Sally and David

She pulled a heavy cover over the cage—some blackout fabric, thick and sound-dampening. The darkness became absolute.. I was sealed in a void of my own breathing.

I heard her pick up her phone.

"Hey," she said, voice bright. "Yeah, I'm home." She laughed, a sound that cut through the quiet. "No, that sounds perfect. Friday works."

She talked for twenty minutes, her voice rising and falling. About work, about plans, about movies she wanted to see. She didn't mention me. Not once. It was like I didn't exist, like the cage was empty.

Then the phone call ended. Silence for a moment. Then a drawer opened. The familiar buzz of her vibrator, the high-end one. The sound filled the room, filled my cage, impossible to ignore.

She didn't make me wait long. I heard her shift on the bed, the covers rustling. The buzz changed pitch as she pressed it against herself. Her breathing got heavier, louder. The mattress creaked.

"Fuck," she groaned, her voice raw. "Fuck, yes."

She came hard, the groan turning into a long, shuddering moan that seemed to go on forever. Then silence, except for her heavy breathing.

The vibrator fell to the floor with a soft thud. I heard her roll over, pull the covers up. Her breathing slowed, evened out. She was asleep.

I tried to get comfortable in the cage, but I found I could only lie in a fetal position.  The smell of rubber and her sex filled my lungs. The taste of her was still on my lips from earlier. The sound of her orgasm echoed in my ears. And outside, the vibrator lay on the floor, still buzzing faintly against the carpet until the battery finally died.

I lay in the dark, listening to her sleep.

The cover lifted. Light seeped in. “Up."  It was earlier than usual.

I struggled to my knees in the cage. The lock clicked, and the door swung open behind me.

"Back out," she said. "Slowly."

I crawled backward, feeling my way out of the cage on all fours. The carpet was soft under my hands. When I was clear, she snapped her fingers. I turned, still on my knees, and saw her standing by the bed in a silk robe, coffee in hand.

"Feet," she said.

I shuffled forward and pressed my lips to her bare feet. The ritual was already automatic. She let me kiss each one three times before tapping my shoulder with her toe.

"Go to your room. Wait."

I stood, my legs stiff from the night in the cage. I walked to the spare room, now my room, lay down on the bed, and waited. Twenty minutes later, she appeared in the doorway, holding a mug. The smell of coffee filled the small room. She handed it to me like she used to, years ago, when we were normal.

"Morning," she said, her voice casual. "Sleep okay?” Another joke.

I stared at the mug, then at her. She was acting as if nothing had happened, as if I hadn't spent the night caged in her room, like she hadn't ridden my face and locked me away. Like this was just another Thursday.

"Drink your coffee," she said, smiling. “And clean yourself up, you're a mess.”

She turned and left, her footsteps light in the hallway. I lay there, looking at the ceiling, the taste of her from last night still on my lips, trying to understand how she could switch so easily between cruelty and domesticity.

The coffee was black. The way she knew I liked it. My cock hardend in the cage as I thought of her. 

Thursday was uneventful. I did my chores, knelt for her feet when she came home, and slept in my own bed. No cage. No hood. Just the collar, the cage between my legs, and the constant ache of denial.

Friday morning, she stood by the door, waiting to leave for work. I dropped, kissed her feet, waited for the tap that let me rise.

"Tonight," she said, smoothing her skirt, "I have a special surprise for you."

She didn't elaborate. Just smiled, that cold, knowing smile, and left. The door clicked shut. I stood in the hallway, her words echoing.

I spent the day cleaning, my mind spinning. The way she said it, special, made my stomach turn.

When she came home that evening, I knelt to welcome her. She stepped over me and went straight upstairs. I waited in the kitchen for an hour, wondering if she was going to eat the supper I had made for us.  Finally, her voice drifted down.

“Up here."

I climbed the stairs, my legs shaking. I found her in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the cage with the rubber hood in her hand.  She threw it to me, “Put that on.

I slipped the hood over my head, the rubber clinging to my face. "Kneel," she ordered, and I dropped to the floor. She straightened the hood, smoothing out any wrinkles, ensuring my world was complete darkness. Then she gagged me, the rubber penis gag sliding between my lips, buckling tight behind my head.

She tied me lying down on top of the cage, ropes securing my wrists and ankles to the bars. I was spread-eagled, hooded, and gagged, completely vulnerable. She was doing something to the cage on my cock—adding an attachment. I heard the click of metal, the slide of something being locked into place.

Then she fucked herself on it.

I could feel her weight on top of me, the cage pressing into my pelvis, the attachment inside her. She used me, used the cage, her moans filling the room as she took her pleasure from my denial. The cage kept me soft, a constant reminder of my place, even as she came, shuddering, using my enforced chastity for her own satisfaction.

She pulled herself off the attachment, breathing hard. Then she crouched down beside me, her hand stroking the rubber hood over my face.

"Good boy," she whispered. "Now, in a minute, I'm going to fuck myself on the rubber cock sticking up from your gag. But before that—" she paused, her fingers tapping the hood—"we've been invited to a work function next week, and people are expecting to see you."

My stomach dropped. See me? How? I was hooded, caged, collared.

"So I'm going to make a few changes," she continued, her voice bright with cruel possibility. "You'll be there. You'll be presentable. But you'll also be... controlled. Don't worry, I'll explain later."

She stood, positioned herself over my face, and lowered herself onto the rubber cock protruding from my gag. She used my mouth, my immobilized head, riding the fake cock while I lay trapped beneath her, breathing her scent through the hood's nostril holes, tasting nothing but rubber. When she came, she stayed seated for a long moment, grinding down, ensuring I felt every pulse of her orgasm through the gag.

She slid off me, the weight lifting. I heard rattling in a drawer—keys, metal, something else. Then she went to the bathroom. Water running. The sound of her washing herself, cleaning away the evidence of what she'd just done.

She came back, her fingers cool on my cock cage. The lock clicked open. The cage came off. I sprang to life, hard and aching, the air feeling foreign against skin that hadn't been free in days.

Next was the collar. Her hands at my neck, A whirring sound, and it came undone. It fell away, and my neck felt naked without it, vulnerable in a way I hadn't expected. The weight of it, the constant reminder of her control—gone.

I lay there, spread-eagled on top of the cage, hooded and gagged, but suddenly, shockingly free in two places that mattered. My cock throbbed in the open air. My neck felt light, wrong.

She crouched beside me again, her hand stroking the rubber hood. "There," she said, her voice soft. "That's better. For now.” 

Her fingers didn't trace—they clawed their way down the hood. She yanked the ropes, checking the knots with rough jerks that bit into my skin. When her hand found my cock, she seized it, her grip tight and punishing. I groaned into the gag, the sound muffled and pathetic.

She spat the words against my neck, her breath hot with fury. "You're fucking pathetic." Her fist pumped my cock with hard, fast strokes, no gentleness now. “We’re going to that party, and you're going to sit in the goddamn corner like the useless piece of shit you are while I find a real man."

I bucked against the ropes, but she leaned her weight into me, pinning me harder.

"Yeah, struggle," she sneered, her hand working me mercilessly. "You think that helps? You think I give a fuck what you want?" She bit down into my neck, hard enough to make me yelp into the gag. "I'm going to let him fuck me right in front of you. Just like Mike did. Remember that? Remember how you cried while he pounded me in our lounge?"

Her grip tightened until I saw stars, her thumb pressing cruelly under the head of my cock.

"And then—" she laughed, sharp and cruel, "—then I'm going to shove your face between my legs and make you lick every fucking drop of his cum out of me. Just like after work the other day, when my coworker bent me over my desk. You lapped it up like a starving dog, didn't you?"

The humiliation burned hotter than her hand. I was leaking, trembling, my orgasm building despite the rage in her voice, despite myself.

"You're not a man," she hissed, her strokes becoming brutal. "You're a cum-sucking pussy. My little cleanup slut. And you're going to come right now because you're so fucking weak you can't help yourself."

I tried to hold back, tried to deny her this last victory, but her hand was relentless. When I came, it wasn't pleasure—it was defeat, thick ropes of cum spurting across my stomach as I thrashed helplessly in her bonds, her angry laughter ringing in my ears.

She sneered, wiping her hand across my chest like I was a dirty rag, smearing my own cum into my skin with rough, disgusted strokes. She left me there, tied and shivering, while she stomped downstairs. When she came back, she dumped ice water on me without warning, the shock making me jerk against the ropes. She scrubbed me with the facecloth like she was cleaning a fucking stain, then slapped on the cooling cream with hard, clinical jabs.

"Now for your real present," she snapped, her voice like a whip crack through the rubber hood. "New cage. Improved model. You're going to fucking hate it."

She forced it over my cock, the metal cold and unforgiving. Something pressed into my skin—hard contacts at the base and along the shaft, biting into sensitive flesh.

"Shock unit," she barked. "Remote-controlled. Same app as the collar, same sensors. I can buzz you like a fucking toy or drop you to your knees screaming."

She gave the cage a sharp tap with her knuckles, making the contacts dig deeper.

"Level one is a warning. Level five?" She leaned close, her breath hot and angry against the hood. "Level five will have you begging me to stop. Not that I will."

She locked it with a vicious twist of the key. The contacts burned cold against my skin, a constant threat.

"Now let me fix this goddamn collar," she muttered, yanking it off and replacing the batteries with rough, impatient movements. When it clicked back around my neck, it felt tighter.

She cut the ropes with angry slices of a blade, ripped the gag from my mouth, and tore the hood off. She stood there in that silk gown, looking down at me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe. My cock tried to get hard instantly, ramming against the bars of the heavier cage.

"Go reheat the fucking food," she ordered.

I turned to leave and a bolt of pain shot through my groin—like getting kicked in the balls by electricity. My knees buckled.

"Perfect," she said coldly. "Responsive as hell."

She watched me gasp on the floor for a second, then her voice hardened. "What the fuck are you forgetting?"

I crawled to her feet and kissed them, her skin cool against my lips while the cage pulsed with residual pain.