Alone, Caged, and with Only One Toy for the Weekend

Friday, eleven at night. Marina isn’t here. She left this morning for a coworker’s bachelorette party, dragging a suitcase full of glitter and leaving me exactly the way she likes to leave me: with the chastity cage locked, and, as my only underwear for the whole weekend, a pair of her panties that had already been through her body.

I’m wearing her shortest nightgown, the black silk one that barely covers my thighs. I should be asleep. I can’t. I’ve been horny all day, ever since the office, where I worked nine hours feeling the cage tighten every time something made me nervous. I went to the bathroom sitting down like any good submissive: pulling my panties down to my knees, pressing my legs together, praying that no one in the next stall noticed that the serious man in the gray suit was actually pissing sitting down.

I’m dying to touch myself. But I can’t. The only key to this cage is right now in Marina’s handbag, hundreds of kilometers away, and she knows it. She planned it that way. I stroke myself over the silk, reach the tight, swollen, bursting testicles, and feel how my caged sex tries to harden against the metal without succeeding. That failure, that impossibility, turns me on more than anything else.

I sit up in bed and open the bedside drawer, the one with her toys. I know it by heart. And that’s why, when I sink my hand inside, my heart skips a beat: she’s taken all the vibrators. All except one. At the bottom of the drawer, still in its half-open box, there’s a huge black dildo I’ve never seen before. It’s much bigger than anything we’ve ever played with. I take it out, weigh it in my hand, and suddenly I understand the whole move.

She bought it for this moment. For tonight. For me.

Marina leaves nothing to chance. She took away everything small, everything easy, and left me only this: a piece of rubber that’s too big, too intimidating, knowing damn well I wouldn’t make it through the weekend without using it. Knowing I’d rather wreck myself than go three days without anything. I picture her smile as she closed the suitcase this morning. She knows me so well.

I lie back down. I slip my hands under the nightgown and slide the panties off my hips, my thighs, my legs. Last night Marina made sure there wasn’t a single hair left on my body. She ran the razor over every inch of skin while I bit my lip not to moan, and now the lace brushing down over naked skin feels so soft that everything prickles. A long sigh escapes me and I tremble all over.

There’s a wet stain on the red fabric. It’s mine, from everything I’ve been leaking all day without being able to stop it. I bring the panties to my face, breathe in deeply, and they still smell like her, her skin, her perfume mixed with something more intimate. I stick out my tongue and lick them slowly, gathering up the last drop, as if I could keep a little bit of her in my mouth.

I set them aside on the pillow and pick up the dildo. I silently thank Marina, wherever she is. I run my tongue over its entire length, from base to tip, and kiss it slowly as if it were real, as if there were a man at the other end watching me do it. My body moves on its own, and it moves in a way that has nothing masculine left in it. I’m aware of the curve of my hips, of how I press my legs together, of how my nipples harden against the silk.

I open my mouth and let it slide in little by little. It’s big. Thick. Almost too much. I can barely take half of it before my throat closes with a gag. I try again, more carefully, letting my saliva coat it, but it’s obvious I’m going to need a lot more than my mouth for what comes next.

I reach toward the drawer again, looking for lubricant. And here’s Marina’s second blow: there’s only one packet. One. One single dose. If I want to do this again tomorrow, I’ll have to prepare better, ration it, beg her for more when she gets back. She’s thought of everything. Every limit she’s left me is an invisible leash pulling on me.

I tear the packet open and squeeze half of it over the rubber, spreading it with my hand until it gleams all over. I need it inside. I need to feel it filling me, fucking me like the little slut I am Monday through Sunday, while the only thing that’s supposed to make me a man stays locked in its cage, where Marina decided it belongs.

***

I lie on my back and spread my legs as wide as I can, like a frightened young girl about to have her first time. With what little lubricant is left on my fingers, I smear the entrance, and I can’t resist slipping the tips inside to spread it around. Two fingers go in without much effort; after months of play, I’m not exactly tight anymore. Even so, I don’t know if it’ll be enough. Not for this.

I place the tip of the dildo against my asshole and relax as much as I know how. I push slowly. The tip starts to yield, goes in a little, but the thickness of the head stays outside, resisting. It makes me wait, and that only makes me more desperate. I push a little more and pause, letting my body adjust. My asshole throbs, clamps down, opens again. I push as if I’m about to let it all go, just like Marina taught me, and then I feel the head start to enter, opening me all the way.

It’s going to split me in two.

I stop. Breathe. Repeat the motion, waiting for the sphincter to give up, and finally, with a dull tug of pain that turns into something else, the head gets through. Then the rest follows, centimeter by centimeter, until I feel the base hit my ass cheeks. I’m full. Completely full, and sweat is running down my back.

My sex has given up completely inside the cage, but a thin, steady stream of liquid keeps dripping, staining my belly. I love feeling it there, motionless, huge. Carefully I pull it out a little, just to sink it back in, and feel it brush every spot on the way. It grazes the prostate and a lash of pleasure shoots up my spine. It presses against my bladder and I feel like I’m going to piss myself any second. It opens me. It splits me. I pull it out again to penetrate myself once more, getting used to the size, and even though the need to urinate is brutal, I don’t want to stop. I never want to stop.

Little by little I speed up. I’m fully stretched now. Stretched, not stretching: there’s nothing left of a man in this bed, only a female writhing on the sheets and moaning like a cat in heat. I thrust and drive the rubber deeper and deeper, with no difficulty, biting the pillow that still smells like Marina so I don’t wake half the street with my moans.

I pull it out completely. I know it’ll only be an instant, but I miss it the moment I lose it. I want it. I need it again. I press the suction cup base against the headboard, set it firm, and get on all fours in front of it, like a bitch in heat: ass high in the air, face buried in the mattress, one hand stroking my nipples.

I push back and spear myself again, slowly, feeling each centimeter go in under my own weight. I can feel the heat rising inside me. I can feel myself leaking from the cage, staining the clean sheets, and through all of it I thank Marina. Thank you for leaving this cock within reach. Thank you for caging me. Thank you for making me into this. I speed up, fucking myself against the headboard, trying to make the imaginary male I’ve built in my head come inside me.

The orgasm is there, within reach. So close and yet, at the same time, impossible. If I could touch myself for five seconds, just five, I’d get there. But no. Not today. Today pleasure doesn’t mean cumming; it means feeling my sissy sex fucked deep, filled to the brim, abandoned to a desperation that never quite gets released. And that’s exactly why it’s perfect.

I can’t take any more. I have to stop or I’m going to go completely insane. I let it slide out with a hoarse moan and stay on all fours for a few seconds, trembling, trying to catch my breath while my heart hammers against my ribs. Then I turn over and, without thinking twice, lick up everything that’s come out from the cage, gathering it with my tongue just like I gathered her taste from the panties.

***

I dress again. I put the red lace panties back on, slowly, feeling them climb up my smooth legs. I put away the dildo that just wrecked me and pull the silk nightgown down properly. My caged sex tugs at the metal again, trying to harden, betraying me once more. It doesn’t matter. I’m satisfied even though I didn’t cum. I’m satisfied precisely because I didn’t cum.

I curl up under the sheets, her pillow pressed to my face and her scent wrapping around me. Tomorrow I’ll have to prepare better, ration the little lubricant that’s left, hold out two more days without the key. But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, this well-fucked little slut is going to sleep with her ass open, her cage on, and a stupid smile on her face, counting the hours until Marina comes home.