Adventures of Locktober

I should have known this Locktober was going to be unlike any before—more intense, more seductive, and far more challenging. This was our fourth attempt at the chastity challenge month, and Amy wasn’t holding back.

Our journey into chastity had begun nearly a decade ago, back when we first bought a cage as a playful novelty. But in truth, the idea had been planted long before. Back in college, I had bought Amy a leather chastity belt as a kinky little dare. She indulged me, teasing me relentlessly as she wore it out in public, reveling in the thrill of knowing she was locked, yet no one else had a clue. It excited her. That was obvious. And naturally, that excitement turned into a question: What would it feel like for me?

The following year, she gave me my answer—in the form of a CB-2000, wrapped up neatly as a Christmas gift. I was both eager and nervous. I had no idea how it worked, but neither did she, so we abandoned the rest of our presents and spent the next hour trying to fit my cock inside. The challenge? Every time Amy so much as whispered about locking me up, my cock twitched to full attention, making it impossible to cage.

After hours of failed attempts, Amy disappeared into the bedroom. Just as I was about to go after her, she reappeared in the doorway—a vision in skin-tight red latex, her high heels clicking against the floor, a short blonde wig giving her an entirely different, intoxicating edge.

I barely had time to react before she was on me, her hands pressing me back into the chair, her lips trailing down my body with wicked intent. She knew exactly how to bring me to the edge—and exactly how to leave me utterly powerless once I had nothing left to fight with.

Moments later, still shuddering from release, I barely even noticed as she guided my cock and balls through the ring and snapped the lock into place. We both knew one thing—if she let me out, it was never going back on. And that wasn’t an option.

That was our struggle. Every time we played with the cage, the game ended the same way. Until two years ago, when Amy sent me an Instagram post about Locktober.

At first, I thought it was a typo. A month locked up? It seemed impossible. Unbearable. Deliciously cruel.

I wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea, but the fire in Amy’s eyes told me we were going to try it. And I did like the way it turned her on. We had experimented with chastity before, but this would be something new. Something long-term.

By that point, we had upgraded to a CB-3000, and when midnight struck on September 30, Amy watched with a satisfied smirk as I slipped the cage into place. A moment later, the lock clicked shut—a sound louder than any restraint we’d ever played with before. My stomach tightened.

Well… it’s on.

We hadn’t discussed the rules in detail. There was no plan for breaks. No schedule. Just one full month of denial.

By the end of the first week, I was desperate. The chafing, the pulsing night-time erections, the ache of frustration—it all became too much. I lasted seven days and one minute before I begged her to take it off. The burning friction, the constant stimulation, the reminder of how close she was but how far out of reach—none of it was manageable. I needed relief, and I needed it now.

Amy finally relented, but not before making me beg for it.

The next year, we were better prepared.

We trained in advance, conditioning my body by wearing the cage for two to three days at a time. Amy also found a new device—the CB-6000—which had a tighter fit, a hinged base ring, and a much easier locking mechanism. We experimented with other designs too, some with anti-pullout features, some with urethral inserts—anything that would make the challenge more intense. But none were comfortable for long-term wear. Most importantly, we negotiated release nights—one per week. At least, that was the plan.

Halfway through the month, release night arrived. At exactly 6 PM, Amy took the key, unlocked the cage, and gave me exactly what I had been aching for. The sheer relief of feeling her fingers wrap around me, of having my cock free and pulsing in her grasp, was almost overwhelming.

And just as I was ready to make up for lost time—our neighbors knocked on the door. Wine was poured. Conversations stretched late into the night. And just like that, we lost our rhythm.

By Sunday, we weren’t sure whether we should start fresh or just let Locktober slip away. Amy wasn’t feeling well. The urgency had passed. And just like that, we quietly let the challenge fade away.

But this year? This year was different. Amy wasn’t letting anything “fade away” this time. A new cage arrived—a metal model, snug, secure, and impossible to escape. We had tested it, pushed it to its limits. But the biggest difference?

The Contract

A week before Locktober, Amy handed me a formal agreement.

Chastity Agreement – Locktober 2021

1. Amy will assume full control over the Penis and Testicles previously belonging to Todd, effective Midnight on September 30, 2021.
2. Todd will surrender his manhood, and a chastity cage will be secured without hesitation. From that moment forward, Amy alone will decide when and if any release occurs.
3. There will be no scheduled release nights.
4. Todd may request an unlocking, but before the cage is removed, he will be bound, hand and foot.
5. The cage may be removed for any reason, but it will be locked back on before Todd is freed from his restraints.
6. Hand and foot restraints are non-negotiable and inescapable to ensure Todd is completely at Amy’s mercy. Approved methods include:
• Spread Eagle
• Suspension
• Racking
• Cross Restraint
• Hogtie/Cuff
7. For any necessary cleaning, Todd will be bound—hands secured behind his back or locked within stocks or yokes, completely unable to resist.

I read it. Then I read it again. This was real. I would have no control. Once my hands were bound, there was no stopping her from locking me up again. This wasn’t just Locktober anymore. This was Amy’s month. And I was hers.

Saturday Before Locktober

This year, October 1st fell on a Sunday, which meant Saturday night was my last taste of freedom. At 6 PM, we sat at the kitchen table, the air thick with anticipation. The contract sat between us like a pact with the devil—binding, absolute, and completely inescapable. With a deep breath, I signed my name.

Amy, looking utterly delighted, took the pen, signed hers, and then slowly, deliberately, folded the contract. It was done. She was in control now.

To celebrate—or perhaps to tease me with the last few hours of my freedom—we decided to go out for dinner. Amy looked stunning—a tight black dress, thigh-high stockings, and a knowing smirk. She was enjoying herself, sipping her wine, making little remarks that sent shivers down my spine.

“You nervous?” she asked, casually running her fingers along the delicate gold chain around her neck, where—already—the key to my chastity cage hung.

I swallowed hard. “A little,” I admitted.

She smiled. “Good.” After dinner, Amy wanted to watch a movie. Her choice. I shouldn’t have been surprised when she picked Con Air—a film about men in prison, under lock and key, completely at the mercy of their captors.

I glanced over at her midway through the film. She was relaxed, enjoying herself, completely at ease. Meanwhile, I was on edge—thinking about what was coming. I wasn’t free anymore. And I wasn’t going to be for a long time.

11:30 PM.

Amy stood up, stretched, and without a word, disappeared into the bedroom. When she returned, she was holding our most trusted and reliable cage. “Practice time,” she said, her voice soft but undeniable. I hesitated for a fraction of a second—just enough for her to arch a brow. “You don’t want to make this harder than it already is, do you?” She wasn’t wrong.

Over the years, we had learned the hard way that any foreplay, any arousal before locking me up made the process nearly impossible. The moment she touched me, my cock swelled to full, aching attention, making it a battle of willpower and cold towels just to fit inside the cage. Even without foreplay, it took almost an hour. Amy worked methodically, applying plenty of lubricant, using cool compresses to keep me under control, whispering just enough teases to keep me on edge without pushing me too far.

11:59 PM.

I was caged. A moment later—click. The lock snapped shut. I shuddered. My last moment of freedom had just passed.

Amy smiled in satisfaction, reaching up to run her fingers over the small key resting against her collarbone. The only other key—my last hope of escape—was already sealed in an envelope, handed over to her best friend, Angie, who had been instructed to keep it safe until November 1st. If anything happened to Amy’s key, Angie would be the one holding my fate in her hands. I wasn’t sure which idea was more nerve-wracking. By 12:30 AM, we were both in bed. Amy curled up beside me, one arm draped across my chest, her fingertips lightly tracing over my stomach as if she were casually reminding me who was in control now. I stared up at the ceiling. 31 days of denial. Of frustration. Of surrender. I was as terrified as I was aroused. This time, we were going to succeed. And I had never felt more owned.

Sunday (Day 1)

The first morning of Locktober began with a restless night. It wasn’t just the mental weight of knowing I was locked—it was the physical reminders, the constant, throbbing pressure of every unfulfilled erection. They came in waves, teasing me awake every time, leaving me tense, frustrated, and aching. But strangely, it wasn’t as painful as I had remembered in past years. The cage fit better. Snug. Secure. Unforgiving, but not unbearable.

By the time the sun filtered through the curtains, I gave up on sleep and slipped into the shower, letting the warm water run over my skin as I washed away the last traces of lubricant from last night’s caging ritual. My hands moved instinctively, but of course, the cage was there—unmoving, unyielding, denying me any satisfaction.

With a sigh, I stepped out, dried off, and dusted baby powder around the base ring—a precaution against chafing. 31 days was a long time, and I needed to be careful. Dressing required more thought than usual. I had errands to run in the morning, and later, Amy and I were taking a birthday present to her sister, Mindy. I chose roomy khakis—nothing too tight, nothing too obvious—and a simple polo. The October heat was lingering longer than usual, adding another layer of discomfort.

Everything about the day felt ordinary, except for one thing. Mindy. From the moment we arrived at her house, I couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes kept drifting below my waist. At first, I brushed it off. Maybe I was just self-conscious. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. But as the afternoon went on, I caught her glancing again. And again. And again. I shifted uncomfortably, pretending not to notice. Was I imagining it? Had Amy told her?

No. That wasn’t possible. Amy swore she would never tell Mindy about our arrangement. And yet… her gaze lingered just a little too long, her smile a little too knowing. At one point, I swore she smirked.

Amy, of course, acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She chatted with Mindy, laughed, drank her coffee—completely at ease. Meanwhile, I sat there, locked, frustrated, and hyper-aware of the cold metal pressed against my most sensitive parts, wondering if Mindy knew exactly what was hidden beneath my zipper.

By the time we left, I was flustered, rattled, and even more on edge than I had been that morning. As we pulled out of the driveway, I glanced over at Amy. “She was staring at me the entire time.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Your sister. She kept looking at… you know… down there.”

Amy let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, please. You’re just being paranoid.”

“I swear, Amy. She kept looking. Like she knew.”

Amy smirked. “Well, I didn’t tell her, if that’s what you’re asking. But maybe you’re more obvious than you think, babe.” I exhaled sharply, shifting in my seat. Was I imagining things? Or did Mindy know more than she was letting on? Either way, it didn’t matter. I was locked in for the next 31 days. And the game was just beginning.

Monday (Day 2)

I woke up thirty minutes early, my body already adjusting to the new reality—every restless movement, every attempted morning erection, every reminder that I was locked away. I dragged myself into the bathroom, half-awake, half-hard, groaning as the cage kept me frustrated, sensitive, and pulsing against its unyielding walls. Another 29 days to go.

I had to think carefully about what to wear. My job in healthcare meant some days I wore dress clothes, while other days I wore scrubs. Scrubs were a double-edged sword—they made the sharp angles of the cage more noticeable, but they also had a looser fit, which helped mask the bulk of the device. I opted for scrubs.

Still, as soon as I got to work, I spent twenty minutes in the locker room, obsessively checking myself in the mirror, shifting, adjusting, making absolutely sure no one could tell what was underneath. I wore regular underwear over the cage, pressing everything down and in place, trying to avoid any obvious bulges or awkward shapes. Even so, I felt it every single second.

The hours passed quickly, but not a single moment went by where I wasn’t hyper-aware of my caged cock—the pressure, the weight, the way my body instinctively reacted to the confinement. And then there was the issue of peeing. I had forgotten how much of a pain in the ass it was to sit down every time. Using a public restroom as a caged man isn’t as easy as it sounds. In the men’s locker room, I had to wait until everyone was gone before slipping into the stall to relieve myself. Even then, there was the clanking—more metallic noise than most people would ever expect from such a small device. Every clink and shift echoed in my ears, making me paranoid that someone would notice.

Finally, the workday ended, and I got in my car, exhaling in relief. Driving home was the most relaxed I had felt all day. No worrying about people noticing, no paranoia about moving the wrong way. Just me. And the cage.

When I got home, Amy was already in the kitchen. We started making dinner together—her slicing vegetables, me stirring something on the stove. At first, everything seemed normal. Then, she started getting playful. She would brush against me, her hip grazing against the locked steel, her fingers trailing along my waistband, her body pressing just close enough to make me twitch. At one point, she tapped on the cage—two sharp little knocks, like she was knocking on a door. Knock, knock.

My breath hitched. I turned to look at her, but she just grinned, gave a little shrug, and said innocently, “What? There’s nothing I can do about it, right?” She was having way too much fun with this already. But something was different. Something was missing. Amy always wore the key—dangling from a necklace, teasing me with its constant, tantalizing presence. I glanced at her neck. Bare.

My stomach tightened. “Where’s the key?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

She didn’t even pause in chopping the vegetables. “I tucked it away for safekeeping,” she said lightly, her voice dripping with amusement. “And to make sure you can’t take it away from me.”

I frowned. “Amy… where is it?”

She finally looked up at me, her eyes dark with mischief, her lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. “You’ll never find it.” She leaned in, so close I could feel the warmth of her breath against my neck. “So don’t even try.”

I stood there, stiff, frustrated, completely powerless, as she turned back to the cutting board like nothing had happened. The key was gone. I had no idea where it was. And Amy had just made it clear that she was in full control now. No escape. No last-minute mercy. No negotiation. For the first time, I truly understood— This wasn’t just a game anymore. This was her month. And I was completely at her mercy.

Tuesday (Day 3)

The routine of the workweek settled in. Tuesday was much like Monday, except this time, I had to wear a full business suit instead of scrubs. The heavier fabric helped hide the cage, but the snug fit of my dress slacks meant I could still feel every shift, every press of metal against sensitive skin.

I spent most of the morning behind my desk, subconsciously reaching down every so often, feeling for the cage as if I needed reassurance that it was still there—as if I could ever forget. Then, just after noon, Amy started texting me. At first, it was flirty messages—little teases, subtle reminders that she was thinking about me… and my predicament. Then, she sent a picture. A pair of shiny black boots, standing on the hardwood floor. She didn’t say whether she was wearing them or if she had simply snapped a picture. But in my imagination? She was wearing them. She knew exactly what that image did to me.

The rest of my workday was a blur. Every time my mind wandered, I thought about her in those boots, standing over me, the key to my freedom hidden away somewhere I’d never find it.

By the time I got home, I was edgy, restless, aching for relief I knew I wouldn’t get. Then, Amy surprised me again. When she came to bed, she was wearing a new costume—a Naughty Nurse outfit, complete with satin red panties, a white button-up uniform, and no bra. This was the kind of thing I had always fantasized about—Amy surprising me with sexy lingerie, teasing me in bed, giving me something to dream about. But this wasn’t exactly ideal timing.

She crawled under the covers, completely unfazed by my frustration, stretching out on her side like she was completely at peace, while I lay there, staring at the ceiling, desperate to think of anything else. It was going to be a long night.

Wednesday (Day 4) – The First Deep Cleaning

Morning came with the usual aching stiffness inside the cage. I got up early, threw on my gym clothes, and headed to the gym—but I still wasn’t brave enough to shower there. Not yet. Instead, I stopped by the house afterward, taking a shower in the privacy of my own home before heading to work.

The workday was uneventful, but the tension never fully left me. Every movement, every stray thought, every shift in my pants was a constant reminder of my captivity. On the way home, I stopped at the liquor store and grabbed a couple of bottles of wine—figuring Amy and I could share a drink after dinner.

When I got home, I expected to find her in the kitchen, preparing something for dinner. But when I walked through the house, she wasn’t there. Then I heard it—the shower running.

Curious, I stepped toward the bathroom. As I breached the doorway, I froze. Amy was standing in the middle of the bathroom, her hair slightly damp, wearing cutoff denim shorts, a loose tank top, a pushup bra, and a pair of rugged work boots. My stomach tightened. The shower was running, but she clearly wasn’t showering.

Beside her on the counter was a drill, a few tools, and a step stool leaning against the wall. She turned to face me, grinning wickedly. “It’s Wednesday,” she said sweetly. “Time for your first deep cleaning.” My pulse kicked up.

I was excited for the cleaning—after all, our agreed-upon schedule allowed for the cage to come off twice a week for washing. I had been looking forward to feeling free again, even if just for a few minutes.

But as I took in the tools, I suddenly realized what she had done. My eyes drifted upward, following her gaze to the ceiling of the shower, where a newly installed metal hook held a pair of open handcuffs.

My heart pounded. I knew exactly what was about to happen. Amy stepped closer, her boots clunking softly against the tile, and held out her hand. “Clothes off.”

I hesitated. Just for a second. She raised an eyebrow, daring me to challenge her. I slowly stripped, my body already betraying me—rock-hard inside the cage, desperate for what I knew I wouldn’t get.

Amy never took off her clothes. She simply stepped forward, taking my bare wrists in her hands, and guided me under the running water. The cuffs clicked shut around my wrists, locking them above my head.

I was completely exposed, completely vulnerable. Amy stepped back and disappeared into the closet. When she returned, she was carrying a heavy-duty spreader bar. My breath caught in my throat.

She knelt down, fastening the long steel bar between my ankles, spreading me wide. With my legs forced apart, the chains on the handcuffs pulled at my wrists, making it impossible to move. Now, I was truly helpless. Amy kicked off her boots and socks, but left on her shorts and tank top. Then, she turned on the water.

The first blast was ice-cold, shocking my skin, making me gasp. Then, the temperature slowly warmed, and she began removing the cage. My cock sprang to life immediately, aching, twitching, begging for contact. She popped the lid on the body gel and lathered up her hands, coating my torso and back before finally turning her attention lower.

Her hands moved slowly, dragging slick, sudsy circles over my skin, lingering just long enough to drive me insane. I groaned, pulling against the cuffs. “Amy…” I managed.

She just smirked. Then, without a word, she reached inside her shirt and slid out of her bra and pulled it out the sleeve. She tossed it aside, leaving her in nothing but the thin, soaked fabric of her shirt and her barely-there shorts.

My cock throbbed painfully. She ignored it. Instead, she turned the water on herself, letting it drench her tank top, the fabric clinging to her breasts, her nipples hard and straining against the white cotton.

The suds clung to her cleavage, making her look almost ethereal in the steam. Then, just as I felt myself reaching the point of no return— She turned the water back to ice-cold.

I shouted, gasping as every ounce of arousal drained from my body, leaving me shivering, panting, helpless. By the time she locked the new chastity cage into place, my cock was completely flaccid, making it impossible to resist. She unlocked my wrists, tossing me the key to remove the spreader bar myself.

I stumbled out of the shower, wrapping a towel around me, desperate for warmth. Amy was already naked, standing in front of me, still dripping wet, grinning like a devil. “Well,” she said, stretching her arms over her head, completely at ease in her bare skin. “I think I got you pretty clean.”

And just like that, I knew this month was going to be even more intense than I had imagined.

Thursday (Day 5) – Dinner at Othela’s

I wrapped up work early, my stomach practically growling after a long day of back-to-back business meetings. I was just about to slide into my car when my phone buzzed.

Amy: Meet me at Othela’s for dinner.

I smiled to myself. Othela’s was a sexy restaurant—classic Italian, candle-lit ambiance, soft jazz playing in the background. The entire staff looked like they’d been plucked straight from a modeling agency—all young, all beautiful, all dressed in sleek black attire that left just the right amount to the imagination.

A romantic dinner with Amy at Othela’s? Perfect. Or so I thought. When I arrived, I checked in with the hostess. “Your party has already arrived,” she said with a pleasant smile. “They’re sitting with the rest of the other couples.”

I blinked. The other couples? I had assumed this was just Amy and me—a quiet, intimate night together. She never mentioned inviting anyone else. Curious (and now slightly wary), I rounded the corner toward the dining area.

Amy was already seated at a table for six, chatting and laughing with our friends from the HOA—Leslie, Andy, Faith, and Caleb. I quickly masked my surprise, adjusting my tie as I stepped forward. Andy and Caleb stood up to shake my hand, greeting me warmly. Caleb was sitting at the far end, so I had to lean over Faith to shake his hand.

And that’s when it happened. Faith was seated, which meant that as I leaned over, her gaze landed directly at crotch level. For a split second, I tried to ignore it—tried to pretend nothing was unusual. But I caught her eyes. And I was certain—absolutely certain—that she took a longer-than-necessary glance at my lap.

Panic flashed through me. Did she see it? The flimsy fabric of my dress pants barely concealed the bulky shape of the chastity cage beneath—the bright pink color, the rigid edges, the subtle protrusion.

I tried to sit quickly, avoiding any more awkward moments, but as I pulled out my chair, Faith’s eyes snapped back up too fast—as if she was forcing herself to look at my face, like a guy who’d just been caught staring at a woman’s breasts.

My stomach tightened. Did she know? Or was I just being paranoid?

The food was delicious, but I barely tasted it. I spent three hours at that table, shifting uncomfortably, constantly aware of Faith’s lingering gaze.

Because she was seated so close to my end of the table, we conversed frequently, covering everything from our favorite college classes to which ‘90s bands were best positioned for a farewell tour.

And every time she spoke, every time she tilted her head slightly, playing with her wine glass, subtly licking her lips—it took every ounce of willpower not to let my eyes drift downward.

Faith was gorgeous—and she knew it. She worked as a paralegal at the law firm that had helped Amy and me when we bought our house last fall. She was always dressed in tight skirts, plunging blouses, and heels that made her legs look like they went on for days.

Tonight was no different. She wore a pencil skirt—tight, sleek, perfectly hugging her hips. Her blouse was white, sheer enough to tease, and at least two sizes too small. The top button of her blouse looked like it was hanging on for dear life, stretched so tight that if it snapped, there would be zero mystery as to what lay beneath.

Every time she leaned forward, every time she arched her back slightly, every time she stretched in just the right way—I felt my body react. Or at least, I would have… if not for the cage.

As if Faith’s unintentional (or was it intentional?) teasing wasn’t bad enough, Amy wasn’t making things any easier. Under the table, she started knocking on my cage. Not once. Not twice. But repeatedly. At first, it was a casual tap. Then, she started pressing her knuckles against the plastic, grabbing it lightly, just enough to remind me exactly where I stood.

She did it all without breaking conversation, without even looking at me—masterfully playing her role as the perfectly innocent wife while secretly driving me to the edge of madness.

Each time I glanced at her, she gave me a knowing smirk. A silent challenge. “What are you going to do about it?” She never lost eye contact with whomever she was speaking to, never let anyone else catch on to what she was doing.

Except for Faith. Faith might have noticed. Because every time Amy’s fingers brushed against my caged cock, every time I subtly tensed, Faith’s eyes flicked toward me again. It was too much of a coincidence. Did she see something? Or was my own paranoia making it worse?

By the time dessert arrived, I was sweating, edgy, and beyond frustrated. Amy was merciless, casually tapping, teasing, torturing me with subtle little gestures that only she and I understood.

And my pasta tasted like nothing because my entire brain was short-circuiting with the impossible combination of arousal and humiliation. The cage was doing its job well—keeping me locked, keeping me frustrated, keeping me completely powerless.

As the dinner wrapped up, Faith stood up slowly, stretching in a way that made her blouse strain even tighter against her chest. She met my eyes. Smirked. And then looked away.

As we walked to the car, Amy looped her arm through mine, her heels clicking against the pavement. “You were awfully quiet at dinner,” she murmured, her breath warm against my ear. I exhaled slowly. “You weren’t exactly making it easy to focus.”

She grinned, reaching up to brush her fingers against my jaw. “Oh, I know.”

I hesitated. “I think Faith knows.”

Amy stopped walking, turning to face me with an expression of pure amusement.

“Oh?” she teased. “And what exactly do you think she knows?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “She kept looking. I swear she saw it.”

Amy’s smirk deepened. She leaned in close, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered: “Good.”

Then she pulled back, winked, and slid into the car, leaving me standing there—locked, frustrated, and utterly at her mercy. And somehow, I had the feeling this game was far from over.

Friday (Day 6) – The Metal Detector Incident

The Hawks were playing in town tonight, and Amy had gotten us almost courtside seats.

I was thrilled. Watching basketball live was one of my favorite things, and for a few hours, I could lose myself in the game and forget about the cage. Or so I thought.

Amy had invited two of her yoga classmates, Crystal and Beth, to join us. They were both fit, attractive, and completely oblivious to my predicament—or at least, I hoped they were.

Being the only guy in the group, I already felt a little out of place, but once we met up at will call, I settled into the idea that tonight was about basketball, beer, and a good time. As we were in line, we made casual catch-up conversations as we inched toward the venue door. Then I saw it. A metal detector. And I froze. Panic Sets In Less than 50 feet ahead, a long line of fans was slowly moving toward the security checkpoint.

The setup was standard—a conveyor belt for phones, keys, and bags, followed by a full-body metal detector that everyone had to walk through. And I was wearing a cage. A plastic cage, yes. But the lock? The lock was brass. Heavy. Solid. And now, as I took each step forward, my stomach twisted into knots of pure panic.

Would it set off the alarm? Would they wand me? Would I have to explain to a complete stranger why I had metal in my pants? What excuse could I possibly use?

My mind raced through desperate, last-minute escape plans, but there was nowhere to go. I was sandwiched in a long line of people, and the entrance was too far behind me to turn back without raising suspicion.

I turned to Amy, yanking at her sleeve, trying to get her attention. She was deep in conversation with Crystal, laughing, completely unbothered. I pulled at her shirt again, and again, but she simply held up one finger in that “just a minute” gesture and kept talking.

I was dying inside. 10 feet away. I was seconds away from humiliation, and I couldn’t even warn her. This was it. I was about to be exposed.

I stepped up to the conveyor belt, hands shaky, pretending like nothing was wrong. I placed my phone and keys in the tray and watched as they disappeared into the scanner. Then, I took one slow, deliberate step through the metal detector.

BEEEEEEP.

The sharp, ear-piercing alarm cut through the noise of the crowd. My heart stopped. I knew it. I had never been more mortified in my life. And then, she appeared. The security officer who stepped forward wasn’t just any guard—she was stunning.

A petite but dangerously confident blonde, barely out of college, her tight black uniform hugging every curve in a way that made it impossible not to notice.

Her utility belt sat low on her hips, carrying a sleek black taser, handcuffs, and a radio that only added to the authoritative aura surrounding her.

She had that look—the kind of no-nonsense attitude that told you she had no problem putting someone in cuffs if they gave her even the slightest reason.

And right now, she was staring straight at me. “Step over here, sir.” My legs nearly gave out. I felt everyone’s eyes on me as she motioned toward a small roped-off screening area, her grip tightening on the metal wand in her hand.

This was happening. “Arms out to your sides,” she instructed, her tone firm, professional—but with a hint of amusement behind her piercing blue eyes.

I obeyed, swallowing hard, my mind already spiraling as she passed the wand across my chest, arms, and back. Then, she moved downward. As soon as she swept the wand over my waistband, it went off again—right at my zipper. My entire body locked up. She arched a perfectly shaped brow, her red-painted lips curving into something between suspicion and amusement.

“Do you have anything in your pockets?” she asked, her taser shifting slightly on her hip as she rested a hand on it.

I opened my mouth, brain short-circuiting, unable to come up with a single excuse. Instead, I mindlessly reached into my pocket to prove they were empty. And there, in my left pocket, I felt something solid. My AirPods. I pulled them out instinctively, staring at them in absolute disbelief. The security officer smirked, shaking her head just slightly, her fingers idly tapping against her handcuffs like she had been hoping for an excuse to use them.

“Next time, you need to run those through the scanner,” she scolded, her voice just the right amount of stern and teasing.

Then, with a final, knowing glance, she waved me through. Just like that. I had never been so relieved in my life. But as I walked away, I could still feel her eyes lingering on me—like she knew I had been hiding something, even if she couldn’t prove it.

I took my seat, still shaken from the experience. As the game started, I leaned toward Amy, my voice low. “Did you plan this?” I whispered. “You knew there would be metal detectors, didn’t you?”

Amy turned her head slowly, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. She knew. She had known all along. “I swear, I didn’t think the brass lock would set it off,” she said innocently, sipping her drink. “I even Googled it before the game.”

I narrowed my eyes. “But,” she continued, her smirk deepening, “I knew you’d be thinking about it. And I knew it would make you crazy.”

I exhaled sharply, realizing she had played me perfectly. She had never been worried about the detector. She had only wanted to watch me squirm.

Saturday (Day 7) – The Breaking Point

I woke up to a sudden, firm pull on my left ankle. My eyes blinked open groggily, only to find Amy—still half-dressed in one of my oversized t-shirts, her white satin panties peeking out whenever she shifted—securing a thick, heavy-duty leather restraint around my leg.

Something was different this time. The cuffs were new. They weren’t the usual play cuffs we had used in the past—these were thicker, heavier, institutional-grade leather with reinforced buckles. The pale mustard color gave them an almost medical or asylum-like appearance, and the locking buckles gleamed ominously in the morning light.

“W-what are these?” I muttered, still shaking off sleep. Amy barely acknowledged my question, her focus entirely on tightening the strap around my ankle, ensuring zero slack.

Then, the chain came next. Not a rope. Not a silk tie. A chain. She reached toward the side of the bed frame, where she had already pre-installed metal anchor points, and snapped the D-ring of the restraint onto the waiting chain with a heavy metallic clank.

My stomach twisted. This was serious. I instinctively tried to shift my leg, to test the give, but there was none. The chain barely allowed an inch of movement—firm, restricting, absolute.

Amy noticed my reaction and smirked, her bare thighs grazing against my leg as she worked. “We’ve played nice for a week,” she murmured, tightening the second ankle cuff. “Time to step things up.”

My heart pounded as she reached for my wrists next, repeating the same calculated process. The leather was stiff, biting against my skin as she buckled it down. Then, more chains—thick, heavy, unforgiving, attached to bolted rings in the headboard.

Amy snapped the last clasp into place, gave it a tug, and stepped back to admire her work. I was immobilized. Not just tied down—locked down.

Each limb pulled to its absolute maximum stretch, no bend in my elbows, no slack in my knees, nothing but the unyielding strain of steel and leather holding me in place. Even my neck was restricted—a padded collar secured to the headboard by a short chain, allowing just enough movement to breathe, but not much else.

I was completely spread-eagle, exposed, helpless. Amy ran her fingers along the restraints, ensuring everything was tight, secure, and inescapable. “Perfect,” she murmured, finally looking down at me.

I swallowed hard, my breath shallow as I felt every ounce of vulnerability seep into my bones. I could already tell—this was different. Amy stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, taking her time admiring the scene before her.

The pink cage pulsed rhythmically, each throb a mix of frustration and pain, my cock trapped, hard, and utterly useless. I turned my head, desperate for answers, for some hint of what she had planned. She met my gaze with a slow, mischievous grin. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she teased. “I promised you a good day, didn’t I?”

My stomach clenched, a mix of hope and dread filling my chest. She ran a single finger down my stomach, tracing the line of muscle, stopping just before my aching, caged cock. “You’ll get what you need… when I’m ready.” And with that, she turned on her heel and left the room.

At first, I thought she was simply retrieving the key—that she was just making me wait for it. But then, I heard it. The shower. My breath caught. This wasn’t a quick trip to the bathroom. This was something else. I listened intently, every sense on edge. Then, more sounds:

• The squeak of the glass door sliding shut.
• The steady rush of water.
• The faint echo of her humming.

She wasn’t hurrying. She was taking her time. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours.

Then came more noises:

• The whoosh of the hairdryer.
• The soft shuffle of dresser drawers opening and closing.

She was getting dressed. Not just in anything—but in something specific. When she finally returned, my entire body tensed at the sight of her.

Amy bounced into the room, fully dressed in tight black leggings and a crop top, her toned stomach completely exposed, the thin cotton of her shirt draping forward over her breasts, barely covering anything.

She was stunning—so effortlessly sexy that it physically hurt to look at her. “God,” she sighed, looking me over with mock sympathy. “You look so good like this. So desperate.”

I was desperate. Wildly turned on. Physically immobile. Caged. And yet, I could do absolutely nothing.

She slung her gym bag over her shoulder, making a little show of adjusting her leggings, letting her hips roll just slightly as she turned toward the door. “Well,” she mused, “I have yoga. Don’t go anywhere.” Then—she was gone.

I had no idea how much time passed. I lay there, bound, aching, throbbing, with nothing to do but think about my predicament. Then—The back door creaked open.My pulse spiked. Was it her? Or worse—was it someone else? My mind raced with possibilities. What if it was the housekeeper? What if it was a neighbor? What if it was someone completely unaware of what was happening?

I strained my neck, trying to look toward the bedroom door—

Then, her voice rang through the house. “Sorry, babe!!!” Amy’s sweet, teasing tone was casual, playful, like she had just now remembered she had left me tied down.

She bounced into the room, her ponytail swinging, her chest bouncing just as much, completely unapologetic. She had planned this. Every second of it. And before I could even begin to protest— She climbed onto the bed, popped the key into the lock, and with a single twist—Click.

The cage fell away. My cock surged free, harder than I had ever felt before, the pain of restriction instantly replaced by unbearable sensitivity. Amy wrapped her fingers around the base— And with one single stroke, I exploded.

By the time I came back to myself, Amy was already cleaning me up, her movements calm, clinical, utterly in control. Then—just as quickly as she had released me—she was locking me back up.

This time, in a new device. A metal one. Smaller. Tighter. Unforgiving. She gave it a final, firm tug, ensuring it was secure. “There,” she murmured, brushing a kiss against my forehead. “Now, that should hold you for a while.”

And as she turned to leave, I finally understood— Amy wasn’t giving me relief. She was ensuring I would suffer even more.

Sunday (Day 8) – The Next Level

Sunday morning started calmly enough. Amy and I went to the local market, picking up fresh vegetables and basic necessities. It was one of those simple, domestic routines that almost made me forget my situation—until the cage reminded me with every step. The new metal device—smaller, tighter, less forgiving than the last—kept me painfully aware of my predicament. I moved carefully, making sure my stride didn’t give anything away, but Amy?

She was completely at ease. She strolled beside me, her tight jeans hugging every curve, tossing vegetables into our basket like she wasn’t keeping me in a state of constant, controlled suffering. Then, as we pulled into the driveway back home, she turned to me, her fingers idly toying with the key around her neck. “Time for cleaning.”

I knew exactly what that meant. And I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Amy sent me to the bedroom, instructing me to “get ready” just like last time. The moment I walked into the bathroom, I saw it—the handcuffs, the spreader bar, the heavy-duty straps that I knew were about to render me completely powerless.

The mere sight of them sent a shiver down my spine. This was going to be worse than before. I removed my clothes, leaving only the metal cage, my body already tensed in anticipation. Then, I stood there. Waiting. Minutes passed. Then more. Still nothing.

I shifted uncomfortably, still fully aware of the restraints laid out before me, the way my body throbbed against the unforgiving steel of my cage, the way Amy was deliberately making me wait. She was doing this on purpose. Letting the tension build. Letting my mind race.

Finally, I heard her footsteps. The door swung open, and there she was. Amy stood in the doorway, arms crossed, completely unbothered by my nervous energy. But this time—she was dressed for it. She was wrapped head to toe in a gleaming purple latex bodysuit, the material clinging to her curves like a second skin.

Her nipples were rock-hard, projecting straight forward, betraying her own excitement despite the cold authority in her expression. The shiny material reflected the light, accentuating every movement, every shift of her body as she strode toward me with slow, deliberate purpose.

She stopped in front of me, dragging a single latex-covered finger down my bare chest, her touch cool and slick against my skin. “Kneel.”

Her voice was soft, but undeniable. I obeyed. She took her time fastening the cuffs around my wrists, the cold steel clinking sharply as she tightened them snugly. Then came the ankle restraints—thick, heavy leather, the kind that dug into my skin just enough to remind me they were there.

She clicked the spreader bar into place, locking my ankles apart, ensuring that I couldn’t move an inch without her permission. And then— The final touch. She reached up, producing a black leather blindfold, holding it just long enough for me to see it before slipping it over my eyes. Darkness. Total. Complete. Powerless.

The moment she turned the water on, I felt it—the sudden cold spray against my skin, the way my body tensed at the shock. Then, the slow warmth as the temperature evened out, surrounding me in a cascade of sensation. And then came her hands. But this time, there was an added torment. The latex. Her fingers slid effortlessly over my wet skin, the slick, rubberized texture sending unbearable jolts of sensation through me.

I shuddered. Then— She stepped closer. So close that her latex-clad breasts pressed against my back, the tight material molding against my skin, letting me feel every hard contour of her body.

Water beaded up on the surface of her bodysuit, dripping down in rivulets, making each of her movements smoother, more fluid, more intense. She reached around my waist, letting her fingers toy with the metal cage, tracing along the bars, pulling at the base just slightly, sending electric shivers through my core. “You’re so hard, and I haven’t even done anything,” she murmured, her lips brushing just behind my ear. I groaned, pulling against my cuffs, but they held fast.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke again. “I think it’s time for a change.” I barely had time to react before I felt her fingers undoing the lock. The cold metal cage slipped away, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I was free. My cock surged forward, fully erect in an instant, so painfully hard it almost ached. Then— The Birdcage. I felt it before I saw it—the cold steel, the rigid, unforgiving bars, the complete lack of space. This was full confinement. No movement.

She secured it in place, the thick base ring fitting snugly behind my balls, locking it with a final, satisfying click. Then she tugged it—hard. I gasped. “Mmm,” she mused, testing the security of the device. “No more metal detectors for sure. But you’re not going anywhere.”

She pressed her body against mine once more, letting the cool latex glide over my burning skin, sealing the deal with a final, merciless tug on the cage. I was locked again. Only this time, in something far worse than before.

Amy finally removed my blindfold, letting me see my new reality in the bathroom mirror. The Birdcage glinted under the soft light, my cock fully trapped behind the unforgiving steel bars, unable to so much as twitch. I exhaled sharply, my shoulders sagging in complete submission. Amy stood behind me, her purple latex bodysuit gleaming under the bathroom lights, her nipples still hard and prominent, a knowing, satisfied smirk on her lips. “Looks good on you.”

Then, she tossed a towel over my shoulder and walked away, leaving me standing there, still restrained, still locked, still completely and utterly hers. And I had no idea how much worse it was going to get.

As I stood there, my skin still damp, my body aching from restraint, my cock locked in its new, brutal prison, I finally understood: Amy wasn’t giving me relief. She was breaking me down, piece by piece. And we were only on Day 8.

Monday (Day 9) – The Tease Continues

Monday was uneventful. Or at least, it should have been. Work was routine, the hours passing in meetings, emails, and the usual grind. But the Birdcage—the new, heavier, crueler device—was a constant, unforgiving presence. Every shift in my chair, every unconscious twitch, every attempt to adjust—it was there, pressing, constricting, reminding me who was in control. By lunchtime, I had almost settled into the discomfort, my body begrudgingly adapting to its new prison.

Then my phone buzzed. And everything changed. The First Picture Amy’s name flashed across my screen.

Amy: Thinking about you.

A second later—an image arrived. I hesitated, checking over my shoulder before opening it. The moment I did, my breath caught in my throat. Amy was in the bathroom mirror, wearing nothing but the purple latex bodysuit from yesterday, unzipped just enough to expose the swell of her bare breasts, her nipples still firm from the tight rubber pressing against her skin.

Her hips were angled slightly, her lips curled in a teasing smirk, her hand resting against the small silver key hanging from her necklace—the key to my release.

Amy: How’s work?

I swallowed hard, my hands tightening around my phone. It was going to be a long day. Just as I started to recover from the first picture, another one arrived. This time, she was sitting on the bed, her legs crossed, the latex bodysuit unzipped further, exposing just enough to make my entire body ache with frustration. I felt the Birdcage tighten, my cock fighting in vain against the steel.

Amy: Too bad you’re stuck, huh?

I clenched my jaw, exhaling sharply, shifting in my chair, trying to focus on work—but failing miserably. By mid-afternoon, I had stopped checking my phone immediately, knowing that every single notification was just another reminder of my helplessness.

The final picture of the day nearly broke me. She was lying flat on her back, the purple latex peeled down to her waist, exposing every inch of her perfect, bare breasts. The silver key still hung between them, taunting me.

Amy: Hope you’re having a productive Monday.

I wasn’t. At all. And Amy knew it.

By the time I got home, Amy was lounging on the couch, completely innocent, sipping a glass of wine like she hadn’t spent the entire day torturing me remotely. She glanced up, her eyes playful, her lips curling at the corners. “Rough day?”

I exhaled sharply, setting my bag down. “You know damn well it was.”

She laughed softly, setting her wine down and standing, sauntering toward me with slow, purposeful steps. “Aww,” she cooed, pressing herself against me, her fingers toying with the waistband of my pants. “Poor thing.”

Then—a firm tug on the Birdcage through the fabric. I groaned, my head tilting back, my body reacting on instinct—only to be met with cold, unyielding steel.

Amy leaned in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered: “Only 22 more days to go.”

Then, with a smirk, she stepped back, grabbed her wine, and walked away—leaving me standing there, frustrated, throbbing, and completely at her mercy.

Tuesday (Day 10) – The Brush of Discovery

The day started like any other. I got up early, went to the gym, and powered through my usual workout routine, the cold steel of the Birdcage a constant presence. Even as I pushed through reps, the firm grip of the device never let me forget my place.

A quick shower, then off to work—suit and tie, crisp, professional, composed. I was settling into the rhythm of the day, feeling almost normal, my mind momentarily focused on tasks and deadlines instead of my predicament. But then, just after lunch, everything changed.

Marketing had scheduled a formal work photo, a full team portrait for an upcoming publication. I didn’t think much of it as we all gathered in front of the photographer, adjusting our jackets, smoothing our ties, standing in position. I took my place in the back row, standing tall, keeping my posture professional.

The photographer started arranging us closer together, giving the usual instructions—“A little to the left… move in tighter… everyone squeeze in.” That’s when it happened.

A soft but undeniable brush—a fleeting but direct contact. Crystal’s arm grazed against my crotch, and for the briefest of moments, she felt the cold, unyielding steel of the Birdcage beneath my suit pants.

I froze. Did she notice? Did she register what she just felt? I acted instantly, shifting my weight, repositioning myself behind another coworker, subtly ensuring no further accidental discoveries. But as we broke apart, heading our separate ways, Crystal turned her head— And for the briefest of seconds, she locked eyes with me.

Questioning. Calculating. Amused? Then, just like that, she was gone. But my mind? My mind was completely wrecked for the rest of the day. For hours, my thoughts raced.

What did she think she felt? Something unexpected? Something unusual? Did she assume it was just a belt buckle, a strange fold in my slacks? Or worse—did she actually realize what it was?

No. That was impossible. Right? I tried to shake it off, focus on my work, but it was useless. Every time I glanced up, my eyes subconsciously sought out Crystal. Was she acting differently? Did she know something?

By the time I got home, I was still rattled, my mind a swirling mess of paranoia, overanalysis, and frustration. Amy was waiting for me, lounging on the couch in a silk robe, sipping her usual evening glass of wine. She took one look at me, her brows raising slightly, and smirked. “You look distracted.”

I hesitated, not sure if I should tell her—if I should admit that for the first time in this whole ordeal, someone else might have noticed. I opened my mouth. Then, she stood up, crossed the room, and reached down to grasp the Birdcage through my pants. I shuddered, my body reacting involuntarily, my cock straining uselessly against the cold, unrelenting metal.

“Still locked,” she murmured, half to herself, half to tease me. Then she leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear, her breath warm, teasing, intoxicatingly cruel. “Better hope you didn’t get too flustered at work today, babe.”

Then, with a smug little grin, she released me, turned on her heel, and walked away, leaving me standing there—helpless, frustrated, and utterly in my own head.

And I still didn’t know if Crystal knew.

Wednesday (Day 11) – A Difficult Choice

Wednesday began like any other day—early morning meetings, a packed schedule, and a department-wide offsite lunch. I was running a little late, and by the time I arrived, the only seat left was directly across from Crystal. I did my best to act normal, to keep my attention elsewhere, to engage with the meeting without making eye contact. But occasionally, she would glance at me—just a second longer than what felt normal.

Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe I was paranoid after yesterday’s accidental brush during the work photo. Or maybe—just maybe—she had noticed something unusual.

Still, how many people even know male chastity exists? It wasn’t like she would jump to that conclusion. She probably thought there was something in my pocket, a belt buckle, a stray fold of fabric—anything but the cold, locked reality of what was actually there. That’s what I kept telling myself.

A few times, we reached for the bread or olive oil at the same time, and there was just a fraction of a second too much eye contact. Was it all in my head? Or was she curious? Either way, I forced myself to focus on the meeting and powered through the rest of my workday.

When I got home, I knew what was coming. Cleaning day. The Birdcage had been rubbing the base of my scrotum more than usual, and the area was becoming raw and irritated. I mentioned it to Amy, and for the first time in days, she gave me a look of genuine concern.

“Why don’t you go get ready for your cleaning, and I’ll have a look?” That was all she had to say. Being agreeable, I went straight to the shower and assumed the position—spreader bar locked between my ankles, handcuffs secured to the ceiling hook above me. Then I waited. The first minute felt manageable. By the third, the cold air settled into my skin. By the fifth, I was shivering slightly, standing there—stark naked, legs forced apart, arms locked above my head—completely vulnerable.

Amy finally walked in, rolling up her sleeves like she was about to get to work. She turned the water on warm, adjusting the pressure before scrubbing me down, ensuring every inch of me was cleaned thoroughly. She immediately noticed something was off. “Hmm,” she murmured, her fingers pausing as she ran them beneath the base of the cage.

I flinched. She noticed that, too. “You’re not as hard as last time,” she mused. “And… you winced.”

She knelt down, inspecting the area carefully before letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah… you’ve got a red line forming. The base is rubbing too much. That skin is really irritated.”

She stood up, wiped her hands, and looked me in the eye—the teasing momentarily gone. “Do you want to abandon Locktober?”

My stomach dropped. I hesitated. I didn’t want to quit—but the pain was bad. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up so soon. “What do you think is best?” I asked, knowing she could see the damage better than I could.

Amy tapped her lips thoughtfully, then suddenly brightened, as if she had an idea. “Stay here,” she said.

Then, she left the shower. I waited—still cuffed, still bound, still exposed. Minutes passed. Then, she returned. And I immediately knew she had something planned. She was carrying a metal collar and a few lengths of chain.

Amy held up the collar, letting the cold steel gleam under the light.

“We’re clearly going to have to rest that patch of skin,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Which means I can’t put you back in the cage.”

I felt a flicker of hope. But then— “But, I have another idea that can accomplish the same thing.” My breath hitched. She unlocked my wrist cuffs from the ceiling hook, but before I could even relax, she was already securing the metal collar around my neck. “You’re not getting off that easy,” she teased, snapping the padlock into place.

Next, she took a short length of chain and attached it to the front of the collar. Then—without warning—she locked my hands back into the cuffs. This time—in front of me. Then, she secured the loose end of the chain to the center of the handcuffs, restricting my arms so that my wrists couldn’t drop past my chest.

I tested it, but it was impossible to lower my hands past my waist. Amy stepped back and smiled in satisfaction. “There,” she said. “Let’s leave you out of the cage for a day or so, but you still can’t do much. Since your hands won’t reach below your waist, it’s like you’re still in chastity—without the cage.”

I blinked, testing the restraints again. She was right. I couldn’t touch myself. I couldn’t even undo the collar. I was out of the cage—but still completely under her control. I stared at her, half amazed and half frustrated at her ingenuity. “What about work tomorrow?” I asked. “I can’t exactly go to work with my hands cuffed to my neck.”

Amy grinned. “Well,” she mused, “I guess you’re going to have to make a choice: Call in sick, put the cage back on, or call off Locktober.” I stared at her, my mind racing. I didn’t want to quit.

But the Birdcage was causing real irritation, and if I forced it back on, I might have no choice but to abandon the month entirely. Was it worth one day of rest to stay in the game? I sighed, tilting my head back against the shower tiles. “Fine,” I muttered. “One day. But you’re evil.”

Amy smirked, stepping forward, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I know.” And with that, she walked out, leaving me standing in the shower, collared, chained, still completely at her mercy.And I had no idea how the next 24 hours were going to go. As I stood there, my wrists bound to my collar, my cock finally free but completely out of reach, I understood something: Amy wasn’t letting up. She had found a way to keep me powerless—even without the cage. And I had willingly let her do it.

21 more days to go.

Thursday (Day 12) – A Lesson in Control

Little did I know just how difficult it was going to be to spend 24 hours with my hands cuffed to a chain attached to my neck. At first, I thought it would be manageable—a mild inconvenience at best. But the reality? It was pure frustration.

The chain was just long enough for me to reach my navel, but no matter what position I tried, no matter how much I leaned, twisted, or arched—I couldn’t reach my aching, neglected cock. At least I could stand to pee again, but even that was an ordeal. Without my hands, my accuracy was terrible, and I had to awkwardly aim with my hips, making a mess every time.

My hands got so heavy, my shoulders aching from the weight, and my collar pulled tight against my neck. It was maddening.

Amy left for work that morning, utterly unfazed by my predicament. “There’s food in the fridge,” she said, grabbing her bag as if nothing was wrong. “You should be able to feed yourself.” Then, she kissed me on the cheek and walked out the door, leaving me standing there—naked, chained, frustrated, and completely alone. The moment she left, I went straight to the bedroom, my mind racing for any possible way to get some kind of relief.

I tried everything. I threw myself against the mattress, grinding, shifting, rubbing—but nothing. No success. The frustration only worsened. Hours dragged on. I tried watching TV. Tried reading. Tried anything to distract myself. But all I could do was walk around the house—completely naked, my cock fully erect and unable to be touched, trapped in a never-ending cycle of unfulfilled desire.

By the time Amy got home at six, I was desperate. She walked in, completely casual, as if she didn’t see her naked, chained husband standing in the middle of the room, a full erection throbbing against his stomach. Without so much as a glance in my direction, she went to the fridge and started making dinner.

I swallowed hard. “Amy…?” I asked hesitantly.

She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm?” “What do you think about me going back in the cage?”

She turned around, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “I need to check things out again,” she said. “But I don’t think we need the shower this time. Let’s go to the bed, and I’ll take a look.”

That was all I needed to hear. I followed her to the bedroom, my collar jingling softly, still completely vulnerable and at her mercy. This time, she locked my ankles spread-eagle to the bed again—but she left my hands in the handcuffs, simply moving the chain from my neck to the headboard. I was still helpless. Completely open, completely exposed, completely hers.

She knelt down, examining my cock carefully, running gentle fingers along the sensitive, raw areas. For a moment, I thought she was being kind. Then, after a few minutes, she looked up—shaking her head. “It’s better,” she admitted. “But still not ready for a cage.”

I groaned, frustration building in my chest. “What are we going to do?” I pleaded. “My arms are killing me from this chain. My neck is exhausted. I don’t think I can keep going like this.”

Amy sighed, standing up. “I have an idea,” she said. Then, she walked to the closet. I heard her dig through a storage box, my heart pounding, my mind racing with possibilities. When she came back, she was carrying something that made my stomach tighten. Metal fist mitts. Shiny, stainless steel orbs that completely enclosed the hands, rendering them completely useless.

I had worn them before—briefly. They were smooth, heavy, and inescapable. Once locked around my wrists, my hands would be completely contained—no fingers, no grip, no dexterity. No escape. “These should do the trick,” she murmured, already loosening the cuffs on my wrists.

I swallowed. ‘Amy—wait, can’t we—” She cut me off with a smirk, sliding the cold metal mitts over my hands before locking them in place. My fingers curled uselessly inside the smooth steel interior.

Then, she grabbed a long spreader bar and attached each wrist to opposite ends, forcing my arms apart by 24 inches. I tested the bonds—but it was no use.

I might as well have been caged again. Amy stood back, admiring her work. “How does that feel?” she asked.

“Awkward,” I admitted, shifting my arms. “But… it works.”

“Good,” she said. “Think you can handle another 24 hours like this? I think you’ll be fully healed by tomorrow.”

I exhaled slowly. I didn’t have a choice. “I’ll do it.”

She smiled. “That’s my good boy.”

Then, suddenly, reality hit me like a freight train. “Wait!” I blurted. “What about work? I can’t miss two days in a row. And how am I supposed to call in when I’m locked up like this?”

Amy blinked, then laughed softly. “I think that’s your problem,” she teased. “You thought this whole game up.”

I stared at her, helpless, desperate, and trapped. “But,” she added, tapping a finger against her chin, “if it helps, I’d be happy to call in for you and say you’re too sick to come to the phone.”

I sighed, defeated. “Fine. Just… make the call.”

She picked up my phone, held it up so it would unlock, and started dialing— Then, she froze, her expression shifting instantly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you been searching how to buy chastity keys online?” My stomach dropped.

I had forgotten that my browser would still be open. I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning red. “Yes…” I admitted ashamedly, lowering my head.

I tried to explain myself, but Amy was already grinning deviously. “Well,” she said, twisting the knife, “I suppose I’m going to have to turn up my game then.”

I stared at her, both curious and deeply concerned about what she meant. And then—she simply walked off to the kitchen, humming softly.

Amy made dinner like normal. She even set a place for me at the table. The problem? I couldn’t eat. Not with metal mitts locked around my hands, a spreader bar forcing my arms apart, rendering me completely useless.

I sat there, watching her eat, sipping wine, carrying on casual conversation as if everything was completely normal. Then, when she was finished, she stood up, picked up my untouched plate, and said with a smirk: “You must not have had an appetite tonight.” Then, she simply carried it to the sink.

And I sat there, naked, hungry, and realizing just how much trouble I was in.

Friday (Day 13) – A Lesson in Helplessness

Friday morning, Amy was off to work again, leaving me at home, bound, useless, and utterly powerless. I had spent the last 24 hours locked in the steel fist mitts, my hands entirely useless, my arms spread apart by the unforgiving metal bar, rendering me incapable of doing even the simplest tasks.

She had thought ahead, though—she set out several bottles of water with straws, allowing me to at least stay hydrated. But that was it. Nothing else. I couldn’t use my phone. I couldn’t turn on the television. I couldn’t even open a door unless it had a lever-style handle.

Freedom was a distant fantasy. And the worst part? I had never felt this desperate for release. The sheer frustration of being caged was one thing, but now—completely untouched for days, bound beyond comprehension, my hands nothing more than steel-encased ornaments—the need for any kind of stimulation had turned into an all-consuming hunger.

I moved around the house constantly. Sitting was uncomfortable.Resting was nearly impossible. The only real relief was laying flat on my back in the bed—where at least the spreader bar didn’t weigh down my shoulders. I was adrift in my own frustration, my body craving **something—anything—**that might offer some reprieve.

At exactly 6:00 PM, Amy burst through the garage door, her voice cheerful, her tone completely oblivious. “Hey, honey! I’m home!”

She rounded the corner, her heels clicking against the floor, and for a split second, her face twisted in feigned surprise—as if she had completely forgotten that she had left me in this miserable state.

I stood there—completely naked, my wrists still encased in the smooth, unforgiving steel mitts, my cock untouched and throbbing with unfulfilled need.

She brought her hand up to her face, a single finger resting under her nose, barely masking her smirk. Then, in the most teasingly innocent tone, she asked: “How was your day?”

I threw my arms up, the spreader bar pulling my shoulders outward, making it clear just how utterly useless I had been all day.

She glanced down, her eyes flitting over my exposed, vulnerable state before locking onto my soft, caged cock. “Well,” she mused, her tone dripping with amusement, “how is our little wounded scrotum?”

That was it. I had reached my breaking point. “I don’t care,” I blurted out, my voice filled with exhaustion and desperation. “I have to have these manacles off, no matter what it takes.”

Amy tilted her head, pretending to consider my request, before giving a small, knowing nod. “You know the position,” she said smoothly. “Go get ready, and I’ll be right in.”

I didn’t hesitate. She dropped her bag onto the table, and I sprinted to the bedroom, assuming the now-familiar position.

A few minutes later, Amy entered the bedroom, shrugging off her jacket, rolling up her sleeves like she was preparing for a job well done. Without a word, she began securing my limbs to the corners of the bed. The familiar ritual was almost comforting at this point—ankles spread wide, wrists lashed down, body completely open and vulnerable beneath her gaze. Once I was secured, she removed the mitts, letting my fingers stretch for the first time in over a day. It was instant relief.

I flexed them eagerly, stretching them out the way someone stretches their legs after a long plane ride. But before I could even fully appreciate my newfound freedom, she was already moving on to the next step.

She left for a moment, disappearing into the closet before returning with something new. A silicone chastity cage. Amy held it up, inspecting it like a mechanic inspecting a tool, before giving a small, approving nod. “We tried this one before,” she mused, “but it never really won us over because it doesn’t have the same aesthetic appeal as hard plastic or metal.”

She met my eyes, her expression playful. “But today? It’s perfect.”

Before I could even respond, she slipped it around my scrotum, pulling it snugly into place, locking my flaccid cock inside before my body even had a chance to react. Then— Click.

The lock snapped shut, and just like that—I was back in business. Amy grinned, giving the cage one final inspection before stepping back, admiring her work. “There,” she announced. “I think you’re ready to go again.”

She untethered me from the bed, letting my limbs relax for the first time in what felt like forever. I immediately reached for my clothes, pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt—luxuries I hadn’t realized I had missed so much. As the fabric settled around my skin, I let out a long, deep breath. I was still locked. Still denied. Still under Amy’s control. But at least, for the first time in two days, I could move freely. And that, at this point, felt like a victory.

As I sat down on the couch, Amy walked over, leaning down, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. “You did so good, babe.”

Her tone was genuine this time—still teasing, still playful, but laced with a hint of pride.

I turned my head toward her, my eyes searching hers. “You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

She grinned. “Oh, absolutely.” Then, she ran a single finger down the front of my shirt, letting it trail teasingly over the outline of the new cage. “And don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ve got plenty more ideas for the rest of the month.”

Saturday (Day 14) – The Midway Point

The morning light filtered through the curtains, signaling the start of release day—the moment I had been aching for all week. I was almost halfway through Locktober, and the need for release was burning through me like fire. Amy had complete control over whether today would bring relief or denial, and the anticipation was almost as intense as the frustration itself. She rolled over in bed, her warm body pressing against me, her hand slipping around my waist, fingers tracing the outline of the silicone cage.

She hummed in satisfaction, her touch slow, deliberate, teasing. Then, without a word, she slipped out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. I started to get up, eager to see where the morning was headed— But she heard me rustling under the sheets and turned back, catching my movement in the mirror. “Stay there,” she said smoothly, grinning to herself. “I have a surprise for you.”

Then she left the room. I lay back down, my heart pounding in anticipation, my mind racing with possibilities. Would she finally take the cage off? Would she let me touch her? Would I finally get the release I so desperately needed? The longer she was gone, the more my mind wandered. But no matter how hard I tried to distract myself, the reality of my situation was impossible to ignore. Each throb of my restrained cock reminded me of how much I needed this.

Amy stood in the doorway, her presence commanding, sultry, dangerous. She was wrapped in a deep black leather harness, the straps hugging her curves perfectly, framing her chest and waist in a way that was both elegant and sinful.

The harness connected at her throat with a gleaming silver O-ring, a choker-style collar that only emphasized her dominance.

Beneath it, a tight leather corset cinched her waist, accentuating the hourglass curve of her hips. The cups were cut low, just enough to display the full swell of her cleavage, the leather straining against her full, tempting curves.

Her stockings were sheer, held up by garters that led down to lethal-looking heels, adding an extra edge of power and sophistication.

But what caught my attention next were her gloves—deep black latex, skin-tight, running up past her elbows, each finger shiny and precise, giving her hands an air of sensual dominance. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, sleek and polished, and her makeup was flawless—bold red lips, smokey eyeshadow, and a gaze that pierced through me like a blade.

She was holding a heavy duffel bag, her grin devious, her body language completely in control. “Assume the position,” she commanded, her voice smooth as velvet, dangerous as fire.

I didn’t hesitate. I threw my legs wide, arms stretched to the headboard, my body already sensitive and eager before she had even touched me. Amy reached into the duffel bag and pulled out new cuffs—thicker, heavier, lined with soft padding but unmistakably strong.

She fastened them securely, the click of each buckle sharp in the quiet room. Then came the ratchet straps.

One by one, she threaded them through the D-rings on my wrists and ankles, tightening each with measured precision. With every crank of the ratchet, my mobility lessened—

Tighter.

Tighter.

Until there was nothing left to give. I was stretched flat, held firmly in place, my ability to move fully erased.

Amy stood back, admiring her work. “Perfect,” she murmured, running a gloved finger down my chest, watching as I squirmed helplessly beneath her touch.

Next, she pulled out a muzzle with a built-in gag. “I have a feeling you might object to today’s surprise,” she teased, straddling my chest as she fastened the straps behind my head. With my voice silenced, she reached for the final piece—a VR headset and noise-canceling headphones. I tried to ask what was happening, but my words were muffled. Amy simply smiled, pressed the goggles over my eyes, and then—

Darkness. Silence. Isolation.

At first, I was alone in my own head, straining to hear, to feel, to understand what was happening. Then— The VR headset flickered on.

A series of sensory-rich images filled my vision, scenes of tight, inescapable restraint, sleek fetishwear, teasing glances, whispered words that felt so real— And yet, I had no idea if I was actually alone or if Amy was still there, watching me struggle.

I couldn’t see her.

I couldn’t hear her.

All I had was the relentless frustration of my own body reacting to the overwhelming stimulation. My cock twitched uselessly inside its cage, the sensation excruciatingly pleasurable yet utterly denied. I needed to adjust myself, to relieve the tension, but my hands were bound tight, my legs spread wide, my control completely taken. Time blurred. Minutes? Hours? All I knew was the desperation that consumed me. Then, without warning— I felt the lock click open.

The cage was removed.

My cock sprang free, painfully erect, throbbing with anticipation.

Amy’s fingers wrapped around me, her touch deliberate, calculated.

Then— The low hum of vibrations. The soft glide of a silicone sleeve, sending a shockwave through my system.

I lasted seconds. The orgasm was immediate, overwhelming, uncontrollable. My hips bucked, my body trembling, as I released with a force that left me breathless. The VR headset went dark.

Silence returned. I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly, lost in the aftermath of pure, unfiltered pleasure. When I finally opened my eyes, it was two hours later.

The headphones, the gag, the restraints—all gone. The only thing that remained was the cool, familiar pressure around my cock. I reached down, half-disoriented, half-hopeful. But the moment I touched it, I knew. The pink CB-6000 cage was back.

I groaned softly, my mind still hazy, my body exhausted but already missing what had just been taken away. Amy’s voice broke the silence, pulling me back to reality. “Come on,” she said cheerfully. I turned my head, watching as she stood over me, now dressed in a tennis skirt and athletic top, looking as if nothing had happened. “Shower up. We have a family tennis game to get to.”

I stared at her in disbelief, my limbs still sluggish, my brain struggling to shift gears. But she simply grinned, tossed me a towel, and walked off like she hadn’t just shattered me completely.

As I lay there, processing everything, I understood one thing: Amy had given me exactly what I wanted—and then taken it all away again in the most cruel, perfect way possible.

I was still locked.

Sunday (Day 15) – A Test of Control

The morning came far too quickly. As I opened my eyes, reality settled in like a weight on my chest—I was halfway through the month, but it would still be another seven days before I was allowed release again.

The familiar pressure of the cage greeted me as I shifted in bed, a constant reminder of my situation, my submission, my helplessness. I reached down instinctively, fingertips brushing against the smooth plastic of the pink CB-6000, a prison I had willingly accepted but was beginning to resent.

The key? I had no idea where it was. I knew only one thing—I was locked, I was denied, and Amy was the only one who could change that.

Amy and I spent the morning preparing the house for game night. It was almost amusing—me, a chaste, submissive husband, still expected to do normal household tasks, pretending that life was ordinary when, in reality, my body was burning with frustration under the surface.

At around 4:00 PM, Amy gave me the look. “It’s time for your cleaning—we want you fresh.” The command was casual, but I knew better.

This was never just about hygiene—it was about reinforcing control, about reminding me that even the most basic bodily functions were no longer mine to decide.

I obeyed immediately, making my way to the bathroom, knowing exactly what was expected of me. I locked the spreader bar into place, securing my ankles wide apart, ensuring that I would be fully exposed. Then, I looped the cuffs through the ceiling hook, ratcheting them tight enough that my hands were useless, my arms stretched upward, muscles pulled taut. I knew what this meant. Like always, Amy would remove the cage, clean me, and then immediately replace it before I had a chance to react. No control. No protest. No escape.

Amy entered the bathroom with an air of efficiency, already dressed for the evening in a form-fitting black dress that accentuated her curves just enough to remind me what I couldn’t have.

There was no teasing this time. No playful glances. No drawn-out torment. She dropped the cage, rinsed it under the water, and began washing me with practiced ease— A routine of control, a ritual of reinforcement. As expected, my erection made re-caging impossible. And as always—she had the solution.

The water suddenly turned ice cold, and before I could even gasp from the shock, she locked the cage back in place, snapping the padlock without hesitation. Then, as she stepped back, she tilted her head slightly, studying her work. “Hmm…” she murmured, adjusting the cage ever so slightly.

She reached into the small box of spare parts and retrieved a slightly smaller spacer, replacing the existing one with ease. The effect was immediate—a tighter fit, a more restrictive hold, less freedom of movement than before.

Amy chuckled softly. “There might be a little shrinkage going on here.”

I wasn’t sure if she was teasing or if this was her way of increasing my torment, but before I could protest, the doorbell rang. I froze. It was too early for guests. Amy smirked, wiping her hands on a towel. “Hang on. I’ll go see who that is.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving me locked, bound, and helpless.

I heard voices approaching. Feminine voices. And then—

Lori’s voice. “Wait, are you sure? I don’t want to just walk in on—” Before I could process what was happening, the French doors to the bathroom flew open.

Lori stepped in first, her hands out in front of her, feeling the air as if she was blindfolded—but Amy was right behind her, grinning as she covered Lori’s eyes with one hand.

“So sorry, baby,” Amy called out playfully, her voice dripping with mischief. “Lori needs to borrow some shoes for tonight. It’ll just take a second.”

I felt my heart slam into my ribs. I was completely naked, stretched out, still standing in the shower, locked in chastity, completely at their mercy—and Lori was in the room.

Did she actually have her eyes covered? Could she see me? And what the hell did she think I was doing?

Amy guided Lori into the closet, closing the door behind them. I could hear whispers. Giggles. Conversations I couldn’t make out. It was too much. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t do anything but wait.

Then, suddenly—Amy emerged. And this time, her expression was different. “Lori wants to see.”

My stomach twisted. “See what?” I whispered harshly, my voice low, desperate.

Amy simply looked down at my cage, then back up at me—her meaning crystal clear. “She’s so curious,” Amy continued. “Her husband Tom isn’t into this, but Lori is… intrigued.”

She knows. Lori knows. About the chastity contract. About Locktober. About everything. I felt my face heat up, a mixture of humiliation and disbelief washing over me.

“Amy, I don’t know—how will I ever look Lori in the face again?” Amy stepped closer, placing her hands gently on my chest, her tone soft but firm.

“Look, I already told her you’d probably say yes.”

My heart pounded.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Her voice lowered, a seductive edge creeping in. “If you let her check you out, I’ll let you out of the cage overnight tomorrow… and I’ll give you a blowjob.”

My breath hitched. That was everything I wanted. A night free from the cage. A moment of true relief. But at what cost? I had no real choice. Protesting would do nothing. Running wasn’t an option. I dropped my head and gave a slow, reluctant nod.

Amy beamed, practically skipping back toward the closet. “He said okay!”

Lori emerged from the closet with wide, curious eyes, her coal-black hair cascading over her shoulders, her lips curled into a knowing smirk. She approached slowly, her gaze flicking between the cage and my face, as if studying me like a rare specimen.

“So… this is it,” she murmured, tilting her head. “The infamous cage.”

I felt exposed in a way I had never felt before. Lori turned to Amy, her tone pure fascination. “So, he really can’t get an erection?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

Lori leaned in slightly, her eyes full of intrigue and amusement.

“That’s amazing. And so… cruel.” She finally met my eyes, her expression playful, dominant, knowing. “Aren’t you a good boy?” she whispered.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

At dinner, I could feel Lori’s eyes on me the entire night. I couldn’t tell if she was teasing me, testing me, or simply enjoying my discomfort. But one thing was crystal clear— I had just lost a part of my dignity. And Amy had never looked more satisfied.

Monday (Day 16) – A Different Kind of Freedom

The day had been a slow-burning torment, anticipation simmering beneath the surface as Amy sent me teasing texts throughout work.

One, in particular, had nearly broken me—a carefully staged photo of her lips wrapped around a banana, her tongue lazily trailing its length, eyes locked onto the camera like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

I inferred from her messages that tonight was going to be something special. But I had no idea just how far Amy was prepared to take it. When I stepped through the door, I was not prepared for what I saw. Amy was waiting for me, seated in one of the living room chairs, her posture poised, dominant, entirely in control.

She was dressed in full dominatrix apparel—

• Thigh-high boots, their black patent leather gleaming in the soft light, the stiletto heels planted firmly on the floor.

• A tight, high-gloss patent leather dress, cut to accentuate every dangerous curve, reflecting the light like a second skin.
• Full-length gloves, the same shiny black latex, hugging her arms and tapering down to her elegantly pointed fingers.
• A shiny black choker, cinched just tightly enough to emphasize the exposed skin of her throat, the very picture of control.

Her legs were crossed, and in her gloved hands, she held a pair of black Smith & Wesson hinged handcuffs, dangling them lazily, as if they were nothing more than a casual accessory. Her eyes were ravenous, piercing through me with undeniable authority.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. She motioned for me to step forward into the living room, where the late afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting an almost ceremonial glow over the space.

I hesitated. Not because I was afraid—but because I could feel the shift in power, the way she had crafted this moment so precisely.

Amy didn’t blink. She simply raised the cuffs slightly, the metal clinking together in a subtle, unmistakable reminder of what was about to happen.

I stepped forward. And she smirked, like a predator watching its prey willingly walk into its trap.

“Pants. Off.” Her voice was smooth, commanding, and unshakable.

I obeyed, undoing my belt and fly, letting my slacks drop to my ankles—leaving me in nothing but my shoes, socks, and the pink CB-6000 that had been my constant companion for over two weeks.

Then, she peeled off my button-up shirt, leaving me completely bare, standing in the center of the room, utterly exposed under her gaze. She walked behind me, her movements slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Then, with a swift, expert motion, she pulled my wrists behind my back, locking them together in the unforgiving steel of the hinged handcuffs.

The click. Click. Click. Finality.

Without a word, she knelt in front of me, her gloved fingers trailing up my thighs, sending a shiver of anticipation through me. Then— She unlocked the chastity cage.

The instant my cock was free, it sprang to life, growing harder with each passing second, reacting to the cool air and the promise of something I had been denied for so long.

And then—Amy took me deep into her mouth. The shock of sensation was immediate, overwhelming.

Her lips wrapped around me, the tight heat of her throat, the slow, deliberate strokes as she moved back and forth, the latex of her gloves gripping my hips just tightly enough to hold me in place.

My knees buckled. I fought to stay upright, but the pleasure was too much, too fast, too intense. And then—I exploded. My breath hitched, my fingers clenched uselessly behind my back, my entire body shaking from the force of release.

Amy stood up, licking the corner of her lips, looking completely unfazed. “That should take care of any sore feelings about Lori, don’t you think?”

I could barely respond. I just nodded, completely spent. And then—the lights went out.

The moment the spandex hood slid over my head, I realized something was wrong. I could see nothing. I could hear nothing. Then, the cuffs were undone, and for the first time in sixteen days, I was completely free.

No cage. No restraints. I moved instinctively—my hands shooting forward, desperate to finally touch myself, to feel some semblance of control over my own body again—

And then— Pain. Sharp, pinpointed, immediate agony.

I yelped, yanking my hands back as Amy ripped the hood off my head, her expression pure, wicked amusement.

I looked down. And understood immediately. Locked onto my hands were a pair of thick leather gloves—covered in hundreds of tiny, stainless-steel spikes.

The realization hit like a truck. I had no way to touch myself. No way to remove the gloves. No way to adjust anything.

Amy just chuckled, watching the dawning horror in my eyes. “You really thought I was just going to leave you completely free?” she mused, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “Oh, sweetheart. You should know me better than that by now.”

The rest of the evening was… strange. Amy insisted I stay naked as she made dinner, occasionally glancing over at me, smirking as she watched me struggle with the ridiculous gloves.

At least I could hold a fork, barely. And at least… At least I wasn’t in the cage. But I wasn’t free, either. Several times throughout the night, I teased Amy, offering to give her a back massage, my voice dripping with faux innocence.

She just laughed, shaking her head. “Nice try, babe,” she purred. And just like that, I realized—this was a new kind of game. Amy always had another trick up her sleeve. And I was never going to see it coming.

Tuesday (Day 17) – A Tighter Fit & A New Twist

The alarm clock blared thirty minutes earlier than usual, snapping me out of a restless sleep filled with frustration and anticipation.

Before I could even fully process the abrupt wake-up, Amy was already moving, rolling over with a smirk of purpose. “We have to get you back in work condition this morning.”

She hopped out of bed, stretching lazily, her body illuminated by the soft morning light, before disappearing into the closet with an air of certainty.

I sat up, rubbing my wrists absentmindedly—the absence of the spiked gloves was a welcome relief, but I knew that my temporary freedom wouldn’t last much longer.

Amy returned, holding something new. A black plastic device—sleek, shorter than the pink CB-6000, but with less breathing room, less escape, and more control.

I swallowed hard. I had felt every cage we had used, but this one? It looked like it would be unforgiving.

Amy motioned for me to stand at bedside, her dominant energy unmistakable, her tone effortlessly commanding without the need for harsh words or force. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t tease. Didn’t toy with me this time. Instead, she was all business, her fingers working swiftly, threading the solid base ring into place, maneuvering each testicle through with ease before aligning the cage over my cock.

The cool plastic enclosed me, and in mere moments— Click. Locked. My temporary freedom had been nothing more than a fleeting dream.

Amy stepped back, admiring her work, then sighed theatrically. “Alright,” she murmured, tilting her head. “That’s better. This one’s more restrictive, but I think you’ll do just fine.”

She ran a finger over the smooth surface, pressing against it lightly, as if testing its security. “Tighter, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

She smirked. “Good.” And just like that—the gloves were unlocked. For the first time in a day, my hands were fully free. Not that it mattered much—the only thing I had wanted them for was now inaccessible again.

Amy handed me a towel, acting as if this was just a normal part of the morning routine, and with that, I was off to shower, get dressed, and head to work—back to reality, back to pretending like everything was normal.

By mid-morning, the difference was noticeable. The new cage was tighter, hugging me closer than before, limiting any sort of adjustment or comfort. It was an ever-present sensation, a constant pressure that refused to let me forget where I stood in this arrangement. Every movement, every step, every time I sat down—it was there, reminding me that Amy had me locked up even when she wasn’t around. I tried to adjust discreetly, but there was no relief. Not without making it obvious. I forced myself to focus on work, but the distraction was maddening.

Just after lunch, my phone buzzed. A message from Lori. “Hey there. Apologies again for putting you in an awkward position on Sunday. I have so many questions and curiosities. When you have time, can I ask you? Amy said it would be okay.”

I froze, my breath catching slightly. Amy and Lori had clearly been talking. I had already suspected as much, but seeing it confirmed in writing made me feel exposed all over again.

I hesitated. How the hell was I supposed to respond to that? I wasn’t comfortable discussing my private activities, especially not with someone who had literally seen me locked, bound, and unable to move just two days ago.

But I also knew… I didn’t really have a say in the matter. I typed back, keeping it short, neutral, detached. “Ok. When?”

Lori’s response was instant. “Maybe Saturday?”

I hesitated again. If Amy had already agreed to this, then saying no wasn’t really an option. “Perfect.”

Lori sent back a cheerful reply, almost too excited for my comfort. “Thank you so much. See you then. 😊”

I sat back in my chair, exhaling slowly, feeling more trapped than ever. I had no idea what she wanted to ask, what Amy had told her, or what I was walking into. All I knew was—Amy had arranged this.

And that meant— It wasn’t going to be on my terms.

For weeks now, I had been playing Amy’s game. But this? This felt different. Lori had seen me at my most vulnerable. And now—she wanted to talk about it. Why?

Curiosity? Fascination? Something else? I didn’t know. But I had a feeling that whatever it was, Amy was enjoying every second of it. And Saturday? That was no longer just a casual conversation. It was going to be another test. Another shift in control. And I had no idea how far Amy was planning to push it.

Wednesday (Day 18) – Shackled in More Ways Than One

For the most part, Wednesday was normal. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. But the unease was growing. Crystal stopped by my office to drop off some documents for signatures. That wasn’t unusual.

What was unusual was the way she lingered—her gaze holding just a little too long, her expression unreadable, her lips curving into something that looked suspiciously like amusement.

Was she on to something? Had she heard something? Had Amy said something? Or was I just being paranoid? The more people started noticing things, the more I felt like my secret was leaking out around me.

Amy got home right on time, and after dinner, she stood up, stretching casually before looking at me with that easy, familiar smirk. “Hey, I’ll clean up the dishes. Why don’t you go get ready for a shower?” She said it so naturally, so casually, as if it was just part of our normal evening routine.

And in a way… It was. That was the real mind game, wasn’t it? At the start of this challenge, every moment of submission, every act of surrender, had felt deliberate and unnatural.

Now? It had become a part of my daily life, a process as ordinary as brushing my teeth. That realization sent a strange shiver down my spine. I knew Amy was helping me stay committed to the challenge, and I did appreciate it. I could never have done this month on my own. But at the same time— She was enjoying this a little too much. And that scared me.

I had heard about men whose Locktober stretched into No Nut November and even further beyond. Was Amy planning that? Would she even give the keys back on November 1st?

I wasn’t sure. And worse—I wasn’t sure if I’d even have a say in it.

I did as I was told, fastening the spreader bar to my ankles, securing my wrists to the ceiling hook, just as I had done so many times before.

Amy took her time getting ready for bed, moving through her routine with calculated slowness, brushing her teeth, washing her face, adjusting her hair. Then, finally, she turned on the water and stepped into the shower, her gaze flicking to mine the moment she felt me stir under her touch. It was inevitable—the slightest brush of her hand, the closeness of her body, the simple intimacy of being near her.

The frustration never fully faded. And she knew it. She smiled—not cruelly, but knowingly—and continued as if it were nothing. After a thorough scrubbing, the cold water blasted down on me without warning.

The usual sharp gasp, the familiar clench of every muscle—the ritual was now routine, predictable, effective. As I stood there dripping dry, Amy left the room briefly before returning with something heavier in her hands.

I knew immediately which cage it was. And when she grinned and said, “I think you’re ready for the Beast,” I knew there was no turning back.

The Rikers 24/7 Heavy Metal Chastity Cage. A solid stainless steel enclosure, engineered to be inescapable, impenetrable, absolute. Unlike the plastic models, there were no seams, no breathing holes, no room for error. If I lost the key, there was no way out. Household tools wouldn’t cut it. A lockpick wouldn’t budge it. A bolt cutter would be dangerous. If anything went wrong, I’d have to call the fire department.

Amy knew this. And that’s exactly why she chose it. The fitting process was slower this time, the weight of the metal making it harder to maneuver, but she worked diligently, methodically, securing every piece into place.

Finally, she reached for the lock, and with a sharp, echoing click, my fate was sealed once more. The weight was immediate. I had felt locked before, but this was different. This was heavy. Unrelenting. Permanent. I shifted slightly, testing the sensation, the restriction, the way it tugged at me with every move. And just as I was about to speak, Amy reached into her pocket and pulled out— A 30” length of chain.

My brows furrowed, my stomach twisting in uncertainty. “What’s that for?” Amy just smirked, taking the padlock from the cage and threading one end of the 24-inch chain through the metal tip of the chastity device. Click. She stood back, watching as the realization dawned on my face. “I think it adds a nice touch, don’t you?” she mused, clearly enjoying herself.

I shifted my hips, feeling the pull of the chain as it dragged against my thigh, dangling awkwardly. It wasn’t just caged chastity anymore. It was shackled chastity. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked, genuinely at a loss.

Amy shrugged, her smirk deepening. “Whatever you want, I suppose.” I sighed heavily, already seeing the problems ahead. Urination? Impossible without holding up the chain to keep it from dipping into the toilet.

Walking? The metal links slapped against my inner thigh with every step. Working out? Absolutely not happening—not unless I wanted the chain wrapping around my leg like a trip hazard. Even sitting required constant adjustments. I could already picture it slipping out of my underwear, dangling down my pant leg like some bizarre, humiliating accessory. I was lost in thought, already mentally troubleshooting how to survive the next 24 hours.

Amy just watched, amused, unbothered, completely satisfied. I finally unlocked my shower restraints, stepping away from the mirror as I headed toward the closet, rifling through my drawer for underwear that could somehow hold up the chain. Amy’s voice floated over my shoulder, still dripping with mock innocence. “I never expected this either, you know.” I turned to see her leaning against the doorway, arms folded, her expression positively wicked. “But now that I see it?” She tilted her head, biting her lip in faux consideration. “I think I love it.”

I swallowed hard. She wasn’t just playing anymore. This was a new level of control. A new level of humiliation. And the worst part? Amy was escalating. If this was only Day 18… What the hell did she have planned next?

Thursday (Day 19) – A Close Call & A Dangerous New Game

The chain was a disaster waiting to happen. Every step I took, the metal links shifted beneath my pants, subtly clinking together, a whisper of humiliation that only I could hear. Or at least… I hoped I was the only one hearing it. The bulk of the new cage was undeniable—far heavier, far less discreet than anything I’d worn before.

I tried to walk normally, but my strides were unnaturally measured, my movements too cautious, and I knew that any slight misstep could send the chain slipping further down my thigh, or worse—out of my pant leg entirely.

I was distracted, anxious, hyper-aware of my body in a way that made every social interaction feel like a trap. The real test came when I least expected it.

It happened in the break room. I had just poured a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the weight pulling at my crotch, when I heard a voice behind me. “Hey, mind if I jump in?” I turned to see Crystal, standing way too close, her usual playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Shit. I stepped aside, trying to move casually, but as I shifted, I felt the unmistakable slither of metal sliding further down my thigh.

Oh no. I froze. Crystal stirred her coffee, completely unaware of the mini crisis unfolding beneath my slacks. I clenched my thigh muscles, praying the chain wouldn’t slip any further. Then— I felt it. The cold, unmistakable touch of metal against my calf. The chain was falling. Panic set in.

I shifted my stance, trying to trap it between my legs, but my movements must have looked unnatural because Crystal’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You okay?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah—yeah, fine,” I lied, my voice strained, unnatural. I needed an escape. I needed to fix this now. So, I faked a sneeze. A big, dramatic sneeze—hunching over slightly as I reached for the counter, using the moment to discreetly yank my pant leg up and tuck the chain back in.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t graceful. But somehow—somehow, I managed to pull it off. When I straightened, Crystal was still eyeing me, stirring her coffee with slow deliberation. “Bless you,” she said, her tone light, but curious.

I mumbled a thanks and got the hell out of there. But I could feel her watching me as I left. She knew something was off. I just hoped she wouldn’t push it.

That night, I told Amy everything. How the chain had almost slipped out. How I had barely saved myself. How Crystal was already suspicious. I expected her to sympathize, to maybe reconsider the chain idea— But instead? She laughed. Not a little chuckle, not a brief smirk— A full, genuine, delighted laugh. “You almost got caught?” she said, grinning.

“Yes!” I snapped, exasperated. “I don’t know how much longer I can hide this thing, Amy. It’s impossible to move normally. And if that chain ever slips out at the wrong time, I’m screwed.”

Amy crossed her arms, considering me, still smirking. “Hmm…” she mused, tapping a finger against her lips. “That’s a problem, isn’t it?”

A problem. That’s all this was to her—some puzzle to solve, some game to make it more interesting.

Then, her eyes lit up. I recognized that look. That was not a good look. “Maybe I should help you with that.”

“Amy, no—” But she was already walking away, heading toward the closet. She returned moments later, holding something in her hands—a small, black leather strap with a buckle.

“If the chain is such a problem,” she said, looping the strap through the end of the chain, “then maybe we should make sure it stays nice and snug… where it belongs.” I swallowed hard.

“Amy—what are you—” She reached between my legs, pulling the chain up and securing the strap around my waist, fastening the chain high against my stomach.

Suddenly— The chain was no longer hanging down. It was pulled taut—pressed directly against my body, completely unavoidable, completely noticeable.

And worse? Now, every movement, every step, every shift of my hips meant the chain pulled and tugged against the heavy steel cage.

This was worse. So much worse. I groaned, already feeling the difference, the constant pressure against my waistline, the new restriction, the increased sensitivity.

Amy stepped back, admiring her work. “There,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Now you don’t have to worry about it falling out anymore.”

I stared at her. “You just made this ten times harder.”

Her grin widened. “I know.”

This wasn’t just about chastity anymore. This was about control. Power. Escalation. Amy had taken something that was already difficult and turned it into a new challenge. Now, every second of the day would be spent aware of the chain pressing against me, tugging against me, reminding me that I was still under her control.

I had wanted relief. Instead, she had made things even harder. And I still had 10 more days to go.

Friday (Day 20) – The Weight of Anticipation

The day dragged on, every movement a painful reminder of just how much control Amy had over me. The heavy cage and chain were making even the most basic activities a challenge. Going to the gym had been a disaster—sitting for any exercise was impossible, and even simple movements felt awkward and exposed.

The gym mirrors didn’t help either. Every time I caught my own reflection, I was reminded that beneath my perfectly normal workout attire, I was bound in steel and leather, locked away, completely restricted.

And then, as if the day wasn’t stressful enough, my phone buzzed. Lori.

“Are we still on for tomorrow? I’m dying to know more about how Locktober works.”

I froze, gripping my phone just a little too tightly.

Still on? I had almost forgotten. Tomorrow—Lori wanted to meet up. To talk. To ask questions.

And based on the way she had looked at me last time, I wasn’t sure if she was actually just curious… or if she was up to something.

I hesitated before typing back. “Yes. What time works for you?”

Her reply came instantly, as if she had been waiting for my response. “How about 11 in the morning? I’m taking Amy out for lunch anyway.”

My stomach twisted. I stared at the message, re-reading it several times. She was taking Amy out for lunch? Since when did Lori and Amy have one-on-one lunches? And more importantly— How much had Amy already told her? Because based on Lori’s playful grin last time, the teasing way she had looked at me, and the way she seemed to be savoring every moment of my discomfort…

I had a very bad feeling about this. I sat there, phone in hand, heart pounding just a little too fast. Amy had been escalating every step of the way, pushing boundaries, upping the stakes, taking my control further and further away. Now, suddenly, Lori was involved.

Saturday (Day 21) – The Interview I Never Signed Up For

The morning had felt normal enough. I had woken up, showered, and was just finishing getting dressed when Amy appeared in the kitchen, her expression far too pleased with herself. “I have a surprise for you,” she said, her tone dripping with mischief. “But you’re going to need these.”

She held up a pair of handcuffs. I froze. Saturday was normally my release day—the one day a week where I got to experience something other than constant denial. And given how exhausted I was from the week’s restrictions, I would have agreed to almost anything if it meant getting out of this heavy steel prison for even a moment.

So, without questioning it, I turned around and submitted my hands behind my back, feeling the cold bite of steel as Amy expertly ratcheted the cuffs closed. She had gotten too good at this. Then, before I could even process what was happening, Amy stepped forward, unzipped my pants, and reached inside.

I sucked in a breath, startled by the sudden contact, but she wasn’t teasing me. She was searching for something. And then—she found it. With a slow, deliberate pull, she fished out the thick metal chain attached to my chastity cage, letting it dangle visibly from my fly.

I swallowed hard. “There,” she said with a grin, giving it a gentle tug. “Now I can lead you around a little.”

I let out a nervous laugh, playing along, but the truth was— This was humiliating. I was handcuffed, caged, and now being led around by my cock like a pet on a leash—all before I even knew what this was leading to.

Amy guided me toward the kitchen table, and I complied without resistance, my brain still fogged with the hopeful thought that this was some elaborate buildup to my release.

Then, she did something I wasn’t expecting. She ducked under the table, looped the chain around the central metal leg, and with a loud, final click, secured it in place with a padlock.

I blinked. “Wait—what?”

Amy stood up, dusting off her hands like she had just completed some casual household task. Then, without ceremony, she walked behind me, removed the handcuffs, and stepped back, hands on her hips. “There,” she said, tilting her head in mock approval. “Now you’re all set for Lori’s interview.”

My stomach dropped. “Interview?” I repeated, my voice tight with unease.

Amy just smiled, tilting her head.

I felt my blood run cold. I had assumed Lori just wanted to ask a few questions about Locktober, some casual curiosity, a friendly chat. But suddenly, everything clicked. Lori wasn’t just curious. She was a journalist. And now— She was going to write about this. “Wait, hold on,” I snapped, my voice sharp with panic. “I’m out. I don’t want to be a part of some magazine article.”

Amy just grinned, arms crossed, her eyes flicking pointedly downward—toward the padlocked chain securing me to the table. “Oh, that’s fine,” she said lightly. “You don’t have to be part of the article. But…” She gestured toward my lap.

“You’re not leaving that seat until I unlock that padlock. And that? Well… that’s not likely to happen soon.”

Aaaarrrgghhhhh.

A cold wave of realization crashed over me.

I was trapped.

My cock was literally attached to the kitchen table. I could stand if I wanted, but I wouldn’t be able to move further than a foot or two without the unforgiving pull of the chain keeping me anchored in place.

And Lori was going to be here any second. I barely had time to process my situation before the doorbell rang. Right on time. 11:00 AM sharp.

I squeezed my eyes shut, dreading what was about to happen, but Amy was already skipping toward the door, her voice light and cheerful.“Hey, Lori! Come on in!

And just like that— She stepped into the kitchen. And she looked exactly as I expected. Tight, form-fitting athleisure wear that left little to the imagination. A low-cut sports bra, emphasizing exactly what she wanted emphasized. Her coal-black hair tied back, her eyes sharp, playful, and knowingly amused. A notepad in hand.

She took one look at me, her gaze immediately dipping to my lap, and then— A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips. “Well, well, well…” she murmured, setting her notebook down on the table. “This is going to be fun.”

I felt my face heat up, my throat tightening with embarrassment. I could see it in her eyes. She was enjoying this. Amy plopped down next to her, completely at ease, grabbing a coffee mug and sipping it like this was just a casual morning chat. “Go ahead, Lori,” she said, gesturing toward me. “Ask him anything you want.”

Lori slid into the chair across from me, resting her chin in her palm, watching me like a cat watching a cornered mouse. “So,” she said, flipping open her notepad, tapping her pen against the page.

“Let’s start with the obvious… How does it feel to be completely locked up?”

I swallowed. This was going to be a long morning. “Uh… it’s…” I hesitated, my mind racing for the safest, least humiliating answer.

Lori just tilted her head, waiting patiently, her smirk only growing.

“Uncomfortable,” I finally muttered. “Restrictive.”

Lori chuckled, jotting something down. “Restrictive? Well, yeah, I’d imagine so,” she mused, her eyes looked down toward my lap as if she could see through the table she was sitting across from me, the chain subtly jingling as I shifted again. “I mean… you literally can’t get hard, right?”

I felt my stomach tighten. I glanced at Amy, silently pleading for mercy, but she just raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this.

“Go on, babe,” Amy said, leaning in with feigned innocence. “Tell her what it’s like.”

I took a deep breath, my humiliation growing by the second.

“No, I… I can’t,” I admitted reluctantly. “The cage doesn’t allow for… that.”

Lori grinned, crossing her legs slowly. “So,” she continued, “what happens if you do try?”

I clenched my jaw. I knew what she was doing. She was pushing me, forcing me to say it out loud.

Amy smirked, setting her coffee down. “Oh, I’ll answer that,” she said breezily, cutting through my hesitation like a knife. “Every time he tries, it just gets painfully tight. He wakes up at night sometimes, pacing the room, trying to make it go away.”

Lori’s eyes widened in mock sympathy, but her smirk never wavered. “Wow,” she mused. “That sounds… frustrating.” She leaned in slightly, her gaze locking onto mine. “Do you ever beg?”

I felt my face burn. “Lori—” I started, but Amy just cut me off again.

“Oh, he begs,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone light, amused. “Sometimes it’s cute. Sometimes it’s downright pathetic.”

Lori let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “Poor thing,” she teased.

Lori leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against her notepad, watching me with amused curiosity.

Amy, still sipping her coffee like this was the most casual conversation in the world, let out a soft hum of amusement.

I could feel the chain still wrapped around the table leg, the weight of my chastity cage pressing firmly against me, keeping me anchored in place, unable to move, unable to escape.

And then— Lori tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “You know,” she mused, “Amy keeps saying how much you beg, how frustrated you get, how much you claim you hate it…” She let the thought linger, her smirk deepening. “But I have a feeling… this wasn’t actually Amy’s idea, was it?”

My stomach clenched. “What?” I asked, playing dumb, trying to keep my expression neutral.

Amy let out a small chuckle, clearly loving this turn of events.

Lori raised a perfectly sculpted brow, her tone playful but probing. “Locktober,” she said slowly, studying my face closely. “It wasn’t Amy’s idea, was it? You brought this up first, didn’t you?”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing for a way out. “I mean… it’s not that simple—”

“Oh, I think it is,” Lori cut in smoothly, leaning forward, resting her chin in her hand.

Amy, clearly thrilled with where this was going, set down her mug and sighed dramatically.

“Oh, Lori, you’ve caught him,” she teased, mock pity dripping from her voice.

Lori’s grin widened, her fingers drumming against the table. “So?” she pressed. “Say it. Whose idea was it?”

I could feel heat creeping up my neck, my face burning. The cage felt tighter, heavier, the chain binding me in place suddenly feeling suffocating. I exhaled slowly, knowing there was no escape from this interrogation. I avoided Lori’s gaze, staring at the table as I muttered, “It was mine.”

Lori’s eyes lit up instantly. “I knew it!” she said, laughing, clearly delighted by her discovery.

Amy, grinning, nudged my leg under the table. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I gritted my teeth. Lori, of course, wasn’t done. “Now, the real question,” she said, twirling her pen in her fingers, her voice low and teasing. “Why?”

I tensed. “What do you mean?” I asked, playing dumb again, trying to stall.

Lori rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now. You clearly wanted this.”

She tapped her notepad, smirking. “So… why did you want to try Locktober? What made you think, ‘Hey, you know what sounds like fun? Let’s lock up my dick for a whole month and let my wife hold the key.’”

I felt like I was on trial.

Amy just leaned back, waiting, watching, fully enjoying my growing humiliation.

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the unrelenting tightness of the cage, the cold steel refusing to give me even a fraction of relief.

Lori wasn’t letting this go. “Come on,” she coaxed. “There had to be a reason. Were you just curious? Did you think it’d be hot? Did you think Amy would say no, and that’d be the end of it?”

Amy suddenly laughed, cutting in. “Oh, I bet that’s it,” she said, nudging Lori. “I bet he thought he could suggest it, and I’d say no, and he’d never have to actually go through with it.”

Lori grinned. “Oh, that would be so funny if that’s what happened.”

I felt trapped, more than ever before. The truth was, I didn’t fully know why I wanted it at first. I had read about it, seen stories, imagined the thrill of control, the tease, the denial. It had seemed like something that would be fun in small doses. But I had never imagined Amy would take it this far. And now? Now, I was bound to a table, locked in an unyielding cage, interrogated by my wife and her stunningly beautiful friend while they forced me to admit my own desires out loud. There was no dignity left.

I sighed, my voice tight, reluctant. “I was… curious,” I finally admitted. “I liked the idea of… teasing, denial, the build-up.”

Lori’s smile widened, and Amy let out a mock gasp. “Oh wow, so you actually wanted this?” Amy teased.

Lori leaned in further. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, tapping her pen against her lip, her tone dripping with amusement. “You thought it’d be fun. You thought the teasing would be exciting. You thought the denial would make everything more intense.” She let out a mock sigh of sympathy. “And now? Now you’re sitting here, chained to a kitchen table, completely at our mercy, unable to do anything about it.”

She grinned wickedly. “I bet you regret it now, huh?”

I closed my eyes, swallowing the last shred of my dignity. “Yes,” I muttered.

Lori and Amy laughed.

I gritted my teeth, my body instantly responding to the touch—even though there was nothing I could do about it.

“Well,” Lori purred, sitting back, looking pleased as ever, “I think you got exactly what you wanted, then.”

Amy reached across the table, clinking her coffee mug against Lori’s in a mock toast. “To Locktober,” she said playfully.

Lori laughed, shaking her head. “To men getting exactly what they ask for.”

I exhaled slowly, staring down at the table. This was not how I imagined today going. And something told me— They weren’t done with me yet.

Lori sat back in her chair, still twirling her pen, her amusement unwavering. She had already forced me to admit that Locktober was my idea—that I had wanted this, sought it out, fantasized about it—and now she was just having fun with my embarrassment.

But she wasn’t done yet. “I do have one last question,” she mused, tilting her head toward Amy. “How do you get him to actually agree to put the cage on? I mean, sure, he’s locked now, but… doesn’t he resist?”

Amy chuckled, setting her coffee down as she turned toward Lori. “Oh, Lori, it’s simple.”

She waved a hand toward me. “He has no choice.”

My stomach tightened.

Lori raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “No choice?” she echoed.

Amy grinned. “Think about what you saw in the shower,” she said, her voice casually playful but carrying an undeniable weight of dominance. “If his hands are restrained, he can’t block me. If he can’t block me, he can’t stop me from locking whatever I choose onto his dick.”

Lori’s eyes flicked down toward my lap, clearly picturing the exact scenario Amy was describing.

Amy continued, shrugging casually. “I could lock a five-pound barbell on the other end of this chain if I wanted. And what could he do about it?”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

Lori let out a low whistle, shaking her head in mock pity. “Damn,” she murmured, grinning at me. “You really are completely at her mercy, huh?”

I swallowed hard, the reality of Amy’s words sinking in further than ever. It wasn’t just about control or denial— It was about complete submission. She wasn’t asking me to wear the cage. She was putting me in a position where I simply had no ability to refuse. And just as I was grappling with that realization, Amy suddenly stood up.

“Actually,” Amy said, brushing off her hands, “let’s demonstrate.” She turned to me, her eyes gleaming with authority. “Hands behind your back.”

My breath hitched. Lori immediately perked up, her interest piqued, watching closely. I hesitated for half a second— But the look Amy gave me erased any thought of resistance. Without a word, I slowly moved my hands behind my back.

Amy didn’t wait for me to think twice. She reached into her pocket, producing a pair of handcuffs, and within seconds— Click. Click. My wrists were secured behind me. Amy gave one final tug on the cuffs, ensuring they were tight enough to be inescapable, before stepping back with a satisfied smirk.

“See?” she said, gesturing toward me as she turned back to Lori. “He’s helpless now. He could beg me not to lock him up, but what’s he going to do? He has no say.”

Lori shook her head in admiration, laughing softly. “Damn,” she murmured, leaning forward, resting her chin in her hand as she studied me like a curious experiment. “And just like that, you’re completely under her control again.”

I shifted uncomfortably, the cuffs biting into my wrists, the weight of the steel cage still pressing against me, the chain securing me to the table leg a constant reminder of just how little freedom I actually had.

Amy patted my shoulder condescendingly. “I think it’s only fair that you finish the interview properly restrained,” she said lightly.

Lori smirked. “I mean, it’s fitting,” she agreed. “Considering what we’ve learned today.”

She tapped her pen against the notepad, glancing down at my lap. “Last question—how does it feel to know you were the one who wanted this… but Amy is the one who completely owns it now?”

I exhaled slowly, my throat tight with humiliation. I didn’t even have to say it. They both already knew the answer. But Amy, of course, wasn’t going to let me off that easy. She crouched down, giving the chain a sharp tug, making the cage press even tighter against me. “Go on, babe,” she purred. “Tell Lori the truth.”

I clenched my jaw, my face burning. The weight of the cuffs, the cage, the chain, the sheer power imbalance of the moment crushed down on me. And I sighed, my voice barely above a whisper. “It feels like… I’ve lost all control.”

Lori let out a satisfied laugh, sitting back with a grin. “Good boy,” she teased.

Amy beamed. “That’s what I thought.”

And with that— I knew that for the rest of the day, the rest of the month, and possibly even beyond— I was completely and utterly at their mercy. And they were enjoying every second of it.

As I stood in the kitchen, finally freed from the table but still burdened with the weight of the chain, I took a deep breath, trying to regain some sense of normalcy. The interview had been excruciating, an experience I wasn’t sure I’d ever forget. Lori had pushed every boundary, forcing me to admit things out loud I never thought I’d have to say. Amy had reveled in every second of my discomfort, reinforcing just how little control I actually had left.

Lori stood up first, and Amy followed. They looked at each other and with an almost simultaneous echo signaled that they needed to get moving with their scheduled lunch. As Lori turned toward the door, Amy reached in her purse and put in front of me an envelope and then slipped a standard handcuff key in my hands behind me. “We are off, good luck getting out. Be sure you don’t drop that key.”

I panicked. I was now going to have to unlock my handcuffs without dropping the key. If I failed, I would certainly be sitting in the exact same place when she came home from lunch. And who knows how long she is going to be gone?

I waited several minutes after the front door slammed closed. As I twisted my arms around, I couldn’t even tell if the key hole was facing down or up on the cuffs? At least twenty minutes passed before I had the first cuff loose. With my hands in front of me, I removed the second cuff. But there was no way to stand up because of the chain locked to the table. And the envelope was just out of reach. I strained and stretched and only with great effort got my fingers on the envelope. Inside was the key to the chain lock.

Releasing the padlock under the table had been harder than expected. I had spent a ridiculous amount of time contorting my body, trying to get the right angle to reach the lock. By the time I finally freed myself, my muscles were sore, my patience frayed, and my sense of dignity barely holding on. The chain was still attached to my cage, dragging behind me as I moved, a constant reminder that I wasn’t really free at all.

But even now, standing here, I knew— My submission wasn’t over. I was free. Well, free from the table.

Inside the envelope was a letter. Amy had been clear— “If you want your release, you better be in position when I get there.”

That meant I had one last decision to make. I knew that if I waited too long, I’d risk missing my opportunity. But if I locked myself in too soon, I’d be completely trapped until Amy decided to show up. And I had no idea when that would be. I glanced back at the kitchen table, still feeling the ache from being locked down for so long.

I made my way to the bedroom, every step a reminder of what was still locked in place. The cage, the chain, the promise of what was coming next. I didn’t know when Amy would be home. It could be an hour. It could be five. But one thing was certain— When she arrived, if I wasn’t already locked down, waiting for her, there would be no release.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cuffs and restraints that were about to hold me in place once again. My hands hovered over them, hesitating. Once I locked myself down, there was no turning back. I let out a slow breath, then finally made my decision. I reached for the cuffs. And prepared to give up the last bit of freedom I had left.

The bedroom was silent, the house empty, the weight of anticipation thick in the air. I had no way of knowing how long I’d be waiting. Or what Amy had planned when she returned. All I knew was one simple fact— When she walked through that door, I would be exactly where she expected me to be. Helpless. Waiting. Ready. And at her complete mercy.

I lay there, stretched and bound, the weight of time bearing down on me. The anticipation had twisted into something else now—not just waiting, but dreading the unknown. And then— The door. A commotion in the garage. Voices. Amy’s, light and teasing as ever, and… Lori. I swallowed hard. My throat dry, my muscles aching, my mind racing as their voices grew closer and closer. Then, the bedroom door opened. Amy walked in first, bouncing with energy, dressed in a brand-new Lululemon tennis skirt and an impossibly tight tank top—her way of rubbing salt in the wound, knowing exactly how much I struggled to resist her in athletic wear.

She stopped in the doorway, hands on her hips, and took in the sight of me. Restrained. Waiting. Helpless. And then— Lori stepped in behind her. The door swung open, and in that instant, I knew this was going to be worse than I expected.

Lori stepped into the room, her eyes immediately landing on me—stretched out, bound, and wearing nothing but the unforgiving weight of the heavy metal cage.

For a split second, she just stared, taking in the scene. And then— A smirk. Her lips curled into something between amusement and intrigue, and she let out a soft, knowing snicker. “Oh wow.” She shifted her weight to one hip, arms folding across her chest as she let her eyes slowly trail from my face, down my restrained arms, my locked ankles, and finally settling on the cage. I felt my entire body tense, heat rushing to my face. She was enjoying this. I instinctively pulled at the restraints, but they didn’t budge. Lori let out a small laugh, shaking her head.

“You know,” she teased, glancing over at Amy, “I think I’ve seen enough for today.”

Amy, still standing in the doorway, just grinned. “Are you sure?” she asked playfully. “I was just about to show you how much fun he is like this.”

Lori laughed again, holding up a hand in mock surrender. “No, no,” she said, still grinning as she backed toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your… activities.” She gave one last amused glance at me, her eyes flicking down to the cage one final time, before shaking her head and turning on her heel to leave.

The door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment— Silence. Then, before I could even process the humiliation I’d just endured, Amy practically bounced into the room, radiating energy. She was dressed to kill.

A brand-new, dangerously short Lululemon tennis skirt, the fabric swishing around her toned thighs, and a tight athletic tank top hugging every curve perfectly. She absolutely knew what she was doing.

“Did you see Lori’s face?” she laughed, kicking off her sneakers as she hopped onto the bed with effortless enthusiasm. “I think she’s finally starting to understand just how much fun I get to have with you.”

I exhaled slowly, still recovering from Lori’s reaction. But Amy? Amy was beaming. She bounced on her knees, settling herself right above me, her white socks pressing against the sides of my head, lightly muffling the room as she grinned down at me with sheer joy. “You lasted all afternoon,” she said, tilting her head. “I’m impressed.”

Her fingers danced lightly down my chest, trailing lower, teasing the edges of the cage she had so mercilessly locked in place earlier. Then, she leaned down, her lips just inches from my ear. “But the real fun is just getting started.”

She came over and gave my dick a short knock and looked up and asked if I was ready. Unable to speak well I gave her the affirming nod and laid my head back on the bed and the helpless manner that I felt I was confined too. Amy jumped up on the bed and straddle my chest facing toward my feet. Her white socks were pressed up against the sides of my head, covering my ears. She toyed with my cage, and I could tell that she did not have the key in her hand. as she leaned forward, I noticed that she was wearing a new pair of white silk extra soft panties. These perfectly covered her sex and had abundance of stitching on both sides of the crotch piece which drove me wild. She sat back on my face with my mouth and nose buried in her silk covered pussy. As she moved back-and-forth, I could feel her using my chin against her clitoris for arousal. She tapped on the cage and spoke in a kindergarten voice to my penis asking if he wanted to come out and play. She spun around and straddled me the other way with her panties, rubbing up and down my shaft, my caged shaft. My dick was throbbing, and my heart was pounding. She took her hand and put it on my face, pushing my head back into the mattress as she threw her hips forward and laid her sex on me smothering my face. I had no way to resist or move her and my noises were muffled completely. After a few moments of teasing, she jumped off and retrieved her magic wand. She placed the wand in my right hand and stood next to the side of the bed. She instructed me to hold the wand in place while she stood over the head and exploded with a screaming orgasm. I didn’t think I would be able to take it any longer and she graciously pulled the key from inside her sock and unlocked my cage with the base ring still on, I sprayed high into the air.

Sunday (Day 22) – A Shift in Curiosity

Amy leaned against the counter, absently tracing the rim of her coffee mug, her silk panties catching the morning light as she shifted her weight. She looked thoughtful, her brow slightly furrowed, as if mulling something over—something more than just Lori’s curiosity. “You know…” she started, her voice softer than before, “the more I think about it, the more I wonder what it would actually feel like.”

I looked up, still trying to adjust subtly without being obvious, my cage tightening at the mere direction this conversation was heading. “Feel like?” I asked, forcing my tone to stay casual.

Amy took a slow sip of coffee, her eyes flicking to mine. “To be locked,” she said simply.

My stomach flipped. That was not what I had expected. Amy had always been in control, the one with the key, the one making the decisions. The idea of her considering chastity for herself was uncharted territory. “You mean… actually wearing one?” I asked carefully, gauging her reaction.

Amy shrugged, but there was something deliberate about the way she did it—like she was trying not to make a big deal out of something that had been lingering in her mind longer than she was letting on.

“I guess,” she admitted, setting her mug down. “Like I said, I have a little bit of an idea. We’ve played with restraint, forced orgasms, sensory deprivation… but it’s not the same as long-term denial. Not really.”

She paused, running a hand through her hair before giving me a pointed look. “You’ve been locked for three weeks now,” she continued, “and you say it changes everything—how you think, how you function, how your sex drive messes with your brain. I just… can’t imagine it.”

I swallowed, watching her carefully. “It’s… intense,” I admitted. “There’s always this constant edge, this constant frustration. It’s like your body refuses to let you forget. Even if I’m trying to focus on something else, it’s there, nagging at me, making me want something I can’t have.”

Amy nodded slowly, as if trying to picture it for herself. “See, that’s what I don’t get,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I know what it’s like to be edged, to be teased, but at the end of the night, I get to finish. I get to let all of that tension go. You don’t.”

She looked at me more intently now, her fingers idly playing with the waistband of her panties. “I just wonder,” she continued, “if it would mess with me the way it messes with you. Would I start thinking about it all the time? Would I be desperate? Would it change the way I see control?”

Her words sent a jolt through me. “Are you saying you want to try it?” I asked, my voice tighter than I intended. Amy let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, don’t get too excited,” she teased. “I don’t know. I’m just… curious.”

She walked past me, brushing a hand over my shoulder as she moved toward the living room, but not before adding, “But if I did… you know I wouldn’t give up control that easily.”

I exhaled slowly, watching her disappear down the hallway, my mind racing with the possibilities. Was she serious? Or was she just toying with me like always? Either way— This conversation wasn’t over yet.

Amy’s words hung in the air long after she had wandered out of the kitchen. “I don’t know. I’m just… curious.” That wasn’t nothing. Amy wasn’t the type to idly speculate—when she was curious about something, she tested it, experimented with it, pushed its limits.

And if she was truly wondering what chastity felt like, there was a real possibility she’d want to experience it firsthand. I sat with my coffee, my mind racing, my own cage painfully tight as I imagined the possibilities. Then, as if summoned by my thoughts, Amy reappeared in the doorway.

Except now, she wasn’t just curious anymore. She was holding something. A shiny, polished metal device. The women’s chastity belt we had bought as a novelty years ago—something we had played with for a few hours at most, but never seriously.

Amy leaned against the doorframe, twirling the belt in her hands, watching my reaction. “What?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eye. “You act like you’ve never seen this before.”

I swallowed hard. “I just… didn’t think you’d actually consider it.”

Amy smirked. “Like I said, I don’t like not understanding something. If I’m going to keep you locked up for an entire month, it’s only fair that I at least know what it feels like for myself… right?” She turned the belt over in her hands, studying its sleek, rigid structure. “I won’t do it for long,” she continued, brushing her fingers along the cool steel, “but maybe… I should try a few hours. Just to see if I can handle it.”

Amy placed the belt on the counter and slowly peeled off her silk panties, stepping out of them and tossing them onto the table as if challenging me to react. I couldn’t look away. She positioned the belt around her waist, the metal cool against her skin, then guided the curved shield snugly between her legs before locking it in place. The click of the padlock was unexpectedly loud in the quiet room. Amy adjusted her stance, shifting her weight slightly, getting a feel for the belt.

“It’s… snug,” she admitted, running a hand along the waistband. “Not uncomfortable, but definitely… noticeable.” She glanced over at me, her expression unreadable. “So,” she said, resting a hand on her hip, “tell me—what happens now?”

I hesitated. “What do you mean?”

Amy smiled. “Well, when I locked you up, things changed, didn’t they? Your urges got worse, your thoughts started revolving around control, frustration, anticipation. But I don’t think I’ll have that problem. I don’t get desperate the way you do.” She gave me a challenging look. “You think I’ll break before you do?”

I exhaled slowly, knowing this was a trap—but one I was desperate to walk into. “I think,” I said carefully, “you’re going to find out just how much control you actually have… over yourself.”

Amy’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, her fingers idly toying with the lock. For the first time, I saw it—a flicker of doubt. She was always the one in control. But now? She had just willingly handed a piece of that control away. And I could tell—she felt it.

“Well then,” Amy said, clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders, “let’s make this interesting.” She turned on her heel, heading toward the living room, the belt hugging her curves with every step. “If I’m going to do this, I should at least try to go about my day normally,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s see if I can last until dinner.”

Dinner. That was hours away. I sat there, my own cage pulsing with frustration, watching as Amy settled onto the couch, crossing her legs, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But we both knew— Everything had changed. For the first time in this entire month, Amy was getting a taste of her own game. And I was going to enjoy every second of it.

At first, Amy acted like nothing had changed. She stretched out on the couch, legs crossed, arms draped lazily over the armrest, scrolling on her phone as if she had completely forgotten about the cool steel locked between her legs. I stayed quiet, watching her carefully. She was confident—of course she was. This was her game, after all. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, I started noticing the cracks. A small shift in her posture. The way she kept adjusting herself, pressing her thighs together just slightly. The way her hand absentmindedly brushed against the waistband of the belt, only to find cold, unyielding steel instead of soft, familiar skin. And that’s when I knew— She was feeling it.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “How’s it going?”

Amy glanced up at me from her phone, her expression neutral, but her body language giving her away. “Fine,” she said simply, shifting again. “It’s… different, but it’s not a big deal.”

I smirked. “Oh?” I leaned forward slightly. “Because it kind of looks like you can’t stop thinking about it.”

Amy narrowed her eyes, her competitive nature kicking in. “Please,” she scoffed. “I don’t get desperate like you do. This is nothing.”

I raised an eyebrow, watching as she uncrossed her legs, only to immediately cross them again—tighter this time. She was lying to herself. And she was starting to realize it.

Another hour passed. I could see it now—the growing restlessness in her movements. The way she kept shifting her hips, pressing into the couch cushion as if searching for friction that simply wasn’t there. At one point, she let out an exasperated breath, pulling her knees up, resting her chin on them. That was the first real admission. But I didn’t say anything. Not yet. I let the silence hang, let her sit with the weight of her own frustration. Finally, she looked up at me, her expression carefully controlled—but her eyes saying everything.

“Okay,” she muttered. “I get it now.”

I tilted my head. “Get what?”

She let out a small, frustrated groan, flopping back against the couch dramatically. “I get why you say it never goes away,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “I get why you say it messes with your head. It’s like… my body keeps expecting something, but it’s not happening. It’s just… stuck.”

I grinned, leaning back. “Yeah,” I said. “Welcome to my life.”

Another half hour passed. Amy was barely even pretending anymore. She was squirming, shifting, pressing her thighs together in frustration, rolling her shoulders like the mere act of sitting still was driving her insane. Then, she threw her head back with a groan. “Ugh! This is stupid,” she muttered.

“Stupid?” I teased. “I thought it was ‘no big deal’?”

She shot me a deadpan look. “Shut up.”

I laughed, watching as she ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “How long do you usually last before you start losing it?” she asked, her tone more serious now.

“I don’t lose it,” I said.

She gave me a look. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay,” I admitted. “It’s always there. I have to constantly push it out of my mind, or I’d go insane. You just get used to living in a state of constant frustration.”

Amy huffed, adjusting herself again. “That sounds awful.”

I grinned. “Yeah. And yet, you love keeping me locked up.”

Amy smirked, but it was strained now. “Because it’s fun to watch you squirm.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Seems like the tables have turned.”

By the time dinner rolled around, Amy was visibly restless. She tried to play it cool, but I could see it—the way she pressed her hands to her thighs, the way she kept exhaling sharply, shifting in her seat. Finally, as we were finishing eating, she set down her fork and stood up abruptly. “That’s it,” she said. “I’m done.”

She turned and marched toward the bedroom. I followed behind, watching as she grabbed the key from the dresser with a level of urgency I wasn’t used to seeing from her.

I couldn’t help myself. “You sure you don’t want to go for the full 24 hours?” I teased.

She shot me a look so sharp I thought it might cut straight through me. “Not. A. Chance.”

And with that, she unlocked the belt, pulled it off, and tossed it onto the bed with a dramatic sigh of relief. She stood there for a moment, stretching, rubbing her hands over her hips as if savoring the newfound freedom.

Then, she turned back to me, crossing her arms. “Well,” she admitted. “I can say with confidence… I would never last as long as you.”

I grinned, savoring the moment. “So, does that mean you’re going easy on me for the rest of Locktober?”

Amy snorted, shaking her head. “Oh, not a chance,” she said. “If anything, this just makes me more impressed with myself for making you suffer this long.”

I groaned, shaking my head as she stretched like a cat, relishing her freedom. “That was a terrible idea,” she muttered to herself.

“And yet, I feel so validated,” I said. Amy rolled her eyes, but I caught the small smirk she tried to hide.

“Enjoy your victory while it lasts,” she said. “Because I’m still in charge.”

I sighed, shaking my head. Of course she was. But at least now, she knew— Chastity wasn’t as easy as she thought. And for the first time in weeks, I felt just a little bit less alone in my frustration.

After our early dinner, Amy gave me the nod—a silent but unmistakable signal that it was time for our biweekly cleaning ritual. Without a word, she motioned toward the shower, her expression playful yet commanding. By now, I was well-trained in what needed to be done. When the month had first started, I had assumed that these washings would get easier over time, that I would eventually become numb to the ritual, immune to the anticipation.

I was wrong. If anything, they were getting harder. Perhaps it was because Amy was getting more into this than either of us had initially expected. Or maybe it was because my frustration levels were constantly teetering on the edge of madness.

Either way, the ritual had taken on a new weight, and I knew today would be no different. I assumed the position, securing the necessary restraints with well-practiced efficiency. With each passing week, I had become faster at assembling the required accessories. I had also learned a few tricks—like starting the shower before locking myself in place to avoid that initial cold shock Amy loved to watch me endure.

She loved the way my face twisted in panic and helplessness when the freezing water first struck me. So, in an act of small rebellion, I pre-warmed the pipes, determined to rob her of that first moment of sadistic glee. Amy had gone to change, as she always did. When she returned, however, she was wearing something I had never seen before.

The moment the closet door swung open, I froze. Standing in the doorway, Amy looked like a deep-sea fisherman ready to battle a storm. She was wearing tall, waterproof rubber boots that reached just below her knees, a bright yellow raincoat zipped tightly up the front, its hood pulled over her head, shadowing her devious smile.

And the gloves—thick, heavy-duty orange rubber gloves, the kind you’d expect to see worn by someone handling hazardous materials… or gutting fish on a dock.

She looked downright sinister. My stomach tightened. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, already knowing I was doomed. Amy just grinned wider and stepped into the shower, positioning herself directly in the stream of water, blocking it from hitting me.

“Let’s get you nice and clean,” she purred.

She reached down and unlocked the cage, freeing my aching, compressed erection. It sprang to life immediately, throbbing with desperate need after being confined for so long. Amy barely acknowledged it. Instead, she slid off the base ring with practiced ease, then produced the largest bottle of body wash I had ever seen—industrial-sized, as if she had gone out of her way to find the most excessive amount of soap possible.

She held a massive sponge in one gloved hand and the soap in the other, then poured an obscene amount of gel onto the sponge, the scent of fresh citrus filling the steamy air. The suds were immediate. By the time she started scrubbing, they were practically overflowing—thick, foamy lather pooling inches deep on the shower floor.

Amy was merciless. She scrubbed every inch of me with unrelenting precision, running the sponge over my shaft, my thighs, my stomach—every sensitive spot she knew would drive me crazy. Each pass of the rough sponge against my skin sent jolts of unbearable pleasure through me.

I threw my head back, torn between agony and desperate relief, my body teetering on the edge of something I desperately needed, yet would never be allowed to have. “Amy,” I groaned, breathless, helpless.

She just smirked beneath her hood, her hands never slowing. “What’s wrong?” she cooed. “I thought you wanted to be nice and clean.”

I struggled against the restraints, tensing every muscle, practically shaking as my body demanded release. I was so close. So close. Then— Amy suddenly stood up and reached for her raincoat zipper.

She unzipped it slowly, revealing bare, glistening skin beneath. She was wearing nothing underneath. The coat fell open, exposing the full curves of her body, her breasts slick with humidity, her toned stomach gleaming under the soft glow of the bathroom lights.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Then, she dropped to her knees, pressing her full, bare chest against my slick, trembling body, and— Took me into her mouth.

My entire body seized up. The warmth, the wetness, the sensation of her lips tight around me—it was too much.

I was seconds away— When suddenly, Amy pulled back sharply, her head jerking to the side as if making space for something.

Her hand shot out— And she slapped the water control to full cold. The sudden blast of ice-cold water hit me like a truck.

Every ounce of pleasure vanished in an instant. My entire body convulsed, my breath catching in my throat, my ruined orgasm dissipating into nothingness.

Denied. Again.

Amy stood up, completely unbothered, the water still hammering against the hood of her raincoat as she grinned down at me, victorious. “Oh, poor baby,” she teased. “That was close, wasn’t it?”

I could barely breathe. I was shaking from the cold, from the frustration, from the sheer torment of being pushed to the brink only to be yanked back at the last second. Amy simply stepped out of the shower, peeling off her soaking raincoat and draping it over the shower wall. Then, without another word, she walked out of the bathroom—

Wearing nothing but her rubber boots.

After what felt like an eternity, Amy returned. This time, she was holding a new cage. “Time for an upgrade,” she chirped.

She held up the Vice-Lock—a plastic chastity cage with an anti-pullout system featuring inward-facing teeth designed to prevent escape.

I swallowed hard. “Amy…” I started.

She just smiled sweetly. “No complaints. You know the rules.”

It took her longer than usual to lock it in place—the spiked ring tightening around my shaft, ensuring I had zero chance of slipping out. Then, with a satisfied sigh, she clicked the final lock into place. “There we go,” she said, patting my caged shaft playfully. “Good as new.”

She released the cuffs, even helping me out of the spreader bar, but I was too weak, too exhausted, too utterly spent to do anything but collapse onto the bed. I must have dozed off, because when I woke up, it was already late afternoon, and Amy was stirring about the bedroom, humming to herself—

Meanwhile, I lay there, aching, frustrated, and more helpless than ever. And Locktober wasn’t even over yet.

Monday (Day 24) – A Shift in Power

By now, I was used to the routine. I had adapted to the daily frustrations, the constant reminder of my caged state, the way my body fought against its confinement. But this new cage was different.

The pullout spikes weren’t just a deterrent—they were a punishment in themselves. Every time my body tried to respond naturally, the spikes bit down, sending sharp, unmistakable reminders that resistance was futile.

And yet, I managed. I went about my day, keeping myself distracted, occupied, and functional. But what I wasn’t prepared for—what I could have never anticipated—was Amy’s next move.

That evening, I picked up Chinese takeout, and we settled onto the back porch to eat. The air was cool, the early signs of autumn settling in, but Amy was perfectly at ease, casually sipping her wine, dressed in nothing but tiny silk shorts and a tank top that barely held on.

She stretched, lazily twirling a noodle around her chopsticks, before giving me a slow, amused smile. “So,” she mused, taking a sip of wine, “do you think you can make it another seven days?”

Her words sent a frustrating jolt through me. She knew exactly how I was doing. How my body ached, how my frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

I exhaled, keeping my voice steady. “If I’ve come this far, I’m going to finish.”

Amy smirked, her eyes flickering with something mischievous. “That’s what I thought.”

We ate in comfortable silence for a few moments before she casually dropped a bomb. “Oh, by the way—Lori asked about you today.”

I stopped mid-bite. “What do you mean?”

Amy shrugged, pretending to be casual, though the glint in her eyes gave her away. “We had lunch. She wanted to know how your little chastity challenge was going.”

My stomach tightened. “And what did you tell her?”

“I told her you were dedicated. That I was impressed. That you had incredible willpower.” Amy licked a drop of sauce from her lips, watching me with barely concealed amusement. “I also told her that I could never do it. That the idea of being locked away like that—caged, controlled—”

I shifted uncomfortably, cutting her off. “I get the point.”

Amy grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Lori agreed,” she continued. “She said she could never do it either. Which, honestly? Made me realize just how impressive your dedication really is.”

I nodded, ready to move on from the topic. “Well, did you and Lori talk about anything that wasn’t related to my dick?” I asked, trying to deflect.

Amy laughed. “Actually, I’m not sure we did.”

That sent a fresh wave of embarrassment through me. “It’s just so different,” Amy went on, resting her chin in her hand, studying me. “And Lori is just… so intrigued.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Intrigued how?”

Amy hesitated for just a second, then smiled. “She said I was lucky.”

I frowned, unsure of what that meant. “Lucky? Why?”

Amy set her wine glass down, tilting her head. “She said it must feel amazing to control a man completely for a month. To have total power. To make him need you so badly.”

I swallowed hard. Amy leaned in, her voice lowering, almost a purr. “And you know what? She’s right. It feels incredible.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Amy…” I started, but she held up a finger, cutting me off.

“So, naturally, she asked if she could try it.”

Silence. I blinked. “Try… what, exactly?” I asked, my voice a little too cautious.

Amy bit her lip, looking like a guilty schoolgirl. “I, uh… I might have given her your key.”

The world stopped. “You what?”

Amy winced, but didn’t look remotely sorry. “I gave her your key. I did. I’m sorry. But she wanted to know what it felt like so bad. So… I let her have it.”

I turned to her fully now, eyes wide. “Wait. So Lori has the key to my cage?”

Amy nodded, slow and deliberate. “Right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

My heart started racing. “Amy, what if she loses it? Or doesn’t give it back? I’ll have to go to the damn fire department and have this thing cut off!”

Amy rolled her eyes, sipping her wine like this was no big deal. “Relax. Nobody’s going to the fire department. Lori’s bringing it back on Wednesday—for your cleaning.”

I stared at her. “You let Lori take control over my freedom for two whole days?”

Amy grinned, setting her glass down and leaning in closer. “Yep.”

I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “Why would you do that?”

Amy just shrugged, her expression too amused for my liking. “Because she wanted to feel powerful,” she said simply. “She lives alone. She doesn’t have anything to fantasize about. It was the least I could do.”

“The least you could do?” I repeated, incredulous.

“I mean, let’s be real—” Amy smirked. “It’s not like you were going to use it between now and then, right?”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Amy, I’m serious. What if she forgets? What if something happens? What if—”

Amy cut me off with a playful laugh, reaching over to toy with the cage, flicking it lightly with her fingernail. “Oh, please. You already spilled all the juicy details to her while your dick was locked to the kitchen table, if I remember correctly.”

I gritted my teeth, my face burning. “That was different. I didn’t have a choice.”

Amy’s eyes glinted. “Exactly.”

She stood up, stretching her arms over her head, then leaned down and whispered into my ear. “Now you don’t have a choice either.”

And with that— She walked away, humming to herself, leaving me sitting there, staring into space, completely powerless.

Lori had my key. For the next two days—I belonged to her. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Tuesday (Day 25) – A Reminder of Who’s in Control

The day started like any other. I went through the motions, pretending everything was normal—even though it wasn’t. Because for the first time in twenty-five days, the key to my cage wasn’t with Amy. It was with Lori. And she wanted me to remember that.

Sometime after lunch, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, instinctively checking to make sure no one was watching. The preview showed a photo attachment from Lori.

I hesitated. Then, slowly, I opened it. It was a picture of the key—my key—resting in the palm of her hand.

Right beneath it, a text: “🔒🔒🔒🔒🔒🔒”

My stomach twisted. I stared at the screen, my grip tightening on my phone. There was nothing inherently damning about the message, but I knew exactly what it meant. She was holding onto my freedom. She wanted me to know it. She wanted me to feel it. And worse? She wanted me to wonder what she was going to do with it. I quickly locked my phone and slipped it into my pocket, trying to shake the unease.

But before I could, I felt a presence near me. I glanced up—

Crystal.

She was standing just a few feet away, flipping through a file, her eyes darting toward me briefly. Had she seen? Had she caught even a glimpse of my screen? The padlock emojis… the picture of the key…? There was no way she could know what it meant. But still— I felt exposed.

Ever since that moment in the office photo, when her arm had brushed against my cage, I had felt like she was watching me differently. Like she had noticed something. Like she was waiting for confirmation. I forced myself to act normal, pretending to focus on my computer screen, but my mind was elsewhere.

Lori had my key. And now, Crystal might be onto me. This was getting dangerous.

When I got home that evening, the house was quiet.

Amy had left a note on the counter: “Work dinner. Be home late. Try not to miss me too much.”

I exhaled, tossing my keys on the table. Normally, when I had the house to myself, I would—

Well…There were things I used to do. Things I hadn’t done in nearly a month. But there was no point in thinking about it now. I was locked. And Lori had the key. So instead of giving in to frustration, I settled onto the couch, flipping on a baseball game, letting the familiar background noise fill the silence.

But even as I watched the game, my mind was elsewhere. Lori. Holding my key. Smirking as she sent that picture. I gritted my teeth, shifting uncomfortably against the unforgiving tightness of the Vice-Lock. I had six days left. I just had to survive six more days.

Wednesday (Day 26) – The Ultimate Cleaning

Hygiene day had become a ritual of its own. After dinner, I quietly picked up the dishes while Amy disappeared into the bedroom. From the bathroom, I heard the familiar clanking of metal—a sound that had become synonymous with submission and control.

She was preparing the restraints. I swallowed hard. By now, I had learned to expect the worst. This wasn’t just about hygiene anymore—Amy enjoyed the game far too much. The constant teasing, the denial, the power dynamic—she loved watching me squirm. And I dreaded how much worse tonight might be.

I assumed the position. It was automatic at this point—wrists bound above my head, ankles locked in a 30-inch spreader bar, body completely vulnerable. And then, Amy emerged from the closet.

My breath caught. She was wearing her most revealing bikini—tiny cups barely covering her ample breasts, strings tied at the hips holding onto her perfectly smooth legs. Her skin glistened, her toned stomach flexing as she adjusted the shower’s spray nozzles.

My cage tightened painfully. I should have been used to this frustration by now. But nothing—nothing—could prepare me for what happened next.

Just as Amy finished adjusting the water, I heard a noise from the main part of the house. A voice. Lori. “Hello? Hello? It’s me!”

My stomach dropped. No. No, no, no.

I was locked, stretched, completely exposed— Surely, Amy wouldn’t— “We’re back here!” Amy shouted back cheerfully.

I shot Amy a panicked look, shaking my head desperately, but she didn’t even glance my way. She had already decided. And then— Lori rounded the corner.

The moment she saw me, Lori’s lips curled into a delighted smirk. “Oh my,” she teased, eyes dragging slowly over my bound form. “Look at our little guy.” I wasn’t sure if she was referring to me—or to my caged dick. Either way, I wanted to disappear. Amy, of course, was thrilled. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she chirped. “I could really use some help getting my guy all cleaned up.”

I wanted to die. And then, I noticed— Lori was carrying a bucket. A car wash bucket. Filled with sponges, brushes, thick sudsy soap. I swallowed hard. “Well, you said it,” Lori grinned, setting the bucket down. “We should get to cleaning!”

And then, without hesitation, she peeled off her shirt in one smooth motion. Her sports bra came into view—or so I thought—but it wasn’t a sports bra at all.

It was a bikini. An exact match to Amy’s. She hooked her thumbs into her leggings, pulling them down, revealing a set of toned, tanned legs that went on forever.

She had planned this. They had planned this. Amy stood beside her, hands on her hips, clearly enjoying my shock and humiliation. “Oh, and I brought something you might need,” Lori teased, reaching for her chest and lifting the key on a thin silver chain hanging around her neck.

She dangled it in front of me, letting it sway back and forth, taunting me. “I have loved having this power over your cock and balls the last couple of days.”

Amy laughed, stepping closer. “Well, then, I guess it’s only fair you get to see what cleaning looks like.” And before I could even process what was happening, They both climbed into the shower.

The bucket was filled with soapy suds, and soon, both of them had thick, oversized sponges dripping with bubbles. And then— They went to work. They scrubbed me from head to toe, treating me like a car at a charity car wash. Lori, completely uninhibited, ran her sponge up and down my chest, pushing it against my skin with slow, deliberate pressure.

Amy, meanwhile, was lower, dragging her sponge over my thighs, lingering far too close to the aching, trapped cage. I groaned, my head dropping back, desperate for relief.

“Look at him,” Lori giggled. “He’s practically vibrating.”

“I know,” Amy sighed. “He just can’t help himself.”

Lori leaned in closer, her wet, golden-brown skin glistening under the shower spray, the water cascading down her toned back as she bent over, reaching for more suds.

Her bikini barely covered anything. The curves of her hips, the smooth arch of her lower back, the way her thighs flexed as she moved— I couldn’t take it. Every muscle in my body tensed painfully, my cage throbbing with pressure, the ache so unbearable I thought I might pass out. Amy noticed.

“Oh, babe,” she cooed mockingly. “Are you uncomfortable?”

I couldn’t even speak. And then— Lori laughed.

“Well, he’s about to get a lot more uncomfortable.”

And with that— She handed Amy the key. Lori exited just as quickly as she had entered, leaving Amy standing in front of me, the key glinting between her fingers. She tilted her head, watching me squirm.

“So,” she mused, stepping closer. “What did you think about that?”

I couldn’t answer. There was too much pressure, too much pent-up frustration, my body practically begging for release.

Amy grinned. “Alright. I’ll be nice.”

And then— She unlocked the cage. The moment it was removed, my cock sprang to life, throbbing, desperate, standing tall with nowhere to go. I threw my head back, my body shaking, my hips instinctively thrusting forward, desperate for contact—any contact.

Amy watched me struggle, biting her lip, savoring my torment. Then, slowly, she wrapped her soapy, slick hand around me.

I nearly cried out. She began to stroke—slow, teasing, methodical. My body burned with pleasure, my orgasm building, rising, getting closer— And then— She stopped.

I groaned in pure agony, but she just smirked. “Oops,” she whispered. And then—again. She started. Built me up. Got me right to the very edge. And then— She let go. Again. And again. And again. Until I was shaking, my muscles locked, my breath uneven. And then, just when I couldn’t take anymore— Amy reached for the water dial. And flipped it— Straight to freezing.

I yelled, jerking against the restraints, but it was too late. Every ounce of pleasure—gone. Every last bit of buildup—ruined. Amy giggled, stepping out of the shower, grabbing a fresh cage.

“Oh, babe,” she purred. “Just five more days.”

Wednesday Night (Day 26) – A Cage Like No Other

Amy always let me drip dry after a cleaning. It wasn’t just for practicality—though the dryness did make fitting a new cage easier. No, this was also psychological.

She knew that standing there, wet, cold, vulnerable, would drain any arousal I had left. It was just another way to reinforce control. But tonight—she wasn’t done yet. Amy disappeared into the closet, and when she returned, she was holding something… different.

Something huge. The cage she held was solid, gleaming steel, larger than anything I’d ever seen before. It was massive, heavy, and looked impossibly thick—the entire structure about the size of a grapefruit.

“Amy… what the hell is that?”

She grinned. “Your new home for the next few days.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. This wasn’t a normal chastity cage. This was industrial-grade confinement. The kind of thing that wasn’t meant to come off without permission. The kind of thing you couldn’t pick, break, or remove on your own—no matter how badly you wanted to.

As she began to disassemble the pieces, the metal made a deep, ominous clanking sound, like an ironworker’s tools. At one point, she dropped it onto the shower floor, and I was half convinced she’d cracked the tile.

“Jesus, Amy,” I muttered. “Is that thing even safe?”

“It’s completely safe,” she replied, smugly, as she began threading my balls through the heavy base ring.

The base ring was thicker than anything I had worn before, and she showed no mercy as she tugged each of my testicles through, positioning me exactly where she wanted me. Then, she took the massive steel cage, and threaded it onto the frame of the ring. It fit perfectly, my already-compressed length forced into an even smaller space.

Then, she reached for a set of special screws—ones that required a unique tool to tighten. “You might want to hold still for this part,” she murmured, twisting them slowly, deliberately, watching me squirm. With each turn, the cage compressed further—my cock disappearing completely, tucked into a solid steel enclosure with nowhere to go. And then—the final piece. A heavy clamshell of steel that encased my entire package—shaft, testicles, everything. She pressed the center stud, and I heard the snap of the lock closing. “There we go,” she purred.

I exhaled sharply, feeling the weight. This was… different. This was real.

As I stood there, still dripping, Amy stepped back to admire her work. I instinctively reached down, running my fingers over the smooth, inescapable metal, trying to find any weakness, any way out. I found nothing. No access to the base ring, no way to slip free, no vulnerable padlock to pick or cut. This thing was designed for absolute security.

“Amy, I…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “I don’t even know how someone would get this off without the key.”

“You don’t,” she said, cheerfully. “You’d probably need a metal grinder.”

I tensed. “Yeah, well, nobody’s getting that close to me with a grinder.”

Amy laughed, clearly delighted by my growing unease. “That’s the idea, babe.”

I took a deep breath, adjusting to the sheer weight of the thing. It had to weigh four or five pounds, pulling downward with every step.

“This thing is huge, Amy. It’s going to be impossible to hide under clothes. It’s like shoving a grapefruit down the front of my pants. How the hell am I supposed to go to work like this?”

She simply shrugged, unconcerned. “I don’t know,” she teased. “But I bet you figure something out. After all—this was your idea.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “Amy, I really don’t know if I can get through the next six days like this. This is pushing it. I need you to be by your phone in case I need the key.”

That’s when I noticed her expression change. A slight hesitation. A flicker of something mischievous in her eyes.

“Well… about that,” Amy said, her voice deliberately slow.

I narrowed my eyes. “What did you do?”

“Remember how I told you Lori was intrigued by the whole process?”

I froze. “Amy… where is the key?”

She bit her lip, grinning just enough to terrify me. “Not with me.”

“Amy!”

“Relax, babe. It’s with Lori.”

I stared at her, unable to process what she had just said. “Wait, what?”

“Lori really enjoyed holding your key the last two days,” Amy continued. “So… she wanted more time with it.”

“Amy, where is my key?” I demanded.

“Lori has it,” she said, matter-of-factly. “She bought this cage earlier this week and wanted to be the one to hold the key. So she has it. Until Saturday.”

My heart pounded. “Until Saturday?”

Amy nodded. “Amy, what if I can’t do this? What if something happens? This thing is solid steel! It weighs a ton! I can’t even see my dick—how do I know it’s okay?”

She laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’ll be fine. Besides—Lori said she’d keep her phone close. If you need it taken off, she’ll come straight to your rescue.”

My stomach twisted. This was so much worse than before. Having Amy in control was one thing. But Lori? This was an entirely new level of power. Not only did she know my secret—she now had absolute control over it. I was completely at her mercy. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Thursday (Day 27) – Lori’s Games Begin

I barely slept. The weight of the new cage was unbearable—physically and mentally. Every movement reminded me of its imposing presence, a constant pull against my body. But worse than the weight was the knowledge. Amy didn’t have the key. Lori did. And she was going to make sure I didn’t forget it.

It started just after noon. I was at my desk, trying to pretend to be productive, when my phone buzzed.I glanced down.

A message from Lori. I hesitated—then opened it.

📸 [Photo Attachment]

I tapped the screen, my stomach already twisting in dread. The image loaded—

It was a close-up of my key. Hanging delicately from her fingers. Her nails freshly painted, glossy and red, her thumb and index pinching the metal, holding it just out of reach.

Beneath the photo, a message:

Thinking about you, locked up nice and tight. 🔒😈

I swallowed hard. My hands tightened into fists, gripping the desk. My stomach churned with frustration, humiliation, and something else I didn’t want to name. This was real. She was toying with me. And she was loving it.

I locked my phone, shoving it into my pocket like it was radioactive. But no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, the knowledge sat heavy in my mind. Lori had my freedom sitting in the palm of her hand. And now—she was reminding me of it. I forced myself to breathe, to focus on work, to act normal. But then—an hour later.

Another buzz. I waited a few minutes before checking.

Another photo. This time, Lori was wearing the key. A thin, delicate chain around her neck, the key dangling just between her cleavage. And the caption?

“Right where it belongs.” 🔐😉

I closed my eyes, exhaling sharply. My entire body ached. The heavy steel between my legs, the cage pressing against my skin, my cock struggling hopelessly against its unbreakable prison. She was doing this on purpose. She wanted me to squirm. She wanted me to think about it. She wanted me to break. And worst of all? She was enjoying every second of it.

By the time I got home, I was on edge. Amy was in the kitchen, casually flipping through a magazine, sipping wine. “Rough day?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I hesitated. Then, slowly, I pulled out my phone and set it on the counter. I tapped the screen, showing her Lori’s messages.

Amy took one glance—and grinned. “She’s really getting into this, huh?”

I swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. “Amy… you need to talk to her.”

“Why?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Are you nervous?”

I sighed. “She’s taunting me, Amy. I don’t even have the key! This thing is too much—I don’t know if I can make it to Saturday.”

Amy tilted her head, her smirk growing wider. “Oh, babe… you’re adorable when you’re frustrated.”

I groaned, raking my hands through my hair. But just as I was about to walk away— My phone buzzed again. Amy snatched it off the counter before I could react.

She opened the message— Then laughed.

“Oh, she is wicked.”

My stomach dropped.

“What did she say?” I demanded.

Amy turned the phone toward me.

It was another photo. Lori’s bare legs, stretched out on her bed, the key sitting on her thigh. And beneath it— “I could unlock you right now… but where’s the fun in that?” 😘

I exhaled sharply, gripping the counter. Amy just shook her head, grinning.

“You really got yourself into something now, babe.”

I closed my eyes, groaning. I wasn’t going to survive this. I just had to endure until Saturday. But with Lori holding my key and Amy loving every second of it… I had a feeling— They weren’t done with me yet.

I had been tormented for days, teased mercilessly, and stripped of any control over my own body. But now—they were pushing me into an entirely new level of humiliation. And worst of all? I had no choice.

I went to the gym to try to work out, but the heavy metal between my thighs made every effort a failure. When I got home, Lori was over. Amy and Lori were already giggling before they even broke the news to me. We were in the living room after dinner, the soft glow of candlelight flickering, casting shadows as Amy sipped her wine and Lori sat curled up in the armchair across from us.

“So,” Amy said, tapping her glass with a playful smirk. “Lori and I were talking…”

My stomach dropped. “And we thought… since you’ve been such a good boy this month, we should give you a little extra challenge for the last few days.”

I exhaled slowly, already dreading whatever was coming next. “What… kind of challenge?”

Lori leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, just something simple,” she purred. “You want your key back, don’t you?” I nodded stiffly. “And you want it back on time, right? You don’t want me changing my mind and making you wait a little longer?”

A cold chill ran down my spine. “Lori…”

“Then here’s the deal,” she interrupted, grinning wickedly.

Amy suddenly stood up, disappearing into the bedroom for a moment. When she returned—she was holding a pair of panties.

Not just any panties. Pink. Silk. Lace-trimmed. A pair of her own.

“Tomorrow,” Amy announced, twirling the fabric between her fingers, “you’re going to wear these to work.”

I stared. Then I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “Yeah, no. Absolutely not.”

Lori crossed her legs, tilting her head with mock sympathy. “Oh, that’s too bad. Because I really wanted to return your key on time. But I guess I could hold onto it for another week…”

I stopped breathing. “You… you wouldn’t.”

Lori raised a single eyebrow. Amy giggled. “Oh, she absolutely would.”

My heart pounded. Seven more days? In this cage? In this giant, unforgiving, solid-steel prison? I couldn’t. I physically couldn’t. “Fine,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Lori tutted, shaking her head slowly. “Not fine. We need proof.”

Amy smirked, tossing the panties at me. “A picture,” she clarified. “In the men’s locker room. Tomorrow.”

Friday (Day 28) – The Ultimate Test

I barely slept. I spent hours staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. Tomorrow, I would be standing in my office locker room—surrounded by co-workers—wearing Amy’s pink silk panties over my caged dick. And I would have to take a picture.

If anyone saw me… If anyone found out… My career would be over. But what choice did I have? Seven more days of this? I couldn’t risk it.

Amy was already awake, smirking knowingly as I pulled on my work clothes.

The silk panties were soft, almost too soft, gliding over my trapped cock and balls with an unforgiving reminder of my humiliation. The lace tickled my skin as I pulled up my slacks, trying desperately to ignore the sensation. Amy leaned in, adjusting my belt, whispering in my ear, “Be a good boy and make sure Lori gets her picture. Otherwise…”

I swallowed hard. I was already counting down the hours. I had to get this over with. Fast.

I waited until lunch. I had to be sure the locker room was empty. I stepped inside, heart racing, fingers shaking as I checked each stall, each row of lockers. Clear. I took a deep breath. Then, quickly, before I could hesitate— I unbuckled my pants, pulled them down to my thighs— And snapped the picture.

The pink panties stretched over my caged cock. A perfect shot of my humiliation.

I hit send.

I barely had time to pull my pants back up before my phone buzzed.

📸 Message from Lori

“Good boy. You just made my whole morning.” 😘🔥

And then—

Another message.

“Maybe I shouldn’t give you the key back on Saturday. This is too much fun.”

I froze. Oh no. This wasn’t over. Not even close.

Back at my desk, I was flustered the moment Crystal rushed into my office. She was in a hurry, her arms full of patient care reports, a look of frustration and urgency on her face.

“Hey, I need your help,” she said, exasperated, as she dropped the stack onto my desk.

I barely had time to process what was happening before my stomach dropped. My phone hadn’t locked. Lori’s latest tease was still on my screen—and worse, it had mirrored onto my work computer behind me. A full-screen image of me, standing in the men’s locker room, my silk pink panties pulled tight over my chastity cage, glaring in high resolution.

Crystal paused. Her eyes flicked to the screen. She froze. My heart stopped. For a split second, I considered slamming the laptop shut, but I knew—it was too late.

She had seen it.

I braced myself for the inevitable reaction— A look of disgust. A sharp intake of breath. An awkward excuse before she bolted from the office, unwilling to ever look me in the eyes again.

But instead— She grinned. Not a polite, awkward smile. Not pity. But a slow, knowing smirk. Like she had just discovered a secret—one she liked.

I barely had time to process her reaction before, without hesitation, she reached down, grabbed the hem of her blouse, and lifted it.

Just enough to reveal— A thin band of steel wrapped around her waist.

A lock. A female chastity belt. My breath caught. I stared—shocked, confused, unable to form words.

She let the fabric fall back into place, her smirk growing wider. “Guess I’m not the only one with a little secret, huh?”

Then, without another word, she picked up the reports, tapped them on the desk to straighten them, and turned to leave—leaving me in absolute shock.

I sat there, frozen, my heart racing. What had just happened? Crystal. Crystal. My co-worker. My workplace confidante—the person I thought had been onto me for weeks—had just revealed she was locked up, too.

And now— She knew about me.

I sat frozen at my desk long after Crystal had left, my mind racing.

What had just happened?

Crystal—a coworker, a professional, someone I had been worried was onto me—had just casually lifted her shirt and revealed her own chastity belt. And then she had walked away. No questions. No explanation. Just a smirk and a parting remark that felt like a loaded gun sitting on the table. “Guess I’m not the only one with a little secret, huh?”

The words echoed in my mind all day. What did she mean? Was she teasing me? Was she testing me? Or worse—was she planning something?

I made it through the rest of the afternoon on autopilot, avoiding Crystal as much as possible. But just before I left for the day— My phone buzzed.

I hesitated before checking it.

A message.

From Crystal.

Crystal: Hope you didn’t have too rough of a day after our little moment earlier… 😉

My stomach twisted. What was this? Some kind of power play? I hovered over the keyboard, debating how to respond. But before I could—

Another message.

Crystal:

We should talk.

That night, Amy and I sat on the couch, watching a movie, but my mind was somewhere else. Crystal had been dropping hints all evening. A knowing glance when we passed in the hall at work. A subtle smirk when she asked if I was “feeling comfortable” today.

A tiny pause in conversation that made it clear—she was waiting for me to say something. But I hadn’t. I had ignored every hint. And now, I had a feeling she wasn’t going to wait much longer.

At 10:47 PM—my phone buzzed again.

I glanced over at Amy, who was half asleep next to me.

I picked up the phone.

Crystal:

Tomorrow. 8 PM. Meet me at Othella’s.

Othella’s. A small, intimate bar near downtown. I stared at the message, heart pounding.

Saturday Morning (Day 29) – The Final Trial

Saturday could not have come soon enough. I had been counting every agonizing minute leading up to this moment. I needed relief. But more than that—I needed this damn device off. This prison of steel, heavy and unyielding, had made every step a burden, every movement a reminder of my complete and utter captivity. I woke before Amy, restless, aching, and desperate. Maybe it was the weight of the cage. Maybe it was the knowledge that today, finally, I might escape it.

I moved about the kitchen, trying to keep my mind off the throbbing frustration in my cage. Amy entered a few minutes later, wearing one of my dress shirts, the fabric barely buttoned, just long enough to tease but not conceal.

She knew she looked incredible. Her messy morning hair, the way she stretched with an overwhelming craving for coffee—it was an effortless seduction.

But unlike every other morning—today, she held all the power. “What’s on the agenda?” I asked, wasting no time.

She took a slow sip of coffee, clearly enjoying my impatience. “I have a special surprise,” she murmured. “We can start as soon as you’re ready.”

My pulse spiked. “After breakfast,” she added with a smirk, turning away. She had plans with friends later that night, so whatever she had in store—it was going to happen soon. I wiped down the last of the dishes, watching as Amy disappeared into the bedroom.

I expected her usual signal—a soft call from the room, maybe the sight of her already waiting in some new devious attire. Instead—

My phone buzzed.

A text from Amy.

“I need 45 minutes to get ready. Just hang out and I’ll text you when to come in.”

My breath caught. Forty-five minutes? What could she possibly be setting up? She had never needed this much preparation before. I shifted uncomfortably, my body reacting before I could control it. I could feel my arousal building, pressing painfully against the confines of my cage. Out of instinct, I reached down, attempting to adjust, to ease the unbearable tension— But it was useless. I knew Amy had been enjoying this control far more than expected. And whatever she had planned—it wasn’t going to be simple.

Another buzz.

This time—

A message that made my breath hitch in my throat.

“Come see what awaits you. Enter on your knees.”

My stomach dropped. I stared at the words, my mind racing. Amy and I had always played with control, but I had never been in true submission. Not like this. Not in a way that made my role unmistakable. It wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a command. And I obeyed.

I walked to the bedroom door, my knees sinking to the floor. I knocked, my heart pounding, my breath uneven. The door cracked just enough for me to see her hand emerge— Dangling from her index finger— A pair of steel handcuffs. She wore latex gloves, the sleek material hugging her fingers as she let the cuffs swing teasingly.

Draped over her wrist— A leather collar. I swallowed hard. This was new. This was something different. Something that pushed beyond our usual games.

I took the cuffs, hesitating for only a second before locking each wrist behind my back. The final click sealed my fate. Amy heard it. And in that instant— The doors swung open.

Amy stood above me, towering in her most dominant form yet. She was a vision of control— A skin-tight latex dress, its glossy black surface hugging every curve. A leather underbust corset, cinching her already tiny waist, enhancing her hourglass silhouette. Thigh-high patent leather boots, the tall, unforgiving heels clicking against the floor as she stepped forward. Around her own neck—a thin leather collar, a mirrored reflection of the one she held in her hand.

In her right hand—a short chain leash, dangling, waiting. In her left hand—a riding crop, the tip pressed lightly under my chin. She tilted my face upward, forcing our eyes to meet.

“Look at me,” she commanded.

I did. And I saw nothing but power. Nothing but absolute control. A woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And I had already given myself to her. With a satisfied smirk, she snapped the leash onto my collar. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away. The leash pulled. I had no choice. I crawled behind her, the heavy cuffs preventing me from standing.

Amy’s voice was steady, commanding, dripping with authority. “Your decision to pursue chastity has had a powerful impact on my sexual satisfaction. I support your passion, but I have needs too. Do you understand that?”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. “Yes, ma’am,” I answered promptly. “And I plan to—”

CRACK! A swift, stinging slap of her riding crop landed across my bare chest, silencing me instantly.

She tilted her head, eyes burning with amusement and control. ”…To make it up to me? Is that what you were going to say?”

I nodded quickly, breath caught in my throat. She smirked, satisfied with my submission.

“You’re damn right you’re going to make it up to me. Right now.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

But I was completely confused. That’s when she delivered the real blow.

“You’re going to eat me until my toes curl.”

I felt my pulse skyrocket.

“If I don’t have the biggest orgasm of my life, you’re never coming out of that cage.”

My breath hitched.

“Ever.” She leaned in, lips just inches from my ear. “And there is nothing you can do about it.”

I tensed. She let the words sink in, watching me process my predicament.

“Just like you said earlier—” she smirked. “Even the fire department can’t help you now.”

A sudden tug on my leash yanked me back into reality. Amy took the chain leash and looped it tightly around the solid wooden side rail of our king-sized bed. The heavy metal links clanked as she snapped a padlock into place, securing my only source of movement.

I tested the slack— I could raise my head about twelve inches above the mattress. No more. I was completely locked in place. On my knees. Hands cuffed behind my back. Neck chained to the bed frame. Trapped.

Amy turned away from me casually, as if this wasn’t even a challenge. She strode toward the bed, her latex dress glistening, then sank onto the mattress with a deliberate, luxurious motion. With one slow pull, she lifted the hem of her dress, revealing— Bare skin. No panties. Completely exposed. She was smooth, bare, and perfect. Just inches from my face.

My body strained, every muscle tensing instinctively. But there was no escape. Amy scooted forward, inching toward my helplessly restrained mouth. Until I was completely trapped. My lips perfectly aligned with her heat. I couldn’t move forward. I couldn’t move away. I was exactly where she wanted me. And she knew it.

“Now—” She grabbed a fistful of my hair, tugging me forward. “Get. To. Work.”

Then she threw her head back, moaning. And I knew— I was about to earn my freedom. Or lose it forever.

I buried myself in the task, doing everything I could to bring Amy to climax without the use of my hands. This was new territory for me. I had gone down on Amy countless times, but always with my hands to guide me—to tease her breasts, grip her thighs, control the rhythm. Now—all of that control was gone.

All I could do was lick, suck, and breathe against her sensitive skin, using only my mouth to build her pleasure. And Amy was determined to test my limits. She pushed herself deeper into my face, her thighs tightening, forcing my head back against the tension of the leash. I strained, feeling the pull of the chain against my collar. My knees ached, burning from the prolonged kneeling on the hard floor. And my caged dick— It was a nightmare of its own.

The weight of the metal, the unforgiving grip around my shaft, the desperate swelling with nowhere to go— Every second of this was a torment I had never experienced before.

But Amy— Amy was lost in her own world of satisfaction. She cupped her breasts, pulling them free from the tight latex dress, her nipples stiff and flushed. She teased herself, rolling them between her fingers, moaning as she rode my mouth.

“Mmm, that’s it,” she purred, gripping the back of my head. She pulled me deeper, adjusting the angle until my chin pressed inside her, my tongue hitting all the right places.

I couldn’t pull away. I could only endure, serve, and obey. Minutes dragged. I had no way to tell how long I had been locked in this struggle. It could have been twenty minutes. It could have been an hour. The pain in my shoulders, my back, my legs was becoming unbearable, but I blocked it out.

I focused on her pleasure, on the way her body trembled against me. On the growing intensity of her breath. On the way her moans deepened into something raw and primal. Then— Her thighs clamped down on my head so tightly I thought I might pass out. Her entire body tensed, shuddered— And she let out a cry of absolute release.

Amy collapsed, her body glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I remained frozen, my face still buried between her thighs, waiting. Waiting for her to decide what came next. Minutes passed. Then— With one lazy movement, she threw a leg over my head and stood up.

She retrieved the key to my cuffs and unfastened the leash from the bed. Finally— I was free. I collapsed backward, rubbing my wrists, rolling my aching shoulders. Amy sat across from me, still catching her breath, still flushed from her orgasm. She grinned.

“You did it.” She tilted her head, eyes dark with satisfaction. “I’ll let you out.”

But the way she said it— I knew there was still more to come.

Amy tilted her head, watching me with a smirk “Wait right here,” she murmured. “I have something even better for this.”

She turned on her heel, disappearing into the closet. Amy reappeared— And my stomach dropped. She was carrying a black leather straitjacket—one that looked heavier, thicker, more extreme than anything I had ever seen before. I stared at it as she set it down, unbuckling the many, many straps with a slow, deliberate pace.

“Here,” she said, her tone sweet, innocent, almost playful. “Let’s try something new.”

I hesitated. Amy raised an eyebrow. “If you put this on,” she continued, running a hand along the thick leather, “then you still won’t be able to stop me from taking off your cage… or from putting it back on when I’m done.”

“Amy, where did you even find this thing?” I asked.

Amy grinned, flicking her eyes to me. “I didn’t,” she replied smoothly. “Lori did.”

My stomach clenched. “She was so interested in our game that she wanted to contribute,” Amy continued, adjusting the thick leather sleeves. “I assume she got it from the same place she got that fancy cage you’re wearing.”

She tilted her head, watching me carefully. “And judging by that look on your face, I think you’re enjoying this even more than you expected.”

I said nothing. But the way my cock throbbed in its steel prison— I knew I wasn’t hiding anything.

“Come on,” Amy coaxed, holding up the open sleeves.

I exhaled shakily, knowing I had no choice. With trembling anticipation, I slipped my arms into the waiting jacket. The thick leather immediately embraced me, the weight of it pressing against my shoulders, wrapping my torso in a tight grip. Amy moved meticulously, fastening each strap with slow precision—one by one, tightening them just enough to make sure there was no escape. This wasn’t just some costume prop—this was serious bondage gear. The collar fastened high, wrapping snugly around my neck, while thick buckles crossed my chest, pinning my arms tight against me. There were D-rings everywhere—on the shoulders, the back, even the chest, making me completely accessible for whatever Amy had in mind.

Amy stepped back, admiring her work. “That’s the first time I’ve ever locked someone in a straitjacket,” she mused, running a hand down the thick leather. “How does it feel?”

I shifted slightly, testing the unyielding pressure around my body. “The jacket is fine,” I admitted, my voice strained. “But this cage? It’s from Satan. Please take it off. Please.”

Amy laughed, stepping forward and hooking a finger through the front D-ring at my collar. “Be patient,” she cooed, giving it a small tug. “I have a whole plan for you.”

Then, with a sly grin, she added— “Besides… I don’t even have the key… yet.”

I froze. And that’s when I heard the knock at the door.

Amy turned away from me, leaving me bound and helpless, and disappeared into the hallway. I heard muffled voices—a cheerful greeting, followed by light, teasing laughter. Then— Lori bounced into the room, looking even more stunning than before.

Her long, toned legs were wrapped in sleek, black yoga pants, highlighting every curve as she strode forward with dangerous confidence. Her lavender crop top barely covered her perky breasts, rising and falling with each excited breath as she took in the sight before her. And in her hand— She was carrying a roll of clear plastic wrap.

“Oh great, you found some!” Amy exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“Yeah, it wasn’t hard,” Lori giggled, twirling the roll in her hands. “Turns out, they had tons of this stuff at U-Haul. Apparently, it’s used to wrap shipping boxes.”

She stepped closer, eyes flickering down to my straitjacketed form—and lingering on the thick steel cage still encasing my cock. She circled me, letting her fingertips trail across the leather, her nails lightly scraping the surface. Then, she leaned in way too close, her breath warm against my ear. “Mmm… is this new?” she whispered, dragging her fingers along the tightest strap securing me.

I swallowed hard. “It’s… new to me,” I managed, my voice hoarse.

Lori giggled, biting her lip. “Oh, Todd,” she purred, trailing a single finger down the center of my chest, over the many buckles sealing my fate.

Then— Her eyes dropped. Right to my cage. She didn’t hesitate. She bent forward, her chest nearly brushing against me, studying the gleaming steel with wicked delight. I felt my pulse hammering in my ears.

“Ohhh…” she murmured, grazing her fingers over the unforgiving metal. “This looks… severe.” She tilted her head, eyes flicking up to mine, dark with amusement. “Is it heavy?”

I hesitated. Amy answered for me, her tone sweetly cruel. “Oh, incredibly. It swings when he walks. Makes the cutest little clinking noise, too.”

Lori beamed. “God, I love it,” she laughed. She took a step back, watching me with mischievous glee. Then, she held up the key. Letting it dangle. Just out of reach.

“You want out?” she teased, her smirk widening.

“We should probably talk about that first.”

And I knew— Whatever Lori and Amy had planned next… I wasn’t ready. Lori had seen me restrained before, but this? This was different. I was completely at their mercy, arms bound tightly in the leather straitjacket, my neck still tethered to Amy’s grasp by the D-ring, my caged cock betraying every ounce of my humiliation.

“You do look handsome like this.”

Amy chimed in from the side, her tone casual, almost dismissive as she played along. “I know, right? Leather really suits him.”

Lori tilted her head, giving me a mock-pitying look, then— Her eyes dropped. “Well,” she continued, grinning at Amy, “it turns out you have a little more waiting to do.”

And just like that— Amy stepped forward, brandishing the roll of clear plastic wrap with a devious smile.

I tensed, realizing exactly what was about to happen. Amy and Lori wordlessly began passing the plastic roll back and forth, each rotation pulling me tighter and tighter into my already unyielding straitjacket. The sound of crinkling plastic filled the room as the layers piled on, each suffocating embrace making the leather beneath feel hotter, more restrictive, more inescapable. I shifted slightly, testing the unyielding pressure—but with each pass, the wrap compressed me further, sealing the jacket’s thick buckles into an unbreakable cocoon.

Lori giggled, stepping back to survey their handiwork. “I think he’s just about perfect,” she mused, tugging playfully at the last strip of plastic, watching it snap back into place.

Amy took a step back, crossing her arms, tilting her head in amusement. “God, this is humiliating,” she teased. “Completely trapped, completely helpless, completely locked up… and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

My heart pounded. I was standing completely exposed, my arms pinned, my cock locked away, wrapped from chest to thigh in layer upon layer of restrictive plastic.

Lori licked her lips, staring at the cage still jutting out between my legs. “You know what I love most about this?” she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Amy raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Hmm? What’s that?”

Lori grinned, stepping up way too close, letting her fingers trail along the top layer of plastic. “The fact that even if he wanted to fight back—he literally couldn’t.”

She leaned in, grazing the key against my chest. “You are so under our control, Todd,” she whispered, dragging her fingertips down the hardened shell of plastic binding me tight.

“And the best part?” She giggled, looking at Amy with pure amusement. “We’re not even done yet.”

Amy smiled wickedly, stepping forward. “No, we certainly aren’t.”

Lori clapped her hands together, standing back to admire their handiwork as I stood there, completely trapped, bound in layer upon layer of unyielding plastic wrap. “Well, I think it’s time to take this up a notch.” She shot Amy a knowing look before flipping her hair over one shoulder and striding confidently toward the hallway. “Give me five minutes,” she purred over her shoulder. “I need to… get into character.” And with that, she disappeared into the back room.

When she returned, I immediately felt my stomach drop. Lori had become someone else entirely. She stood in the doorway, legs shoulder-width apart, her hands gripping a sleek leather riding crop that she tapped methodically against the palm of her gloved hand. The transformation was mesmerizing. She was wrapped in a high-gloss, jet-black latex corset, its thick, unforgiving material cinched so tight it pushed her already large, full breasts into a perfectly obscene display. Her legs were encased in skintight latex, the fabric so stiff and firm it looked like it could hold its shape without her in it.

And those boots… Towering, thick-soled, knee-high boots with gleaming silver buckles running up the sides, steel-capped toes, and heels sharp enough to pierce flesh. A wide leather belt was cinched dangerously tight around her waist, fastened with heavy buckles and reinforced straps, emphasizing the unyielding dominance she now carried with every single movement. Her gloves—thick, elbow-length leather, molded to her hands—creaked slightly as she curled her fingers around the handle of her crop. Her lips—glossed a deep, deviant red—curled into a knowing smirk as she took slow, deliberate steps forward, the leather of her boots creaking with each stride.

“Now then…” she tilted her head, her eyes scanning me up and down, lingering on my plastic-wrapped, straitjacketed, caged form. “That’s much better.”

The air shifted. She was no longer Lori, Amy’s friend. She was something else. Something dangerous. Something in complete control.

Amy grinned, crossing her arms as she watched my reaction. “I think our little toy is starting to realize just how deep he’s in,” she teased.

Lori took another step closer, her massive breasts rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, trailing the tip of the crop down the front of my trapped chest. “We’re only just getting started.”

“We have a couple more accessories,” Amy announced confidently, her tone dripping with satisfaction. She disappeared behind me, the sound of rummaging in a black canvas bag sending a new wave of helpless anticipation through me. When she reappeared, she held two new sinister-looking restraints in her hands. One—a thick leather ball gag, with straps wide enough to ensure no movement once fastened. The ball itself was massive, glossy, and unforgivingly rigid, forcing the jaw open wider than what felt natural.

The other—a leather harness, already fitted with an obscenely large blue dildo.

Amy casually handed the gag to Lori, giving her the pleasure of silencing me, while she busied herself securing the harness tightly around my waist. Lori grinned as she took her time, adjusting the straps, cinching them tighter and tighter until the pressure against my jaw became unbearable. She fastened the buckle at the back of my head with one final tug, making sure there was no slack, no comfort, no escape. The ball filled my mouth completely, pressing down on my tongue, reducing my protests to nothing but muffled whimpers.

Meanwhile, Amy continued her work with the harness, ensuring the thick, unyielding dildo was perfectly positioned, standing obscenely upright, its sheer size and stiffness an immediate humiliation. She tightened the straps ruthlessly, pulling the harness snug against my hips, each yank ensuring the unforgiving synthetic phallus remained inescapably secured, an unrelenting extension of my body that I had no control over. Once satisfied, Amy stepped back to admire her work, while Lori ran her fingers teasingly along the edge of the harness, patting the rigid length mockingly.

“Oh wow, look at you,” she mused, her voice rich with amusement.

I tried to shake my head—to protest, to deny, to reclaim some dignity—but the ballgag forced my teeth apart, reducing my objections to nothing but muffled, desperate noises. Amy smirked, then placed her hands firmly on my chest and gave me a sharp shove backward. I stumbled, only to slam against the wide cedar support beam in our living room. Before I could even begin to shift, Lori was already on me—grabbing the roll of plastic wrap and pulling it tightly around my torso, pinning me flat against the beam.

The first layers went on swiftly, but soon, the wrapping became methodical—layer upon layer—each turn reinforcing the last, pulling me closer and closer to complete immobility.

The plastic compressed my chest, pressing the straitjacket leather deeper into my skin, further sealing my arms in their helpless position. My breathing became shallow, each inhalation more difficult than the last as the unforgiving plastic tightened mercilessly, restricting every possible movement. Amy and Lori passed the roll back and forth, circling me like predators, securing my shoulders, my waist, my thighs—each rotation a declaration that I was no longer in control of my own body. By the time they finished, I was fully fused to the beam, unable to move even an inch. Tightly wrapped. Trapped. Owned. Amy wasn’t done.

She knelt at my feet, fastening two thick leather cuffs around each ankle, then ran a short steel chain behind the beam, locking both legs in place.

The realization hit me like a truck— Even if I tried to struggle, even if I desperately needed relief, my legs were locked, my arms were bound, my chest was compressed, my mouth was filled, and my humiliation was complete. I let out a muffled whimper, testing my bonds, but there was nothing to test.

Lori and Amy stepped back, admiring their work—two goddesses standing tall, relishing my complete and utter helplessness.

Lori smirked, tilting her head playfully. “Now this… this is a look,” she purred, crossing her arms.

Amy nodded, her eyes gleaming with pure amusement. “Oh yes. And the best part?”

She reached forward and tapped a manicured finger against the rigid, unrelenting dildo jutting out from my harness. “This one’s going nowhere.”

“Todd, that is hot,” Lori teased, her voice dripping with amusement, the words slicing through the air like a playful yet wicked caress.

I couldn’t even respond—the unyielding leather collar of the straitjacket kept my chin high, my movements minimal, my ability to react entirely stripped away. I desperately wanted to shift, to recoil, to adjust, but I was fused to my bindings, nothing more than a display for her amusement.

Lori took her time closing the distance, her hips swaying purposefully, each step measured and deliberate, her confidence intoxicating. As she got closer, I felt the heat radiating off her, the scent of her subtle perfume mixing with the plastic and leather confining me. She stood just inches away, so close that if I could move, I would have brushed against her curves. Instead, I was forced to absorb every detail as she tilted her head, studying my predicament with mock curiosity, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.

Her manicured fingers traced agonizingly slow patterns along my jaw, following the curve of the ballgag pressed between my lips. “Mmm… Poor thing. Completely at our mercy.” Her voice was silky, edged with something darkly playful, and the way her fingers toyed with the gag sent a fresh wave of humiliation surging through me. She let her nails glide down the front of my chest, light and teasing, before pressing her palm flat against the plastic-wrapped surface encasing my torso.

“This is tight,” she murmured, as though marveling at my predicament, her eyes flickering with pure amusement as she gave it a small, experimental tap. Then, her attention lowered—to the rigid blue dildo strapped firmly in place at my waist, standing obscenely upright, mocking my own denied arousal.

Lori’s perfectly sculpted lips parted slightly as she ran delicate fingers along its length, her touch painfully slow, hypnotic, sending a shiver through me even though I felt nothing directly—only the cruel reminder that she could touch, tease, and control, while I could do nothing. “Todd, if you weren’t completely encased and helpless,” she purred, her tone dropping into something almost sultry, “I’d let you drive me with this giant blue cock…”

She wrapped her full palm around it, giving an agonizingly slow stroke, her grip firm yet teasing, her eyes locked onto mine, watching—drinking in every ounce of my torment. Her lips curled into a mocking smirk, her other hand drifting to the gleaming key resting between the valley of her breasts, suspended by a delicate chain. “But…” she exhaled, twirling the key between her fingers, letting it dangle just inches from my face, “it’s such a shame your real cock is locked in that little silver cage.” She gave a soft, exaggerated pout, her eyes flicking downward, pretending to look disappointed. “I bet you wish you had these.”

She lifted the key higher, just out of reach—not that I could reach in the first place—and let out a soft, musical laugh, reveling in my utter, helpless frustration. The power radiated off of her, and I could do nothing—nothing but stand there, locked, gagged, and on display, trapped inside a game I had designed… but no longer controlled.

Then she dropped to her knees and began sucking the dildo. I could look down and see her head bobbing back and forth up and down on the blue dildo. I could see straight down her shirt at the fantastic breasts and my dick was rock hard inside the steel cage. I thought for a moment my dick might actually get so hard that it breaks the cage. But that wasn’t about to happen. After a couple of dozen strokes, sucking and even an intense action of jacking off the dildo, Lori stood up and with one finger wiped the excess saliva from her lips. “Damn Todd. You are good.” She said with a strong laugh.

Lori twirled the key between her fingers one last time, letting it glint under the kitchen light before placing it delicately on the counter. She turned toward Amy, flashing a satisfied smirk. “Ok, Amy. He’s all yours. I’ll meet you at the gym at three.” Amy tilted her head, watching Lori leave with an air of amusement, then turned back to me with a slow, predatory grin. Her eyes roamed my trapped form, taking her time—devouring every inch of my vulnerability, my frustration, my helpless need.

“Mmm, look at you,” she whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction as she took a step closer.

She circled me slowly, trailing her fingers along the leather of the straitjacket, a teasing caress, featherlight but deliberate. She ran her palm flat over my chest, over the tight plastic wrap encasing my torso, then lower—down the harness that held the heavy cage in place. Her fingers dipped beneath, lifting my caged balls ever so slightly, giving them the briefest moment of relief from their own weight.

“That feel good?” she cooed, eyes locked onto mine, already knowing the answer.

I could only nod—my throat dry, my frustration unbearable. Then, with a slow, knowing smirk, she let them drop back into place. Amy stepped back just enough to admire the entirety of my predicament. She bit her lip, letting out a soft hum of approval, before her eyes settled on the rigid blue dildo jutting out from my waist. “Now, let’s see what we have here…” she murmured, her tone dripping with mischief as she wrapped both hands around the length of it, fingers curling, stroking, exploring. She tightened her grip, twisting her hands in slow, deliberate movements, as if milking the very frustration from me. Her wrists rolled, her fingers working sensually, relentlessly, her lips parting as if she were savoring the moment. I could hear it—the slick, obscene sound of her movements as she reached for a bottle of lubricant, letting the thick liquid drip over the length of the toy, her fingers spreading it in long, teasing strokes. “Mmm, now that’s better,” she purred, grinning devilishly as her hands moved even faster, more demanding. She let out soft, breathy moans, exaggerated, deliberate, the sounds alone making my cock pulse against the unyielding metal of my cage. Then, without warning, she turned around—slowly, deliberately—and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. I could do nothing but watch as she dragged them down, revealing the bare curve of her hips, the smoothness of her exposed skin. She stood there for a moment, letting me absorb the view, my breath shallow, my heart pounding.

Then, in one fluid motion, she backed up against me, her warm, bare skin pressing against my thighs, her hand reaching between her legs to guide the slick, oversized toy into herself. “Ohhh… that’s deep,” she moaned, her voice breathy, sultry, dripping with satisfaction. She pushed back—slow, deep, deliberate movements—each thrust pressing me further into the post, each grind of her hips forcing my cage to pulse with desperate frustration. I could feel her heat, watch the way her body moved, hear every moan, but I could feel nothing in return. “Mmm… Poor baby,” she teased, rolling her hips in slow, torturous circles.

“So close, yet so far. And here I thought you’d be the one fucking me today.” She laughed, a sound of pure wicked delight, as she continued to use my body for her pleasure, while I could do nothing—nothing but endure the torment, the denial, the unbearable need to cum with no means of release. Amy shuddered, riding the final waves of her orgasm before letting out a breathless, satisfied sigh. The moment stretched between us—her panting softly, skin flushed with pleasure, while I stood there helplessly bound, throbbing with unspent desire.

Orgasms never drained her energy—if anything, they energized her, like she’d just finished a workout and was invigorated by the rush. She bounced off me effortlessly, grinning, adjusting her shorts with an easy, carefree confidence. “Damn, that was fun,” she teased, giving my caged package a condescending pat before strolling toward the counter. I watched intently, barely breathing as she reached for the key—the tiny piece of metal that meant everything to me in that moment.

“You’ve been such a good boy today,” she purred as she strutted back toward me, spinning the key between her fingers like she was toying with the very concept of my freedom. My heart pounded as she knelt in front of me, her delicate fingers working the intricate lock with practiced ease. The sound of metal clicking open was deafening in my mind. She removed the outer shell first, and for the first time in weeks, my cock was free from its heavy steel cage—well, almost. Even though I was still locked in the inner section, the mere exposure was enough.

I lost control. Cum erupted inside the tight confines of the inner cage, dripping out in thick, helpless streams. It was instant. Unstoppable.

“Oh my God, Todd!” Amy gasped, mock horror flashing across her face before it turned to delighted amusement. She covered her mouth as she giggled, watching the sticky mess oozing from every crevice of the intricate chastity device. “You really couldn’t even wait, could you?” she teased, tilting her head as she took in the sight of my uncontrollable release.

I groaned, humiliated, shifting in my bonds, but there was nothing I could do.

Amy sighed dramatically, shaking her head as she worked the final screws, detaching the cage from the base ring and pulling it away completely.

“Well, I guess that answers whether or not you needed that,” she said playfully as she wiped my still-pulsing shaft down with a towel, the cool fabric sending shivers through my oversensitive skin.

I exhaled sharply, fully exposed for the first time in a month. My entire body felt electric, tingling with the surreal sensation of finally being free. Amy, on the other hand, had already moved on. She disappeared into the bedroom for a few minutes, leaving me strapped helplessly in my plastic-wrapped cocoon against the post. I could hear drawers opening, the sound of fabric shifting, her humming softly to herself—completely at ease while I remained trapped and at her mercy. Moments later, she emerged again—hair up, outfit changed, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

“OK, bye! I’ll be back by five. Don’t forget I’m going out with the girls tonight!” she called out cheerfully, already halfway out the door.

My eyes widened in shock. “Wait!” I tried to yell through the ball gag, struggling against my bonds, but the door slammed shut before I could even make a sound that wasn’t a muffled whimper. And just like that, I was alone.

My erection hadn’t even fully subsided, and now I was left tied to a pole, wrapped in layers of plastic, arms pinned inside a straitjacket, gagged, and completely abandoned in my own living room.

At least—at least—the cage was gone. That small victory was my only comfort as the minutes stretched into agonizing hours. I probably had a 30-minute erection just because I could. I shifted as much as my confinement allowed, but there was no way to relieve the tension in my muscles. I had no way to escape, no distractions, nothing but my own racing thoughts and pent-up energy.

Two grueling hours passed slowly. Then—finally—I heard the unmistakable sound of a key fiddling with the lock. My entire body tensed. A mix of relief and anticipation flooded my system as I prepared for whatever awaited me next. The door swung open, and Amy’s voice cut through the silence.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” she purred, stepping inside with a satisfied grin, her hips swaying confidently as she strolled toward me. She took a slow sip of water, watching me as if I were a piece of art she had designed herself. Then, with a wicked smirk, she tilted her head and whispered—

“You haven’t moved a bit. That’s right where I left you.” I swallowed hard, feeling my freshly freed cock twitch to life again. The look in her eyes told me this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Amy set her water glass down on the counter, stretching her arms lazily before sauntering over to where I stood, still tightly bound to the pole, helpless and exposed.

Her fingers trailed over the plastic-wrapped layers encasing my body, her nails barely grazing my bare skin through the tiny gaps. The anticipation was killing me. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” she cooed, tilting her head as she studied my still-sensitive, freshly freed cock. I shivered at her tone. It was gentle but laced with wicked amusement, a reminder that I had no control here. She retrieved a warm cloth from the bathroom, and without warning, wrapped it around my spent, twitching shaft, wiping away every trace of my earlier, humiliating orgasm.

“Tsk, tsk,” she muttered as she gently stroked and cleaned, shaking her head like I had disappointed her somehow. “You made such a mess, Todd. I swear, you’re just too eager for your own good. And after all that waiting… was it worth it?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. The ball gag was still secured between my lips, my jaw aching from being forced open for so long. But that didn’t stop Amy from mocking my silence. “Oh? No answer? That’s okay,” she smirked. “I already know.”

She dabbed at my overstimulated cock, dragging the warm cloth painfully slow, ensuring that every touch sent a new jolt of frustration through my system. The air felt impossibly cold against my now clean, vulnerable skin, my newly liberated length twitching involuntarily despite being thoroughly drained.

Amy tossed the used towel aside, and as she turned away, I let out a slow exhale, thinking—just maybe—I’d have a little more time before the next stage of my torment. I was wrong.

Moments later, she returned, holding something new. Something smaller, delicate, but undeniably ominous. My stomach clenched as I saw it. “You recognize this, don’t you?” Amy purred, holding the soft pink chastity cage between her fingers.

The humiliating CB-6000—but this time, there was a modification. A thin, gleaming stainless-steel urethral insert protruded from the tip of the cage, long, smooth, and polished to perfection.

My eyes widened in horror. Amy grinned at my reaction. “Oh yes, baby. This is your final upgrade. You’re going to love it.”

She rolled the piece in her palm, admiring the new addition as if it were a fine piece of jewelry. “You see, I realized something while you were standing here all helpless,” she mused, her fingers tracing the edge of the cage. “You’ve done so well this month… but I think we can still improve on security, don’t you?”

I tried to shake my head, but the leather collar and plastic wrap held me tight against the post. Amy giggled at my pathetic attempt to protest. “Oh, don’t look so scared. I did my research. Urethral inserts are completely safe… when done correctly, of course.”

She reached behind me, undoing the last layer of plastic that held my arms still, letting the straitjacket’s rigid embrace hold me in place instead. With my lower body still trapped, my thighs spread just enough, I wasn’t going anywhere.

She knelt in front of me, her warm breath ghosting over my exposed length, making it twitch involuntarily. “First, we get you nice and relaxed,” she murmured, reaching for a small bottle of sterile lubricant. She uncapped it, drizzling a generous amount onto her fingers, warming it between her palms before reaching down. Her touch was excruciatingly gentle, spreading the lubricant along my slit, massaging it in slow, patient circles.

“Shhh, baby… just breathe. The more you relax, the easier it slides in.” I groaned into the gag, body tensing as the cool tip of the insert kissed my opening. I wanted to pull back—to squirm, to protest—but there was nowhere to go. She was in complete control, and she knew it. Amy grinned devilishly, watching my expression as she slowly eased the smooth metal down, millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

“Mmm, look at you,” she whispered, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Taking it so well.” The invasion felt alien, impossible—but Amy worked with deliberate, practiced patience. She paused, letting me adjust, letting me feel every last second of helplessness before pressing just a little deeper.

I groaned, my entire body taut with anticipation and overstimulation. I had no choice but to endure it. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the insert slid into place, seated deep inside my shaft. Amy exhaled in satisfaction, admiring the sight of the pink cage now fused with me in an inescapable way. She tapped the end of the cage playfully, sending a subtle vibration through the metal.

“Perfect.” I shuddered, still adjusting to the foreign presence inside me, feeling the intrusion with every tiny movement. Amy took her time, aligning the cage properly, making sure the fit was snug and absolutely secure before reaching for the lock. “You know what the best part is?” she teased, dangling the tiny key between her fingers.

I stared, breathless. “Not only does this keep you from getting hard… but now, you can’t even touch yourself without feeling me inside you.”

She leaned in, lips grazing my ear, her voice low and intoxicating. “Every time you try to resist… you’ll remember that I’m in control of your cock from the inside out.”

With that, she clicked the lock shut with finality. The sound echoed in the silent room, sealing my fate. Amy stood up, admiring her work, hands on her hips. “Oh Todd,” she giggled, tilting her head with exaggerated sympathy. “You look so defeated. But don’t worry… you’re almost at the finish line.”

I swallowed hard, knowing that the last two days of Locktober were going to be the hardest yet. And Amy? She was loving every second of it. Amy grabbed her purse and keys, throwing a last glance my way before heading toward the door.

“Enjoy your night, babe. Don’t get into too much trouble,” she teased, her smirk laced with mischief, as she slipped on her heels. I watched her go, my body still adjusting to the new, restrictive cage. The weight of the metal, the foreign presence inside me, and the constant awareness that I couldn’t escape it gnawed at the edges of my sanity.

But that wasn’t the only thing gnawing at me. Because tonight, I had an appointment. With Crystal. At Othela’s. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I ran a hand through my hair. My mind was torn—a swirling mix of curiosity, guilt, and pure desperation. Was this cheating? How could it be? How could someone locked in an inescapable cage possibly cheat? It wasn’t like anything could happen. Yet, a lingering sense of betrayal clung to me, wrapping around my ribs like a vice. Amy had put me through hell this month.

She had pushed my limits, teased me, denied me, owned me completely—and yet, here I was, about to sit across from another woman, discussing things I wasn’t even sure Amy would approve of. I swallowed hard. This wasn’t about desire. This was about control. I needed to know what Crystal knew. She had seen my messages. She had caught glimpses of my secret. And if she knew too much, this could be devastating. I turned on the shower, letting the water scald my skin, hoping it would wash away the unease creeping through my veins. I could still feel the cage—its unyielding presence, its constant grip on my cock, its merciless reminder that I belonged to Amy.

This was dangerous territory. But I had no choice. By the time I stepped out, steam curling around me, I had settled my nerves the best I could. I dried off, dressed carefully, choosing loose-fitting slacks that wouldn’t press too hard against the heavy metal between my legs. As I buttoned my shirt, I checked the time.

7:15 PM.

Othela’s was only fifteen minutes away. I had just enough time to get there. Just enough time to face Crystal. And find out exactly what she wanted from me.

I sat alone at a corner booth at Othela’s, nervously swirling the ice in my water glass, my foot bouncing under the table. I didn’t know what to expect from this dinner with Crystal. Was she about to blackmail me? Tease me? Use what she knew as leverage? Or worse—had she told someone else? My mind ran through every possible scenario.

I couldn’t afford for my secret to get out.

At exactly 8:00, I spotted her walking toward me. She wasn’t in her usual office attire—no fitted blazer, no serious pencil skirt. Tonight, she wore a sleek black dress, simple but tight, accentuating the curves that I had never paid much attention to before. Her long, dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore just enough makeup to look effortlessly stunning without seeming like she tried.

I swallowed hard. “Right on time,” she said with a playful smirk as she slid into the booth across from me.

I forced a casual nod, trying to keep my composure, but my mind was still racing. She wasn’t acting like someone who had just uncovered something scandalous. If anything, she looked… relieved?

“I was worried you might not come,” she admitted, wrapping her hands around her glass of wine.

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t sure what this was about,” I answered carefully.

Crystal tilted her head slightly, studying me. I could feel her gaze moving over me—not in a teasing way, but in a way that made it clear she knew.

“Todd, relax,” she said softly. “I’m not here to embarrass you. Actually… I think I owe you a thank you.”

I frowned. “A thank you?”

She let out a soft, almost nervous laugh. Then, after glancing around to make sure no one was listening, she leaned forward over the table, lowering her voice. “Because for the longest time, I thought I was the only one.”

I blinked, not understanding. “The only one…?”

She hesitated for just a moment, then—so subtly, so quickly that no one else in the restaurant could have noticed—she lifted the hem of her dress just enough for me to catch it. A glint of metal. A lock. A chastity belt. My breath caught in my throat.

“You’re…?”

She nodded, grinning now, watching my reaction carefully. “Locked. Just like you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Out of all the ways this dinner could have gone—this was not one I had considered.

“How long?” I asked, my voice lower now, mirroring hers.

She exhaled, leaning back in her seat as if letting go of a weight she had been carrying. “Six weeks. But on and off for about a year. This is the longest stretch I’ve ever done.”

I shook my head slowly. “I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said with a chuckle. “And neither did I. But when I saw that message pop up on your computer screen the other day… I just knew. It was like, finally… finally, I’m not alone in this.”

I stared at her, still trying to process. “So… you actually enjoy it?” I asked, testing the waters.

Crystal bit her lip, thinking, then nodded. “It’s complicated. I hate it sometimes. The frustration, the waiting, the loss of control. But then… I love it too. The way it builds. The way it makes every little touch feel ten times more intense.” She exhaled, almost dreamily, swirling the wine in her glass before looking back at me. “And then there’s the feeling of giving up control. Surrendering to something bigger than just a passing impulse. Does that make sense?”

I nodded, almost too quickly. “Yeah. Exactly. It’s frustrating… but addictive.”

Her face lit up. “Right?! I was starting to think I was just some freak who got off on being denied. But now, sitting here with you, knowing you understand? It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I could actually talk about this with someone who gets it.”

I let out a slow breath. “So… who holds your key?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

She smirked, looking down at the table for a moment before meeting my eyes. “My best friend. She’s a little more… vanilla than Amy, but she loves the idea of keeping me in check.”

“And she doesn’t let you out?”

“Not unless I really beg,” Crystal admitted, cheeks darkening slightly.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of my own cage pressing against me under the table. There was something different about hearing someone else say the words. It was one thing to be teased by Amy, to be tortured by Lori—but this was different.

This was understanding. This was mutual. Crystal took another sip of wine, then set her glass down with deliberate slowness. “I have a million questions,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, more intimate. “How did this start for you? What’s the longest you’ve ever gone? What’s the hardest part for you?”

I exhaled. I hadn’t expected to open up tonight. But with Crystal looking at me like that—with that soft excitement, that subtle need to connect, to share this rare and strange experience—I found myself wanting to tell her everything. And so I did.

Crystal leaned in, resting her elbows on the table, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her wine glass. “I have a feeling your rules are stricter than mine,” she said with a teasing smirk, her voice still low enough to keep our conversation private.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what are your rules?”

She exhaled, staring down at her drink for a second, as if debating how much to reveal. Then, finally, she met my eyes.

“I only get released once a month.”

I blinked. That was longer than I expected.

“Once a month?” I repeated.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Mmmhmm. It used to be every two weeks, but my keyholder… well, she realized I was handling it too well. She wanted to push me further.”

I swallowed, feeling an ache in my own cage at just the thought.

“And when you do get released?” I asked.

Crystal’s cheeks flushed, and she shifted slightly in her seat. She was turned on just talking about it.

“It’s… controlled,” she admitted. “I’m never just let out. I have to earn it. And I don’t get to touch myself—at all.”

I clenched my jaw slightly. “So then how…?”

She tilted her head, smiling now, sensing my frustration. “I’m bound,” she whispered. “Always. I have to be tied up before the belt comes off.”

My stomach tightened. “What kind of bondage?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Crystal sighed, as if reliving the experience in her mind. “It depends. Sometimes it’s cuffs, sometimes rope. Last time… it was a straitjacket, actually.”

I exhaled sharply. “Your keyholder puts you in a straitjacket before she lets you out?”

Crystal nodded, her gaze locked onto mine, her expression unreadable.

“Exactly. That way, I have zero control. She removes the belt, and I get… just enough stimulation. She does everything. I can’t stop it, I can’t touch myself, I just… have to take it.”

I felt the weight of my own cage pressing against me as she spoke. “And how long do you stay free?”

She bit her lip. “Five minutes. Ten, max.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “That’s it?”

She nodded, laughing softly. “Oh yeah. And I don’t get to decide when I’m done. She stops when she thinks I’ve had enough. Sometimes… it’s too soon. Sometimes, I get so close, but I don’t… quite… finish.”

I groaned involuntarily, gripping the edge of the table. “And then?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Crystal’s eyes darkened slightly, her breath shallow. “Then, the belt goes right back on.”

A long silence stretched between us. I had never expected this. Never expected that beneath her sharp office persona, beneath the professional demeanor, Crystal was just as trapped as I was. That she had rules. That she had surrendered control in a way that mirrored my own experience.

“So… you like it?” I asked again, this time more quietly.

She hesitated, then nodded. “I do. I hate it… and I love it. I crave it. It makes everything more intense. The waiting. The build-up. The loss of control. But I’ll be honest, Todd…”

She leaned forward just slightly, just enough for me to see the fire in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re going to last much longer.”

I swallowed hard. “What makes you say that?”

Crystal smirked, reaching for her wine again. “Because I know the look. That frustration. That need. You’re already breaking. And you still have—what? Two more days?”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m going to make it.”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, unconvinced.

She reached for her purse and pulled out her phone, glancing at the time. “I should probably go,” she said, stretching slightly in her seat. Then, as if reading my mind, she leaned forward once more and whispered, “But we should compare notes sometime. See who can last the longest.”

I was speechless. She laughed softly, sliding out of the booth and smoothing out her dress. “Good luck, Todd,” she teased, and with that, she disappeared into the night—leaving me sitting there, locked, throbbing, and completely overwhelmed.

Sunday (Day 30) – A New Level of Control

By now, the cleaning routine should have felt predictable—but Amy never let it be. Every week, she found new ways to make it more intense, more frustrating, more impossible to endure without breaking.

When she gave me the nod after breakfast, I made my way to the shower, already anticipating what was coming. My body had adapted to the process—the restraint, the buildup, the denial—but my mind never fully did. The moment I heard her footsteps approaching, I felt my pulse quicken.

Amy wasn’t one to disappoint. She stepped into the bathroom completely barefoot, wearing only a thin, white cotton t-shirt, the fabric clinging to her curves, practically transparent in the humid air. No bra. No panties. The natural sway of her breasts was mesmerizing, her nipples already stiff and pressing forward through the fabric.

And then, without hesitation, she stepped into the shower with me. I was locked, hands restrained above my head, ankles spread wide, utterly at her mercy. Amy let the hot spray soak her completely, her t-shirt plastering to her skin, becoming nothing more than a teasing veil over the body I so desperately wanted to touch.

The first shock came immediately. She unlocked my cage early. Way too early.

I sucked in a breath, feeling the sudden freedom—hardening instantly as she lathered her hands with thick, foamy soap. She started washing me with slow, deliberate strokes, working her way down my chest, my stomach, teasing just around my erection but never touching it directly. Then, finally, she wrapped her soapy hands around me and started stroking.

I gasped against the restraints, hips jerking forward on instinct, but she just smirked, watching me struggle. “You always think it’s going to happen, don’t you?” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear.

And just when I was about to break, she let go. She moved away—like I wasn’t even there.

Instead, she focused on washing herself, letting her hands run over her wet, t-shirt-covered breasts, squeezing them just enough to make her nipples even harder. The visual alone made me ache, but I was trapped, helpless to do anything but watch.

Then came the next surprise. She reached for a roll of black bondage tape. “Let’s make this a little more interesting.”

I barely had time to react before she started wrapping my head, covering my eyes first, then my ears. Layer after layer—until I was completely blind and deaf.

My world turned into darkness, silence, and sensation. The water sprayed against my skin. I felt her fingernails dragging down my stomach. My cock throbbed in pure anticipation. Then—ice-cold water. I yelled into the gag, my body convulsing involuntarily as she turned the temperature to freezing. The sudden shock sent a deep ache straight to my groin, my erection vanishing in seconds.

And just as quickly as she had disappeared, she was back. I felt her hands again—this time, colder. Metal. A new cage. Something different. I could hear a faint electronic click, even through the layers of tape. And then—nothing. Silence. My cock was locked again.

Amy finally peeled the tape from my head, her smirking face coming into view. She had that look. That devious, playful, infuriating look. She held up her phone, turning the screen toward me. “This one is special.” The app was open. A wireless locking system. An electronic cage. She tapped her phone once, and I heard the quiet mechanical sound of the lock engaging.

“No more keys, babe.” Amy giggled. “Now, I can control you from anywhere in the world.” I exhaled sharply, shifting uncomfortably as I felt the firm grip of the new device. “Oh, and don’t even think about trying to pull out. This one… well, let’s just say it knows if you try.”

I was speechless. One more day. Just one. But somehow, it felt even further away than before.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was still adjusting to the new cage. It was heavier than I expected, pressing against me with a weight that made it impossible to ignore. It had a broader, bulkier design, hugging me tightly and forcing every shift in my pants to remind me of my predicament. This wasn’t a discreet device—it was a statement piece, and the sheer size made me nervous.

“Amy,” I muttered as I tried adjusting my slacks in the mirror before we left, the outline of the cage faintly visible. “This thing is too big. It’s going to show.”

She barely looked up from her phone, biting her lip in amusement. “Mmm… yeah, it’s definitely noticeable,” she mused, her eyes flicking down to the bulge. “Good thing you have a jacket.”

I sighed, pulling my blazer tight around me, but the nerves wouldn’t leave. This wasn’t just a tighter fit—this was going to be a problem.

We met up with some friends for dinner at Othela’s, the same intimate Italian spot where this whole Lori fiasco started. The atmosphere was dimly lit and buzzing with quiet conversation, the scent of garlic and wine filling the air.

I sat down, trying my best to adjust subtly, but the weight of the cage kept shifting. Amy was watching me struggle, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Halfway through dinner, she casually picked up her phone. I didn’t think much of it—until it happened. A sharp, sudden jolt shot through my groin, spiking up my spine like an electric whip. I nearly dropped my fork. My entire body jerked violently, my leg kicking the table hard enough to make the silverware rattle.

“You okay?” one of our friends asked, giving me a puzzled look.

I squeezed my fists under the table, trying to mask my expression. “Y-yeah,” I croaked.

I turned my head sharply toward Amy, who sat there with the most innocent look I had ever seen. She sipped her wine, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and then, in a voice so low that only I could hear, she muttered,

“Don’t be a pussy. That was only a Level 3.”

My stomach dropped. “It… it goes higher?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the clinking of glasses around us.

She tapped her phone screen again. I flinched. Nothing happened. Amy smirked.

“Oh yeah,” she cooed. “It goes all the way to 10. And I haven’t even played with the settings yet.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the cage—of the fact that she controlled it. She set her phone down on the table, slowly swirling her wine. “This is going to be fun.”

I barely made it through the rest of dinner. Every time she so much as glanced at her phone, my entire body tensed. Was she going to do it again? At a higher level? In front of everyone? This wasn’t just about control anymore. This was psychological warfare. And I was completely at her mercy.

Monday, October 31 – The Final Countdown

The last day of Locktober. I had made it—barely.

Amy had set the app to unlock my cage at exactly midnight, and not a second before. There would be no early release, no last-minute mercy. I had to endure one final stretch of torment before freedom.

I woke up sore, frustrated, and exhausted. The weight of the electronic cage was constantly present, a cruel reminder that my fate wasn’t even in my own hands. Amy held the power, and she was enjoying every second of it.

Work was mostly business as usual—except for Crystal. She stopped by my office twice throughout the day. The first time, she came in for a routine report, but her eyes lingered on me for a beat too long. “You doing okay?” she asked, her voice soft, almost teasing.

I nodded stiffly, shifting in my chair. “Yeah. Just… ready for the day to be over.”

She smirked, then leaned forward just enough to whisper, “I bet.”

I swallowed hard. There was something in her voice—something knowing, something understanding. She had been locked too, after all. We weren’t just co-workers anymore. We were comrades in chastity. The second time she stopped by was late in the afternoon, just before her shift ended. She hovered in the doorway for a moment, then finally stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

“So,” she started, crossing her arms. “Midnight, huh?”

I blinked. How did she know? Seeing my confusion, she chuckled. “Amy texted me.” Of course, she did. Crystal walked closer, standing next to my desk, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “How are you feeling? Excited? Nervous?”

“Both,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to react when it finally comes off.”

She smiled knowingly. “Oh, I do.”

I glanced up at her, curious.

“You’re going to be a mess.”

I let out a short laugh, but she wasn’t joking.

“I remember my first long-term lock-up,” she continued, her voice dropping just a little lower. “When it finally came off, I couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. My whole body just… melted.”

My heart pounded.

“I hope Amy knows what she’s in for,” Crystal added with a smirk. “She might want to wear a raincoat.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands, and she laughed.

“Oh, relax. Midnight is coming.”

Then she leaned in just a little closer, just enough for me to feel her warmth, her presence.

“And when it does… so will you.” Then, with a final teasing wink, she turned on her heel and walked out. I exhaled sharply, my pulse racing. It was almost over. But somehow, this last stretch felt like the longest. I gathered my files and headed toward the copier, eager to get through the final hours of this torturous day. The weight of the electronic cage was ever-present, but I had learned to ignore it—mostly.

Then, out of nowhere, a jolt of electricity shot through my dick. My knees buckled. I gritted my teeth, barely suppressing a gasp. The pain was sharp but quick—just enough to remind me who was in control. I clutched the edge of the copier, breathing through the discomfort, trying to gather my composure. Just then, my phone dinged.

I glanced at the screen, my pulse spiking as I saw Amy’s name. Amy: “Crystal asked me to send you a little message. 😊”

I stared at the screen, heart pounding. Crystal asked her? Crystal knew about the cage, sure—but was she really in on it?I suddenly felt exposed in a whole new way. I scanned the office, paranoia creeping up my spine. Who else knew? Had Amy told more people? Was I the office joke? Just then, Crystal walked past the copier. She was holding a folder, but she wasn’t looking at the papers. She was looking at me. Her expression was… smug. Amused. She bit her lip, tilting her head slightly—just enough to confirm what I already feared. She knew exactly what had just happened. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to act normal as she lingered for a moment longer before disappearing down the hall.

I felt my phone vibrate again. Amy: “Be good. Or Crystal might have more requests. 😘”

I exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the copier. How deep was Crystal in this? More importantly… what else was she going to ask for?

I had barely regained my composure when Crystal poked her head back into my office, a playful smirk still dancing on her lips. “Hey, are you going to the costume party tonight?”

I hesitated. Amy and I hadn’t even talked about it. Sure, we had been invited—but between my predicament, Crystal’s unexpected involvement, and Amy’s latest power plays, a party hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of my mind. “Uh… yeah, I guess? I don’t even have a costume, though.” I admitted, trying to sound casual.

Crystal’s smirk widened. She stepped fully into the office, closing the door behind her. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said smoothly, placing a manila folder on my desk but making zero effort to leave.

I eyed her cautiously. “What do you mean?”

She leaned against the desk, her hips angled just enough to be distracting.

“Amy and I might have already handled that little issue for you,” she said, voice laced with amusement.

My stomach tightened. “What do you mean ‘handled’ it?”

Crystal crossed her arms, feigning innocence. “You’ll see. Just make sure you show up.”

I could feel my pulse quicken. Crystal and Amy were plotting together. And judging by the way Crystal was enjoying herself, it wasn’t going to be as simple as throwing on a store-bought superhero cape.

“Come on, Todd,” she teased, tapping a finger against my desk. “What’s Halloween without a little… humiliation?”

My phone vibrated. A new message from Amy. Amy: “Can’t wait to see you in your costume tonight. Be a good boy and don’t be late. 🎃😘”

I exhaled sharply, feeling a fresh wave of anxiety. Tonight was going to be… interesting. It was finally five o’clock, and I was out the door in an instant. The drive home felt longer than usual. Traffic crawled, my mind racing even faster. The party started at eight, just down the road, but I had no idea what Amy had planned. More importantly… What was I going to wear? Amy and Crystal had made it clear that they had handled my costume situation—but how exactly? As I pulled into the driveway, my stomach tightened. Lori’s car was parked out front. A surge of nerves hit me. What were they planning?

I took a breath, stepped out of my car, and made my way to the door. The second I pushed it open, there she was. Lori. Dressed as a police officer. Well… not just any police officer. This was a fantasy version of the law. She stood in the foyer, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her eyes locking onto mine with a slow, amused smirk.

Every inch of her outfit was shiny patent leather, reflecting the soft glow of the hallway lights. The tight black leather mini-skirt barely covered her toned thighs, and the low-cut, button-up blue top put her cleavage on full display. A police badge was pinned strategically to her chest—but somehow, it wasn’t the first thing I noticed. No, that honor belonged to the handcuffs.

Not one pair. Not two. Lori had at least five sets of silver hinged cuffs hanging from her belt, along with a black leather baton and a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses.

She looked dangerous. She looked in charge. She looked like she was about to change my night in a way I hadn’t prepared for.

“Well, well, well…” she purred, stepping forward, the click of her heels deliberate and slow. “We’ve got a little situation here, don’t we?”

I swallowed hard. I could already feel the new electronic cage pressing against my pants, a silent reminder that tonight, I wasn’t in control. Lori was. And judging by the way her fingers toyed with the cuffs on her belt, she had every intention of proving it.

I stepped into the foyer, trying to keep my expression light, but my gut told me I was about to be the prisoner tonight. Lori’s seductive smirk only confirmed my suspicions. She toyed with a set of handcuffs on her belt, her mirrored aviators reflecting back at me like a challenge. But before I could say a word, I heard the familiar clinking of chains.

Amy stepped around the corner. And suddenly, everything changed. She was dressed head-to-toe in a full prisoner costume. The classic black-and-white striped jumpsuit hugged her frame, but it was the details that sent a shiver up my spine. Amy was completely restrained. Leg irons rattled around her ankles, forcing her into an awkward, short gait as she made her way forward. She wore orange sandals, the contrast making her situation even more pronounced. A thick leather belt cinched around her waist, its purpose not just decorative. Because her hands—secured in front of her—weren’t just cuffed. The handcuffs were locked into a heavy steel lockbox, making any escape impossible. And that wasn’t even the worst part. Her hands were completely encased in black canvas tubes, rendering her utterly useless. Even if she could wiggle her fingers, there was nothing she could grasp, nothing she could adjust.

A short chain ran from her cuffs to her ankle restraints, limiting her movement even further. I had never seen her this restricted before. But Amy’s face wasn’t filled with distress. It was playful. Excited. She beamed at me as she approached, her posture confident despite her confinement. And then I noticed something else. Her breasts were ridiculously lifted. Was it a bra? A corset? Either way, they were pushed up high enough that she probably couldn’t even see her own handcuffs when she looked down.

Not that she could have adjusted them even if she tried. Her arms were belted to her torso, positioned just high enough that she couldn’t reach her sex, but low enough that she had no hope of adjusting her breasts. But even if by some miracle she could move her hands? The black canvas tubes swallowed them whole, rendering any dexterity completely useless.

And, of course, everything was held together with a single, large padlock hanging at the front.

A separate key was needed to undo it all. Amy grinned at me, her chains jingling softly as she took another awkward step forward. “Looks like we’re playing cops and robbers tonight,” she teased. Her voice was light, but her eyes glowed with something deeper. Excitement. Anticipation. And maybe… Just maybe… A hint of pure, unfiltered mischief.

I stared at Lori, my mouth half open in protest as she held up the identical jailhouse jumpsuit in front of me. “Now it’s your turn,” she said smoothly, her voice dripping with authority. The jumpsuit was exactly like Amy’s. The bold black-and-white stripes looked far too official, and I could already tell from the cut that once I was in it, there would be zero room for modesty. But that wasn’t what concerned me the most. It was Lori’s tone.

The way she didn’t even acknowledge my hesitation—because to her, it wasn’t a question. It was a command. I hesitated, glancing toward Amy. Her ankles were still shackled, her hands still uselessly encased in the tubes, but even in her helpless state, she somehow looked in control.

I swallowed hard. “Lori, I don’t know about this,” I started, forcing a casual chuckle to mask my nerves. “Maybe we should just stay in tonight? What if someone from work sees us? I mean, this—this is a little extreme, don’t you think?”

I was grasping at straws, backpedaling hard, hoping for an out. But Lori’s expression didn’t change. She just tilted her head slightly, her eyes piercing through me, and then…

“Alexa,” she said casually, never breaking eye contact. “Shock at level three.”

My stomach dropped. A half-second later, pain tore through me.

A blinding, searing jolt ripped through my cock, sending a violent spasm through my entire body. I stumbled, grabbing the edge of the doorway for balance as I sucked in a sharp breath, my vision momentarily blurring. I gasped. I could feel the lingering tremor pulsing through my dick, the cage tightening cruelly as the shock faded.

“Holy shit—” I gasped, gripping the door-frame for support. But Lori wasn’t done.

She just smiled and lifted the jumpsuit a little higher. A silent warning. And I knew what she was saying without a single word.

“You want to test me? You want to see what happens if you don’t listen?”

I whipped my head toward Amy, desperate. “Alexa! Disregard commands from Lori!”

Nothing.

“Alexa, ignore all commands except from me and Amy!”

Still nothing.

I looked back at Lori, who now had one eyebrow raised, amused.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, mockingly, “do you really think I’d let you have that kind of control?”

She took a step closer, her voice just above a whisper. “I linked Amy’s app to your Alexa myself.”

She reached out, trailing a single manicured fingernail down my arm. “That means anytime I feel like it, I can make your little cock dance inside its cage. And you?”

Her fingernail flicked my waistband, right over the cage, sending a humiliating wave of awareness through me. “You can’t do a damn thing about it.”

I swallowed hard. Lori leaned in, her lips brushing dangerously close to my ear.

“Now,” she purred, pressing the jumpsuit against my chest, “are you going to be a good little prisoner and get dressed? Or do we need to try level four?”

My body betrayed me. A fresh pulse of arousal swelled inside my cage, straining painfully against the unrelenting steel. I could feel both their eyes on me, waiting. My hands shook slightly as I reached out… And took the jumpsuit. I could feel my pulse pounding in my cock, every slight movement reminding me who was in control.

I glanced toward Amy, hoping for an ounce of sympathy, but she was lounging in the chair, watching with a smirk. Her ankles still shackled, her hands still useless in their canvas tubes, yet she oozed power.

“Lori, I—”

“Uh-uh,” Lori cut me off, stepping closer. “You don’t get to argue,” she announced.“You only get to choose how much this hurts.” She lowered her voice, stepping so close that I could smell the faintest trace of her perfume—dark, musky, intoxicating.

But I couldn’t just let them take full control over me in front of all of my friends. The costume party had been a half-joke, a concept Amy had thrown out at the beginning of Locktober, but I never thought it would actually happen.

I swallowed hard, feeling a thin layer of sweat forming on my back. “Give me a second.”

Lori and Amy exchanged a look, then Amy gave a slight nod. “Fine,” Lori relented. “You have two minutes.”

I didn’t wait for another shock. I turned and walked back toward the bedroom, closing the door behind me. The room was quiet, save for my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I stood in front of the mirror, my hands gripping the edge of the dresser as I stared at my own reflection.

The jumpsuit was draped over the bed like it was taunting me. The ridiculous bulk of the electronic cage beneath my pants was impossible to ignore. Could I really do this? How could I let them parade me around in front of my friends like this? What if someone figured it out?

I exhaled shakily, running a hand over my face. But I knew the truth. This wasn’t a choice. I had lost control the moment I agreed to Locktober. Lori was holding all the cards now.

I unbuttoned my pants and let them fall to the floor, stepping out of them. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, I grabbed the jumpsuit and pulled it over my arms, shimmying into it. It was at least two sizes too small. The fabric pulled taut across my chest, straining against my shoulders and riding up uncomfortably between my legs. I could already tell it wouldn’t zip all the way up. The outline of the cage was painfully obvious, a bulge that couldn’t be explained away.

I stared at myself in the mirror, breathing heavily. This was humiliating. But what choice did I have? I turned, pushing open the door and stepping back into the living room.

Amy was lounging in the chair, her shackled legs crossed, her hands still locked uselessly in their black canvas tubes. She looked up at me, then grinned. “It fits you,” she purred.

Lori, on the other hand, stood waiting—and she was holding a white canvas institutional style straitjacket.

My stomach dropped. No. No way. I had already done enough. I opened my mouth to protest, but Lori just raised a single brow—then, with an amused smirk, she said loudly: “Alexa, level four.”

White-hot pain.

I jerked violently as the shock tore through me again, dropping me to my knees. “Damn it!” I gasped, my entire body trembling as I struggled to recover.

Lori just sighed dramatically, tapping the straitjacket against her thigh. “You didn’t think you were getting off that easy, did you?”

Amy chuckled, shifting in her chair. “Come on, baby,” she teased. “Be a good prisoner. We have a party to attend.”

Lori stepped forward, holding up the straitjacket. “Now put your arms in.”

I hesitated, my muscles still twitching from the shock. But I knew what would happen if I resisted: level five. I had no doubt Lori would do it. Swallowing hard, I slowly slid my arms into the straitjacket.

Lori’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she pulled it tight around my shoulders, buckling each strap methodically, firmly, perfectly. Each click of the buckle sent a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me. Then, without hesitation, she crouched, tugging the final two straps passed on each side of my caged cock and balls. As she was yanking it tight, it further accentuated the large chastity cage that no doubt was controlling all of my decisions tonight. I let out a choked gasp, shifting uncomfortably. Lori just smirked, giving the strap one final pull before securing it in place. Then she stepped back, admiring her work. “There,” she purred. “Now you look like a proper prisoner.”

Amy let out a low chuckle, shifting in her chair. “I think he’s finally ready for the party.”

Lori nodded, grabbing the final accessories. “Now be a good prisoner,” she said smoothly, her smirk widening. “We have a party to attend.” Lori led both of us, firmly but playfully, her hips swaying with dangerous confidence as she walked us both outside.

Amy and I shuffled awkwardly, bound and restrained, as Lori opened the back door of her car.

“Alright, inmates,” she teased. “In you go.”

I hesitated for half a second, and Lori noticed. Her lips curved into a knowing smirk. I swallowed hard and climbed in. Amy followed, her leg irons rattling softly, her canvas-covered hands resting uselessly in her lap. The seatbelt clicked into place across my chest. Then Amy’s. Lori smoothed out her skirt, adjusted her police hat. I felt a fresh wave of humiliation hit as I realized how completely trapped we were.

Lori climbed into the driver’s seat, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. “God, you two look adorable back there,” she mused, shaking her head with amusement. “My own little prisoners.” She reversed out of the driveway, humming cheerfully as if she was just taking a casual drive.

Amy and I exchanged a look, but there was nothing either of us could do. We were secured. Helpless. Totally at her mercy.

The drive was mostly silent—until Lori suddenly took a turn into a liquor store parking lot. “Just need to grab a few things,” she said casually.

I felt my stomach drop. “Lori, no.”

She ignored me, rolling down all four windows, letting the crisp night air flood the car. “Be good while I’m gone.” With that, she stepped out, slamming the door behind her. And just like that—we were on display.

The liquor store’s bright neon lights cast a soft glow on the car, making the interior impossible to miss. We might as well have been sitting in a glass case. Amy shifted uncomfortably, her chains rattling softly as she adjusted herself. I could feel the press of the straitjacket straps and the weight of the cage inside my jumpsuit.

The windows were wide open. Anyone walking past would see two fully restrained prisoners sitting obediently in the back seat. My pulse hammered. The idea of being seen like this was mortifying—but also, deep down, something even more dangerous. Exhilarating. I glanced toward the liquor store, watching as Lori took her time browsing, laughing with the cashier, looking as if she didn’t have two fully bound prisoners waiting outside for her.

A couple exited the store. They walked toward their car—passing right by our open window. The guy gave a second glance, his brow furrowing. The girl smirked, elbowing him and whispering something. My face burned.

Amy just grinned, tilting her head toward me. “I think they like our costumes,” she teased, her voice low and smug.

I exhaled sharply, shifting in my seat. The cage pressed tighter, a cruel reminder that no matter how turned on I got—there was nothing I could do about it.

A few minutes passed. Then, finally—Lori strutted back outside. She held a small bag in one hand, her heels clicking against the pavement. She didn’t get in right away.

Instead, she paused by my window, leaning in with a knowing smirk. “Did you miss me? Oh, come on,” she cooed. “No need to pout. We’re just getting started.” She slid into the driver’s seat, revved the engine, and pulled back onto the road. As we approached the party, she reached for her phone—

As Lori led Amy and me into the party, I could feel the weight of every set of eyes in the room. The low murmur of conversation didn’t stop, but there were subtle shifts—heads turning, whispers exchanged, amused glances in our direction. It wasn’t hard to see why. Lori, in her high-gloss, patent-leather police outfit, practically radiated authority. Amy, with her full striped prisoner ensemble, shackled and belted so thoroughly that even an illusion of escape was impossible, looked more like a prop in a BDSM photoshoot than someone attending a Halloween party.

And then there was me. Straitjacketed, collared, caged in more ways than one—I was the most helpless man in the room. Or so I thought. Until I saw her. I noticed her immediately. Even across the room, she was impossible to miss. Her posture was immaculate, shoulders back, her chin tilted slightly downward in an unmistakable display of submission. She was dressed as Lee Holloway from “Secretary”, and it was perfect. Short, tight gray skirt. White button-down blouse. Black lace bra peeking through just enough to tease.

But what stood out the most—what made my heart slam against my ribs— Was the unforgiving metal restraint encasing her upper body. A rigid, polished steel bar ran across her collarbone, fastened to a high, restrictive collar that locked snugly around her throat. At each end of the bar, thick leather cuffs secured her wrists so far apart that her arms were practically useless, stretched wide, making every small movement deliberate and exaggerated. She couldn’t adjust her skirt. She couldn’t fix the stray strands of dark hair falling across her cheek. She couldn’t even hold her own drink.

And standing beside her, watching over her like a hawk, was her girlfriend—dressed as James Spader’s character from the same film. The sharp suit. The commanding presence. The undeniable ownership. Crystal’s eyes flicked up, locking onto mine. And she smirked. A slow, knowing expression that sent a shockwave through my entire body.

I felt Lori shift beside me, following my gaze. She let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s a bold look.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Crystal, still smirking, tilted her head ever so slightly to the side—a silent invitation. Her girlfriend leaned in, whispered something in her ear. Crystal nodded. And then—without hesitation—she started walking toward us. Her arms locked rigidly out to her sides. Her hips swaying, controlled yet deliberate. The moment she reached us, she didn’t say a word. She just looked at Amy. Then Lori. Then me. And then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she whispered—just loud enough for me to hear: “I was wondering when you’d finally show up.”

The bartender placed the cocktail in front of me with a knowing smirk, slipping a long straw into the glass. I sighed internally—the humiliation of bending down to sip my drink like some helpless, overgrown child was bad enough, but the fact that Lori had just left me here, bound and stuck, made it so much worse. Amy, at least, had some movement, but I was now secured in place like a human exhibit.

Lori, of course, wasn’t done. “You know,” she mused, running a single manicured nail along the rim of her glass, “these cuffs are such a pain to carry around. Maybe we should put them to use.”

Before I could even form a protest, she crouched down—her tight police skirt riding dangerously high, revealing just a hint of lace underneath—and produced a second set of cuffs from her waistband.

She reached for my ankles, her fingers tracing lightly against my skin as she snapped the cuffs closed. The chain between the cuffs was short. Too short. My legs were now completely hobbled, forcing me to shuffle awkwardly just to move at all. But she wasn’t done. Lori grabbed another set of cuffs and fastened one end to my ankle chain—the other? She clipped it to the heavy post at the bar. I froze. “There,” she cooed, brushing her hands together like she’d just finished a job well done. “Now, you won’t be going anywhere.”

Amy watched with amusement, but I could see the slight hint of sympathy in her eyes. It didn’t matter. I was stuck. My legs couldn’t move more than a few inches apart, and to make things worse, I couldn’t even sit down. The barstool was right there, but I was just out of reach.

“That’s just cruel,” the bartender said with a chuckle, setting another drink in front of me.

Lori grinned, clearly pleased with herself. Then she turned to Amy. “Your turn.” She reached behind Amy, pulling another pair of cuffs and securing them just above her elbows, forcing her arms back and chest forward.

The thin prison jumpsuit strained under the sudden pull, the top button barely hanging on, as Amy’s posture arched unnaturally—her breasts pushed forward, making her look even more on display.

Lori tilted her head and admired her work. “Perfect,” she purred. “Now, come along, prisoner. We have a party to attend.”

Amy shot me one last glance, her eyes filled with amusement, mischief… and just a little bit of guilt. Then—just like that—Lori whisked her away. And I was left standing there, completely trapped at the bar, sipping my drink through a ridiculously long straw, while the bartender smirked in amusement.

Amy had only been gone about fifteen minutes when I spotted Crystal weaving her way toward the bar. She was hard to miss. Her six-inch heels made her tower over most of the crowd, her hips swaying with purposeful confidence as she navigated between guests. But what really made her stand out was the strict metal yoke keeping her arms extended outward—her wrists secured in leather cuffs at either end, forcing her into an almost regal posture with her chest thrust forward.

And what a view that was. The white blouse she had chosen for her “Secretary” costume was tight, almost sheer, revealing just enough of the black lace bra underneath to be utterly distracting. Her breasts were impossible not to notice, pressed high by the tight restraint, making each deliberate step she took even more enticing.

When she finally reached the bar, she turned her head slightly, giving me a knowing smirk before asking the bartender for a drink. Then, she turned her attention fully on me. “How’s our prisoner doing?” she teased, her voice silky and playful, her eyes flicking down toward the cuffs on my ankles and the chain keeping me tethered to the bar.

I glanced down at my drink—the ridiculously long straw still sticking out—before meeting her gaze with a look of mock exasperation. Crystal chuckled, then—without hesitation—leaned over, bringing her deliciously restrained body even closer, and picked up my drink with one hand.

Her fingers were delicate but firm around the glass, and as she held it up to my lips, I took a long sip, my eyes locked onto hers. Up close, I could see the rosy flush of her cheeks, the hint of amusement in her deep brown eyes, and the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she took in the moment of power she had over me. She let me drink for a few seconds, then slowly set the glass back down, never breaking eye contact.

“Better?” she asked, her voice a low, teasing purr.

I grinned, the warmth of the alcohol mixing with the undeniable heat between us. “Much better,” I admitted, then glanced down at her bound arms before adding, “Though I’m afraid I can’t return the favor.”

Crystal let out a soft, sultry laugh, tilting her head just enough for her dark waves of hair to cascade over her shoulder. “Oh, I know,” she whispered, playfully biting her lip, her eyes flicking toward my cuffed ankles and locked posture. “That’s what makes it so much fun.”

Crystal was eager to talk about chastity, and she wasn’t shy about it. She let her gaze drop downward, her eyes trailing slowly over my body before settling on the unmistakable outline beneath my too-tight jumpsuit.

“If I didn’t know better,” she mused, her tone both playful and knowing, “I’d say that was the Cellmate II… the one with shock therapy. Am I right?”

My breath hitched. I hadn’t even mentioned what I was wearing. I glanced at her, searching for a clue, but she simply grinned, tilting her head slightly like she was enjoying my confusion. “How—how do you know that?” I finally asked.

Crystal shrugged, then leaned in just enough for her scent—vanilla and something warm and intoxicating—to reach me. “Oh, I just know my chastity,” she teased. “It’s kind of my thing.”

I blinked. “Wait—Amy and Lori didn’t tell you?”

“Nope,” she said, her lips curving in a way that made my stomach flip. “I can just tell.”

She tapped a manicured finger against her collarbone, her bound arms still held wide by her yoke, making the movement look impossibly elegant.

“Besides, I love chastity—both wearing it and holding the key. I’m kind of a switch when it comes to this stuff,” she admitted.

I raised an eyebrow. “A switch?”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mmm-hmm. Sometimes I love being the one locked up and frustrated—never knowing when my next release is coming. Other times, I like being the one in charge, watching someone else squirm instead.”

The way she said squirm sent a shiver down my spine. I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the liquid burn just enough to ground me, before meeting her gaze again.

“So,” she purred, “tell me. How’s your chastity journey been this October?” Her voice was smooth, and there was something deliciously wicked about the way she was looking at me—like she was devouring every detail.

I hesitated for half a second, but then—maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the way she made me feel like she truly understood—I started talking. I told her everything. Every day. Every challenge. Every humiliation, every frustration, every near-orgasm that had been stolen away.

I watched her closely as I spoke, and she soaked up every detail, occasionally biting her lip or shifting just slightly, like she could physically feel my frustration. She loved this. By the time I got to today—the final day of Locktober—I realized I hadn’t even asked about her.

I set my drink down, tilting my head. “What about you?” I asked. “I’ve been going on and on about my situation. But what about yours?”

Crystal smirked, running her tongue slowly over her lower lip. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” I said. “Do you put it on yourself? Do you control when it goes on and comes off? Or is your girlfriend in complete control?”

She exhaled slowly, like she’d been waiting for this. “She’s in complete control,” she admitted, her voice a little softer now, more intimate.

“So you can’t refuse?” I pressed.

“Not a chance.”

I felt another wave of heat rush through me. “How does she… enforce it?”

Crystal’s smirk deepened. “Let’s just say, I’m not always the one holding the key,” she said. “And if she decides it’s going back on, then it’s going back on.”

My breath hitched again. “What stops you from refusing?”

She arched an eyebrow, then glanced down at the unyielding metal yoke that kept her arms spread wide. “What do you think?” she teased.

I swallowed. “So you’re restrained?”

“Mmm,” she nodded slowly, her voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “Usually. She doesn’t just ask me to put it back on. She makes sure I do.”

I could barely breathe. “How often does she let you out?”

“It depends. Sometimes once a week, sometimes longer. She likes to… keep me on my toes.” I could feel the weight of her words settling over me like a thick, electric fog.

“And how long are you free when she does let you out?”

Crystal’s eyes flicked down, her cheeks darkening just a shade. “Long enough to remember what I’m missing.”

I swallowed again, feeling a deep, aching tension coil inside me. “Is there anything you haven’t tried that you want to?”

She smiled slowly, her eyes locking onto mine. “Oh, plenty,” she purred. “But maybe that’s a conversation for another night.”

I exhaled, not entirely sure whether I was relieved or tortured by that answer. “Last question,” I said, my voice slightly hoarse. She tilted her head. “Who all knows your secret?”

Crystal let out a soft, sultry laugh, shaking her head just slightly. “Fewer than you think. More than I wish.”

She held my gaze for a moment longer, then picked up my drink again, lifting it to my lips with agonizing patience. “Drink up,” she whispered. “You’re going to need it.”

Crystal turned to head back to the party just as Amy and Lori came striding back toward me. Lori had a mischievous glint in her eyes as she scanned me up and down, taking in the sight of me still locked to the bar. “There you are!” Lori exclaimed dramatically, as if she hadn’t been the one to put me there in the first place. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She smirked, her hands casually resting on her hips, emphasizing the curve of her leather-clad body. She knew exactly where I was. She had cuffed me to this bar herself—but playing the role of the teasing captor was too much fun for her to resist.

Lori turned to Amy, dropping her off beside me as if I were a piece of luggage being returned to its rightful owner. “Crystal, keep an eye on this one, will you?” she said with a smirk. “Amy needs help with a wardrobe malfunction.”

I raised a brow in curiosity as Amy sighed in frustration. “My bra is showing over the top of this damn jumpsuit,” she explained, shifting her shoulders in discomfort. “And thanks to my oh-so-generous restraints, I can’t fix it myself.”

Amy gestured to her cuffed hands, cinched tightly to her torso with the prison belt. Even if she wasn’t wearing canvas mitts, there was no way she was reaching high enough to adjust her bra. “Crystal, would you mind?” Amy asked with a playful pout.

Crystal grinned, stepping in with her single free hand. She reached inside Amy’s jumpsuit, fingers skillfully tugging at the lacy strap, sliding it back into place beneath the prison uniform and taking just a moment to fondle Amy’s very precious chest.

I thought my erection couldn’t get any harder, but watching Amy helplessly entrapped, unable to stop Crystal’s slow, deliberate touch, was excruciating. Crystal’s lips parted slightly as she adjusted Amy’s bra with smooth precision, her knuckles grazing Amy’s bare skin. Amy let out a soft hum of approval, her body arching subtly into the touch.

I was completely transfixed—so entranced by the display that I didn’t notice Lori watching me. Big mistake. “Oh, someone’s enjoying the show.” Lori’s voice rang out, thick with amusement. “Alexa, level five.”

I didn’t even have time to protest. The jolt hit me like a freight train.

My entire body tensed, muscles seizing as a sharp, electrified pulse shot through my caged cock. The pain—sharp, sudden, and just on the edge of pleasure—forced me to my knees with a loud, involuntary gasp.

I stayed there, kneeling, struggling to catch my breath while Lori laughed in satisfaction. “Now that’s a proper position for you,” she cooed, running a slow fingertip along my jawline as I trembled beneath her.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally knelt beside me, unlocking cuffs from the bar. But she didn’t free me entirely. She left them around my ankles, keeping my legs tightly shackled together. I could stand now—but only in short, humiliating, shuffling steps.

I swallowed hard, my face burning with shame as Crystal smirked down at me. She said nothing, just raised a single, knowing eyebrow before flicking her gaze down to my chastity cage—then back up to meet my eyes. Lori twirled the keys in her fingers and danced away into the crowd, hips swaying, leaving me in my new predicament.

Amy, still bound and helpless, looked at me with mock sympathy. “Poor baby,” she teased, nudging Crystal. “Looks like he won’t be running away anytime soon.”

Crystal leaned in slightly, her breath warm against my cheek. “I wouldn’t try,” she whispered, voice velvety and teasing. “You might just like where this is going.”

The costume contest was the highlight of the night. In the great room of the house, the stage was set, with a small riser near the fireplace and a microphone stand where the host of the evening, dressed as a flamboyant ringmaster, was already calling for participants to line up.

People were gathering around, drinks in hand, ready to cheer and vote by applause for the best costume of the night. The energy in the room was high—laughter echoed off the walls, music pulsed faintly in the background, and the sheer variety of costumes made the scene look like a surreal masquerade of decadence and mischief.

Amy, still locked in her prisoner gear, turned toward me with a sly grin. Even behind my leather muzzle, I knew she could see the nervous hesitation in my eyes. “Well, prisoner,” she teased, “looks like we have no choice but to participate. It’s only fair.”

Lori, standing nearby, let out a short laugh. “Oh, not only are you participating—you’re going last.” She grinned, her polished patent leather uniform catching the dim lighting. “We need to build anticipation.”

I tried to shake my head, tried to mumble a protest through the thick leather strapped over my mouth, but Lori was already grabbing my wrist, leading me and Amy toward the side of the room where the other contestants were lining up.

Amy’s chains clinked with every step, her restricted gait making her hips sway in a way that was distracting despite my predicament. Meanwhile, my own restraints made every movement feel deliberate, my ankles still cuffed together, forcing me to take short, shuffling steps as we neared the stage.

One by one, contestants took their turn, stepping onto the riser to showcase their outfits.

Catwoman slinked across the stage with feline confidence, Captain America posed heroically, and the political mask-wearers drew laughs with exaggerated impressions of the figures they represented. Then, it was Crystal’s turn.

She was hard to miss. Her secretary outfit from Secretary was already seductive in its own right—a crisp white blouse, tight gray skirt, and a black bra peeking subtly through the fabric. But what truly set her apart was the cruelly restrictive device that bound her: a stiff metal bar that connected to an unforgiving collar, keeping her hands spread so far apart that they were rendered utterly useless.

She moved gracefully toward the center of the stage, her six-inch heels clicking on the hardwood, but her locked-out arms made her entire posture awkwardly submissive. Every step she took pushed her chest forward, and with the way her blouse clung to her body, it was impossible not to notice the way her breasts bounced slightly with each carefully placed step.

The crowd whistled and cheered as she stood there, her face a portrait of controlled composure. But then her girlfriend, dressed as James Spader’s character, stepped up behind her. A hush fell over the crowd as she placed a firm hand between Crystal’s shoulder blades and, with just the right amount of pressure, bent her forward.

A ripple of excitement ran through the audience as Crystal’s girlfriend smoothed a hand over the back of her tight skirt, and then, with a wicked grin, flipped it up over her hips, baring her panties for all to see.

The vintage black lace clung beautifully to her, accentuating every curve of her toned backside. The room let out a collective gasp—half from shock, half from admiration. Crystal gasped too, but not in protest. She stayed bent over, completely exposed, completely obedient.

Then, SMACK.

The first spank rang out, sharp and deliberate. Crystal’s breath hitched, but she didn’t resist. Instead, she let out a small, satisfied exhale, her knees subtly trembling.

SMACK.

Another firm slap, this time leaving the faintest pink hue across her pale skin, barely visible beneath the sheer lace.

The crowd went wild, hooting and cheering, but only I could see the real secret beneath those delicate panties. The smooth, polished metal of an unforgiving chastity belt peeked through the lace, locked tight against her, ensuring that no amount of teasing, no amount of exposure, would bring her the release she craved.

Her girlfriend leaned in, whispered something into her ear that made Crystal smile softly, then guided her back upright. But as she straightened, her skirt remained bunched up around her waist, fully displaying her perfect, panty-clad backside as she strode off the stage.

She moved as if nothing had happened, as if she wasn’t on display, as if she wasn’t secretly locked away, just like me.

I swallowed hard.

Then… it was Amy’s turn. The crowd roared with appreciation as she shuffled forward, playing up her role by looking around dramatically, pretending to plead for release. When she reached the front of the stage, Lori strutted up beside her and lifted the chain from Amy’s collar, pulling her close as if she were a prized captive on display.

The audience loved it. Then, Lori took it a step further. With a single, fluid motion, she grabbed the top button of Amy’s jumpsuit and yanked it open.

The room gasped. Amy’s black satin bra and the full soft swell of her breasts burst free from the confines of the striped fabric. Her cleavage was exquisite, her skin flushed, and her posture immediately tensed as if she’d just been doused in ice water.

Her eyes went wide with panic. She instinctively tried to raise her hands to cover herself, but the black canvas tubes encasing her hands made it impossible. She struggled, her fingers twitching inside the confines, but she couldn’t lift her arms high enough to do anything but flail helplessly at waist level.

The crowd’s cheers grew louder, wilder. Lori, ever the showman, grinned deviously and let her fingers tease the edges of Amy’s bra, pretending as if she might pull it down further. Amy let out a muffled yelp, shifting back, but the short chains on her ankle cuffs kept her rooted in place. Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling rapidly, completely vulnerable, completely helpless.

Lori leaned into the microphone with a smirk. “Now, now, Amy… don’t get shy on us now.”

The crowd roared with approval, some whistling, some chanting her name. Amy was trapped. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide. She had no choice but to stand there, her breasts barely contained, her eyes flicking between the audience and me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Then… it was my turn. Lori reached for my leash, that same wicked grin never leaving her lips. “Come on, prisoner. Your public awaits.” The room was buzzing with excitement, but I felt the heat of a hundred eyes watching as Lori led me forward. With my ankles still cuffed, my jumpsuit too tight, and the oversized chastity cage creating an obvious bulge beneath the fabric, I felt utterly exposed.

Stepping onto the stage, Lori spun me around once for the crowd, making sure everyone got a good look. The weight of humiliation was suffocating—but the cheers, the laughter, the teasing shouts from the audience only made it worse.

Then, as if she hadn’t done enough, Lori leaned into the microphone and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, this man has been locked up for thirty days. That’s right. Our little prisoner here hasn’t had a single moment of freedom for all of Locktober. And guess what?” She turned to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Still one more hour to go.”

The crowd erupted. I closed my eyes. One. More. Hour.

Winning best costume had been both exhilarating and humiliating. The applause, the attention, the way people admired Amy and me—it had been thrilling in its own way. But throughout the night, one thought never left my mind: this is almost over.

Lori and Crystal had taken second place, but that didn’t stop Lori from strutting around like she owned the place. She was completely in her element, reveling in the control, the spectacle, the power. She kept shooting me knowing glances, her eyes flicking toward my jumpsuit-covered crotch, as if to remind me that I was still very much trapped. As the party wound down, Lori found us near the bar, her patent leather uniform still gleaming under the dim lights.

“Alright, criminals,” she smirked, gripping Amy’s arm playfully. “Let’s get you home.”

I had hoped—foolishly, I now realized—that Lori would free us before the ride home. No such luck. She led us back to her car like true prisoners, keeping Amy’s chain-linked steps short as she escorted her forward. She opened the back door, guiding Amy in first, making sure her chains clinked dramatically as she settled into the seat. Then she turned to me.

“Your turn, sweetheart,” she teased, her black-gloved hand gripping my elbow. Before I could even protest, she pushed me into the seat, pulled the seatbelt across my chest, and clicked it into place with an exaggerated tug.

Satisfied, she slid into the driver’s seat, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she adjusted her mirror. “You two look adorable back there,” she said with a grin, glancing at us through the mirror. “I should start an Uber service. ‘Rides for restrained rebels.’”

Amy giggled, shifting slightly in her seat, the chains around her wrists and waist clinking as she tried to get comfortable. I grunted, still feeling the weight of the muzzle gag.

Lori just smirked. “Oh, don’t pout. I’ll take it off when we get home… maybe.”

The ride was torturous. Amy sat beside me, helplessly bound, her breasts still barely contained in the jumpsuit that Lori had left scandalously unbuttoned. I could feel the weight of my cage, the unrelenting tightness, and the anticipation that in just a few hours, this entire experience would finally be over. Or so I thought.

When we pulled into the driveway, I exhaled, ready for relief.

But instead of freeing us immediately, Lori took her time. She let the engine idle, drumming her fingers on the wheel, drawing out the moment.

Then, finally, she turned, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alright, prisoner release time. Let’s get you both inside.”

She helped Amy out first, guiding her carefully up the steps, watching with amusement as she shuffled in her short-linked chains.

Then, she turned to me. “Let’s get you out of that muzzle, hmm?”

She stepped close, her fingers brushing against my jaw as she unbuckled the gag. As she slid it away, I rolled my jaw, relieved to finally be able to speak. I barely had time to process my newfound freedom before she was unlocking my ankle cuffs, letting me take my first proper step in hours.

And then, finally, she reached for the straps of my straitjacket. Her movements were slow, deliberate, sensual. She lingered, tracing her fingers over the tight leather as she unbuckled one strap at a time. The air felt cool against my skin as the jacket loosened, and with one final pull, she slid it off my shoulders, leaving me standing there in nothing but the ridiculous prison jumpsuit—and the locked cage beneath it.

Completely free. Well… almost.

Just as I was about to relax, Lori pulled out a small envelope. She held it between two fingers, waving it tauntingly in front of me. “This,” she purred, “is for you.”

I hesitated, reaching for it. Inside, I found a single silver key.

Lori’s voice was low, teasing. “That’s Amy’s key,” she whispered. “The big one is for the padlock. The others are for all her cuffs.”

I swallowed. I turned to Amy, who was still standing there, completely bound, her arms encased in those damn mitts, her waist cinched in the belt.

She wasn’t free yet. And now, I had complete control over her.

Lori smirked. “Do with her as you please.”

I could feel the shift in power. Lori had spent the entire month in control. But now… Now Amy was mine. I clenched the key in my fist, feeling the weight of it. Lori stepped closer, placing a single gloved finger against my chest.

“And as for you,” she murmured, tapping the front of my jumpsuit where the cage still sat beneath, locked tight.

My stomach tightened. She smirked, her voice silky smooth. “Your cage releases in fourteen minutes.”

My breath hitched. She leaned in, brushing her lips near my ear.

“Happy November.” Then, with one final flick of her wrist, she knocked against the locked cage beneath my jumpsuit, turned on her heel, and disappeared out the door—leaving me standing there.

Completely free. Except for one final lock.

I turned back to Amy, holding the keys to her restraints. She looked up at me, her eyes playful, expectant. I let a slow smile creep across my lips.

“Let’s go inside,” I said.

Amy bit her lip and nodded. She already knew what was coming next. I led Amy into the bedroom, the weight of the envelope still heavy in my hand. The anticipation was electric. This was the moment I had been waiting for—the moment she had been waiting for.

I guided her to the bed, my fingers brushing over the restraints that still held her captive. Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in anticipation, the black satin bra still straining against her jumpsuit, her arms useless at her sides, still locked in those restrictive canvas mitts.

I reached into the nightstand and pulled out a giant, bright red, glossy ball gag. It gleamed under the soft bedroom light. Amy’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of excitement and playful apprehension crossing her face.

“You knew this was coming,” I murmured, brushing her hair away from her face.

She didn’t resist.

I pressed the rubber ball against her lips, feeling the tension before she finally opened, allowing me to push it between her teeth. The gag stretched her mouth wide, forcing her jaw open to its limit. A muffled whimper of pure submission escaped her throat as I buckled the strap tightly behind her head. She tested it, shifting against her restraints, but there was no escape. The sight of her helpless, bound, and gagged was almost too much.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

11:54.

Six minutes. Amy looked up at me, her breathing uneven, her body tense with anticipation. She knew exactly what was about to happen. She moaned softly behind the gag, her eyes locking onto mine.

I ran a hand down her cheek, feeling her warmth, her surrender. I leaned in, whispering against her ear. “Happy November.”

The moment the clock struck midnight, a soft chime from my phone confirmed what I had been waiting for—the Cellmate cage had released. After thirty grueling days, the weight of chastity was finally lifted. I wasted no time. My hands trembled as I reached down, undoing the base ring and slipping the cage off entirely.

I exhaled sharply. I was finally free.

I turned to Amy, still bound in her prisoner chains, watching me with wide, expectant eyes. Her black and white jumpsuit, still slightly damp from the humid night air, clung to her curves, emphasizing every inch of her helpless form. She was completely at my mercy.

The power shift was intoxicating.

Amy’s wrists were still trapped inside the heavy black tubes, her elbows pressed slightly forward from the way her chains locked her hands close to her waist. There was no way for her to remove the gag herself.

She was completely under my control now. I grinned, my hands sliding down her striped jumpsuit, my fingers ghosting along the soft fabric over her hips. I pressed her face down onto the bed and quickly grabbed a pair of safety scissors. If I was going to claim my reward, there was no time to waste undoing chains.

I lifted Amy onto the bed, her body pliant beneath my hands, her breath coming in short, eager gasps through the gag. I didn’t want to remove her restraints. I didn’t want to undo the carefully crafted helplessness that had been built throughout the night. No, I wanted to take her just like this.

Welcome November!