Locktober Pt. 15

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.

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

(Sunday, Week 4-Days locked-21)

Karen was fiddling on the couch, she was gazing at her phone, trying to lose herself in social media.

Patrick sat next to her, further than usual. He flipped through the channels, he too moved like he was uncomfortable.

Maybe it was the loathsome cage.

But as he settled on a documentary about grey wolves he had seen many times his mind was firmly on last night.

He'd watched Devon, the football team captain, and Marie, another of his students, have sex as he watched. Screwing each other like animals. He sat in the chair in the dank bedroom. Strangely enjoying himself at the sight of one of his porns brought to life.

Devon had made him.

That's what he kept telling himself.

But he had made the decision to stay.

"It'll be fine," he told himself, "It'll all be fine."

Karen sat near him, stealing glances at her older husband. She was similarly thinking of the night before. Demetrius had texted and she had answered. She could still feel him inside her, her body flushing at the thought of another night of amazing sex with her black boss.

He hadn't forced her. That wasn't his way.

She had worn the sexy outfit, knowing what would happen.

She had made the decision to go.

"I needed it," she thought to herself, "We'll work it out."

The sound of the dull narrator filled the room, Karen found herself watching, for once, breathing quietly, almost hoping time would pass faster. She had grown emboldened over the past few weeks, Patrick caging had opened her eyes, she'd blossomed, almost fully. She was ready for Patrick to join her in her new life. And yet the fact that she would have to hurt him to help her sat uncomfortable in her chest.

"He's gonna be so mad at you..."

Karen scowled as she read the text.

"Renee," she hissed in her mind.

Her body seized. She knew she had to tell him. She'd thought about this moment over and over since the first time she had succumbed and fucked Demetrius in the office.

It was wrong.

Tawdry.

Unseemly.

And Renee was holding it all over her head

She wanted to find the perfect time. But her final competitor in the Locktober bet had put a clock on her confession that made her bristle.

For once this month, she wasn't in control.

"Patty," she said quietly, turning her phone over and tossing it to the coffee table, "I have to tell you something..."

"You want me to change it," he replied, his mind similarly wrecked from everything he'd seen the night before.

Everything he'd learned.

"No, no it's fine," she said, moving closer to him.

She breathed in deeply, looking at him. For a moment, she was that shy co-ed. She could apologize for her indiscretion. He'd be mad, disappointed. She would play the role she'd played in their marriage for five years.

She shook her head.

She wasn't that girl. Not anymore. Locktober had opened her mind to what was possible, what she was capable of, when she took control. She had to tell him, take the lead.

But she didn't want to hurt him either.

"K, what is it," Patrick urged.

She steeled herself.

Prepared.

"I slept with Demetrius..."

Patrick felt his insides crumble as the remote fell from his hand. His academic mind searched for something, anything, in that moment.

But after last night, the high ground he often stood on seemed distant.

"I... when... how could you..."

Karen watched him flounder. The man who had taught her so much. Built a world for her, one that seemed so small now was shrinking before her eyes.

"I'm... it just happened..."

"H-how... how many times?"

Karen fought back another bristle at the question. She had prepared to let him down easy, but his tone and the look on his face rankled her somewhere deep.

"A... a few... last night..."

"Last night," Patrick crowed, dropping his head in his hands. He'd had his own forbidden experience, watching his two students make love, exposing his chastity cage, cumming at the sight.

Devon had marked him as a cuckold.

But that wasn't this.

The fatherly figure emerged.

"I... I'm so disappointed in you..."

But he had no power here.

"Patty," Karen sighed, gathering herself at his stammering, "The bet... everything... I had to..."

"Had to," he asked, lifting his tired head from the safety of the cocoon of his fingers.

"Yes," Karen said, feeling her resolve rise, "Patrick, it's... I've never felt like this..."

"With me," he grumbled weakly.

Karen knew.

She knew at this moment.

She could crumble.

Seek his absolution.

Position him in his familiar role.

Affirm him.

She frowned as her phone dinged on the coffee table. Surely another dig from Renee.

Doubting her resolve.

Claiming victory.

"Patty," she said, pushing Renee aside for a moment, "Yes..."

She could feel him withering, his eyes moving to her. She expected to find that solemn, saddened face.

Her eye brow raised as he spoke.

"It... it was a mistake. We've both made them this month. Right?"

Karen looked at him, the usually confident, stoic, mature man looking positively weak before her.

"Apologize, idiot," she told herself, the co-ed yelling in her mind.

"You.... you haven't even apologized..."

Here it was. The month. Her new found freedom.

Everything hanging in the balance.

"Patrick," she said solemnly," I'm sorry I hurt you..."

"But," her husband croaked, sensing it.

"But I'm not stopping..."

Patrick flailed on the couch, impetus, juvenile.

This was him now.

And this was her.

"Karen," Patrick whimpered, "You can't just... you can't... please honey..."

Karen shook her head, her resolve binding to her bones, "Patrick, this is who I am, like really. I'm different now."

Patrick shook his head, his eyes wet as he looked at his young wife. She brimmed with finality.

"Y-you've made a fool of me..."

"Cuckold..."

The word flew forth in his mind, rattling in his head.

He hated it.

He jumped as she took his hand, so hard he couldn't wrest it free if he'd wanted to.

"You're different too," she urged, "I've seen it... I see it now."

Patrick stewed for a long moment. The month had educated him. Changed him. The feel of the cage, even now, aching and pulsing beneath his slacks reacting to his base emotions.

Like it was part of him.

The leaking. The yearning for relief. The porn... Rufus, and the dirty, shameful scene from last night rushed him, like a gang assaulting his body, battering his senses.

"Talk to me Patty," she urged.

"I... I saw something last night," his voice said softly before his forlorn mind could stop it.

"What did you see," Karen pressed, squeezing his hand, searching for his attention as he wallowed.

"I... I... Jesus..."

Karen pressed so close their arms touched on the couch. She moved her hand and touched his stubbled chin, raising it.

"Tell me," she ordered, it was quick, but searching, like she needed the knowledge.

Patrick croaked, "I watched two students make love last night..."

Karen's eyes widened, first at the fall in station of the man she loved, then with confusion. But she steeled herself, she wasn't playing a role anymore.

"You wanted to," she asked.

"They sort of made me," he lied.

"Patrick," she answered sternly, not believing him.

"I... my mind... the cage..."

Karen squeezed his hand, "You liked it," she said with resolution.

Patrick paused and looked at her, nodding.

Karen's lungs filled with air, with fact, as she pressed on.

"This is who you are," she said flatly, she opened her mouth to continue but paused as Patrick spoke.

"I... It's not me," he said truthfully.

Karen paused, measuring her tone, "It is..."

"I... I'm supposed to lead... I have the answers... this is..."

"How it is," Karen said, finishing his thought.

Patrick looked at her, his gaze far away. He turned and looked at the door of their apartment. He moved, shifting towards it.

Karen's hand stayed on his.

He looked at it.

His soft groan was long, broken by wet sniffles, as he fought for air.

"I should go," he said softly, eyes still on their hands.

"That's your answer, " Karen said, loosening her hand just slightly so their finger barely touched.

"It should be," he said to their hands, before raising his eyes to hers, "That's what you want..."

Karen chanced a smile, it was light, cautious, "That's not what I want, " she answered, shaking her head.

"So what then," he asked, his body and cage flushing as she retook his hand.

"I want to move forward... together."

Patrick's gut was in knots as he wrestled with the idea, that wasn't an idea at all. More of an edict.

"I... I need to think," he answered, his eyes observing the couch that would be his bed for the night.

"Patrick," Karen tried, "We're almost there. One more week..."

"What will that change," Patrick mused sullenly.

"It's already changed," Karen replied, "We both know it."

A long silence fell between them.

Patrick's eyes begged for a detente.

Karen looked willing to continue, to define them.

"The cage stays, " she said quietly, "And I'm not stopping."

Patrick's hand flexed under hers. He didn't pull away.

"Karen, I need to sit with this," Patrick said, finally.

"Are you leaving," she asked, her concern real.

Patrick looked at the door, then at the couch. His shoulders dropped.

"No."

She looked at him as she released his hand. The narrator on screen was droning on about the virtues of grey wolves.

How they mated for life.

She stood, retrieving a blanket for her husband.

She nodded as he took it, wrapping himself in the scratchy embrace.

He nodded back after a long moment.

Neither of them spoke.

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

(Monday, Week 4-Days locked-22)

"Lookin' good Mrs. L!"

Karen smiled at Jax as she entered the lobby of "The Mine." The older black man was always so pleasant but his words and his smile were almost too kind. Filled with knowledge.

She clutched her folders against her breasts as she slid her key card into the door and entered the long hallway to her office.

"Hold up!"

Karen's body seized at the voice.

Renee.

She half considered letting the door close behind her but the sound was too close.

It would be rude.

She offered a half smile as the leggy brunette strode through the door.

"Long night," Renee asked.

"Don't start," Karen begged.

Karen frowned as she tried to slide along the linoleum floor leading to the office. She felt Renee keeping pace, oozing arrogance.

"I think Patty will be okay with it," she chided, "It'll be a shame to hear it from me. But, such is life..."

Karen paused, turning on her heel so fast Renee had to stagger back.

"For your information," she seethed, "I told him last night!"

Karen reveled in the look of confusion on the office harlot's face, she lifted her chin at the older woman, preparing herself.

"Oh," Renne said, still in a small shock.

Karen beaded her eyes, her stomach sinking as Renee recovered, smiling.

"Didn't think you had it in you little one," she purred, evilly.

Karen leaned forward, close to Renee's thin face, replying, "Well I do..."

Renee sensed something in the tone, pressing, "Your cold Karen... icy..."

"Would you shut up," she spat, her words dying as someone emerged from one of the offices before the computer bay.

"It doesn't matter anyway," Renee said proudly, pushing past the younger woman, claiming the door handle to their office, "I'm winning this thing."

"Keep telling yourself that," Karen chided, trying to regain her composure as the office door opened.

"Age before beauty," Renee sneered, holding the door open.

Karen rolled her eyes as she walked into the familiar computer bay. Her mind begging for the relief of the group.

The looks from the women, already seated and typing away, was ambivalent.

Distant.

"Still going strong," Renee yelled, grabbing Karen's arm and pulling it skyward.

Karen wrested her arm free and glared at Renee.

The office stayed silent.

Karen felt herself stumble, her folders falling to the office floor. She paused, noticing none of her friends were making a move to help her.

"Stay off your knees in the office Karen, it's unbecoming," Renee whispered as she passed.

Karen's face reddened as her eyes moved to Demetrius's open office.

She tried to put the encounter out of her mind as she settled at her desk, nodding with pleasure at a happy email from Phoenix Global. They seemed to finally be falling in line.

"Miranda," she asked, "Can you forward me the last test from the changeover?"

She lifted her head at the silence. Miranda was leaned over her desk, whispering with Tosha, some secret just for them.

"Miranda?"

The elder programmer finally answered, short and dismissive, "In a bit..."

Karen bristled at the frigidity. If this was a reality show, the two villains were left competing for a prize. Her office mates seemed like they simply didn't care anymore. The betrayal that doomed Tosha's chances at victory fresh in their minds.

Karen yearned for camaraderie. The group had grown so close over the past month. She had grown to love the early morning messages as they snapped pictures of their husband's chastity-clad penises. They messaged throughout the day. But, as the cages waned, as the competition grew more fierce, the money becoming real, tempers had flared. It hadn't helped that she had thrown her lot in with Renee.

Karen stood, shakily and walked to the back of the office.

"Heather hows..."

"Can you not," the mousy programmer said in her quietest, most polite voice.

Karen felt the mark of a pariah as Heather re-focused on her screen.

"Garcia, I was..."

"Busy K," the chunky, blonde tech said, dismissing her with a wave of her hand.

Karen's shoulders slouched as she moved to the break room. She glanced at Renee. The office harlot's smile made her smolder.

A few minutes later she was smelling the aroma of the office coffee, not her favorite, but she didn't expect she would be getting any thoughtful cups of java on her desk anytime soon.

"How'd he take it?"

Karen heard herself sigh at the deep voice. When they were alone, it brought her peace. But now, it felt like another weight being piled on her already tired body.

"F-fine," she said, turning and offering a small smile, "It was fine."

Demetrius nodded. His face was caring, and still brimming with confidence.

"So what now?"

Karen shook her head as she weighed the question.

"Can't go back," she mused, shaking a sugar packet.

Demetrius sighed as he eyed her, "No, no you can't..."

"I... I don't know if I can carry it," she said quietly, feeling his massive shadow over her.

"D, I need you!"

Renee's shrill voice rang through the bay, interrupting them.

Demetrius and Karen looked at each other, nodding.

"Duty calls," he said in his deep-baritone.

"O-okay," Karen said, feeling alone as the hulking black man turned and moved to answer whatever pointless question Renee would ask. Stealing Demetrius's attention.

She knew her game.

Karen glared at Renee, who cut her eyes at her, while Demetrius hovered over her computer.

Renee gave her a wicked, sarcastic pout.

Karen's fist balled. So perturbed she might snort.

She paused as Tosha crossed her path, moving to the office door, catching her eyes.

She froze as Tosha gave her a nod to follow her.

Karen tried to act nonchalant as she slipped through the heavy glass door before it closed.

"What's..."

"Shh," Tosha said, taking Karen's hand and guiding her to the first open door, the office gym.

"Tosha," Karen said, confused, "I... I don't..."

Tosha paused her with her finger.

"Karen," she mused, shaking her head, "I'm still mad at you..."

Karen's mind replayed the moment she had teamed up with Renee to slip the key to Tosha's husband's chastity key into his coat pocket, dooming Tosha to lose the bet.

"Tosha," Karen said, her voice shaky, "I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Renee just..."

Tosha's face went flat, the name curdling in her mind, "I know," she said, "I know about everything."

Karen's eyebrows flared as her green eyes widened.

"I screwed up," Karen admitted, "I ruined everything..."

She paused. Feeling the older programmer's eyes on her, "You've had quite the month," she said, a smile cracking.

"Renee's gunning for me now," Karen added.

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that," Tosha said, knowingly.

Karen looked at her. Tosha was the mother hen of the group. She looked out for everyone, even Demetrius.

"But do you want that," Tosha asked, moving her face closer to the young housewife.

"What?"

Tosha smiled, "To win?"

"I... I don't know," Karen stuttered, everything from the month running through her mind.

"Well," Tosha said, sounding sage, "That's a choice you're going to have to make..."

Karen's eyes beaded as she searched for an answer, "I don't..."

Tosha patted her on the shoulder as she passed her, "See you tomorrow sweetheart..."

Karen stood, alone, in the gym, smelling the mix of sweat and cleaning solution. She looked around, lost in the darkness.

Tosha's voice rang from the hallway, "Come on now, we've got tickets to work through!"

Karen inhaled, nodding and turning to join her friend in the yellow, bright light of the hallway.

********

"Alright everyone," Patrick opined as his students watched him, "One question for today's test. It regards Bentham and Mills's Greatest Happiness Principle..."

Patrick smiled as he observed the mixture of enlightenment and dread on the faces of his most studious and less astute students.

Patrick continued, "If the greatest happiness of the greatest number is the measure, what do we do with the person who is made smaller so the rest can be larger?"

He paused.

"Begin..."

The question had come to Patrick that morning on his way in. His mind was a blender after last night's revelations. He'd tossed and turned all night on the uncomfortable couch. Karen had admitted her infidelity. He was heart broken. But that same night he had crossed a line, watching Devon and Marie, his students, have sex in Devon's room in the football player's frat house. The month had been a study in his changing. The cage had been the mode. But his own actions, his decisions, had been the method.

The question was elegant, a mixture of his own feelings and a culmination of his teaching, and the lessons he had learned over the past few weeks.

His jubilation was short lived as he watched a few students stand in the back of the class.

He grimaced as they moved to the aisle, their eyes on him, a viscous spray of his own pent-up mess wetted the front of his khakis. Thankfully the trusty clipboard was on the lectern.

He watched, his mouth open as, one by one, the football players passed him and placed the unanswered test on the lectern.

He knew their faces. He'd seen them on the sidelines while he toiled at Dean Wither's direction, he'd seen them in the shower after the game, young and virile. The anger on Travonte's face when he failed him. The looks they gave him, first as he ascended the staircase to Devon's room, and then when he descended an hour or more later.

Devon.

Patrick's face went white as the team captain stood before him.

"Appreciate the new arrangement Doc," Devon said, his voice serious, before dropping his blank test in front of the wayward professor.

Patrick nodded, words failing him.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the huge players cleared the lecture hall, allowing him a moment of peace.

Thirty minutes later, the last student, Marie, as it turned out, dropped off her completed test.

He withered at the knowing look on the young co-eds face.

He yearned for his office.

Dean Wither's voice sounded like an alarm from the side of the lecture hall.

"Patrick, come here please..."

Patrick shook his head, grabbed his clipboard and hopped down to meet the elderly dean and another man, who looked strangely familiar.

"Patrick, my boy," the dean stated excitedly, "I'd like you to meet Bradley..."

"Mavis," Patrick croaked, recognizing the husband of one of Karen's co-workers.

"Renee," he asked himself, as he extended his hand.

"You two know each other? Splendid!"

The two men were silent, their handshake going on too long as they searched each other's eyes, both of them falling to one another's trousers for a brief moment.

Dean Withers broke the awkward moment, "Patrick, Bradley's a big supporter of ours, of the team..."

"You're too kind Thomas," Bradley said calmly.

Patrick noted how he invoked the dean's first name.

"Donor," Patrick stammered, "You and Renee?"

Dean Withers poked his head between the two men, "Bradley's software company hosts our servers, I believe I mentioned that when..."

"Yes," Patrick blurted, saving himself the discomfort of the memory, "I remember..."

"Good then," Dean Withers added, "Bradley, I wonder if I might take a phone call?"

"Sure," Bradley said confidently.

"Patrick would you..."

"Yes sir," Patrick answered.

The two men watched the dean waddle towards the door, a long silence filling the empty lecture hall.

"How's your month," Bradley said with a laugh that was confident and awkward.

"Messy," Patrick answered dryly, "Seat?"

The two men moved to sit next to each other in the desks at the front of the class.

"The things we do for love," Bradley said as they settled.

"Indeed," Patrick replied.

Both men seemed cagey to one another, feeling out how deep they should probe. The knowledge that they were both imprisoned in chastity beneath their slacks a shared fact between the two men.

"Why does Renee work?"

The question was a bizarre choice as it rang from Patrick's mouth. The cavalcade of queries in his mind still messy and disjointed.

Bradley nodded, "Interesting question..."

"I'm sorry it just seems..."

Bradley chuckled, "Renee enjoys her freedom. This we both know I think?"

Patrick nodded, hating the smile that crept across his face.

"As much as I'd love more of her attention, she... has her own way."

"And you're okay with that," Patrick asked, his mind realizing they were discussing more than Renee's career choices.

Bradley looked over his shoulder before leaning in, "You have to understand. I have a difficult, stressful work life..."

Patrick nodded, as his mind tried to keep up.

"I would assume you would have her relieve your... pressure in other ways..."

Bradley chuckled, "You'd think that."

Patrick raised his hands, questing for more, as he stole a glance at the open doorway.

"There's something cathartic about it I suppose. I could have her anyway I choose. We were like that once..."

Patrick stayed silent but his face spoke volumes of confusion.

"But," Bradley added, letting it hang, "I choose to give her what she wants, and what she wants is the freedom to be herself."

Patrick spoke finally, "It seems an odd arrangement..."

"Patrick," Bradley replied, carefully choosing his words, "I made my choice. I enjoy it. It's... as you say, odd. But it works for us."

"I don't think I can do that," Patrick answered honestly, his body brimming with fear as he opened up to the man he had just met, who he shared a bizarre kinship with.

"Your wife is the young one right? Carol?"

"Karen," Patrick corrected.

"Right, Karen," Bradley said, a smile running across his lips, "She's a prize, I remember her sundress from the barbecue."

"I believe she and Renee have spent some time together..."

Patrick bristled at the memory of the night that Rufus had come into his life and bed. An intruder that now sat firmly on his nightstand.

"It all gets better," Bradley mused, pausing as they heard the dean re-enter the lecture hall.

"Bradley, so sorry for that!"

Bradley leaned in as the dean shuffled forward, towards them, whispering.

"If you just let her take the lead..."

Patrick's mind was on fire. This man, powerful in station, willingly abdicating his role as leader of his union. He looked to the dean, walking slowly towards them.

He fired a question that burst forth, louder than a whisper.

"Does she ever let you out?"

Bradley stood, his back to the dean, smiling as he nodded.

"Sometimes... when I've been good..."

The encounter ended, Patrick stood awkwardly, extending his hand.

Bradley winked at him as he took it, seemingly returning to the confident man he had been minutes earlier.

"T-thank you," Patrick stammered.

"Don't mention it," Bradley said quickly as the dean placed an arm on his shoulder, ushering the donor to the hallway. The dean looked back and gave Patrick a thumbs up.

Patrick returned it weakly.

"He's doing wonders with the team," the dean said, his voice fading as they approached the exit.

"I've heard," Bradley replied as the pair disappeared into the hall.

Alone again in the empty lecture hall, Patrick fell to the wood floor.

His mind racing.

Searching.

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

Hey," Karen said, her voice soft, as she entered their apartment.

There was no music.

No fresh cooked meal.

"Hey," Patrick replied, sitting on the couch, his hands clasped between his legs.

She moved, quietly across the rug, and sat next to Patrick, sighing.

He looked at her, returning her sigh.

A heavy weight between them.

"Apparently we're going to be the last," Karen finally said softly.

Patrick's mind moved to his conversation with Renee's husband earlier that day. It had been happenstance, fate bringing knowledge to his lecture hall. And now that same man was going to have the freedom Patrick yearned for.

Or so he thought.

"So that means..."

Karen looked at him as she replied, "Just a few more days..."

"And then back to normal," Patrick asked, weakly.

"What's normal," Karen responded, her voice heavy.

Patrick nodded as he moved to study the tweed of the carpet.

"I... I met someone today," Patrick said, finally, after a long quiet.

Karen's eye brows raised.

"A man..."

"Patty," Karen said, confused.

"He... he told me, Jesus, he told me he was like us. He was where we are..."

Karen's face scrunched, "Patty... I don't..."

Patrick tightened, keeping the details to himself to ruminate in. He lifted his head and met her eyes.

"I need to think..."

"Okay," Karen replied, nodding her head.

"You should too," Patrick implored, taking her hand.

Karen agreed, squeezing his hand and gazing at him for a long moment. After another minute, they parted.

An hour later, Patrick was grading papers, his laptop resting on his stomach.

The handwriting was neat on the first one. She had answered the question he had written that morning.

If the greatest happiness of the greatest number is the measure, what do we do with the person who is made smaller so the rest can be larger?

"The principle does not protect the smaller person. It only asks whether the larger number is served. If the arrangement increases the total, the person who is made smaller is already accounted for. He is not the measure. He is the cost."

Patrick turned the page.

Another answer, shorter.

"The smaller person can still choose the arrangement. The choice is the part that remains his. The principle does not require him to like the cost. It only requires that he accept the measure."

He read a third, it was Marie's.

"The person who is made smaller is not protected by the measure. Maybe not even considered in the general outcome. But he is proof that the measure is working. If the larger number is served, his reduction is already justified. He can fight it. He can refuse it. He can stay and be the smaller person, so the rest can thrive. The measure does not ask him whether he prefers the cost. It only records that he accepted the arrangement. The choice is still his. The outcome is not."

Patrick set the paper down.

The cage answered under the blanket.

He read the next answer, and the next, correlating the question he had asked with the lines they had written back. None of them named him. All of them described the shape. The principle did not argue with the month.

It simply measured it. He stayed on the couch, the answers in his hands.

The papers had already said the thing he was still trying not to say.

He jumped as he heard a soft moan from the master bedroom.

He sighed.

Karen had already made her choice.

He followed her soft moans, cracking the door.

He watched her, rutting on Rufus like an insatiable animal. If she saw him, she didn't acknowledge his presence as he watched her sliding the huge black dildo inside herself.

"Fuck me, fuck me with your big black cock..."

Experiencing a pleasure he knew was beyond him.

His penis barged at the plastic slats, like it was trying to watch the action with each pained push.

He sighed as he retired, leaving the door cracked.

**********