eyes and grunted. So, both things were true. My dad knew I was a cuck. But before he knew, he had just put me out of his mind and buried his cock in my precious wife.

“The first time I went over to his place, we really did paint. We went to the hardware store and bought supplies. We painted for about four hours. I teased him some. Then he took a shower.”

I wanted to hear about the teasing, but, like my whole life, things were out of control. Before I could ask for details, she was continuing. “When he came out of the shower, I was on his bed. Naked. And then he was in me.”

My whole body shook.

“What’s he like?” I rasped.

“You mean, what’s his cock feel like inside me?”

I just nodded.

“Men,” she said. “You’re so predictable. Yes, he’s bigger than you. Not any longer, but a lot thicker. Just like his chest and arms.” That caused me to picture him, enveloping her, crushing her beneath him. I whimpered.

“And of course, he’s uncircumcised. I really like that. It’s not just different. I think it’s why he lasts such a long time. On, and on, and on…”

I closed my eyes and felt her mounting me again, but again, just across my thighs, not my hips. She had both hands on me again.

She was stroking me more firmly now, at a quicker pace. I had been enjoying the attention, but I was hoping she would scoot forward a few inches and mount me. I stopped thrusting into her hand, trying to avoid what would very soon be an inevitable orgasm. “Baby,” I gasped. “I need to be inside you.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, stroking me faster. “I’m sorry. But this is your dad’s pussy now.”

That did it. My body betrayed me; I felt my testicles draw up and sensed the first spasm of my long-withheld release.

And at that very instant, my wife let go of me and placed her hands over her breasts, affecting a surprised look. My cock twitched and bobbed, in desperate and futile search of friction. Every fiber of my being teetered on the edge of exploding in glorious orgasm. And then didn’t. My body remained tense, crying out for release, but all that it got was a slow puddle of semen that oozed, rather than spurted, onto my quivering stomach.

A perfect ruined orgasm.

I gasped and looked at her sitting there with a mock “Did I do that???” expression on her face. Christ she was good.

She reached down and scooped up a bit of the slippery liquid from the pool that was cooling on my belly, and then wrapped her fingers around my cock again. The sensation was alarmingly intense. That’s the thing about a ruined orgasm — it drains me of my ejaculate but provides no satisfaction. My whole body was still aching for the explosion of sensation that my penis was temporarily unable to provide. My cock, in fact, was still more rigid than not. But just pliable enough that when she picked up the discarded cage from my chastity device, she was able to push it down on to me.

“Ohhhh!?!??” I whined, in simultaneous disbelief and acquiescence.

“Uh huh,” she cooed. “I think before you have a real orgasm, you should call your dad and get his permission.

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