Locktober Pt. 09

A note before Locktober: This story involves adult chastity and interracial cuckolding. If that's not what you came for, this is not the month, or story, for you. Everyone here is an adult. Nothing that follows is a brief for real life. It is a story about a lock, a marriage, and what happens when comparison walks in.

************

(Monday morning, Week 3-Days locked-15)

"Holy crap," Karen mused as she waltzed into their bedroom, holding out her phone.

"Language dear," Patrick reminded, his face flat, still wrestling with everything that had happened with the big black dildo, or Rufus, as Karen was calling it now.

Karen smirked at him, "Garcia didn't send her pic this morning."

"And," Patrick asked, his voice perturbed.

Karen paused, sensing his discontent. She approached him, letting the phone fall to her side.

"Wha," Patrick groaned, annoyed as Karen took his glasses and put them on.

"I'm Patrick Littleton," she mocked, deepening her voice, moving her arms frantically.

"Stop," he replied, even as his lip curled.

She moved around him, touching his shoulders as her head darted to either side of him.

"I'm a big stuffy professor," she joked, moving her head side to side, acting haughty.

"K," Patrick groaned, loosening up just slightly at her efforts.

"Language dear," she chided, wagging her finger in front of his face.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said, retrieving his spectacles.

Karen warmed as her husband seemed to relax, enjoying her youthful mirth.

"Babe, if Garcia's out, then we're down to the final three."

"I know dear," Patrick replied, returning to tying his tie.

"We can win this thing," she added.

Patrick offered a weak smile as he caught the reflection of Rufus in the bedroom mirror, hovering on Karen's night stand, taunting him.

"Are you still pent up," she asked.

"Yes," he said frankly, "I had a nocturnal emission last night. My... my balls are killing me."

"Can we call it something else, sounds so... serious," Karen asked.

Patrick felt the weight of it all return as he thought of the toil in his trousers, not to mention his mind.

"It is serious my dear," he responded, his eyes searching for understanding.

"Two more weeks," she reminded, "Two more weeks and this is all yours."

Patrick hated himself for not being won over by her argument as she did a little spin in front of him. He wanted to protest further. To put his foot down. Take the cage off, throw Rufus in the trash and get back to normal.

Before he could respond Karen turned and walked towards the kitchen.

"Today is going to be epic," she mused.

"Goodbye," Patrick called as he moved to the doorway, his tone more of a question.

Karen yelled back, "You got some mail yesterday! Love you!"

Patrick moved to the kitchen, feeling the silence in the apartment as he opened the letter on the kitchen island.

"Good for him," he said aloud as he read.

**********

"Patrick Junior's having a baby."

Karen read the text as she pulled into the data center parking lot.

"That's great," she replied. Patrick had two sons from his first marriage. Patrick Junior was the eldest, maybe a year older than her. A fact his ex-wife hated. His oldest son was estranged, they barely heard from him except when he needed money.

Karen had come to accept that she and Patrick would never have children. He'd gotten a vasectomy in the waning years of his first marriage. They'd explored adoption, but the timing just never seemed right. She'd put the thought to rest over the years. Patrick started making good money when he earned tenure and he centered her. That had become enough.

She buried the rushing thought before it could take hold, reading her phone as she entered the building.

"We should send something..."

"Okay," she typed back.

"Can you reach out to... you know who for details?"

Karen frowned, talking to Patrick's ex-wife was beyond something she wanted to do, right below a root canal. She paused as she greeted Jax warmly. Once inside the bowels of the building she replied.

"For you, fine."

She forgot the conversation as the glass door slid open to the computer bay.

"Is she here yet," Karen asked the room.

The women's eyes were wide as they shook their heads.

Karen settled into her desk, unpacking her things. The tense quiet lasted only a moment in the office before the glass door seemed to burst open.

It was Garcia, followed, under duress it seemed, by her husband Frank.

"Tell them," she growled, her arms folding over her chest.

"Honey," Frank grumbled.

"Do it," she ordered, her foot tapping the carpet.

"I... uhhh... we lost," Frank offered, his eyes on Garcia's red heels.

Garcia frowned, "They know that dumbass, tell them what you did."

Frank lifted his head, his eyes scanning the room, Demetrius had slid out of his office at the commotion, his boulder-like shoulder propped against the door frame. Frank's eyes begged at him, but the black man offered no quarter.

"I... I stole the key," he admitted.

"And," Garcia prodded.

"A-and I, well I, Jesus babe..."

Garcia arched her shoulders, trying to seem taller in the moment, "And he jerked his little weeny in the bathroom while I was sleeping."

"Honey," Frank asked, his face crimson, "I'm sorry."

"Too late for that," she chirped, "Go put your little cage next to the other losers."

Frank's eyes pleaded, "I'll go back in. It was one time. I really needed it!"

"No sir," Garcia replied, lifting her meaty arm to point at the row of discarded chastity cages.

Frank huffed as he trudged across the office, feeling every eye on him as he placed his purple cage next to the other ornaments of defeat.

"I'll make it up to you," Frank offered, his hand on the door to the hallway.

"You're damn right you will," she hissed, before making an angry shooing motion at her husband.

The office was quiet for a long minute as everyone weighed Garcia's level of anger.

"Men... Jesus, I am right," she said finally. It was an acceptance. Her voice filled with sorrow and a strange tinge of relief.

"Sorry boss," she said to Demetrius.

The muscular black man waved his hands, letting her tirade off the hook. Choosing peace in the moment.

"At least you can finally get some now," Renee announced.

The room turned to her, frowns and a smattering of "too soons," filled the computer bay.

The room settled after a few minutes. Keyboards clicked and clacked. Eyes moving from screens to one another. The understanding that the Locktober bet had reached the final three, an obvious undertone. The women talked, like they did now, about their evenings, their husbands.

The girls got a kick out of Karen naming her new dildo.

Demetrius emerged an hour later, he looked to Garcia first, a small smile creeping across his chiseled jaw.

"I'd," he paused as Garcia looked up, tilting his head just so, "I'd like to take The remaining Ladies Who Lock to lunch."

Garcia threw her hands in the air, "And I missed a free lunch!"

The office chuckled.

"You ladies good in thirty minutes or so?"

Karen, Tosha and Renee nodded.

"Good then," Demetrius said before pausing, "Sorry again, Garcia."

Her eye roll seemed to let the massive black man off the hook.

The three remaining Locktober contestants looked at each other. It wasn't the warm look, like when the bet started. They seemed more like combatants.

**************

"Men are disturbed, not by things, but by the principles and notions which they form concerning things."

Patrick hung his head, reading the line in his pocket notebook of quotes. He inhaled quietly as he waited for the sounds of the bustling men's room to dissipate.

Recently, he'd taken to sitting down when he needed to relieve himself, it helped with the mess and constantly having to dry his slacks was hurting his psyche and class schedule.

He finally exhaled as the restroom grew quiet and he stood, raising his slacks over the ruby-red chastity device that had been the cause of this whole predicament.

He could barely focus on work as he wrestled with his wife's growing independence, the new huge black dildo in their bedroom, and the growing wish for the whole thing to end.

"Put your foot down," he told himself, in the bathroom mirror, "She'll follow your lead."

Patrick huffed as he slung the restroom door open, some renewed confidence guiding him.

"Jesus," he yelped as he bounced off a wall of muscle, tumbling to the linoleum floor in the hallway.

"Sorry Doc," a deep voice said politely.

Patrick lifted his head and accepted the huge black hand hovering before him.

"Travonte," Patrick said.

"Yo, Coach said you wanted to see me," the huge black athlete replied.

"I... oh right. My office."

Patrick opened the door and settled behind his desk as Travonte took a seat across from him.

"So, what's up Doc?"

Patrick rummaged over his desk and retrieved an errant pop quiz.

"Travonte," Patrick said, lifting the paper, "Your answer here..."

Patrick's mind curdled at the smug look on the black man's face. The gaunt professor searched it for some acknowledgement of the crudeness of his answer.

But he only saw a knowing arrogance that perturbed the wayward professor. He hid the grimace as his penis bulged at his cage. It seemed to respond similarly to anger, danger and arousal.

Patrick rolled his eyes as the paper grew heavy in his hand.

"The question was, "according to ethical egoism, what should determine an individual's actions?"

Patrick fought a frown as Travonte shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Travonte, you answered, "fuck bitches, get money."

The black athlete had the nerve to snicker at Patrick reciting the foul language.

"Is that wrong," Travonte offered.

Patrick's eyes grew wide as the paper fell to his disheveled desk, "That I have to even honor that with a response tells the whole story."

"Can I go now," Travonte asked, the temperature in the room seeming to rise as student and teacher eyed one another.

Patrick shrugged and flicked his hand, dismissing the young black man.

"Knew you was cool Doc," the black man said, laughing as he grabbed his book bag.

"Hold on," Patrick said, something snapping in him, something needing to combat the helplessness he was feeling, "That was just a wave in an ocean of wrong answers."

Travonte's face flattened as his smile faded.

"Doc," the black man said, his tone sensing trouble.

"I'm failing you Travonte," Patrick replied, the words coming out in a croak that fought its way out of his mouth.

"You can't do that," the black athlete responded.

"I'm sorry," Patrick replied, before steeling himself, "You're just going to have to deal with it."

Travonte looked at him, "Devon said you were looking out for us..."

Patrick's hands shook at the altercation, his confidence wavering as he replied, almost meekly,

"I am... you don't know it, but I..."

Patrick jumped as his office door slammed loudly.

His face recoiled as he looked down at his slacks, something wetting the front. He groaned realizing he would need to return to the men's room to dry away the evidence.

***********

"So, the final three..."

Karen, Tosha and Renee all smiled as Demetrius looked at them in the busy bistro near the office.

"I can't believe Garcia is out," Tosha replied between bites of her salad.

"Stealing the key, oh for shame," Renee replied.

Karen tried to look at her co-workers. They were all seated closely together. Her bare arm touching Demetrius's tattooed tricep, their hands almost touching.

"About that," Demetrius said coyly, "I think we need to put some safeguards in place."

"Oh poor baby, scared to lose," Tosha chided.

"He's feeling the heat," Karen finally mustered, her eyes warming as Demetrius smiled at her.

"I think the keys should stay in the office til the end of the bet. Frank's.... indiscretion shows y'alls hubbies can't be trusted."

"Bradley's fine," Renee giggled, "he's gone longer than this."

Tosha eyed her wickedly, feeling the need to defend herself, "Roy's fine. A few mishaps but we can make it."

It was Karen who fiddled too long with her Greek chicken that drew the group's eyes.

"K," Renee asked, her smile knowing, already anticipating.

"Maybe... maybe it's a good idea," Karen said finally, looking to her friends for support, "I mean, we're going to win but..."

"Oh sure, sure," Renee said, with a sarcastic nod, that Demetrius and Tosha ignored.

"What," Demetrius asked, looking at Renee, she of course being the most pliable of the three.

"Patty and Karen have been..."

"Stop Renee," Karen begged, wishing she could disappear.

"Learning a lot about each other this month," Renee finished, her eyes looking almost devilish as she leaned her head down to sip her sweet tea, still looking at Karen.

Karen's eyes went wide as Tosha leaned in, "Patty doesn't last very long, and he's not the most... equipped."

"Tosha!"

Karen was looking at the two remaining members of "The Ladies Who Lock," feeling betrayed. She lifted her eyes to Demetrius, expecting more ridicule. What she found was more solemn, concerned.

"I'm sorry to hear that..."

Karen felt her thighs clamp as her legs squirmed beneath the huge black man's dark gaze, his eyes never left her as Tosha and Renee continued on.

"So it'll only help her," Tosha added.

"True, I mean, we know Karen's going out next," Renee chirped.

"Will not," Karen said impetuously.

"Ladies," Demetrius said finally, watching the women put away their visual daggers, "I think it's for the best."

Tosha and Renee groaned. Karen stayed quiet as Demetrius continued.

"Look, this doesn't benefit me," he said, smiling at some thought as he took a sip of his drink, "I mean, if the keys are in the office, maybe you'll all win... split the pot."

"Fat chance," Tosha crowed.

Renee leaned back, "D, if you think it's a good idea, I'm game."

Karen was about to speak when she felt what had to be Renee's foot tap her shin. The young housewife looked at her, studying the office harlot's machinations.

She paused, her eyebrow crooking at the look, then added, "I'm okay with it."

Demetrius nodded his head, "Good then. Key's will go in the drawer beneath the other cages. Husband's locked tight for the rest of the bet."

The tension scene cooled as Demetrius stood and went to pay the bill.

"Roy's tongue is getting tired," Tosha laughed.

Renee laughed, "Bradley never tires of me..."

Karen felt a swell of pride as she added, "Patty's got this. He's really taken to serving me."

"As he should," Tosha responded, "And besides you've always got..."

Renee's grin was wide as she purred, "Rufus..."

The two women cackled. Karen shook her head, allowing her own quiet giggle at the name.

**********

Karen let herself into the apartment that night. She smiled to herself at the way the day at work had ended.

After the women explained the new parameters of the bet, Miranda took it upon herself to be the master of ceremonies as the women turned over their keys. Garcia played the Olympic theme as each chastity key was submitted to the senior programmer.

"Heretofore," Miranda crowed, dangling the keys from her hand, "These keys shallith, stayith, locked in the office for safe keeping!"

"Here, here," Garcia shouted.

Karen was in good spirits, resolved to win the bet. Her smile faded as Patrick turned to greet her.

The music was his normal classical music.

The meal he prepared smelled intricate as always.

His frown was new.

Different.

"Come sit," he said.

No pleasantry.

Karen put her things down and eased into the stool at the kitchen island, feeling like one of his students. Feeling his unease.

The fatherly figure.

What's for dinner," Karen asked, testing the waters.

"Lamb shanks with risotto," he replied, sitting the plate and himself next to her. He studied his beautiful wife for a long moment.

"What," she asked.

"Karen," he said, sighing as he put his utensils down, "This has gone on long enough. I'm aching..."

Karen stopped eating at his tone, "I can get the cream." she offered.

"I don't want the darn cream," he grumbled, rubbing his temples.

"So what," she questioned.

"I'm," he replied, craning his fingers as his head nodded, "I'm the patriarch of our family. The leader."

"I know that," she grumbled.

Patrick moved to seize the high ground, "This bet, it's over."

"Patty," she mewled.

"No, no," he added, "Let me speak."

Karen pursed her lips as he inhaled, puffing his chest.

"This was fun at the beginning, letting you take control. But it's affecting my work. I'm leaking in my pants. I can't concentrate. My thoughts... my thoughts are on my, you know, twenty four seven."

"That's not the point Pat," Karen replied sharply.

Patrick steadied himself, "Karen, my job, it's real. What I do for us, it's real."

"And my job isn't?"

Patrick felt the ground move as he shook his head, "That's.. that's not what I meant."

Karen seized the moment, "You're supposed to like serving me, waiting on me hand and foot. That's the whole thing. You're ruining this!"

Patrick was taken aback at her tone and volume. Perhaps it was the bulging of his penis, painful against the plastic confines of his cage, or the tense moment with Travonte earlier that day, but something spurred him on.

"I'm not ruining anything. The cages comes off... tonight."

Karen's eyes went wide.

"And Rufus goes away."

Karen's words came out slow and soft, "You can't..."

"Karen, it's over. No more cage. No more dildo. I forbid it."

Karen gasped. Patrick had never spoken to her like this. For their entire marriage he had led them. She'd only ever been with him. He ordered for her. Planned their days and nights. What they watched. What they listened to. And now, he wanted to take away the only control she had ever had in their years together.

And, she didn't like it.

"No," she replied coldly.

"What do you mean no," Patrick responded.

"First of all," she said, with a bite bigger than her mouth could offer, "I like it."

Patrick's head was shaking like a bobble head as she continued.

"I like the control. I like you doing what I want, when I want."

Patrick's mouth was agape.

"I like Rufus, I've never felt what I feel when we use him."

"Him," Patrick shot back, incredulous.

"Stop," she blurted, "I'm not having this conversation again. I'm going to bed. You're going to get with the program."

Karen stood, she watched Patrick's face. Their arguments were few and far between. But he always had the last word. She glared at him as she walked towards the hallway.

Patrick's shoulders fell as he called behind her, "Karen, the cage, please..."

Karen stopped, like her feet were digging into the Persian rug by the couch. Her turn was almost cinematic as she spoke.

"The keys are in the office now. No unlocking til' it's over."

Patrick felt how grovely his voice sounded as he begged, "Karen for the love of..."

"Sleep on the couch tonight."

Honey," Patrick replied, trying to win back what he lost.

"Do not come in the room," she ordered.

Patrick wanted to say more. But the sound of her voice said it was final and her turn was fast and resolute. The sound of the bedroom door closing was loud and authoritative.

**********

That night, Patrick wrestled with the blanket on the couch. It was stylish, a center piece for their upscale apartment. But it wasn't much for sleeping.

He tried to pass the time in the dark, grading papers, but the effort brought him back to the confrontation with Travonte earlier that day. He had finally put his foot down, failing one of the football players for their lack of care for his philosophy course. When he left school that day he felt a modicum of control in the halls of the university.

The cage bit at the woven blanket as he found himself researching solutions to his chastity problem.

"Removing a chastity cage without a key requires extreme caution to avoid severe, permanent injury to delicate tissue." One study read.

"Get a vibro saw, or an oscillating multi tool, use a metal cutting attachment to remove the cage." An unhelpful Reddit post suggested.

"Where would one even acquire such things," he thought to himself as the cage swelled uncomfortably between his pasty thighs.

He delved further as he searched for ways to ease the burden curdling in his constricted loins.

"The prostate, often called the "P-spot" or "male G-spot", is a walnut-sized gland that, when stimulated, can produce intense, full-body orgasms without any penis stimulation whatsoever. Even locked in the most secure cock cage, it's possible to experience intense pleasure and reach climax through prostate stimulation alone."

"I would never," he thought to himself, though the cage swelled wickedly at the idea.

He examined further and clicked on a link in the chastity sub-Reddit. It read, "This helped."

He looked over his shoulder at the dark hallway to his bedroom.

He knew what he was pressing.

"Oh shit!!!!"

Patrick slammed the laptop shout as a loud female shriek escaped the laptop speakers, once again looking at the hallway leading to his bedroom.

Silence.

He cracked the computer open and skillfully adjusted the volume before reopening the screen.

The scene assaulted his sensibilities.

A black man, heavy and thick, was pounding a white woman with Karen's kind of body. Heavy breasts, soft stomach, her ass rippled as the black man fucked her hard. The man was like a piston and the woman was responding in kind. As he withdrew Patrick could make out the thickness and length of the massive black cock. It contrasted, almost beautifully, with the woman's porcelain skin.

The cage answered to the lurid scene in front of him. A mean swell against the plastic, the head crowding the slit, the ache immediate. He gripped the tube and pulled, useless, fighting for a finish he knew the lock wouldn't allow.

On screen the cock sank to the base. The woman took it, her howls wanton, even at the lowered volume.

He watched for three long minutes, pleasure and pain warping his addled brain.

Patrick's mouth was dry as his hips jerked, beyond his control.

"Furrgggfrrr..."

A hot, uncomfortable spill frothed through the slats, thin and mean. It ran down the cage unceremoniously, wetting his pubic hairs. Not relief. A leak with a cramp behind it. He groaned through a frown, eyes still on the screen, until the man finished with a roar on the woman's back minutes later.

He caught his breath as he closed the laptop letting his essence cool on his groin.

Then he heard it.

A sharp moan, loud enough to hear through his bedroom door.

He told himself he was just cleaning up as he stood, grabbing a Kleenex as he followed the noises like a siren-song. His feet almost floated to the door of his bedroom. He placed his ear to the wood.

Listening.

He told himself it was enough as he heard her moans, quiet, possibly to protect his sensibilities.

After a few minutes, those same sensibilities failed and he cracked open the door.

An inch.

Then two.

She was on her knees, back to him, Rufus suctioned to something on the sheet. She rocked onto it. Slow, then deeper. The stretch showed. A wet sound. Her hand braced on the headboard.

"So big, so good," she moaned.

The cage woke between his thighs.

He watched the plastic, brown shaft disappear, half, then more, her ass settling back, her skin dimpling from the force of her gyrations.

"Right there," she growled, "Give it to me..."

Patrick recoiled as she slapped her ass, her flesh jiggling as she enjoyed the massive dildo plowing inside her. She would be breathless in one moment, yowling with disbelief in the next.

She'd never sounded like that with him.

Only with Rufus.

She rolled her hips and the fullness made her gasp, a raw little oh, and she pushed back harder.

"Cumming," she yelped, confused, giddy and satiated.

Jealousy hit under the swell.

Not the lurid, pornographic sight.

Not the fact his young wife was openly disobeying him.

The release.

She was getting the whole thing, the climb, the end, in the bed he had been thrown out of. He got a slit and a cramp. She got to be filled until the noise broke. She came like that, shaking, a muffled cry into her own arm, cunt pulsing around the toy, a flood he could see.

Complete.

He stayed for the aftershock. One more slow sink. Then he eased the door shut. The latch clicked softer than the cage.

He went back to the couch, hard, leaking, the picture over her writhing atop the thick sex toy imprinted in his mind.

He laid down, pulling the blanket over his tender, caged penis. A grimace, from the jolt of something touching his swollen manhood. But something deeper, a yearn for release, a submission he had never known, settled in him as he fought for sleep on the stylish couch.

**********