I Met a Man… Pt. 02

I blink slowly as I gaze around an unfamiliar room. As the fog of sleep begins to clear from my mind, I turn to my left and see Joel's slumbering form in the huge bed beside me. His chest rises and falls rhythmically as he sleeps.

I lie next to him, recalling the night before--the passion of our embrace, the savagery of our sex--still a blur in my mind. As I struggle to remember, I realize what has woken me.

I don't even need to look down to feel it: the pulsing, pounding erection I'm trying to have. All I can feel is the tight, unrelenting pressure of the titanium cage locked firmly around my straining cock, pulling my balls taut until the ache begins to edge toward pain.

I sigh quietly and slip out from under the covers, padding to the bathroom, the carpet soft and luxurious beneath my bare feet.

As I walk, my thoughts spiral. I should text Linette--let her know I'm okay. She'll worry. Of course she will. I want to ask how she is, hear her voice, anchor myself.

But I don't move to reach for my phone. I keep walking.

This morning is like nothing I've felt before. Waking up in a strange man's house, after being used so thoroughly I can barely piece the memories together--it's surreal. My thighs ache, my lips are swollen, and I feel... hollowed out.

Not in a bad way. Just--exposed.

The surge of feeling catches me mid-step, and I have to stop. I stand there, barefoot on the plush carpet, struggling to breathe evenly. My chest is tight.

Holy shit, I think. It actually happened. And it was incredible.

It's both terrifying and exhilarating.

I press forward, gently opening the bathroom door. It swings without a whisper--well-maintained, like everything in this house. I slip inside and close it behind me with a quiet turn of the handle.

The light is soft, indirect. I cannot make out my self in the mirror and I'm not sure that I'm ready to see myself, just yet.

I sit on the toilet, slowly, carefully. My cock strains uselessly against the cage, incredibly hard but helpless. I have to force it down between my legs to pee, nudging the metal so the stream can find its way around the piercing.

It dribbles at first, then flows, warm and slightly painful. I wince. The 2-gauge Prince Albert locks me inside the cage with no hope of escape. It's not just secure. It's final.

That knowledge hits me harder than I expect. Not just the physical discomfort--but the quiet humiliation of it. Of being denied even the basic dignity of release.

Last night, I gave him everything. And now, in the quiet of morning, I can't even touch myself.

I don't even know if I want to.

It's not up to me.

I belong to her--to Linette. My love, my life. My Mistress.

As I finally find some relief, I sit for a moment, making sure it's finished. Then I stand on shaky legs. The pressure in my groin slowly subsides; my confined cock retreats, and the cage shifts back closer to my body.

I flush and step over to the sink to wash my hands. But as I stop in front of the mirror, I can't bring myself to look up.

I don't know who I'll see.

Will it be the locked sissy who can't control his own cock? The one made to feel small--so small--in the arms of a giant, yet gentle, lover?

Before I can decide, I feel something wet slide down the back of my thigh.

I freeze.

Reaching behind me, I wipe at it with my fingers. When I look... it's cum.

Joel's cum.

My heart skips. My breath catches.

I never let any of it out. I never even thought to. I'm still full of him. How?

A bolt of panic and shame strikes through me as I turn and rush back to the toilet. I barely make it in time before a hot torrent floods out of me, thick and relentless.

It spills from me in waves, running down, dripping, soaking. I sit there, leaking, dazed--unsure whether what I feel is twisted pleasure or crushing humiliation.

After a long moment, I decide it's both.

I've never felt a man's load leave me like that before.

It felt.... Incredible..

I sit there, the ache of emptiness settling inside me, the rawness of being filled still clinging to my mind. My heart beats hard--not with fear, but with something close. Like shame, if shame were sweet.

And then... I remember.

Linette.

It was a few years ago. Linette had been out of town visiting family for a couple of weeks. I missed her--more than I expected. Missed her voice, her gaze, her quiet authority.

When she finally walked through the door, bags in hand and her smile lazy from travel fatigue, I was already nervous. Excited. Exposed.

She barely got her coat off before she looked at me and said, "Okay. Let's see this thing."

My heart skipped.

She was talking about the chastity cage.

I had found it in a local sex shop--just a cheap silicone model with a hinged metal ring. More novelty than restraint. But when I tried it on while she was gone and sent her a few pictures, something shifted in me.

The feeling of being locked... it clicked.

It was thrilling. Immediate. Like something inside me had been waiting for this exact sensation all along.

While she was away, I went down a rabbit hole--reading forums, guides, subreddits. I learned quickly: what I had wasn't serious. Real chastity gear was made of steel, precision-fit, no escape. No games.

We texted back and forth for days about it. Teasing. Curious. I asked her--nervously--if she'd let me buy a proper one.

She didn't say yes right away. She made me wait. But when she did, it came with a warning.

"If you order it," she wrote, "you're not just playing anymore."

I ordered it the next day.

Now, standing in our bedroom with her looking at me expectantly, I felt like I was peeling back a layer I'd never shown anyone before.

I unzipped my jeans, slipped them down, and let her see me: soft, bound, locked in black silicone.

She stepped closer, crouched, examined it without touching. "It's cute," she said. "But you said this one doesn't really work?"

"It's just a toy," I admitted. "I ordered the real one."

Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and something flickered behind them--approval, maybe. Or appetite.

"You like being locked up that much?"

I nodded, cheeks flushed. "I think... I think I need it."

She stood, smiled, and kissed deeply.

"Then we'll do it properly," she whispered. "I'll hold the key. And we'll see just how far this goes."

I didn't know what she meant at the time.

Not really.

I didn't know how much I'd love it.

How much I'd need her control--more than I needed pleasure. More than I needed my cock.

And somehow, even now, even with another man's cum dripping out of me... I still feel that control.

As the sound of the toilet flushing fades, I just sit there. Still. Quiet. Feeling him drip from me.

My cock is soft now--useless, yet still locked. The cage presses against me with its familiar weight, unyielding. The ache is always there. A constant, dull need. Not for release, not really--just the memory of one. The impossibility of it.

My thighs and ass are wet with his cum. The air feels colder now, or maybe that's just in my mind. Goosebumps rise across my skin. I shiver.

The memory washes over me like warm water turning ice-cold.

I don't wear that flimsy silicone toy anymore. That thing was just a suggestion. This--this is titanium. Stronger than steel. Resilient. Unforgiving. It doesn't care how I feel.

Without mercy.

Here I am, belonging to her--and sitting in another man's house with his cum running down my leg and a cock that's good for no one but her.

I belong to her.

I belong to her.

And last night...

Last night...

I let Joel take me like I didn't.

The thought slams into me--like a truck, like a betrayal, like a truth I can't un-feel.

It knocks the air from my lungs. I double over slightly, forehead resting against my palm, trying to breathe through the wave of guilt, shame, desire--emotions tangled together into something I don't have a name for.

Then--footsteps. A soft creak of the floorboard just outside the door.

I freeze.

A knock. Gentle. Unassuming.

"Hey," Joel's voice comes through. Sleep-rough, steady. Kind. "You okay in there?"

I can't answer.

It's too much. All of it.

I look up--and see him. His silhouette fills the doorway, massive shoulders outlined against the soft glow of the bedside lamp behind him.

I shouldn't stare. I shouldn't--

But my eyes trace the lines of his body anyway. The broad chest, the curve of his arms, the quiet power in the way he simply stands.

And then--my cage tightens. Instantly.

Almost against my will.

My heart pounds, matching the pulse that starts to throb inside the inescapable metal between my legs.

I can't breathe.

I can't look away.

All I know is--I want more.

I look up at him, my eyes wide, pleading.

He sees everything.

My shame.

My guilt.

My desire.

All of it, laid bare.

Without a word, he crosses to the shower and turns the handle. In moments, steam begins to curl around us, warm and inviting.

He steps back to me and holds out his hand.

I take it.

As I rise to my feet, a wave of excitement pulses through me--raw, physical, impossible to hide.

He leads me into the shower, adjusts the temperature, and the water flows like silk across my skin. I lower my head as he begins to wash me, slow and deliberate. His hands are strong, steady--he handles me like I'm something both precious and breakable.

The soap lathers between us, over my chest, my thighs, the places I didn't dare touch. The cum and guilt run down the drain together, disappearing.

My breathing deepens. My body softens.

And still--the cage. Always the cage.

Tighter than ever. Pulled cruelly forward by the swelling within. It digs into me, claiming me. Marking me.

I ache. Not just with want--but with need.

Linette...

Her name flickers like a candle in my chest.

But as I breathe--slow, steady--I remember.

This isn't betrayal.

This is permission.

I have permission to be here.

To be his.

That truth settles in slowly, like balm to a burn. I sigh, long and low, and let it anchor me.

When I look down, I see him--hard, massive, watching me with something between hunger and reverence.

He's seen the cage.

Seen what it does to me.

And it excites him.

He takes my hand again, gently, and leads me to the teak bench. He sits, legs apart, gaze locked on mine.

I know what he wants.

I know what I want.