(So, what if Chris didn’t go to the School after that ad played, let’s find out)

“…. Come to the School today.” The ad concluded on the screen. An older lady in a jacket sitting near me shakes her head.

“She’s nothing but a scam. That school ruins lives.” The older woman turns to face me, i spot a leather bracelet on her wrist. “Aren’t you a cutie.”

“Oh… thanks. My name is Chris. Nice to meet you…” i was hesitant at first but loosened up when she reached out to hold my hand, squeezing it gently.

“My name is Miss Yvonne. Are you alright? You seem a little stressed.”

I take a second before telling this total stranger everything that had been going on, from my mother dying, to being evicted, to being jobless.

“I feel like I’m out of options. I’m sorry, i should have asked.” I try to pull my hand back. “I just…”

“I get it, hon.” Her saying that in a comforting tone put me more at ease. “I…. Might have a job lined up. Comes with housing and food.”

“That sounds perfect.” I seemed a little too eager. “Wait, what’s the catch?”

“You would be a servant in some capacity. But you would be joining a loving family.” She thinks for a moment. “Do you have a safe place to sleep tonight?”

“No ma’am. The shelter has turned me away multiple times.” I put on a small insincere smile. My hoodie is slightly dirty.

“Please consider.” Yvonne says in a caretaking voice.

“O- okay.” We sit there finishing their coffee, i lift his head to meet her gaze. “I’d like to take you up on the job.”

“Wonderful.” She finishes her drink and stands, messing with her phone. I grab my backpack with what little I have inside and stand to join her. “Care to join me?”

“Uh… sure.” Following behind her, she leads me to a nice newer car, opening the door for me. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to my salon.” Yvonne answers me after closing the door and getting in on her side. “It’s right down the road, it’s in town. And it’s open for the day. We can talk, get to know each other,”

“Oh, That makes sense.” I laugh a little. “I thought it was for a haircut.”

“Only if you want one. On the house of course.” She smiles towards me. “I would love to give that hair some TLC.”

I think about that for a little bit. Staying quiet until we pull up to her shop. I head into the shop before Yvonne does.

“Welcome in to Madame Yvonne’s Grooming Paradise. Do you have an appointment?” The woman in a collar asks from behind the counter. She looks up and meets my gaze.

“No, i was told to come in here, I’m meeting with Miss Yvonne for a chat,” i say as Yvonne walks in removing her jacket. I look back and see her revealing her corset, shiny black leggings and flat shoes.

“He’s with me Kiko.” Yvonne answers for me. “Private chair number 3. Also possibly a new member.”

“Yes ma’am. Your next appointment is in two hours.”

“Thank you. Follow me Chris.” She less suggests and more commands. Humming as she leads me back to her chair, sitting me down and spinning me so I’m looking at the mirror, draping me with a cape as she starts to play with my hair. “So… have you thought it over? You need to be absolutely certain.”

“Well yeah… it’s either this or homelessness. Right?” I look at her through my shaggy hair. “I want the job.”

“Okay sweetheart. I’ll get paperwork sorted for you.” She playfully tussles my hair. “Now, let’s fix up this mess.”

She leads me over to the hair wash station and starts the water, testing it to make sure it won’t be too hot for me.

“Dirty hair makes for dirty subs.” She states simply.

“Brilliantly put.”

She leans over and starts washing my hair. Her breasts are almost in my face. i let out an involuntary moan and then go to cover my mouth.

“Aww, does someone like their hair being played with?”

I try to look away but can’t. I see just a glimpse of her seductively smiling. I admittedly started to get hard and can’t hide it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Its fine sweetie, you’re not the first I’ve had get hard when I’m working my magic.” She smiles, rinsing out the shampoo from my hair. “I’m nothing but thorough.”

I start to say something but before i can get the words out i feel the slight scratching sensation of her nails massaging the conditioner onto my scalp has me letting out a moan of relief.

“Such a good boy.” She purrs out as she rinses out my hair. “All nice and clean.”

“Thank you miss Yvonne.”

“My pleasure, but my work is only half done.” She starts to towel dry my hair slightly. “Follow.”

“What happens when this is over?” Following her and sitting down in her chair.

“When what’s over?” She starts to cut and trim my hair.

“The haircut. Am i to wait outside?”

“Why would you?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Kiko’s sister is bringing paperwork for us to go over.” She makes eye contact with mine. “That is, if you’re accepting my offer.”

“I am ma’am.” Looking into her eyes. “I graciously accept.”

“Good. I have a few plain collars in my office, but we can shop around too.” She smiles, finishing up my haircut. When she turns me around I get a good look at my hair, it’s short, respectable, a new style. “So. What do you think, Honey?”

“I love it.”

“Of course you do.” She kisses my forehead as the front door chime goes off. She looks at the clock. “Crap, my 3 is here early. Listen, I have a couch in my office. Feel free to nap okay?”

Heading back and laying on the couch, i quickly start to fall asleep. Yvonne knocks on the door gently, waking me up.

“Chris? Wake up hon.”

I sit up slowly, reaching up to put my hand into my shaggy hair but I’m surprised when it feels well taken care of for the first time.

“Where…. Yvonne?”

“Miss Yvonne. Sit up straight.” I sit up as she walks behind her desk. “Contract time.”

In front of me was a small packet of paper going over terms: being free use, living in her home, having on hours and off hours, all perfectly fine conditions, until i get to the last one, a chastity device and a collar.

“I gotta get locked up?”

“In two senses of the word. You will be taken care of, Chris.”

“I know, i just-“ i start to think it over. “I would be owned. By you.”

“Myself and my husband. Possibly my daughter. I believe she’s around your age.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” I admit, signing.

“Perfect.” She’s going through her desk, mumbling about colors before
Pulling out a thin black leather collar with white threading and . “There. Perfect. Step around here for me, and get down on your knees please.”

Walking around the desk and kneeling, I discovered that the space around her desk was cushioned, to which i let out a surprised little noise. The collar goes around my neck and tightens slowly, as if Miss Yvonne is wrapping a present with a bow. I feel a tiny charm sitting just on the bottom of my neck.

“How is that sitting? Not too tight?”

“No ma’am.”

“Good. Stand in the center of the room and present yourself.” She states simply.

I hesitate at first but go to the center of the room and stand there.

“Stand up straight, eyes forward, hands to your side, honey.” She gently guides my body, a nudge here, an adjustment there. She pats my thighs gently. “This is presenting.”

I nod, remembering.

“Okay. Can i see what you’ve got in there? I need you to take off your pants.”

“Okay….” I take my pants off, bending over to get them off. Yvonne walks around to get a better look.

“Not bad. Stand up straight for me?”

I stand up straight, i hear a click. I turn my head towards Yvonne.

“Good Boy.” She smiles and pats me on my back. “We’re just about to lock up for the night.”

“Was that a clicker?”

“Mhmm. It helps with training.”

“Oh….”

“Let’s head home. Ready to go Kiko?”

“Yes ma’am.” Kiko enters the office, her hands neatly placed in front of her. “Shall i message the family regarding our new member?”

“Yes, and make sure Chelsea knows too.”

Previous part------Part one

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Apologies for how long this part took I was debating whether to continue the story or not, but I think after this part I will have the last part written. With that being said I will be looking at general ideas to start my next long story. I have a couple short ones written out that I will be posting to my A03 (peek at my pinned post) later this week as I finish them. I was thinking about either a magical or present day setting to the next story I write. If you have any ideas or fantasies that you want written out or filled that don't exist, please message me or leave a comment. Hope you all enjoyed so far.

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(This story is completely fictional, and all characters are not real)

Your car is gone from the side street.

You stand on the pavement outside Elara for a moment looking at the empty space where it was and then at Sarah's car idling at the curb, her silhouette visible through the windshield, and you get in.

"My car —"

"Someone drove it back to the apartment." She pulls away from the curb smoothly, eyes on the road. "I didn't want you driving after a four-hour session." She glances at you briefly, taking in the dress, the posture, the specific quality of exhaustion in your face. "You're in no state for it."

You don't question it.

The fact that you don't question it — that the information lands and settles without generating the follow-up questions it would have generated five weeks ago, who drove it, how did they get the keys, how did they know where it was — registers somewhere at the back of your skull and gets filed alongside everything else on the list.

Sarah reaches over and presses her lips to the top of your head.

Warm. Unhurried. Completely familiar.

"Good girl," she says quietly, eyes back on the road.

The warmth moves through you and the cage presses its answer through the panty channel through the dress fabric and the city slides past the window and you are very tired in the specific way that four hours of Elara's instruction produces, the body's deep tiredness, every muscle having been placed and held and placed again.

Home.

She takes you downstairs directly — not the shower first, not dinner, straight down, the basement warm in its amber light, the equipment on standby. She brings you to the restraint frame in the center and begins.

"Undress."

The dress comes over your head. The panties come down. You stand in the amber light in just the collar, the cage at the center of it all, and she positions you in the frame — not fully strapped, just the wrist cuffs, your weight forward slightly, the cage presented in the frame's geometry with the directional light finding it.

She goes to the workbench along the wall.

She picks up the case.

Small. Steel. She opens it and sets it on the bench with the care of someone handling something significant and you see what's inside and the trembling starts before you've processed the full thought.

The cage in the case is —

Small doesn't cover it. Small is what the Phase Two cage was. This is something else. Matte titanium, custom-machined, the ventilation slots precise and minimal, the lock mechanism integrated flush into the body. The geometry of it is absolute in its intention — there is no ambiguity in what this cage was made to hold and what it was made to prevent and at what size it intends to enforce both of those things permanently.

One and a half inches.

You are trembling. Visibly. The wrist cuffs register it in the frame.

Sarah picks it up and turns it in the light and looks at you over it with the expression that has been building since the first Saturday morning — the deep warm proprietary satisfaction of someone arriving at a destination they planned for a long time.

"The measurements confirmed you're ready," she says quietly. "Tonight we downsize."

She sets the titanium cage on the cloth beside her and picks up the key to the Phase Two device — your current cage, the one that has been your constant companion for weeks, the one you have stopped noticing and started expecting — and she fits it to the lock.

The click.

The pieces come off. The body first, then the ring.

The rush of release — blood returning, the brief expansion, the system asserting itself in the air of the basement — and Sarah applies the cold pack from the bench immediately, firm and practiced, and the process runs its course under her patient hands.

When she's satisfied she picks up the titanium cage.

The ring goes on first — smaller than anything that has preceded it, the fit at the base snug and uncompromising, and she works the body of the cage into position and begins the process of fitting what the reduction protocol has been working toward for weeks into the space the titanium was machined to hold.

The pressure is immediate.

Not pain. A dull insistent compression, the cage's walls making their argument with quiet authority, the interior dimensions of one and a half inches of machined titanium establishing their jurisdiction over what the reduction protocol has been reshaping for weeks toward exactly this.

Your clitty compressed. Held. Enclosed.

The lock engages.

The sound it makes is different from the printed plastic, different from the Phase Two steel — the sound of titanium locking is denser, more final, a sound with no ambiguity and no give and no temporary quality whatsoever.

Sarah steps back.

She looks at the cage on you in the amber light of the basement.

The titanium catches the light at its ventilation slots and along the lock seam and at the base ring and it is so small and so precisely made and so completely, permanently in place.

Her expression does the thing it does beyond satisfaction — into the territory of consequence, of arrival.

"There it is," she says softly.

The pressure is constant and specific and total and your body immediately begins its inquiry of the locked door and the locked door is made of titanium now and was machined to dimensions that leave the inquiry no room to develop into anything more than inquiry, ever, by design.

The cage presses its new permanent argument.

The answer is the same as it has always been.

Locked.

She tucks you in herself.

The nightgown, the collar, the harness locked around the plug with the small padlock whose combination lives in her phone. Her hand between your shoulder blades for a moment in the dark and then the lamp off and the subliminal headset settling at your temples while you're already most of the way gone, the body too comprehensively exhausted from the session and the downsizing and the four hours of Elara's instruction to put up any resistance to sleep.

You dream of floors. Of collar loops clipping to anchor points. Of moving correctly through spaces that know you and expect you and find your presence in them right.

Two weeks in a blur.

The shape of the days is so established now that deviating from it would require more effort than following it. Work as Lucas, home as Daisy, the basement in the evenings running its rotation of milking sessions and pet training and the headset deepening what it's been building since the first night. The plug in graduated sizes — three progressions in two weeks, each one Elara's recommendation per her session notes to Sarah, each one seated by Sarah's hands with the matter-of-fact efficiency of a daily requirement.

The titanium cage is a different experience from everything that preceded it.

The Phase Two steel had weight and presence. The titanium has permanence — a quality distinct from its physical properties, something about its machined precision and its custom fit and the specific compression of one and a half inches that communicates in a register below sensation. It fits the way a name fits. It fits the way the collar fits. Not something worn. Something that is simply the correct state of the body it's on.

Your body has stopped noticing it the way you stop noticing your own heartbeat.

Your body has started organizing itself around it.

The weekend dungeon sessions with Elara go deeper with each visit. The positions are automatic now — present, heel, rest, kneel, display arriving in your body before the word has finished leaving her mouth, the four hours filling with more advanced work, longer sustained positions, the beginnings of service training that requires the physical foundation the first sessions laid. She reports to Sarah. Sarah reviews the reports at breakfast with her coffee and her reading glasses and her small satisfied expression.

The measurement Fridays at Elara run their weekly rhythm. The fourth woman and her recorder and the monitor and the chart with its descending line. The titanium cage coming off for forty minutes. The machine. The cage going back on.

The descending line is approaching something.

Week four Friday.

You're in Sarah's car and the city is doing its early evening thing outside the window and she's quiet in the specific way she's quiet when something significant is on the schedule. Not anxious quiet. Focused quiet.

She parks on the side street.

She turns to you before she gets out.

"Today is important." Her dark eyes are steady. "More than the other appointments." She pauses. "Behave yourself. Be exactly what we've been building." Her hand comes to your jaw for a moment. "Yes?"

"Yes ma'am."

The smile that produces is the deepest one.

Elara's training room.

You've been in this room eight times now and your body knows it — the floor level, the ambient temperature, the specific acoustic quality of the space, the smell of leather and the low hum of the equipment. You know where each station is without looking. Your posture corrects itself automatically when you cross the threshold, Elara's four weeks of drilling sitting in your spine like installed software.

You push the door open.

She is waiting.

But she is not alone.

Elara stands in the center of the room in her leather harness, the authority of her filling the space the way it always does. Beside her, a woman you haven't seen before — older, silver-haired, seated in the room's single chair with the particular stillness of someone accustomed to rooms arranging themselves around them. She is dressed plainly and expensively and she is looking at you with the focused attention of someone who has been told specific things about what is about to walk through the door and is now assessing whether those things are accurate.

Behind her, standing — the man with the flat voice.

The one from Sarah's phone calls.

You don't know his voice in a way you can identify consciously but something at the back of your skull, where the flame burns and the list lives, knows him immediately.

Elara looks at you.

"Close the door," she says. "Come to center. Present."

Your body moves before your mind has finished processing the room.

Feet at shoulder width. Spine aligned. Hands clasped behind you. Chin level. Eyes forward.

The silver-haired woman looks at Elara.

"Yes," she says simply. The word carries the weight of a decision being confirmed. "That's exactly right."

Sarah appears in the doorway behind you.

She looks at the silver-haired woman and then at you standing in present position in the center of the room and something complicated and warm and irreversible moves across her face.

"Told you," she says quietly.

The titanium cage presses its locked permanent answer through the panties through the dress.

The man stands without announcing it.

He's tall. Mid-fifties, the kind of build that was once significant and has settled into something quieter but no less present. He moves through the room with the ease of someone who owns things — not this room specifically, but things, systems, arrangements. He looks at you in the present position and then at Sarah and something passes between them that is warm and professional simultaneously, the specific register of people who have a long history of transacting.

"Strip," he says to you.

Your hands move to the dress hem.

It comes over your head. The panties come down. You stand in the training room in just the collar and the titanium cage and the plug and every surface of you smooth and bare in the room's warm light and the man walks a slow circle around you with his hands behind his back and the expression of someone taking thorough inventory.

"Four weeks," he says to Sarah. "This is four weeks."

"Five, counting the first session at intake," Sarah says. Her voice is controlled. Completely even. Beneath it — you can hear it now, something you couldn't have read five weeks ago — something else. Tight. Pressed down.

"The cage." He crouches slightly in front of you and examines the titanium device with the attention of a collector examining a piece he's considering. He doesn't touch it. He looks at the fit, the lock, the compression visible at the base ring. "When did you downsize to this?"

"Two weeks ago. She's been in it continuously."

She. He said she. To Sarah. About you. As a fact rather than a performance, the pronoun carrying no weight of decision because the decision was made long before tonight.

He stands.

He reaches out and takes hold of the collar ring with two fingers — not pulling, just holding, the way you'd hold a door handle to test if it's locked — and looks at your face.

"Look at me."

You look at him.

He reads your face for ten full seconds. Whatever he finds there satisfies him. He releases the collar and steps back and looks at Elara.

"Test her."

Elara moves.

She doesn't announce what she's doing — just begins, and the man stands to the side with his arms folded and watches with the focused attention of someone grading a demonstration.

Pain first. The crop, three strikes across the back of your thighs in quick succession, each one harder than the last, and she watches your face and the man watches your face and the face is what's being tested, the management of it, the breath control, the posture held through the impact. You hold the present position through all three and the third one makes your eyes water and Elara notes the management and moves on.

Humiliation. She walks around you slowly, describing to the room in explicit detail what she observes — the cage, its dimensions, its contents, the wetness visible at the ventilation slots, the plug's base visible, the smoothness, the posture, the specific way your body has been remade over five weeks — and she uses the words that live in the registers the headset has been building, clitty and sissy and good girl and little caged thing, and she watches your face for the arousal response and the shame response and the warmth that moves through you when both arrive simultaneously.

The man watches.

He nods once.

Pet play. Elara snaps her fingers and points at the floor and your body drops to all fours before the conscious decision has fully formed, the installed behavior running clean and immediate, and she walks you around the room on the leash with the heeling precision the sessions have built and the man watches your gait, your head position, the way the leash communicates through the collar.

"Heel response," he says to Sarah. "When did that become automatic?"

"Second weekend session," Sarah says. Still controlled. "It installed faster than projected."

He makes a sound that is satisfaction without words.

The toys are laid out on the rolling trolley beside the examination bench — not the milking equipment, a different selection, graduated implements in ascending sizes, each one specifically chosen for tonight's assessment. Elara directs you onto the bench with a flat hand between your shoulder blades.

You bend over it.

She removes the plug.

The man comes closer for this part.

She works through the implements methodically — not the baseline mapping of the first clinic appointment, something more deliberate, assessing the development of what the daily plugging and the Elara sessions have been building. Each implement documented not by a recorder but by the man's quiet observations to Sarah, standing at his shoulder, her face controlled and her hands clasped in front of her.

By the fourth implement your hands are gripping the bench edge and your legs are shaking and the cage is conducting its titanium-locked response to everything and leaking its warm continuous commentary onto the bench surface.

"She's significantly ahead of intake baseline," he says to Sarah. "This is eight-week work in five weeks."

"The drug activation," Elara says from behind you, still working. "It compounded with the conditioning faster than the protocol predicted."

"Mm." He sounds pleased in the specific way of someone whose investment is returning above projection.

He steps back.

She removes the last implement and replaces the plug with the current size and you stand and he looks at you — the full picture, the whole assembled result of five weeks — and he picks up the marker from the trolley.

He doesn't ask permission.

He approaches and begins drawing directly on your skin — slow, deliberate lines that are clearly not arbitrary. He marks at the hips first, drawing a curved line at each side that arcs outward from where your hip currently sits, indicating a width that does not currently exist. His hands move to your waist, marking a narrowing point, then outward again at the hips below it. He draws lines at your chest. He stands back and assesses and makes two small adjustments and steps back again.

You are covered in marker lines that sketch the outline of a body that is different from the one wearing them.

He looks at Elara.

"The skeletal modification program. When can you begin?"

"The drug activation accelerates the soft tissue work immediately," Elara says. "The structural adjustments take longer. Six months for the hip reshaping to reach his —" she corrects herself smoothly — "her marked dimensions. The waist responds faster. Eight weeks."

"The breast development?"

"The hormone sequence has been running in the supplements since week one. Activation compounds it." She looks at you. "Visible development within thirty days of activation. Target dimensions —" she glances at his marks — "six months."

The man looks at Sarah.

"Activate everything," he says. "Tonight."

Sarah nods. The nod is steady and controlled and costs something.

He crosses the room toward the door and as he passes Sarah he stops and leans in and says something low against her ear, his voice too quiet for the room to hear, and her whole body responds — a single full-body shudder, contained immediately, her jaw setting and her shoulders pulling back and whatever he said landing in whatever place Sarah keeps the things she keeps behind the controlled expression.

He doesn't wait for her response.

He leaves.

The door swings shut.

The room is quiet for a moment — Elara, Sarah, you standing in the center of the training room covered in marker lines sketching the outline of who you are being made into, the titanium cage locked at the center of all of it, the plug seated, the collar on your throat.

Sarah looks at you.

Her expression is doing the complicated thing — the not-quite-guilt, the something-deeper, the two-year weight of what started as one thing and has become another and is becoming something she perhaps didn't fully plan for when she made whatever arrangement the phone calls in the kitchen at two in the morning have been servicing.

She looks at the marker lines on your skin.

She looks at your face.

"Shower," she says. Her voice is even. "We'll talk at home."

The shower runs its standard cycle and you stand under it with the marker lines dissolving slowly in the warm water, watching the ink run down your body in thin colored rivulets, the outline of who you are being made into swirling toward the drain.

Not gone. Not entirely. The faint ghost of the lines is still visible when you step out, the skin having absorbed enough of the marker to hold a pale trace of the man's architecture — the wider hips, the narrowed waist, the chest markings — like a blueprint pressed into the skin.

You dry off.

The door opens before you reach for your clothes.

Elara.

Not in the harness tonight — a different configuration, equally deliberate, dark fitted clothing that moves with her, her hair pulled back, the authority of her undiminished by the change. She has a leash in her hand, unclipped, swinging once as she steps into the bathroom.

"We're starting the activation tonight," she says. No preamble. No transition. "Right now."

She clips the leash to your collar ring and turns and walks.

You follow because the leash and because the four weeks of installed behavior and because daisy follows Elara without deliberation and Lucas follows because the flame is burning very bright tonight and wants to see what comes next.

The new room is deeper in the building than anything you've been in before.

Two corridors past the training room, a door that requires a keypad, and then a space that stops you in the threshold the way the dungeon stopped you on the first night.

The machine dominates the room.

It is large in the way that serious equipment is large — not theatrical, not designed to intimidate through aesthetics, but large because the function it performs requires the infrastructure to perform it. A central column, floor-mounted, with articulated arms at multiple heights, a control station against the wall running a display of parameters you can't read from the door, and at the center of the column's geometry — a harness.

Not a restraint harness. Something more total than that.

A body harness, full coverage, designed to suspend its occupant in a specific position and hold them there with the complete thoroughness of something that intends to have uninterrupted access to every surface of what it holds. The strapping is dense — not punitive, structural, the kind of engineering that distributes weight and holds position and doesn't fatigue over extended sessions. Attachment points at the shoulders, chest, waist, hips, thighs, each one connected to the column's arm system which can adjust the position of every point independently.

The two technicians are already at the control station.

They don't look up when you enter.

Elara walks you to the harness and begins fitting it to your body without explaining the individual components — she named this machine in the original tour, you realize, or the version of you that absorbed the tour and filed it away realizes, and what she said was the activation requires a sustained delivery period and the body needs to be held in the correct configuration for the full duration.

The harness settles over your shoulders and she works downward, each strap finding its position, the geometry of it becoming clear as it takes shape on your body — your weight will be suspended slightly forward, your hips at a specific angle, your arms positioned out and slightly back, everything open and accessible and held.

The cage hangs at the center of it all.

The plug is still seated.

She fits the last strap at your thighs and steps back and checks the configuration with the eye of someone who has fitted this harness before and knows what correct looks like.

"Ready," she says to the technicians.

One of them inputs a command.

The column's arms engage and the harness lifts — gently, precisely, your weight transferring from your feet to the suspension points, the position shifting until your feet are barely touching the floor and the harness is holding the full configuration Elara set, every surface of you presented to the room.

She looks at you.

"The activation sequence runs ninety minutes," she says. "The delivery is systemic — everything that's been building in the supplement protocol activates simultaneously under the machine's assistance. The hormone cascade, the tissue modification compounds, the neural pathway acceleration." She holds your eyes. "You'll feel it. Probably significantly. That's correct. Don't fight it."

She nods to the technicians.

"Start the program."

The control station issues a series of tones.

The machine hums to life around you, the arms making small precise adjustments to the harness position, settling you into the exact configuration the program requires. Something warm begins at the base of your spine — not from outside, from inside, a warmth that is distinct from the pill warmth and the arousal warmth and every other warmth you've catalogued over five weeks.

Deeper than all of them.

Moving outward from your center in slow deliberate waves.

The titanium cage catches the machine room's light at its ventilation slots and the lock seam and the base ring and it is so small and so permanent and so completely, absolutely the correct state of the body it's on.

The warmth spreads.

Ninety minutes.

You have no continuous memory of them. Not in the way you have no memory of the headset sessions — this is different, not absence but fragmentation, the sequence broken into impressions that don't connect into narrative. Warmth that becomes heat. Pressure moving through tissue in ways that have no analog in your experience, no reference point, no existing category. The harness holding you in precise configuration while the machine's program runs its systemic cascade through every cell simultaneously.

There are moments of something close to pain — not sharp, not localized, more like the deep bone ache of growing, which is exactly what it is. Your body doing in ninety minutes what the compound protocol was designed to accomplish over six months, the activation running the full sequence at compressed speed, the supplement drugs that have been building their concentration in your system since week one firing simultaneously under the machine's delivery assistance.

Mass relocating.

The geometry of you changing.

Your shoulders narrowing by increments that register as pressure and then release, the bone structure responding to what the activation is asking of it with the compliance of tissue that has been chemically prepared for this specific instruction for five weeks. Your hips — the man's marker lines, the curved outward arcs he drew on your skin — filling outward, a deep spreading pressure at each side that your mind tries to classify and cannot.

Your chest.

The warmth there is specific and sustained and when it ends there is weight where there was none.

The machine decelerates through its final cycle. The harness arms lower you back to your feet with the same gentle precision that lifted you and your feet find the floor and your legs hold you — barely, trembling with the sustained effort of existing through ninety minutes of systemic transformation — and Elara is beside you unclipping the harness straps with quick efficient hands.

She doesn't speak.

She holds the leash and walks you out.

The fitting room is small and warm and every wall is mirror.

Floor to ceiling. Edge to edge. There is nowhere to stand in this room without seeing yourself from multiple angles simultaneously and this is not accidental — the room was built for exactly this moment, for the specific experience of someone who has just come through what you've come through walking in and seeing what the machine and the five weeks and the weekly measurements and the supplements and the cage and the training have collectively produced.

Elara unclips the leash.

"Look," she says.

You look.

The sound that comes out of you is not a word.

Lucas is gone.

Not diminished, not transformed, not present-but-altered — gone. The person in the mirrors is a woman. Jet black hair loose around her shoulders. The collar at her throat. The posture that four weeks of Elara's instruction have installed, the spine aligned, the shoulders carrying themselves with the specific geometry of someone who has been trained to present correctly.

And the body.

Your hips are wider — not dramatically, not costumed, but genuinely wider, the curve from waist to hip carrying the specific geometry of female proportion, the marker lines the man drew tonight already matched by what the activation produced. Your waist is narrower, the cinching visible even without the corset. Your ass has a fullness and lift to it that wasn't there this morning. Your shoulders are smaller, the frame narrower at the top, broader at the hip, the proportions inverted from what they were.

And your chest.

Small. A cups, you think, the same assessment she made on the first Saturday morning, but this time you are assessing yourself. The weight is there — real weight, real breast tissue, sitting naturally against your chest with the specific gravity of something that has always been there and has simply been waiting for the conditions to become visible.

The titanium cage hangs between your thighs below the hem of the nightgown someone has put on you at some point in the last ninety minutes, small and locked and completely incongruous with every other line of the body it's attached to and simultaneously completely right, the fixed point around which everything else has been arranged.

Daisy looks at herself in the mirror.

She looks right.

She looks exactly right.

Lucas at the very back of everything burns with the brightest flame he's had since the first Saturday morning. The list in his hands is longer than he can hold.

The door opens.

The tailor from the first visit enters — silver-streaked hair, reading glasses on a chain — with her measuring tape already around her neck and her notepad open to a fresh page. She looks at you in the mirror the way she looked at you in her room five weeks ago, with the professional assessment of someone whose job is fit and form.

Except this time she is not taking introductory measurements.

She is taking final ones.

She begins at the shoulders and works downward, calling numbers in the clipped shorthand you know from the first session, and each number is entered onto the fresh page and each number is different from the first session's numbers, different from the marker lines' target dimensions in the way that something achieved differs from something planned — the activation having produced not an approximation of the man's sketch but something fully realized, the body completing the blueprint from the inside out.

Hips. Waist. Chest. Bust. Inseam. Shoulder width.

She finishes. She looks at her notepad. She looks at you in the mirror.

"Perfect," she says simply, the word carrying no sentimentality, just the flat professional confirmation of dimensions that match a specification. She closes the notepad. "The wardrobe will be ready by Thursday."

She leaves.

Elara is still in the doorway.

She looks at you in the mirror with the expression of a person whose work has produced its intended result and is looking at the result for the first time and finding it entirely correct.

"Sarah's waiting for you," she says.

You turn from the mirror.

You walk to the door.

Bitchboy part 4

a story of chastity, enslavement, and non consensual femdom.

18+ readers only, adult bdsm themes, sexual situations and profane language

to understand how our "hero" ended up here please read the part 1, 2, and 3.

I woke slowly, I was stiff and sore. Without thinking I tried to stretch, before the crate reminded me that wasn't an option.

I open my eyes to see Dom standing in front of the crate door wagging his tail, the bastard looked like he was laughing at me.

I awkwardly rolled over and got on my hands an knees, which was as comfortable as I could get in the crate. My legs were stiff, my back hurt and between my throbbing attempt at morning wood and a plugged ass mI was pretty miserable. The temptation to call out for Mistress Molly crossed my mind but was quickly abandoned, I wasn't allowed to speak until given permission and the last thing I wanted was another punishment.

Dom continued to stand there grinning at me.

I really needed to piss.

I remained silent.

I could hear Mistress Molly in the other room talking but from a room away I couldn't catch the words, she seemed to be talking on the phone to someone since I didn't hear any other voices. Listening to Molly chatter and laugh while I knelt in the crate with my cock throbbing with my pitiful attempt at a morning orgasm making me clench my ass around the plug really frove home my position, I was sinking deeper and deeper into a hopeless mindset and thoughts of anything other than obeying her every command were getting hard to even entertain.

I knelt in silence for what seemed like forever, stuggling to stay quiet while the need to piss grew more urgent by the second.

Finally Mistress Molly entered the room, "It looks like bitchboy is finally awake, I'll call you in abit" she said and ended her call. "Good morning bitchboy" Molly said while scratching Dom behind the ears, "Time to get moving, we both have busy days ahead of us."

I didn't like the sound of that but I did like the sound of the her unlocking the dog crate, I was finally allowed to crawl out and stretch my stiff limbs. After a moment of being allowed to stretch Molly had me stand and clipped the bondage mitts behind my back again. Clipping the leash to my collar she led me out into the back yard without a word.

"Alright bitchy, time for your morning piss." she said. I squatted and started to piss, the failed erection straining in the cage made it take forever. Halfway thru Molly reached down and abruptly pulled out what I would come to think of as my sleeping plug making me yelp, thankfully I didn't shit this time. Molly walked away with the plug while I squatted trickling urine from my trapped dick, Dom trotted up and sniffed me a few places while I was there. Apparently he was satisified and finally walked off wagging his tail, I was super grateful he didn't piss on me again to mark his territory.

Bladder finally drained I stood and waited, after a few minutes Molly returned carrying the medium sized (but still large) plug from yesterday in her hand. She took the leash and led me to the picnic table and bent me over it and in moments my ass was being stretched from the new plug. Drained and replugged Mistress Molly led me back into the house.

"I made breakfast bitchboy but since you were such a sleepyhead it may not still be hot." Molly picked up a stainless steel dogbowl and placed it on the floor next to the dogs food and water bowls. "Dom was nice enough to leave some water if you're thirsty"

I knelt and leaned down to the bowl, it was oatmeal. I don't like the flavored oatmeals, I just like plain oatmeal but with sugar or honey this had neither but as hungry as I was I dove in anyway. As I lapped up the bland lukewarm oatmeal Molly poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table tapping at her phone, the smell of the coffee was torture but I wasn't offered any.

As I finished my bland breakfast and was licking the bowl clean Molly said "You might have noticed I've learned a few things bitchboy, I was WAY too easy with you the last time." Those words filled me with apprehension.

"I gave you too much freedom and autonomy, and you betrayed my trust because of it." she continued, "I let you think of yourself as a person not a slave, never again."

With a lowered voice and a slight blush she said "Sir Tom showed me how a slave should be trained."

"From this point forward if you don't need your hands for your chores you'll be in some type of bondage 24/7, likewise if your asshole isn't in use it'll be plugged. It's hard NOT to feel submissive with a constantly plugged ass."

Molly lowered her voice again, "Trust me bitchy, I know." I was curious what that meant, and alittle worried.

"In short you'll feel my control every minute of every day."

"So!" Molly said snapping out of her inner thoughts and clapping her hands, " Let's get started with our new lives! Let's get you ready for the day!"

Mistress Molly got up and left the room and I shifted over to the water bowl, it smelled as much like dog breath as I expected. But I was thirsty after the oatmeal and started sucking up water as well as I could.

When Molly returned I was not happy to see the hated cock shaped gag and a handful of leather straps and some other things bundled up in a bag. In moments the gag was strapped tightly to my head, the head of the rubber cock tickling the back of my throat ready to make me gag if I tried to speak. Silenced I couldn't protest as she pulled a leather hood out of the bag, it had air holes for the nose but none for the eyes. Whimpering thru the gag and pleading with my eyes didn't sway her, Molly pulled the hood over my head and buckled it tight sealing me in darkness.

Mistress Molly helped me to my feet and then clipped my ankles together, she went behind me an buckled leather straps around my arms at the elbows and helpless to resist I felt her buckle the evil leather collar around my swollen ballsack. Clipping the leah to my balls and then unclipping my ankles Molly too the leash and led me thru the house.

Walking thru the house blinded I was completely disoriented, I had no idea where in the house we were going. Thankfully Molly went slowly and was amazingly good at guiding me with directional tugs on my ball leash. I followed her helplessly thru the house to some unknown fate.

Suddenly I felt sun and a slight breeze on my bare skin, hearing the clunk of a door and a click of a lock I knew where I was.

"I'm in the driveway" I thought in terror. "I'm in FRONT OF THE HOUSE!! MY NEIGHORS MIGHT SEE ME!!!" My mind was racing, I couldn't be seen like this by my neighbors! I was grunting around the gag as much as I could and shaking my head in fear.

"None of that bitchy, now come along." Mistress Molly said laughing, and with a sharp tug on my ball leash led me forward.

We hadn't walked far when I heard a "Chu Chunk" sound, and with a giggle Molly said, "slaves ride in the trunk, in you go!"

I wasn't happy about it but I had no way to resist. With a series of tugs on the ball leash and more than a few slaps on the ass Molly soon had me lean over the edge of the trunk and roll awkwardly inside the trunk of her car. She had me roll onto my belly and strapped my legs together above the knees and clipped my ankles together, then strapping my ankle chain to my knee strap left me in a pretty strict hogtie.

Without another word she closed the trunk, a few moments later I heard the car start and felt it start moving as we drove away. As I tried to breath slowly and not gag on the rubber cock I thought "Well at least the neighbors won't see me now." The fear of the unknown had me terrified but even so I could feel my trapped cock trying to harden inside its cage.

I had no idea how long we drove or where we were going, but after an eternity in helpless darkness I felt the car stop and the engine shut off. The trunk lid opened and I felt wonderful fresh air after suffering in the hot stuffy trunk.

"Lets get you out of there slave" Molly said as she started releasing my legs, my arms were left bound.

Molly helped me climb awkwardly out of the trunk, hooded I had no idea where we were but I felt gravel under my bare feet. I was happy to be out of the stuffy trunk but my mind was racing, where was I? I prayed no one could see me.

Mistress Molly took up the ball leash and led me forward, after a few feet we stopped and I heard her knocking on a door, after a moment it creaked open. I heard familiar laughter that made my blood run cold.

Miss Ruth, Miss fucking Ruth.

"Well look at what we have here! Hello bitchboy! When Molly told me you'd come back to her I couldn't believe it, but here you are in all your pin dicked glory!" She was laughed. "You must really love being a cock locked little sissy to come begging back."

As I was pulled helplessly inside I fumed, Molly had apparently told her that I'd begged to come back not that I'd been trapped into my current situation against my will. Ruth must think I was really a submissive sissy boy to beg to come back to this and I was helpless to protest gagged as I was.

I heard the door close behind up, and then I heard Molly say "Thank you for watching bitchboy while the guys move my stuff Ruth."

"No problem Molly, I'll put ol' bitchboy to good use today" Ruth chuckled. "My daughter is coming over later, she's at some computer game shit right now, Grace might get a kick out of bitchboy here."

"Btw Molly," Ruth continued, "Tom wanted me to remind you to do a couple of enemas and have your plug in for the boys tonight, they'll want that asshole clean. No panties as usual."

"Yes Ma'am" Molly replied in a small voice.

"Good girl" Ruth said, "Now get down and give each one of my feet a kiss and get your ass moving, the guys will be waiting."

I heard a rustling sound, Molly kneeling and kissing Ruth feet presumably, I heard Ruth say. "Good girl, now move your ass."

"Yes Ma'am, thank you Ma'am" and then I heard the door open and then close.

My mind was spinning, was my cruel and controlling Mistress a slave to everyone else? How the fuck did that happen? When I was with them Tom and Ruth had treated Molly as an equal, the change flabbergasted me. What had changed?

My thoughts were interrupted as a hard pull on my leash had me stumbling along trying to follow Miss Ruth.

I had apparently been brought in the back door of Ruths house behind her shop, I'd been here before and I thought we were headed for the living room. The pull on the leash stopped and after fumbling with the straps Ruth pulled the hood off my head.

Blinking in the dim light or the dusty living room I glanced at Ruth, she looked just like I remembered, huge sagging breasts in a stained tee shirt and her big ass stuffed into a pair of dirty jeans.

Ruth looked me over smiling, chuckling as she noticed the plug. Cupping my balls in her hand with s gentle squeeze she said "you must be one freaky little slut to beg Molly to take you back like this, I mean with your little dick I doubt you got much action any way but to want it locked away and be kept naked licking and sucking? You deserve to be locked up, and serve your betters."

That made me whimper into the gag.

Surprisingly Ruth gently massaged my balls, it felt good and I was shocked to feel myself getting alittle aroused. Chuckling Ruth took her other hand and with her index finger started rubbing my trapped cock thru the bars, in moments I was dripping precum.

She continued to tease me for several minutes, when I started bucking my hips she stopped.

With a laugh she squeezed my balls HARD, I yelped into the gag!

Letting go of my balls she stepped back "just a reminder of your place bitch, for any little bit of pleasure I grant you can expect to pay for it in some pain."

Miss Ruth unstrapped my elbows and unclipped the bondage mitts from each other, then she started unbuckling her jeans. "first things first bitchboy" she said, "I want some fun before my shower."

"BEFORE her shower???" my mind screamed! I recoiled at the thought.

Ruth dropped heavily into a chair and snapped her fingers, I immediately dropped to all fours and took my place between her thighs. She reached down and unbuckled the gag, chuckling as she saw the rubber cock slide out of my mouth. Settling back into her chair she just said "Get to work."

Raising my head to get started I was pleasantly surprised that the massive bush I remembered was gone, replaced with a neatly trimming landing strip of hair. Ruths ass looked to be completely hairless, even her normally hairy legs looked shaved.

Her pussy still smelled musky but miles better than I remembered, and the taste was better as well. I was shocked to find my cock throbbing in its cage as I lapped at her folds, licking her to a several orgasms.

Finally pushing my head back Miss Ruth grabbed my gag and quickly plunged it in and out of her wet snatch several times before stuffing it back in my mouth and buckling it tight.

"Not bad boy" Ruth sighed, "You might even be alittle better at it than Molly."

Even gagged I guess my eyes showed my confusion at that.

Ruth noticed my look and laughed. "Alot of changes around here since you ran away bitchboy, losing you kinda fucked ol' Molly in alot of ways."

"When she let you get away like that Tom was PISSED! He was trying help her learn to be a Domme and he thought she'd been way too soft on you and that was what led to you bailing, she was desperate to keep him and ended up as his little collared cocksucker within days. She lost her job, then her place. Tom started taking her to the clubhouse of the guys he rides with to sling drinks and it spiraled for her, next thing you know she was a little fuck bunny for the whole club. Tom fucks alot of different girls and didn't want her around 24/7 so she ended up crashing here. I do all the ink for those boys on the cheap, they watch out for me and anyone who fucks with my or my place regrets it. Tom said that if Molly could stay here that in return she'd serve me too, so I have her sweep up the shop and keep the house. She also washes and shaves me every day, and I use that slutty little tongue."

"The guys at the club have enough pics and videos of her to fill a couple of porn sites, she's kinda stuck now. But she seems to really get off on being their little fuck puppet and I sure like riding her face, so maybe it's all worked out ok."

I was stunned, and I almost felt bad. As unhappy as I'd been I never wanted to push Molly into this situation by running away.

I was conflicted, I didn't like what had happened to Molly but that didn't mean I wanted to be a cockless slave forever.

Miss Ruth interrupted my line of thought. "Molly forgot to leave the keys to your little mittens or I'd put you to work cleaning, with those stumps of yours you're pretty useless. She's lucky she's not still staying here or I'd bust her ass for it."

Ruth got up and stepped into her panties and wiggled her jeans up, the flopped back into her chair. "Since you're useless for anything else get on your hands a knees, at least you'll make a footstool."

I got on my hands and knees in front of her chair and Ruth propped her feet up on my back and kicked on the tv.

I'd been kneeling there as Ruths footstool for just about an hour when I heard the back door open and close and a female voice yell "Mom I'm Home."

"In here Grace! me and Mollys little bitch!" Ruth bellowed, turning off the tv. Moments later I heard laughter behind me.

"OMG! what a LOSER!" Grace laughed, "Is that a plug in his ass? It looks as huge as the cock cage looks TINY!!"

Grace was in her early 20's by the look of her, curvey with wide hips and full breasts without being overweight. She was what you'd call a corn fed country girl if it wasn't for the buzzed haircut and goth makeup.

Mother and daughter shared a laugh at my expense, then Grace said. "I thought Molly said he ghosted and stole her shit."

"He did, but he came begging back to Molly wanting to be her little bitchboy again" Ruth chuckled, "I guess he craves this shit."

They both laughed at that, then Miss Ruth took her feet off my back and stood up. "You want to watch him for awhile? I need to catch a shower and a nap, I have a tattoo appointment later." she said.

"Sure" Grace said, "any rules?"

"Well I don't have keys for any of the shit locked on him, so the cock cage and mittens stay on. Molly said he's not allowed to talk, like at all, so if you ungag him and he says one word let me know so I can tell Molly." Ruth said. "Other than that have fun, she said he has no limits and consented to anything."

I was getting used to the lies, saying I consented to this hardly meant anything to me.

Before walking away Ruth bent down and clipped the leash to the leather band above my balls and handed the it to Grace and said "use this to lead him around, he likes it." Ruth walked off, presumably to a well needed shower.

"Get up" Grace said, I rose to my feet and stood before her eyes lowered.

Grace doubled the leash in her hand, bringing me up on my toes whimpering. "So, you're the little bitchboy Molly talked about so much" she said. "I like Molly and you leaving hurt her" she growled, "So maybe I should hurt you."

My blood ran cold.

Grace clipped the mitts on my hands behind my back and pulled me up on my toes squealing, and turned and walked down the hall with me following helplessly behind.

At the middle of the hallway we turned into what I assumed was her bedroom, it was a fourpost bed and a desk with 3 computer screens. Grace dug around in the closet and retrieved 4 short lengths of rope. She unclipped the mitts from behind my back and pushed me over on the bed, in a flash she had my hands and feet tied to the four corners of the bed then she walked out of the room. When she returned she have an evil smile on her face and a wooden spoon in her hand. Shrugging out of her clothes Grace stood over me, from her shaved pussy to her full perky tits she was just beautiful. Grace was the very vision of a beautiful voluptuous young woman.

As I lay there admiring the beauty standing above me, Grace smiled and without warning gave my balls a sharp smack with the wooden spoon in her hand.

I screamed into the gag and then immediately began choking on the rubber cock trapped in my throat, as I began to get the gagging under control she hit my balls again. I tried to scream but the fucking cock gag was stil in my throat, I gagged on it and nothing left my mouth but another string of drool. "You deserve this, pain and denial." Grace sneered. You don't deserve pussy, ever."

"but ass on the otherhand, I think you could be allowed to eat ass. Do you want to eat my ass bitchboy?" Afraid of another smack to the balls I nodded, pleading with my eyes. Grace unbuckled the gag and straddled my face.

"three things will get your balls busted. you stop licking my asshole, you slow down, or I just feel like it" she said. "get started bitchboy."

I drove my tongue into her ass with desperation, she sighed and settled lower. I licked and tongue fucked her ass trying to use every trick my unfortunately deep well of experience had taught me, it wasn't enough.

WHACK! Deeper bitch, she snapped. My body convulsed as she delivered a sharp blow to my balls.

I ate ass like I never had before, granted it was a magnificent young ass but that was secondary to the fear of being whacked in the balls. It smelled and tasted like you'd expect, an asshole, but I went after it like it was a delicious icecream cone.

I was tasting ass but I could smell her pussy, the juices were running down my chin. The thing that worryed me was that every time she gave my balls a painful smack I could tell her pussy got wetter, my pain turned her on.

Her juices running down my chin and the clenching of her sphinter told me she was close to orgasm, I tongue fucked her ass like it was and olympic sport, and she started raining blows down on my balls in rapid succession. I was in agony but didn't dare stop.

Graces' body went rigid and she uttered a low "Fuuuuuuck", as more of her juices ran down my chin. I didn't stop licking until she raised herself off my face even though my tongue and jaw were aching.

Getting off me and standing next to the bed I was tied to Grace looked down at me and smiled, "Not bad bitchboy, maybe there's hope for you after all." Then she delivered one last hard smack to my tender balls with the wooden spoon.

Not expecting it I grunted "FUCK!" before I could stop myself.

Grace looked at me with wide eyes, did you just SPEAK? Did you just speak like you think you're a PERSON? she barked. Before I could react she stuffed the cock gag back into my mouth and buckled it TIGHT! Grace chuckled, "You were SO close to doing a good job, now you're laying there still tasting my asshole and due for punishment for fucking it up. that's perfect."

I babbled and grunted behind the gag, Grace just laughed.

"Don't worry bitch, you were fucked either way" She said laughing."I have some ideas for your training to run past Molly that you'll HATE! This just gives me and excuse." The glee in her eyes as she said that made my blood freeze, what "ideas" was she talking about?

She left me tied to the beg, helpless and gagged for the next couple of hours. About an hour into it she added a blindfold, I was left helplessd and blind trying to swallow the drool the gag created without gagging. Grace would leave me alone while did whatever she was doing on her computer for 15 or 30 minutes then I'd get an unexpected smack to my sore balls, she kept it random enough that I was never prepared.

Once she used me to masturbate, riding my gagged blindfolded face with a vibrater against her clit rubbing herself off against my nose. The sounds of her orgasm and the smell of her pussy were making my cock THROB HARD in the cage, her juices ran down my face and I was near to passing out from not being able to breath! When she finally climbed off me I was a total mess. My balls took a beating after that.

Finally I heard Miss Ruth yell from the other room "Grace! bring bitchboy in here!"

Grace gave my face a quick rubdown with something she must have grabbed off the floor (It smelled like a dirty sock) and untied me from the bed, then she clipped my hands behind my back and grabbed the leash and I was dragged to the living room still blindfolded.

"Jeez Gracie, I can smell your pussy on his face from here!" Ruth said laughing "and his little balls are red as a fire engine!"

I stood there listening to them laugh together, horny and feeling humiliated.

"So whatcha doing Mom?" Grace asked. Ruth chcukled and said "You'll love it, he'll hate it. A little surprise for Molly."

I was led a few feet and then pushed down into a chair, I heard her rustling around with something I obviously couldn't see and smelled antiseptic. To say I was scared was a huge understatement.

I wasn't prepared when something hard and metal clamped onto the septum in the middle of my nose, thru the gag I grunted hard.

Grace sounded intrigued "I haven't seen one like that Mom." Ruth replied "Not alot of people want this kind, once you snap it shut it doesn't open. You either have to cut it or wear it for life and it's a bastard to cut being titanium."

That scared me bad, with no idea what was going on I was babbling into the gag. Ignoring my gagged gibberish Miss Ruth proceeded with whatever she was doing and moments later a stab of pain flashed thru my nose. I yelped.

"Calm down and hold still bitch" Ruth commanded "almost done." I felt her do something to my nose that I couldn't identify, then I heard a small "click". "There you go bitchboy" Ruth laughed, "Now let get you done alittle lower down."

As my nose throbbed Ruth unbuckled the leather collar above my balls, she cradled my nuts in her hand and then I felt another "Click". Grace laughed out loud and said "That's AWESOME Mom!!" "Now ol' Molly doesn't have to fuck with the leather strap if she want's to leash him by the balls" Ruth explained, " or she can leash him by the nose ring, and believe me he'll follow."

I could feel a cold ring tightly encompassing my scrotum above my balls, I babbled behind the gag as mu nose throbbed. "Calm down boy" Ruth chuckled, "You're fine. The nose ring looks good and will heal fast, the other ring shouldn't be a problem since your little dick isn't coming out of that cage anytime soon anyway."

"Grace can you run ol bitchboy back to Molly? She should be done with her new place by now. Ruth asked.

"Sure Mom, I wanna talk to Molly anyway." Grace replied. "Lets try out his new ring!"

"Sure baby, gimme the leash." I felt Miss Ruth cup my balls and clip the leash to whatever was there. "Get up bitch boy, time to get going. Ruth said with a laugh. I stood up and was immediately being led thru Ruths place by the balls, I wasn't sure what she'd done to me but the pulls on the leash had alot less mercy than they'd had before.

I was led blindly thru the house and soon felt sun on my skin and gravel under my feet, I heard a car door open and was herded into what had to be a van. Grace guided me into a sitting position on the bare metal floor and I hear the door shut, a few moments later I heard the engine start and we started moving.

We drove for awhile with me sitting on the metal floor, every bump felt like it was driving the buttplug up to my adams apple. Finally, mercifully, we stopped and I heard the engine shut off. I was home.

I heard the door opened and Grace said "Off your ass boy, let's get you inside". I struggled to my feet and with her help stepped down into what I assumed was my driveway. Guided by the ball leash I followed her As I followed the leash I heard someone in the distance faintly exclaim "what the fuck? do you see that guy? That chick has a leash on his balls!" My sphinter clenched, one of my neighbors had seen me! Now they'd be watching, my reputation in the neighborhood would be fucked once this story went around. and I knew it would.

Thankfully I was led thru what had to be my side door, I felt the air conditioning wash over me. If this was where I thought I was I was confused by the smell. "My" house smelled like a mattress after an orgy. After being led for several feet I heard Grace laugh and say "You gotta see this bitchboy."

My blindfold was pulled off and I was treated to a surprising sight. The house was completely different, some of my furniture was still here but alot had ben replaced with Mollys stuff. All of my pictures were gone from the walls and replaced with her things.

Curled up om the couch fast asleep was Molly, she was naked except for a leather collar. There were red handprints on her ass and her makeup had run into a gooey mess. Mistress Molly had all the signs of having been VERY well fucked.

"Rise and shine sleepyhead!" Grace called, when that failed to get a response she gave Molly a slap on the already rosy red ass.

"Ugh, I'm up I'm up." Molly groaned, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Oh, hi Grace. Thanks for bringing bitchbot home, I guess I nodded off after the guys left." She got up on unsteady legs, those legs had a sticky trail running down them.

"Want me to watch bitchboy while you hit the shower?" Grace asked. Molly blushed bright red and said "I can't, Sir Tom made a new rule for me. Whenever he cums in me bitchy has to clean up, you can leave now if you want."

"And miss this?" Grace laughed. "Not a chance! besides I have some ideas for his training I want to talk to you about."

"Please Grace, this is embarrassing. I have to suck on his caged cock. After all the big dicks I've had today I hate the idea of you seeing me suck on bitchys' little caged dicklette." Molly whined. The notion that sucking my cock was a humiliation made my face burn with shame.

"No chance Molly." Grace said. "Follow your orders girl, or I'll tell Tom." I couldn't belive this, I'd sunk so low that I was just a slave to a slave. But the thought of "Mistress" Molly sucking my caged cock had me throbbing in the cage and clenching on the buttplug. It made me feel like I'd been broken. "Yes Ma'am" Molly sighed.

I was laid on the floor on my back, and Molly mounted me in the 69 position. My gag was removed and I caught a whiff of her pussy, it smelled musky and well fucked. Despite my revulsion at the thought of eating a cum filled pussy I was desperately horny and was thrusting my hips before even felt her mouth on my caged cock. Without being told I went to work on her well used pussy with my tongue, Molly whimpered and took my cage into her mouth. Grace laughed out loud.

Molly tasted salty, I tried to tell myself it was just sweat until cum started oozing out of her swollen pussy. I didn't stop. Grace circled us smiling with her phone in her hand, taking pictures. Molly had my trapped cock swelling painfully in the cage, it wasn't enough to get me off but I was sure she was getting a mouthful of precum.

She must have been pretty sensitive from her day of "activities" because as soon as my tongue gently slapped her clit she moaned around my cage in her mouth and her pussy began to clench, in seconds she came to a crashing orgasm. Molly squirted her juices all over my face and one last glob of cum slipped out into my mouth, I swallowed all that I could without a word.

Molly slowly got to her feet as Grace clapped, "Good girl Molly! Tom will be SO happy with the video I just sent him!" Molly dropped onto the couch with a sigh, "I've cum SO many times today, I'm exhausted." Grace chuckled, "I bet! Your pussy looks like raw meat!" As I struggled to my feet Grace strapped my gag back into my mouth before I could protest. As I sucked on the gag my mouth tasted like a mens room floor in a whorehouse, Mollys juices mixed with cum.

Molly stretched, "I promised bitchy we'd talk tonight, but I really need a shower first. Can you watch him for a few minutes Please? "Sure babe "Grace replied, "I wanted to talk to you about his training if I may."

"Of course! I'll take all the ideas I can get" Molly said. "Wait, does he have a ring in his nose?" Grace laughed "Yep, mom thought you might like it and I'm surprised you didn't notice his other new ring while his little caged clit was in your mouth!"

Molly jumped up and examined my groin, and the clapped her hands and giggled! "I fucking LOVE it! It'll be PERFECT for his leash! how do they open?"

"They DON'T!" Grace said grinning. "Titanium and once snapped shut they don't open again, EVER! Let's see him try to act like a studly vanilla man NOW!" My cheeks burned red with shame and they shared a long laugh.

"Mind if I explore the place while you wash up?" Grace asked. "Knock yourself out honey" Molly replied. "Maybe we should keep bitchboy out of trouble for awhile. Come on you'll love this." Molly clipped the leash to my new ball ring and headed toward the back dooe, I did NOT like where this was going and babbled behind the gag.

Molly led me out the back door, both of us naked. Grace followed as Dom ran up with the tennis ball in his mouth he dropped the ball and sniffed Molly well used pussy until she gently shooed him off laughing. Molly picked up the ball and handed it to Grace, then to my horror she clipped the leash to the big dogs collar. "Go on Grace, give it a throw" With an evil grin Grace whipped her arm back and sent the tennis ball flying actoss the yard, Dom exploded into motion and with a gagged scream I was helplessly chasing him across the yard.

I immediately realized that the titanium ring around my scrotum was ALOT worse than the leather band from before, not only were my balls pulled but the ring would slide down my sweaty sack if I fell behind squeezing my balls against each other. My balls weren't just being pull they felt like a strong hand was squeezing them, the combination had tears streaming down my face.

Dom grabbed the ball and led me running back to the two laughing women, he dropped the ball at Mollys feet and looked at them expectantly. Grace picked up the ball and tossed it up alittle and caught it, Dom was absolutely dancing in anticipation. I was pleading for mercy with my eyes.

"Go wash your nasty ass you little cum dumster, you smell like a used condom." Grace laughed giving Molly a slap on the ass, "I want to explore the place and then talk about my thoughts on bitchboys training." With that she threw the ball and I was chasing Doms ass across the yard screaming into the gag. As I ran I heard Molly say "Yes Ma'am" and I heard the back door close.

Dom claimed his ball and trotted back to the house, thru the sliding door I couldn't see either of the girls. The big dog trotted over to his bowl and dropped the ball, and as I watched jealously burning with thirst drop proceeded to lapp up cool clean water.

He walked over to a spot of shade by the back door and laid down, panting contentedly. As I stood there catching my breath I looked thru the patio doors into the house, Grace walked by and then opened the door to the basement stairs and disappeared downstairs.

I stood there catching my breath, grateful for the chance to rest. After about half an hour I saw Mistress Molly enter the living room with wet hair wearing a pink robe, a moment later Grace came thru the basement door smiling. The two of them sat on the couch for awhile talking, I couldn't hear any of ot of course. At last Molly got up and opened the back door, Dom jumped up and ran to her dragging me along behind.

"Good boy Dom" Molly said smiling rubbing the big dog, he glowed under her attention. Mistress Molly unclipped my ball leash from Doms collar and pulling it tight pulled me into the house, she led me into the room in front of the couch and pulling the leash down dropped me to my knees. Molly sat on the couch next to Grace and pulling her knees up settled in. Her position gave me a direct view of her swollen pink pussy, even in my current exhausted and terrified state it made me throb in the cage and clench on the big buttplug.

"Alright bitchboy" Mistress Molly started, "Lets discuss your future."

Helpless, gagged and bound, caged and buttplugged, I knelt and awaited their plans for me.

All characters in this story are 18+

Link to Ch1; Link to Ch2; Link to Ch3; Link to Ch4

CHAPTER 5

After a few months of existing like this, I bought a chastity cage for myself.  I had a little money now, and my porn preferences had hovered about chastity for years, although so much more now in the last couple months.  Plus, I’d been masturbating so frequently, and all my fantasies now were now back to involving my little sister, and I figured an enforced break might not be the worst thing in the world.  Although I wonder sometimes now whether ultimately the decision came down to a desire for “safety” in being locked up.  Perhaps Emma wasn’t the only one who developed control issues.
It arrived in the mail and was… well, not perfect.  The cage that arrived was black, made of silicone or resin, and it didn’t exactly have bars, but there were cutouts so it was breathable.  But it was too big.  I’m about average when erect, but when it’s not, I’m less than an inch long.  And unfortunately, while I liked the feeling of trying it out & locking myself up, I was still able to get a partial erection.  Plus, it was big enough that I’d be able to pull out if I really wanted to, which obviously wasn’t what I was looking for.  Nonetheless, I wore it on & off.  Never in the pool, but there would be plenty of times when I’d be sitting on the couch next to my little sister, and be caged.  It wasn’t terribly uncomfortable, but the nights & early mornings were tough due to the partial morning wood.  I did more research, read some people’s reviews online, and bought another better fitting one, set to arrive several weeks from then.

Apparently, my sister had been curious about the first package I’d received, with the East Asian shipping stamps, and my refusal to say what it was.  But she respected my privacy enough to leave it alone.  That time.  When this one did finally arrive though, and I wasn’t around to grab it and sprint up to my room, she opened it.  She was careful, as she always is with everything, and we had plenty of packing materials in the house to reseal it.  So, Emma had been able to see what I had ordered, and I had no idea until much later.

The day it arrived, not knowing it had already been opened, I was beyond excited to see it.  I liked the feeling of the old cage, and couldn’t wait to try a properly sized one.  I ran to my room, and tore it open.  This one was a significantly better fit.  It was proportionate enough that there was no way I could pull out, which had been my first priority.  It was a similar design to the other one, but in this case, I could swell in the cage when I got aroused, while erections weren’t really possible, even a little bit.
I excitedly sat down at the computer, and took a quick video of me closing the lock, and posted it online.  It didn’t garner any immediate attention, not that I’d expected it to, and I closed that window to start looking at some of my favorite porn, and revel in being turned on while not being able to do anything about it!  It was so tight & uncomfortable, it was everything I had wanted, and I was feeling so deeply & naturally submissive.  I went of course to my most frequently viewed images, captions of sisters dominating their brothers.  Soon enough, I was deep enough into subspace, that I accidentally moaned Emma’s name out loud.  It was very quiet, there was no way she could have heard me, even if she’d been listening right at my door.  But this sensation was so new for me, and yet so powerful, it caught me off guard.  There was a part of me that wanted to run out there immediately and throw myself at her feet.  Though of course my shame and sense of wrongness won out in the end, as it should.  I was torn as to whether I even wanted to keep the cage on after that.  But it was such a good fit, and there was no way my little sister could know I was wearing it or thinking about her.  Plus, wasn’t this the best way to protect her, and to be devoted to her?  She was so innocent, she couldn’t understand, she wouldn’t even think about things like this.  In all the times we’d talked about her legion of suitors, she’d never mentioned chastity at all.  Almost doubtless she’d come across it in porn, since it was more mainstream now every day.  Maybe it just wasn’t for her.  Regardless, I decided to keep the cage on for now.

Ultimately, I wore it for 2 days straight before caving and masturbating furiously through the weekend.
I thought I’d be able to go longer, as I had with the larger cage.  It couldn’t have been the difference in size, because this one was far more comfortable, especially at night, because I couldn’t get erections that pushed the cage to tighten around my balls.  But there was this new electricity coming off me.  Pure submissive frustration.  I’d put the cage on the moment it had arrived, maybe that was it.  I hadn’t masturbated first.
I thought my energy might have been impacting Emma too, because there was a subtle change with her.  She was more… free.  Less reserved.  She never wavered from her sweet demeanor, but she seemed more physically laid back, and less careful about her movements & the way she presented herself.
I loved it, though at the time, I barely noticed a change at all, it was so subtle.  But looking back, these were the days where I was caged, fully under my little sister’s thumb, but things hadn’t actively evolved between us yet, to the point they are now.
God I loved her.  I still do, of course.  But back then…  I was still living under the façade that she was this wholesome, naïve teenager, my perfect sister.  That we were peers.  I knew we were different, that her experience & dominant personality were unusual in someone of her age.  I knew that my sexual feelings towards her weren’t normal, and part of the reason I loved the cage was that it encapsulated my shame about them.  But back then, I still believed that I was her big brother, and that’s how she saw me.  Speaking as a caged virgin, wow, I guess people can make themselves believe anything.

 

Things progressed slowly.  I wore the cage on & off, and still never in the pool, as I was afraid the swim trunks would reveal my “secret”.  For her part, Emma dressed a little more provocatively, and acted a little more… curious… about my life in retrospect.

“Hey, how come you’re not coming swimming?” she asked, on a particularly sweltering day.

Good question.  I was already out there, sitting in the shade.  With my cage on.

“Um, I’m just not, um.  I’m taking a break from swimming.”

“Huh.”

“What?”  Shit, maybe too defensive.

“You’ve just been on a weird swimming schedule I guess.  Just wondering what’s up with you?”
She kicked up to the side of the pool, and pulled herself up by her arms, to swivel onto a folded towel and sit down.  I only caught a glimpse of the amazing breasts I’d been obsessed with all this time, but I couldn’t help but notice that every part of the back of her peach colored bikini top could be undone with a couple pulls.

“What’s up?... Just the usual.  I don’t know.”

“We used to play pool games, are you bored of them?”

God no!!  If anything, I was desperate to touch her, it had been a couple days with my cage on, and it had been at least a week since I’d even been in the pool, thanks to my fear of exposing my cage.  Maybe she was right, maybe it was time to take it off for a while.  I’d be horny in the pool and might get hard, but what else was new?  I could always just stay in for a while after Emma got out.  I usually did.
“Ok, I mean, I can go get changed.”

“That’s not what I said.” freezing me as I started to pull myself to my feet.  “I just wanted you to tell me.”

The way that she left “tell me” hanging was enough almost to make me gulp.  But this was the whole reason why I made sure to stay away from things like pool activities.  I reassured myself that, even though my secret was the very most pressing thing on my mind, there was absolutely no way my little sister knew about the chastity cage I was wearing.

“I just took a break, I didn’t know it meant so much to you.”

“Ha, ha.”  But she let it go, and slid back into the water, the side of the pool squeezing her ass cheeks, pushing them upwards, until they finally went over the edge.

Her head popped up again “But if something is going on, you can talk to me.”
She submerged herself again, without giving me a chance to answer.

I had to still my heart once again with reassurances that she didn’t, couldn’t know anything, before making my way inside.

Chapitre 6 partie 2

##Soumission et Expositions

Après quelques heures de sommeil haché par l'inconfort d'une cellule minuscule et d'une nuit hantée par les souvenirs de ses viols, Manon fut réveillée en sursaut. *Zap.* La décharge habituelle de 6h30 lui crispa la mâchoire. Le cadenas électronique s'ouvrit avec un claquement sec. En rampant hors de la cage, elle se remémora immédiatement les mots prononcés par Anna la veille, sous le plaid du canapé. *« Quand tu seras parfaitement docile... tu pourras entrevoir une vie meilleure. »*

Gonflée d'un espoir nouveau, Manon se fit une promesse intime : réaliser un sans-faute absolu. Prouver sa soumission totale pour regagner les grâces de sa Reine et, peut-être, retrouver un semblant de confort.

Elle gravit les marches vers la lumière du jour naissant et se dirigea vers la terrasse. Mais face au carrelage froid, l'espoir retomba lourdement. À côté de sa gamelle d'eau l'attendait un sachet de pâtée pour chien en gélatine, ouvert, dégageant une odeur de viande avariée.

L'orgueil, cette vieille bête qu'elle pensait avoir abattue, se réveilla dans ses entrailles. *Jamais,* pensa-t-elle, dégoûtée. *Je préfère crever de faim que de me rabaisser à bouffer cette bouillie.* Ignorant sciemment la pitance, elle fit demi-tour et trottina vers l'herbe du jardin pour sa pause biologique matinale, tentant vainement de se dissimuler derrière un fin buisson pour échapper aux regards d'éventuels conducteurs sur la route adjacente.

La corvée de l'étable fut une autre épreuve. En distribuant les croquettes, les deux hommes ne manquèrent pas l'occasion de pincer ses cuisses nues et de palper ses seins, se vengeant de son autorité passée. Manon, les larmes aux yeux, subit ces attouchements humiliants en silence, ravalant sa fierté, secrètement soulagée que les épaisses cages de chasteté neutralisent leurs pulsions les plus primaires.

À 9h00 précises, sans une minute de retard, elle s'agenouillait au pied du lit d'Anna. Elle embrassa et lécha les plantes des pieds de sa Reine avec une dévotion feinte mais appliquée. Anna s'étira en bâillant.

« Bonjour, ma petite chienne. »

Remontant les draps de soie sur son visage, elle savourait la sensation d'un réveil proprement impérial.

Alors que Manon se redressait pour filer en cuisine, Anna pointa un doigt manucuré vers le tapis.

« Le string noir, par terre, » dit-elle d'une voix pâteuse. « Il y a des traces blanches. Commence le prélavage tout de suite. »

Le cœur de Manon rata un battement. Elle se pencha, ramassa le bout de dentelle et le porta à ses lèvres. L'odeur musquée de la veille s'imposa à ses sens. La salive de Manon s'imprégna des fluides corporels séchés de sa meilleure amie. Une vague de nausée lui monta à la gorge, et le dégoût viscéral se lut clairement dans son regard croisant celui d'Anna. Un froncement de sourcils impérieux de la Reine l'avertit de ne pas faiblir. Le bout de tissu coincé entre les dents, Manon fila préparer le petit-déjeuner.

Le repas fut servi en terrasse, sous un soleil naissant. Manon, allongée sous la chaise, subissait le poids des pieds d'Anna sur son visage. Depuis sa position, Anna balaya la terrasse du regard et aperçut le sachet de pâtée pour chien, intact, coagulant au soleil.

Consciente que Manon était littéralement bâillonnée par le string qu'elle mâchouillait, Anna s'abstint de toute question.

« Tu seras de nouveau punie, » décréta-t-elle calmement, en tartinant sa brioche. « Une chienne qui refuse la nourriture que sa propriétaire lui offre, c'est un affront impardonnable. »

Les yeux de Manon s'embuèrent immédiatement de larmes, inondant le dessus des pieds d'Anna. La terreur s'empara d'elle. Elle visualisa instantanément la punition de la veille, sentant à nouveau la douleur fulgurante de sa frustration.

Ce qu'elle ignorait, c'est que la fureur initiale d'Anna était retombée. La vengeance aveugle avait laissé place à une étrange mélancolie. Anna voulait la garder comme esclave, c'était indéniable, mais elle pleurait intérieurement la perte de leur complicité et la nécessité d'en arriver à de telles extrémités pour dompter son ancienne amie.

### **Le Repas de la Bête**

À midi, le couperet tomba. Lorsque Manon s'agenouilla pour son repas, Anna l'attendait debout. Dans la gamelle ne reposait plus un, mais deux sachets de pâtée, formant une montagne de viande gélatineuse et brunâtre.

Manon, larmoyante, secoua la tête. Elle tenta d'implorer du regard, refusant cette déchéance ultime.

Sans un mot, Anna plongea la main dans sa poche et en ressortit l'épais plug anal de la veille.

« Lubrifie-le avec ta salive. »

Résignée, tremblante, Manon s'exécuta. Anna l'inséra sans douceur, arrachant une grimace de douleur à sa chienne.

« Maintenant, mange, » ordonna Anna d'un ton glacial. « La totalité. Si tu en laisses une miette, tes prochains repas se feront dans l'étable. Avec les mâles. »

La perspective de retourner au milieu des bourreaux assoiffés de sexe brisa les dernières barrières de Manon. La nausée au bord des lèvres, elle plongea le visage dans la gamelle. Le contact froid et visqueux de la pâtée contre ses joues la fit frissonner. Elle attrapa une première bouchée maladroite. Le jus de viande colla à son nez et dégoulina sur son menton. À chaque hésitation, Anna lui assénait un léger coup de pied dans la base du plug, ravivant la douleur. Encouragée par cette torture, Manon déglutit, mâchant frénétiquement, engloutissant la nourriture infâme et dégradante le plus vite possible pour en finir avec ce supplice.

### **Le Spectacle de l'Étable**

Après cet épisode qui l'avait définitivement ravalée au rang de bête, Manon suivit le planning sans le moindre accroc, redoutant l'heure de l'entretien de l'étable.

Lorsqu'elle s'y présenta avec sa brouette, Anna l'y attendait déjà. Elle ordonna aux deux hommes de sortir dans la cour et de s'agenouiller en ligne.

Avant d'autoriser Manon à entrer pour nettoyer, Anna la fixa intensément.

« Dis-moi, Manon. Lequel de ces deux chiens t'a le plus brisée hier ? »

Manon baissa les yeux, le visage empourpré de honte.

« C'est Ben, ma Reine, » murmura-t-elle, des trémolos dans la voix.

Anna esquissa un sourire satisfait. Elle fit signe à Alex de se lever et déverrouilla sa cage de chasteté. Le sexe de l'homme, lourd et maculé de crasse, se dressa avec une hâte pitoyable.

« Tu es un bon chien, Alex, » déclara Anna. « Pendant que la chienne nettoie vos excréments, tu vas baiser ton compagnon d'infortune. »

Alex blêmit. Profondément hétérosexuel et rongé par l'homophobie, l'idée le révulsait.

« Aucun lubrifiant, » précisa Anna, anticipant ses objections. « Et jouir est une obligation formelle. Sinon, tu finiras la semaine privé de nourriture. Exécution. »

Poussé par une frustration sexuelle insoutenable et la terreur de la faim, Alex ravala ses principes.

Pendant que Manon, à l'intérieur de l'étable, ramassait de ses mains nues le fumier liquide pour le jeter dans la brouette, notant au passage l'absence totale de paille propre, les gémissements de douleur de Ben résonnaient dans la cour. Malgré son dégoût, Alex finit par exploser en lui.

Sa tâche terminée, Manon roula la brouette vers le compost. Anna, elle, fit rentrer ses esclaves, se saisit du jet d'eau du jardin et les arrosa copieusement à l'eau froide. Les hommes, grelottant, tentèrent de se laver, mais la terre battue de l'étable se transforma instantanément en un bourbier pire que la veille.

Avant de refermer la porte, Anna prit une décision surprenante : elle désactiva les colliers des mâles et refusa de reverrouiller la cage d'Alex.

« Fais bon usage de ta liberté d'entrejambe, Alex, » lança-t-elle avec un clin d'œil machiavélique, avant de verrouiller la porte et de laisser Manon reprendre le cours de ses obligations.

### **La Récompense Éphémère**

L'après-midi touchait à sa fin. Après s'être habillée d'une courte robe rouge et de ballerines noires dans le donjon, Manon revint des courses. En croisant Anna dans le couloir, son conditionnement prit le dessus : elle lâcha ses sacs et se mit instantanément à quatre pattes pour embrasser ses pieds.

Touchée par cette docilité et la ferveur sincère de sa meilleure amie, Anna sortit sa télécommande.

« Pour te récompenser de tes efforts d'aujourd'hui, je désactive la fonction anti-aboiement de ton collier, » annonça-t-elle. « Tu as le droit de parler. Mais à la moindre insolence, à la moindre désobéissance, le choc reviendra. »

La libération de sa voix fut un choc émotionnel pour Manon. Les larmes aux yeux, elle leva la tête.

« Merci beaucoup, ma Reine... Je vous serai infiniment obéissante et serviable. »

Embrassant une dernière fois les pieds nus d'Anna, elle se précipita, radieuse, vers le tuyau d'arrosage extérieur pour se laver, savourant ce mince privilège comme une victoire éclatante.

Le dîner se déroula sans accroc. Le soir venu, Anna s'installa sur le canapé et fit une annonce qui figea le sang de son esclave.

« Demain, le fermier voisin nous livrera des ballots de paille pour l'étable. J'attends aussi probablement plusieurs colis. C'est toi qui réceptionneras tout le monde. »

Manon déglutit. La panique monta en elle.

« Ma Reine... » commença-t-elle d'une voix tremblante, usant de son nouveau droit à la parole. « Pourrai-je m'habiller pour ces missions ? Je vous en supplie, je n'ai aucune envie que des inconnus me voient nue, affublée de ces accessoires... »

Anna éclata d'un rire cristallin, secouant la tête.

« J'ai parfois un peu de pitié pour toi, ma belle. Mais tu es une esclave. Et tu vas devoir assumer ton rôle devant le monde entier. C'est un refus catégorique. »

Gênée, torturant ses doigts, Manon tenta une dernière carte.

« Le problème... c'est que j'ai eu un lourd différend avec ce fermier par le passé. À mes yeux, ce n'était qu'un bouseux minable. Je n'ai jamais manqué une occasion de le rabaisser publiquement, et je lui ai même intenté un procès parce que ses vaches pâturaient trop près de ma clôture... S'il me voit ainsi, l'humiliation sera... insurmontable. »

Surprise par cet aveu, Anna haussa les épaules, un rictus amusé aux lèvres.

« Tu assumes. Mais si ça peut te rassurer, je serai à tes côtés lors de la livraison. »

Les dernières minutes avant le coucher furent consacrées au plaisir de la Reine. Sur ordre d'Anna, Manon dut s'agenouiller entre ses cuisses et s'appliquer à lui prodiguer un cunnilingus devant la fin d'un film. Maladroite, inexpérimentée, Manon s'efforça de faire de son mieux. Mais lorsque sa langue s'égarait, Anna la saisissait brutalement par les cheveux pour plaquer son visage contre sa vulve.

À la fin du film, Anna repoussa la tête de Manon, frustrée.

« Il y a encore beaucoup de travail. C'est brouillon, tu ne m'as donné aucun véritable plaisir. »

Une fois dans la chambre, la Reine s'allongea sur les draps. Pendant que Manon lui massait les pieds, Anna se saisit d'un vibromasseur et se masturba frénétiquement sous ses yeux. La vue de son amie gémissant et atteignant un orgasme puissant remplit Manon de frustration. Son propre corps, chaste, sevré de tout plaisir, réclamait une attention qu'elle savait interdite.

Épuisée, Anna lâcha le jouet et toisa sa chienne, haletante.

« J'espère que tu regrettes, ma belle, » murmura-t-elle cruellement. « Parce que toi, tu ne connaîtras plus jamais cette sensation. »

Manon baissa les yeux, ravalant sa misère, et retourna s'enfermer dans son donjon.

### **L'Épreuve du Portail**

Le lendemain matin, le rituel de déchéance se répéta. Mais à 8h00 précises, le tintement de la sonnette du portail brisa le silence matinal.

Manon regarda par la fenêtre du salon et aperçut le lourd tracteur du fermier voisin stationné devant l'entrée. Le dilemme la frappa de plein fouet. Anna dormait encore, et elles avaient convenu d'être ensemble pour cette livraison. Mais si elle réveillait sa Reine trop tôt, la punition serait féroce. Si elle ignorait le fermier, la punition serait identique.

Forte de son orgueil blessé et d'un reste de mépris classiste, Manon prit une décision téméraire.

*« Je n'ai rien à craindre de cet abruti de bouseux, »* se rassura-t-elle intérieurement. *« Si son regard se pose sur ma tenue, je n'aurai qu'à lui dire avec aplomb que ce sont des accessoires de fitness ou de la lingerie esthétique d'avant-garde. Il est trop idiot pour comprendre ce qu'est une ceinture de chasteté ou un collier électrique. »*

Respirant un grand coup, Manon déverrouilla la porte d'entrée.

Nue, grelottant dans l'air vif du matin, le cou enserré par le collier, le sexe barré par l'acier scintillant et l'anus condamné par le plug qu'elle n'avait pas le droit de retirer, elle s'avança sur l'allée de graviers. La tête haute, fixant le fermier au bout de l'allée, l'ancienne dominatrice marchait vers son destin, persuadée qu'elle maîtrisait encore un fragment de son monde.

The afternoon light glared through the dusty windows of Second Chances Thrift,  racks across racks of vintage clothing and shelves of forgotten treasures. Chris followed Rachel through the aisles, his hand finding hers automatically as she paused to examine a sequined jacket from the eighties.

"What do you think?" Rachel held it up against her frame, the silver discs reflecting the light. She was stunning in the simple sundress that hugged her curves, full breasts, narrow waist, hips that swayed when she walked. Her black hair fell over her shoulders, matching his own dark locks, and her green eyes sparkled with that particular excitement she only got from bargain hunting.

"I think you look beautiful in everything," Chris said. He stepped closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But that thing looks like it belongs on a disco ball, not on you."

Rachel laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and hung the jacket back up. "You're no fun. But I'll keep you anyway.”

She said it casually, but Chris felt the warmth in his chest that always came from her offhand affection. They'd been together three years, living together for one, and Rachel still doted on him with an intensity that made his friends jealous. She remembered how he took his coffee, noticed when he was stressed before he did, and always made sure he felt wanted.

"Come on, there's a furniture section in the back I haven't pillaged yet." She tugged his hand, leading him deeper into the store.

Chris let himself be dragged, content to watch her move. She had that energy about her today bubbling, alive, thrilled by the possibility of discovery. It was part of why he loved these excursions even when he pretended to complain. Seeing Rachel happy was its own reward.

The back room was dimmer, crowded with mismatched chairs, sagging sofas, and boxes of kitchenware. Rachel made a beeline for a crate of brass items, her fingers trailing over candlesticks and tarnished picture frames.

"Oh, look at this." She pulled out a lamp.

It was small enough to fit in one hand, shaped like a miniature oil lamp from a storybook, rounded base, curved spout, ornate handle. But unlike the cartoon gold Chris expected, this was dark metal, almost gunmetal gray, with intricate engravings that seemed to shift when he looked at them directly.

"It's heavy," Rachel said, hefting it. "Real metal, not plated. And look" She turned it over, revealing the bottom. "No maker's mark, no stickers. This is old, Chris. Really old."

"Probably just a reproduction." Chris said passively.

"Probably," she agreed, but she was already clutching it to her chest. "I'm getting it. It's weird and pretty and I want it on our bookshelf."

Chris smiled, unable to resist her enthusiasm. "Alright. What else are we taking home?"

They left with the lamp, a set of mismatched vintage coffee mugs, and a wool blanket that smelled like cedar chests. Rachel chattered the whole drive home about where they'd put everything, her hand resting on Chris's thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns through his jeans.

By evening, they'd ordered Thai food and settled into their routine, Chris on the couch with a book, Rachel at the kitchen table with her new acquisitions spread out before her. She'd been wiping the lamp with a soft cloth, determined to restore its luster.

"There's something weird about this metal," she muttered, scrubbing at a particular spot. "It's like it doesn't want to shine, but I can feel there's something under the tarnish..."

Chris looked up from his page. "Maybe just leave it? It's supposed to look antique."

"One more minute." Rachel scrubbed harder, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I swear there's a pattern here that's—"

The lamp vibrated.

Rachel jerked her hand back. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"It moved. The lamp moved." She stared at it, then at Chris, then back at the lamp. "I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say you were—"

Smoke began to pour from the spout.

Not thin, wispy smoke like from a candle, but thick, roiling coils of violet and gold that smelled of jasmine and amber. It pooled on the ceiling first, then spiraled downward, gathering mass and form in the center of their living room.

Chris was on his feet, moving to Rachel's side, but he couldn't look away from the phenomenon. The smoke was shaping itself, condensing, becoming solid in a way that defied logic.

Then she was there.

She stood nearly six feet tall, barefoot on their hardwood floor, wearing something that might have been silk once but now existed only as strategic draping that left nothing to imagination. Her skin was warm bronze, her features unmistakable sharp cheekbones, full lips, a nose with the kind of elegant curve seen in ancient sculptures. Her hair was black as Rachel's but wild, floating around her shoulders as if underwater.

But it was her body that arrested them both.

She was built like a goddess from a fertility statue, heavy, perfect breasts that the silk barely contained, hips that flared dramatically from a narrow waist, thighs that could crush a man and make him grateful for it. She moved with liquid grace, stretching her arms above her head in a languid motion that made every muscle in her abdomen flex and shift.

"At last," she purred, her voice like honey. "A mistress with determination."

Rachel's hand found Chris's and squeezed. He squeezed back, but he couldn't stop staring. The djinn because that's what she was, impossible as it seemed, turned her dark eyes on him, and her lips curved into a smile that made his stomach tighten.

"And a witness," she continued, stepping closer. Her hips swayed with each step, the silk catching light that shouldn't exist in their dim apartment. "How fortunate. I do so love an audience."

"Who—what—" Rachel stammered.

"I am bound to the vessel you hold, mistress." The djinn stopped a few feet away and bowed, not deeply, just enough to acknowledge Rachel's authority while maintaining her overwhelming presence. "You may call me whatever pleases you. My true name has been lost to centuries, and I find I enjoy the creativity of my masters in naming me."

Rachel swallowed audibly. "I... I don't..."

"Take your time." The djinn straightened, and her gaze slid to Chris. She looked him up and down with frank appraisal, and he felt it like a physical touch, assessing, considering, hungry. "Your male is lovely. Such dark hair, such pretty eyes. Does he please you, mistress?"

"Chris is my boyfriend," Rachel said, and there was an edge to her voice now almost possessive and wary. "And yes. He pleases me very much."

"Does he?" The djinn drifted closer to Chris, circling him like a shark. She was close enough now that he could feel heat radiating from her skin, could smell an intoxicating blend of spices and femininity. She reached out one finger and traced a line down his chest, not touching, just hovering, but he felt it anyway, felt his breath catch and his body respond. "He seems... attentive. Devoted. But men are simple creatures, are they not?"

She was behind him now, her breath warm against his ear. Chris stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He should move away. Should go to Rachel. But his feet wouldn't obey.

"They think with what I give them," the djinn whispered, loud enough for Rachel to hear. "They hunger. They want. It's rather charming, really."

Rachel's face had gone pale, then flushed pink. Chris saw her eyes track the djinn's movements, saw something flicker in her expression, not just jealousy, but something else. Recognition, maybe. Or curiosity. The djinn's body was impossible to ignore, all soft curves and blatant sexuality, and Rachel was staring at her with an intensity Chris had never seen directed at another woman.

"You..." Rachel cleared her throat. "You said I'm your mistress?"

"Indeed." The djinn abandoned her torment of Chris and returned to Rachel, dropping to her knees in a gesture of submission that somehow looked obscene given how it displayed her cleavage. "You awakened me. You own the vessel. Therefore, you own me, and I am bound to grant your desires." She looked up through thick lashes. "One wish, mistress. Anything in my power. Wealth, beauty, power, pleasure..." Her eyes darted to Chris. "...or the removal of obstacles to your happiness."

Chris finally found his voice. "Rachel, this is insane. We should—"

"Should what?" The djinn didn't look at him, but her smile widened. "Send me away? I cannot leave until the wish is made or refused. And refusal wastes such potential." She rose again, towering over Rachel, and cupped her face gently. "What do you desire, pretty mistress? What would make your perfect life complete?"

Rachel was trembling. Chris could see it, the way her hands shook, the flush spreading down her neck to her chest. She was overwhelmed, he realized. Overwhelmed and insecure and suddenly very aware that her boyfriend had been unable to stop staring at the supernatural creature currently caressing her cheek.

"You're doing this on purpose," Rachel whispered. "You're seducing him. Right in front of me."

"I am merely existing," the djinn said, though her tone suggested she was enjoying herself immensely. "Your male's reactions are his own. I cannot help that he finds me..." She looked at Chris again, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "...appetizing."

Chris opened his mouth to deny it, to reassure Rachel, but the djinn shifted her weight and her hip popped, and the silk slipped just enough to reveal the dark areola of one nipple, and his brain short circuited. He made a sound embarrassing, needy and Rachel's eyes snapped to him.

She saw the bulge in his jeans. Saw the way his hands were clenched at his sides. Saw the helpless want on his face.

Her expression crumpled. Not angry but hurt,  Insecure. The djinn had been in their home for five minutes and had already cracked something open between them, some doubt or fear Rachel had apparently been nursing.

"Rachel, I—" Chris started.

"Shut up." It wasn't mean but she was panicking. Her eyes were bright with tears she wouldn't let fall. She looked at the djinn, at her impossible beauty, at the way Chris was still staring despite himself, and something broke in her composure.

"He's always like this," Rachel said, her voice rising. "Every time we're out, every time there's a pretty girl, I can see him looking. I know he loves me but I know he's thinking with his—" She gestured wildly at Chris's groin. "I just wish he would stop thinking with his dick!"

The djinn's eyes went wide. Then she clapped her hands together, the sound like thunder in the small apartment.

"Granted!"

The word echoed, resonating through the room with physical force. Chris felt it like a punch to the gut, not painful, but definite, a sensation of something locking into place that he couldn't identify.

The djinn swayed on her feet, looking suddenly exhausted. "Ah. That was... specific." She smiled weakly at Rachel. "Your wish is my command, mistress. Enjoy your evening."

"Wait—" Rachel reached for her.

But the djinn was already dissolving, her magnificent form turning back to smoke, streaming toward the lamp on the table. She moved with less grace now, clearly depleted by the magic she'd worked, but her voice came one last time, amused and satisfied:

"Sleep well, lovers."

Then she was gone. The lamp sat innocuously on the table, looking like nothing more than a tarnished antique.

Silence stretched between Chris and Rachel, broken only by their breathing.

"Chris," Rachel whispered. "I didn't mean…I was just upset, I didn't actually want—"

"I feel weird." The words came out hoarse. Chris looked down at himself, at his body, trying to identify the sensation. It was centered low in his abdomen, a pressure and a containment that hadn't been there before. "Something's wrong. I feel... tight."

He unbuttoned his jeans without thinking, shoving them down to investigate.

Metal encased his penis with a snug embrace. But it was crafted with the same artistry as the lamp, dark gunmetal gray with intricate engravings that caught the light. It was small, compressing him in a way that should have been painful but instead felt like a constant, firm pressure. Through gaps in the metal design, he could see his own skin, flushed and trapped, but there was no keyhole, no hinge, no visible mechanism for removal.

It looked like a miniature genie lamp had been molded around him.

"Oh my god," Rachel breathed. She was beside him in an instant, dropping to her knees, her hands hovering over the device without touching. "Chris, I…this is my fault, I didn't know she'd actually—"

"Get it off." Chris's voice cracked. "Rachel, get it off, please—"

"I don't know how! There's no lock, there's no…" She touched it, her fingers cool against the warm metal, and Chris groaned at the sensation. It was sensitive, every nerve ending amplified by the confinement. "There's nothing! It's just... there."

"Make her come back!" Chris was panicking now, tugging at the base of the cage where it met his body, searching for any seam, any weakness. "Rachel, the lamp rub it again, make her undo it!"

Rachel grabbed the lamp and started scrubbing frantically. "Come back! Djinn! I take it back, I didn't mean—"

Nothing happened. The metal stayed cold and inert.

"Maybe we have to wait," Rachel said, her voice high and desperate. "She said she was tired. Maybe she needs to... recharge? Or something?"

"Recharge?" Chris laughed, hysterical. "Rachel, I have a metal cage on my dick that looks like it belongs in a museum! I can't…I need to pee, I need to shower, I need to—"

He tried pulling again, harder, and gasped as a shock of sensation went through him, intense enough to make his knees weak. The cage was locked in a way that defied physics, fused to him like it had always been there.

"Stop, stop," Rachel commanded, grabbing his wrists. "You're going to hurt yourself. Just... just stop."

They stood there, breathing hard, the lamp sitting useless between them on the table. Chris felt tears pricking his eyes—humiliation, fear, and beneath it all a traitorous thrum of arousal that the cage seemed to be amplified.

"What do we do?" he asked quietly.

Rachel looked at him, really looked at him and he saw her shift. The panic in her eyes hardened into something else. Determination. She was still scared, but she was taking charge now, the way she always did when he was overwhelmed.

"We sleep," she said firmly. "It's late, we're both in shock, and we're not going to figure this out by panicking. We get some rest, and first thing in the morning, we try again. We rub that lamp until our hands blister if we have to."

"Rachel—"

"Trust me." She cupped his face, her thumbs wiping at tears he hadn't realized he'd shed. "I got us into this, I'll get us out. Okay? I promise."

Chris wanted to argue. Wanted to keep fighting the metal, wanted to scream at the lamp, wanted to do anything but accept this reality. But Rachel was looking at him with that expression she got, the one that said she had decided, and she would move heaven and earth to make it right.

"Okay," he muttered.

She helped him pull his jeans back up, the fabric pressing the cage against him in a new way that made him whimper. She pretended not to hear it, guiding him to the bedroom with gentle hands.

When they were in bed, lights off, Rachel curled around him from behind, her hand resting on his chest over his racing heart.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his hair. "I was jealous and stupid, and I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," Chris managed.

"I knew I wanted to punish you," she admitted. "For looking at her. For wanting her. Even just for a second." Her arm tightened around him. "You're mine, Chris. I don't like sharing."

"Get some sleep," Rachel murmured. "We'll fix this tomorrow. I promise."

But as Chris drifted off, uncomfortable and contained and acutely aware of every breath shifting the cage against his trapped arousal, he thought he heard the lamp whisper from the other room.

And he could have sworn it sounded like feminine laughter.

 

The morning light bloomed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the countertops that Emma was currently attacking with a vigor that Jake hadn't seen since they'd first moved into the house. She'd been at it for hours—dusting shelves that were already clean, rearranging flowers that had been perfectly arranged, and now she was chopping vegetables with a precision that suggested she was preparing for something far more significant than a casual Tuesday dinner.

Jake watched her from the doorway, his coffee growing cold in his hands. Tonight was the night. They'd picked Gunner out of the catalog together three days ago, another donor, another chance. But Emma had a sense of urgency to her. She'd changed three times already, finally settling on a sundress that hugged her curves in a way that made his caged cock ache with familiar frustration. The key snuggled between her breasts caught the light as she moved, a constant reminder of his situation.

"You're getting the house ready for him," Jake said, breaking the silence.

Emma's knife paused mid chop. She turned to him with a look of confusion, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean, honey? I'm just... nesting. You know how I get when I'm stressed."

"Emma." Jake set his coffee down, his voice flat. "You've been cleaning the same spot on the counter for ten minutes. You're wearing your nice dress. You made that complicated roast that takes four hours. For a donor."

She laughed, the sound light and musical, but there was something underneath it, a tension, an anticipation that Jake had come to recognize. "You're being paranoid, Jake. Can't a wife make a nice dinner without it being some kind of big production? We agreed to Gunner. I'm just... excited. That's all."

"You're acting like you're preparing for a date," Jake pressed, though he could already feel his resolve crumbling under her dismissive smile.

Emma turned back to her vegetables, her shoulders rising and falling with a sigh that suggested he was being ridiculous. "It's not a date, Jake. It's for our family. Remember? We want this. We want a baby. I'm just making sure everything is perfect for... for the process."

The way she said it "perfect" made Jake's stomach tighten. He knew what tonight was. They'd agreed to it. But Emma's enthusiasm felt like something else entirely, something that went beyond clinical necessity.

"You thought what?" Emma asked, turning to face him again. She crossed the kitchen and took his hands in hers, her expression softening into that look—the one that disarmed him completely. The one that made him feel like he was the most important thing in her world even as she was preparing to let another man inside her. "Jake, I love you. We agreed to this together. Now come help me set the table. The nice plates, okay?"

She kissed his cheek, her lips warm and lingering, and Jake felt his suspicions evaporating. Of course she was just excited. They were both excited. They wanted a baby. He was being paranoid, reading into things. His mind twisted by the constant frustration of the cage, the endless cycle of donors and denial.

They worked together in comfortable silence, Emma humming as she arranged the dining room with a care that Jake told himself was just her being thorough. She lit candles. She put on soft music. She opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, though Jake noticed she didn't touch hers.

"See?" she said, stepping back to admire their work. "Just a nice dinner. Doesn't it look romantic?"

"It looks... elaborate," Jake admitted.

Emma smiled, that sweet, secret smile that Jake knew was just for him. "I want tonight to be special. For us."

The doorbell rang at exactly seven thirty.

Emma's head snapped toward the sound, her eyes lighting up with a brightness that made Jake's stomach sink despite knowing this was coming. She smoothed her dress, checked her reflection in the hallway mirror, and practically skipped to the door.

"Emma," Jake called out, his voice tight. "Remember, we agreed—"

"Oh, hush," she called back, her voice breezy. "You'll like him. I just know it."

Jake stood frozen in the dining room as Emma opened the door. The man who entered was everything Jake wasn't, tall, broad shouldered, with a rugged jawline dusted with stubble that suggested he hadn't bothered shaving in days. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, and jeans that hung low on his hips. He carried himself with a swagger that filled the room, making Jake feel small and insignificant by comparison.

"Gunner," Emma breathed, her voice dropping to a register that Jake recognized immediately, the same tone she used when she was particularly aroused. "You made it."

"Wouldn't miss it, sweetheart," Gunner said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. He didn't look at Jake. His eyes were fixed on Emma with a predatory intensity that made Jake want to step between them, though he knew he wouldn't dare.

"Emma," Jake said, his voice barely audible. "This is... this is him?"

Emma turned to him, her expression a mixture of innocence and something else. "This is Gunner, honey. Just like we saw in the catalog. Isn't he perfect?"

Jake felt the familiar helplessness washing over him. They had agreed to this. They'd picked him out together. But seeing him in person, the sheer physical presence of him made Jake feel like the unreasonable one for being nervous.

"I thought we were having a normal visit," Jake said weakly.

"And we are!" Emma exclaimed, though her attention was already drifting back to Gunner. "Gunner is just... helping us. With our family. You understand, right?"

Gunner finally looked at Jake, his lip curling in a smirk that suggested he understood perfectly, and that he found Jake's presence amusing. "So this is the husband," he said, his tone making the word sound like an insult. "Cute."

"Be nice," Emma chided, though her giggle suggested she wasn't actually upset. "Jake is being very supportive. He's locked up and everything."

Gunner's eyebrows rose, and he let out a low chuckle that made Jake's face burn with humiliation. "Is he now? Well, that makes things easier."

"Emma, I don't think—" Jake started, but Emma was already moving, already guiding Gunner toward the dining room with a hand on his arm.

"Let's not waste time," Gunner said, cutting through whatever excuse Emma had been about to give. "I'm not here for small talk."

He moved with a speed that belied his size, spinning Emma around and bending her over the dining table before Jake could process what was happening. Emma let out a squeak of surprise that dissolved into a breathy laugh, her hands splaying across the polished wood as Gunner hiked her dress up over her hips.

"Gunner!" she gasped, though there was no real protest in her voice. "The dinner..."

"Fuck the dinner," Gunner growled, and Jake heard the distinct sound of fabric tearing as he ripped Emma's panties clean off her body.

Jake stood paralyzed, his heart hammering against his ribs as Gunner unzipped his jeans and pulled out a cock that made Jake's stomach drop. It was thick and heavy, already fully erect, veins pulsing along its length. It was easily twice the size of what Jake could offer even on his best day, and the thought of that thing entering his wife made Jake's caged cock strain painfully against its steel prison.

"Wait," Jake managed, his voice cracking. "Emma, are you sure—"

But Emma wasn't listening to him. She was pushing back against Gunner, her face turned toward Jake with an expression of desperate need. "It's okay, honey," she breathed, though her eyes were glazed with arousal. "It's for... oh god... it's for our family..."

Gunner didn't wait for further permission. He gripped Emma's hips and thrust into her with a single, brutal motion that drove the air from her lungs. Emma cried out, her back arching, her fingers clawing at the tablecloth.

"Fuck, you're tight," Gunner grunted, beginning to move with long, powerful strokes that made the table creak beneath them. "Been waiting for this, haven't you? Waiting for a real man to fill you up?"

Emma moaned in response, a sound of pure pleasure that Jake had not been able to coax from her in a while. She pushed back to meet each thrust, her breasts spilling out of her dress as Gunner's rhythm grew more intense.

Jake stood there, unsure what to say, what to do. He should leave. He should protest. He should do something. But his feet were rooted to the floor, his eyes locked on the sight of his wife being taken by this stranger on their dining room table, the table they'd set together for a romantic dinner that had never been meant for him.

"Look at him," Gunner said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Just standing there like a cuck. You like that, don't you? Like having your husband watch while a real man fucks you?"

"Yes," Emma gasped, and the word pierced Jake's heart. "Yes, please... harder..."

Gunner obliged, his hips slamming against Emma's ass with a force that made the dishes rattle. Emma's moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with sounds of pleasure that Jake could only ever dream of drawing from her these days.

And then a timer went off, a generic song from Emma’s phone that signaled Emma’s and Jake’s nightly routine had arrived.

Gunner didn't pause. If anything, he fucked her harder, his grip on her hips tightening as he ignored the sound completely.

"Gunner," Emma managed between moans, her voice strained. "The timer... oh god... it's time for... for Jake's treatment..."

"What?" Gunner grunted, not slowing his pace.

"Jake's... oh fuck... his treatment..." Emma gasped, her eyes finding Jake's across the table. "Come here, honey... please..."

Jake hesitated, his feet feeling like they were made of lead. He felt completely emasculated, standing there in his sweatpants with the cage visible beneath the fabric, watching this mountain of a man use his wife with an expertise that made Jake's own inadequacies glaringly obvious.

But Emma was gesturing for him, her hand reaching out even as Gunner continued to pound into her. "Please, Jake," she whimpered, and there was something in her voice, that loving, pleading tone that always undid him. "Come closer..."

Jake shuffled forward, his face burning with shame, until he was standing beside the table where Emma's head rested. She turned toward him, her face flushed and sweaty, her eyes glazed with pleasure.

"Take... take off your pants," she breathed.

Jake obeyed, his hands trembling as he pushed his sweatpants down, revealing the steel cage that confined his straining cock. Emma's eyes dropped to it, and she let out a small sound, whether of pity or arousal, Jake couldn't tell.

"Good boy," she whispered, and then she reached for him, pulling him closer until his caged groin was level with her face.

She took him into her mouth, or tried to, the cage made it impossible for her to take him fully, so she worked what she could, her tongue slipping through the gaps in the metal bars to tease the exposed flesh of his cock head. Jake groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the table as sensation flooded through him, the warmth of her mouth, the wet heat of her tongue, the cruel restriction of the steel that prevented him from feeling the full pressure of her lips.

It was exquisite torture. He could feel her, feel the suction and the heat, but it was only a taste. His cock strained against the bars, desperate for more contact, for the friction that would push him over the edge, but the cage held firm.

"Emma," he whimpered, his hips bucking helplessly. "Please..."

But Emma couldn't answer. Gunner had picked up his pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful. Emma's moans vibrated around Jake's caged cock, sending shivers through his body, but she couldn't maintain her rhythm. She pulled back, gasping, her breath hot against the steel as Gunner drove into her harder.

"Did I say you could stop?" Gunner growled, his hand coming down hard on Emma's ass with a crack that made Jake flinch.

"Sorry," Emma breathed, her voice high and breathy. "I'm sorry..."

"Then beg," Gunner commanded, his hips never slowing. "Beg me for my seed. Beg me to fill your pussy while your husband watches."

Emma turned her head, her eyes meeting Jake's. There was love there, genuine and warm, even as she was being fucked by another man. "Jake," she whispered, and the affection in her voice was almost worse than the humiliation. "I have to... I need to..."

"It's okay," Jake found himself saying, though his voice cracked. "It's for our family."

Emma smiled at him, that sweet, loving smile that always disarmed him and then she turned back to Gunner. "Please," she begged, her voice dripping with thick desire. "Please, Gunner, fill me up. I need your seed. I need you to flood my womb. Please..."

Gunner let out a growl of satisfaction, his grip on Emma's hips becoming bruising. "That's it," he grunted. "That's what I wanted to hear."

He slammed into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and Jake watched as his body went rigid. Gunner let out a long, guttural groan, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside Emma. Jake could see the pulse of his orgasm, the way Emma's eyes rolled back, the way she cried out in pleasure as her womb was flooded with thick, potent cum.

"Oh god," Emma sobbed, her body shaking with aftershocks. "Oh god, yes... so much..."

Gunner stayed inside her for a long moment, his breathing heavy, and then he pulled out with a wet sound that made Jake's stomach turn. A thick glob of cum immediately began to leak from Emma's stretched hole, dripping onto the tablecloth beneath her.

Gunner zipped up his pants, his expression casual, as if he hadn't just claimed Jake's wife in their own dining room. He looked at Jake, a smirk playing at his lips. "Clean up the mess, cuck," he said, his voice commandful. "Your wife made a mess, and it's your job to fix it."

Jake stared at him, his mind reeling. He should punch him. He should scream. He should do something. But Emma was looking at him with those big brown eyes, her face flushed and blissful, and he found himself nodding.

"Yes," Jake whispered, the word tasting like ash.

Gunner laughed, a harsh, barking sound, and then he was gone, the front door closing behind him with a finality that seemed to echo through the house.

Emma remained sprawled across the table, her body limp and sated, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She turned her head to look at Jake, her expression dreamy and content. "Leave me here," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Just for a bit. I want to feel it... all of it..."

Jake stood there, his caged cock throbbing with denied need, his balls aching with the pressure of unspent arousal. He could feel the wetness on his cage, Emma's saliva mixed with his own leaking precum, a sticky testament to his frustration.

"Okay," he managed, his voice barely audible.

He moved to the kitchen to get a towel, his movements stiff. When he returned, Emma hadn't moved. She lay there, her dress hiked up, her legs spread slightly, Gunner's cum still leaking from her. The sight should have disgusted him, but instead he felt only a desperate, aching longing.

"Did you like him?" Jake asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Emma's eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him, that warm, loving smile that made his chest ache. "I love you," she said softly, not answering the question. "You know that, right? Everything I do... it's for us. For our family."

"I know," Jake said, though he wasn't sure he believed it a hundred percent anymore.

He cleaned her as gently as he could, wiping away the physical proof of another man's claim on her body. Emma hummed contentedly, her eyes closed, her hand resting on her stomach as if she could already feel the life beginning there.

"There," Jake said when he was done, his voice hollow.

Emma sat up slowly, wincing slightly as she adjusted her dress. She pulled Jake close, her arms wrapping around his waist, her head resting against his caged groin. "You're so good to me," she whispered, her breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. "So patient. So understanding."

Jake's hands found her hair, his fingers tangling in the dark locks as he tried to hold onto something real, something that hadn't been tainted by what they'd become.

"I try," he said.

Emma pulled back, looking up at him with eyes that sparkled with affection and something else, anticipation. "Gunner was... very potent," she said softly. "I could feel it. But Dr. Grant says the more donors, the better our chances."

Jake felt his stomach drop. "Emma..."

"There's another donor night coming soon," she continued, her voice light and cheerful, as if she were discussing a dinner party. "A whole lot of them. Dr. Grant thinks it would be perfect for maximizing our odds. Wouldn't that be wonderful, Jake? To finally get pregnant? To finally start our family?"

She looked at him with such hope, such genuine love, that Jake found himself nodding despite the dread pooling in his stomach.

"Yeah," he managed. "Wonderful."

Emma beamed at him, her happiness radiant and blinding. "I knew you'd understand," she said, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I love you so much, Jake. We're going to have everything we ever wanted. You'll see."

She turned and walked toward the stairs, her hips swaying with a satisfied rhythm that hadn't been there before Gunner arrived. Jake watched her go, the key around her neck catching the light, the cage around his cock growing heavier with every step she took away from him.

He stood alone in the dining room, surrounded by the remnants of the dinner they'd never eaten, the candles still burning, the wine still poured. The smell of sex and sweat lingered in the air.

MDNBCML - Part 2 - The First Day (Part 1 - Introduction) Feel free to make recommendations and ask questions about the story!

The next morning I “woke up" feeling exhausted. I wasn't actually sure if I slept at all. I just lay in my bed all night with the feeling of bouncing around sleep, almost like a nicotine buzz. I never actually had that moment of falling into sleep; at least I don’t think I did. The pressure from the cage all night was overwhelming. Every movement I made, every toss and turn to my sides, was met with the feeling of subtle motion of my captive member. I had never felt anything like it, and it made me so horny. At one point, the feeling was so overwhelming I got out my phone to watch some porn, but there were new screen time locks placed on all my apps. My browser, social media, even the camera. This was the first sign of how far this would go. How was it even possible for Natalie to do this without me noticing? Did she hack my phone? I was struck by even more fear of what this woman was capable of.

I was stuck tossing and turning all night thinking about how hot Natalie was in that lingerie. Her shining wet pussy was way beyond anything I had ever seen in person. The image of her ass moving side to side as I crawled behind her was burned into my mind, every step revealing her peeking pussy between her legs to me. I couldn’t even imagine myself getting to fuck her; she was so far out of my league it never seemed possible. I just wanted to taste it so bad. There was still a part of me that thought this was a dream, but every time I wondered what reality was, the tight fabric sewn inside the collar's leather around my neck would remind me that this was very real. The emotions that followed this realization were a mix of fear and longing for more.

When I got out of my bed, I could smell the pleasant smell of bacon and coffee from down the stairs. I walked down into the kitchen to see Natalie in her tight workout attire cooking breakfast. For the entire week we had shared this house, she had never once cooked breakfast. I sat down at the table, and she immediately noticed,

"Oh! You’re awake already!"

She said with excitement as she continued working on the eggs,

“How did you sleep, sweetie?"

I responded tentatively,

"I'm... I'm not really sure I slept at all."

"Awwww, baby's first night in the cage. It's always the hardest night; your body is still adapting to its new hormone levels. Soon you will adjust, and it will become normal."

That word normal rang out to me like the bells of something torrential and world-changing to come,

"You mean... this cage is going to become normal?"

She turned and looked at me with those hazel daggers.

"Of course, dear," she giggled as she continued,

"Me and you both know that your little friend of yours is only so useful, and it's clear you don’t even want to use it for pleasure anyway, from that little secret of yours I found. Now we will discuss this further later; it's time for breakfast."

She walked over to me with a plate of eggs, avocado toast, and a glass of orange juice.

"Can I... Have some bacon too?"

I asked, honestly scared of the response.

"No, sweetie, it's not good for you."

Who was she to decide what I got to eat? Why was I even scared of some 5'10 bimbo in pink leggings! We are basically the same height! The moment these thoughts entered my head, the cage grew tighter. I touched the collar around my neck, adjusting the fixed reminder of my status, and worst of all, I noticed the panties seeping up against my ass and balls, making their embarrassing presence known. I slumped into my chair as I began to eat the ordered meal. She soon stepped over to join me.

She began with purpose and clarity,

"Well, dear, hopefully you will be able to get some rest tonight because you have a very busy day ahead of u."

She leaned into her bag, pulled out a piece of paper, and slid it across the table.

"These are your rules, dear, but I don’t like that word; think of it as your new devotion to a fulfilling life. A symbol of who you aspire to be and the guidelines that will get you there. Please read it, sweetie."

The top read "Stepdaughters' Rules."

I giggled at the ridiculous sight of "Stepdaughter." This immediately caught her attention.

"What's so funny?” she responded with a snap. My eyes widened, and I shuddered.

"Nothing! I just uh... I'm not your stepdaughter."

She looked at me with an evil stare; her eyebrows deepened as her chest bowed out a little when she crossed her legs and sat up in the wooden kitchen chair.

"Don’t you want to be dear?"

Those words echoed in my ears like a bellowing canyon. I looked down at the paper, almost dizzy; I couldn't believe this was happening, let alone at 8 am. Did I want to be?

The rules read as follows,

Stepdaughters’ Rules:

Rule one: Always address me as Mommy or Mistress

Rule two: Your body belongs to me. Do not touch yourself without permission.

Rule three: Wear only what I tell you to; this includes underwear.

Rule four: You will remain caged at all times unless I unlock you. You will be allowed 30 minutes of release every day for hygiene and shaving. Abuse of this privilege can result in it being revoked for a period of time.

Rule five: Plugging times will be determined by me. You will have mandatory plug days, determined at the mistress's discretion. Plug types and sizes will be chosen by me unless specified otherwise. Punishments for failing any of your tasks or rules can result in multi-day periods of plugging and larger plug sizes.

Rule six: You will be given a journal; you are to log any horny fantasies you have, as well as logging your hygiene times. Any orgasms outside of training sessions will also be logged. Any orgasms that are discovered by mistress and have not been logged will result in severe punishment.

Rule seven: When needing to use the bathroom, you may remove your plug, but it must be replaced when finished during plug times.

Rule nine: You will keep a healthy diet determined by mistress and exercise during the instructed times to stay in good shape for the mistress. You will also take the supplements mommy provides every morning.

Rule ten: I will determine the porn you are allowed to watch. Any time you wish to watch porn, you must ask mistress, and she will provide it to you.

Rule Eleven: From this point on, you will only be referred to as Carly. This is your new name and should serve as a symbol of your purpose.

Rule Twelve: Any rule can be added or removed at any time at Mommy’s discretion.

My eyes were in shock at what I was reading before me. My head became weak and warm. I was again so horny I thought my cage could break. I could feel the pressure beginning to mix with the pleasure of stimulation and pain. Rule five hit me like a train,

"Plug! I don’t put things up..." She cut me off,

"What did you expect!"

She stood up with a giggle and turned, pulling down her tight pink leggings, revealing a black thong. She peeled it down as she bent over, letting me see the entire process to reveal a pink gem stone butt plug. She pulled it out with a smirk as her perfect asshole gripped around the metal plug, and a drip of liquid fell from the newly released hole to her pussy. She pulled her garments back up and held the plug out to me as she sat back down.

"This is what I wore this morning for my run on the treadmill; see, it’s no big deal."

She gestured her hand forward with the wet shining metal plug still lubricated with sweat and anal juices.

"Here, take it, don’t be scared. I know you want to."

I grabbed the plug, about the size of a small pill bottle. It was surprisingly heavy as I gazed into its glistening reflections.

"Put it in your mouth slut,"

she ordered. My eyes widened as I let out a nervous laugh,

"I can't... I can't put it... It was in your... Is it even saf..."

She leaned forward, biting her lip, "I know you wanna taste it."

I couldn't resist as I placed the warm metal in my mouth and ran my tongue around it like some kind of demented pacifier. I could feel my cage begin to leak as the salty warm flavor filled my mouth. I only sucked on it for a moment nervously as she gazed with so much pleasure I thought she was going to put a spell on me right there. Maybe she already had. I took the plug out and handed it back with a slight moment of shame.

"See, I knew you were gonna love this," she said as she grabbed the newly lubricated plug with my saliva. She stood up and this time just reached back into her leggings and put it back in, not letting me see a thing.

"There we go, uh, I just love that feeling. Oh, that reminds me, here you go, dear."

She passed forward a blue pill, "Take your supplements for today, dear. I will put some in your bathroom so you can take them yourself, but remember I will notice if you skip out on your supplements; you don't want that to happen, sweetie," she calmly spoke as she caressed the side of my confused face. I took the pill, washing it down with the last of my orange juice; what other choice did I have?

"Now I know you don’t have any plans today, so obviously I think it's time to start your training, Carly."

She spoke that name like it proved something. Almost like there's been a conspiracy growing among the two of us for years, and she just confirmed it right before me.

"Go get dressed; I laid out some clothes in the living room."

I walked over to the living room, where I saw the hottest and most terrifying thing I could have ever imagined.

There, lying on the couch, was an outfit I only ever saw in porn. A white and black latex skirt with a tight latex long-sleeve turtleneck top that connected down to the skirt by four strands that ran down the sides, leaving my stomach and back visible. Next to that was a pair of stereotypical stockings with laced tops that came up to about my thighs. There was also a new pair of panties; these were laced at the top with a little bow, and they were also crotchless. I stood there, looking at this ridiculous outfit that I had secretly always dreamed of shamefully wearing. This wasn't right; how could I become this?

I worked so hard to repress these emotions and be the man my asshole father could be proud of, but this would throw all of that away. I stood there almost like a daring teen, full of adrenaline, judging how far down the water is below the cliff they want to jump off to prove how cool they are. I took that leap and began putting on the outfit.

After some struggling with the outfit, I finally got it all on. The stockings felt so strangely pleasurable against my skin. I had never felt anything like it before: the cool air against my exposed thighs, drafting against my exposed caged cock through the crotchless panties. The latex lay flat against my skin, gripping it as if it wanted to get tighter, and I could feel it with every motion. My heart pounded, and my cage throbbed. Natalie soon walked in,

"Oh.. My.. Heavens, you look adorable! Look at you! I bet you feel amazing in your uniform!"

I took a step back,

"My what?"

"Your uniform, seriously, are you like high right now?" She said with humored sass as she stepped forward to adjust the outfit's finer details I missed,

"I mean, seriously, I know you didn't get any sleep, but stop acting like this is all a shock or something. You want this, sweetie; I'm just guiding you to your true self. I mean, are you gonna tell me you looked at all those slutty videos out of educational curiosity? Or were you just watching it FOr ThE PlOt?" she muttered mockingly with a giggle.

She snapped a picture of me as she continued to circle around me. I was so sleep-deprived and horny I barely noticed.

"I... I don’t know; I guess I just never imagined this."

She continued to adjust my skirt, briefly inspecting my caged cock underneath.

"Yeah, I guess we never really talked before this that much, huh? I figured you would be more accepting, to be honest, but in hindsight, yeah, this would be pretty shocking to most, even with your porn addiction. Welp, no matter; it's not like you have a choice now! Your panties look so good by the way."

She straightened me out as she walked back into the bedroom for a moment to grab something, and then came back out.

"I honestly should have had you do this this morning before breakfast; I'm just forgetful sometimes. Uh, go ahead and take off those delicious panties."

She held a bag of fluid in her hand, connected to a big tube with a bulb at the end. Of course, with the amount of porn I watched, I knew it was an enema. The idea of one always scared me, but I knew its purpose.

"Do you know what this is?"

She asked with a tone of education behind her voice, like a professor. I nodded with my eyes wide as I peeled off the panties under the skirt.

"Of course you do slut!" She giggled before attaching a leash to my collar and moving me toward the master bathroom.

"Now get in the shower, hands and knees."

I paused for a moment like a prom date unsure of what to do with a newly exposed cock. She gestured the leash slightly as I got down on the harsh tile.

"Now this will only take a moment, dear."

She inserted the tube tip after thoroughly lubing it. This was the first time anything had gone into my ass; my cage felt like a volcano ready to explode, especially cause I kept thinking about how Natalie was plugged as this was all happening herself. She forced the tube deeper until it hit the bulb about an inch in. She pressed harder with a reassuring hand placed on my arched back.

"Look at you arching like a real slut! I didn't even have to teach you that, you're a natural."

I almost smiled when she said that. Finally, the bulb got pushed into my hole as the edges closed around it with an accepting yet forceful feeling. She raised the bag as fluid began to flow into my lower half. I could feel the cold rush inside of me, filling me up with every second. The bulb inflated as the liquid pressure surged through it, preventing me from pushing the tube out.

"Almost done, sweetie; you're doing so good."

About a minute went by before she lowered the bag and pulled the tube out of me. A sharp release of pressure with a touch of pain ached throughout my hole. I wanted to let it all out so bad.

"Hold it in, dear, and sit on the toilet. I left you some wipes and toilet paper to clean up when you're done. Come see me in the living room when you're all cleaned up. Sit there for at least 15 minutes, understood?“

"Oh... ok." Her eyebrow raised as she grabbed my chain leash,

"What was that?!"

"Yes, Ma’am!" I voiced back to her out of fear.

She pulled it tighter, standing tall, placing my face a foot from her sweaty, tight pussy covered by her pink leggings and spoke calmly.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, mommy," I said with more shame than I ever felt in my life.

"What do you say, sweetie?" She muttered as she pulled my chain even closer to the heat of her crotch.

"Thank you, mistress," I spoke, getting a brief smell of what I spent all night thinking about. The pressure of the enema and the dribble of precum from my cage became ever so noticeable. She giggled, releasing my chain.

"Good girl!"

She walked out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. How was I supposed to know when fifteen minutes passed? I just had to guess? This dream was getting crazier by the moment.

I spent some time letting everything out of me after the enema; I will spare you the details, but I cleaned myself up in the end. I stood up from the toilet and observed my new "Uniform" in the mirror. I couldn't believe my eyes; my boyish face sat atop a body fit for a French maid in an old-school porno. My brown hair at medium length swished to the side, the same way it's been cut my whole life. Who even was I anymore? I tried to count out the minutes, but I was so tired and horny, no way was that happening. I soon took a chance and stepped out into the living room. I saw Natalie sitting on the couch scrolling on her phone.

"There's my little slut, I was wondering what took you so long- 20 minutes, I guess. You loved looking at yourself, huh?"

She joked as she stood up, grabbing two more submissive items of clothing for me. In her hand were what looked like a latex hood and a harness with a bright red ball attached; I realized it was a ball gag.

"Now, for the time being, we will keep this on you for most of the time until we complete your look. We have a lot of work to do until you look hot like those sorority girls."

She walked over and behind me as she forced the mask over my head, moving my hair down so it wasn't caught by the zipper. She zipped it up as she adjusted it further,

"How does that feel?"

I responded hesitantly, "I guess it's fine... what's that for?"

I gestured to the ball gag. "This..." She moved behind me once again, forcing the harness over the mask. “Is for laughing at the rules this morning."

She fixed the harness on my head as she grabbed my jaw with forceful dominance. She squeezed my mouth open as she moved the ball gag into my mouth and quickly tightened it until it was impossible to remove on my own volition, and to put the cherry on top, she locked it with a tiny padlock on the back situated just above the already noticeable lock of my collar.

"There we go, sweetie, that will teach you to only speak when spoken to, whore. OH! I almost forgot the final touches."

She walked into her bedroom and returned with high heels and a small baggie tied at the top. "I'll help you put these on, sweetie."

I hopped on the ground as she moved the heels onto my feet with gentle pressure. They were almost to a near point. I had seen some really pointed ones in some porn on Reddit; these were thankfully not as steep, but I was still unsure about my walking ability in them. She locked them onto my ankles as well; somehow I missed the padlocks when sliding them on, or I might have resisted a little.

"Now hands and knees, and arch that back like you did before, sweetie."

I did as ordered; as I moved, I could feel every aspect of submission making its presence known around my body. The heels, the stockings, the throbbing cage, the pink belt that secured it, the latex frilly skirt, the latex long sleeve turtleneck that hug my body like a restraint, the collar that gripped my neck with dominance, the feminine shaped hood that covered my boyish face, and the gag that made every breath I took sound like a wind tunnel in my ears made me acutely aware of my state of helplessness and servitude. I felt a sudden cold pressure on my exposed asshole; she was pressing in a metal buttplug.

It slid in with relative ease after the abusive enema. I don't think it was very big, but I never got to see the plug itself.

"There we go, sweetie, now put your panties back on."

I did as instructed, as for the first time I was caged and plugged. Every slow movement I made so as not to fall over in the tall heels made the buttplugs presence radiate from my stuffed hole. Natalie walked into the kitchen and returned with another piece of paper; at the top it read "chores."

"Now I'm going to go meet up with some friends for the day while you stay here and get some things done around here. It's all easy for your first day, like laundry, dishes, sweeping, mopping, and general cleaning. I expect all of it to be done by the time I return, okay sweetie? Now I'm going to take a quick shower, and I'll be out of your hair!"

This was the first moment I realized the life I was being thrown into might not be what I expected. I had fantasies of submitting to a smoke show like Natalie before, maybe even letting them dress me up, but this, but this was different. I looked into one of the mirrors next to the door of their bedroom. My gagged, hooded face didn’t even look like me anymore. My lips were the only visible feature of my gagged mouth, with the eye holes of the hood pointed at the corners with a subtle outline to add a feminine aesthetic. I really did look like a slut. In that moment, I was so turned on by my predicament, I felt the dribble of cum leak out of my cage onto my leg.

I was leaking more even than when I watched Natalie take her plug out. I was so turned on looking at my slutty self, and just a day ago I was just playing COD and jerking off to sluts on the internet when I felt like it. What’s happening to me?

partie 1

### **13h00 - L'Humiliation Publique**

Le soleil venait de percer l'épaisse couche de nuages gris, réchauffant légèrement l'atmosphère. Il était l'heure pour la Reine Anna de déjeuner. Prenant l'initiative de bien faire pour regagner des points après ses déboires matinaux, Manon dressa le plateau repas de sa maîtresse et le porta sur la terrasse de pierre.

Elle déposa le plateau sur la grande table de jardin et se mit immédiatement à quatre pattes, à l'endroit exact devant où Anna viendrait s'asseoir.

Anna fit son apparition, vêtue d'un élégant ensemble de soie claire. Elle toisa l'installation, un petit sourire en coin, et pointa le sol, exactement sous sa chaise.

« Allonge-toi sur le dos. Le visage sous de devant de la chaise. »

Manon, l'esprit engourdi par la faim et la peur, se glissa sous le mobilier de jardin. Elle s'allongea sur le carrelage tiédi par le soleil, le lourd plug de métal martyrisant toujours ses entrailles. Anna s'installa avec grâce, tira sa chaise en avant, et posa négligemment ses deux pieds nus directement sur le visage de son esclave, utilisant son nez et ses joues comme un vulgaire paillasson de chair. Pendant trente longues minutes, Manon dut respirer l'odeur des pieds de son amie, sans oser bouger un cil de peur de s'attirer une nouvelle colère, pendant qu'Anna dégustait son repas en écoutant les oiseaux chanter.

### **13h30 - La Plonge et la Faiblesse**

À l'heure tapante, la pression des pieds disparut. Anna s'étira.

« Débarrasse. Vaisselle à la main. Et n'oublie pas la suite du programme. »

Manon se releva, le corps endolori, ramassa la vaisselle et fila vers l'évier. Les gestes étaient mécaniques. Son esprit était ailleurs, redoutant l'échéance suivante.

### **13h45 - La Mésaventure dans l'Herbe**

C'était l'heure de la pause biologique de l'après-midi. Une fois encore, Manon dut ramper jusqu'à l'étendue d'herbe située juste devant la grande baie vitrée. Étonnamment, la route départementale était très fréquentée à cette heure-là. Le ballet incessant des voitures la terrifiait. Pressée d'en finir pour échapper aux regards potentiels des conducteurs, elle s'accroupit dans l'herbe humide et se relâcha brusquement.

Dans sa précipitation, son sphincter, distendu et endolori, laissa échapper le lourd plug d'acier. L'objet chuta mollement dans l'herbe, immédiatement recouvert par les excréments mou et collant que Manon ne put retenir.

Depuis l'intérieur de la maison, derrière la grande vitre, Anna avait suivi la scène. Son visage se ferma. Elle ouvrit la baie vitrée dans un crissement sec.

« Manon ! Qu'est-ce que je viens de voir ? »

Manon se figea, le sang glacé. Elle se retourna et baissa les yeux vers le désastre.

« Tu as perdu ton jouet dans ta propre merde, » constata Anna, la voix vibrante de dégoût et de colère. « Ramasse-le avec tes dents. Va le nettoyer au jet de l'étable. Et remets-le en place. Immédiatement la chienne. »

Les larmes, compagnes désormais fidèles de sa déchéance, montèrent aux yeux de Manon. C'était trop. L'humiliation atteignait des sommets insoutenables. Mais le regard impitoyable d'Anna, braqué sur elle, ne laissait aucune place à la rébellion. Puisant dans ses ultimes réserves d'obéissance, Manon se pencha sur le tas fumant. Avec une répulsion qui lui donna la nausée, elle dégagea le métal du bout de la langue, attrapa la base de l'objet d'acier entre ses dents puis rampa le plus vite possible vers l'étable la bouche et la salive désormais maculée d'excréments.

Arrivée devant le jet d'eau, elle cracha l'objet avec un haut-le-cœur, se rinça la bouche à grande eau, nettoya le plug frénétiquement. N'ayant pas de lubrifiant, elle utilisa sa propre salive, la mort dans l'âme, et força l'intrus à reprendre sa place dans ses chairs meurtries.

### **13h50 - L'Attente du Bourreau**

Encore secouée par des frissons de dégoût, Manon regagna le salon. Elle se positionna à genoux, la tête basse, attendant le verdict de sa maîtresse pour son manque d'attention. Mais Anna resta silencieuse, lisant un magazine de mode.

### **14h00 - La Vengeance des Mâles**

Le planning exigeait l'entretien de la piscine, la relève du courrier, le nettoyage du donjon, et enfin, l'évacuation du fumier de l'étable.

Manon expédia les trois premières tâches avec l'énergie du désespoir. Elle passa l'épuisette dans la piscine, changea les draps de la chambre du sous-sol, frotta les meubles de sa propre prison. Il ne lui restait qu'une heure pour l'épreuve la plus dégradante : nettoyer la merde d'Alex et Ben.

Cherchant mentalement une stratégie pour accomplir la besogne le plus vite et proprement possible, elle rampa vers l'étable. Mais à sa grande surprise, Anna l'y attendait, debout devant la lourde porte, une paire de menottes en acier scintillant à la main.

Avant même que Manon ne puisse esquisser un geste de recul, Anna lui saisit les poignets et les scella brutalement dans son dos. L'incompréhension se peignit sur le visage de la captive. Comment allait-elle nettoyer sans ses mains ?

D'un geste sec, Anna déverrouilla la ceinture de chasteté et laisse le plug des fesses de Manon, qui étouffa un gémissement de soulagement. La porte s'ouvrit.

Honteuse, les yeux rivés au sol, Manon pénétra dans l'antre fétide en rampant sur les genoux. Soudain, un violent coup de pied d'Anna entre ses omoplates la projeta en avant. Manon s'écrasa face contre la boue immonde.

« Voilà ta punition pour tes retards et tes maladresses, la chienne ! » hurla Anna. « Messieurs, elle est à vous pour une heure. »

La lourde porte claqua. Le verrou tourna.

Manon, paniquée, releva la tête. Devant elle, Ben et Alex étaient debout. Mais l'effroi la paralysa lorsqu'elle constata que leurs cages de chasteté avaient disparu. Leurs membres, en érection et maculés de terre, pointaient vers elle.

Sans l'usage de ses mains, Manon ne pouvait qu'offrir son regard terrifié, cherchant une once de pitié dans les yeux de son ancien compagnon pour qu'il ne retire pas son plug. Mais elle n'y trouva qu'une faim carnassière et un désir ardent de vengeance. Anna avait donné l'ordre : c'était leur unique occasion de faire payer à Manon les quinze derniers jours de maltraitance.

Ben, brutal, se jeta sur elle et plaqua son visage dans la fiente pour l'empêcher de bouger. Alex se positionna derrière elle. La perspective de réaliser le fantasme anal que Manon lui avait toujours refusé le rendait fou en voyant le plug ancré en elle.

Il cracha dans sa main pour lubrifier son sexe et le pressa contre la vulve offerte. Manon se débattit sauvagement, secouant les hanches, gémissant de plaisir impatient au dégoût de la boue. Mais d'un coup de rein impitoyable, Alex força l'entrée et l'empala de toute sa longueur.

Manon gémis à s'en déchirer les cordes vocales, s'attendant à la foudre du collier électrique qui ne se fut pas attendre. Anna n'avait désactivé que celui des hommes, l'abandonnant totalement à la brutalité des esclaves.

Alex s'acharna sur elle, martelant ses chairs avec une rage vengeresse, pendant que Ben, agenouillé au-dessus de sa tête, lui écrasait le visage dans la boue pour étouffer ses cris. Quelques minutes de pure violence suffirent à Alex pour exploser en elle, vidant des semaines de frustration. Manon n'arrivant pas à jouir car son collier se declanchant à chaque râle d'Alex.

Il se retira. Manon haletait, croyant le cauchemar terminé. Mais Ben prit immédiatement le relais. Plus massif, plus expérimenté, il récolta la semence de son compagnon d'infortune sur le trou béant de Manon et s'en servit pour lubrifier son propre engin.

Il força l'entrée avec une violence inouïe. La gêne fut si fulgurante que Manon crut se déchirer. Ses gémissements de plaisir et d'humiliation résonnèrent dans l'étable. Ben fut implacable. Il la brisa méthodiquement, durant de longues minutes, la réduisant à l'état de poupée de chiffon pantelante a cause des chocs électriques, avant de libérer sa propre décharge brûlante dans ses entrailles.

La porte s'ouvrit alors à la volée. Anna fit irruption, impérieuse. Elle ordonna aux hommes de reculer, leur replaça froidement leurs cages de chasteté ainsi que les menottes maintenant leur mains dans leurs dos, puis leur ordonna de traîner le corps inerte de Manon dehors.

Sous le jet d'eau glacé, les deux hommes durent nettoyer la chienne brisée avec leurs langue. Anna replaça la ceinture de chasteté équipée d'un plug vaginal sur le corps de Manon pour y retenir le mélange de leurs semences.

« J'espère que tu retiendras la leçon, » cracha Anna en surplombant la jeune femme qui hoquetait de frustration, incapable de se relever.

Elle renvoya les hommes dans la pénombre, leur promettant une surprise pour le dimanche suivant, et verrouilla la porte.

« Allez, au pied ! » lança-t-elle à Manon en retournant vers la maison.

Mais Manon, le corps ravagé et frustré, l'esprit brisé, resta prostrée dans l'herbe, secouant la tête, refusant d'avancer. La rébellion du désespoir d'un plaisir interdit.

Anna revint sur ses pas.

« C'est pour ton bien, ma chienne. Soit tu me suis pour préparer ton prochain ordre, soit je te jette dans l'étable avec eux pour toute la nuit. »

Les yeux écarquillés par la terreur pure, Manon eut un hoquet. Non. Pas la nuit. Résignée, l'âme morte, elle se traîna derrière sa maîtresse.

### **17h00 - La Corvée Extérieure**

Dans la maison, Anna lui accorda dix minutes de répit pour retrouver ses esprits. Lorsqu'elle reparut, elle portait une robe très courte en dentelle et pieds nu.

« Va te préparer. Le menu est sur la table. N'oublie pas que ton téléphone est géolocalisé. L'heure tourne. »

Manon tituba jusqu'au donjon. Devant le petit lavabo, elle tenta de nettoyer l'odeur persistante de la boue et du sperme qui lui collait à la peau. Elle s'habilla mécaniquement d'une robe courte en coton noire, juste assez longue pour dissimuler sa chasteté. En découvrant la liste des courses, son cœur se serra davantage : Anna exigeait du tournedos et des gambas fraîches pour elle, et plusieurs boîtes de pâtée pour chien en conserve. Les repas de Manon pour le lendemain.

### **19h00 - L'Éclaircie de Lavande**

À son retour, les courses rangées en un temps record, de nouveau nue, Manon vit Anna s'approcher avec un trésor inestimable : un savon solide à la lavande, une serviette propre et un rasoir. Anna déverrouilla la ceinture de chasteté, en retire le plug vaginal et verrouille de nouveau la ceinture. Le sperme s'écoulant du vagin meurtri, Manon pressa sa main pour en récolter le foutre.

« Ne traîne pas. Le soleil se couche. »

Pour Manon, c'était une oasis dans le désert de son enfer. Elle arriva sur la pelouse, face à Anna qui la surveillait depuis la terrasse, et utilisa le tuyau d'arrosage. Elle s'appliqua avec frénésie, récurant chaque parcelle de sa peau, rasant méticuleusement chaque poil, se raccrochant désespérément à l'odeur apaisante de la lavande pour retrouver un semblant d'humanité.

### **19h30 - 21h00 : Le Service et la Confession**

La soirée reprit son cours mécanique. Préparation du dîner, service à quatre pattes, rôle de repose-pied silencieux, vaisselle, et enfin, la rituelle humiliation de la pause biologique face à la baie vitrée nocturne.

À 21h00, Manon regagna le salon, épuisée à en mourir, s'agenouillant pour la phase de vénération.

Anna observait la femme brisée à ses pieds. Consciente de la violence physique et psychologique de la frustration qu'elle venait de lui infliger, l'ancienne meilleure amie laissa poindre une once de pitié. Le dressage nécessitait aussi de la carotte.

« Viens, » murmura Anna en tapotant la place vide sur le canapé, soulevant son plaid moelleux.

Incrédule, Manon hésita, puis rampa et se glissa timidement contre la chaleur d'Anna. Devant une série policière, Anna passa un bras protecteur autour des épaules de son esclave.

« Je n'avais pas le choix, Manon. Il fallait que tu comprennes. Ta première punition devait être un électrochoc, » lui expliqua-t-elle d'une voix douce. « Je n'ai aucune envie de recommencer ce genre d'extrémité. Tout dépend de toi maintenant. »

Blottie contre elle, Manon pleura silencieusement, se raccrochant à cette chaleur humaine comme un naufragé à une bouée.

« Quand ton dressage sera terminé, » poursuivit Anna en lui caressant les cheveux, « quand tu seras devenue parfaitement docile, dévouée... et quand tu auras accepté l'idée de t'offrir entièrement à mes envies... alors tu pourras entrevoir une vie meilleure. Tu pourras dormir dans ma chambre, et peut-être même regagner quelques libertés de plaisirs. »

Une lueur d'espoir, infime mais tenace, s'alluma dans l'esprit dévasté de Manon.

### **22h30 - Le Repos de l'Esclave**

L'heure de la fin de service approchait. Manon escorta Anna jusqu'à la chambre principale. Anna s'allongea sur le lit, repoussa les draps et offrit ses pieds nus.

Revigorée par l'espoir d'une rédemption future, Manon s'agenouilla au pied du lit. Avec une tendresse nouvelle, presque de la reconnaissance, elle s'appliqua à lécher, masser et choyer les pieds de sa Reine.

À 23h17, les respirations d'Anna se firent régulières. Elle dormait.

Dans un silence religieux, Manon quitta la chambre. Elle descendit les marches vers le sous-sol rouge, rampa dans sa minuscule cage d'acier, et verrouilla elle-même le cadenas électronique. La journée en enfer était terminée. Épuisée, mais portée par l'illusion d'une vie meilleure, elle ferma les yeux.

(This is the first lewd story I have ever written. I want to continue this story for at least 4 parts, as I have a lot of ideas for the story, but let me know what you think.)

My dad remarried almost three years ago. It came with everything you’d expect from something like this, and yes, she is much younger. She’s in her thirties, but I’m not entirely sure of her age; I’m way too scared to ask at this point. Being in my third year of college, I really didn’t think much of it; it was just some dumb bimbo my dad was paying to marry him, is all I thought.

I was so very wrong.

Things started getting weird around 6 months after she moved into the old house, and with it, my life would change forever.

When I first met her, you could tell she had something in her eyes that most people did not have. A gaze that could put you three steps back without even thinking. Fiery hazel eyes and deep brunette hair with simple yet elegant curls that hung just near her shoulders. She was average in height, with tan skin, and looked athletic. I’d honestly never seen a girl that beautiful.

My fraternity brothers messed with me about it for weeks after they saw my dad's Instagram post. She was hot, and she definitely knew it.

I never talked to her much, and my dad traveled for work, so I only saw them maybe every three months or so.

I went home for Christmas, the first one with Natalie, and my dad, as usual, was stuck in some other country for Christmas. I'd usually just stay at college cause he can never make time anyway, but the snow was bad this year, so I was stuck in the house, just me and Natalie.

This was the month that would change my life forever.

I was sitting on the couch looking at my phone when Natalie walked in. Up until this point, we hadn't talked much; she asked me about school in the kitchen for a bit while I ate, but over the last three days we barely interacted.

This time she walked in, wearing something I had never seen before. It was a leather corset with stockings and thin latex panties painted over her pussy. I was stunned, shocked, and honestly scared. Why in the world was this happening? It felt like a dream. Sure, she was hot, but this felt like a porno.

All I got out before she began to speak was, "What?..."

She said, "I usually ease into this, but I found your laptop open on your bed, sweetie. I saw all the porn you have SAVED on your desktop. Seriously, who even downloads porn these days?"

She giggled when she said that like a succubus, with evil pleasurable intention.

"How often do you jerk that cock?"

I stared at her in shock.

"By the look of those stains on your sheets, it's multiple times a day; don't worry, we will fix that."

She sat next to me with her arm draped around my legs, crossed, her heels and latex stockings shining at me with dominance.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for what I saw on your desktop, sissy: chastity, anal, BDSM…”

She whispered in my ear, "QOS; BBC.”

My soul sank out of my stomach when she said that.

"It's almost like you want to be those sluts you're rubbing your clitty too. Is that right, sweetie?"

I stood up quickly, pulling my shirt down to hide my hard dick.

"I'm not really sure what you're saying..." I said nervously with panic in my voice.

She laughed with that same evil tone, "It's okay, sweetie. I'm not upset; I'm glad!"

She pulled a collar out from behind her back that read "SLUT.”

She spoke with a clear voice, "I’ll make a deal with you: I won't tell your dad and all your frat bros about your sissy obsession, and you put this on."

I was on the verge of passing out from the amount of blood rushing through my body. My adrenaline was pumping as she changed positions of her crossed legs, pausing long enough with her open legs for me to see a flash of the shape of her plump pussy.

I said with passion and fear, "You can't do this; I have a life. This would ruin it. You can't!"

She raised an eyebrow and spoke with so much dominance it almost hit me like a spell from a witch, "Then put on the collar slut."

I threw my phone down. "Fine, whatever, give me the damn collar."

I put it on, and she quickly moved behind me to tighten it and place a tiny lock on the buckle.

MY eyes widened when I heard the click.

"What the Fuck! Did you just lock it!"

I was livid, excited, horny, and terrified all at once.

“Of course I did, and it will stay locked until I decide otherwise. Locks are going to become a normal part of your life; they have been for me for a long time. Locks make me so..."

She leaned into my ear and whispered, “Excited.”

She took a picture as she spoke.

“Aww, you look so cute slut! Now if you want this picture to stay between you and me, kneel."

I knelt, knowing the blackmail was too strong at this point; I was at her will, and honestly, I was kind of excited.

She walked over to the drawer by the TV, pulled out a chain leash, and hooked it onto my collar. She then sat on the couch and pulled me closer as she spread her legs, my face maybe a foot from her shapely pussy.

"I bet you want to lick it so bad, I bet you would even settle for a sniff."

I stared at the tight latex hugging her pussy lips, with the coverage of the tiny panties barely covering it. I could feel the heat coming off it as I noticed the sheen of liquid running out the bottom of her latex thong coverage. She was wet; I think she was hornier than I was.

I could only think about burying my face into it, but could I even do it? What would she do? I was terrified to move.

"Take your clothes off slut," she ordered.

I was skinny but fit, with slightly masculine features. My 4-inch cock flopped out fully erect when I took my underwear off.

"Look how cute! Your little cock is so adorable."

I felt immediate shame; I thought it was average, not a single one of the 6 girls I had been with had complained about it.

"I bet those ditsy sorority girls love it."

She giggled as she continued, "I doubt you could ever satisfy a real woman; maybe we should make your dreams come true."

She got up and led me on my hands and knees to the master bedroom. She reached into a box at the end of the bed, which I thought was for sheets. She pulled out a pink chastity cage, the first one I would ever see in person. I had always wanted to try one, but I never acted on those urges.

She sat on the chair next to the box.

"Come here, sweetie."

I was resistant at first, until she tugged the leash with a slight motion yet with more force than I expected. I stumbled forward before her as she began pulling my balls through the ring of the cage.

She moved my testicles around with care and precision, almost like she had done this a thousand times. It was so quick, but before I could get a word in, she was forcing my hard dick into the small cage. She attached a belt to the cage and kissed my dick; I almost came that very moment.

"All better, I bet it feels real tight in there with how hard you were, but four inches fit in that tiny cage pretty easily. Now put these on."

She pulled a pair of pink panties off the bed, with teddy bears on them. I put them on; I still couldn't believe this was happening.

She then pulled out a large white vibrator wand.

"Now go back to the living room and put your clothes on. I'm going to cum a few times and go to bed. If you need anything, let me know!"

I responded, confused, "Wait, what! That's it?"

"Well, what did you expect slut?"

"I'm just confused about what is happening right now," I said with panic in my voice.

"Well, you're my slut now, and if you don't do what I say, then you can say goodbye to your fratty college life. All those sorority girls and bimbos who can't fuck to save their lives would never talk to you again. Is that what you want?"

I responded angrily, “No, I guess not."

"Exactly, now go put your clothes on and leave me alone Slut."

I walked out of the room as she shut the door behind me. I looked down at the locked cage and felt the collar tight around my neck. I couldn't believe this was happening.

I would be lying if I said this wasn't a fantasy of mine, but this felt so strange. I was so scared, but I walked into the living room, put my clothes back on, and went to my room.

I passed for a few minutes before deciding I just needed a shower. I fiddled with my caged cock, trying to see if I could masturbate somehow, but it really was impossible.

I cleaned up and lay in my bed, confused and the horniest I had ever been in my entire life. I didn't sleep a single hour that night.

Chapitre 1

Chapitre 2

Premier essai

Il aura fallu patienter quelques jours, guettant fébrilement les signes de l’ovulation de ma Princesse, pour que le jour J advienne enfin. Le cliquetis métallique de la serrure a résonné comme une promesse : mon sexe était libéré de sa geôle pour une courte fenêtre de tir, notre première véritable tentative de procréation.

Pourtant, la liberté ne rime pas avec l'anarchie. Les premières étreintes furent marquées du sceau de la frustration. Alors que la tension montait et que mon corps réclamait son dû, elle profitait de cette vulnérabilité pour affirmer son emprise.

— Ne bouge plus, m'ordonna-t-elle d'une voix sans appel au moment critique.

Obéissant, je figeai mon corps. Mon sperme s’écoulait en elle de façon presque pathétique, une semence offerte sans l'explosion de l'extase, un orgasme ruiné qui me laissait haletant, le regard implorant. Je voyais mes précieuses chances de jouir véritablement s'évaporer.

Jusqu'au soir où, dans la pénombre chaleureuse de notre chambre, son expression s'est adouci.

— Ce soir, mon amour, je t'autorise à jouir avec moi, murmura-t-elle en caressant mon torse.

Une libération absolue. Une offrande si rare et précieuse que j'en ai savouré chaque fraction de seconde, prolongeant chaque coup de rein pour étirer ce miracle dans le temps, jusqu'à l'explosion finale.

Dès la période d’ovulation achevée, la sentence est tombée : retour sous les verrous. La cage s'est refermée sur mon sexe jusqu'à la prochaine occasion. L'homme en moi, cet animal primitif ravivé par ces quelques jours de liberté, espérait secrètement que ce cycle se répète vite. C'était si bon, me soufflait mon instinct, réclamant que cette éjaculation redevienne une habitude. Mais dans l'échiquier de notre couple, je ne suis pas le Roi. Je ne fais que savourer les permissions qu'elle m'accorde ; le reste du temps, je dois puiser mon plaisir ailleurs.

Au bout de quelques jours d'encagement, la fureur de la testostérone est retombée. Mon esprit s'est apaisé, retrouvant cette docilité amoureuse qui fait notre force, et nous avons repris le cours de notre sexualité alternative, sans l'usage de mon sexe.

Ma Princesse est une Reine dans l'art de la frustration. Elle sait m'emmener au bord du précipice, là où le souffle se coupe, pour tout stopper au millimètre près, sans que je n'aie mon mot à dire. Avec la pratique de la chasteté, mon corps a fini par faire le deuil de la pénétration classique. Il s'est métamorphosé, éveillant des zones insoupçonnées.

— Tu aimes quand je te fais ça ? susurrait-elle en mordillant mes tétons devenus d'une sensibilité extrême.

— Oui, ma Princesse... gémissais-je, incapable de retenir un frisson.

Mes bourses, elles aussi, réagissaient à la moindre sollicitation. Mais la révélation la plus bouleversante fut sans doute l'éveil de mon anatomie intime : le plaisir anal s'est imposé comme la source de jouissance primordiale dont mon corps devait se nourrir. Elle orchestrait tout cela avec une maestria absolue, me dressant comme on dompte un lion. Chaste et dévoué, je me prosternais à ses pieds, vouant un culte fervent à cette partie de son corps. Elle alliait parfaitement son propre besoin de relaxation à ma soumission, me laissant dévorer ses orteils pendant qu'elle savourait son pouvoir.

Les jours ont filé. Un matin, le verdict du premier test de grossesse est tombé.

— C'est négatif, soupira-t-elle, une pointe de déception assombrissant son visage.

— Ce n'est que le premier essai. Ce serait trop beau que ça marche du premier coup...

Mon esprit masculin, habile et pervers, a aussitôt calculé que cela signifiait une nouvelle fenêtre d'ovulation, et donc, de potentiels orgasmes à venir. Pourtant, au plus profond de moi, une intuition tenace persistait. Mon instinct me hurlait qu'elle portait déjà la vie.

Il a fallu attendre l'approche de Noël pour que la vérité éclate. Un soir, elle s'est approchée de moi avec un petit paquet entre les mains, un sourire radieux et indéchiffrable aux lèvres.

— Joyeux Noël en avance. Ouvre-le.

J'ai défait le ruban avec précaution. À l'intérieur, j'ai d'abord trouvé un magnifique string en dentelle pour homme, promesse de futures nuits de docilité. Puis, mon regard s'est posé sur le fond de la boîte. Un test de grossesse. Positif.

Mes yeux se sont embués. Mon intuition ne m'avait pas trompé ; face à l'apparition de symptômes indéniables, elle avait secrètement retenté l'expérience. Nous avions réussi. Nous allions être parents. L'allégresse m'a submergé, totale, pure. Puis, en croisant son regard pétillant de malice, une réalisation brutale est venue me percuter de plein fouet.

Ce test positif signait l'accomplissement de notre rêve, mais il marquait aussi le lancement officiel du tant redouté Locktober XXL.

Chapitre 3

Le principe

Le Locktober, soit. Mais sa version XXL, qu’est-ce que c’est exactement ? À présent que la grossesse était une certitude absolue, il nous fallait définir les contours de ce défi. L’envie nous dévorait autant que l’appréhension, car s'engager sur une telle durée n'a rien d'anodin pour un couple. Ce vertige, nous l'avons longuement apprivoisé à travers des nuits de discussions, ajustant nos désirs pour finalement aboutir à un pacte, un véritable contrat d'abandon qui fixerait les règles de ma soumission.

Dans la pénombre de notre chambre, le premier point à trancher fut celui de la durée.

— Neuf mois de grossesse, c'est déjà un beau voyage de chasteté, avais-je lancé, mi-amusé, mi-inquiet.

Ma Princesse m'a regardé, un sourire espiègle étirant ses lèvres.

— Neuf mois ? Ce serait dommage de s'arrêter en si bon chemin, tu ne trouves pas ? Et si on y ajoutait le retour de couches ?

— Ça nous mène facilement à une année entière... Douze mois ferme !

Une folie, me diriez-vous. Je le concède, l'échéance est vertigineuse. Mais l’objectif n'était pas la simple privation : il s'agissait de sublimer ce moment unique de notre vie, de pimenter notre quotidien et d’opérer une métamorphose. Celle d'un homme autrefois passif, transformé en un partenaire actif et dévoué, modelé par l’outil implacable de la suprématie féminine. Douze mois, donc. Mais en mon for intérieur, je savais déjà que si le plaisir et l'équilibre que nous en tirions étaient aussi immenses que je l'espérais, ce défi d'un an risquait fort de devenir notre éternel quotidien.

Le deuxième grand chantier de nos négociations concernait les conditions de libération de mon sexe. Jusqu'ici, le concept restait flou, oscillant entre le "un peu", le "quand elle veut" et le "jamais". Nous devions trouver notre nouvel équilibre. Une règle fondatrice fut posée sans appel : aucun orgasme complet ne me serait accordé avant la fin du défi.

Pour définir la fréquence des orgasmes ruinés – ces jouissances avortées et pathétiques –, nous avons décidé de nous en remettre au hasard. Elle a fait rouler un dé sur les draps. Le cube a vacillé avant de s'immobiliser sur le chiffre 5. Nous avons fixé le petit carré d'ivoire en silence.

— Cinq fois par mois... a-t-elle murmuré, une moue désapprobatrice sur le visage. C'est beaucoup trop généreux.

— Je suis d'accord, ai-je avoué, l'esprit déjà façonné par ma condition de soumis. Ce serait presque une routine.

Un nouveau débat s'est alors ouvert, et de ce chiffre cinq, nous avons extrait notre propre loi :

Un seul et unique orgasme ruiné par mois : Et encore, sans aucune garantie. Ma Princesse se réservait le droit divin d'annuler cette maigre aumône selon son humeur, me condamnant à patienter un mois de plus dans l'espoir de vidanger quelques gouttes de ma frustration.

Les quatre points restants : Ils seraient convertis en séances de plaisirs imposés, tournés vers ma condition de soumis (stimulation des tétons, plaisir anal), sans jamais impliquer l'orgasme ni mon sexe.

— Tu n'auras le choix de rien, décréta-t-elle doucement en caressant ma joue. Ni du lieu, ni du moment, ni de la méthode, ni de la durée. Je connais ton corps mieux que toi-même. C'était à la fois terrifiant et atrocement excitant.

Cette régulation stricte n'est pas sans conséquences biologiques. Nous avions déjà remarqué que la chasteté prolongée métamorphosait mon anatomie. Mon sexe, privé de sa libération, pleure de désir. Dès qu'une vague de plaisir me traverse, un liquide séminal clair et visqueux s'en écoule lentement, rappelant la lubrification naturelle d'une femme. Mes bourses, elles, se gorgent. À vue d'œil, après quelques semaines d'enfermement, elles doublent de volume, devenant un réservoir lourd et tendu.

Un stockage si massif que, lors des rares orgasmes ruinés (où toute stimulation cesse à la seconde où l'éjaculation s'amorce), le sperme qui s'en échappe est abondant, bien que la contraction soit bloquée et le réservoir jamais totalement vidé. Cette semence précieuse, nous avions décidé de ne plus la gaspiller. Elle serait désormais récoltée, utilisée comme lubrifiant ou comme offrande. Même engagé dans la cage, incapable de se dresser, mon sexe ne connaîtrait qu'un plaisir étouffé, écrasé contre l'acier ou la résine.

Face à ces contraintes, la peur aurait pu m'envahir. Mais l'idée d'offrir à ma Princesse la grossesse la plus douce et la plus impériale possible balayait toutes mes appréhensions. Mon empathie et ma dévotion transformaient cette frustration en un puissant carburant.

Aujourd'hui, je porte un collier de soumission en permanence. C'est mon alliance, ma façon de crier au monde – bien qu'il ne comprenne pas – que je lui appartiens. Bientôt, l'encre d'un tatouage commun gravera notre passion pour la chasteté dans notre chair. Ce mode de vie, si tabou en France et souvent étouffé par une fierté masculine mal placée, est devenu notre pilier.

Il y a quelques mois, j'aurais moi-même balbutié de malaise face à une telle idée. Mais adieu machisme stérile et gloire phallocrate ; bonjour servitude, amour inconditionnel et véritable virilité. Car oui, depuis que je vis en cage, je me sens paradoxalement plus viril que jamais. Je suis un homme fier, en paix avec son couple, qui a choisi de placer la force brute de sa testostérone au service exclusif de la femme de sa vie, plutôt que de chercher à briller aux yeux des autres.

Le principe était acté. La mise en œuvre définitive fut fixée à une date symbolique : le 31 décembre, jour anniversaire de ma toute première mise en cage. Dès lors, il n'y aurait plus de retour en arrière. Il ne nous restait plus qu'à plonger dans cette parenthèse magique de la grossesse. Elle, régnant en Souveraine absolue sur un homme à ses pieds ; et moi, donnant tout pour la servir, chérissant chaque miette de plaisir que ma docilité saurait lui arracher.

Ian thrashed against his naked body against restraints trying to figure a way out of his problem. On her knees right in front of him was his stepmother Allison, masterfully stroking his cock.

It was all moving so quickly. Just a week ago he was in a normal relationship for her and then he stumbled onto that damn chastity cage. His curiosity cursed him to a week of denial where he had edged himself enough into thinking that submitting to her games was the smart play.

He naively thought that somehow all his lewd fantasies that he had shamefully stroked himself to were going to be filled right away if he just pulled along. Now no matter what choice he made, he was going back in that damn prison that had put him in this place.

"Please...please just let me cum"

The masterfully skilled hands slowed down allowing some of his brain function to return so he didn't focus everything on what was going on between his legs. "You get to cum right now baby, unless you don't want to..."

"I don't want to go back in the cage. I just want to cum."

"Aww baby, it's too late for that. Look at where you put yourself. Don't you like your step mommy stroking your cock?" Her cadence picked up slightly.

"Yesss" He hissed, trying to thrust his hips to get more traction but with no success. The more he thrusted the less pressure she applied with her fingers.

"Well, you can enjoy that and so much more. However, if you want to spend as little time in the cage as possible then you really have two options. The first is that ruined orgasm. I will stroke you right up until you can't stop from cumming and then-" She let go of his cock.

"I watch all your cum drip out and you have a ruined orgasm." He whimpered and kept trying to thrust his hips for traction.

"The other option is you beg me to lock you back up and then next week you get this"

Ian thought he got good head some of his prior girlfriends, but what Allison instantly erased that fiction. With no hesitation she slipped his cock into her mouth and sank effortlessly down his well-endowed member until the entire thing disappeared in her mouth. She then equally as casually withdrew, letting the tip slip from her lips with an audible pop. "You get that."

Her hands gently cupped his balls and began to gently massage them, keeping him nice and primed. "it's up to you baby, now make your choice before I do."

A moment was given to allow his internal debate, but it did not last long before she began to stroke him once more. With one final application of lube it became clear this was the final few seconds he was going to have.

Ian writhed and moaned, his cock throbbed and protested in her hands Equally desperate to spill his load as fill her mouth once more. He simply could not get it back out of his head.

"Please...." He pleaded. She offered no mercy or reply and continued stroking him.

He closed his eyes and shivered, trying to come to terms with what he knew he really wanted. "Please - Please lock me back up."

No sooner did the words leave his mouth then all the friction on his cock. His body did its best to try and cum despite what he asked but all he managed to do was pathetically thrust and bob into open air.

Before he could recover though he felt Allisons lips smash into his with mixture of passion and lust. Her tongue dover into his mouth and he welcomed it. He tried to move his arms to embrace her, fuck her, he didn't know anymore but they remained bound at his side.

"I knew you were special. Good boys get rewards from mommy. But let's get you locked back up first like you want me too."

Before he could conjure protest she was out of the room, only to return with a damp cloth a moment later. She wiped him down and then slowly compressed the cage back into his cock with a satisfying click.

"Now for your reward" She went over to the closet and retrieved a blindfold and a very life like dildo that was not dissimilar to his own size. She took away his sight and then shortly after she heard the rummaging of clothing being peeled away.

She leaned her body up against him. Her large breasts with erect nipples pressing into his chest as she seductively cast into his ear "You have not earned the right to see me naked, but what you just did for me was so hot I just need a good fucking. I hope you don't mind as I make myself cum a few times."

A firm hand grabbed hold of his encased cock "Be quiet and enjoy the sounds I am about to make. I will leave your imagination to fill in the gaps."

Sounds a vibrator took over and then he began to hear heavier breathing. The reality of the situation of knowing his stepmom was masturbating right Infront of him, looking at him was torture.

His hips tried to roll and thrust as if he wasn't locked in place, as if his cock wasn't locked in a painfully tight prison, as if he could fuck her.

The more he struggled, the, closer Allison seemed to get. Soon he heard verbal cries of pleasure that he knew to be the sound of her receiving her first orgasm. 3 more soon followed, each louder and more intense sounding then the last before finally the vibrator went silent.

"Mmm, that is just what I needed. You make a great visual tied up and desperate like that."

"For the next week, I do not want you pestering me with your needs. If you beg me for release I will just postpone it as much as I deem fit."

He felt one of hands being freed up and then heard her walk away. It took him longer than he cared to admit but eventually he freed himself from the device and went to his room. He collapsed down onto his bed and the totally of the night took hold and he quickly fell into a deep slumber.

He didn't need an alarm clock to wake him up the next morning. A dull ache between his legs rose him from his morning slumber. It took him a moment to process why the sensation was only for the prior night to leak back into his memory. He let out a soft tired and sexually frustrated grown as his denied erection attempted to rub itself against the soft sheets. All he managed to do after a few minutes was leave a wet spot on the bed but no closer to orgasm.

Allison paid him no mind like nothing had ever happened. He wanted to pester her with a million questions, but she seemed not remotely interested in talking about. Not wanting to push his luck he resigned himself cleaning up things around the house, often at her request.

As he lay in the bed tossing and turning at the end of the day though he masochistically activated the remote teasing functions on his cage and edged himself twice to an orgasm before giving up and trying to catch some weak sleep. He swore he woke up late in the night, hearing the quiet hum of a vibrator from the shared wall.

The next day however things picked up speed. She called him over to the living room where she was relaxing on the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and her phone in the other.

"Take a seat on the ground" She gestured the ground in front of him.

"I have been busy on my feet all day and I could use a nice long relaxing foot rub. Are you interested?"

"Yes" He quickly responded. Eager for any opportunity to get his hands on her.

As he began to work on her feet, she let out a little sigh. "I could get used to this."

A few taps later on his phone his cage began a very subtle vibration causing him to jump a little in surprise and look at her. He had forgotten she could do that. "Do you not like it when I do that?"

His cheeks flushed with a bit of color, and he quietly whispered, "I like it."

"Tell me, what do you like."

His face turned crimson. forcing him to build up courage before answering. "I like it when you make the cage vibrate."

"You like it when your step mommy plays with your cock?"

The mixture of shame and lust left his stomach in knots. Unable to say yes, he vigorously nodded and tried to keep his focus on her feet.

The foot rub lasted a total of 30 minutes before she eventually turned off the vibrations on his prison and casting him off to leave her alone for the rest of the evening before calling it a night early on and retreating back to her room.

The next two days featured no activity much to the mercy and torment Ian. She seemed impossibly capable of turning her sexuality on and off at the drop of a hate much to his frustration. At least that was the act she kept up with him.

On the fourth day she came roaring back onto her desire, perhaps unable to hold it back.

No sooner then he came down for breakfast then she beckoned him over. "Have you been enjoying yourself so far this week?"

"it's been very hard, but I have been really enjoying it."

She placed her hands on his hips and leaned in giving him a kiss. "Good."

"You have no idea the things I have been thinking about doing to you...the things I will do to you if we continue after the end of this week." His heart fluttered at the words and his cock filled up every millimeter of space it was provided.

She leaned in and kissed him again. This time her hands slipped forward and undid his pants. Seconds later his cock as free and in her hands. As their lips parted, he looked down and watched the cruel lust cement itself upon her lips. "It looks like you are excited for what may come as well. However..."

She released his cock leaving it bobbing in the open air between them. "Today is chore day."

"You are to clean the kitchen, bathrooms and the living room today. I want them spotless. Also, I want you naked while you do it. Take it all off."

He stripped down to the already exposed cage, leaving her to drink him in from head to toe like a tasty snack.

She fought back the urge to praise his magnificent body and just jump him right then. Her cunt ached to be serviced but she stuffed the urge back down knowing she had to break him in proper. Unlike his father which was given free rein to be a selfish lover just like so many men before him. He was going to make up for each and every single one. He had no idea the things she had planned for him.

"Get to work unless you want to be at it all day." A quick and playful swat on his exposed butt cheeks send him on his path. This power was intoxicating and the thing she craved above all else was more of it. His suffering would be legendary if it was going to satiate her appetite.

An fantasy advertisement for a prospective partner, beginning with chastity, then full body latex, then servitude.
- If you’d consider entering such a relationship leave a like and a comment, and tell me what it’d feel like for you, taking on this role.

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I want to be very clear about the kind of FLR I am looking for.

I am not looking for a boyfriend who occasionally lets me take charge in bed. I am not looking for a man who wants a little teasing, a little roleplay, and then to go back to normal. I am looking for a man who wants to be shaped by me.

I want a boyfriend who becomes softer, more obedient, more useful, more sexually dependent, and more focused on my pleasure than his own. I want a man who wants his old version of masculinity slowly stripped away and replaced with service, denial, control, and presentation.

If you want to be with me in this kind of relationship, your first major commitment will be three months in chastity.

That means no orgasms. No touching yourself. No masturbation. No touching the cage for any stimulation. No edging yourself. No using your penis for your own pleasure. The cage stays on except for washing, health, and practical care. You may clean yourself in private, but you do not get private sexual access to yourself.

For those first three months, your job is to learn what it feels like when your arousal no longer belongs to you.

You will wake up locked. You will clean locked. You will cook locked. You will do housework locked. You will relax locked. You will go to sleep locked. You will get hard and have nowhere to go with it. You will feel the cage stop you again and again until your body learns that wanting something does not mean you get to have it.

At first, it will probably feel exciting. You will be turned on by the rule, by the cage, by the fact that I mean it. You may feel brave, eager, proud, desperate to please me. Then it will start to feel real. You will want to touch. You will want relief. You will want to bargain. You will realise that this is not just a sexy weekend game where you get unlocked once you are needy enough.

That is the point.

I want you to sit inside that need until it changes you. I want you horny and unable to solve it. I want you learning that your frustration is not an emergency. I want you learning that your desire is something you carry for me. You will not be ruined by it. You will become more focused, more sensitive, more responsive, more mine.

During those first three months, I will start introducing the rest of your role. Not all at once, but piece by piece. A collar. Latex gloves. Latex underwear. Latex socks. Wrist cuffs. Ankle cuffs. A harness. A hood. Small pieces at first, so your body starts to understand what comes next.

Because chastity is only the first layer.

After the first three months, chastity will no longer be treated as a trial. It will be your normal state. At that point, I want to begin moving you properly into your presentation role.

I want you becoming my locked, enclosed, controlled house husband. Not a boyfriend who works from home and happens to be wearing a cage. Not a man in normal clothes with a secret underneath. A house husband. Mine. Kept at home, useful at home, trained at home, and presented at home exactly how I want you.

Your day will be built around service. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, errands, preparing things for me, keeping the house beautiful, making yourself useful, waiting for instructions, and staying ready. Your job will be to make my life easier, prettier, calmer, and more indulgent while your own sexual need remains locked away.

You will be caged 24/7. You will be dressed in latex through the day. You will learn to clean, cook, wait, serve, kneel, stand, and exist in that state. The latex will stop being an outfit and start becoming your normal skin.

Eventually, when you are with me, I do not want to see you casually naked or normally clothed at all. I do not want the ordinary version of you presented to me. I want that version removed from my sight. You may wash privately, blindfolded, so you will not be seeing your normal body. No mirrors. No admiring yourself. No private little moments of being an ordinary naked man. Cleaning is cleaning, not freedom.

Outside of that, you will be enclosed.

Fully.

When you are with me, I want you in full-body latex. Not just a collar. Not just gloves. Not just something cute around the edges. Full enclosure. A latex catsuit or full-body suit covering you from neck to wrist to ankle. Latex gloves or mitts over your hands. Latex socks or attached feet. A hood over your head. Your face covered. Your hair hidden. Your normal skin erased. A collar at your throat. Your chastity cage locked underneath it all. A harness, cuffs, leash, or restraints when I choose.
I want the ordinary male body softened into something sealed, shiny, controlled, and obedient. I want you polished and covered. I want your hands no longer looking like ordinary hands. I want your face no longer available in the usual way. I want your body turned into a smooth latex shape that belongs in my house and under my control.

I want the sight of you to remind both of us that you are not presenting as an equal sexual man waiting for access. You are presenting as my locked latex gimp.

That is how I want to see you.

And eventually, that is how others will see you too.
If I have friends round, you will be dressed that way. If I have partners round, you will be dressed that way. You will not get to switch back into “normal boyfriend” because someone else is present. Your role does not disappear because there is company. If anything, company will make it more real.
Nobody will see the ordinary version of you in my home. Not me. Not my friends. Not my partners. The only version of you people will see is the enclosed version: caged, covered, hooded, collared, polished, and useful.

My friends will not look at you and think, “That is her normal boyfriend.” They will understand immediately that you occupy a different place. They will see that you are kept. They will see that you are trained. They will see that you are not there to be casually masculine, charming, flirtatious, or equal in the room. You will be there as my house husband, my servant, my latex gimp, the quiet controlled presence in the background making things easier for me.

Some of them may be amused. Some may be curious. Some may be impressed that you can actually take it. Some may find it exciting to see a man reduced so completely into service. Some may tease you. Some may ignore you. Some may talk about you while you are right there, because the hood and the latex will make it easier for them to see you as a role rather than as an ordinary boyfriend. And the ball gag in your mouth will prevent retort.

That will get into your head.

You will hear people laughing, chatting, drinking, flirting, relaxing, while you are the one in latex fetching things. You will feel the heat under the hood. You will feel your cage under the suit. You will feel how different you are from everyone else in the room. You will know that they can see exactly what you are. Not your normal body. Not your normal face. Not your normal self. Just my enclosed, obedient house husband.

That may make you feel exposed. It should.
It may make your face burn under the hood. It may make you feel small, ridiculous, needy, proud, embarrassed, desperate, and unbelievably turned on all at once. Good. That is the point of enclosure. It does not just cover you. It changes how you feel about yourself. It takes away the casual, normal version of you and leaves something more obedient in its place.

You will still be wanted. But you will not be wanted in the ordinary way.

You will be wanted as my locked partner. My obedient house husband. My latex house pet. My caged servant. The one who cleans, cooks, serves, waits, watches, and stays hard for me without release.

Your arousal will be kept alive, not satisfied. I may tease you. I may edge you. I may make you ache. But you do not get to turn that into an orgasm just because your body is begging for one. The frustration is part of your role. The ache is part of your usefulness. Your need is something I will enjoy managing.

By around six months, I want you fully aware of what you are choosing. You will have spent months locked, denied, teased, dressed, enclosed, hooded, restrained, and trained into service. If I allow you an orgasm then, it will not be a return to normal. It will be a closing ceremony. One last release before your role changes permanently.

After that, your orgasms will no longer be something you expect from me. That will be your last orgasm for 10 years. My locked husband will hold the record for the longest 24/7 chastity, orgasm-free latex gimp.

You will not touch your penis. You will not masturbate. You will remain caged. I may edge you once a week to keep you needy, sensitive, and obedient, but you will not be working toward release. You will be kept in a state where you are aroused, controlled, and useful.

Eventually, I want my freedom to become part of your service. I want to be able to take other partners while you remain locked. I want you present, caged, enclosed, and useful. You may be made to watch. You may be made to fetch what I need. You may be made to kneel, wait, clean, prepare, or serve while I enjoy myself freely.

You will be dressed for that too.

Not half-dressed. Not casually locked. Not sitting there as my boyfriend in normal clothes, pretending this is just a kinky scene. You will be fully enclosed in latex. Hooded. Caged. Controlled. The contrast will be obvious, and it is supposed to be obvious.
They will be there as sexual partners. You will be there as mine.

That will be hard for you. It is supposed to be hard.
It will make you jealous. It will make you ache. It will make you feel small, exposed, desperate, and incredibly aware that your place is different from theirs. They may get access to me in ways you do not. They may get to touch, take, and enjoy while you stay locked, covered, and obedient. You will feel the unfairness of it in your body.

If you disobey, you will lose even the privilege to see me naked for a week, except when I’m fucked by a more worthy partner.

You are the one being kept. You are the one being trained. You are the one whose arousal I own. You are the one who goes home with me, serves me, waits for me, cleans for me, cooks for me, and lives under my rules. You are not being replaced. You are being put into a much more specific role.

I want this because I do not want a half-hearted FLR. I want something real. I want control that reaches into your habits, your body, your clothing, your sexuality, your home life, your daily chores, your presentation, and your expectations.
I want you to feel owned in small ways all day, not just in dramatic moments at night.

I want you in the house in latex, caged and aware. I want you polishing, cleaning, cooking, folding laundry, kneeling, waiting, and serving while your body is sealed away from you. I want you doing ordinary household tasks dressed as what you are becoming. I want you to feel the cage when you move, the collar when you swallow, the hood when you breathe, the gloves when you touch, the latex when it clings to you. I want your ordinary day slowly contaminated by control until there is no clean separation between “real life” and “our dynamic.”

This will feel exciting, then difficult, then humiliating, then strangely natural.

You will have moments where you feel proud of yourself. Moments where you feel desperate.

Moments where you wonder why you asked for this.

Moments where one word from me makes you instantly hard and useless.

Moments where you hate the cage and moments where you feel naked without it.

Moments where the latex makes you feel trapped.

Moments where taking it off would feel more exposing than wearing it.

That is the transformation I want.

I want you to become the kind of man who does not reach for himself when he is horny. He reaches for chores, service, obedience, latex, and me. I want your body to learn that frustration is not something to escape. It is something you offer.

I want you to stop thinking of your normal naked body as something you are entitled to present to me. I want that version of you reserved only for private cleaning, and even then without ceremony, without mirrors, without indulgence. The version of you that belongs around me will be locked, covered, enclosed, and controlled.

So if you tell me you want an FLR with me, understand what I mean by that.

I do not want to simply be “in charge sometimes.”
I want to lead. I want to own the sexual pace. I want to decide when you are touched, when you are denied, when you are dressed, when you are displayed, when you are useful, when you are ignored, when you are shown off, and when you simply have to ache and behave.

This is not mild. It is not casual. It is not a little fantasy around the edges of a normal relationship.

If that scares you a little, good. It should.
If it makes you feel nervous, exposed, and excited at the same time, then you understand it.

And if the idea of becoming my locked, denied, fully enclosed latex house husband excites you more than it scares you, then you may be the kind of man I am looking for.

A while back, I wrote a story that received some great feedback. Thank you all for your kind words. I know it's been several months, but I'm finally back with a sequel. If there's still some interest, I might consider a part three. I hope you all enjoy it as much as the last one.

CHAPTER ONE (The Original Story)

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go on..."

Was this really happening right now? It felt surreal. The truth is, I was never good with the ladies, but her.. she was different. She didn't care about my insecurities. When I was with her, all my troubles seemed to melt away. I had never felt that way about anyone before. She wanted to do everything in her power to please me and I felt the same way about her. We hadn't been seeing each other very long, but it felt right. We were getting ready for another date tonight, but things were already going far different than I had ever anticipated.

"You said you wanted me to take more control, so drop 'em. Now. Don't make me ask again."

My face blushed as I slowly removed my boxers, revealing myself in full. The authority in her voice turned me on, and I could no longer hide it.

"Well look at you. Seems like you weren't kidding. You really do like it. That's cute." Again, I just blushed bright red, remaining silent unable to articulate my thoughts. "Aww, you're actually speechless. That's sweet. Now get on the bed." I sat down, as instructed.

"You know, I bought us something for our special night. But first, I want to have a little fun." She returns with a blindfold and covers my eyes. "If you want to satisfy your curiosity, you're going to do exactly as I say. Now just relax."

Oh no, what was she up to now? My curiosity was certainly piqued though. Now blindfolded, I felt her guide my arms up as she proceeded to secure them to the bed frame. Next she did the same with my ankles. Whatever she was planning, I had no chance of fighting at this point. She left and returned a minute later. I felt her slip something over my balls. Soon, a cool metallic feeling came over my cock as I hear a lock click on place. Then it hit me.. she didn't?? This couldn't be happening. Suddenly the blindfold was pulled off, and I was staring down helplessly at myself locked in a chastity cage. I'd seen them in porn plenty of times, but never had nerve to try one on. "You can't be serious. You expect me to wear that thing?"

"Of course, doofus. You said you wanted me to take control. I can't think of a better way!" I was blushing again. "Besides, it's not like you have a choice." She waves the keys in my face tauntingly. "I mean, you could always use our safeword and I'll take it off, but we both know you won't do that." My cock twitched in it's confinement, and I knew she was right. "See, he likes the idea, whether you do or not."

The smirk on her face was unmistakable. She was enjoying my predicament far too much. She hovered over me, so close that her long brown hair was dragging across my chest. She worked her way down to the cage. "Poor little guy is really struggling there. Maybe he wants some attention." Before I could answer, I feel her warm, wet tongue teasing me through the cage. I moaned with pleasure, and winced in pain as the cage strained. This was pure torture. After a minute or two, she shifts gears. "Actually, I have a better plan." With that, she pulls down her pants, revealing a silk pink thong, clearly damp from all the excitement. "You're going to see just how much I enjoy seeing you this helpless. Don't say a word or the blindfold goes back on. Deal?" I nod. With that, she begins to finger herself through the thong. As she continued stroking, the fabric continued getting more damp. She was in her element. A soft moan escaped my lips before I had realized, and I had to remind myself to stay quiet. I wasn't about to miss the show. "Shh. Just watch."

She continued as her gasps got louder. She cuddled up with me and started fumbling with the cage. I was desperate. "Just put it in. I don't care about the cage." She looked shocked, but quickly smiled. "That's a great idea!" She pulls the thong to the side and guides the cage just inside her. The warmth felt amazing, but the cage wasn't budging. As she pushed the cage in and out, I was losing my mind. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, she pulls back and shifted her focus to herself. Within a few moments, she was erupting in moans and gasps. I watched as the front of her panties flooded, clinging to her pussy as she fell back in exhaust. "That was amazing. I hope you enjoyed the show babe."

"That.. was fucking hot." I had never been hornier in my life. I looked down. My dick was dripping wet.

"Looks like he agrees," she said playfully. She takes her finger and scoops up the precum from the tip with a devilish smile on her face. "Here taste what I've done to you," as she wipes her finger on my tongue. She then proceeds to kiss me passionately. The taste was off-putting, but sharing it with her made the kiss so much more erotic. After a few minutes of making out, she pulls back.

"Now, one more thing before our date." She unties my legs, making sure my arms are still secure. She stands up, and pulls the drenched panties down and off. "You're going to wear these tonight."

"What?!," I stammered.

"You heard me. No arguing or you'll be spending more than the evening in them, along with the cage." Before I knew what was happening, she had slid them up my legs and around my waist. My cock was twitching again. Every inch of my predicament was visible through the fabric, now transparent from the dampness. My face was so flushed, I swear I could feel my heart beating in my cheeks. They were snug, but not too tight. They were the softest thing I'd ever worn. Every movement made them rub against me. The back end was firmly wedged up my backside, and the pink was just humiliating.

"Mmmm, good boy. Now I'm going to untie you and we're gonna have a great evening together. How does that sound?" I already knew better than to argue about anything. She untied my arms and handed me my clothes. "Get dressed. We have dinner reservations in less than an hour." I reluctantly obeyed, getting dressed.

Here I was, locked in a cock cage, wearing her dirty, wet panties, and completely under her thumb. "Oh, I may have conveniently forgot to mention one thing. You know that cage you're wearing? It's a special one I picked out just for you. There's a vibrator built in." She walks to the dresser where the box was laying and pulls out a remote, grinning wide. With one click, I feel it buzzing down below. I nearly jump as it catches me off guard. "I'm gonna have a lot of fun with this thing," she says with a sinister laugh, as she takes my hand and guides me out the door for our date.

I followed her out the door, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into. Only one thing was certain in my mind as we stepped into the car. This was going to be a long evening.

CHAPTER TWO

There we were, having already ordered and waiting for our food to arrive. The remote didn't leave her hand until we parked. She had turned on the vibrator a couple times throughout the trip, but mostly just used it to tease and taunt me. She didn't even need to use it at all. She was also very aware of that fact. The threat alone of the remote was enough to mess with my head, knowing full well the power she had with it in hand.

We sat across from each other, sharing our little secret that no one else dare know. I did my best to sit still, but continually found myself squirming in my seat. I couldn't get used to the panties she had put me in. The soft material rubbed against my most sensitive areas. I was leaking in my cage, perpetually making things damp and keeping me feeling frustrated and needy.

The conversation mostly stayed light as we ate our food, although she had a little smirk on her face every time I shifted in my seat. It was barely noticeable at first, but had grown unmistakable. She was enjoying my predicament entirely too much, and I was going to love every moment of it.

We finished up as I paid the bill and we headed back home. She starts shuffling around on the radio and we get lost in conversation - or so I thought. As we made our way out of the city into the countryside, the car grew silent for a few minutes as I notice her fumbling around in her purse. It was the remote. She was getting the remote. My cock started buzzing as I nearly jumped through the roof.

"Hey now! I'm trying to drive, why didn't you warn me like last time?"

"You're in a cage and wearing my dirty panties at my request. You saw me reaching in my purse. If you weren't expecting it, then I guess I'm not doing my job properly, am I?"

"Of course you are, Ma'am. I just would just appreciate a warning.. you know.. for safety reasons."

"You're absolutely right. But now you can expect it."

The cage rattled in my pants. Not enough for any relief, of course. Just enough to keep me straining down there the rest of the ride home. I had never been happier to get a lady home before. We made our way inside. I was so horny I couldn't keep my hands off her.

"Do you mind telling me why you're still wearing those pants?"

"Sorry, Ma'am." I unbuckle and lower them, stepping out and leaving them on the ground. The air brushed against my ass checks where my pants once were.

"Good boy. You've frustration has never looked cuter."

We looked at each other for a moment and both headed for the bedroom, kissing each other the whole way. After a couple minutes of making out, she pauses with a coy smile.

"You know, who said this date was over just because we're home? I'm thinking a movie! Something nice and romantic. I know just the one. It's one of my favorites. You'll love it!"

She was toying with me on purpose. I was already so frustrated, but I knew the consequences of saying no.

"That's what I thought. Good. I love an intimate cuddle session with a romantic movie. But first, we have to make sure you behave yourself in the meantime. Lay down and spread out."

Oh boy, here we go again. I lay down and raise my hands obediently as she locks them in place. She makes her way down to my legs, locking my ankles.

She grins. "Well isn't this a familiar sight. There's just something about seeing you tied down and helpless like that. And you really should control yourself. I can still see that cage through those damp panties. You're not getting out quite so easily this time."

"Didn't you say the cage was only for this evening?"

"The evening's not over with yet, my dear. We just discussed that. And remember, I'm in control. An evening.. a night.. a week.. what's the difference?"

"A WEE-" *mmmppphhh!* She had shoved a ball gag in my mouth, promptly buckling it and locking it in place with yet another padlock.

"I knew that would get your mouth open wide for me. Besides, it's not exactly out of the realm of possibility if you chose not to behave yourself. Now shut up and enjoy the movie. I'd make you some popcorn, but.. you know."

She hit play and turned out the lights, curling up next to me in bed. "Oh by the way, you'd better pay attention. Your release depends on it." What did she mean by that?? A few minutes into the movie, her hand began to wander, caressing my cage. Soon her tongue was tracing every sensitive spot on my body. As she worked her way downward, I was getting lost in the moment, buckling under the restraints. Only ten minutes had passed. I was already losing track of the plot, and knew I was in trouble.

Chapitre 4

Quelques secondes à peine après avoir vidé son verre, une torpeur d'une violence inouïe s'abattit sur Manon. Ses paupières s'alourdirent brusquement, et ses muscles refusèrent de répondre. En jetant un regard flou vers le canapé, elle croisa les yeux d'Anna. Il n'y avait plus de chaleur dans le regard de sa meilleure amie, seulement une froideur glaciale. Manon comprit alors son erreur fatale. Les verres. Elle les avait échangés.

« Non, pas ça... » murmura-t-elle dans un souffle pâteux.

Puis, le monde bascula et le noir absolu l'engloutit.

Restée seule, Anna se laissa glisser au fond du canapé en cuir, le souffle court, le cœur battant à tout rompre. Elle était abasourdie, le cerveau en ébullition, tentant de digérer la trahison vertigineuse qui venait de se jouer. Sa meilleure amie, sa confidente, avait froidement tenté de la droguer pour la réduire en esclavage. Les conséquences de ce qui se serait passé si elle n'avait pas surpris son manège lui donnèrent la nausée.

Poussée par un besoin irrépressible de comprendre l'ampleur de la machination, Anna se leva et descendit les marches menant au sous-sol. Le donjon était baigné de cette même lumière rouge étouffante. Elle se dirigea droit vers le recoin sombre où reposait la fameuse caisse en plastique transparent portant son nom. En soulevant le couvercle, le sang d'Anna ne fit qu'un tour. À l'intérieur : un assortiment d'accessoires de chasteté, un collier de dressage électrique neuf identique à celui des mâles, et un document imprimé. C'était un contrat de soumission. Et dans les espaces à remplir, le nom d'Anna était déjà inscrit au feutre noir.

Le choc laissa instantanément place à une fureur sourde. La colère enflamma ses veines. Elle laissa les objets en plan et remonta dans le salon. Le corps de Manon gisait, inerte, sur le tapis. Malgré la corpulence athlétique de son amie, Anna trouva une force insoupçonnée dans sa soif de vengeance. Elle hissa le corps lourd et inerte de la traîtresse sur son épaule et entama la lente descente vers les enfers que Manon avait elle-même bâtis.

Le Réveil de la Déchue

Lorsque Manon émergea des limbes, son esprit était noyé dans un brouillard épais. Puis, comme un coup de poignard, le dernier regard d'Anna lui revint en mémoire. Elle tenta de se redresser, mais un cliquetis métallique la figea. Ses poignets et ses chevilles étaient fermement entravés par de lourdes chaînes, la clouant au matelas du donjon. La panique s'empara d'elle.

« Anna ! Anna, aide-moi ! » hurla-t-elle de toute son âme.

Assise dans le fauteuil de velours, dissimulée par la pénombre, Anna observait la scène en silence. Elle s'approcha lentement et, sans avertissement, pinça férocement le mamelon de son amie. La douleur aiguë arracha un gémissement à Manon, qui réalisa soudain deux choses terrifiantes : Anna était là, et elle, Manon, était entièrement nue.

Elle se contorsionna pour échapper à la douleur et ouvrit de nouveau les yeux. Anna se tenait au-dessus d'elle, le visage impassible.

« Je vais te libérer, » déclara Anna d'une voix dénuée de toute émotion. « Mais avant, sache que tu portes désormais la même parure que tes deux chiens. »

Elle secoua la petite télécommande noire sous le nez de Manon avant de déverrouiller les chaînes du lit. Engourdie, Manon se redressa prudemment. C'est en se mettant debout qu'elle sentit le contact froid et rigide de l'acier sur sa peau. Elle baissa les yeux. Une ceinture de chasteté féminine, initialement prévue pour Anna, condamnait désormais son intimité, scellée à sa taille par un cadenas inviolable. À son cou, l'épais plastique du collier électrique serrait sa gorge.

Manon s'effondra, les larmes jaillissant de ses yeux.

« Non... tu n'as pas fait ça... Anna, pitié ! »

Impassible, Anna croisa les bras, entamant un interrogatoire impitoyable.

« À chaque tentative de manipulation ou de rébellion, je n'hésiterai pas à me servir de ce boîtier. Pourquoi as-tu voulu me droguer, Manon ? Dans quel but ? Pourquoi moi ? »

Dans un sursaut d'orgueil, refusant d'admettre sa défaite totale, Manon releva le menton et répondit avec un aplomb teinté d'arrogance :

« Parce que j'en avais le pouvoir ! Je voulais faire de toi mon esclave ménagère, te voir ramper à mes pieds. Tu serais restée chaste à vie, assignée à résidence ici, dans ce cachot. Tu aurais été ma chose, et j'aurais fait de toi le vide-couilles de Ben et d'Alex pour les décharger quand je l'aurais décidé ! Maintenant, retire-moi ces conneries, Anna, la blague a assez duré ! »

Anna resta figée, profondément choquée par la noirceur des révélations de cette femme qu'elle considérait comme sa sœur. Le sadisme de Manon n'avait plus aucune limite.

Le visage d'Anna se crispa. Elle leva la main et pressa le bouton de la télécommande.

Un cri d'agonie déchira le silence du sous-sol. La décharge électrique traversa le corps de Manon avec une violence foudroyante, la précipitant au sol dans de violentes convulsions. Anna maintint la pression pendant de longues et interminables dizaines de secondes, jusqu'à ce que Manon, incapable de contrôler son corps, s'urine dessus. Le liquide tiède se répandit sur le sol froid, se mêlant à la sueur de son calvaire. Enfin, Anna relâcha le bouton.

« Après tant d'années d'amitié... » cracha Anna, le regard lourd de déception. « C'est inconcevable. »

Haletante, le corps meurtri et souillé par sa propre urine, Manon se releva péniblement sur les genoux. Son aplomb avait volé en éclats. En larmes, brisée, elle implora le pardon, suppliant son amie d'oublier cette folie. Dans un acte de désespoir absolu, elle se pencha en avant et pressa ses lèvres contre les pieds nus d'Anna, ravalant son profond dégoût pour cette partie du corps afin d'implorer son pardon.

Mais Anna resta de marbre. Elle savourait l'instant, grisée par ce soudain sentiment de toute-puissance. Une idée, brillante et cruelle, venait de germer dans son esprit.

« Tu sais quoi, Manon ? » dit-elle d'un ton faussement enjoué. « J'accepte ton offre. Ben et moi allons venir habiter ici, dans cette magnifique propriété. Mais avec une nuance de taille... C'est toi qui seras l'esclave. Et je serai la Reine de ce harem. Tu te plieras à la moindre de mes exigences. »

Le visage de Manon se décomposa. Ses larmes redoublèrent face à une Anna désormais radieuse et sadique.

### Le Contrat de la Déchéance

« Va chercher ton ordinateur, » ordonna Anna. « Immédiatement. »

Tremblante, Manon remonta dans le salon et redescendit avec la machine. Anna lui arracha des mains, se détourna pour modifier le mot de passe de la session, puis le posa sur une petite table.

« Rédige un contrat d'esclave. À ton nom. »

Manon s'exécuta, frappant les touches de ses doigts tremblants. Derrière elle, Anna complexifiait la tâche, dictant des modifications humiliantes : Manon devait renoncer à tout droit sur sa propriété, se soumettre aux corvées les plus ingrates, et accepter sa bisexualité forcée pour le bon plaisir d'Anna, tout en restant strictement enfermée dans son armure d'acier.

Le document imprimé, Anna le lut avec satisfaction, puis jeta un stylo sur le sol, juste devant le visage de Manon.

« Signe, petite chienne. »

Les mains secouées de spasmes, Manon ramassa le stylo et griffonna sa signature sur le papier taché par ses propres larmes.

« Ta gourmandise t'a trahie, » murmura Anna, savourant sa victoire. « Tu viens de sceller ta déchéance et de me rendre infiniment riche et puissante. Je vais faire de toi une bonne chienne, serviable et docile. »

Manon réalisa qu'elle venait de plonger dans le cauchemar absolu. Son statut de Reine intouchable s'était évaporé. Anna sortit son téléphone et synchronisa le collier.

« Mode anti-aboiement activé. Testons le dispositif. Aboie. »

Pour ne pas subir les foudres d'une punition pire, Manon émit un jappement pathétique. Le choc électrique la frappa instantanément, lui arrachant un gémissement. Anna éclata d'un rire cristallin. Humiliée, profil bas, Manon pensa soudain à Alex. Elle ne contrôlait plus rien.

« Qu... qu'est-ce que vont devenir les hommes ? » osa-t-elle demander.

« Je ne sais pas encore, » répondit Anna avec désinvolture. « Ni même comment je vais leur annoncer que leur maîtresse a rétrogradé. En attendant, écoute bien tes ordres. Tu vas déplacer mes affaires dans la chambre principale. Ensuite, tu mettras toutes tes affaires personnelles dans des sacs poubelles pour la décharge, à l'exception de tes vêtements et de tes chaussures que je récupère, puisque nous faisons la même taille. Tu descendras le tout ici. Enfin, tu prépareras mon dîner et tu m'attendras à genoux, devant la cheminée. Et n'oublie pas : tu as interdiction formelle de te vêtir. »

La mort dans l'âme, Manon partit exécuter ses tâches, nue et brisée.

### Le Harem d'Anna

Pendant ce temps, Anna prit le temps de se rafraîchir avant de se diriger, avec deux heures de retard sur le planning initial, vers l'étable. En ouvrant la porte, elle fut accueillie par les regards interrogateurs des deux hommes embourbés, qui cherchaient Manon des yeux.

Sans un mot, Anna réactiva les colliers électriques avec sa télécommande. Elle s'approcha du tabouret de bondage et déverrouilla les sangles qui retenaient Alex. Épuisé, le corps martyrisé, il s'effondra lourdement sur la terre battue. De son trou béant s'échappait un mélange infect de lubrifiant et du sperme de Ben. Les deux hommes, conditionnés par la peur, rampèrent vers Anna pour baiser ses bottes.

Impassible, elle remplit la mangeoire de croquettes, changea l'eau croupie du seau, referma la cage de chasteté de Ben qui pendait, inutile, et quitta l'étable en verrouillant la lourde porte derrière elle. L'horloge tournait, et elle avait une maison à diriger.

De retour dans le salon douillet, Anna s'allongea sur le canapé en cuir. À l'étage, les bruits de pas précipités et les sanglots étouffés de Manon témoignaient de son obéissance. Anna esquissa un léger sourire de fierté. Elle prit l'ordinateur portable et entreprit de rédiger un programme journalier, une mécanique d'humiliation réglée à la minute près pour sa nouvelle possession.

### La Chute de la Reine

Une heure plus tard, Manon arriva dans le salon. Les yeux rougis, la peau frissonnante, elle vint s'agenouiller sur le carrelage près de la cheminée, face à la table basse. Anna s'installa confortablement dans le canapé et allongea ses jambes, venant poser ses pieds nus, encore sales de sa marche dans le jardin, à quelques millimètres du visage de Manon.

« Vénère ta Reine, » ordonna-t-elle.

Ravalant un haut-le-cœur, l'ancienne dominatrice approcha ses lèvres des pieds moites d'Anna et commença à les embrasser avec zèle.

Anna acheva la rédaction du planning et ordonna à sa chienne de la servir. Manon revint avec un plateau garni qu'elle déposa sur la table.

« Allonge-toi au pied du canapé, sur le dos, » commanda Anna. « Le carrelage est froid, et je n'ai pas l'intention d'y poser mes pieds. »

Manon s'exécuta. Anna posa lourdement ses talons sur la poitrine nue de son amie et dégusta son repas dans un silence olympien, savourant chaque seconde de ce triomphe.

À la fin du dîner, Manon se redressa pour débarrasser. La faim la rongeait, mais c'est surtout son envie d'uriner qui devenait insoutenable. N'osant pas parler de peur de déclencher le collier, elle mima son besoin pressant. Anna se leva, ouvrit la grande baie vitrée et pointa du doigt la pelouse du jardin, plongée dans la nuit.

Incrédule, Manon la fixa. Sa meilleure amie l'obligeait à se soulager comme un chien. Silencieuse, elle marcha dans l'herbe humide et s'accroupit derrière un bosquet.

« À quatre pattes ! » tonna la voix d'Anna depuis la terrasse.

C'en était trop. Manon s'effondra en larmes, détruite par cette déchéance vertigineuse. Sous le regard amusé et implacable d'Anna, elle dut se mettre à quatre pattes sur la pelouse et se soulager de la manière la plus humiliante qui soit.

À son retour dans le salon, elle découvrit deux gamelles en inox posées près de l'âtre. L'une remplie d'eau, l'autre de croquettes pour chien. Elle dut patienter de longues minutes, agenouillée, avant qu'Anna ne l'autorise à manger. Plongeant le visage dans la gamelle, Manon mastiqua la nourriture infâme. Mais avec le recul, au fond d'elle-même, une pensée misérable la consola : elle échappait au moins à la boue et aux viols du fumier. Elle n'était pas traitée comme les mâles.

Lorsque le sinistre repas prit fin, Anna fit glisser une feuille imprimée sur la table basse.

« Apprends ce planning par cœur. Dès demain matin, c'est ce qui dictera ta misérable existence. »

Anna se surprenait elle-même par son aisance naturelle à régner. Mais chaque fois qu'une once de pitié menaçait d'effleurer son esprit, elle se rappelait que Manon avait planifié ce cauchemar pour elle. La vengeance éteignait tout remords.

« Ce sera tout pour ce soir. Prends ta feuille, direction le donjon. »

Les deux femmes descendirent. Dans la pénombre éclairée par un unique néon rose, Anna ouvrit la lourde porte en grille d'une petite cellule d'acier, mesurant à peine plus d'un mètre de haut. Manon y rampa, cherchant désespérément une lueur de compassion dans le regard de son amie. En vain.

« Le cadenas de cette cage est électronique, » expliqua Anna en refermant la grille. « Il s'ouvrira automatiquement à 6h30 tous les matins. Une alarme sonnera, ce sera le top départ de tes corvées. Bonne nuit, esclave. »

Anna tourna les talons, la laissant seule. Allongée sur un fin matelas crasseux, incapable de se tenir debout, Manon tira une petite couverture élimée sur son corps nu. Du bout des doigts, elle caressa le métal froid de la ceinture de chasteté qui emprisonnait son sexe et exposait son anus. Épuisée par la brutalité de sa chute, elle sombra dans le sommeil.

De retour à l'étage, Anna prit possession de l'immense salle de bain. Plongée dans un bain moussant brûlant, un verre de vin à la main, elle se saisit de la carte bancaire de Manon. Sur son téléphone, elle entama une série d'achats compulsifs pour parfaire sa garde-robe de dominatrice. Elle rédigea ensuite deux e-mails lapidaires pour annoncer sa démission et celle de Ben à leurs employeurs respectifs, suivis d'un préavis pour résilier le bail de son appartement.

L'avenir s'annonçait radieux. Anna s'endormit dans des draps de soie, le cœur léger, impatiente de vivre sa nouvelle vie de Reine souveraine.

Author’s note: Mid-week chapter. It’s not a fun chapter, so I’ll keep it short.  Sometimes a story needs unsexy plot lol.  That being said, chastity starts next chapter, and the remaining chapters will be getting steamier.  Still very slow burn though, fair warning.  Thank you to everyone who is reading! 😊

All characters in this story are 18+

Link to Ch1; Link to Ch2; Link to Ch3

CHAPTER 4

Our parents both passed away suddenly, right at the beginning of Covid-19 pandemic.  They hadn’t been much of an active presence in our lives, travelling as much as they did for their business, but it was so cataclysmic and so shocking that it changed each of us, and caused us to dramatically re-evaluate our circumstances.
The home we’d lived in all our lives was deeded to an aunt & uncle who lived on the other side of the country.  The pandemic was raging, and our parents wishes had been simple, even before that – standard cremation, no funeral.  So that took care of that.  And our aunt & uncle decided, considering the danger of travel, a danger which had been so suddenly thrust to the forefront of all of our minds, the two of us would continue living in the house, on our own, as we had been successfully for some time now.  The loss, and the isolation of lockdown, changed things for us quite a bit.
There were no more dates for my sister, though she did tell me later that she still had several guys interested over text & video.  She was excited at how she was able to make it even more frustrating for them, because they had no idea if or when they’d ever see her in person.
At the same time, the deaths did change Emma.  She became firmer & more controlling, for one thing.  It seemed like she wanted everything to be exactly her way, as if somehow, if she had enough control, she’d be able to prevent future tragedies.  Yet she was still my cute little sister, and she managed to keep from coming off as cold.  Obsessed as I was, I would eagerly obey even the strangest requests.  They were never commands though.  Just asking that we do things the way she wanted more & more.  Simple requests or suggestions, always with a bubbly & enthusiastic smile.  Sometimes, it was hard for me not to lose myself in the innocence of her face.  In the end, predisposed as I already was to do as she said, she slowly became in complete charge of our house and our relationship.

For me, the change was more of a depression.  Not that my sister wasn’t also sad, but for me, it looked like time alone in my room, “self-care”, which usually just meant masturbating even more frequently somehow, and the final end to my already nearly nonexistent social life.

Trigger Warning: ||>!psychological horror, beaverment!<(ignore to go spoiler-free)

Chapter 6

I woke slowly in a modest room above the Evergreen Café, sunlight streaming through lace curtains. My head was heavy, almost empty. I knew only two things: my name was Josh, and there was a snug pink metal cage locked around my cock. It felt strangely right, like a part of me I shouldn’t question. I had no past, no family memories, just a quiet... urge... to build something here...

The town of Evergreen Hollow welcomed me. Mrs. Harlan at the general store gave me a job sweeping floors and stocking shelves while I found my feet. Old Mr. Whitaker, the retired carpenter, took pity on me and taught me the trade in his workshop behind the post office. “You’ve got good hands, son,” he’d grunt, passing me a plane or chisel. I spent long afternoons learning to work wood, the scent of pine and cedar filling my lungs. Villagers nodded to me on the street. Children waved. I felt… safe.

Evenings, I walked the forest trails, the ache in my cage a constant quiet companion. I learned to live with it, to channel the frustration into hard work.

Three months after waking, I stepped into The Timberline Bar on a crisp October Friday. The place was warm, golden light from hanging lanterns, the smell of beer and grilled burgers. Laughter rolled from a corner table.

She was there.

She sat with two friends, her long, platinum-blonde hair catching the light like a halo. She wore a soft cream sweater and jeans, green eyes bright with life. When she laughed at something her friend said, the sound cut straight through me. Our eyes met. She held the gaze, then smiled - slow, curious.

I sat at the bar. She came over twenty minutes later for another round.

“You’re the new guy working with Mr. Whitaker,” she said, voice warm and slightly husky. “I’m Elissa.”

“Josh.” My hand engulfed hers. Electricity.

We talked for hours. She was 28, worked at the town library, wrote poetry in the evenings. She loved the forest, old books, and quiet mornings. I told her what little I knew about myself... the fog, the fresh start. She didn’t judge. She listened like I was the most interesting thing she’d ever heard.

That night she came back to my little room above the café. Clothes came off slowly. When she saw the cage, she paused, then traced the bars gently.

“It’s locked,” I said, embarrassed.

Elissa leaned down and kissed my stomach. “I see that. It’s... different… but... I like different. You don’t need it to make me feel good, Josh.”

She guided my head between her thighs. I worshipped her for over an hour, learning every sigh, every tremble of her body. When she came, she pulled me up and held me tight, kissing me deeply. We fell asleep tangled together.

Our life together unfolded like the seasons.

We dated for eight months before I moved into her cozy apartment behind the library. I proposed on the forest trail where we had our first real date, kneeling in the fallen leaves with a simple silver ring I’d made myself in Whitaker’s workshop. She said yes with tears in her eyes.

We bought land on the outskirts... a sunny clearing beside a gentle stream. I built our house with my own hands, Whitaker and a few other men from town helping on weekends. Elissa planted a garden: roses, lavender, vegetables. We painted the nursery room soft yellow years before we’d need it, just because she liked the color.

Sex was beautiful and intimate. She loved riding my face, grinding against my tongue while she moaned my name. Sometimes she’d edge me for hours with her fingers through the bars until I was shaking and begging, then kiss me softly and say, “I wish I could make you cum, Josh, but there's just no way.” The cage stayed locked. I never looked for a way to remove it. We even tried the locksmith, he had no idea how he could do anything without actually damaging my dick. Serving her was my greatest pleasure.

But Elissa wanted children.

“I’ve always dreamed of it,” she whispered one night in our third year together, head on my chest. “A little boy with your eyes, or a girl who loves books like me. I want us to be a family.”

We tried. God, we tried.

For years we tried. She would straddle me, grinding against the cage while I sucked on her breasts or clit. She bought toys and vibrators. We made love in every room of the house. She tracked her cycles religiously. Every month her period came, and every month she would cry quietly in my arms while I stroked her silvering hair (it started going silver early, which she hated but I loved). Every time I'd cum through the cage, I wouldn't feel a single thing, but it was enough to try with Elissa. “I’m sorry,” she’d whisper. “I know it’s the cage… but I don’t want to do it with anyone else. It’s part of who you are. Part of us.”

I held her through it all. I built her a reading nook by the big window. I cooked her favorite meals. I massaged her back when she was stressed. I took her dancing in the town square on summer nights. The whole village knew us as the devoted couple: “Josh and his Elissa.” People smiled when we walked hand-in-hand down Main Street.

By the time she turned 40, the ache of childlessness had carved lines on both our faces. We made love less frantically but more tenderly. I worshipped her body with even greater devotion, bringing her to climax after climax while she mourned the empty nursery.

Then, on her 42nd birthday, everything changed.

She came running into the kitchen where I was making her favorite lemon cake, pregnancy test in hand, shaking.

“Josh… positive. It’s positive.” She shivered.

We both cried for twenty minutes straight, laughing through the tears. The doctors in the city had no explanation: “a miracle,” they called it. We didn’t care. Our miracle.

Pregnancy suited her. Her belly swelled beautifully. Her breasts grew full and sensitive. I was there for every moment.

I woke up early every day to make her ginger tea for the morning sickness. I rubbed cocoa butter on her growing belly every night, whispering to our baby. I built a beautiful oak crib with my own hands, carving little forest animals into the rails. When her back hurt in the third trimester, I carried her up the stairs. When she craved pickles and ice cream at 2 a.m., I drove to the 24-hour store in the next town without complaint.

The village threw us a baby shower. Mrs. Harlan knitted tiny blankets. Whitaker made a rocking chair. Elissa glowed, her silver-blonde hair braided with wildflowers.

The night labor started, it came fast and hard.

“Josh - the baby - it’s coming!” she gasped, clutching her belly.

I helped her into the car, but she was progressing so quickly we called the ambulance from the side of the road. They arrived within minutes. I climbed in beside her, holding her hand as contractions ripped through her.

“You’re so strong, my love,” I whispered, kissing her knuckles. “I’m right here. We’re almost parents.”

She squeezed my hand, sweating, smiling through the pain. “I love you, Josh. More than anything.”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” I told her, voice cracking. “I’m right here.”

She smiled through the pain, sweat-damp hair stuck to her forehead. “Our baby… Josh… I love you so much.”

I focused on her face, then on a small, perfectly round hole in the ambulance wall. Some kind of rivet or mounting point. It was strangely detailed. Too detailed. As another contraction hit and Elissa cried out, I stared harder into that tiny black circle, willing myself to stay strong for her.

The edges of the world began to fracture.

The hole widened. Cracks spiderwebbed outward. The ambulance lights flickered. Elissa’s voice distorted.

“Josh…?”

For a long moment everything was a blur of white light and fracturing code. My mind reeled, trying to hold onto the life that had felt more real than anything. The scent of pine from our forest home still lingered in my nose. The weight of Elissa’s hand in mine during labor felt so recent I could almost squeeze it back.

Then the world consumed me. I blacked out.

Slowly, the living room came into focus.

I was on the floor in front of the couch. The same familiar room. Sunlight streamed through the windows exactly as it had before Sarah activated the simulation. My heart hammered against my ribs.

A girl was kneeling right in front of me, her face inches from mine, looking concerned. Soft features, messy hair, wearing a loose tank top and tiny shorts.

Jessica.

My sister’s best friend.

The one who had locked me.

I see Emily.

Fuck. Recognition slammed into me like a fucking freight train.

“Jessica…” I croaked, voice hoarse from screaming in the simulation. I was back.

I pushed myself up on shaking arms and looked around wildly. Emily was sitting on the couch in her oversized t-shirt, legs tucked under her, watching everything with wide, quiet eyes. Sarah was just walking back into the room from the hallway, towel-drying her dark hair, still in her crisp white blouse and black skirt.

“Where is she?!” I screamed, tears already streaming down my face. My voice cracked with desperation. “Elissa! My wife - our baby! Where the fuck is my family?!”

Jessica blinked, startled. She reached out a hand but stopped short when she saw the wild look in my eyes.

“What?” she asked, confusion clear on her face. “Josh… what are you talking about? Who’s Elissa?”

I crawled toward her on trembling limbs, knees burning against the carpet, the soaked lace panties clinging disgustingly to the cage. Every movement sent fresh aches through my denied body, but I didn’t care.

“Elissa!” I begged, grabbing at the edge of her shorts. “The blonde woman... my wife! We built a house together in.. in.. Evergreen Hollow. Forty years, Jessica. Forty years! I worked construction, she wrote poetry at the library. We tried for a baby for so long… years of trying. She finally got pregnant.... We were in the ambulance, she was in labor, I was holding her hand and then... then....”

My voice rose into a broken wail. “I felt the baby coming! She was screaming my name and I was right there with her! Please. Please tell me they’re real. I need them. I can’t lose them. Not after everything.”

Jessica’s face went pale. She looked genuinely shaken, glancing back at Emily for help.

Emily sat completely still on the couch, saying nothing. Her usual mischievous grin was gone. She just watched me with an unreadable expression, almost uncomfortable.

Sarah finished drying her hair and tossed the towel aside. She picked up her tablet from the coffee table and checked the readings, eyebrows raised.

“You took him out early?” Sarah asked Jessica, sounding annoyed. “I told you to let the full cycle run if you were going to switch modes.”

“I… I felt bad,” Jessica whispered, voice small. “He was suffering so much at the start. I switched it to this 'lifetime simulation' so he could be happy for a while. I didn’t think it would mess him up this badly…”

I crawled closer, tears and snot running down my face, a pathetic, broken mess still wearing my sister’s best friend’s cum-soaked panties.

“Please, Jessica. Elissa had the blondest hair. She loved the forest. Our house had a big porch where we drank coffee every morning. I built the crib myself… carved little animals into it. She was pregnant. We were finally going to be parents. Don’t tell me it was nothing. I can still feel her hand in mine. I can still smell her hair…”

Sarah sighed deeply, the same sigh she’d used earlier. She crouched down so she was eye-level with me, tablet glowing in her hand.

“Get over it, Josh. They weren’t real. None of it was. Just code running on the neural patch, pulling from your deepest fantasies while you were locked and desperate. A happy little wife, a miracle baby after years of trying, the perfect small-town life… all made up by your broken subconscious. Elissa doesn’t exist. The baby doesn’t exist. The house, the village, twenty years of domestic bliss... gone. It was all in your head.”

The words landed like physical blows. I curled into a tight ball on the floor, ugly, heaving sobs tearing out of my chest. My body shook uncontrollably. I could still taste Elissa on my lips from that last kiss in the ambulance. I could hear her voice whispering “I love you” as the contractions hit.

Jessica reached out hesitantly again, her hand hovering over my back. I flinched violently away from her touch.

“Don’t,” I choked out. “Don’t touch me.”

Sarah stood back up, stretching casually. “This is exactly why we don’t usually do full lifetime runs on non-offenders. But he came out early, which isn't what you should do, Jess. Too messy. But the training should stick deeper now, though.”

I lay there destroyed, mourning a silver-haired wife and unborn child who had never existed, while my sister, her best friend, and her cousin watched me break like it was just another step in their game. I curled into a ball, ugly heaving sobs tearing out of me.

Emily finally spoke, “What the fuck just happened? He came out talking about a whole wife and baby?”

Sarah sighed and stood, stretching. “Lifetime modes. The neural patch can run full-life simulations. Happy, tragic, pure suffering... whatever you set. On serious offenders we use it for long sentences. Few minutes can be decades or a full lifetime inside. Sometimes we reward good behavior by letting them live out a nice life before they ‘die’ in the sim and wake up here. The brain fills in everything... memories, relationships, even aging for other people while the subject stays fixed. It’s incredibly convincing. If Jess hadn’t pulled him early, he would’ve lived out the rest of that happy life, grown old with her in his mind, ‘died’ peacefully, and come back here feeling… resolved. But stopping mid-labor? Messy as hell. The grief sticks harder.”

Emily leaned forward, almost amused. “So he really lived forty years in there? Built a house? Got his sim-wife pregnant even with the cage?”

Sarah nodded. “Subconscious wish fulfillment. The patch reads deep desires and crafts the scenario. He probably wanted a devoted partner who accepted the cage, a family, a simple peaceful life. The pregnancy was his brain’s miracle workaround.”

I choked out through tears, “Take me back… please. I want to go back to them. I need to hold my baby. I need Elissa.”

Jessica looked guilty and torn. Emily watched me with a strange mix of fascination and discomfort. Sarah just shrugged.

“Focus on what’s real, Josh. The cage. Your denial. Serving Jessica. You’ll forget the fake ones eventually.”

"Take me back..."

To be continued…

I have always been deeply interested in images and stories of women whose sexuality was constrained by a mechanism controlled by another person. However, the same does not apply to forced male chastity—perhaps because I identify with the male figure; being strictly dominant and heterosexual by nature, I have never felt comfortable in situations or stories where the male is submissive, desexualized, or even feminized.

This story began in the spring of 2021 when I found myself with some spare time while back in my hometown for my initial COVID vaccinations. Browsing online, I discovered that the first low-cost metal cages had become available; after some thought, I decided to buy one.

Putting it on was difficult: the size was wrong, I didn't know what I was doing, and the whole process was complicated and painful. Consequently, I decided to shelve the idea as a fantasy that wasn't feasible to realize.

Shortly thereafter, I discovered that two people in my circle—both dominant—regularly wore cages. This prompted me to reconsider my decision, and I began purchasing other models to figure out where I had gone wrong. After numerous trials, I finally found a few models that worked well in terms of both fit and material compatibility.

I discovered, in fact, that certain plastics caused significant inflammation, whereas the surgical steel typically used for these cages caused me no issues.

The fact that these individuals were genuinely dominant also led me to re-evaluate the relationship between wearing a cage and one's sexual inclination: did wearing a cage necessarily make a person submissive, or could it also be something a dominant person might do? In my case, the answer was quite simple: a dominant person could wear the cage themselves—while clearly retaining control and the keys—primarily to prove to themselves and others that their demands did not exceed what they were willing to do personally. This was a crucial aspect of domination: it was not meant to be an act of tyranny, but rather an exercise in leadership.

Over the years, I developed a preference for small-sized steel cages (my flaccid penis is very small, though it grows to a normal size when erect), featuring concealed locking mechanisms rather than padlocks, and a solid, one-piece base ring instead of hinged or—worse yet—modular designs. I also learned my specific size and discovered which base ring shapes I preferred and which best suited my anatomy and skin. Finally, I learned how to manage hygiene and, above all, the contact between my skin and the cage, dealing with issues like sweating, lubrication, and body hair.

With this growing awareness, I began wearing the cage for increasingly long periods; naturally, the lack of sexual release began to take its toll, so I alternated between periods of chastity and intense sexual activity.

Over time, however, I realized that—precisely because my penis was so small when flaccid—I could slip it out of the cage and do whatever I wanted with it. This led me to view the practice as a stupid, pointless, and purely performative game.

Later, while browsing the internet for erotic content, I discovered the "tetherspout." It was a small metal tube that, once inserted into the urethra and assembled with rings, could not be removed without first being taken apart—a process that could be prevented by locking the device.

I experimented with steel tetherspouts purchased from China. My urethra was very sensitive, so I suffered several injuries and infections—though they all cleared up within a few days. While slightly painful, the real issue was the sense of defeat and disappointment that the little device simply didn't work as intended.

In 2026, I returned to my hometown and once again found myself with time to kill. I discovered that tetherspouts were now available in the perfect size for me: not so large that insertion caused pain, nor so small that they might slip out unexpectedly, and—crucially—made of titanium, a much more biocompatible metal.

I ordered one immediately and put it on as soon as it arrived; I managed to wear it for a few minutes, then a few hours, without any issues. Then I decided to take the big step: wearing the tetherspout along with a steel cage and a padlock to secure them together, thereby making it absolutely impossible—for me or anyone else—to touch my penis.

Since everything was going smoothly, I decided to simply keep it all on until I encountered a problem; and so the days began to pass, followed by weeks. Naturally, as time went on and sexual activity remained absent, desire began to make itself felt—not only through morning erections but also at bedtime, when powerful erections would press my penis against the inside of the cage (which also housed the small tube and rings), resulting in a sensation that was mildly painful yet highly erotic.

Another effect I noticed was that whenever I encountered women—especially young, attractive ones—my penis would make slight movements, signaling sexual interest in the person before me. I would take mental note of this but choose to ignore it.

Things got complicated one morning while I was doing laundry in the building's communal laundry room; a very pretty girl walked in and, after the usual pleasantries, started doing her own laundry. My penis, locked in its cage, signaled a strong interest in her; I figured that, being young, she was likely producing a lot of pheromones—scents my nose picked up and relayed to my reproductive system.

While folding my clothes, I dropped one; I bent down to pick it up, making a silly little quip as I did so. When I straightened up, I saw her staring at me with wide eyes and an expression of amused surprise. I looked at her, puzzled, and she said, "I know what you're hiding down there." A bit worried, I asked, "Excuse me?" She replied, "Yeah, when you bent over, I saw an elastic band—the kind that’s definitely connected to a chastity cage." I asked, "Look, discussing this kind of thing seems inappropriate, but more importantly—why do you care? Why is it any of your business? What I wear under my shorts is my affair, not yours."

At that point, she flashed a huge grin and, giving me a playful look, lifted her skirt to reveal a gleaming steel chastity belt. "It concerns me," she said, "because we have something in common." My heart skipped a beat, and I suddenly understood that the intense attraction I’d felt wasn't so much about her youth, but rather the fact that she, too, was carrying around a sexual desire that had gone unsatisfied for far too long.

I stared at her, dumbfounded, and asked, "Okay... so what now?" She replied, "Let's swap contact info and think about it." I said, "Alright," and that’s exactly what we did. A few hours later, she messaged me: "Listen, let's meet up and have a proper talk about this." I agreed; we met at a restaurant, found a quiet corner, and started talking. She told me her story—one that hadn't begun spontaneously like mine, but rather through a relationship with a man who had introduced her to the concept of forced chastity, and whom she had left after realizing it wasn't for her.

However, even while single, the desire to bring her sexuality under control hadn't vanished, so she had bought a custom-made belt and started wearing it.
She hadn't taken it off for a month; I had been wearing my cage non-stop for two weeks. So, I shared my own story and my relationship with forced chastity—both my own and that of others.
As we spoke, a powerful mutual attraction was evident, and only good manners kept us from flirting like teenagers.

We headed home; I walked her to her apartment, said goodbye, and returned to mine with my mind reeling, my heart racing, and my cage suddenly feeling too tight. I lay in bed unable to sleep, consumed by the urge to take off my cage, remove her belt, and pounce on her.

The next morning, she sent me a message saying good morning and asking how I was doing. I replied, "Not too well; I couldn't sleep," and she answered, "Me neither—let's hope it passes."

The following night went no better at all; in fact, the desire was incredibly intense, and it even became painful.

At dawn, I received a message: "Did you manage to sleep?" I replied, "Not for a minute; it's a disaster." She said, "We have to do something about it," and I said, "That would be catastrophic." She replied, "It’s already a catastrophe. Let’s have dinner at my place." And I said, "All right."

I spent the day dragging myself from bed to sofa and back again, with my penis trying to burst out of the cage; when the time came, I got ready, grabbed a bottle, and went to see her.

"Hi neighbor, it's me." She opened the door in silence; I stepped inside, she closed the door, took off her robe, and stood naked except for a belt. I saw that the belt had a ring at its lowest point, and attached to this ring by a padlock were two metal bands that encircled her thighs. I looked at them and asked, "What are those for?" She replied, "Because ever since we met, I’ve done nothing but try to masturbate; if I could spread my legs wide enough, I’d be able to slip my fingers in and touch myself. With those bands on, though, I couldn't."

"Undress," she said, "and show me your gear." So I showed her: my cage and the little tube sticking out, secured with a padlock. She asked what it was, and I explained it to her; At that point, her eyes lit up and she said, "Oh, so it serves the same purpose as my thigh bands." I confirmed that it did.

We ate sparingly, paying little attention to the food, as we shared the details of our forced chastity stories.

When it was time to leave, she said, "Listen, I have a proposal for you." I replied, "Okay, tell me what it is." She said, "We should swap keys: I’ll keep yours, and you’ll keep mine." I pointed out, "Well, we both have copies of our own keys." She countered, "We just need to put each other's padlocks on, and the problem is solved."

I explained that it could only be a temporary arrangement, as I was leaving in a few weeks and who knew when I’d be back.

Her reply was just two words: "Carpe diem." I answered, "I’ll think about it; let's talk again tomorrow."

The non-verbal side of the conversation—filled with scents, pheromones, erections, and stains left on the chair—was far more intense than that.

That night, exhaustion won out over sexual instinct. But at dawn, a message arrived: "Have you thought about it?" I replied, "Yes, I have—I'm coming right over."
I put on a tracksuit and knocked on her door. I went inside; she took off my tracksuit and offered me her keys. I undid the padlock holding her thighs together and replaced it with the lock connecting my tether-spout to my cage, while the latter was replaced by hers. Similarly, the hidden lock on her belt was swapped for the hidden lock on my cage, which she secured with her own; all the while, my penis was pushing against the cage, but she held it steady with her hands.

She asked, "What day are you leaving?" and I replied, "The 15th of next month." She then opened a safe, placed the keys to the locks I was wearing inside, closed the safe door, and punched something into the keypad; the sound of heavy iron told me that the keys to the locks on my genitals were now inaccessible—and would remain so for quite some time. I asked, "What date did you set on the safe?" and she said, "The 14th of next month." I nodded and said, "I’m in complete agreement." I put my jumpsuit back on, went to my apartment, and secured the keys to *her* genitals.

A full month of forced chastity lay ahead of us.

That afternoon, she sent me a message inviting me to her place for dinner, and I gladly accepted. I arrived with a bottle of wine to find a delicious meal waiting; we ate naked, save for our metal.

We moved to the living room and settled in—she on the sofa, I in the armchair—and talked about all sorts of things. I discovered that this young woman—very pretty and very chaste—was actually deeply kinky and fascinating; she, in turn, showed great interest in my stories and in me generally.

When bedtime arrived, she said, "Alright, time for bed." I stood up and said, "Okay, neighbor—shall we raise the stakes?" She looked at me, wide-eyed and a bit bewildered, and asked, "What do you mean?" I replied, "I mean I want to sleep here with you." She said, "Then we’ll never get any sleep." I answered, "We’ll see."

At that point, it was her turn to feel that state of aroused bewilderment. I took her hand, led her to the bathroom, put her in the shower, and turned on the water. The soap, sponge, brush, and hot water created a situation of extreme erotic and sexual tension, with each doing everything possible to treat the other with maximum sensuality for maximum arousal.

We dried ourselves, paying close attention to our respective chastity devices and taking care to dry all the parts in contact with them, using plenty of talcum powder to ensure there were no chafing spots.

In bed, still naked except for our belts, we embraced and began to kiss: long, intense, and extremely sensual kisses. Each of us ground our pelvises against the other's legs, but the devices prevented any direct contact. Her very firm breasts pressed against my chest, which she tried to rub for sensation, but all they did was cause vaginal fluids to drip from her belt, staining my genital area, which had its share of problems.

The night wasn't much better than the evening; every now and then we woke up and tried to vent our arousal, only succeeding, as expected, in increasing our excitement and frustration.

The day before my departure, I opened the safe, took the keys to my locks, and presented myself at her door. When she let me in, she was already naked and with the keys to her locks in her hand.

At that point, there was no more reason, no more reason, no more thinking: there was only pure instinct. The belts were removed, and we spent the entire day and night draining every ounce of our vitality, having sex as if we had never had it before, wildly, instinctively, selfishly.

Three hours before departure, I got up, took a shower, grabbed my small cage and my locks, and left without saying goodbye. Then I stopped by my apartment, picked up my luggage, and packed the cage inside—while the tetherspout remained in my urethra—before heading to the airport.

Chapitre 3

### L'Arrivée de Ben et la Découverte de l'Enfer

Le samedi matin, le soleil printanier baigne la cour de l'ancienne fermette. Le crissement des pneus sur les graviers annonce l'arrivée d'Anna et Ben. Manon sort sur le pas de la porte, un sourire éclatant aux lèvres. Le spectacle qui s'offre à elle la ravit immédiatement : Ben, tenu en laisse par Anna, la suit à quatre pattes avec la docilité d'un chien bien dressé. Arrivé à la hauteur de Manon, il s'empresse de presser ses lèvres contre le cuir de ses chaussures.

Autour du cou de l'homme, Manon remarque un collier électrique identique à celui d'Alex. Anna, fière de son effet, lui confirme avoir déniché le même modèle spécialement pour le week-end. D'un geste sec, elle détache la laisse et ordonne à son mari de décharger les valises pour les monter dans la chambre d'amis. Pendant qu'il s'exécute, les deux amies s'installent en terrasse pour savourer un café, ravies de la perspective d'un week-end entre femmes, sans hommes dans leurs pattes.

À son retour, Ben vient machinalement s'agenouiller face à Anna, le regard baissé, dans l'attente de ses instructions.

« Déshabille-toi, mon chien, » ordonne-t-elle d'un ton neutre.

Ben s'exécute, les joues empourprées par la honte de se dénuder devant la meilleure amie de sa femme. Amusée, Manon se penche vers Anna.

« Depuis combien de temps n'a-t-il pas eu l'occasion d'éjaculer ? »

« Sept mois, » répond Anna avec un sourire cruel.

Manon éclate d'un rire franc et sonore, se moquant ouvertement de Ben qui, en baissant son pantalon, révèle un délicat string en dentelle rose. L'humiliation est totale. Il retire le sous-vêtement féminin, dévoilant sa propre cage de chasteté, et se replace à genoux, les mains sagement croisées dans le dos. Anna tend alors son pied nu ; Ben ouvre la bouche et entreprend de lui lécher les orteils avec une dévotion absolue. Manon reste bouche bée, admirative. Elle était loin d'imaginer que son amie exerçait une domination aussi totale sur son époux.

Leurs tasses vidées, Anna récupère la laisse. Il est temps de visiter le domaine.

Lorsque Manon ouvre la lourde porte en bois de l'étable, l'enthousiasme de Ben s'évapore instantanément. L'odeur âcre du fumier et de l'urine le prend à la gorge. Le sol n'est qu'un bourbier immonde, et la paille propre se résume à un misérable carré. Ben a un violent mouvement de recul, mais Anna tire sèchement sur le cuir pour le ramener à l'ordre.

« Tu dois assumer tes envies, Ben. Pas question de faire demi-tour. Comporte-toi de manière docile, et tu auras peut-être droit à une libération sexuelle. »

Joignant le geste à la parole, elle sort sa télécommande et calibre le collier de Ben sur les mêmes paramètres que celui d'Alex : anti-aboiement, sensibilité maximale.

Au même instant, le cliquetis d'une chaîne résonne. Alex rampe hors de la pénombre pour venir s'échouer aux pieds des deux dominatrices. Il dépose des baisers tremblants sur leurs chaussures avant de s'agenouiller. Son état pitoyable arrache un sourire à Anna. Elle félicite chaleureusement Manon pour sa poigne de fer ; voir cet ancien macho réduit à l'état de larve docile est un véritable régal.

Anna détache Ben et lui ordonne d'entrer dans la cellule répugnante.

« À demain, les cochons ! » lance joyeusement Manon avant de refermer et de cadenasser la porte.

Dans la pénombre humide, les deux hommes se dévisagent en silence, comme deux étrangers. Alex esquisse un maigre sourire en remarquant la cage de Ben ; il est ravi de savoir qu'il ne subira pas de pénétration. Ben, quant à lui, découvre avec horreur l'immonde réalité de sa nouvelle prison. Il va devoir vivre comme Alex, privé de toute dignité, sans la moindre compassion de sa maîtresse. Les larmes inondent ses yeux. La réalité de son humiliation vient de fracasser tous ses fantasmes.

### Confidences et Folie des Grandeurs

De retour dans la chaleur luxueuse de la maison, la visite se poursuit. Manon montre à Anna la chambre d'amis redécorée avec goût, le salon flambant neuf, puis elles descendent dans le donjon. Pendant que Manon détaille ses nouveaux aménagements, le regard d'Anna est attiré par un objet dans un coin sombre : une grande caisse en plastique transparent, sur le flanc de laquelle est inscrit le prénom **"Anna"** au feutre noir, en grosses lettres. Un frisson la parcourt, mais elle fait mine de n'avoir rien vu et reprend le fil de la conversation.

De retour au rez-de-chaussée, Manon fait péter le bouchon d'une bouteille de champagne pour célébrer sa nouvelle vie. La pluie a fait son retour à l'extérieur, rendant le salon d'autant plus douillet. Entre deux coupes, Manon lui raconte sa nuit enflammée avec Jules, le calvaire quotidien d'Alex, et lui annonce une grande nouvelle : elle vient de démissionner. Elle a enfin perçu la totalité de l'héritage de ses parents, anciens propriétaires de plusieurs usines, la propulsant au rang de multimillionnaire.

Fascinée par l'autorité de son amie, Manon la questionne sur ses pratiques avec Ben. Anna lui confie la chance inouïe d'avoir un mari fétichiste des pieds, décrivant cela comme le summum du bien-être pour une femme. Manon abonde dans son sens, mais lorsqu'Anna évoque son propre fantasme – qu'une femme s'occupe un jour de ses pieds –, Manon éclate de rire.

« Je t'adore, Anna, mais même pas en rêve ! Il est hors de question que j'effleure les pieds de quelqu'un d'autre. C'est répugnant, c'est une tâche strictement réservée aux esclaves. »

« Ce n'était pas une proposition ! » s'esclaffe Anna.

Manon prend alors un ton plus grave, les yeux brillants. Elle avoue rêver d'avoir une femme à ses pieds, non pas seulement pour assouvir un fétichisme, mais pour en faire son esclave à vie. Anna, qui cherche elle-même une soumise depuis des mois sans succès, lui souhaite bon courage.

« Ne t'en fais pas, » répond Manon avec un sourire énigmatique. « J'aurai bientôt ma propre esclave. Je serai ravie de te la présenter le moment venu. »

Anna l'ignore encore, mais au fil des quinze derniers jours, Manon a basculé. Le BDSM et le pouvoir absolu sont devenus une drogue dure. Ses lectures érotiques ont fini par distordre sa réalité, la persuadant que sa richesse et son statut de dominatrice lui permettaient d'assouvir n'importe quelle folie.

La soirée s'étire au coin du feu. Plus la discussion avance, plus Anna remarque l'insistance morbide de Manon sur le concept de *propriété* humaine. Lentement, le lien se fait dans son esprit avec la caisse marquée de son prénom dans le sous-sol. Mais Anna chasse cette pensée paranoïaque ; Manon est sa meilleure amie, elle ne la trahirait jamais à ce point. Elles finissent par aller se coucher, l'esprit embué de champagne.

Dans l'étable, la nuit est tombée. Ben s'est résigné. Il a fait ses besoins dans le coin souillé et a avalé les croquettes comme le bétail qu'il est devenu. Les deux hommes se sont relayés pour dormir sur le maigre ballot de paille, Alex refusant catégoriquement de se coller à un autre homme.

### Le Spectacle de la Terrasse

Le dimanche matin se lève sous un soleil radieux. Anna découvre Manon installée au bord de la piscine, prenant son petit-déjeuner. Manon porte une nuisette rouge en dentelle transparente, sans aucun sous-vêtement. À cette vue, Anna, bisexuelle assumée, sent une violente vague d'excitation la submerger. Elle désire sa meilleure amie, mais sait que Manon est profondément hétérosexuelle.

Manon, cependant, sait exactement ce qu'elle fait. Elle s'est apprêtée ainsi dans l'unique but de faire saliver Anna et de refermer son piège sur elle. Vêtue de son simple peignoir rose, Anna s'assoit face à elle, le regard chargé de passion.

« Il ne nous manquerait plus que deux esclaves pour nous lécher les pieds, » lâche Anna.

« Je suis entièrement d'accord. Ce serait trop beau pour être vrai, » répond Manon en sirotant son café.

Manon lance alors son offensive : elle propose à Anna de quitter sa location pour venir s'installer ici, avec Ben. Devant le refus d'Anna, qui invoque l'impossibilité financière, Manon dégaine une carte bancaire.

« J'ai tout prévu. Il y a l'équivalent d'un an de vos deux salaires sur ce compte. Je vous paierai gracieusement pour vivre ici. Je m'ennuie toute seule. »

Anna lit son propre nom gravé sur le plastique de la carte. Elle hésite, puis la tend à Manon.

« Je dois en parler à Ben. Je ne peux pas accepter ça comme ça. »

« Garde-la, » insiste Manon. « Le temps de la réflexion. »

Persuadée que les difficultés financières du couple auront raison des scrupules d'Anna, Manon sourit intérieurement. Le piège se referme.

Il est temps de s'occuper des mâles. Quasiment dénudées, les deux femmes se dirigent vers l'étable. À l'ouverture de la porte, les deux hommes, couverts de boue, se jettent à genoux pour embrasser leurs chaussures. Ben cherche une once de pitié dans les yeux de sa femme, mais ne récolte qu'un rictus machiavélique.

Manon remplit le seau, jette des croquettes et leur ordonne d'aboyer. Humiliés, ils s'exécutent, déclenchant instantanément les décharges électriques.

« C'est l'heure de la promenade, » décrète Anna. « Sortez de là et roulez-vous dans l'herbe mouillée pour vous décrasser. »

D'un claquement de doigts, elle les fait sortir. Manon est subjuguée par cette autorité naturelle et fait signe à Alex de suivre le mouvement. Après s'être roulés dans la rosée, les deux hommes rampent jusqu'à la terrasse en pierre où les femmes se sont installées sur des transats.

Le spectacle commence. Anna ordonne à Ben de nettoyer l'anus d'Alex avec sa langue, puis exige qu'Alex rende la pareille à Ben. Dégoûté, Alex s'exécute, bien que la stimulation éveille en lui une sensation de plaisir coupable qu'il réprime aussitôt.

Anna tend ensuite son pied à Alex. Il l'embrasse.

« Non. Je veux que tu le lèches, esclave, » claque Anna.

Les larmes aux yeux, Alex sort sa langue et s'exécute timidement. Manon observe la scène, fascinée.

« Tu vois, ce n'est pas difficile d'être une Reine, » lui glisse Anna. « Il suffit d'être ferme. »

Piquée au vif et voulant prouver son assurance, Manon tend son propre pied et ordonne à Alex d'en sucer les orteils. Il hésite. Il faut qu'Anna pointe le doigt vers le pied de Manon pour qu'il obéisse. Vexée d'avoir moins d'autorité sur son propre soumis, Manon fulmine intérieurement.

Les rôles s'inversent : Ben lèche vigoureusement le pied de Manon, tandis qu'Alex, la mort dans l'âme, nettoie l'arrière-train maculé de Ben.

« Ordonne-lui de prendre tout ton pied dans sa bouche, » chuchote Anna.

Amusée, Manon s'exécute. Ben engloutit les cinq orteils, ravi, mais Manon se redresse brusquement, saisit les cheveux de Ben et enfonce son pied au fond de sa gorge. Les haut-le-cœur de Ben sont immédiats. Anna intervient, stoppant le sadisme grandissant de son amie.

« Tu es folle, tu as failli le faire vomir ! » s'exclame Anna.

« C'était le but, » rétorque froidement Manon. « Il s'y habituera quand on vivra tous ensemble. »

« T'es complètement perchée, ma fille. Ça restera un rêve, » rigole Anna en secouant la tête.

Anna ordonne à Ben de se lever et décroche la clé qui lui sert de pendentif. Elle déverrouille la cage. Le membre de Ben se dresse instantanément, libéré après sept mois. Face à ce sexe d'une taille impressionnante, Manon ordonne à Alex de faire une fellation à Ben. Les larmes roulant sur ses joues, Alex prend l'engin en bouche. Ben, oubliant son collier, laisse échapper un gémissement de plaisir. *Zap.* La décharge le foudroie. Les deux femmes éclatent d'un fou rire cruel.

« Fini la récré, » tranche Anna. « Ben, baise-moi cet esclave et libère tout. »

Ben se place derrière Alex. Paniqué, Alex recule, mais Manon presse sa télécommande, le figeant de douleur sur le sol.

« Il y a un début à tout. Si tu refuses, c'est quinze jours de plus dans la boue, » menace Manon.

Vaincu, Alex se remet à quatre pattes. Manon lui applique grossièrement du lubrifiant. Ben presse son membre, et d'un coup sec, pénètre Alex sans aucune protection. La douleur déchire Alex qui s'effondre en pleurs, tandis que Ben entame ses va-et-vient. Bientôt, il cherche le regard d'Anna pour l'autorisation finale. Anna consulte Manon, qui hoche la tête.

Ben jouit au plus profond d'Alex. Un gémissement lui échappe. *Zap.* Nouvelle décharge.

Lorsqu'il se retire, le sexe luisant, Manon ordonne à Alex de le nettoyer avec sa bouche. De la croupe d'Alex s'écoule la semence de Ben. Anna glisse son pied sous le trou béant pour en récolter les gouttes et demande à Manon d'aller chercher un plug. Manon revient et l'enfonce violemment, scellant le foutre à l'intérieur de son compagnon. Anna tend ensuite son pied dégoulinant de sperme et d'excréments à Ben, l'obligeant à le nettoyer avec sa langue. L'écœurement est total.

### La Libération et le Cadeau

L'excitation à son comble, les deux femmes ramènent leur bétail à l'étable. Manon retire le plug d'Alex.

Anna s'éclipse vers sa voiture et revient avec un lourd tabouret de bondage en bois massif.

« C'est un cadeau, pour fêter ton émancipation, » dit-elle en souriant. Manon la serre dans ses bras, ravie.

Sur ordre d'Anna, Ben installe le tabouret au centre de la pièce. Alex est forcé de s'y allonger sur le ventre, le visage suspendu juste au-dessus de l'endroit où ils font leurs besoins. Ben le sangle solidement. Comprenant que l'horreur n'a plus de fin, Alex se débat, mais les lanières de cuir sont implacables. Anna scelle les sangles avec un cadenas.

« Fais-toi plaisir, Ben, » lâche Manon.

« Et profites-en, car ta prochaine occasion de jouir ne se représentera pas avant six mois, » ajoute Anna.

Les femmes désactivent les colliers électriques pour pouvoir écouter la symphonie de leur domination, posent un pot de lubrifiant sur la mangeoire, et referment la porte.

Durant toute l'après-midi, Ben assouvit sa frustration sur le corps d'Alex. La douleur arrache des cris continus à Alex, sodomisé à de multiples reprises. Ben abuse également de sa bouche maintenue ouverte, le forçant à des fellations répétées, debout au milieu du fumier, jusqu'à ce qu'Alex finisse par vomir.

### Le Piège Retourné

La soirée est douce dans la maison. Netflix, pyjamas de soie, et confidences. Au détour d'une conversation, Anna prend un ton sérieux, sort la carte bancaire de la poche de son peignoir et la tend à Manon.

« Je refuse ta proposition, Manon. Je ne suis pas prête à vivre avec toi et à quitter ma petite vie tranquille. »

Intérieurement, Manon voit rouge. La frustration d'échouer la consume, mais elle compose un masque d'indifférence parfaite.

« Ce n'est pas grave du tout, je comprends, » ment-elle avec douceur.

Sous prétexte d'aller chercher de nouveaux verres dans la cuisine, Manon laisse libre cours à sa folie. Elle saisit un flacon de somnifères liquides, en verse une dose massive dans un verre, et le remplit de jus d'orange.

Mais elle ignore un détail crucial. Anna, qui se dirigeait vers les toilettes, a observé la scène depuis l'encadrement de la porte. Le sang d'Anna se glace. Elle n'en revient pas ; Manon est prête à la droguer pour assouvir ses pulsions de possession et de sadisme. Sa meilleure amie est devenue un monstre.

Anna retourne silencieusement sur le canapé, jouant la parfaite ignorance. Manon revient, le sourire aux lèvres, et dépose les deux verres sur la table basse.

À la première occasion, profitant que Manon se tourne pour attraper la télécommande, Anna inverse les deux verres avec une dextérité fulgurante.

Sûre de son triomphe imminent, Manon lève son verre.

« À notre week-end ! » lance-t-elle, triomphante.

Elles trinquent. Manon avale de grandes gorgées de son jus d'orange. Anna boit le sien lentement, observant par-dessus le rebord de son verre son amie qui, sans s'en douter une seconde, vient de basculer la tête la première dans son propre piège.