Locktober Pt. 11

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.

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

(Wednesday, Week 3-Days locked-17)

"I have something for you..."

Patrick's phone dinged as he sat in his office, grading papers.

The players from the football team kept coming by, their resolve relentless. He settled on the idea that maybe he had gotten through to Devon and the team captain had spread the word to the team. He grappled with his decision costing Travonte his next game, possibly affecting the young black man's future. But, Patrick was the adult and Travonte needed to learn.

He rubbed his temples as he read the text from Karen.

"Oh," Patrick replied.

"You were a good boy last night, so you deserve a reward," she typed back.

Patrick's eyes moved to his closed office door, then back to the phone.

"Enjoy," Karen added.

Patrick's mouth opened at the sight.

Karen in the black bikini, her head cocked sideways in their bathroom mirror, blowing him a kiss. The triangles were way too small now. Her breasts looked heavy and luscious, her stomach soft and real, the sides strings pulled taught against her hips, thighs thick and touching. She had been a shy co-ed when he met her, wide-eyed and careful. The woman smiling in the mirror was grown and confident, her smile showing her growth.

His cage woke as he stared.

She was riper than the girl he had formed in the years of their marriage. Her green eyes were brimming with the knowledge of how good she looked, how she was the object of his desire, how she controlled him.

"I took them when you left work," she texted.

"I could have waited," he replied.

"Whats the fun in that..."

"Is that all for me," Patrick asked.

"If you continue to please me," she texted, adding a wicked, smiling emoji.

Patrick smiled between a grit of his teeth as his penis slammed against the front of the cage, trying futilely to impose its will in the plastic device.

"The beatings will continue until morale improves," he typed.

"You wish I would beat you..."

Patrick shook his head as his mind blurred from horniness. She knew just what buttons to press.

"Heading in," she continued, adding a sad face emoji.

Patrick frowned as he sensed the conversation ending.

"I've got Dean Withers today..."

"Did you get called to the principal's office Patty," she replied.

"Stop," he typed.

Patrick watched the screen, hoping she would reply. He yearned for her attention. He typed a message, hoping he could spend a few more moments with her.

"Dinner tonight," he asked.

"You can take me to Giorgio's," she replied.

"Expensive," he texted.

"I'm worth it..."

"Indeed," Patrick responded.

Patrick rubbed his aching, caged penis as he stared at the picture. Soon enough, she would be all his, unfettered access to her body. She'd be the one serving him once they got to Jamaica. He felt his poor, confined penis excrete a pained dribble that made his face flush red.

"It's all worth it," he told himself.

The thought soothed him before another loud knock at his door jolted him back to the reality of his workday and the coming meeting with the dean.

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

Karen tried to act like she was focused on the copies of another change order from Phoenix Global as the office bustled.

But her eyes were firmly on Renee, moving stealthy along the wall of the computer bay, like a spy.

"Business good?"

Karen's attention turned to Roy, chatting with Demetrius at the door of his office, oblivious to the office harlot sliding across the cheap carpet.

Karen hated that she was getting a thrill out of the whole ordeal.

"What's up?"

A stack of files flew from Karen's hands raining down around her as Tosha's voice made her jump.

"K, you good," the older woman asked, kneeling down to help her pick up the mess.

"Y-yes, totally... absolutely..."

Karen's eyes darted from Tosha to Renee closing the gap to Roy. The leggy brunette ran her hand over Roy's overcoat, drawing his attention and giving him a quick hug. No one but Karen saw the slight of hand as Renee lifted the bottom of his jacket and slid her hand, blurring fast, into his pants pocket.

She turned to find Tosha staring at her, she had to suspect something.

Karen felt a pain in her gut at her complicity in the subterfuge.

"What's going on," Tosha asked, her brow narrowing.

Karen stuttered, unused to being underhanded, "I... I..."

"What a ditz," Renee crowed, joining the pair on the carpet. She gave Karen a quick, confident wink. Tosha frowned at her as the trio finished fishing together the files.

"Honey, I'm heading out," Roy called from the door to the office.

"Okay, love you," Tosha shouted back.

"He seems in good spirits," Renee chirped.

"That money's ours Renee," Tosha poked back.

Karen's eyes found the carpet, moving swiftly back to her desk. She frowned as Renee followed her, siddling up on the edge of her work station.

"Now we let nature take its course," the office harlot whispered.

"This feels wrong," Karen replied, finding refuge in the sleeves of her turtle neck.

"Water under the bridge," Renee said, moving her hands wide, as if absolving them of any guilt.

Karen's remained as she watched Tosha, someone she considered a friend, chatting with Miranda.

"Speaking of nature taking its course," Renee purred, "How did last night go?"

Karen shook her head, focusing on Renee, letting their scheme fade from her mind

"Oh," she said, "Great, really great."

"It wasn't a casserole recipe dear," Renee chided.

Karen inhaled as she remembered Patrick crawling through their home, serving her.

"He... Patty really took to it. I dangled the release like you said, I think he would drink my bathwater at this point."

"That's good," Renee said laughing warmly, "Don't let up. He needs this."

Karen nodded. She looked past Renee, the other girls were talking and laughing, something pedantic about a new reality show or something. They would move their eyes to the pair, Karen didn't like it. She had always wanted to be a part of the group. Now she felt like she was on the outskirts, her lot thrown in with Renee.

"Okay," she mustered.

**********

"Pat, good, sit."

Patrick entered Dean Withers office, pants recently dried in the bathroom. He cursed the infernal contraption on his penis, it tolled like a bell, heavy and cumbersome, as he entered the office.

"You, uhh, you wanted to see me sir?"

For years, Pat had always considered the dean a friend, a peer. They shared documentary recommendations, lunches where they argued philosophy, and deep, intellectual conversations Patrick always enjoyed.

Patrick's stand with the football players had driven a wedge in that relationship.

Even now, Dean Wither's aged face was concerned, maybe even a little confused.

Patrick had been prepping for the argument for the past few days.

"Patrick, I'm at a bit of a loss here," he said.

"Sir, I know we want the players to play. I get that. But we can't do them a disservice by just letting them breeze through our curriculum."

Patrick exhaled as he let his argument land with the elder campus leader, impressed with his own cleverness.

"Yes," Dean Withers replied, "That's, uh, we need to discuss that. But there's... there's something else."

Patrick's face washed with confusion, his eyes narrowing.

"Patrick," he said, cautiously, "Have you been watching pornographic videos at school?"

Patrick's body lurched.

His mind fired through the last few weeks.

His stomach sank at the accusation.

And his penis surged against its plastic prison, pulsing with fear.

"Sir," Patrick stammered, "I'm not sure what you're talking about..."

Patrick's stomach sank as Dean Withers turned his laptop around.

On the dean's screen was the video of the black man having sex with the white woman he had wandered into during his chastity research.

"Sir... I..."

"These things are so modern now," he mused, sounding his age, "They track everything, searches, it's invasive if you ask me..."

"Dean Withers," Patrick blurted, confused and embarrassed, "It was a slip of the mouse. An accident."

The older man nodded his head, his eyes trying to read Patrick, he shook his head as he looked at the screen again, "Says you watched for thirty minutes?"

Patrick opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing emerged as the dean continued.

"Chastity? What's that all about?"

Patrick wished he could disappear into the floor as the old man questioned him.

"I'm not really sure sir," Patrick lied. The cage caught it, sending a viscous jolt through his body as his glans fought the slats.

"This is quite out of the ordinary," Dean Withers added, rubbing his temples, as he pondered.

"Sir, I can assure you, it was a one time thing. I was researching something and it just popped up. I must have forgotten to close it. You understand right?"

Patrick's breathing was heavy and ragged as he hoped his explanation would save him.

"Patrick, you're not a pervert are you?"

Patrick's mouth fell again as he replied sharply, "God no sir. No... no."

Dean Withers looked at his desk, seemingly searching for inspiration, "The... the company that hosts our servers is a big donor Patrick."

Patrick watched his old mind working, his stomach sank, as his aged wheels turned.

"Big supporters of the team..."

"Sir, I... I don't know what to say," Patrick stammered.

Dean Withers looked at him, musing, "Highly unusual behavior..."

"Yes sir, a one time mistake," Patrick added.

"A one time mistake," the dean repeated, his voice unsure and tired.

The two men sat in silence for a long moment. Patrick was fidgeting as his groin ached in pain, his mind was moving quickly, similarly battered. The dean seemed like he was bathing in the waters of a potential solution.

"Let's search for a solution Patrick," the old man answered finally.

"Y-yes sir," Patrick said weakly, "Of course."

"Good then," the dean replied uncomfortably. His eyes seemed to lighten as he added, "Maybe speak to that young wife of yours, she was always smart as a whip if I remember correctly."

Patrick's soul left his body as he realized he would have to share the devastating encounter with Karen.

"Yes sir, thank you sir. Good idea."

***********

"Karen," Demetrius said, peaking his head out of his office, "Phoenix wants a call with their tech leadership tomorrow night..."

"Night," Karen asked, "Like here?"

Demetrius smiled at her, "Yes, I'll grab Chinese or something. It'll be fine."

Karen nodded at her attractive black boss.

Garcia snorted as he disappeared back into his office.

"Little Karen all alone with Big D..."

Miranda chirped, "Make him spring for Dragon Palace..."

Tosha had the nerve to lean forward and snicker, "Wear something cute tomorrow..."

"You guys," Karen moaned, her face turning red.

The bay laughed. Karen smiled and tried to focus on work. She caught Renee out of the corner of her eye. The brunette was raising her eyebrows as she nodded her head, like it was the next step in her tawdry lesson. Karen remembered how wide Renee had moved her hands in the club when she described the size of Demetrius's manhood.

Then she was overtaken by last night. Her husband groveling. Her finger in his upturned ass. His broken cries. A man she had to administer. Then her green eyes moved to Demetrius's open door. The huge black man needed no such assistance.

"It'll be fine," she said aloud as she tried to focus on preparing for the meeting tomorrow night.

**********

"I'll have the pasta primavera, and he'll have the tagliata di manzo."

Patrick was sitting in Giorgio's, but his mind was still strategizing how to bring up the embarrassing situation at the university. He watched Karen's mouth move as she ordered for both of them. He would have found it strange if his focus wasn't frayed from work and the dizzying horniness that pulsed from his groin, almost constantly.

"Oh, let's see," he heard her say as her sweet voice found his ears, "A vermentino for me, and he'll have the chianti classico."

"Perfect pairing madam," the waiter complimented, before leaving them at the candle-lit table.

"Hungry," she asked, moving her hand across the table and squeezing his, focusing him.

"Famished," he replied.

Karen studied him for a moment, she knew when he was being aloof.

"Where are you tonight?"

Patrick wrestled with bringing up the topic, still wallowing in the embarrassment of it all. But Karen's green eyes promised safety. Understanding.

"Work... I..."

"The football team again," Karen blurted.

Patrick froze for a moment. She rarely talked over him. But it had been happening a lot over the past few weeks. He reasoned it was a by-product of her blossoming boldness.

He shook his head.

"What then," she urged.

Patrick inhaled, trying to fill his voice with the normal gravitas he had carried before the Locktober bet had begun.

"I... I was caught looking at... pornography on my computer..."

He looked at his young wife, confused at the grin that spread across her face.

"Patrick Littleton you..."

Patrick's mouth fired in self defense, "Karen, I'm sorry. It was an accident... I..."

"Naughty. Little. Boy."

"Your wine..."

Patrick jumped as the waiter returned with their glasses. He accepted, thanking the young man before his attention returned to Karen.

Her eyes never left him.

"Karen, it's this thing. I was researching relief and I stumbled upon it..."

"What was it?"

Patrick's mouth went dry at her question. He figured she would be mad. That they might even have it out right there in the restaurant. He hadn't planned for the question she purred across the white-table-clothed table.

"I... I'm not sure..."

"Come on Pat," she insisted.

"It was a... black man... with a white woman..."

Patrick watched as her smile faded just slightly, her head moved to the side, but her eyes stayed on him. It felt like judgement and intrigue.

"Was it... was he," Karen almost blabbered before correcting herself, "How did it make you feel?"

Patrick felt a strange coiling in his shoulders at his young wife's questions.

He watched as she took a nervous gulp of her wine, looking at him for the answer.

"I suppose I felt... excitement. I don't know honey, again, it was an accident."

He watched as his wife seemed to take inventory of his words. Clocking them. Keeping them.

"So, what happened? What's the big deal?"

Patrick felt a surge of his old self as he took the lead in the awkward moment.

"Dean Withers, he and I, we discussed it."

Karen's eye brow raised, "And?"

Now it was Patrick's turn to take a nervous gulp of his wine.

"He actually said I should seek your counsel, if you can believe that..."

Karen's eyes lit up as she replied softly, "smart man."

"He's apparently quite taken by you," Patrick said, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Most old men are," Karen said with a wry smile.

Patrick shook his head, swallowing his pride as he asked, "So, what should I do?"

"Well," she asked, clear and interested, "What do you think he wants?"

Patrick leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his head as he released a loud breath of air that felt like steam escaping a pressured pipe.

"He's certainly not happy that I failed Travonte..."

"So, say you'll pass him," Karen answered, the solution simple in her mind.

"Karen, that would undermine everything. You told me to do what I thought was right. I'm trying to guide the boy."

Karen paused her husband with her finger as the waiter arrived with their meals, holding her finger over the table as she welcomed the savory dishes. Only after the waiter had departed did she lower her finger and speak.

"First, don't call them boys. Patty, they're men. It's demeaning."

Patrick grumbled as he accepted the feedback, "I certainly didn't mean to..."

"Second," she continued without letting him finish his thought, "You have to learn to swallow your pride. This doesn't seem like the hill you should die on..."

"Learn," Patrick guffawed. He'd spent the last few years constructing their lives. Teaching Karen of music, food, culture... love. He'd molded her, watched over her. He was supposed to lead them. Lead her.

He swallowed the thought with his first bite of food, reasoning that his young wife was probably right.

"You're probably right," he verbalized.

"Oh, I'm right," she mused.

"So, just give up," he asked.

Karen's face turned strangely stern as she replied, "Just accept the reality that you aren't always right."

The words settled and clung to Patrick as he watched her return to her meal.

They ate quietly for a long few minutes. Patrick hoped the whole thing would pass.

"This is quite good," he said, covering his mouth with a napkin.

"I know what you like, professor," she replied, nodding in agreement at his assessment of their meals.

**********

They stumbled into the apartment well past their normal bedtime. Patrick moped as he followed Karen into their home, she seemed to be brimming with energy.

And want.

"Go strip and wait for me in the bedroom," she ordered, leafing through the mail.

"Karen, it's been a long day," Patrick whined.

"Clothes off, on the bed," she insisted, her eyes on the envelopes.

Patrick slunk down the hallway and obeyed, stripping off his vest, and tie, button down, slacks and boxers, until only his pasty, out of shape physique and the ruby-red chastity cage remained.

He laid his head on the pillow, breathing. He heard her enter and strip off her clothes joining him on the bed.

"Alright," she announced, "tongue out."

Patrick felt the press of her soft curves as she climbed his short stature, shimming her lower half to hover over him.

"I want to feel you," she said, breathy and wanton.

Patrick moved his hands to her fleshy thighs, rubbing as best he could beneath her heavy bottom.

"Lick me like I'm that delicious meal," she said, not waiting for his reply as she lowered herself onto his face.

Patrick attacked her love with his mouth, lavishing and tongue bathing her as she ran her pussy over his face. He felt the headboard rock as she rolled her wide hips atop him.

"Thats it," she moaned, "Please your Goddess..."

Patrick hardened his tongue delving inside her, tasting her sweet nectar, losing himself in the moment.

His poor penis ached against the cage, banging against the plastic like a guest trying to get into a party he wasn't invited to.

"Good, my naughty little boy," she purred.

"I'm close, flatten it!"

Patrick had to turn his head at the force from her pelvis slapping heavily against his tired face.

"Give it to me," she growled, squeezing his head with her thighs, an order, spurred by her rutting body.

"KAWEENNN," he yelped as he felt the pressure of her on him, "PWEESSEEE..."

Patrick gasped for air as she lifted off of him, thudding onto her side of the bed. A huff of disappointment leaving her mouth.

"I'm sorry honey," Patrick moaned as his vision returned, "I couldn't breathe..."

"Stop being dramatic," she chided.

They laid beside each other, Karen's arms crossed, staring at the framed photo of their wedding on the wall, Patrick ran his hand up her body, searching for connection.

"I can do better," he pleaded.

"That was going to be a big one," she groaned, her body and mind growing used to the feeling and pleasures she had never felt before the Locktober bet began.

"H-honey," Patrick chanced after the air between them cooled, "Could I trouble you for... a bit of relief..."

"There it is," she chirped.

Patrick's tired body, and swollen scrotum, bulged at the comment.

"It's the cage K," Patrick continued, "I'm trying here. I just need you to..."

"Assume the position," she grunted, sliding off the bed in a clearly perturbed huff.

Patrick moved quickly to get on all fours, letting how ridiculous he might look fade from his mind at the prospect of an alleviation for his bloated burden.

"Oww," he yelped as he felt her hand swat his exposed bottom.

"Booty up my slutty little husband," Karen growled.

"Karen," Patrick moaned, embarrassed.

"Let's get this done," she announced.

Patrick's eyes widened as he felt the pressure of her finger enter him. He fought a frown as his face twisted at the sensation of her digit inside him. The curl of her finger as she grazed his prostate.

"Back up on it," she ordered.

Patrick fought looking back at her as he moved his hips, helping Karen's small finger gain another half inch inside him.

"Feels good," he murmured, sealing his eyes shut as he focused on her flailing finger.

Karen frowned as she worked her finger inside her husband's anus. His body was spastic as she waggled her index finger in his tight cavity. There was a time, before Locktober, when she yearned for his approval.

Fighting for it.

But as she watched him fuck her finger her frown turned into a downright scowl. Even in his locked state he was still using her. Focusing on himself. Clueless or maybe even selfish to her needs. The thought burrowed in her mind as she felt the pull of his body collapsing on their bedspread, bringing her curling finger along with it.

"Close now," he moaned.

She rolled her eyes.

"Keep going," he sighed between short breaths.

She inhaled impatiently.

"Cumming, I'm cumming," he announced, like he had discovered the cure for cancer.

She recoiled as he spasmed like a mad man around her finger. Babbling incoherently as his body released its filth on their bedspread.

For a moment she watched him lay, breathing heavily, his face buried on their bed.

"I hope it's shame," she thought to herself wickedly.

She mustered a weak smile as he turned his head nodding at her, like the job was completed.

"Better," she asked impatiently.

"N-not quite there," he responded, moving his body to reveal a small puddle where he laid.

"Clean that up," she said, her voice stern.

Patrick wadded up the bed cover and threw it to the floor, like it was on fire.

"Karen.. I..."

Patrick watched in disbelief as Karen moved to her side of the bed, scooping Rufus from his perch on her nightstand and moving to the door.

"Karen... please what did I..."

She raised Rufus at him, pointing the huge dildo at his face, "I still need to finish..."

Patrick watched her spin, her huge, globe ass appearing before him, pausing at the door.

"I understand," he croaked, recoiling as the bedroom door closed behind her.

***********