Dallas-The End

I found her waiting for me in a bar at the airport. Her flight had arrived a bit early (stunner) and I had trouble finding parking, so she'd been there for about fifteen minutes and was enjoying a glass of wine.

"Sara," she said when I walked in, calling me by my feminine name though I was not entirely feminine at the time, not in a skirt and heels, as she was. I was feminine enough, though, enough that she knew it immediately. My outfit looked androgynous, but it was feminine indeed, women's clothes on a boy, a soft, feminine boy, a mix, her love. I had worn a lilac blouse and women's black trousers. 

My hair is not this long, but with nail gel and very faint makeup, I was certainly not going to be mistaken for a masculine guy. You'll ask, so, yes, women's shoes, too, though again, not overtly so:

Under? I decided to forgo a bra; I tried and it was too obvious. But panties were a must, control type, to hide and keep the blasted cage in place, as were sheer black trouser socks, knee highs really, (saving a more appropriate outfit for when we got home.)

So that was me. Emily? She traveled in a skirt suit, similar to the one the model is wearing above.

Enough about fashion? 

Emily, fuck, Emily. She looked so hot, so pretty, so amazing, so wonderful (and a little tired) after not seeing her for three weeks.

We embraced, the embrace of friends and lovers, of lost souls.

"I missed you so much, Emily."

"I missed you, too, Sara," she whispered back in my ear.

"I...you didn't answer last night," I could not help myself, could not help.

"It was late, love, and I texted." True, she did.

"What...what happened," I blurted out, already swelling in the stupid cage.

"Sara, Sara," she put her hand up, silencing me. "This isn't the time or place, love."

I bit my lip; she was right, of course she was right.

"You look very nice," she said, motioning me to sit while she finished her drink, implicitly approving the clothing I'd worn. 

"Thank you, I...I wanted to wear something, um, cute." I leaned forward so as to whisper, "I wanted to be feminine and I didn't want to wear any boy clothes."

She reached across the table, touched my hand. "You felt more feminine while I was gone, I appreciate the effort thought, sweetie, I dressed up for you, too.

"You look amazing, Emily, I mean, wow."

"I feel like I gained ten pounds."

"Well, you must have checked that piece of luggage because you look amazing."

"I don't know, but I'm going on a crash diet."

"Tomorrow, I hope, I'm planning dinner."

"Are you?"

"Yes, I thought I'd make, I've been planning, a five course meal, small dishes, so you could unpack and unwind as I cooked."

"I think that's a great idea."

And so, to speed ahead a bit, I cooked, she unpacked, we ate in between. I stayed locked, and her lips stayed sealed about Dallas.

I have to mention, of course, that Sara cooked. Not androgynous Sara, but real Sara. Skirt replaced trousers, stockings replaced socks, heels replaced low shoes.

As we sat down to the last course, Emily sat across from me and I asked once again.

"So, last night?"

"After dinner, Sara, after dinner."

*****

After dinner.

After dinner, Emily said she wanted to freshen up from traveling, from unpacking. "Why don't you put on something pretty, lover, light some candles, pour some wine, while I take a shower and do the same."

It was becoming difficult to go on, the swelling, the anticipation, the need to know, but I did.

And so I dressed in pretty lingerie for my lover, feminine, soft, the opposite of him, of Todd, of the once she was flirting and touching and who was...

Had to stop thinking, had to stop swelling.

And then Emily walked out of the bathroom and all the thoughts and anticipation came crashing down on me the second I saw what she was wearing. 

It wasn't the robe, the silver satin with lace lining. It was pretty, but that wasn't it, that wasn't what drove me to the edge of sanity.

It was what was underneath, the sheer bra and panty set, the sheer bra and panty set she said she was wearing the other day when she was with Todd, the sheer bra and panty set he saw her in, touched her in, the sheer lingerie that were the only thing between her body and his cock, that she got wet in, that she touched him with, that she teased him with, that she made him cum on, that sheer bra and panty set.

That's what I saw as she tied her robe closed and walked slowly to the bed.

"Hon, before we talk about Dallas, we need to talk about the cage."

"What about the cage?"

"I want you to wear it for one more day."

"EMILY! I have not seen you for THREE WEEKS, I want to..."

"Now hear me out, Sara," she said. "I know, I know, I want to make love, too, believe me, I do. You've been so feminine these three weeks and I've missed that and, well, I want to make love to you, to that part of you, to Sara."

"But Em, I...I want to," I looked down, ashamed, "I want to cum."

"As Sara."

"Please, Emily." Oddly, for the first time, I was not swollen, I mean, I should be, but I wasn't."

She reached out, touched my leg though the stockings I had on. "Don't let the boy part of you out tonight, Sara, tonight I need a woman."

I wanted out, I wanted out, I wanted out!!!!

She scooted up on the bed and her robe came partially open, exposing her panties and my eyes were drawn to them, to the sheerness, and naughty things quickly ran through my mind.

"You've always liked these panties, haven't you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"He liked them, too."

I sucked in a breath, rapid, unconscious, sucked it in as the swelling began again, immediate, powerful, trapped.

"Yes, Sara, these are the ones I wore on my date last week."

"Last night, did you...did you..."

"He came over last night, Sara, he came over and we had a nice quite dinner and some wine."

My eyes remained on her panties, staring not at her womanhood beneath, but the panties themselves. "What did you do," I managed to ask.

"Sara?"

"Huh," I asked, eyes fixated on the sheer cloth covering her.

"I missed your mouth, lover."

"Hgh."

"Nobody ever worships my body like you do."

"What...what did you do last night," I asked again, still looking down.

"Not much, we ate and talked about the training and sat on the couch...messed around a little..."

The sharp intake or breath. Crap, that was from me. And I still would not look up at her, I was still focused on the panties.

"Did you miss licking me, Sara."

"Ohhhh," I gasped yet again, just melting, just putty. 

"Did you miss your tongue teasing me through my panties?"

"Yes." A squeak, a mouse, hardly audible. "Messed...messed around?"

"Like a man and a woman Sara."

"Did you...did you..."

She interrupted me. "I want your tongue, Sara, fuck, even when he was touching me, I thought of your tongue."

"Did you..."

"Stop staring, Sara, lick me, lick me."

I was shaking, did she fuck him, that's what I wanted to ask, did she?

"Emily," I moaned, on my hands and knees, crawling towards her, up her legs, towards her panties. She was right, she always was, I not only liked licking her, I loved licking her, I loved licking her panties, nothing made me hotter than tasting her through silk or satin or nylon.

I was closer; I could smell her, the wetness now. Not always before I touched her or played with her, but not, obvious, the musk, the wetness, the excitement.

"Sara, look at me."

I paused, mouth only inches from her, the pain in my groin overwhelmed by my lust for her, looked up in her eyes. "What," I asked, hardly able to resist moving the last few inches.

"I did not wash them."

Our eyes locked. She stared at me, saw the understanding in my face, the silent communication. She did not wash them since last week, since her date, since she was on top of Todd, since she teased him, since he made her cum, since she returned the favor.

She did not wash them.

The musk wasn't just her, it was him, too, his scent, his body, his fluids. 

His cum.

She did not wash them and by asking me, by telling me, she wanted me to lick her though her panties, was telling me to lick him, too. 

"You...you don't have to..."

I pushed myself forward, could not help, could not resist, had to, needed to, wanted to, tongue out, mouth open, desperate.

Didn't have to? Of course I didn't have to, but the thing was I could not resist. After three weeks, night after night of thinking about her, day after day of chastity, feminized almost constantly, I wanted her.

And the dirty little secret?

I wanted him, too. 

Cum. 

Todd's cum was on her panties.

A week old to be sure, barely visible, but there. 

In texture, the slight crust. In smell, the musk.

I dove it.

And she rewarded me with an immediate shake, an immediate spasm, immediate pleasure.

I dove in an licked.

She was right, generally, day to day, I LOVED licking her through her panties. I started, often, love making with kisses and touching and massaging, but when I finally got there, when foreplay got serious, I would gently, lightly, then passionately, lick her, through her panties.

This was no different.

Except I started there.

Except her panties were soiled with him.

"We messed around," she whispered.

"Oh, Emily," I moaned, licking more vigorously. Licking her. Licking him.

Yes, I was ashamed of what I was doing.

But that only made it more erotic, more compelling.

She talked, I licked.

"We messed around, but it isn't the same as with you, Sara."

"I know," I licked, I looked up.

"He touched me and all I could think about was you."

She talked, I licked, she shuddered.

"It was just like last Friday, my soft, sweet, lover, we were on my couch drinking wine."

Painting a mental picture.

"I wanted to...to...I told him I'd be right back, went to go get us each another glass of wine. But I stopped by my bedroom first, put on that cranberry babydoll you bought for me, brought the wine back wearing just that. 

I was shaking, too, imagining her easily in the lingerie. The lingerie I'd bought for her. 

"I think his tongue fell out of his mouth, lover."

Of course it would, she was beautiful. I'd seen her in that very lingerie and she was beautiful.

"Fuck, Emily, he said. I giggled. Fuck, indeed. His eyes were burning into me and, and, having a man stare at me was so, god, felt so good, you understand, Sara? You're the love of my life, but sometimes I, sometimes a man..."

"Emily," I shook, licking her stomach, her panties, her thighs.

"You're safe and soft and sweet and perfect, but not a man."

"Emily," I shook again. "Please, did you...did you..."

"He wasn't like you at all. He was rough and awkward, different. Men are so...so different."

"Did you?"

"You use your mouth, he used his hands. He knew that. How to...how to make me," she bit her lip. "Cum."

"Ohhhhhhhh." I could not help it, I licked her again, through the panties. Again. Wet now, from her, from my mouth, wet, her, wet, him.

"Off, Sara, off, tongue."

I obliged, slipped the panties off her. If I wasn't locked up, I don't know that I could have used my mouth again, that boy part of me, that little part that was a boy, just may have taken over. 

But I was locked up. So I licked her again, bare now, my tongue directly on her, making her orgasm in seconds.

"Did you," I asked again.

"I was on top of him, he had wasted no time undressing this time. On top of him, his cock, fuck, his cock, Sara, his cock. Sliding over me, cock, thinking of you, feeling his cock. He wanted me so badly, Sara, he wanted to fuck me."

"Emily," I was dizzy, the room spinning.  

"The cabinet in the garage, under the plastic bin on the top on the left."

"What," I asked. "What?"

"The key, Sara."

"What?"

"He made me cum again. I just rubbed on his cock and he made me cum again."

I was panting, hardly able to breath, panting, licking, confined. "Emily, did he..."

"The key, under the bin."

"Key?"

"To the cage, Sara. That's where I hid it."

The key. That key.

"Get it, Sara, get it. Get it now."

I was torn. I wanted to shout, did you fuck him, but the key, she was offering me the key, now. She said I had to wait, but here it was, I could grasp it, here it was, release, orgasm, everything.

"I..." The garage. I was only in lingerie. Stockings. The garage. The cold garage.

"Are...are you sure."

"Get the key. Now. Please, now."

I needed no more. I quickly got up, to put on slippers to go the garage. While getting slippers, I saw her reach for the top drawer of her night stand, open it, pull out a vibrator. I paused in the doorway, watched her move it between her legs, heard it start. Fuck, oh fuck, fuck.

Watched her touch herself.

"Key, Sara," she hissed.

Fuck.

Her garage, as always, was fucking freezing. I went to the cabinet, opened it, rummaged around. Key, where was the key? Which bin?  Yes, top. Top shelf, left.

There, there it was, fuck, there it was. Oh fuck, three weeks, there it was.

I took it, looked down. Irony, for the first time since I saw here, I was not swollen. The cold garage, the focus on finding the key, I was small, now, shrunken. I suppose I should have brought the key back to her, but I was afraid I'd swell again the second I saw her. In fact, I thought of her, the vibrator, and felt it already.

I hesitated no more and unlocked the lock and took off the horrid cage.

The response was immediate, the flow of blood, the freedom. 

The swelling was immediate.

And urges irresistible.  

I touched myself.

STOP!

My brain screamed.

STOP!

Yes, yes, stop.

I just put it all in the cabinet. The key, the lock, the cage, the other parts to it. All of it.

I put it back and practically ran back into the house, ran back to her.

She was fucking herself with the vibrator. She heard me, continued.

"I wanted to him to fuck me," she said when she sensed me in the doorway.

"Did he, Emily, did he?"

She did not answer, could not, she was too close, fucking herself, too close to orgasm. The spasms, the shaking, the moaning. 

Too close.

I was on the bed, watching, vibrator as substitute for cock. In and out. Seeing the vibrator thinking of his cock.

I licked. 

I licked her as she fucked herself.

And when she took it out of herself and touched her clit with it, I licked again. The vibrator this time.

I licked it and opened my mouth and took it in like a woman would a cock.

The vibrator covered with her, tasting of her.

Sucked it.

Like a cock.

She saw, she watched, she shook.

She watched her lover, her sissy, eagerly suck the vibrator like a woman would a cock.

"Do you really want to know, Sara?"

I looked up, vibrator/cock in my mouth.

"Do you really want to know if he fucked me?"

I tasted her. Imagined him. Tasted her, imagined his cock in my mouth, wet with her, imagined licking her cum off his cock as I was now licking her cum off the vibrator.

"What if he didn't? What if he did?"

Did I want to know? She fucked Evan, I'm sure, right? But did she really? Did she fuck Todd, too? Did I want to know, for sure? Would I rather imagine it every day? Wouldn't the fantasy be more powerful?

What if she didn't? Would that make it better or worse? Would I beg her to do it? Did she want to?

This all ran through my mind in an instant. Fantasy or reality? What was the reality?

I was torn. Did I want to know?

A second instant passed.

Cock still in my mouth, tasting her, looking at her.

"I want you inside me."

I think by hesitating I answered her question. I don't think I did want to know. Fuck, I think I liked the tease more than anything else. And she knew. She knew all along.

I don't know if she fucked him or not. I know she messed around with him.

Messed around quite a bit.

But did she fuck him?

Did she feel his cock inside her?

I wanted her to, or at least, I thought I wanted her to.

Yes, I wanted to say yes, to have her say yes, that yes, she fucked him.

Didn't I?

But I hesitated and now she said she wanted to feel me inside her.

Three weeks in chastity.

Three weeks of torment.

Three weeks without control of my own orgasm.

And now she wanted me inside her.

Suddenly I was. 

In a fluid movement, I was on top of her, kissing her, inside her, the wet, warmth, familiar feeling of the love of my life.

It took mere seconds. I knew it would, wished it were different.

But I made her cum over and over not by being inside her like a man, but by making love to her like a woman.

I did not want to be her man, I could not be her man.

Maybe he did fuck her, I assume he did, but I did not know.

Seconds, mere seconds.

And explosion.

No hope of holding back.

"I love you so much, Sara," she whispered in my ear as the waves crashed around me, her whisper making them more powerful and more erotic and full of love and emotion.

I don't know, the question was not answered.

I don't know.

I think, but I don't know.

I think he fucked her, but I don't know.

He may not have, but I don't know.

"I love you, Emily. I love you."

However You Like

Dallas-It's only Thursday?

Okay, I'll admit I'm a tad more clingy than Emily is; I'm always missing her before she misses me.

Thus, I'm not too surprised that I miss her more than she misses me right now.

She's off, out of town, working her tail off, meeting new people, doing new things.

And stressed.

And I'm just home, regular routine, just without her.

Yea, and I'm in fucking chastity.

So, I'll just come out and say it.

I MISS THE FUCK OUT OF HER!

We only talked for about five minutes today; she was in between a meeting and going to dinner.

Tonight?

Todd.

The guy last night?

Meh, she said. He was boring.

Todd?

She found him more interesting.

"He's cuter, too, lover," she said.

YES, STILL MISS HER!

Todd.

Todd.

"Oh, Todd," I thought to myself.

But I let my mind wander and my locked up clit grow.

"Todd," I pictured her saying as he licked the inside of her arm. "Todd, Todd."

Okay, stop thinking, Sara, because it hurts!

Todd, Todd.

All that and she has not done a fucking thing with Todd or any other guy.

Nothing but tease me with them, that is.

"Did you dress pretty today," she asked me.

"Yea, duh."

"And you shed those ugly boy clothes the second you got home?"

"Yes, yes, you know I would, into a skirt and a blouse and heels and breast forms and a wig, the second I walked in the door."

"My pretty girl. Home all alone, all pretty. Well, I don't want to keep Todd waiting, lover."

"No, no you don't."

Todd. Todd.

Commenting on a Comment

Sarah St. Claim left a comment that said, in part, "so many guys flutter around her like moths to a flame."

I love that comment, that thought, that image.

To some extent, that's the very essence of my three weeks. I have no idea is any of those little moths will actually touch the flame, but just imagining it, just thinking of all the attention she can get just by flirting, drives me INSANE with jealousy and desire.

It is natural, men flirting with women when they are out of town like that (I know from watching men, not from doing it myself, sissy that I am.)

A man will flirt with a pretty woman like Emily without even thinking of it, especially if the woman flirts back.

It matters not if she actually fucks a man, it matter to me now, today, this second, that just by walking into a room, 5, 10, 15 guys look at her and think how badly they want to fuck her and think, because she flirts, that they have a chance.

Even if she does nothing, that chance drives me wild!

Dallas-So Many Days Left

So how is chastity going?

Well the most difficult times are three.

First, at night, when my gurl clitty misbehaves of its own volition. I dream and it grows and there is nothing I can do but wake up and go ouch!

Second, when I call Emily and she does not answer, especially in the evening. I know she has done not a thing but flirt a little, but I start to imagine her visiting a guy's room, just innocent, to study, having a glass of wine, and suddenly, he's touching her and she's letting him and...well, I start to swell right away and, ouch!

Third, when I talk to her. I miss her and she has only been gone since Sunday and I SEVENTEEN DAYS till she comes home and I see her.

And, 17 days left in chastity.

Sigh.

I'm not sure I should have agreed to this; it would be much easier on me if I could just relieve myself.

But, on the other hand, I'm sooooo glad I agreed to this.

Dallas-click

It was sitting on my night stand when we got home from dinner last night. An unspoken calling, now an obsession, an need, a desire, feared, hated, wanted.

When, I asked her.

Now.

I thought we'd have one more time.

Now, she answered.

But three weeks.

Now, Sara, now.

It was quick, so quick.

Before I could think or push or beg.

So quickly.

Snuggled and held and the sound.

Click.

Trapped and locked and helpless.

Surrendered.

Hers.

Always hers.

Three weeks.

For three weeks.

Forever.

Dallas-Yes

"Fine, I'll wear the chastity thing," I told Emily last night as we lay in bed, the lights out, after we'd kissed goodnight.

She laughed, not the response I'd expected.

"Why are you laughing," I asked.

"Well, because you say that like there was every any doubt and because you make it sound as if you're giving in to me, giving me something I want."

"So?"

"So? So? My sweet lover, YOU want it much more than I do and I dare say, you've hardly been able to stop thinking about it all week, have you? Locked up, unable to touch yourself all that time while I'm gone, doing who knows what."

I did not answer. Did not need to, for she felt my answer. Felt it in the immediate swelling pressed against her. Felt it in my breathing. Felt it in my touching of her.

She knew the answer.  She knew. She always knew.

And I did, too.

Emily turned to me, I could see her face, barely, by the soft light escaping through the blinds. I felt her hands, under the covers, reaching for me, touching me, holding me, wrapping her hands around me as I grew.

"You're not going to be able to do this you know, for three weeks. Grow like this. And you're going to want to, all the time. Every time you think of me, wonder who I'm talking to, wonder if I'm flirting, wonder if some guy is sitting next to me staring at my legs, wonder if I'm letting my skirt ride up, just a little. Every time, you're going to want to swell, and every time you won't be able to."

She was stroking me, watching me, seeing me.

"Every time, lover, every time. Every time you think of me, fantasizing about me flirting or touching...thinking about that now?"

"Yes," I grunted as she quickened, reaching that point, so quickly.

"A man touching me?"

"Yes," I hissed, looking at her with a mixture of pain and pleasure in my eyes, the need, the fantasy, the humiliation, the jealous.

"Inside me?"

"Ohhhh," I started to shake, to jerk, too fast, too far...

"Fucking me?"

I erupted, of course, she knew I would, I knew, too, how could I not, how could I hold back, did I want to even? Did I care?

"Three weeks, lover, three weeks to think of all that.

Dallas-Negotiations

"So, what am I supposed to do if I need to get out of that thing," I asked her when we were sitting watching television last night. We were on the couch, she was sitting across it, her feet in my lap, as she was wont to do. I was massaging them, for the last hour, as I was wont to do.

"What thing," she looked over at me.

While the issue had been on my mind all night, it was kind of an out of the blue question to her. "The chastity cage."

"Oh, that. You mean when I'm gone?"

"Yea. I mean, three weeks. What if it hurts or what if I have to go somewhere or what if..."

"I'd leave the key, sweetheart."

"I don't trust myself with the key, Em," I said, unsure why I was admitting that.

Her foot was resting on my lap, her heel touching me, there, so she could feel the stirring.

"You mean, love," she moved her heel slightly, pressed down, purposefully, "that when I'm away for three weeks you'll be imagining me down there will some cute guy hitting on me and you don't think you'll be able to resist unlocking yourself so you can play with yourself thinking about that."

If there was any doubt, it was erased with her foot resting on my lap, resting on the now on the erection in my panties.

"That's what you mean? Right?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Maybe I'll have a guy roommate," she teased, rubbing her foot on me now.

"Em..."

"Maybe he'll like seeing me walk around the apartment in just a bra and panties or some cute lingerie, maybe those are the things you'll think about when I'm gone, no?"

"Yes, dammit, you know that makes me..."

"Excited," she looked down at her foot on my panties.

"Yes."

"Me, too," she sat up, climbed on my lap and without any real effort, used her hand to move aside my panties, hers too, and just like that, her wetness was touching me and on me and taking me inside her with a collective moan from both of us.

"Fuck, Emily, fuck."

She leaned over and kissed my ear and moved her hips and whispered, "I want you locked up while I'm gone so I can flirt and tell you about it and get you excited and know there is nothing you can do about it until I get back."

"You're a bitch, Emily," I grunted, looking her in the eye, meaning it and not meaning it just the same.

"You love it, sissy."

"Fuck yes," I shook with a shiver of pleasure, heat and cold mixed together, tingling and teasing my skin.

She did the work, the moving, the adjusting, the grinding. She did the work, knowing just exactly how to do, making the sensations the most powerful for her, how to touch herself, with me, just in the right places inside her, knowing exactly how to make herself cum without making me cum too soon.

"You know you're going to say yes, Sara, you know it, I know it."

"Oh fuck, Emily, fuck."

"My pretty girl always says yes..."

I exploded inside her, thoughts of chastity, mine, the lack thereof, hers, jealousy, and excitement, and the utter love I felt for this woman who pushed me and toyed with me and loved me back the same.

As we relaxed, as I shrank inside her, as we sat there, one, unexpectedly one last evening, she answered my question, happily. "You don't need a key, silly, a suitcase combination lock will work and I can text you the combination if there is an emergency."

You all know I'm going to say yes, don't you?

I have NO choice. Not because SHE is telling me what to do, but because I want it, too.

[UPDATE]

Okay, okay, I'm my own worst editor! Damn you bitches catching my mistakes!

Thanks loves :)

Three Weeks in Dallas

I may or may not post more on this later, depends on my mood and my time, but, well, a tease...

Emily is going out of town for three weeks for work, to Dallas, Texas, to a training seminar her company is holding. She's leaving on January 29 and will be back on February 19.

What's she tell me last night? She wants me to wear the chastity cage we have while she's gone.

Three weeks!

We played with it for a weekend last year and it's sat largely forgotten in a drawer since then.

But she wants me to wear it while she's gone.

"I'll be gone for three weeks," she said, "I think it would be very, what's the right word, loving... commitment, devotional...something like or all of that...if you wore it while I was gone."

It wasn't as if I'd cheat on her or anything, no, it was different than that. It was about orgasm denial and more, about controlling the "boy" part of me, the part that might jerk off every night for three weeks.

"But Emily," I told her, "three weeks...I mean, three weeks without...you know..."

"An orgasm, lover? Just think how badly you'll miss me."

"I'll miss you no matter what, you know that."

"Of course, love," she kissed me lightly on the lips. "But I want you to wear it just the same."

Three weeks. Three weeks in chastity. How the hell am I supposed to do that?

How the hell am I supposed to say no?

Morning Discovery

This, something I have not seen since May, was sitting in the middle of Emily's bed this morning when I got out of the shower.

The CB6000S chastity cage.

"Emily," I sighed, looking apprehensively at the device.

"What?"

"What's that for," I asked. I knew what it was for...the purpose, but why was it out now, today?

"Well, have that thing with Jonathan tonight..."

That thing. A date, at least in his mind. A date with MY girlfriend. A fucking DATE. I said as much to her, fantasy aside, whatever I thought, erotically, about it.

"A thing? A date, you mean."

She didn't answer, just continued to put on her makeup.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you to wear the female equivalent of that?"

"Really," she asked, setting down her makeup brush, looking up at me in the mirror. "Really? That's what you fantasize about, sweetie? That's what you write about on your little blog? A woman in chastity? That's what turns you on?"

I looked down, suddenly ashamed of this...this blog...of discussing my fantasies with her, with sharing, with telling the world.

"Because I thought, Sara, that it turned you on when I flirted."

Turned me on. How was I supposed to deny that...of course it did.

"And I thought, hmmm, if my pretty girl is going to be turned on when I'm at my thing," she did not use the word date, "that I want her turned on and thinking about me all night."

I looked up, looked her in the eye, but said nothing.

"Was I wrong, lover?"

"No," I said softly.

"Then why don't you put that on before you go to work so I can have peace of mind today...this evening. So I can trust you to not...you know..."

Yes, yes, part of my mind knew that was the opposite that it should be.

She was the one with a "thing" tonight.

She was the one with a "date."

She was the one going "out" with a man.

She was the one who was flirting with...danger.

Yet I was the one who needed to be trusted?

Yet I was the one who should be in chastity?

Me?

Not her?