Hubby's Cage: Wife Milks Superior Bull

Mark fidgeted in the kitchen, his small hands trembling as he poured red wine into crystal glasses. The tiny metal cage locked around his pathetic cock felt tighter than ever, a constant reminder of his submission. Lena had snapped it on him that morning with a wicked grin, her fingers brushing his shriveled balls just enough to make him whimper. "Be a good little cuck tonight, Mark," she'd purred. "Jax is coming over, and you're going to serve us like the beta bitch you are."

Now, the doorbell rang, and Mark's heart slammed against his ribs. He smoothed his apron—Lena's idea, pink and frilly—and shuffled to the door. There stood Jax, Lena's workplace superior, a towering slab of muscle at 6'5", his broad shoulders straining his button-up shirt, dark hair cropped short, and a smug jawline that screamed alpha. Jax's eyes flicked over Mark dismissively, like he was sizing up a bug.

"Uh, hi, Jax. Come in," Mark mumbled, stepping aside.

Lena sauntered in from the living room, her tight black dress hugging every curve of her voluptuous body—full tits spilling over the neckline, wide hips swaying, and an ass that begged to be grabbed. At 32, she was a goddess, her long auburn hair cascading down her back. "Jax! So glad you made it," she cooed, pressing her body against his in a hug that lasted way too long, her hands sliding down his back to squeeze his firm ass.

Jax chuckled, his deep voice rumbling. "Wouldn't miss dinner with my favorite subordinate, Lena. And who's this?" He nodded at Mark, smirking.

"My hubby," Lena said, linking her arm with Jax's and leading him to the dining table. "Mark's been dying to meet you. Serve the drinks, cucky."

Mark's face burned as he carried the tray over, his caged cock twitching painfully against the bars. He could feel it straining, the humiliation flooding his veins with twisted arousal. He set the glasses down, spilling a drop on the tablecloth.

"Clumsy little shit," Jax snorted, taking his wine. "This the best you can do, Mark? No wonder Lena needs a real man around."

Lena laughed, her hand resting high on Jax's thigh under the table—Mark saw it from where he stood serving. "Oh, Jax, you're terrible. Mark, pour yourself some water and watch. You're not allowed wine tonight. Caged boys don't get luxuries."

Dinner was torture. Mark plated the steak and veggies he'd slaved over, standing by like a waiter while Lena and Jax ate, their knees brushing openly. She flirted shamelessly, leaning forward so her cleavage nearly spilled into Jax's face. "God, your arms are huge. Do you bench press cars at the gym?" Her foot—bare now, heel kicked off—traced up Jax's calf under the table, and Mark heard the soft scrape.

Jax flexed casually, his bicep bulging. "Something like that. Bet your hubby's never made you scream like I could, Lena."

Mark's cock throbbed in its prison, pre-cum leaking onto the cage floor. He shifted, trying to hide the bulge, but Lena noticed. "Aww, look at him squirm. His little dicklet is trying so hard. Aren't you aroused, Mark? Watching your wife eye-fuck her boss?"

"Y-yes, Lena," Mark whispered, voice cracking. Tension thickened the air like smoke, every laugh from them stabbing his ego.

As plates cleared—Mark stacking them in the sink while they lounged—Lena's commands grew bolder. "Back in here, cuck. Entertainment time."

Jax sprawled on the armchair, legs wide, and Lena didn't hesitate. She straddled his lap, grinding her ass back against the massive bulge already tenting his pants. "Mmm, feel that, Jax? So much bigger than Mark's sad nub."

Mark stood frozen by the couch, hands clasped, watching her hips roll in slow circles. Jax's hands gripped her waist, pulling her harder against him. "Fuck yeah, Lena. Your hubby's got a front-row seat to what a real cock feels like."