6 Weeks as Her Locked Panty Cuckold

6 weeks as she pegs me to turn me into a pussyfree gayboy.

That line had been rotting in my head since the last time, and it hit the second Harriet yanked the dresser open in our shared apartment. I was thirty. She was twenty-eight, my ex-wife, still the only woman who could wreck me with a look. Paulina leaned in the bedroom doorway, thirty-two, tall in a black slip, watching with that approving half-smile that always dropped my stomach.

Harriet didn't hesitate. We had done this before, and I had walked back in knowing what she wanted, hard already, ready to say yes. She hauled out every pair of my boxers and briefs, gray cotton, black cotton, the worn athletic ones, and dumped them into a trash bag like they offended her.

"Male underwear is done," she said. "You don't get to pretend you're just some guy in this place."

She set three unopened packs on the bed. Lace. Satin. Little bows. Pale pink, black, and a sheer nude that would hide nothing. Paulina's eyes moved over me, slow and pleased.

"Strip," Harriet said.

I did. Shirt, jeans, the last pair of briefs I owned. I stood naked in the middle of the room, cock thickening, exposed under both of their stares. Cold air on my skin, heat everywhere else. Harriet tore a pack open and shook out black lace panties, holding them up so I could see how small they were.

"These are yours now. All of them. You wear what I give you."

Paulina hummed. "Look at that cock trying to stand up like it still has a vote."

It didn't. I knew Harriet meant to turn me into her locked panty cuckold once more, the way she had before we split and the way I had come crawling back for. My face burned. My cock ached, heavy and stupid, and I didn't cover it.

"Good," Harriet said. "Stay there and ache."

She shoved the trash bag into the hall and came back with the rest of the packs, stacking them on the dresser where my clothes used to live. Pink trimmed in black. White with a wet-look sheen. A crotchless pair she held up and laughed at. Paulina crossed the room and ran one nail down my chest, stopping just above my cock, not touching it. The denial made me throb harder. Harriet crouched, tapped my ankle, and I stepped into the black lace because my body had already decided. The fabric clung, sheer over the head, the waistband biting soft against my hips. My cock strained the lace until the pattern dug into the skin.

"Turn," Paulina said.

I turned. Harriet's palm cracked my ass once, not hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make me gasp and leak into the new panties. A dark spot spread at the tip. Paulina saw it and smiled wider.

"Already soaking girl-panties," she said. "And we haven't even started."

Harriet sat on the edge of the bed and spread her thighs. No panties under the short skirt. Her pussy was bare, flushed, already shining. She crooked a finger.

"On your back. Head here. You know what I want, and you're going to ask for the rest."

I climbed onto the mattress, lace tugging at my trapped cock, and lay back with my head at the edge. Harriet swung a leg over and settled her weight on my face, hot and slick, grinding her pussy down until my nose was buried in her and my mouth had nowhere to go but open. She tasted sharp and sweet. I licked because I wanted to, because the ache in the panties was already unbearable, and she fucked my face like she owned the hinge of my jaw. Hips rolling. Clit dragging over my tongue. Juice slicking my chin, my cheeks, the corners of my mouth.

"Eat it," she said. "Get it all over you. This is the only pussy you get."

Paulina climbed onto the bed beside my hips. Her hand closed over my cock through the lace and stroked, slow, cruel, the fabric rasping every ridge. I moaned into Harriet and the sound vibrated against her. Paulina squeezed the head until pre-cum soaked through and made the stroke wet and filthy.

"Listen to him," Paulina said. "One pair of panties and he's shaking."

Harriet rode my mouth harder, thighs clamping my ears, her ass rocking so I had to chase her clit with my tongue or drown in her. She was dripping. Every grind smeared more of her over my face. I sucked at her, desperate, nose full of her scent, lungs working in short stolen breaths whenever she lifted. Paulina kept stroking through the lace, never skin, never enough, thumb circling the trapped head until my hips jerked and she pinned them with her other hand.

"Don't you dare cum in those," Paulina murmured. "Not yet. Not ever, unless we say."

Harriet leaned forward, pussy sealing over my mouth, and spoke down at me between rolls of her hips. "You want the cage again. I can feel it. Say it."

I tried. The words came out muffled against her. She lifted just enough.

"Lock me," I gasped. "Please. I'm so fucking horny I can't think. Lock me up. I'll wear the panties. I'll be your cuckold again. Yours. Please, Harriet."

She slapped her pussy lightly against my mouth, once, twice, smearing me. "Full sentence. What are you agreeing to?"

Paulina's fist tightened around the lace and stroked faster. My cock pulsed, denied, leaking, so close I saw white at the edges and still couldn't get there. The need turned mean. I would have promised anything, and I meant it.

"Six weeks," I said, voice wrecked. "Lock me for six weeks. I'll be your panty cuckold. Your pussyfree gayboy. No pussy for me. You peg me. Paulina uses my mouth. I wear what you give me and I don't cum unless the cage lets me. I agree. I want it. Please lock me."

Harriet laughed, bright and mean, and sat back down on my face hard enough to knock the air out of me. "There he is. Our locked little panty cuck. Paulina, get the strap. And the cage. He's not taking another stroke without steel on him."

Paulina let go. The loss made me whine into Harriet's cunt. I heard a drawer, the clink of metal, the creak of leather. Harriet kept fucking my mouth, slower now, savoring it, painting my lips with her slick while she talked.

"You don't get to fuck anything with that cock for six weeks. You get pegged until you forget you had a choice. You get panties and a lock and our cocks and our pussies on your face. Say you're our gayboy."

"I'm your pussyfree gayboy," I choked, and licked her again because stopping felt worse than saying it.

She came like that, grinding down, flooding my tongue, thighs shaking around my head while she used my face as a toy. I swallowed what I could. The rest ran down my neck. When she climbed off, my mouth was swollen and shining, and Paulina was already holding the small steel cage and the strap-on harness, thick silicone cock gleaming with lube.

"Panties stay on," Harriet said. "Pull them aside. Hands behind you until I say."

I rolled onto my stomach and dragged the black lace to one side, cock hanging free, red and dripping. Paulina fitted the cage with quick, practiced hands, base ring snug behind my balls, the tube swallowing my cock before it could finish twitching. The click of the temporary lock made my whole body jolt. Harriet buckled the harness around her hips, the dildo heavy between her thighs, and climbed onto the bed behind me.

"Six weeks," she said, slicking the toy once more and pressing the head to my hole. "Starts now. I'm going to peg you until the only thing that cock is good for is leaking in lace."

She pushed in. Slow at first, thick, stretching me open while I gripped the sheets and moaned. The cage swung and knocked my thigh. The panties bit into the crease of my ass where she'd yanked them aside. Then she found the angle and fucked. Hard. Deep. The slap of her hips against my ass filled the room, the harness creaking, lube squelching every time she bottomed out. I pushed back because I wanted it, hole clenching around the toy, prostate lit up until my caged cock drooled a steady string onto the sheet.

Paulina knelt in front of me and lifted her slip. Her cock was thick, already hard, the head shining. She tapped it against my lips.

"Open, panty boy. You agreed. Take it."

I opened. She slid in, salty and hot, and didn't stop until my throat fluttered around her. Harriet pegged me from behind in long, punishing strokes while Paulina fucked my face, the two of them finding a rhythm that spit-roasted me between silicone and skin. Every thrust from Harriet drove me forward onto Paulina's cock. Every time Paulina sank deep, Harriet slammed home and held, grinding the toy against the spot that made my caged cock jump and leak.

"Look at our locked panty cuckold," Harriet said, breathless, pounding. "Hole stuffed, mouth stuffed, pretty lace on his ass, cock in a cage where it belongs. Pussyfree. Say it around her cock."

I couldn't say it. I gagged and drooled and nodded, spit running down Paulina's shaft, eyes wet. Paulina petted my hair and fucked my throat anyway, slow and deep, then faster, using my mouth like Harriet was using my ass.

"He knows," Paulina said. "Our gayboy. Six weeks of this. Panties in the dresser, cage on his useless dick, and us taking turns until he cums without ever touching himself."

Harriet pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and hooked my knees up. The panties twisted, one leg still on, the crotch dragged aside so my hole and my caged cock were both on display. She drove the strap back in and fucked me like that, watching my face, the toy punching little broken sounds out of me. Paulina straddled my chest and sat on my mouth, not her pussy, her cock, angling it down and feeding it past my lips while her balls rested on my chin. She ground down, hips rolling, fucking my throat from above while Harriet pegged me open underneath.

"Take it," Paulina groaned. "Throat's better than any pussy you're not getting."

They moved me again when my jaw ached and my hole fluttered. Onto my side, Harriet behind me, one of my legs lifted, the strap sliding in easier now, wet and relentless. Paulina knelt at my head and slapped her cock against my cheek, then pushed back in, shallower, letting me suck, letting me worship the head while Harriet muttered filth against my shoulder.

"Locked panty cuckold. That's the name on you for six weeks. You leak in lace. You cum in steel if you cum at all. You don't fuck me. You don't fuck her. You get fucked. Our pussyfree gayboy, bent over whenever we want, mouth open whenever we want."

The cage was agony and perfect. Every pegged thrust mashed my prostate and my cock had nowhere to go, swelling against steel, pre-cum oozing out of the tip and soaking the lace where it rubbed my thigh. Harriet reached around and tapped the cage, not stroking, just reminding me, and the tap sent a shock up my spine.

"You're going to cum in it," she said. "Hands-free. Like a good locked toy. Do it while she fucks your face and I ruin this hole."

Paulina shoved deep and held, cock pulsing on my tongue. Harriet hammered me, short brutal strokes, the harness smacking my ass, the panties strap digging into my skin. The pressure built with nowhere to put it. My hole clenched. My balls drew up against the ring. I moaned around Paulina's cock, high and wrecked, and came without a hand on me, cock jerking inside the cage, cum pumping out in thick helpless spurts that striped the lace and dripped through the steel onto the sheet. It went on and on, each spurt punched out by Harriet's thrusts, my whole body shaking, throat tight around Paulina while she groaned and flooded my mouth.

I swallowed. She pulled back and painted the last streaks across my lips and chin, then slapped the mess back into my mouth with her cock. Harriet didn't stop. She fucked me through the aftershocks, through the oversensitive whimpers, until I was loose and dripping and begging in a voice that didn't sound like mine.

"Please, I'm cumming, I came, I can't—"

"You can," Harriet said, and gave me three more deep strokes before she finally stilled, buried to the base, grinding. "That's one. Six weeks of that. Panty cuckold. Pussyfree. Ours."

They rearranged me one last time, on my knees, face in the mattress, ass up, panties yanked aside and soaked with my own cum. Harriet pegged me slow and mean while Paulina sat back and watched, stroking herself lazy, smiling. Harriet talked the whole way, calling me their locked panty cuckold, their gayboy, their dripping little cage slut, until my hole was fucked open and shining and my caged cock had gone soft and messy inside the steel. When she pulled out, lube and the ache of her lingered, and I stayed there shaking, spent, cum cooling in the lace and leaking from the tip of the cage onto my thigh.

Harriet unlocked the temporary hasp only long enough to check the fit, then snapped the real lock shut. The click was small and final. She kissed me once, possessive, tasting herself and Paulina on my mouth, then pulled back and looked at the mess she'd made of me.

"Six weeks as my locked panty cuckold starts now," she said. "Panties every day. Cage every day. You don't get a pussy. You get pegged and used until the lock comes off."

Paulina smiled and stroked my hair, fingers slow in the sweat at my temple, while Harriet tugged the ruined lace back over the cage so the cum smeared the sheer black against the steel. I knelt there dripping, hole gaping, mouth foul, and Harriet slapped the cage through the panties hard enough to make me yelp.

"Open your mouth, gayboy, and thank us for keeping that useless cock locked while we fuck you stupid for six weeks."