by Mr. Anonymous
When my fiancée decided to move in with me, she had no idea just how often I masturbated.
We were both about 23 years in age and have been together for a while. Sex with her was always amazing, but nothing close to how I feel after a good jerk. I’ve always thought that nobody can give me the kind of pleasure I can offer myself, so I kept on with my little old habit.
Aiming for a safe ground, I introduced the act as part of our sex life. For the most part, she felt comfortable with it and would let me do it in her front. Her presence even made it more fun.
But she still had no idea how often I did it in her absence, until she came in as I was taking a shower one evening after work. She pulled the shower curtains back to climb in with me and there I stood, my rock-hard jimmy in one hand, all soaped up and ready to burst!
She looked down at it, looked up at me and said, “Go on, don’t stop!” She climbed in and began washing herself as I finished up.
After showering, she sat me down and asked if I did it every day. I nodded my head.
Then she said something like, “but only in the shower and in bed when we play, right?”
I had to shake my head. “No.”
She looked really surprised. With a firm look, she asked me to be honest and tell her how often I did it.
I remember what I said as clear as a bell. “Six or seven times…on workdays.”
Her eyes opened wide, her jaw dropped, but that was only the first shock.
“Maybe up to 12 times on Saturdays and Sundays,” I finished.
She gasped. I mean she literally gasped. She sat there speechless and stared at me. I couldn’t look her in the eye and dropped my head in shame.
“We have to do something about this because you’re out of control.”
She grabbed the truck keys and told me to come with her. We ended up at the only adult bookstore in town. When we went in, she asked the tattooed and multi-pierced girl at the counter if they had anything that could get me to stop masturbating.
Talk about being fuckin’ embarrassed. Holy shit!
I remember the girl saying something like, “Oh, yeah. I keep my guy locked up. I hate walking in the door and finding him jacking off when I get home, so I put a stop to it. Here, let me show you what I use.”
She took my then-fiancee to a display case and began showing her what they got. They all looked like torture devices to me!
I turned around and stared at the big wall of dildos behind me instead. Looking at the multi-colored, multi-sized and multi-shaped dildos felt more comfortable than looking at the metal cages the only girl I had ever really loved was looking to buy for my jimmy.
I was crushed.
But hey, it gets worse! I heard the hot girl tell her that was the smallest one on the market.
Fuck Me! I wanted to run and hide. Dig a hole and jump in. Walk into the Pacific and get carried away by the tide. Anything but be there right then.
The thing is, my fiancee was the hottest, sexiest, most playful and fun chick that I had ever met. And she loved me for who I was, even with my one physical shortcoming, if you get my drift. And I knew I would probably never find a woman like her again in this world.
I had a lot of first dates before I met this woman. I had a lot of sexual partners because I played drums in a rock band, wasn’t half bad looking, and was built like a bodybuilder. But I just didn’t measure up for most girls and first date sex seldom led to a second date. So I was at a crossroads here. If I left, most likely she would leave me. I didn’t want that, so I reconciled the issue, sighed, and accepted what may come.
My lady and her new best buddy hit it off pretty good and they became best friends soon after that night. Plenty more reconciliations and acceptances lay in my future, but those are stories for another day.
We drove home in silence, me afraid to even look in the bag in my hand. Once home, she pulled out the box. I saw a picture of a metal wire cage with a man’s penis inside it. She opened it up, spilled the contents and directions out of the box and told me to pull my pants down.
Unfortunately, as soon as my jimmy felt the warm air in the house, up it went. She just shook her head and told me to take care of it. One last hurrah before being sentenced to a life behind bars!
She read the directions as I stood there doing my favorite thing and not once did she look at me.
After a spurt and quick deflation, she figured out how everything went together, fitted the backing, put my peepee in the cage and snapped it shut with a tiny padlock. I had the misfortune of speaking and offering my opinion.
“Ha! That’ll be easy enough to break. All I need is a screwdriver!” I said.
I thought it was a very clever thing to say. She didn’t. She told me to sit down so she could tell me what she had been thinking about since we left the store.
She asked me if I thought she wasn’t enough for me, to which I replied an emphatic “No”. Then she asked if I liked the way she allowed me to play with her in bed, to which I gave a hearty “most definitely”. Then she told me something that shook me up and made me realize how she must have felt.
“It feels like you’re cheating on me. You do it so much that I feel inadequate as a woman and a lover, especially when you do it alone. You think about me when we play, but you could be thinking about anyone when you’re by yourself. So if you can live with this, I promise I will just walk away and let you be, okay?”
And this was how I let my darling wife-to-be have full control over my penis.
It worked…much more than I ever anticipated. By the way, the chastity device improved over the years. In the 2000s, one company finally started making them in extra-small, more comfortable sizes.
I married her a few months after that and never regretted my decision to spend the rest of my life with her.
If only life doesn’t always find a way to mess things up.
We were married for only 6 years before she died and left me.
Oh dear
Oh wow…SAD
Nice story line…..well written
Did she die or you became free?