Sally and David

The following two days were routine, or as much as this new life could be called routine. I did as I was ordered. She brought me coffee in the morning before work—black, the way she knows I take it. I noticed she dressed sexier for work these days. Tighter skirts, lower blouses, heels that could kill a man. She turned me on every time I saw her. My cock ached in its cage.

I found out later, from an overhearing conversation, that she had been lacing my coffee and any other drink she gave me with some aphrodisiac. 

Every morning, she stood by the door, coffee in hand, she stroked my head and smiled, but I never smiled back. Every evening, when her key turned in the lock, I was there, on the floor, lips pressed to the welcome mat. She never acknowledged it beyond a slight nod, stepping over me like I was furniture.

Wednesday, after we'd eaten supper, in silence. She was still in her work clothes. The silk blouse, the tight skirt, the heels. She hadn't showered. I could smell her as she passed sweat, perfume, and something else underneath. Something musky and unfamiliar. She told me to wait in the lounge on my knees, head bowed, hands behind my back.

I waited on the spot where Mike had fucked her. The room is dark except for the single lamp in the corner. I hear her upstairs, moving around. Drawers opening and closing

Thirty minutes pass. Forty. My knees ache. The cage feels heavier, like it's growing roots into me.

Footsteps on the stairs. Slow, deliberate. She enters the lounge. I don't look up. I hear her stop in front of me. The smell is stronger now. That musk. That foreign scent.

She held up a hood. It's black rubber, seamless, looking like a featureless mask.

My hands are cuffed behind my back. She stepped behind me, and I felt the cold rubber press against my face. She pulled it down, and it clung to my skin like a second layer, tight and suffocating. The world went black. She adjusted it, smoothing out wrinkles and making sure every contour of my face was sealed in rubber. There is a hole for my mouth and two small ones so I can breathe through my nose. 

The smell of the rubber was heady. My own breathing echoed inside the hood, loud and humid. A  leash was clipped to the collar. That was a first, but at least I found out what the ring was for. 

"Up," she said, giving the leash a sharp tug.

I stumbled forward, barefoot on the carpet, then the hardwood stairs. I couldn’t see the steps. I had to feel for each one, my bare toes searching for the edge while she pulled me upward. The hood made every breath echo in my ears. My own breathing, ragged and humid inside the rubber.

At the top of the stairs, she led me down the hall. I know this hallway. I know how many steps it took to get to our room. Her room now.. She stopped. The door opened.

She pulled me forward. The carpet changes plush, familiar. This was our bedroom. Now it's hers. I can smell the difference. Her perfume, stronger.

"Kneel."

I dropped. The carpet is softer here, but my knees still ached from earlier. She walked around me, the leash slack now.

I felt her kneel in front of me, the carpet compressing under her weight. Something thick and foreign pressed against my lips, warm, viscous, smelling of her arousal. She smeared it across my mouth, coating my lips like gloss.

"Pretty bitch," she whispered, her voice close enough that I felt her breath through the hood's mouth hole. "Lick."

I obeyed. The taste was concentrated, musky. She'd been touching herself while I knelt here, cuffed and hooded, listening to her humiliate me.

She giggled, a sound that cut through the rubber. "That's your new lip gloss.

Then the rustling started. Fabric on skin, soft and deliberate. The whisper of silk sliding down her body. The unclasp of a bra. The soft thump of clothes hitting the floor one piece at a time. She was stripping right in front of me, keeping her promise that I would never see her naked again. The hood gave me nothing but darkness and the echo of my own breathing.

Her hands grabbed the back of my hood, fingers digging into the rubber, pulling me forward until my face pressed against her crotch. She was naked, the heat of her skin radiating through the hood. She held me there, my nose and mouth pressed into her, making sure every breath I took was filled with her scent—musky, sharp, the smell of her arousal.

"Breathe deep," she whispered, her voice above me. "That's all you get now. The smell of what you'll never see again."

She ground against my face, just slightly, enough to coat the rubber around my mouth with her wetness. I can taste it through the hole, the same taste she used as lip gloss earlier.

"You're going to dream about this smell," she said, pulling me tighter. "Every time you close your eyes, every time you try to remember what I look like, this is what you'll get instead. My scent. My control."

She held me there until I'm dizzy, until her smell is the only thing in the world. Then she pushed me back. I fell against my heels, gasping inside the hood.

"Good boy," she said.” “Now lie down.”

I lay on the floor, rubber hood clinging to my face, hands cuffed behind my back. She straddled me, facing my feet, and lowered herself until her ass pressed against my mouth. The smell was overwhelming—her arousal, her sweat, the smell of her sex, and something else.

"Lick," she commanded, her voice muffled through the hood.

I obeyed, my tongue finding her asshole. She ground down, forcing me deeper, using my face. I could feel her weight, her heat, the rhythm of her breathing.

And then I felt her breath, hot and deliberate, on my caged cock. She leaned forward, her tits pressing against my stomach, her mouth inches from the metal cage. She exhaled slowly, warming the cold metal, making me strain against it.

"Feel that?" she whispered, her breath tickling my balls. "That's the closest my mouth will ever get to your cock again. Just air. Just teasing."

She sat up, grinding harder on my face. I licked, desperate, my tongue cramping. She rode me like that for twenty minutes, using my mouth on her ass and her pussy. My nose, my entire face, for her pleasure. All I could breathe was her. All I could taste was her, but there was something else, something vaguely familiar.

When she came, she shuddered and stayed seated, pinning me under her weight. I couldn't breathe for a moment, just her scent, her control. Her juices flowed into my mouth. Then it hit me like a brick, vaguely familiar taste, from Sunday, when she had emptied the contents of a used rubber into my mouth. She had been fucked by somebody else.

She stood, leaving me on the floor, hooded and cuffed. I heard her walk to the bathroom, the door closing behind her. Then the shower started, water hitting tile.

I lay on my back, still locked in the rubber hood. The smell of her was everywhere—on my face, in my nostrils, soaked into the rubber around my mouth. I could taste her and somebody else on my tongue, the musk of her ass, the tang of her arousal. My jaw ached, and my tongue felt swollen.

The cuffs bit into my wrists, pinned under my back. My shoulders were starting to cramp. The cage between my legs was a cold weight, a reminder of what I couldn't have.

I listened to the shower run. Ten minutes. Twenty. The water never stopped. I imagined her in there, washing away my touch, my licking, my existence. The smell of her soap drifted under the door,

My world was reduced to the rubber against my skin, the taste in my mouth, the smell in my nose, and the sound of water running. I couldn't move. Couldn't see. Couldn't speak. Just lay there, breathing her in, tasting her, while she cleansed herself of me.

The shower stopped—the rustle of a towel. The door opened, and her footsteps approached. She stood over me, fresh and clean.

"Still here?" she asked, as if I'd had a choice. A little joke at my expense. Ha.fucking ha.

I heard rustling—silk on skin, the whisper of her getting dressed. Then a gentle kick in my ribs. The leash pulled upward, the collar tightening.

"Up."

I struggled to my feet, disoriented. The hood clung to my face, hot and damp. She pulled me forward, and I realized I'd lost the mental map of the room. I couldn't picture where the door was, where the bed was, just darkness and her grip on the leash.

She stopped. "Kneel."

I dropped. She undid the cuffs. My arms fell dead at my sides, pins and needles screaming through them.

"Crawl."

I put my hands forward, feeling my way. The carpet ended. My hand hit a small ridge—a step, maybe two inches high. I crawled over it. The surface changed. Cool and soft, like a pillow or padded mat.

She unclipped the leash. Then a kick to my butt, not gentle this time. "Forward."

I crawled. My head hit something hard and unyielding. A wall. Metal bars. I reached out—more bars on either side. A cage. Small, maybe three feet deep.

I heard the metallic sound of a lock behind me. A door swinging shut. A padlock clicks closed.

"Remove the hood.” She told me. I noticed the ‘please David ‘ was gone now, just straight orders.

I peeled the rubber from my face. The air felt cold against my sweat-soaked skin. I blinked, adjusting to the dim light.

Bars. Black metal bars surrounded me, close enough to touch. I was in a cage, maybe three by four feet, padded on the bottom with a thin mat. It sat at the end of what used to be our bed. 

I remembered now. The guys from the week before, the contractors she hired. "Building custom storage," she said. I heard the drilling and banging through my locked bedroom door. 

.

"These were the further arrangements I mentioned," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed in a silk robe.

She held up a key. "This is where you sleep from now on.

I looked at the bars, the padlock on the door, and the water bottle clipped inside. The cage was designed for multiple uses, as I was to find out later.