By David Sellers
About eighteen months ago we had a threeway with Roger, a twenty-something nurse who used to date one of my husband’s coworkers. The sex with Roger, that first time, was completely vanilla—and completely amazing. Roger has a hot body, a killer smile, and medium-length brown hair. And he loved to be fucked. The second time he came over we told him about our bondage gear and our playroom — which has a sling, a fuckbench, and a cage in addition to the bondage board—but Roger wasn’t into it. He didn’t even want to see it. More vanilla sex, more threeways. Roger and my husband hit it off. They began to spend a lot of time together when I was out of town. (I travel for work once or twice a month.) About a year ago my husband asked me if it was okay for Roger to be — to think of himself as, to tell people he was — my husband’s boyfriend.
That was fine, I said.
There was more.
Roger didn’t want to have threeways anymore. When my husband wanted to have sex with Roger—and he wanted to have sex with Roger a lot — it would just be the two of them. From now on I would be stored when Roger came over.
When I hesitated, thinking about what this would mean for “us,” my husband leaned in and grabbed my dick. It was hard.
“I’ll take that as your consent,” my husband said.
After that talk my husband would put me away whenever Roger was on his way. It was never more than once or twice a week, and we — my husband and I — were still having lots of sex. But if my husband made plans to get together with Roger it didn’t matter what I was doing that night, or what I had to do that night, or what I wanted to do that night. Storage. And my husband would never tell me in advance that he’d made plans with Roger. He would just announce, “Go take a piss, if you need to, then strip and meet me in the storeroom. Roger’s coming.”
At first Roger didn’t want to see me, or see our playroom, or our gear. He was kind of in denial about it, and a little freaked out. But he was happy to have so much time alone with my husband. One day he took a peek in the playroom when I was already stored away. Then he started hanging out in the playroom with my husband if I was completely stored by the time he arrived. He would sit on top of the cage on the other side of the room, smiling and rolling his eyes, as my husband put me into the leather sleepsack, laced it up, strapped me to our bondage board, gagged and hooded me, and finally set the baby monitor on my chest.
Then one day Roger helped with the straps.
A few weeks later I came home and Roger was in the house. My husband wasn’t. They had a date to fuck — and hang out and have dinner and watch a movie. That meant I would be going into storage for the evening. Roger offered to put me away himself before my husband got home. I had to talk him through it. When I was completely immobilized, and gagged but not blindfolded, Roger unzipped the crotch of the sleepsack and pulled out my cock. I was, of course, rock hard. Roger pulled out his own cock. He was hard too.
“My first bondage boner,” Roger said. Then he looked down at me. “Bet you wish you still got to fuck me,” he said, with an exaggerated frown. “But my ass isn’t for you. Never again. It’s all for your hubby.”
My cock throbbed in Roger’s hand.
“You sick fuck,” Roger said, laughing. It was the first time he called me that. Now that’s all he ever calls me.
As with my boyfriend a dozen years before, a sadism was wakening in Roger. He was starting to like bondage too — but in a very limited way. What was sexy about bondage, Roger explained during one of our check-in sessions, was that it meant he was going to getting it on with my husband. It was a Pavlovian association—only it was me in bondage, and not a ringing bell, that got Roger going. It meant he was about to get fucked. Not just that, but he was going to have my husband all to himself for a while. He didn’t want to get tied up himself, he didn’t want to tie anyone else up. But he loved tying me up.
Within a month Roger was doing all of the storing.
Roger’s a nurse and he works a four-days-on/three-days-off schedule. I work from home, my husband keeps regular office hours. Once Roger took over storage duties he began swinging by before my husband got off work to put me away. I’d be completely stored by 6 PM, shortly before my husband would get home, and usually released at 10 PM. If Roger had left, my husband would allow me to beat off right away. If he was still in the house, I had to wait until Roger left.
So much had changed — except for one thing.
The four-hour barrier had yet to be broken.
Six months ago my husband called me into the storeroom. Roger was already in there, sitting on the edge of the cage. My husband was standing by the door. He told me to kneel on the floor in front of Roger.
We had to get past the four-hour barrier, my husband stated flatly. He and Roger wanted to do overnights — they wanted to start spending the night together — and I would have to be stored away. I suggested the cage. I could easily spend the night in the cage. Roger said no. The cage wasn’t good enough. They didn’t want me jerking off. They also didn’t want it to be easy. They both got off on knowing that storage was hard for me. My suffering played a big part in their dirty talk, my husband said, as Roger smirked down at me.
“So it’s not for nothing,” Roger said. “Your pain and suffering serves an important purpose.”
There was more: Roger had also installed two deadbolt locks on the playroom that day, with two different keys. One was on Roger’s keyring, the other was on my husband’s. From now on I would only get out when they both wanted me out.
“And I don’t have a lot of incentive to let you out,” Roger said, smiling. “I would prefer that you never got out.”
My husband walked over to the cage, sat down beside Roger, and kissed him—my husband kissed his boyfriend.
There would be one concession made for my comfort: a new sleepsack. The leather one we had been using for nearly a decade would sometimes bunch and fold when the straps were tightened. Those folds would dig into my skin. What was a mild discomfort at hour one would be driving me insane by hour four. My husband said that he had ordered a neoprene sleepsack and some new, wider leather straps for securing it the bondage board. It would be smoother and tighter—no folds, a little more comfortable.
“When does it come?” I asked.
“It’s here already,” my husband said. “You’re going in it tonight. For six hours. Just two extra hours. You can take it. We’ll work up to nine.”
“Nine by the end of the month,” Roger quickly added. “We’re working up to nine hours — overnight storage — by the end of this month.”
It was March 21st. The end of the month was coming right up.
I sat in silence for a minute, looking up at my husband. He could tell what I was thinking.
“I’m not asking you if this is okay,” he said. “This is happening whether you’re okay with it or not. Because this is what I want.”
“And it’s what I want,” said Roger. “Two against one. Majority rules.”
My husband turned to Roger.
“Put my husband away,” he said. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
My husband turned and left the room without looking back at me.
“You really can’t say no to him, can you?” Roger asked, as he gestured for me to take my clothes off.
“No,” I said, “I really can’t.”
“Then you’re really fucked,” Roger continued. “Because you know who your husband can’t say no to? He can’t say no to me.”
I told Roger I had to piss. I didn’t. I just wanted to catch my husband in the bathroom, I wanted to talk to him for a minute, alone. Roger handed me an empty water bottle.
“Piss in that,” Roger said.
I forced myself to piss as Roger spread the new neoprene sleepsack out on the bondage board. Roger smiled—he had such a beautiful, disarming smile; he looked so damned innocent—and then he patted the bondage board. I climbed up and slipped into the new sleepsack. Roger zipped it up.
“Your husband lied to you just now,” said Roger as he began buckling the straps that pressed my body down into the bondage board. “This isn’t what he wants. You be stored overnight. It’s what I want. He fought me on it. He said you couldn’t do this overnight. But I kept asking until he gave in.”
Roger took his shirt off and stared down at me.
“Guess that means your husband would rather see you suffer than disappoint me,” Roger said.
Roger pulled out a hood. It was a new neoprene hood with a detachable gag and blindfold. He started to work it over my head.
He looked down at me, for a moment, after the hood was one. The gag and blindfold attachments were in his hand.
“You’re a good looking man,” he said. “I would’ve gone for you. Your husband is way hotter — you know that, right?”
“Six hours,” I said, as Roger moved to put the gag in my mouth.
“Six hours,” Roger repeated, as he buckled the gag in place. “Unless I forget to the set the alarm and we wind up sleeping in.”
I gave him a panicked look. He reached down and felt my cock.
“Your big dick is your worst enemy,” Roger said. “You’re so fucking hard. We should leave you hear nine hours tonight.”
The blindfold snapped on. I heard Roger walk to the door. I heard the door open. I heard the door close. I heard one lock click.
I heard the other lock click.
That meant they were both standing outside the door. Together. Roger shirtless, my husband in just a towel, probably, fresh out of the shower and soaking wet. They were probably kissing again. I heard Roger laugh. Then I heard his voice from the other side of the door. He was speaking loudly.
He was in my husband’s arms, but he was talking to me.
“You better get used to this, you sick fuck,” Roger said. “Because I’m thinking about moving in.”
To be continued tomorrow …
Click for Part 1