The Chastity Cage That Changed Our Routine

We moved in together recently, after quite a long time of sleeping in borrowed beds, dodging schedules, and taking advantage of every spare moment to fuck like animals. Living in the same apartment changed a lot of things, but one above all: at last I could truly bring control into our sex life instead of only playing at it from time to time. I had been fantasizing about it for months, and so had he, though in his own way.

I’ve always enjoyed taking charge in bed. At first it was small, almost innocent details, as far as that goes: climbing on top of him, grabbing his hair to set the pace, pinning his wrists, making him lick my pussy until I came on his face while he stayed hard, without permission to touch himself.

What turned me on most wasn’t only that he obeyed, but seeing how quickly he learned to enjoy it. The way I looked at him, told him when he could move and when he couldn’t, pushed his hand away if he tried to hurry, brought out a submissiveness I’d sensed in him for some time. And that made me wet in an almost obscene way.

One night, before we moved, I tied him to the headboard with his hands spread wide and sat on his abdomen while his cock pointed stiffly toward me. I didn’t let him put it inside me. I squeezed his thighs with my knees, stroked his chest with my nails, and lowered myself only to rub the entrance of my pussy against the tip, barely a wet, hot, unbearable brush for him.

“You’re not going to come until I want you to,” I told him.

He bit his lip and nodded. “Yes.”

“No. Not like that.” I grabbed his chin. “Answer me properly.”

“Yes, mistress.”

That tone went straight through me. I lowered my hand and began jerking him off very slowly, my palm sliding along his entire length without giving him the rhythm his breathing demanded. At first he moaned with pleasure; a few minutes later he was desperate, arching his body, pulling at the restraints, his abdomen trembling.

I loved it. More than seeing him aroused, I loved discovering that his orgasm could remain suspended in my fingers, held back by my whim. I squeezed him just below the head when I felt he was about to come, and he let out a muffled moan, almost pained, almost pleading.

“Not yet,” I whispered.

That day I understood that I didn’t want merely to get him worked up and let him go. I wanted to administer his desire. I wanted to decide when his cock was free and when it wasn’t, when he could come and when he would have to swallow the need through clenched teeth. And when we finally signed the lease, I already knew what my housewarming present would be.

The little box was in one of the last bags we brought up. I took it out after we finished opening the bottles to make a toast, with the house still half upside down and the living room full of boxes. He looked at me with that mixture of curiosity and fear I like so much.

“What’s that?” he asked, though he already suspected.

I opened it slowly and showed him the chastity cage. Small, discreet, gleaming. A promise and a threat at the same time.

His reaction was exactly what I wanted. His jaw tightened, his gaze hardened, and his eyes dropped to the device as if he had suddenly imagined the fantasy’s real weight. He said nothing for several seconds.

“Put it on,” I ordered.

We went to the bathroom. I closed the door and leaned against the sink to watch him do it according to my instructions, deliberately slowly, noticing how his hands trembled ever so slightly as he arranged his cock and balls inside the ring and tube. When he finished, I ran a finger over it, feeling the frustrated hardness trying to grow without enough room.

“You look better like that,” I said.

“It feels strange.”

“The point is for you not to forget it for even a second.”

That same evening we had a small get-together at home with friends to inaugurate the apartment. Nothing extravagant: food, drinks, low music, laughter, and conversations crossing between unpacked boxes. And there he was, serving wine, smiling, moving among everyone with his cock locked beneath his trousers while only I knew the secret.

The complicity turned me on more than I expected. Every time I saw him cross the living room with a tray, every time he sat down and habitually spread his legs a little before correcting himself when he remembered the pressure of the cage, my pussy burned. Once I passed him on my way to leave some plates in the kitchen and brushed my fingers against his crotch as if by accident. He went rigid.

“Behave,” I murmured in his ear.

He went back to the others, swallowing his reaction. I had to stay in the kitchen for a moment, breathing, my nipples hard beneath my shirt. Knowing he was under my control without anyone else knowing turned me on in a new, filthy, intimate way.

When they had all finally left and we closed the door, he looked at me in silence. He didn’t need to say anything. I was already barefoot, tired, aroused, and eager to make him pay for the whole night.

“Living room,” I ordered.

I made him kneel in front of the sofa while I took off my clothes, one item at a time, without hurrying. The skirt fell first. Then the blouse. Then the bra. He followed me with his eyes as if he were running out of air. When I pulled down my underwear and left it on the floor, I saw him pressing his hands against his thighs so he wouldn’t touch himself out of reflex.

“Look at me carefully. Your cock is still locked up. My pussy isn’t.”

I turned his face aside with my fingers and brought my vulva to his mouth. I was already wet, open for him, gleaming beneath the living room’s warm light. “Clean all this off with your tongue.”

He obeyed as soon as I pushed myself toward him. His mouth found me hungrily, licking me from bottom to top, spreading his tongue across my wet lips before pushing it higher, straight to my clitoris. I moaned at the first contact and grabbed his hair hard, setting the angle. This was exactly where I wanted him: kneeling, useful, desperate, and completely focused on making me come.

“Slower. There. Don’t take your tongue away.” I guided him between gasps. “That’s how I like it, fuck.”

Being locked up had made his mouth more ravenous. He licked as if he wouldn’t get to eat any other way all night. When I felt my belly begin to tense, I planted one foot on the sofa and opened myself wider so he could put his tongue inside me. He did it at once, alternating between penetrating me with his tongue and returning to my clitoris with delicious persistence.

I came with his head squeezed between my thighs. It wasn’t a delicate moan; it was a filthy spasm, a release that made my knees shake and my pussy close around his tongue while he kept sucking. I soaked his mouth and still didn’t pull him away until I wanted to.

“Now,” I said, still breathless. “You’ve earned having it taken off.”

I knelt in front of him. I opened the little lock and took his cock out of the cage. It came out red, hard, sensitive, throbbing against his belly. He made a deep sound, a mixture of relief and pain. I barely caressed it with two fingers and he nearly doubled over.

“Look at you.” I gave it a light tap with my fingertips. “All this from being locked up for a few hours.”

I didn’t give him permission to penetrate me. That night I wanted something else. I took it into my mouth and went down slowly, savoring the accumulated tension, feeling his whole body shudder with every inch. I sucked him deep, swallowing him down to my throat, then pulled back with enough saliva to leave him shining between my lips.

“Don’t come,” I warned without taking him completely out of my mouth. “If you come without permission, tomorrow you go back in the cage the moment you open your eyes.”

His breathing changed. He restrained himself with a discipline that turned me on even more. Then I did bring him to the edge, only to deny him again, licking the tip, squeezing the base with my hand, playing with his balls until I left him panting and trembling before pulling away. That night he slept with his cock locked up again and his body turned into a living need. I slept pressed against his back, enjoying every small, tense movement of his hips.

***

From then on, we started working the cage into our routine. Some mornings I put it on him before we went to work. Other nights I decided he would sleep wearing it. Never for too long at first; I wanted the game to grow with us, not break because of impatience.

But the psychological effect appeared immediately. All I had to do was remember in the middle of the day that he was dependent on a key I carried for a wave of heat to strike between my legs. All he needed was for me to text him, “Don’t touch it, not even when you get home,” to spend the afternoon burning.

The first time I truly dominated him in the new apartment was a couple of nights later. We had eaten dinner late, and I already had a fixed idea in my head. I told him not to shower yet, to wait for me in the living room. When I came out of the bedroom, I was carrying a rope and wearing nothing else.

He stared at me in silence, sitting on the edge of a chair.

“Hands behind your back.”

I tied him to the chair calmly, leaving his wrists secure but comfortable, and then fastened his ankles to the legs. He wasn’t completely naked; I left his shirt open and the cage on beneath his trousers, which were lowered to mid-thigh. I wanted to see him vulnerable and partly exposed, not freed.

“Today you’re going to talk,” I told him.

“I always talk to you.”

“Yes, but today you’re going to talk the way I want. Without filtering. Without pretending to be proper. I want to hear what really gets you horny.”

I stroked his chest with my fingertips. I knew his weak spot well. I lowered my hand to his nipples and began rubbing them very softly, barely a slow circle, applying just enough pressure to draw out his first moan. I smiled.

“Look at you. I haven’t even touched your cock.”

I sat on his thighs, naked, letting the heat of my pussy rest directly over the cage. I didn’t straddle him completely; I only put down enough weight for him to feel my wetness through the metal and fabric. His body reacted immediately, trying to harden inside the enclosure.

“Tell me a fantasy.”

“That you tie me up.”

I pinched one nipple. “I’m already doing that. Another.”

“That you gag me.”

“Boring.”

I shifted a little, rubbing the cage against my wet lips. The metal brushed my entrance and I had to hold back a moan. He closed his eyes, panting, trapped between the pressure and the impossibility of growing. I knew it was beginning to hurt him, and that was exactly why I kept going.

“I want what you’re embarrassed to say.”

“That you control when I come.”

“I already do that too. More.”

I slid one hand down his torso, scratched his abdomen, and returned to his nipples, this time squeezing them between my nails. He arched his back and let out a rougher groan. I took the opportunity to lower my other hand to his crotch and grab the cage, moving it just slightly from side to side, enough to provoke a painful shiver.

“Talk.”

“That… that you use me.”

“I know that already. I want the worst.”

I leaned down and pressed my tits against his chest while continuing to rub myself over him. My hard nipples scraped against his open shirt, and his mouth hung open, hypnotized between my naked body and the tension between his legs. I was squeezing him exactly as I wanted: not only out of desire, but out of honesty.

“I want to fuck your ass,” he finally blurted, looking at me as if he expected punishment.

I felt an instant stab of arousal. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

“And… I want you to fuck me.”

I grabbed his face and forced him to hold my gaze. “That sounds better.”

“I want you to treat me like a dog whenever you feel like it. I want to obey, crawl, do whatever you order.”

“Go on.”

He swallowed. The cage had left him with a hard, useless lump throbbing beneath my pussy. “And sometimes I fantasize about watching you with someone else. Someone bigger. Watching you enjoy it and being unable to do anything but look.”

Hearing it didn’t diminish my arousal; quite the opposite. I felt my pussy open wider over him and began moving with a clearer rhythm, using the edge of the metal and the pressure of the frame to rub my clitoris. He moaned as he felt my wetness spread over the cage.

“Now you’re being honest,” I murmured.

“All of that makes me horny like an animal.”

“I can tell.”

I kept riding him like that for several minutes, drawing pleasure for myself from his frustration. Every slide pulled a gasp from me and a trembling grimace from him. I pushed his shirt all the way up and played with his nipples again, alternating slow caresses and sharp pinches until I had him completely submissive to the mixture of pain, arousal, and shame.

“I’m going to reward you,” I whispered in his ear, “but not because you deserve it. Because you’ve made my pussy a complete mess.”

I climbed off his lap, opened his trousers all the way, and finally freed him from the cage. His cock emerged hard, marked, extremely sensitive. I wrapped my hand around it once and he let out a long, filthy, sincere moan.

“Don’t move.”

I knelt between his legs. I ran my tongue slowly over the tip, gathering the fluid already beading there, and then went down to the base. I sucked him as if I wanted to reward myself too, enjoying every spasm in his tied thighs, every broken breath. He liked it far too much, and it showed in the way he tried to hold back the thrust of his hips so he wouldn’t disobey.

I took half his cock into my mouth and held it there, wet and hot, pressing my tongue underneath. When I began moving up and down in earnest, his head fell back. I was growing more aroused myself. I slipped two fingers into my pussy while sucking him, rubbing myself quickly, letting the wet sounds of my mouth and hand fill the living room.

“Fuck…” he moaned. “I’m not going to last long.”

I took my mouth off him for a second. “I haven’t given you permission.”

I swallowed him down to the root again, this time letting him feel my throat and the controlled choking that drives him crazy. I alternated that with slow, long sucks, then a harder, faster rhythm, squeezing the base with my hand while saliva dripped over my fingers. He was lost. So was I.

When I felt him on the edge, I stood up. I untied him only enough to drag him to the sofa. I wanted to come with him inside me, to feel the contrast between all the accumulated denial and the moment I finally gave him what he wanted. I straddled him, guiding his cock with one hand.

The tip slipped between my lips and I stayed there for a second, teasing him, breathing into his mouth. Then I dropped down hard. He entered fully, and we both made an obscene sound at the same time. Me from the rush of feeling him so hard, so sensitive, so full inside me; him from the brutal relief of finally being where he had wanted to be for days.

“Don’t move,” I told him, remaining impaled on him for a few more seconds, feeling his cock throb inside me. “You’re going to fuck me at the pace I set.”

I began slowly. Very slowly. Rising until I nearly pulled him out, then lowering myself with all my weight, letting my walls adjust to the exaggerated sensitivity of his freed cock. He tried to hold me by the waist, but I pushed his hands away.

“Just watch.”

I braced myself against his chest and sped up. The wet sound of our thrusts mingled with my moans and his ragged breathing. I was no longer torturing him; now I was using all that tension to my advantage, drawing out the arousal I had been building since dinner, since the cage, since watching him hold himself back for me again and again.

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. “Fuck me like that… fuck… don’t stop.”

“You like it when I keep you locked up and then use you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

“Yes, mistress. It drives me crazy.”

I leaned in and bit his lip before straightening again. I changed the angle, bracing my hands against the backrest and lifting my ass to let him penetrate me more deeply. Every rise and fall struck the exact spot. My moans became less and less elegant, cruder.

He could no longer contain the urge and began thrusting from below as soon as I allowed it. He grabbed my thighs, driving his cock into me with short, hard thrusts, desperate from all the time he had been held back. I let him do it for a few seconds, just long enough for him to lose his head, then stopped him again by pulling his hair.

“Still. If you come before I do, you’re back in the cage all week.”

That threat left him trembling. I took advantage of his docility and climbed off the sofa to turn my back to him, bracing myself against the armrest. I spread my legs with one hand.

“Now. Fuck me.”

He stood and penetrated me from behind with a single deep thrust that tore a cry from me. He grabbed my hips and began fucking me hard, freer, more animal, pounding me with a steady rhythm that made my body collide with the sofa. I set the pace between moans, asking for more, telling him not to dare come.

“Like that… like that… don’t stop, you bastard.”

His hand moved down to my belly and then between my legs, searching for my clitoris while he kept fucking me. He found it soaked and began rubbing me with clumsy but hungry precision. I felt the orgasm come all at once, rising through my abdomen like a brutal contraction.

“I’m going to come,” I said through clenched teeth. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

I came with his cock buried to the hilt and his fingers rubbing me mercilessly. My legs nearly gave way. He lasted only a few seconds more; I felt him trembling behind me, losing control, gripping my hips as if he were drowning.

“Come,” I finally ordered him.

He came with a hoarse moan, unloading inside me in several powerful spasms, still thrusting as his orgasm emptied his entire body. He stayed pressed against my back, sweating, breathing against my neck. I was still trembling, my pussy still squeezing him.

We stayed like that for a moment without speaking. Then I slowly pulled away and turned to look at him. His expression was spent, satisfied, still half dazed. I liked that face so much that I stroked his cheek before giving him a soft slap, almost affectionate.

“Good boy,” I said.

He smiled obscenely. “That turns me on a lot too.”

I laughed and went to retrieve the cage from the floor. I lifted it between two fingers. His expression changed instantly, a mixture of exhaustion and renewed arousal.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told him. “The adventure is only beginning.”

And it was true. Moving in together hadn’t only given us a shared space; it had opened a door. A door to trying fantasies with time, trust, and more hunger than shame. To exploring his submission and my dominance without rushing, getting inside our heads and dirtying up the bed as much as necessary.

Now we know the cage wasn’t the destination, but the beginning. A first object, a first key, a first way of telling each other how far we could go together. And if that night in the living room made one thing clear, it’s that we both want to keep pushing that boundary, slowly when necessary and without restraint when the time comes.

Because yes, we’re an ordinary couple in almost every respect. We pay bills, argue over unopened boxes, and cook whatever when we get home tired. But as soon as I close the bedroom door or make him kneel in the middle of the living room, ordinary comes to an end. That’s where our thing begins: domination, desire, filthy confessions, and no small amount of eagerness to keep fucking with each other’s heads and bodies.

And next time, I’ll probably go a little farther.