I have an affection for the music of Gilbert and Sullivan. I listen to their works in the morning as I ready my instruments for their purpose. Or in the evening, when I bathe in floral oils, among my candles, sliding fragrant fingertips to my sex as I reminisce about some of the delicious humiliations inflicted that day. And was there ever a better song to test out the delicatesse of a newly made gurl than “Three Little Maids from School are We”?
My favourite song from the Mikado is called: “This is what I’d never do”. It amuses me, because so many times, I’ve heard similar sentiments from men when presented with a cock cage.
I’ve seen some pretty self-assured and arrogant men blanch when presented with this innocuous little metal device. And suddenly “I’d do anything” becomes “but I wont do that”.
To which I say, “Oh really?”
It doesn’t take much. Just my disappointed look, the sliding of a hand down the inside of the thigh or a pinch of their nipple. I tease and goad them. Comfort and torment them. If this fails, I will offer to let them hold the keys. Let them pretend they’re in control for a while…
But how much power these pathetic creatures put in their cocks! You’d think they were carrying Excalibur the way they parade them about. I serve as a reality check. They wield no “Excalibur”, not even a Hobbit sized “Sting”. More’s the pity! It particularly amuses me when one protests the cage might be too small for them (please). I laugh, but then insist they stop stalling. I’ve never seen a cage that is too small. Never. Only a cock with ideas above its station. This can be quickly remedied.
They put it on gingerly. Their eyes silently inquiring if this might be some kind of trick. That the keys may not be the right keys. That maybe I might take them away when they are so vulnerable. They cannot do anything other than trust me, but they also know my penchant for jokes, and generally at their expense. I watch them bite their lip, watching in horror as the lock clicks shut.
At this point, I may snatch the keys and run with them to the window, opening it, teasing them that if they come a step further, they may fall from my hand to the street below. Or, I may pin them down and make as if to force them to eat them. But if they really don’t want it, If they really choose to put their selfish needs before my own, I’ll let them have the keys back. If they beg. And a “please” wont do. They need to have a pretty silver tongue for me to hear them. Or an occupied one.
When unlocked, they think they’re free. But what they don’t know is that the seed has been planted in their weak minds. Soon they are wondering why they keep thinking about the “injustice” done to their manhood. It irritates and upsets them, but also arouses them.
Soon, in horror, they realize they miss their cage as much as fear it. That their cock longs for captivity. Longs for the prison of cool metal annulling any possibility of gratification.
A sort of “Cockholm Syndrome”, if you will. 🙂
Eventually they beg me for it back, and I am only too happy to oblige. I even may act surprised, from time to time. But I am not. I know very well what I am doing. It is best for them – and you – never to forget that.
Let me know how you’re getting on with your cages, those of you in Chastity. And those of you who are not – why not? I am intrigued to hear your excuses, pathetic as they will almost certainly be.