Chapter 2: Her Needs

I couldn't — I wouldn't. It was too much to ask of anyone, much less a wife to ask her husband. The sex, she assured me, had always been fantastic. This wasn't a punishment. It wasn't security. It was a kink.

What she needed.

"And what you need, too," she said, eyes flashing. "What you want, I think."

"I would rather not put on a dress," I said flatly, even as I felt myself stir in my pants. "I'm not interested in being your… what did you call it?"

"Chaste sissy girlfriend," she repeated the alien words, her tone level. "Locked up in pretty dresses. Your job would be to put my pleasure above yours, and we would enforce that with the cage."

I looked down at the tube of plastic in my hands. The tiny brass padlock clicked against the plastic as I nervously turned it over and over. She had pressed it into them, forced me to hold it. It was small, but not in a way that I found insulting. For that, I would have to even acknowledge that I was considering it.

Which I was not.

I had to admit that the idea gave me a sick thrill. As much as I wanted to say no, the idea of committing to her so fully was almost romantic. I loved Jennifer, and had never once considered cheating on her. It wasn't about that — it was about control, and dedication, and pure, unbridled arousal.

The dresses had been the easier sell. Once, during a long, late night when we were young, I had admitted to being jealous of the variety of clothes women could wear.

"Men," I had explained, an empty glass in my hand, "have two options for clothes: casual, or powerful. I can only be sexy when I'm strong. Or when I'm — I'm —"

"Practical?" she suggested.

" Useful, " I clarified. "I'm sexy, covered in dirt from working on a car."

"Well, you are that," she giggled.

"But women, girls — you can be sexy simply by being. A short dress or a necklace, do your hair and make-up. You can be desired. Men, we do the desiring. Yes, you can be powerful too. A suit or a jacket or the right kind of shirt, you know?"

She knew. Jennifer was well-versed in the art of dressing in a way that broadcast her confidence and strength.

"But you can also wear a little babydoll nightie and become sexy and delicate and elegant and —" I stumbled, trying to find the right word to explain myself.

"I think I understand," she said slowly, looking at me hard and interested. "You want to be sexy the way a woman can be."

"I — yes, sometimes. Sometimes I want someone to throw me on the bed and use me. Sometimes I want someone to leer at me. I want to show a little skin, I want to be sexy for being able to."

"I think you're sexy to me now."

She had ridden me hard, pushed my head against the bed while she used me for her pleasure. But I had seen something change inside her. Some deeper part of her had unlocked that night. I had watched for it, but whatever it was had been part of the deep mystery of Jennifer that I had found so attractive in the first place.

Until now.

She slid a tablet across the table to me. On it, a woman wearing a flouncy dress held aloft by a pile of white lace. Long legs encased in sheer white stockings emerged from it, the tips of towering stiletto shoes pointed at one other. Balloon sleeves and ribbons and bows, sultry make-up. I stared at it in surprise and then growing arousal.

"You could be sexy to me in this," she said, one hand resting on mine. "I — I want you to be sexy for me in this."

"Because I could make you cum?"

Sexy because I'm useful.

"No," she said, biting her lip. "Well, yes — in a way. But sexy because it would turn me on to see you like this. Sexy because I want you like this. Because it would be hot to see you like this."

I met her gaze and found it full of hope. Butterflies took off in my stomach. I twisted my hand around until I was holding her. With a squeeze, I smiled.

"Alright, Jennifer," I said. "I'll try it, for you."

A tiny part of me woke and began to spread itself inside of me. Its voice was small, but suddenly I could feel it there, speaking the truths that I couldn't admit to myself. I might have said I was doing it for her, but as I looked back down at the pink dress overflowing in ruffles and lace, the voice whispered to me.

You want this too. Just as much as she does.

Maybe even more.