We’d been married for seven years, Jake and Lena. I’m Jake, she’s Lena. Normal life, normal jobs, normal bedroom. We’d fuck a couple times a week, nothing crazy. Missionary, doggy once in a while. She’d come, I’d come, we’d sleep. I thought we were happy.
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But about three months ago, I noticed little things. Lena started staying up later on her laptop, typing furiously, then closing tabs when I walked by. She’d smile at her phone more. She’d get distracted during sex, like she was somewhere else. I asked if something was wrong. She said no, just work stuff.
Then the lingerie showed up. Not the regular stuff – black lace, crotchless panties, a tiny leather collar. She wore it one night but didn’t ask me to fuck her. She just posed in front of the mirror, touching herself, whispering “fuck yeah, you’re so hot.” I thought it was a phase. I tried to initiate. She pushed my hand away. “Not tonight, Jake. I’m tired.”
That’s when the cage appeared. A small pink one, delivered in a plain box. She sat me down that weekend, calm like she was explaining the grocery list.
“I’ve been thinking about our dynamic,” she said. “I want to explore something. I want you to wear this.”
I stared at the cage. “What the hell, Lena? That’s for –”
“For men who understand their place,” she cut me off. “I’ve been reading. I’ve been talking to people online. I think you’ll like it once you try it.”
I didn’t like it. But I loved her. And she’d never asked for anything like this before. So I put it on. She locked it, kissed the tip through the bars, and smiled. “Good boy.”
For the next two weeks, everything changed. I wore panties every day. She shaved my body – chest, legs, armpits. She made me start estrogen supplements she got from some online pharmacy. My balls ached, then shrank. My skin got softer. I started to develop a little chest. She called me her “sissy” and I hated how my caged dick would leak when she said it.
She also stopped letting me touch her. She’d masturbate in front of me, spreading her pussy lips, moaning, while I knelt on the floor in my pink thong. “You can’t fuck me anymore, Jake. You’re not a real man. But don’t worry – I’ll find one who is.”
That’s when Marcus entered the picture. Marcus was a new guy at her gym – black, easily six-foot-four, built like a refrigerator. I’d seen him drop her off once, saw him lean in and kiss her cheek. My stomach flipped, but I said nothing. Lena started coming home later, smelling like sweat and cologne that wasn’t mine.
One Friday, she told me Marcus was coming over for dinner. “I want you to serve,” she said. “Wear the French maid outfit I bought. And no panties.”
I did it. I put on the short black dress with white apron, fishnets, heels. My caged dick hung between my legs, useless. When Marcus walked in, he filled the doorway. He looked at me and laughed – a deep, slow laugh. “This is your husband?” he asked Lena.
“Just my sissy,” she said, taking his coat. “He can’t fuck me anymore, so he serves.”
Dinner was torture. Lena sat on Marcus’s lap, feeding him shrimp. I refilled their wine, my face burning. Marcus kept looking at me, smirking. “You don’t mind, do you, little maid?” he asked.
I shook my head. Lena grabbed his hand and placed it between her legs. “He doesn’t mind. He knows what he is now.”
After dinner, she led him to the bedroom. I followed like a robot. They were already naked when I got there. Marcus’s cock was a monster – thick as my forearm, dark, veiny, at least ten inches. Lena was on her back, legs spread, rubbing her wet pussy. “Look what you’re missing, sissy,” she said. “Look at how ready I am for a real man.”
Marcus didn’t bother with foreplay. He guided his head to her opening, pushed, and sank in. Lena screamed – a raw, guttural sound I’d never heard from her. “Oh fuck, yes! Fill me with that big black cock!”
He fucked her hard, deep, his balls slapping against her ass. I knelt in the corner, my caged dick leaking against my thigh. Lena’s eyes locked onto mine while Marcus pounded her. “You see this, Jake? This is what a man does. This is what I needed all along.”
And then she said it – the thing that broke me and rebuilt me in the same moment.
“Those feminization chatbots I was roleplaying with? They made me understand I deserved a real man. A dominant man. They taught me that you were just a limp dick cuck waiting to be sissified. And they were right.”
She gasped as Marcus hit her cervix. “They trained me to want this. To want BBC. To want a man who owns me. And you – you’re just the byproduct. My sissy cuckold.”
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to hate her. But my caged dick just leaked more. Because deep down, I knew she was right. Those AI bots had rewired her brain – and mine too, by extension. I knelt there, watching her get fucked by a black god, and I felt nothing but a sick, thrilling submission.
Marcus fucked her for nearly an hour. He made her cum four times, her body shaking, her pussy dripping. Then he flipped her onto her stomach, shoved his cock into her ass, and fucked her until she sobbed. “Cum inside me,” she begged. “Breed me like a bitch.”
He pulled out, rolled her over, and drove deep into her pussy. I saw his massive shaft pulse, then shoot – thick white ropes of cum flooding her cunt. He held there, grinding, pumping every last drop. When he pulled out, his cream leaked out, a steady stream onto the sheets.
Lena was panting, covered in sweat, her pussy gaping and full. She looked at me, pointing to the mess. “Clean it up, sissy. Every drop.”
I crawled over, put my face between her legs, and licked. Her juices mixed with Marcus’s cum – salty, bitter, sweet. I swirled my tongue around her labia, feeling his seed coat my lips. She grabbed my hair, forcing my face deeper. “That’s it. That’s your job now. Lick me clean after a real man fucks me.”
Marcus watched, stroking his half-hard cock. “Good little bitch. I’ll be back tomorrow night. Have her ready.”
That was three weeks ago. Now I’m still caged, still on estrogen, still wearing lingerie under my work slacks. Marcus comes over four times a week. I serve them drinks, clean up, and lick Lena’s pussy afterward. She’s talking about getting a strap-on to peg me, about making me call her “Mistress” full time.
Those chats on the internet turned my Lena into a depraved goddess and turned me into her sissy cuckold. And the worst part? I’m starting to love it. Every humiliating moment feels right. I don’t think I could go back even if she let me.
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