Elsewhere

We were kneeling side by side when Mistress welcomed us, my wife on my left and me on my right. Neither of us spoke.

Mistress looked us over for a moment, then smiled at my wife.

“Right. Let's get your husband ready.”

That was apparently all the instruction she needed. My wife moved behind me, and I felt the hood settle over my head, then tighten as she pulled it down properly, smoothing it into place and fastening it until the room disappeared.

Darkness, but not silence. That mattered.

I could still hear them moving around me: Mistress giving instructions, my wife answering, the occasional click of metal, a buckle, a strap. Hands took my arms and brought me upright, then guided me through a few careful steps, a turn, another step, and finally hands on my shoulders.

“Back.”

I obeyed.

Something firm caught me across the lower back as they guided me into position. My spine arched, my hips were pushed forward and my legs spread. Then the restraints began: wrists first, then elbows, ankles, thighs, and another strap across my waist pulling me back into the structure until there was nowhere useful left to go.

Mistress's voice came from somewhere in front of me.

“Tighter.”

My wife adjusted something and the restraint bit more firmly.

“Good.”

I tested it without meaning to. Nothing. I could move enough to breathe and tense, but not enough to change anything.

Mistress walked around me; I could hear her shoes on the floor. Then came hands at my cage, deliberate and familiar rather than fumbling. The lock opened and the cage came away.

For a few seconds I simply enjoyed the sensation of freedom. That was rare enough now to feel almost luxurious. My cock hardened almost immediately, of course it did, and I could feel cool air against skin that normally spent most of its time hidden behind metal.

Then warmth.

A mouth.

Wet, soft, engulfing the head of my cock without warning.

My breath caught. The sensation was almost absurd after so long locked away: tongue, lips, heat. I had no idea whose mouth it was. Mistress? My wife?

That question lasted perhaps three seconds.

Then I stopped caring.

Pleasure built quickly, too quickly. My whole body tightened against the restraints. I was getting close, and whoever had me knew it too.

The mouth vanished.

I groaned into the hood and someone laughed. Mistress, I thought. Maybe.

Hands replaced the mouth. Something narrow circled the base of my cock and scrotum, then tightened. Another turn followed, then another, binding everything into one brutally tight package. My cock felt harder than I would have thought possible. There was nowhere for the erection to go and no way for it to soften properly; the pressure simply held it there.

Contained.

Useful.

Then the mouth returned.

I nearly swore. The contrast was vicious, every lick and change of pressure sharper now, but before I could settle into it something touched my ass. Firm, rounded and unyielding, it pressed against my sphincter slowly at first and then more insistently.

I breathed through it.

The mouth on my cock didn't stop. The pressure behind me continued until my body opened around it. A thick pole, I realised, something fixed beneath me. It pushed deeper until it settled somewhere close enough to my prostate that I could feel the promise of what it might do without quite getting the satisfaction of it.

The mouth disappeared again and the hands left me. For a moment there was nothing except the fullness inside me and the tight binding around my cock.

Then a vibration began, low and subtle, travelling through the pole and into me.

Not enough.

God, not enough.

Mistress's voice came from somewhere nearby.

“Come with me.”

My wife answered. I heard movement and footsteps, then they were further away. At first I thought they had simply moved to another part of the room.

Then I heard the first moan.

My wife's, I thought.

Then Mistress.

Something shifted. Furniture creaked. A wet sound followed, then another. I couldn't tell what they were doing, and that was almost worse than knowing.

The hood gave me nothing. All I had were fragments: a gasp, a laugh, a long exhale, the creak of something taking weight, wetness, movement. The vibration inside me continued, steady and indifferent, while my cock stayed painfully hard in its bindings.

I tried to move. There wasn't much available, only a tiny lift of my hips and then back down. The pole shifted inside me and the pressure changed.

There.

Almost.

I tried again, a fraction higher, then down. The vibration brushed somewhere close enough to make my breath catch, not quite the prostate, or perhaps just the edge of it. I couldn't tell.

I stopped and listened. My wife cried out, then there was silence, then Mistress laughed and the sounds resumed.

I had no idea how long had passed. Minutes, perhaps. Maybe longer. Time became whatever happened elsewhere: a sequence of noises I couldn't place, punctuated by the steady vibration inside me.

Eventually my hips moved again, not far, perhaps an inch or less, but enough to alter the sensation. I didn't think about it. I simply moved.

Somewhere beyond the hood, Mistress cried out. I froze, then started again with small movements, barely movement at all, my body searching for whatever pressure it could find.

I heard my wife next, a sharp sound followed by something softer. The bed or sofa or whatever they were using creaked rhythmically. I moved with no rhythm at all, just chasing sensation.

It was the third time I heard Mistress cry out in pleasure that I realised what I was doing.

I was fucking myself on the pole.

Not much. I couldn't move much. But somewhere between the first orgasm I'd heard and this one, my body had discovered that movement changed the pressure inside me. Lift, and the sensation retreated. Sink, and it came back, close to somewhere that mattered but never quite enough.

I had no idea how long I'd been doing it.

That thought should probably have embarrassed me. Instead, I tried harder.

I lifted as far as the restraints allowed and dropped back down. The pole pressed deeper.

There.

Almost.

Again.

My hips strained uselessly against the straps while the vibration buzzed through me, close but not close enough. I tried to change the angle, but the restraints allowed almost nothing: a fraction to one side, a tiny tilt of the pelvis, enough to make me think I had found it.

Then gone.

I could hear them again: my wife's voice breaking into a moan, Mistress saying something I couldn't make out, another wet sound, a sharp slap, laughter.

Then more.

I worked myself against the pole slowly now, not because I wanted to be slow but because that was all the movement I had.

At some point I stopped trying to understand what was happening elsewhere. The sounds simply became part of the room: their pleasure, my frustration, the vibration, the pressure, my cock bound hard and useless in front of me.

I moved because my body had learned that movement offered the possibility of something more, even if it never quite arrived.

Another cry came from somewhere beyond the hood. Perhaps my wife, perhaps Mistress. I couldn't tell anymore.

I lifted myself again and dropped.

Almost.

Again.

The evening stretched out around me, and I kept moving.