“It’s astonishing how much trouble this little thing has caused us,” she said, as much to herself as to me. To emphasize the point, she increased the pressure from her fingertips, again crossing the line from arousal to pain. “I don’t mean that literally, of course. Your penis is just a little lump of flesh and nerves, and it would be stupid of me to expect it to do anything but what it’s designed for. No. The problem is here,” she said, tapping my forehead with the index finger of her other hand. “Your brain. Or rather, your failure to use your brain to exercise any control over yourself. That’s the cause of our troubles. Don’t you agree?” she asked.
I stood still, and then I felt a sudden, sharp sting. When her back was to me, she had furtively slipped a spiked sleeve onto her index finger, and she was jabbing its needle-sharp steel into the very tip of my cock. Hard. She looked into my eyes, and her smile took on a slight edge. “Don’t you agree?” she repeated, in the same friendly, nonchalant voice. She pressed the spike deeper into my glans, until the pain became excruciating. My pelvis twitched. I nodded as eagerly as the leather strap around my neck would allow, and she withdrew the claw. I gasped with relief.
“So, what shall we do?” she asked, although she obviously didn’t expect an answer. “I’ve given you several chances, but every time you’ve disappointed me. You’ve proven yourself completely incapable of exercising even the most basic level of self-control. Don’t you agree?” I nodded hurriedly, hoping to avoid another painful jab. “Well. Since you’ve failed so miserably, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. From now on, I will control your penis myself, so that you no longer have to think about it. Isn’t that a good idea?”
Again, I hesitated, not fully understanding what she meant. But this time, all she needed to do was to arch her eyebrows, and I nodded my assent. I was learning fast.
Without removing her left hand from my cock, she conjured into her right, seemingly from thin air, a stainless-steel chastity cage with a small brass padlock. I knew for a fact that no such cage had ever been among my instruments, and it certainly wasn’t something that she’d picked up from Walgreen’s that afternoon on her way home from the mall.
How long has she been planning this?
“I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining what this is for,” she said. “Instead, I’ll simply tell you what I expect. From now on, whenever you are unsupervised, even at home alone, you will wear your cage. When we are out together, especially if there might be other women present, you will wear your cage. When we’re at home by ourselves, I won’t be so strict, at least not at first. But the key will remain in my possession at all times, so whenever you wish to be released, you must ask me. Do you understand?” I nodded. She chuckled again. “Of course, if you don’t want to ask, you can always go to a locksmith.”
She deftly closed the cage’s ring around the base of my shaft and scrotum, and inserted my dick into its little metal basket. She joined the basket to the ring and secured the apparatus with the padlock.
Click. And with that one click, my life changed forever.
In her hand, the chastity cage had looked fairly small, and my cock is not. I worried about the fit, but Ellen being Ellen, she’d judged the size perfectly. I could feel its metal bars all along my length, especially where they curved down and around my foreskin. The device was not uncomfortable, but I knew that it would cause pain if my cock began to rise.
She returned to the table and again picked up the cattle prod. But thankfully, she didn’t intend to use it. She merely wanted to demonstrate that she could if she chose to.
“Only one of us is an avowed sadist, and it’s not me,” she said. “So, as long as you behave yourself, you needn’t fear this. Or any of your other little toys,” she added, gesturing dismissively to the table. “Even the chastity cage I consider to be primarily a tool to help you rein in your appetites, not a punishment. But I reserve the right to change my mind about any of this, at any time, for any reason. Or for no reason at all. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Wonderful. I feel better about our marriage already, don’t you?” she said. “Now, I’m going upstairs to make myself a cup of tea. You can stay here and think about how things will be from now on. But don’t you dare indulge in any self-pity,” she scolded, wagging a finger in my face like a schoolmarm. “You are where you are entirely because of your own choices.”
She left without another word.
After she left, I again began to notice my physical discomfort. I’d been immobilized for nearly three hours, and the muscles in my neck and shoulders and legs were stiff and sore. The corners of the wooden post were still digging into my back. And now I had this piece of steel clinging to my genitals like some alien robotic parasite.
True, it didn’t hurt physically, but the feeling of emasculation was gut wrenching. I was a sexual dominant. For years, I had defined myself primarily by my ability to exercise control over women, and my cock was the ultimate symbol of that control. With my limp dick locked away in a cage, what was I?
And yet… Wouldn’t there be some… security(?) reassurance(?) in ceding control over this aspect of life to Ellen? Some relief in giving up the relentless, never-ending hunt for female prey? I thought about the countless hours I’d spent — and the emotional stress I’d endured — obsessing over sex, planning BDSM sessions, arranging travel for my submissives, lugging bondage gear all over town, striving to keep Ellen and my other partners in the proper emotional state. And on, and on, and on. And all for the sake of a few orgasms lasting thirty seconds or less. Was it really worth it?
Holy shit! What am I thinking?
A wave of self-loathing came over me when these thoughts bubbled up into my conscious mind. I wriggled my hips violently, as though I could somehow shake the hateful metal cage off my cock. I couldn’t, of course.
I was pathetic, just as Ellen had said.
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