Jealousy Therapy Pt 1

JEALOUSY THERAPY Pt 1 By Throne "Martin," my wife Belinda called from the bedroom. "In here. RIGHT NOW." I put down the soft cloth I had been using to clean her collection of shot glasses from various bars she club hopped at with her girlfriend Val. The instant I reached the bedroom she told me wordlessly, with just a cool glance, that I was to strip. As I hurriedly removed all my clothes I stole looks at her. She was lying back on our bed in nothing but a super-sexy teddy, minus the matching panties, which were hung on top of one of the headboard posts. Belinda was sheer erotic magnetism, her face still a perfect match for her high school yearbook portrait, and her body lush overfilled curves. I bit my lower lip as she waved me over to stand alongside her. "How's your little man today?" She eyed my penis in its close-fitting chastity tube that left only the head uncovered. "How are your smooth hairless nuggets?" She smirked at my scrotum, kept free of hair with regular applications of depilatory, like the rest of my crotch. "I... I'm awfully horny, dear," I told her, trying not to sound pitiful but failing. "It's just... If I could cum once..." She let out a long sigh and rolled her pretty eyes. "It's because you want to be allowed to cum on demand that I have to keep your nasty part locked up in its little cage, now isn't it?" "Well, yes. I mean, that's what you say." Her expression went from tolerant to angry. "Martin. Marty. You forced me to put you into that thing because you were always pestering me for sex. And when I was considerate enough to let you have what you wanted, what did you do?" "I..." This was always painful to admit. "I came too soon. But if you had let me be with you more often, and hadn't gotten me aroused on the days when I was waiting..." She didn't soften. "We've been through this all before, darling. I didn't let you have it more often because you were selfish, only thinking about your own pleasure. And I teased you to help you learn control." She reached out and let her fingertips brush the exposed end of my organ. It immediately stiffened to its confined limits, enough to make it stand up even though it couldn't grow any longer or thicker, except for the receptive head, which bulged from the tube. Belinda set one finger against its sensitive underside and manipulated it ever so slightly. I bit my lips and tried not to tremble. She kept it up until my resistance failed and I let a shudder run through my naked body. Worse, I whimpered. She smiled and shook her head. "You haven't made any progress at all. We're going to have to step up your training, husband mine. Now kneel between my legs and hold yourself up with your hands on either side of my shoulders. You know how." I put myself where she said, in the missionary position, as if she was about to allow me to penetrate her. As usual, she had no such intention. Instead, she reached up and began to stimulate my nipples, rubbing and lightly tweaking. I closed my eyes and moaned as she continued the maddening manipulation. My wife told me to move forward so I could touch. I got several inches closer, enough that the tip of my yearning penis made contact with her moist pussy lips. She rolled her hips to increase my excitement. Between the three points of contact -- both nipples and penile glands -- a current of need flowed. I would have begged to be freed from my chastity, to be allowed to penetrate my desirable wife, if I imagined it would do me any good. But I knew better. "You're not trying hard enough," she informed me in a sing-song voice. "Pretend you're doing something else, like still polishing my shot glass collection. I guess I'll be adding more of those, the way you make me have to go out to the clubs with Val, so I can talk to men who don't slobber all over me the way you do." "Belinda." I could hear how strained my voice was. "Please stop going to those places. It makes me crazy to picture you flirting with strange men." "Flirting? I told you last time that I don't do that." "But those outfits you wear. The short tight skirts. The low-cut tops. With a figure like yours, it doesn't matter if you try to flirt or not. It's still the same thing." I groaned with the need for release. "Well, I can't go out in a sweatsuit, Marty. And I can't help the way I'm built, can I?" She shook her head. "And its obvious you didn't take me seriously the other night, when I insisted that you get your silly jealousy under control. Now I see I'm going to have to give you additional training to deal with that problem. Jealousy therapy." She giggled. "I like the sound of that." "Pleeease," I begged, no longer trying to preserve my pride. "Just let me out of that thing on my dick. Give me five minutes." "Five? You never lasted more than three. One or two was more like it. And don't start blaming me again for that. No, I'm not letting you out at all tonight. How many days has it been since I allowed you to squirt your messy squirt?" "Ohhhhh." I was breathing hard. "It's been eleven days. Pleeeease." "Only eleven? And you behave like this? Well, for starters let's make it an even two weeks before I even think about giving you any relief. Maybe if you know you're not getting any tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, you'll behave better. Really, Marty, you're being such a wuss about this. And since I'm not getting any real sex, just like you, and that's your fault, you know what you have to do for me. Come on. It's time to get your face up close and personal with my snatch. I don't have any problems with cumming too soon. It takes me long enough before I get off. That's why I'm allowed plenty of orgasms. Let's try for three tonight. Take your time and maybe I won't have to add another couple days before you're allowed to air your shaft and empty those blue balls. Go on, now. Back up. No more touching, not even with just the tip." I sobbed as I lost even that limited contact with her warm pussy. Belinda hit one of the pre-sets on her cell phone and put on the earpiece. She snuggled her bottom against the mattress to get extra comfortable as I went down on her. My lips pressed against her labia, the way she liked, and I started with a gentle mouth massage that was foreplay for her. "Val." She had called her friend, who I had dated before I married my wife, and who encouraged Belinda to treat me this way. "Hey girl. He's giving me a hard time again. Whining for me to let him out of that clever little keeper you bought for me to lock up his dick." She chuckled at something Val said. "I know. But now he's giving me grief about the guys in the clubs again. Mr. Jealousy. The only way I could shut him up was to get his mouth busy on my slit. Still, we have to do something about him complaining all the time. I mean, all we're doing is talking to those cute guys. A few dances. Maybe a goodnight kiss to thank them for all the drinks. And he gets soooo dramatic about it. What? Those hunks we met Saturday night? Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. The muscles and the tattoos. And those tight pants. Whew. I couldn't keep my eyes off their packages." She went on that way while I lapped her wet pussy and sucked on her clitoris. I had been instructed on how to make her pleasure last and last and last before she climaxed. When she was chatting with Val it took her even longer. My poor dick was straining from the intimate closeness I was experiencing, even if there was nothing directly satisfying for me in it. My balls were drawn up tight and throbbing. I wanted desperately to be permitted to shoot. Instead, Belinda kept talking, going on and on about different guys they had met, occasionally telling me to switch to kissing the insides of her thighs while she took a breather, which was another trick she had for making that game last as long as possible. My wife made sure to include some disparaging remarks about my lack of control in her conversation. She was always reinforcing the idea of my shortcomings, making sure I was thinking about them all the time. It was getting more and more difficult for me to mount any arguments against the charges she made. I kept lapping her, nibbling her outer lips, even rubbing her wetness with my nose, all techniques she expected from me. I especially hated that last one but she loved the idea of getting her oily secretions into my nostrils. Gradually I built her up to her first orgasm. She didn't stop talking to Val, who got to hear Belinda moaning and then crying out as I triggered her climax and licked her through a long follow-up. To my surprise, Belinda told me, "You can stop now. Val came up with a terrific idea for how to help you with your jealousy issues. We'll try it tomorrow night. I don't want to be all used up, sex-wise, when the time comes." Because we were done with sex for the evening, but she didn't want to let me escape the sexual tension generated by being so close to her, my wife made me rub her small feet and massage her shapely legs. It was agony for me to have to touch her, to see her in that sexy lingerie with her lightly furred pussy exposed, and not be able to do anything about it. Imagine yourself in that situation, especially after more than a week of enforced abstinence already. And now I had a new worry. What had Val suggested for the following night? I knew it wasn't going to be anything I wanted. The following evening around eight, Val showed at our door. I had to let her in and she gave me a mocking look as she passed by, heading for our bedroom. Belinda was just finishing her make-up which, as usual on club nights, was heavier than I approved of. They conversed about their favorite songs to dance to and their favorite drinks to have brought for them by men they met. I stood outside the bedroom door, in case my wife thought of anything she wanted me to run and fetch. Half an hour later we were ready to go. The three of us would ride in Val's car, the women in the front seat and me in the rear. It was less than a half hour drive to the outskirts of the city. The neighborhood was unfamiliar to me. Val pulled into the private lot of a corner club, a place whose bright sign identified it as SHOTZ, with neon images of shot glasses on either side of the name. After we got out of the car the ladies checked each other over, making sure they looked their most seductive. I was disturbed that men would be seeing my wife looking so desirable, her deep cleavage and fulsome thighs on show, but there was nothing I could do about it. We went inside. I got one look at the crowd and froze. All of the men were Black. About half the women were too, but the rest were white, and they were acting very friendly toward the men. If this was supposed to cure the jealousy Belinda felt I harbored, I couldn't fathom how it would do that. Instead, it was having the opposite effect. As we moved toward the bar all the guys stared at her and Val. I was incensed. The girls sat and I stood behind them. My wife snapped her fingers, then rubbed her thumb over the first three digits. I recognized the symbol, fished out my wallet, and put a twenty on the bar. She gave me a sharp look and I added a ten, which earned me the faintest of smiles. The bartender grinned at them and took their order. They had mixed drinks and I had... nothing. I stood there awkwardly as two men, tall and muscular, approached them. "Hello, ladies," said the first. "I'm Cash. This is my buddy Vic." My wife introduced herself and Val. She made a joke about Vic and Val having similar names, so Vic put himself alongside Val. I got a bed feeling that she had done that because Cash was the larger and more powerful of the two men. His short-sleeved, pullover shirt showed off huge biceps. My wife made a complimentary remark about them, so he bent his arm and flexed. She ohh'ed and ahh'ed and boldly put her small hand on his thick upper arm. He let his free hand settle lightly onto her shoulder and stay there. At the same time he turned his eyes inquisitively toward me. "Who's your friend?" he said tightly. "That's not my friend," Belinda told him. "That's my annoying husband. We brought him here tonight because he's been acting like a jealous jerk. I want him to see me being friendly with other men so he can learn to control his pissy moods. In fact," she went on, "you would be the perfect stud to help me with his lessons." Her hand left Cash's arm and moved to his thigh, to the top of his thigh, where it rubbed lightly against his well fitted jeans. "You wouldn't mind helping me, would you Cash?" she purred. "We could start by having my husband Marty buy you and Vic each a drink, to show that he's not going to be a jerk about us girls talking to you. And maybe dancing. And whatever." "Sounds good, baby," he agreed confidently, then fixed me with his brown eyes, daring me to object. I swallowed my emotions and added another twenty to the money on the bar. The bartender laughed soundlessly at me. He took the guys' orders. Music started playing and Belinda swayed suggestively, rolling her shoulders and thrusting out her bust. She even pressed herself against Cash and hummed along with the tune, as if they were dancing. The drinks arrived and the four of them each took a swallow, then began to chat about the club, the crowd, and anything else that came into their minds. Anything, that is, except the sexual chemisty that was obviously at work. I felt sick. A strong drink would have helped me right then, but I didn't want to risk Belinda's ire. Or Cash's anger. I remained silent as the others drank and laughed. Then Cash asked my wife to dance. She was thrilled and he swept her onto the dance floor. The next song was a slow one and he held her close against his broad chest, pressing her breasts against his thin shirtfront. She gazed up at him adoringly. Belinda ground her hips against his. He took the cue and lowered his large hands from her back to her waist, and when she didn't object, let them drift to her attractive bottom. That Black bull was dancing intimatly with my wife, touching her freely and, when she turned up her face, closed her eyes, and puckered her lips, he gave her an unhurried kiss. Everyone could see they were letting their tongues dance across each other. My stomach cramped and I clutched my fists but what could I do? My wife kept me in a chastity device and denied me sex. My ex-girlfriend helped her to regulate me. I had lost this conflict before it began. The next dance was a fast one. I was glad the body contact was gone, but Belinda gave such a wanton performance, turning away from him and shaking her ass for Cash to see, facing him and rubbing her breasts, that it wasn't really an improvement. They returned to the bar and their drinks, acting like nothing unusual had occurred. I shifted uncomfortably, worrying about what might happen next. I didn't have long to wait before I found out what that would be. Cash told Belinda, "You know, if you really want to teach your -- " he snickered " -- your husband not to be jealous, they have rooms to rent in the back. You know, rent by the hour." "With you," she said meaningfully, "it might be more like two hours." He nodded. "Might just be. But we'll never know unless we try. And your husband wanting to get rid of that nasty old jealousy, I'm sure he'd be real pleased to pay that little bit of rent." Cash signalled the bartender. To him he said, "Hey Abe, I'll bet you have one of them rooms available on the second floor. Isn't that right, my man?" "Sure do, Cash. If somebody's got the 40 bucks." "40?" Cash said, his brow creased. "I heard they went up to 50, starting tonight. Isn't that right, Abe?" The experienced bartender caught his meaning. "Sure, Cash. I must be getting old, forgetting like that." He turned to me. "I expect you'll be the one with the folding money, Mr. Husband." I cringed at the way all of them were treating me, but got my wallet out again. I gave him my credit card. Cash said we also wanted a couple bottles, some mixer, and the 'rental' of four glasses. I was being gouged and knew it, but also knew better than to give them any backtalk. I meekly signed the charge slip, with its hundred-dollar-plus total. Then, without being told, I left a ten dollar tip for Abe, who thanked me with exaggerated, sardonic gratitude. Already I had been demeaned and humiliated, yet they hadn't even begun the real lesson of my 'jealousy therapy'. We went through a plain door in the back of the club and up a narrow flight of steps. The room was small but clean, dominated by a large bed right in its center. My wife immediately sat on the edge of the mattress, to make it plain that she wasn't shy about any of what was happening. I stood against the wall feeling very uncomfortable. Val and Vic sat close together on an overstuffed sofa. She put her hand on his thigh and he draped an arm across her shoulders, letting his fingers fall on her boob. Cash stood in front of Belinda. She began to unhook his belt. As she did that she said, "My husband needs to see me doing... something... with another man. He has to learn to manage his emotions when I'm just having fun that way." She lowered his fly. "Like this, for instance." Her small hand went inside his pants and felt around. "Oh MY," she gasped. "This'll be a good test for Marty because what I just touched, it would be pretty damned hard NOT to be jealous of." Val moved her hand to Vic's crotch. "Mmmmm, same here, girlfriend. We hit the jackpot tonight." Vic gave her a wet kiss and got up to make drinks. To prolong the game, Belinda grabbed Cash's ass and pulled him close so she could rub her tits back and forth across the obvious bulge that had formed in his pants. And from the size of that protrusion, she hadn't been exaggerating about what he had between his legs. I mentally compared myself to him and came up short -- to put it kindly -- by contrast. Vic handed the drinks around. My bride rubbed her lower face against that impressive lump and then laughed happily. She kissed the front of his trousers and made hungry sounds. I wanted to curl up in a ball and vanish. How much worse could this get? 5729 1.27/512345