Exposed
"Three O'clock sweetie, time for your vibe," my wife calls from the kitchen through the open door of the bedroom.
"Yes ma'am." I put the laptop down, step over to the bed and reach under it for the vibrator, an "L" shaped thing with some different shaped attachments. Hers is almond-shaped which she can hook under and press right against her clit for a powerful, body-shaking orgasm. Mine is a cup-like affair about the diameter of a silver dollar that fits nicely over the end of my cage and focuses the vibrations on the head. I set my phone for two minutes. I stand beside the bed in front of the full-length mirror and watch myself bring the vibrator to my fly and turn it on.
I must stand still like this for two minutes or stop early if I feel an ejaculation coming on. The stated purpose is to bring up my energy and help me focus. I'm also learning to ejaculate quickly and efficiently, with little bother or pleasure. But the real purpose is to humiliate me, to make me humiliate myself by standing and frustrating myself as if brushing my teeth, ignoring the insistent cry for attention between my legs. I spend the two minutes meditating on who I have become, Mommy's obedient little boy in the body of a grown man. I see myself smiling in the mirror. I'm smiling at how silly I look, a grown man looking into the eyes of the boy in the mirror.
"Guess who popped by."
I look to the open bedroom door and a wave of shock ripples through my body. My knees threaten to fold. My wife sweeps matter-of-factly into the room with a woman in tow, the young wife of a couple who recently moved in down the block.
"You haven't met Cheryl," she says without looking at me as she leads her across the bedroom and ushers her to the ensuite. "I am showing her the dress you bought me." Cheryl gives me a smile that is part "Hello" and part "Oh my". She sees me obediently vibrating my crotch, my face on fire.
I am paralyzed. I want to run. My heart is beating. I've been betrayed. When I get my wife alone I will yell accusations and blames. We've never revealed to anyone that I am her obedient little boy with a penis that needs to be controlled. A voice in my head says no, don't run. I don't know where to hide or how to become invisible. So I stand with the whirring machine held against my pants, and within, my shivering penis is bulging against its cage. It too is betraying me. I do not share its excitement. I do not know what I feel, except something is squeezing my chest.
I hear the two of them in the walk-in closet trying on clothes. My wife says, "We have him do it twice a day. It's good for him… helps him remember."
"Remember?" Cheryl asks.
"Remember who he is, really… his job… being a good hubby."
I'm thinking what will happen now? Will she let it out to the whole neighborhood? My workplace? Our friends?
The chime on my phone says two minutes. I switch off the vibrator and hold it at my side. I stand and look at myself in the mirror. My ring of white hair and lined face looks back at me. Now I realize what she has done. She planned this. She made it real. It is no longer a game. The mirror tells me this is me.
That night in bed she tells me about meeting Cheryl, who described herself as not exactly a sub, but that her husband is selfish and a bit rough. "He takes what he wants," says my wife, conveying Cheryl's words. "I think I'd like to meet him," my wife says, looking into my eyes to make sure I understand.
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