She felt him in the bed beside her. He was almost motionless, only his chest moving as it rose and fell with deep, restful breaths. His odour, a sweet smell that she’d come to enjoy, filled her nostrils, while the warmth that radiated from under the duvet warmed and comforted her. Having him beside her was calming. Enjoyable even.
Gently she placed her hand on his smooth chest. His skin was warm beneath her touch and she paused for a moment to focus on the sensation and wait for it to produce a reaction. None came.
Slowly she let her hand slide down his chest, feeling his hard ribs turn to the firm muscle of his stomach. Her fingers played over his navel, producing a deep sigh from between his lips, then carried on further. Further until they reached the thick rubber band that surrounded the base of his penis.
It had, he’d told her, been an act of faith. The silicone device mimicked the shape of a small penis, covering it in a sheath of black that pointed downwards with his pale white testicles exposed. A rod came up between them, spreading them and was held in place by a plastic strip that sat over the band. This was locked shut with a small brass padlock and he’d presented her with a metal ring that had three silver keys on.
The chastity cage, he told her, meant he couldn’t have sex with her and she would be safe as they lay in bed together.
A tinge of guilt flashed through her. She loved him, insofar as she could. He was warm and caring, attentive to her needs and doting on her in a way she found rewarding. Yet she had no desire, no need to satisfy or be satisfied sexually. He was handsome and she was afraid that his need for sex would prove stronger than any feelings he might have towards her. Perhaps that was why she had decided to allow him to share her bed.
Her fingers, she realised, had been gently stroking the top of the cage and she felt his cock move. It surprised her and for a moment she felt afraid that she’d awoken something in him that she’d be unable to control. Only then she realised he wasn’t growing and the cage was holding whatever erection he was trying to get in check.
In the half light of the bedroom his face looked serene, facing up towards the ceiling. He was still asleep and oblivious to what was happening between his legs. She wondered if he would object if he woke and found her touching him. Or would he see it as a sign that she did want sex after all?
Cautiously she felt around the silicone, touching the coolness of his exposed testicles. His cock flinched again and again any attempt at an erection was stifled by the cage. Her mind sought out the keys on their ring in the pocket of her dressing gown. Without the keys he wouldn’t be free and until he was free he wouldn’t be able to get an erection. She had the keys. She had the power to unlock him and set him free. Or not.
There was a smile on her lips as she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly and her dreams were filled with ideas.
She watched him in the shower from the bathroom door. He didn’t take long, just enough to clean himself and wash his short auburn hair. There was a hint of surprise when he opened the cubicle door and saw her there, but she ignored it and handed him the towel, watching as he dried himself. The sight of the black cage between his legs fascinated her as it bobbed around in exaggerated movements.
“You can’t get an erection with that on?” she asked him.
“No,” he told her. “If I try it just stops it from happening.”
“Ah,” she said. “Can you cum?”
“No,” he said. “I mean I can ejaculate but I can’t orgasm. It’s difficult to explain.”
“Ah,” she said again. She turned and left him to finish drying.
With the bedroom door open and sat on the end of the bed she had a good view as he left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom. She watched his cage sway, smiling in fascination.
“You can’t get that off without the keys?” she asked again.
“Yeah,” he told her.
She held up the ring with the small padlock keys on. He nodded.
“Can I have them back?”
“Why did you put it on?” she asked, ignoring his request.
“I thought it would make you feel safer,” he said.
Her eyes looked hard into his. There was truth there, she was sure of it, but it wasn’t the whole truth. She needed to change tact.
“You know I’ve got no sexual desire, so why does a strong, handsome, successful guy like you hang out with a girl like me?” she asked.
He moved forward but stopped when she held up her hand.
“Answer,” she told him.
“I think you’re funny, we share a lot of common interests and I find it really easy to be around you.”
“And attractive? Do you find me physically attractive?”
His eyes cast down to the floor.
“Yes,” he said.
“But you know we won’t have sex, right?”
He nodded. She wondered if he understood what that really meant.
“So what am I? The asexual you hope to turn? The trophy mixed-race girlfriend? The hot chick in the high heels with the great booty you like being seen with?”
There was a hint of anger in her voice. But then she’d been here before. It was like she was stuck in a loop where she meets great guy, tells great guy she’s not interested in sex and great guy tries to convince her otherwise.
“No,” he said softly. He sounded almost ashamed, which touched her. “I fully respect you and how you feel.”
There was silence. It felt like she was in a schoolroom where she was the teacher and he was the naughty boy who’d done something horrible and was refusing to admit to it.
“Well, for now at least, I like having you around enough to keep you around,” she told him. “I guess you’ll tell me what’s going on in that head when you’re good and ready.”
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“There’s a condition though. Until you tell me what’s going on that doesn’t come off.”
She said it without really thinking about it, the words just came out. His reaction, a mix of delight, confusion and fear, intrigued her.
“Get yourself dressed and go home,” she told him. “Think about what I’ve said.”
They met for dinner that Friday. He seemed quieter and more subdued, yet they managed to have an enjoyable meal. They laughed and discussed the new film that was coming out the following weekend and agreed to see it together. He told her about the deal he was working on, mentioning no names and offering no details, while she told him about the troubles she was having with her boss. He offered some advice, which she accepted.
And she played with her new necklace: a chain of silver from which hung one of the keys. She played with it absent-mindedly during dinner, turning the key around in her long fingers and occasionally placing the chain between her teeth. Whenever she did his eyes fixed on it and his voice trailed off.
“Are you ready to tell me?” she asked him as the evening drew to a close.
“No,” he said meekly. “I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Then you stay locked up.”
The film was good, the best she’d seen in a long time. She ate popcorn, she drank ice slush and afterwards they went bowling. When she asked he wouldn’t tell her.
A month passed and he continued to refuse to talk to her about his reasons for dating her. At the same time he became more attentive towards her, more willing to give way to her wants and needs. The shift was subtle, a gentle move in their relationship towards her taking the lead. She found it exciting.
Yet she also found herself wondering if the chastity was working. She wondered how he, a virile young man, could keep his sexual desires under control. Like most of the men she’d dated he’d probably snuck back home after their dates for a wank. It didn’t bother her, she expected it. Maybe she encouraged it because she knew she was a physically attractive woman and she did play to it a little with her high heel shoes, her tight leggings and push-up bras. Seeing how men reacted around her was fun.
And so, after he refused to tell her for the umpteenth time, she pulled down his trousers, unlocked the small brass padlock and replaced it with her own.
“There’s no way you’re going to cheat out of this one,” she told him, maybe with a bit of anger in her voice. “I’ve got the only keys and right now that means I own your cock. Got it?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes cast down in shame.
“Going to tell me?”
He shook his head.
“Then stay locked up.”
She sat at the table in her flat eating a bowl of cornflakes and looking at her messages from the dating profile she’d maintained. It was sport now, seeing the near endless flow of compliments, fantasies and barely comprehensible sentences that men sent her way.
Her mind drifted away to him and his stubborn refusal to talk to her about how he felt. Four months had passed and she was in two minds about what to do with him. A part of her wanted to cut him loose as she was tired of him hiding something from her. Another part looked at the messages and appreciated the way he cared about her and treated her.
A week ago her frustration had exploded. After a hard few days at work and when he refused to talk to her again, she’d vented all her anger at him, calling him names and accusing him of things she regretted the following morning. She’d belittled and humiliated him, swearing and using racial insults she’d not let pass her lips since the playground. And he’d taken it. He’d stood there with his cheeks burning in shame and his head lowered and apologised for everything. He’d absorbed all her negativity, taking it inside with a humbleness that surprised her. When she’d called him the next morning to say sorry he’d told her that was what he was there for. His words, delivered in a calm, almost obedient tone, made her feel whole again.
Only it played on her mind. It wasn’t just his behaviour it was her own too. Increasingly she found herself taking him for granted, expecting to do what she said almost with a sense of entitlement. When she thought about his chastity she felt powerful in a way she’d not felt with anyone before.
“Hello,” he said eagerly when he answered his phone. “How are you?”
“OK. How about you?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“I want you here tonight,” she told him, aware of how that sounded. “Seven o’clock. OK?”
“Yes, of course.”
She disconnected the call and put the phone down on the table. It was time to bring things to a head.
How was she supposed to feel? Nervous? Anxious? Excited?
None of the above?
The scene was set for the showdown and she had no feelings about it at all. What she said next, what he did, would determine whether she would lose a great friend or gain something more. Yet she couldn’t feel anything about it. What would happen would happen and she would have to deal with the consequences as she always did.
A space in the middle of the flat had been cleared by pushing the table against a wall and easing the sofa back further and turning it through forty degrees. That was where she would sit, while he would stand in the middle of the room. There was soft light either side from the twin lamps and she’d leave the main light off. There was a single wine glass and a bottle of red that was breathing beside it on the table.
Her phone buzzed. A text. He was a few minutes away.
She checked her outfit in the mirror on her wardrobe. High heel court shoes with the open toes and slight platform. Wetlook leggings so tight they were a second skin. Black lace push-up bra that gave her breasts more shape and a deep cleavage. The loose white t-shirt hanging round her shoulders, scooped low and cropped off to expose her navel. Then her make-up: lips painted pink and full, a hint of blusher, eye shadow to deepen her brown eyes. And her black hair, full of body and shape, cascading round her shoulders and down her back past her shoulder blades.
It was a look she knew was devastating. No matter what he said he would find her sexually attractive and it would prompt a reaction from him. She would use it.
The entry phone buzzed. She looked at her phone and hit “send” on the message she’d prepared. A few seconds later he replied and she released the door.
If she was going to feel nervous now was the right time. Only she didn’t. She felt composed. In control.
A last minute change of plan. Instead of sitting she chose to stand. Let him see you, she told herself, Let him react.
The door to the flat opened and closed. She listened to him moving around, stepping into the bathroom and turning on the light so that the fan buzzed loudly. In her mind’s eye she could see him undress, carefully folding and hanging his clothes. There was the flush of the toilet and the click of the light. A pause and then the door to the living room opened.
Instantly her eyes dropped to the black cage between his legs. She let herself smirk as it twitched, the device holding back his instinct to become erect. His cheeks started to blush.
“How do I look?”
“Very beautiful,” he said sheepishly.
She smiled and stepped towards him. Her movements were slow and deliberate, accentuating her figure in a way designed to tease him. She tried not to look down at his cock, only it was hard not to as it was bobbing away almost uncontrollably.
“Is that all?” she asked breathlessly, circling behind him.
“No. You look stunning.”
“Yes,” he said. He didn’t sound confident.
She walked away from him, moving a little slowly and putting a little more swing into her hips. And then she stopped, one foot crossed over the other to add shape to her bottom and thighs.
“Do you like my bottom?” she asked him.
“Yes,” he said. There was a quiver in his voice that suggested he was unsure of his answer.
“Do you have fantasies about it?”
There was a long pause. She turned, sitting down on the sofa in a smooth motion that ended with her ankles crossed, her knees together and her hands in her lap.
“Bring me a glass of wine, boy,” she told him.
He looked a little confused for a moment, then turned and went to the table to fetch the glass and bottle. As he came towards her she watched his cage bouncing up and down, fascinated and amused in equal measure. The glass was offered to her and once she’d accepted he poured a little wine into it, careful not to spill any. He returned it to the table and then retook his position in the centre of the room.
She took a sip. It was a sweet red, the liquid flowing around her mouth and leaving a warm taste as she swallowed.
“So,” she said, “how long is it since that chastity cage thing went on. And tell me the truth.”
His eyes dropped as if he were calculating whether to tell a lie or be honest.
“Six months,” he said.
It should have been a surprise, only somehow, in the back of her mind, she’d always known.
“So three months after we started dating you started denying yourself orgasms by putting that on. Why?”
He didn’t answer.
“OK, so this is how this evening is going to work,” she told him firmly. “You’re going to be honest with me. You’ll answer every question fully and you’ll tell me every detail. There is nothing that you cannot say to me for the next fifteen minutes. Do you understand?”
He looked at her and she did her best to appear serious. Perhaps a little too hard as his eyes dropped down again.
“Listen to me, boy,” she said sharply. “If you don’t open up to me right now I’m just going to take that bloody padlock off and send you on your way. This is your one and only chance. Do you understand me?”
His eyes lifted only as far as her shoes. His cheeks were bright red and he was trembling.
“Do you understand me?” she repeated.
Maybe her patience was running out, or perhaps she was genuinely frustrated that he couldn’t be honest. Whatever it was it put an edge into her voice that made him shiver.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees, throwing himself forward so he was hunched over on his forearms.
“When I met you I knew you were the most beautiful woman I would know,” he gushed, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Not just physically, but in every way. When you said you weren’t interested in sex I knew that celibacy would be the price I’d have to pay for being with you. Only it was too hard and that’s why I put myself in chastity.”
The passion in his voice surprised her. It was as if months of pent up desire to reveal his innermost thoughts exploded in their raw form.
“When you said you wanted to know why and then you said you wouldn’t let me out until I’d told you I got caught. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to let me out. I wanted to stay in chastity because in my head it was what you wanted. I got all confused and mixed up and I didn’t know how to get out and tell you how I feel.”
She let his voice trail away. He was panting, perhaps even sobbing. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and prostrate before her, felt good though. She was enjoying it. Was that wrong?
“And how do you feel?” she asked gently.
“I’m submissive,” he said. “I’ve known it for a long time, before I met you. I just didn’t know, well, didn’t know how to tell you. How you’d react.”
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
Maybe he would have done a few weeks ago. If he’d come out and told her straight away she probably would have run a mile, stopped answering his calls and left the dating scene again. She’d have seen him as some sick sexual deviant, another man who couldn’t understand she had no interest in sex, no desire to lay her hands on him or have him inside her.
She sipped her wine.
“Up on your knees,” she told him.
He did as she said without hesitation. Tears were running down his cheeks, which were flushed red from shame. Even so he managed to look her in the eye with an expression that reminded her of a lost puppy hoping he’d be forgiven for some silly mistake.
“How do you feel about me?”
He swallowed and sniffed.
“I love you,” he said gently. “I love you more deeply than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“Love or lust?” she challenged. “Remember, you’ve not had an orgasm for half a year.”
“Love,” he said. “Only….”
His voice trailed away and his eyes dropped to the floor.
“It’s hard to explain.”
An urge took her to reach forward, grab his chin firmly in her hand and lift his face up so that he looked straight at her. As his eyes met hers a feeling of power coursed through her.
“Try,” she said sternly.
He stammered a little, tried to start a sentence then gave up. She tightened her grip on him.
“I worship you,” he told her softly, his voice distorted by her grip. “When we’re apart I want to be with you and when we’re together I just want to make you happy. I absolutely adore you. I don’t know. I just can’t explain it.”
She released him and his head dropped once more.
“And the other night? When I got really angry and had a go at you?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did that make you feel? Did you enjoy it?”
He nodded slowly and said, “Yes.”
“The way I swore at you and called you those names?”
Again he nodded. She carried on watching him, sipping again from her wine.
There was a longer pause. She thought about grabbing him and forcing an answer out of him, only decided there was a time for that later.
“Being humiliated by you was exciting,” he said carefully. “The way you treated me, the way you didn’t seem to care about my feelings, it all made me feel like I was truly submissive to you. Like you knew you could do anything to me.”
Her mind cast back to that evening. He’d been sat on the sofa and she’d been standing in front of him, shouting, swearing, her finger pointing at him. There had been something inside her as she’d released all that anger, something cathartic that had spurred her on. She’d enjoyed watching him as she’d set about him, humiliating him with ever harsher insults and demands. That night he’d not been a man to her, he’d just been some creature for her to use.
“I wanted to hit you,” she said. The words came out without warning.
“Yes,” he told her. “I could sense it. You should have.”
Her fingers gripped him again, forcing his chin up. She released and before he had a chance to lower his head she swung at him with her palm. There was a loud slap and a large red mark appeared on his cheek. He looked at her with a stunned expression.
“How does that make you feel?” she asked him.
“Thank you,” he said. He sounded as if she had given him a valuable gift.
“Get me more wine, boy.”
He retreated to the table, collected the bottle and returned. When she had enough she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
“Stand there,” she told him and he obeyed.
Her eyes scanned over his naked body. He was handsome and toned and any other woman would probably feel desire towards him. Any other woman would probably take his dick in her mouth and suck him off, or lie back on the sofa and let him fuck her until she cried. He could probably manage it too, he had the demeanour of someone who looked good and knew how to use what he’d been given.
And yet he was stood naked in the living room of a woman who felt no desire towards him. She had no sexual feelings for him, no significant feelings of any kind. She saw him as a friend, a confident, as someone she could trust and rely on. To counter her lack of interest he’d created a fantasy world where he was some sort of celibate servant kept in chastity at her whim and denied even the most basic of warm, loving contact. He had turned their relationship into a fetish.
What did she want from him? She couldn’t deny she enjoyed the way he treated her in this fantasy world of his. Having him around made her feel good, made her feel important and desired. His obedience and his willingness to bend to her will excited her, as did the power she had over him.
How was this different from any other relationship she might find herself in? Invariably the men she’d met and dated had turned her into an object in some way. They’d masturbated in her bed, or asked her for nude pictures to wank over. A couple had even tried to force themselves on her. She fingered the key on the chain around her neck as she mused that at least this way she was in control.
“You do realise what all of this means, don’t you?” she asked him.
“I think so,” he said. “I think I’ve just made a fool of myself.”
“Undoubtably,” she said, “but I meant in terms of a relationship between us.”
He shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
“I think so,” he said.
“Let’s be really clear about this,” she told him. “There’s no way I’m having sex with you, so that chastity cage is staying on pretty much permanently now. If I feel like it I might let you take it off every now and then to wank, but that’ll be not very often. So you have to accept you will never have sex again. Understand?”
He nodded and said, “I thought that was what would happen.”
“Well, don’t think it, know it. Sex and you came to an end when you put that on.”
His cheeks flushed, which brought a smile to her lips.
“Second thing is I don’t know what you think will happen but it won’t be that. Sure, sometimes I’ll have you like this with me dressed all sexy and you all naked. Sometimes I’ll give you a beat down like the other night and I might even let you kiss my feet or give me a massage or whatever. Just don’t expect it to happen. Most of the time we’ll be like a regular couple going out for walks and dinner and whatever else. That clear?”
“You want to kiss my feet now, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said sheepishly.
“OK, so that’s the third thing. Total honesty. Both ways. With no consequences for an honest answer. Only you don’t volunteer things, you just respond to questions you’re asked. The moment I hear you asking to be beaten up or whatever is the moment this all ends. Got it?”
“Down you go then. But only my shoes, don’t touch my skin.”
He sunk down quickly and prostrated himself before her. She felt his warmth breath on the exposed skin on her ankle and then gentle pressure as he pressed his lips against the patent leather. Knowing he was down there, at her feet eagerly kissing her shoes gave her a buzz. Next time, she thought to herself, he wouldn’t clean them before she let him loose on them.
“Fourth one,” she said thoughtfully, sipping on her wine again, “is that you’re going to obey each and every instruction I give you without question. Now I know you can do this one because you did it when I told you to come over and then sent you the text about what to when you got here. Sometimes they’ll be really trivial and stupid, sometimes they’ll get you in trouble and every now and then you’ll hate doing it. Got it?”
“Yes,” he said from beneath her.
She looked down at him. Seeing him at her feet, lying prone as his head moved left and right in eager fulfilment of her instruction gave her a sense of pleasure and power. Moving her foot a little and watching him shift so as not to break contact amused her in a way she didn’t fully understand. It would come in time, she guessed.
“I guess we need to find you a correct way of addressing me,” she said. “Stop.”
He did and when she clicked her fingers he pushed himself up onto his knees and faced her. His lips and chin were wet with saliva.
“I had a few messages from arseholes asking to be my ‘slave’ and if they can call me ‘mistress’ and frankly the whole thing is stupid. So when I was in Sudan with my parents when I was a kid we had a couple of servants. My mother was head of the household and they always called her Madame, so that’s what you can call me. Got that?”
For a moment he seemed unsure of himself, then he nodded and said, “Yes, Madame.”
“How sweet! And I guess you know your name, don’t you boy!”
“Yes, Madame,” he said and his cheeks blushed again. He was sweating.
“So there we go, boy! We got ourselves a relationship sorted out! How does that feel?”
“Wonderful, Madame. I feel like you own me at last.”
“Yeah,” she told him and fumbled with the key around her neck again. “I guess I do.”
Spread the love...