The Boys of Summer

I struggled down the steps from the boardwalk to the sand, carrying all our beach equipment – towels, umbrella, cool drinks, magazines, sun cream, everything! Stumbling along and following my wife’s delectable bottom as she sashayed ahead of me.

She wore a tiny white bikini that showed off her taut, honey coloured body and I could not tear my eyes from the way her bum moved in the bikini bottoms. Her tight cheeks moved and swayed with a sensual rhythm that drove me mad and aroused interest in every red blooded male lying on the sand. The front of the bikini bottoms was a small stretched triangle that moulded to her pubis and caused me agonising pain every time I looked at that crease and imagined. Oh, how I imagined!

Zoë was beautiful and sexy. Every male on the beach watched us pass, as it was a strange scene – the young and beautiful doll in the tiny white bikini, sunglasses and slip ons, followed by the bumbling man encumbered with beach equipment and wearing small white swimming trunks.

My tiny swimming costume was Zoë’s idea, of course.

Everything is her idea.

‘Do I have to wear this?’ I had whined, modelling the white briefs as instructed. I hated the way they looked and Zoë knew it. She enjoyed the humiliation on my face and knew I would be even more humiliated when I followed her to the beach and everybody could see me.

The swimming briefs were a size smaller than I needed, stretched and tight around my groin and to the astute observer, my cock cage could be easily ascertained.

‘Yes, honey, you have to wear it,’ Zoë had pronounced. ‘It looks cute. Some of the girls might think you have a big package.’

We both knew that the moment that any woman came close to me they would see the tiny outline of the hard mesh that constrained my cock and realise I wore a chastity device. That device had imprisoned my cock since our wedding day a year ago.

It was summer and Zoë liked to vacation at her father’s beach house for two months. Each year before we were married, Zoë would live at the beach house and look for what she called, her boys of the summer.

‘Summer isn’t summer, darling, without them!’

I didn’t know then what Zoë got up to but I do now.

Zoë would search for handsome, firm muscly men a few years younger than her and fuck them senseless until she tired of them, discarding them without a second thought, sending them on their way with tales of the rich woman who was a sex machine. I guessed that, for some of them, the memory would last a lifetime..

Then she searched for another – the huntress of the beach, fuelled by an immense sexual appetite and powered by her father’s billions!

And Zoë won’t change her ritual just because she got married.

Married to me!

Boy, was I a fool, thinking I was on easy street marrying into that family!

Zoë strung me along until the wedding night. Up until then, I had never even seen her naked but I worked hard at being the perfect gentleman who would make the perfect husband so I could get my hands on some of that money!

They had the money and I had the old family name that would help make them respectable to old society.

I passed out on the wedding night and woke with the cock cage locked firmly on, encasing my cock with a tense cruelty.

Of course, I ranted and raved at her but Zoë just laughed at me, pointing out I had nothing and if I wanted to survive, I should just shut up and accept it.

‘Money or pussy,’ Zoë spelled it out. ‘You can’t have both.’

What she meant was that I couldn’t fuck pussy! However, I could worship it with my mouth!

Over the course of the honeymoon, she taught me to be the best pussy licker that has ever existed.

I spent hours kneeling between her legs, licking and kissing, licking and tickling while she instructed me in that husky voice.

‘Just imagine, darling,’ she would taunt, ‘what my little kitty must feel like if your cock was allowed inside. Just imagine! Now, lick upwards with the point of your tongue.’

It was cruel and I’m addicted to going down on her now, it’s the only sex I get so I crave her delectable pussy more than anything.

Zoë, of course loves what her sweet pussy does to me, how I dissolve into a puddle of submissive flesh when I just glimpse her panties! She teases and tantalises me and the cock cage never comes off. Never!

I beg her when it gets too much and Zoë listens closely because, frankly, she loves to hear me plead and she loves to see me cry; she says tears are liberating for me and that I am in touch with my feminine side.

Usually Zoë laughs a lot then and forces me to go down on her until she comes.

When she returns from fucking a lover or a casual pick-up, Zoë enjoys telling me how the male performed, how big his cock was and then tells me to lick her clean. I can’t refuse to go down on that succulent, fragrant pussy and Zoë loves to push my pleading face down so I can taste her, taste everything!

So, I exist as a supremely frustrated pseudo eunuch, waiting hand and foot on my doll of a wife.

And here we are, searching for the boys of summer.

I feel sneering eyes on my back as I spread the towel for Zoë and then obediently apply sun cream to her lithe back.

It’s very painful for me to do so, as just touching her skin sends my cock into the painfully harsh embrace of the cock cage.

Zoë loves it when I try to get hard and loves to look at my cock pushing against the mesh and the look of pain on my face.

She’s talking to some young guy now while I sit on my towel waiting.

The entire beach knows about me as Zoë used the timer to take a photograph of us both. She was in her tiny bikini while I was naked so the cock cage was clearly visible.

On her instructions, I put copies in every male restroom on the beach and in the hotels. It was both an invitation and a notice that I was a chastised cuckold.

I assume that word spread like wildfire along the beach and Zoë, as she intended, became the focus of every young man’s attention. They stare at her with hungry eyes, just as ravenous as my own eyes.

Of course, everyone treats me as if I wasn’t here.

Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t. There are times that the thought of death becomes attractive. Put yourself in my place. Constantly bursting with an intense level of sexual frustration and locked into a brutal device that prevents orgasm and at the complete mercy of a cruel young teasing bitch.

That is my life.

There are times I can’t believe I will never have an orgasm again and, I admit, I hope that Zoë will, one day, take pity on me. That one small hope keeps me going, allows me to survive.

Zoë is surveying the assembled men like a predatory lioness. Now, she’s giggling at something a huge mountain of a man in Hawaiian bord shorts has said.

Soon, she’ll make her selection, take him back to the house, fuck him and then send him on his way. She will then order me to clean her up with my mouth.

Once, I used to protest but what is the use complaining?I look up and notice that she’s made her selection and is walking off, hand in hand with the young man.

Struggling to pick up all the equipment, I follow them over the blistering sand.

I try to avoid looking at the gorgeous women on the beach as I pass. I don’t want my cock to react to their bodies and, also, I don’t want to see their expressions of derisive scorn.

Zoë and the musclebound brute are waiting at the steps.

‘Hurry up, honey,’ she coos, ‘I want you to bring us some drinks in bed.’

She says it loudly, of course, so all those close by can hear. Face red, I follow Zoë up the boardwalk steps as I hear laughter behind me.

I wonder how long she’ll keep this boy of summer?

I also wonder if she’ll ever take pity on me?
First Published 2007

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