I love him. That is an undeniable fact. But somewhere amongst the running and fear and worry and our lack of intimacy, something was lost.
Our life together was still good. We were affectionate friends and he was just as loving and caring as I’d always imagined he would be. But our sex life was something of a disaster and despite Michael’s heroic efforts, I just couldn’t orgasm and began to lose interest. We couldn’t even kid ourselves it was because I was pregnant because I knew, and somehow he did too, we were more broken than that. We both felt frustrated and he felt guilty and even though we carried on as best we could, it was a strain.
Michael Junior was nearly seven months old and Michael Senior was probably sick of taking care of himself when we finally admitted that something was seriously wrong and something drastic needed to be done or it looked like our relationship might be over. Michael wasn’t angry; he was just sad. It made me sad too to think of all we had been through yet we couldn’t make our relationship in the bedroom work. So we put Michael Junior down for the night and sat down together to try to find a solution to our lack of intimacy...or agree to part.
It was a difficult conversation. Therapy came up but psychologists in the part of Panama we had set up home in were scarce. Even if they weren’t it would be expensive and the dive shop was just starting out so we weren’t exactly rich. But at some point a vague idea began to form in my mind. It was something one of my class mates back at Northwestern had once told me about. Initially, I was a little reluctant to tell Michael what it was because I had no idea of what it really involved.
“Michael, I think I have something in mind that might help.”
His brow furrowed again. “What sort of something?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I replied, staring into his earnest hazel eyes. “I need to do a little research, but I need you to promise that whatever I ask you’ll agree to.”
He took my hands and stared into my eyes, the earnestness in his own gaze reassuring me that he wanted to make us work. “I have no idea what I might be agreeing to...but yes, I promise.”
Uncle Lincoln and Aunt Jane were happy to have MJ stay with them overnight one weekend. Jane knew that we were going through a difficult time, even though I hadn’t told her what the problem was, so she had suggested Michael and I could use some time alone and we’d gratefully accepted.
Michael stayed true to his word.
When I showed him the device with its tubular constraining sheath, and told him what I wanted to do, he didn’t run screaming from the bedroom. Even though he was a little nervous, he submitted to having the device fitted and listened carefully as I explained to him everything I’d learned from the website I’d found – about the device itself, about the mechanics, about what it implied.
“How long do you want me to stay locked in, Sara?” he asked looking down at his imprisoned penis.
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully as I slipped the key onto a chain and fastened it around my neck, as had been advised by the website. “I’ll have control over when you’re unlocked and when you can have an orgasm. Until then you stay locked up. Is that clear?”
I was surprised at my sudden assertiveness. Somehow locking Michael into a chastity device brought out my inner dominant. And what might have started out as a possible way to improve our sex lives now seemed like it could be a kind of lifestyle if Michael was happy for me to take charge and control him sexually.
“Yes, Sara,” he responded, lowering his eyes submissively.
It might have been a deliberately submissive gesture on his part or it might have been Michael being Michael. Possibly even a mixture of both. Whichever it was I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Michael struggled with the device for several days and we even had to remove it the first two nights because he became aroused in his sleep and awoke in discomfort. He persevered though, for my sake, and by the end of the first week he was happy and comfortable.
The Michael I'd come to know and love was not an arrogant man; neither did I think he was the type to stray, which were apparently the primary reasons that most wives wanted to lock their husbands or partners in a chastity device. It metaphorically brought them to heel and made them more attentive to their spouses. No, Michael was kind and loving and totally trustworthy, but the problem didn’t lie with him; it lay with me.
Strangely, though, locking him into the device and having the key around my neck at all times was erotic and arousing for me. Once Michael understood that, he concentrated solely on pleasuring me with his hands and his mouth...and I began to really enjoy our intimacy. And my incredible orgasms.
It seemed my experiment had worked, and eventually we made love after I’d unlocked him for that purpose. It was wonderful.
As we lay in post-coital bliss I told him I thought we could dispense with the chastity device if he wanted to, but Michael surprised me by asking if he could stay locked up.
“Why would you want to?” I asked him.
“Because it’s a good thing. You liked it.”
“But what about you? Did you like it?”
He grinned, blushing a little. “I loved it. Orgasm after being locked up for nearly a month is unbelievably wonderful.”
“Okay,” I nodded, happy that he had found something so good about being locked up. “But you do understand that I will be the one who decides if and when you have an orgasm, don’t you? And remember I told you about having to milk your prostate if you went for more than a month without ejaculating?”
“Yes, I remember, Sara,” he smirked. “I’ve looked at the website too and I’m happy to put myself in your safe hands because you’re a doctor.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Latex glove fetish?”
“It did say that surgical gloves should be used, yes,” he smiled back. “But seriously, Sara, it’s made so much difference to how you feel about your sexuality that I’m happy for you to control mine.”
“Twenty four seven?”
He nodded. “Twenty four seven.”
And so began our unusual sexual relationship. Between his orgasms, which were totally under my control, I’d put on the surgical gloves, lube a finger and milk his prostate. Not only was it essential to prevent the build up of fluid in the gland which could give rise to bacteria, it was a procedure we both enjoyed; it was also such an intimate act that it brought us closer than ever.
There were also added bonuses for both of us. It was a small thing but the toilet seat staying down because it was practical for Michael to pee sitting down pleased me. And Michael liked having a more or less permanent low level of arousal which was just as well as I took to deliberately dressing provocatively and flirting with him because I found it arousing. The most amazing aspect was the attention he lavished on me and the incredible foreplay we indulged in. We were content.
Even the occasional smirk from Lincoln did nothing to spoil our pleasure and satisfaction and it didn’t bother me that Michael had probably told his brother. They were very close and had nearly lost each other so keeping secrets seemed ridiculous.
Some months later, I saw a key on a chain around Jane’s neck.
Sorry if this makes Michael/Sara fans head for the hills.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is the first fic I've written in a long time and I apologise for the somewhat strange topic. Sometimes you have to accept inspiration from an unlikely source! The best category that I can put this in is romance...but you might want to make up your own mind about that. I've given it a NC-17 rating for the adult issues it deals with. There's certainly no gratuitous smut though.
Many thanks to my very good friend clair_de_lune for her help and encouragement these past few months, for the beta - and for naming the fic! I am incredibly indebted. :)
This is very much non-epilogue compliant - a wonderful phrase cleverly invented by the wonderful msgenevieve.
Chapter End Notes: