A week in the cage. Two weeks without an orgasm.
Three days of the last week she's been away on a family trip.
She's curious about the cage, but not terribly worried about my predicament. She giggles in play horror when I tell her I've been swimming, biking, dancing, and running in it. Swimming? Biking? Isn't it painful? Uncomfortable?
No, and no. It might even be too comfortable!
I can see her thinking.
And she *has* been thinking. No more than an hour after she gets back from the trip she sits me down for a talk. She's going to go up for a promotion at work, but this means I'm going to have to pull my weight some more at home.
If she's expecting resistance, she gets none.
"What can I do?" I ask.
She lists some things, and we discuss the new arrangements. I'm not rolling over, and I'm definitely not going to be her sissy maid with a swiffer, but I'm going to have some new domestic duties, that's for sure.
I'm not actually a lazy slob who sits on the couch with a forty ounce anyway. I *do* pull my weight around the house, but I'll be pulling a bit more from now on. Many of the duties she has taken upon herself have been self-imposed, but I'll definitely be doing some of them.
Last night the cage comes off. She strokes the lil' fella mock-mournfully.
"Poor caged thing. Poor neglected little fellow."
There's a definite sense of "I like this" in her tone.
And we have *AMAZING* PIV sex.
She's lying there with a happy, hazy smile on her face after the deed.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"How glad I am that it's ME you come to."
She snuggles into me.
"I'll let you go down on me tomorrow."
And off to sleep she goes.
I'm left musing about my new life for a few minutes. Has her new-found professional and domestic assertiveness been inspired by the chastity? Are we drifting in the direction of an FLR?
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