A Cuckold's Request

He looked at the message on his cell phone. "Do you like being my sub, Anders?"

"Yes, I do," he replied, hoping that no one was paying attention too closely. As the President of the university, he was supposed to be engaged in this boring faculty meeting. But he certainly wasn't the only person around the table who was discreetly looking at their cell phone while the current speaker prattled on.

"So, would you like to take our relationship to the next level?"

He felt his pulse quicken, and his penis begin to stir in his trousers. He had a sudden, absurd sense of regret that he wasn't wearing a chastity cage at the moment. He wondered if it was obvious that he was blushing.

"Yes ma'am," he typed.

"I figured as much," her next message read. "But just what exactly do you think that means?"

Anders pursed his lips. Well, he certainly had ideas -- hopes -- about how to answer that question; but he had already learned not to be presumptuous with Ms. Morrigan. Ever since that first meeting at a fund-raising event, when he had been mysteriously drawn to her ... and ended the evening naked on his knees in front of her, drawing her toes into his mouth. A month later, that was still the extent of their relationship.

"Perhaps you should tell me," he finally responded.

"Good boy." Then: "You're already my subbie. I think it's time to graduate to being my cuckold."

Anders arched his eyebrows. He was familiar with the term cuckold, but he had always associated it with married men. Or at least men in full-blown intimate relationships, whose partners were sexually active with other men. Hmm. He didn't understand how the concept fit whatever this thing was that he had with the alluring young woman on the other end of the phone. But he noticed that his penis was becoming fully erect.

He looked around the room. No one was looking at him. With his phone on his lap, he entered a single character -- a question mark -- and hit send.

Several long moments went by. He could see she was composing an answer. Finally it popped up. "That's right. I'm going out of town this weekend with a boy toy. I would like you to wear a chastity cage while I'm gone."

His breath caught in his throat, and he looked around the room. His secretary was looking at him, but she looked away after he faked a cough and cleared his throat. He resettled in his seat, allowing himself to discreetly rearrange his stiffening erection.

"OK," he quickly typed. The idea of being ... invited? directed? ... to wear a cage aroused him almost as much at the idea that she would be with another man disturbed him.

"Yes," she reported, anticipating his question. "He's a sophomore at State. My brother's roommate, in fact. Very eager to please. Always ... ready."

Anders felt his ears turning red. Twenty seconds ago he didn't think he was capable of being cuckolded, and now he was feeling humiliated by the knowledge that the woman he was obsessed with was going out of town with a mere kid, an undergraduate. Probably nineteen years old. Perpetually horny, no doubt. Hung like a horse, he was suddenly certain.

"Say, his school beat yours pretty badly in football last fall, didn't they?" she mused.

Anders thought about excusing himself from the room, which he could easily do with a just a nod, but he didn't want to stand up with the raging tent in his trousers.

"Anyway," Ms. Morrigan was continuing to type. "I was thinking you would like to pay for part of my date."

What an outrageous suggestion, Anders thought. He knew his eyes must be bulging out of his head, he thought, but he couldn't bear to look around the table to see if anyone was noticing. And also ... he realized that he was intensely focused on the irrational, insane arousal that her suggestion had caused him. She wanted HIM to pay for her date with this other ... boy? Why was the idea making him quiver?

"I should have some new lingerie," she messaged him. "For him to see me in. And take off of me."

He didn't know how to respond, so after a minute she continued, "I'll send you some suggestions this evening. Or, perhaps you should pay for my visit to the spa. You want me to be freshly waxed for him, don't you?"

Anders felt a little dizzy. He was well aware of the fact that his own exploration of Ms. Morrigan's delights had never moved above her knee. It was hard to resist dwelling on the thought of sensations of her more intimate places ... soft ... smooth ... warm ... fragrant ... that he had not experienced. That this punk kid was about to. That he was being invited to arrange.

Meanwhile, she was still typing. "Or maybe you should just pay for the room. King sized bed. Crisp cool sheets, for him to lay me down on."

A long pause.

"Are you there, pet?"

At least he was capable of responding to that. "Yes," he typed.

"Good boy. I'll let you think about it, and check back with you tonight."

He sighed audibly, drawing his secretary's attention again. At least he could put the phone away, and let his heartbeat return to normal, and hopefully let his erection subside, eventually. He still didn't even understand why this woman was able to keep him obsessed, while limiting their intimate activity to foot worship. He certainly didn't understand why the idea of her entertaining another man -- and having him pay for it -- was driving him wild with lust.

He spent the rest of the day envisioning upscale hotel rooms, and satin and lace lingerie, and a young man enjoying Ms. Morrigan's silken private parts from an angle that he couldn't see. He realized that he couldn't wait to see what Morrigan was going to ask him to fund, what exquisite bit of pleasure that that damn kid was going to enjoy and he was not. He realized that, of course, he could just use her Paypal account to send her cash adequate for all of it; but that would not be nearly as erotic as acquiescing to a specific request. So he waited.

Finally, at 9:30 p.m., as he was at home getting ready for bed, a text arrived. "Check your email."

He went to his laptop and opened the app. The email informed him that he had a Paypal payment request. His heart raced as he opened it.

It was a request for $5, for a ham sandwich.

His jaw dropped. He had spent the last eight hours chewing on his lip, anticipating a request for an upscale hotel room, a silken nightgown, a Brazilian that some barely-worthy kid would luxuriously enjoy at his expense. And what she had asked him for was ... a ham sandwich?

But for some reason, his erection was jutting out the front of his boxers, as irrepressible as his desire to do anything for her.

Still. He picked up his phone again and responded to her text. "A ham sandwich?"

A moment later she responded. "Oh, my dear pet. You wanted to be cuckolded harder? You'll have to work your way up to that."