My name is Zack, and for as long as I’ve been married to Rebecca, I’ve known I won the lottery. She is stunning—every single curve of her, every flick of her hair, every smirk when she knows she’s got me wrapped around her little finger. She’s the kind of woman who turns heads everywhere she goes, the kind of beauty that can silence a room. Curvy in all the right places, her breasts are full and deliciously heavy, her waist soft but strong, and her ass—the kind of bubble butt that could drive a man insane.
And then there’s her face. A face that makes me wonder how I was ever the one she chose. Cute, radiant, playful, with eyes that could pierce me or cradle me depending on her mood. When she laughs, I feel like the whole world tilts a little.
I’m not bad looking myself. I stay in decent shape, my jawline hasn’t completely given up on me yet, and Rebecca has always been quick to remind me that she finds me attractive. But I’m also… smaller. Not short, not weak, but between my legs—well, let’s just say I’m on the modest end of the spectrum. Five inches, thin, workable but hardly memorable. Rebecca has always been gracious, always generous in her affection. But sex has its truths, and one of them is this: she craves more.
And I love her enough to want her to have everything she craves.
It started years ago, a little fantasy that slipped into our conversations, then into our play. I could see her eyes light up when she moaned louder with toys than with me. I could hear the difference in her voice, the way her body opened when she imagined something thicker, longer, fuller stretching her. It used to scare me, then torment me, but eventually I realized the truth: this wasn’t a threat to me, it was a way I could love her more fully.
So every year, on our anniversary, I give her what she truly wants.
We call it The Gift of One Real Penis.
It’s the tradition she secretly looks forward to all year, the one that stirs her body long before the date arrives. And it’s the tradition I plan with precision. The man, the timing, the ritual of it all—it’s my offering to her, my erotic sacrifice. I show her my love not by hoarding her body but by honoring her sexuality. By giving her what only I can give: permission to be as free and fulfilled as she deserves.
This year, her gift is named Elijah.
Getting Her Ready
Rebecca stood in front of the mirror as I finished fastening the clasp of her necklace. My hands trembled slightly, both from the nerves and from the way she looked tonight. She’d chosen a black dress with a neckline that plunged so low I could practically see her navel. Her breasts pressed together like a sculpture, and nestled between them, glistening under the lights, was the silver key.
The key.
My key, but not mine anymore.
She had just locked me into my cage moments earlier. A snug, steel prison that hugged me in my smallness, reducing me from a man into something less, something obedient. She loved this part, the ceremony of it. She’d hold the cage up to the light, admire the click of the lock, and then drape the necklace around her neck so that the key dangled in her cleavage—our private little symbol. Her pleasure. My surrender.
“Perfect,” she whispered, tugging the chain so the key sat just a little deeper between her breasts. “Now everyone gets to see that I’m the one with the key. Isn’t that right, my sweet little husband?”
“Yes, Rebecca,” I said, swallowing hard.
She caught my eyes in the mirror, her lips curling into that devilish smile I both loved and dreaded. “You’ve been such a good boy this week. Planning, arranging, even meeting Elijah with me so I wouldn’t get nervous. That’s why I love you. You make it so easy for me to enjoy myself.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
“Oh, I will be,” she said, turning to kiss me on the cheek. “You know I will be. But… you’ll be happy too, won’t you? Happy to watch me be satisfied? Happy to know I’ll finally get a real cock inside me again?”
The way she said real hit me like a blade and a caress at the same time. I flinched, but I nodded.
“Yes, Rebecca. That’s what makes me happy.”
She chuckled softly, brushing her lips against my ear. “You love it when I tease you about how small you are, don’t you?”
I exhaled shakily. “Yes.”
“Mmm.” She gave my cage a light tap with her fingernail. “Poor thing. All locked up and useless. Don’t worry, baby. Tonight you’ll get to watch me have what you can never give me. That’s your anniversary gift to me. And your torment.”
She kissed me once more, then grabbed her purse. “Shall we?”
Dinner with Elijah
We’d met Elijah a week earlier at a coffee shop, just to make sure Rebecca felt comfortable. He was younger—ten years younger than her, which alone made her flush with excitement. He had that confident yet polite charm, the kind of smile that could make women’s legs cross under the table. He was tall, broad shouldered, with a lean athletic build. And, most importantly, he was hung—nearly nine inches, thick and heavy.
Rebecca had giggled like a schoolgirl when he left after that first meeting, already buzzing about what was to come. And I could tell she’d been counting down the days.
At the restaurant, the three of us sat together at a cozy booth. Elijah and Rebecca across from each other, me on the side. They talked easily, like old friends who’d slipped into something more intimate. I tried to add a few comments here and there, but Rebecca quickly put her hand on mine and whispered, “Hush, baby. Let us talk.”
The words sank into me, both humiliating and strangely arousing. Their connection is my gift to her, I reminded myself. This was about them, not me.
As they laughed and flirted, I found myself shrinking into silence. I watched the way her eyes sparkled when Elijah spoke, the way she bit her lip when his hand brushed hers across the table. Every giggle was a knife, every touch a reminder that she was alive in ways I couldn’t give her. And still, I loved her so much it hurt.
When dessert was offered, Rebecca shook her head and said, “No thank you. I think we’ll skip that tonight.” The waiter slid the check toward Elijah, but Rebecca waved it toward me instead. “He’ll get it,” she said firmly, nodding at me.
The dominance in her voice made my stomach twist. Paying for the dinner where my wife was preparing to be taken by another man—it was the kind of humiliation I’d both dreaded and anticipated all year.
They rose from the table while I fumbled with my card. My hands were sweating, my heart racing. By the time the waiter finally returned the receipt, my wife and her lover were gone.
I hurried outside only to see them pressed together against Rebecca’s car, kissing deeply. Elijah’s hands cupped her ass, lifting her slightly as she melted against him. She gave him our address, then slid into his passenger seat without hesitation.
I stood frozen, my cock straining painfully inside its cage. My wife was driving away with another man, and I was left to follow in my own car like some desperate voyeur.
Following Them Home
The drive home was a blur. My thoughts were spiraling—what were they doing in the car? Was he touching her already, slipping his fingers under that low-cut dress? Was she moaning for him, the way she never moaned for me?
When I finally pulled up, Elijah was already out of the car, opening the door for Rebecca like a perfect gentleman. She stepped out, her hair slightly tousled, her cheeks flushed. I don’t know if it was the wine, the kiss, or his hands, but she looked radiant—alive in a way I rarely got to see.
I felt like I was intruding on something private, something sacred, as I hurried up the driveway. The two of them walked side by side, their hands brushing, their bodies leaning just slightly toward one another. Elijah opened the front door for her, and she slipped inside with a laugh.
The door shut just as I reached the porch stairs.
I froze there, heart pounding, staring at the closed door. My wife was inside with him. Their night was beginning. My gift was about to be unwrapped.
And I was on the outside, exactly where I was meant to be.
