Unfairness of a Caged Beach Volley

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Keyholder Wives Change Sport Rules for Chastised Husbands

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### Copyright © 2024. This is a copyrighted work. Unauthorized use is prohibited–all rights reserved by the author.

My contribution to the “2024 YAY TEAM!” event. Please remember to vote for the OTHER narratives in this event if you didn’t like mine. Vote for this one if you liked it, and leave a comment if you like. All of the characters in MY narrative are 18+.

### Disclaimer. As allowed by the rules, this is an episode of a series, but the only “necessary” fact to know is this: the male character wears 24/7 a locked chastity cage on his penis.

A few days ago Dean married Britney (without ejaculating, either the bachelorette’s night or even the wedding’s night), and now the couple is living a romantic Chaste Honeymoon at a Naturist Resort (kink-friendly for couples, but not gay).

If this fetish doesn’t intrigue you, DON’T START reading this long and tedious fiction.

My narration is long (nearly 25.000 words), probably boring and sanctimonious, and often dense with unnecessary shenanigans like… this one. If you’re just looking for a quick jerk-off, this site is home to numerous storytellers far more effective than I am.

Sometimes the narrator character spoils some information about events that will happen in the future; sometimes even several years later. These spoilers do not affect the reading of future episodes; however, they are always pointed out.

As you already guessed, English is not my native language, please forgive my mistakes.##

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***** Prologue: “A Ball on the Blue Balls! YAY TEAM!”

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Thor could not protect himself because his arms were encased in a bulky black leather armbinder, with straps and hooks locked behind his back.

In pain, the blond giant slumped to his knees. I would have liked to help him, but I, too, was handcuffed, as was the entire Husband team (the famous “Subby-Hubbies”).

The girls, on the other hand, were not only free, but they were almost all naked or provocatively dressed: my wife wore a very short, unbuttoned blouse that showed off her pussy with every jump, and Charlotte had hung from her nipple piercings a gold chain that danced with every movement.

It would have been a heavenly sight for us, had we not all been bound by handcuffs and chastity cages.

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Context. We were at a resort on a tiny island in Croatia, in the central Mediterranean (not far from where they shot the Kings’ Landing scenes for the TV series “The Game of Thrones”).

The resort was originally intended only for naturists, then over time had evolved to accommodate heterosexual couples with their husbands’ dicks locked in a chastity device.

There were no gays on the island because the resort chain had preferred to specialize in some facilities near the Greek islands of Mykonos and Lesbos.

My wife and I had only been there a few days after the wedding. Britney said she would be our Chaste Honeymoon: my penis was locked in a cage by a padlock, to which only she had the key.

I had not cum on either the bachelorette party, the wedding day, the first night after the wedding, or any of the weeks before. Perhaps it had been more than 120 days since I had cum. I had asked for it, I had insisted. We had made love a few times, but I didn’t like it, and she didn’t get orgasms, so we decided to stop.

At the resort, we met some heterosexual couples practicing (in different ways) forced male chastity, and that day the girls had agreed to a bet related to a sports competition. It would not be the last time: the resort offered many opportunities for many gymnastic activities, both individual and team. But we began with Beach Volleyball.

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Chapter 1 The Sand Volleyball Game.

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We had gone to the volleyball court that was on the beach late in the afternoon.

A sign on the path explained that since the 1960s, resorts and beaches dedicated to Naturists had popularized the establishment of a volleyball court.

Those who had written the sign advanced the hypothesis that perhaps one of the main reasons was the absence of physical contact between players.

Soccer, Rugby, Football, and Basketball make a lot of contact necessary, especially on the hips and chest. Not to mention Hockey!

In contrast, Volleyball allows people to play together without opponents making contact (teammates hug each other, but one imagines they are friends with each other!).

Theoretically, Baseball could also be played by naturists in the nude. But at least the glove must be worn to avoid sores, and the catcher (even disregarding the peculiar body posture, obscene for both a naked woman and a man with dangling jewelry) must wear the helmet and armor for chest protection, knee savers, and leg guards.

In short: a lot of clothes, on a person who would like to spend the whole week naked!

All ingredients that made baseball very rare in Mediterranean naturist clubs (combined with the scarcity escort bursa of rule-savvy players).

On the islands of Croatia, volleyball was also particularly popular among the native population, since Balkan peoples are often tall and excel at sports like this.

Vanilla couples used the hours after lunch to make love, each of us instead having served his wife (with tongue, vibrators, magic wand) without receiving anything in return.

The girls had brought picnic wicker baskets, or large gym bags, with those thermal water bottles that are in fashion now, snacks, energy drinks, and other things.

CFNM: Each of the women wore something, if only for the sake of reaffirming their freedom. We, on the other hand, were all naked as worms, and all caged.

There were twelve of us.

Fiona and Frank were dominant “on and off.” Every day fate decided who was submissive and who was dominant. But out of solidarity with us submissive husbands, Frank wore the chastity cage in public, even though the key was in his hand (I don’t know if, in the secrecy of the bedroom, Frank ordered his wife to satisfy him like a slave). That day of the volleyball game, Frank was submissive and Fiona was the Keyholder on par with my wife and the others.

Charlotte and the husband who never spoke (I don’t even know his name! She always called him “pet”). He was the only one of the men who “wore” something, but it wasn’t very stylish: it was a black leather hood, closed around his neck with a strap and padlock, which had only two eyeholes for eyes (which could easily be closed by special oval shapes) and a zipper near the mouth. Probably just before it was open to allow the pet’s tongue to serve the Owner of him; but now the zipper was closed and acted as a muzzle.

Then there was the petite brunette, Trixie the Pixie. The nickname came from both her height and the shape of her bones, which were very thin: I could have believed she weighed less than 90 pounds.

Moreover, Trixie looked even slimmer beside her husband Thor, who looked like a real giant, tall blond, and muscular like a professional bodybuilder. He was always calm while she was always nervous and fidgety. Trixie wore the top piece of a pink tracksuit, while he was naked, with only his wrists covered by wide padded leather manacles.

Near the volleyball court were other couples, whom I knew less.

There was a French couple who spoke no English, Delphine et Denis, whom everyone had nicknamed “Denied” although the Parisian pronunciation would have been “Danee.”

She, Delphine, was a young girl, around 20 years old, with eyes like two stars and a very small nose. She was keen to specify that she was all-natural: her nose was not the result of cosmetic surgery, and her small but firm tits were also all-natural.

Delphine flashed her tits by lifting a red-and-white lozenge jersey she had bought at a Resort Store on the island (I only found out later that it was Croatia’s Soccer Team uniform: yay, team!). The nipples were naughty and joyful as only a French girl can offer, and the red blood cells of my blood ran down the arteries cursing against the bars that prevented erection.

Beside her, eyes downcast and penis curved toward the ground, Denis looked almost like a homely version of George Michael at the time of the song “Faith,” his beard trimmed with a single earring silvertone cross on a stainless steel hoop. Grinning mischievously, Delphine pointed out that this was not the only piercing she had suggested to Denis, but without showing where the other one(s) was.

Denis hardly ever spoke (perhaps because of the foreign language or perhaps because he was taciturn). But his silence was often compensated for by her small talk, who insisted on saying things in French that I barely understood or attempting a few simple English phrases (such as “Raise me the ball, Britney, I’m going to SPIKE!”, marking the nasal “R” and “N”).

There was also a Brazilian couple: she ebony-black (Querubina) and he cappuccino-colored (Quentin), but they spoke little to us (however, they danced beautifully). The wife was much taller than me, and even a little taller than her husband. She wore a wide hat and a tiny gold bikini, which shone elegantly without completely covering the black areolas of her nipples.

Finally, the two of us: me (Dean) and my fresh bride Britney, wearing an unbuttoned blouse that gave a glimpse of gorgeous boobs.

The teams were full.

Charlotte, who being the oldest was the captain of the women’s team (the “Kindless Keyholders”!), summoned our Keyholders.

They confabulated for a while while we watched them from afar.

All those exposed naked butt cheeks were torture for our caged penises!

I tried to distract myself, but my eyes always returned there.

Finally, Charlotte declared the meeting over and turned to talk to us submissive husbands.

“Dear men, we agreed on the rules of this particular game of beach volleyball. Since bursa otele gelen escort each of you has ceded control of your penis to your wife, we thought you would have no objection to some changes in the Olympic rules.

So here are the changes.

Usual volleyball rules. Two teams of six players are on the sand.

I know beach volleyball is supposed to be two-on-two, but that’s a pattern that I, Charlotte, prefer to reserve for the bedroom! Ha, ha!”

Charlotte laughed. The girls giggled. Charlotte’s pet yowled inside the leather mask as if she were crying. We boys all thought that Charlotte’s two-on-two probably meant that she was spit-roasted by two Bulls, while the pet cried hanging from the handcuffs at St. Andrew’s Cross.

Pixie took the floor, as Charlotte pretended to console the pet, stroking his back. But I saw that she took his hands and held his thumbs behind his back with one hand, while with the other hand, she fiddled the blue balls.

The poor pet was yelping like a puppy.

Pixie exhibited a sly grimace.

“Matches are best of 3 sets played to 21 points, whoever wins three sets will win it all.

You know, “The winner takes it all…” and all you losers must keep “standing small” your caged dicks!

Theoretically, it would be mandatory to switch sides: each Team switches ends of the court every seven points. But you guys understand well, that with those penises leaking filthy precum on the sand, it would be disgusting for us to rest our lovely bare feet on the dirty sand of your mess.

So you will always stay on the east side.

And yes, that means you will have the afternoon sun against your eyes all the time. It might be considered unfair, but who cares?

Furthermore…

Each of the members of the defeated team will suffer a bitter punishment from the Keyholder. Something none of you have agreed to suffer before today. On these cards, each of us has written what punishment will hit each of you LOSERS, ha, ha!”

We were dumbfounded, but looking at the height of Thor and some others (compared to Trixie who was just dwarfed) we thought maybe we could win.

“Here are some rules. Out of respect for this Naturist Resort, each member of the Submissive Husband team will compete naked, wearing only the chastity cage, and a leather belt if you fear the weight will hurt you. Not you, Thor — and not Charlotte’s pet — and not you either, Dean, Britney said you don’t need — not you, Denied. Sorry: what’s your name? Denis. The rest of you ask the wife.

I know some of you have suffered the humiliation of having an anal plug buried in your ass. I don’t want to name names, but those who have it in their asses keep it stuck there, no exceptions. It may be that even this may limit your agility. the jumps and spikes!

But who cares?

I fill my Mug with male tears, ha, ha! And if it seems to you that you cannot use the spikes freely, think instead that you are lucky because I could have screwed the spikes into Thor’s cage, but out of an excess of generosity, I did not want to do so today.

So, recap: naked males.

We women, on the other hand, can dress as we please, because we are free: CFNM. That includes knee pads, to dive into the sand, ha, ha!

The first two sets will be followed by a break. The wife of each of you may want to ask her man for something, a gesture, something secret. We shall see.

If we were in a fair sport, I would ask if you all agree. But since I don’t give a fuck about your male opinion, let’s get started!”

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Frank and Fiona were a rare example of a couple that alternated between phases of domination and phases of submission. That day, the fates had decided that Fiona was dominant, so she could be part of the Keyholders team in her own right.

The situation was somewhat reminiscent of those movies, in which a group of prisoners is forced to play a sports game against their captors. “Very Important Person” (directed by Ken Annakin, 1961), retitled “A Coming Out Party” in the United States. Or that movie with Stallone and Michael Caine, “Victory” (1981).

We six men looked like losers. Thor was tall and muscular, and even Quentin and I were almost acceptable, but the other three were short, fat, and out of shape. All naked, with nothing to hide our caged genitals, which pranced ridiculously if we jumped or made too quick a movement.

Our six women/Owners appeared much more dignified and athletic. Except for Pixie, who was verily petite with narrow shoulders like a toddler and the short arms of a T-Rex. The other girls appeared quite fit. Britney was young and energetic, but the most athletic was undoubtedly the redhead Fiona, who wore a dark green top, from which the underboob of tits protruded, and wide padded knee pads to cushion falls. We found out later that Fiona had been a good volleyball player. Charlotte was older but very agile, and the black Querubine must have had ancestors bursa merkez escort among the Watusi because she was almost as tall as our Thor. Delphine did not understand English commands well but was agile and quick.

Delphine was sitting on the ground in front of denied Denis. She held her thighs wide apart and gently rolled the volleyball between her two toes. I could hear her voice, with that very rounded R and that nasal N. I did not understand everything, but the concept was clear: she was asking him if Denis would like those toes to play with the blue balls under the cage, instead of the volleyball. I understood only a few words, although the concept was obvious to all.

“N’est-ce pas, mon amour? Aimerais-tu sentir le dos de mon pied à travers les interstices des barreaux, hein? Tu est presque en train de jouir, rien que d’en entendre parler, mon petit cochon…”

I could see Denis panting, but we were excited too. Delphine had small boobs and as is often the case with French girls, she did not like a bra.

Now she was spread-legged wearing only a tiny thong that let her flat, smooth flesh show beneath the skinny tummy. Delphine reached out a foot to touch Denis’s cage, and a drop of precum came out of the toe. She laughed with delight and said something like “Je vois que tu es très heureux, mon amour! Mais tu sais bien qu’il faut tout avaler, tu ne peux pas salir mon orteil et aussi espérer sauver tes lèvres, après…”

In front of us all, Denis bent down to lick her toes and swallowed all the precum, leaving her flawless.

The only one in sportswear was Fiona. Trixie and Delphine wore only a very thin thong: Trixie’s was so thin in front that it slipped between her labia (or she had slipped it on purpose to distract with excitement Thor and the rest of us with).

The very tall Querubine wore a golden bikini. Ebony and gold, she looked like a nineteenth-century Chryselephantine statue. The bikini strings were very thin, but the triangles of fabric were not the right size: the black nipple areolas protruded from all sides, and a thin landing strip of very trimmed black curls protruded out of the triangle of fabric that barely covered her clitoris. Her capuchin-colored husband stared at her drooling, and we were all excited to see her, too. Querubina was aware of this and was rocking her tits left and right to make us drool even more, smiling as she insulted us all with names like “wanker losers,” “pale shrimp,” and “world’s smallest Brazilian.”(I learned later that Quentin had a normal-sized penis, but he liked to be humiliated as if he had had a tiny penis: SPH. It was just a harmless game between the two of them, but I didn’t know that).

My bride, Britney, had chosen a morose blouse with a floral design… but she slyly opened all the buttons from top to bottom. So with every jump, everyone could see her tits nipples, and shaved pussy through the wide unbuttoned opening. Britney pranced like a fawn, happy to be so close and yet so far away from these six cocks, firmly imprisoned in our locked locks.

The key, of course, dangled between each woman’s tits, hanging from the necklace. To remind us, at every second of the game, WHAT was at stake.

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Chapter 2. The break between sets.

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First set: the males won. Yay, Team!

Second set: the males won again! Yay, hooray!

The final victory was within reach!

Despite Fiona’s heroic efforts, the girls were much less skilled and muscular.

By the end of the first two sets, we were winning easily: we were 2-0, just one more set away from the prize!

Hope triggered frustrated erections in our caged penises.

But it was agreed that after the second set, there would be a time for rest and discreet dialogue between each wife and husband.

Six couples spontaneously formed on either side of the volleyball court on the sand.

Britney rubbed her sweaty tits on my arm, causing me to have an intense erection. She was naked underneath her unbuttoned blouse, and with a sly grin, she asked me, “I’d be so in the mood for facesitting, honey. But would you let me cuff your wrists behind your back first?”

I was mesmerized by the vision (and overwhelmed by the excellent result of the first two sets!) and confident of a sure victory in the next set, I told her yes.

She handcuffed me with a pair of manacles she kept in the picnic wicker basket.

Then she had me lie down.

Britney was without panties, so simply she positioned her anus in front of my mouth as she gently stroked my aching testicles. Then she moved her pelvis back and forth to let me taste both her pussy and her ass. But she did not intend to orgasm-there was still a set to play on the volleyball court! So after a few minutes, she made sure my penis was at the end of its tension inside the cage, and then said, “Enough! Let’s go back to the volleyball court!”

I asked, “But aren’t you going to release me?”

“Look at your teammates. You are all handcuffed. Oh, I’m so sorry, Dean! Good luck!” chirped she, genuinely sorry.

I struggled back up, blue balls, cock hard inside the cage, and nostrils and mouth full of her vaginal humors. I squinted as I looked at what the male team looked like.

In the few minutes that my eyes had been covered by my wife’s sweet cheeks, everything had happened.

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