Emails, I get emails

No one ever comments. *sulky face emoticon* Don’t want your private business out on the internet, do you? Never mind that I’m letting it all hang out here, you can’t even chance it with a fake display name. Might have your IP address linked to your perversions. I get it.

But I do get emails, emails full of questions. Lots of them are how-to questions, and I’m not going to answer those because I’m no expert. My experience is limited to a sampling of one, just my own dick. So if you need to be fitted for a cage, go to an adult shop. Or look at one of those how-to-measure articles on the cage manufacturers’ websites. Or check out Tumblr. There’s all manner of “experts” hanging out over there.

And sidebar for the straight guys who keep emailing me: it’s fine. Just find yourself a woman who wants to keep her guy’s dick in a cage, which, I don’t understand why that’s not every woman, but then I’m me and I know what my dick gets up to. So if your particular woman isn’t into it, maybe point her to my blog.

Thing about being locked up and straight though is you’ll be missing out on cock. Once your own is out of the equation, what’ve you got left? Sure, they make some pretty nice dildos, I guess, and these harness thingies which, if I’m understanding how they work correctly, would allow your female keyholder to give it to you good and proper. In fact, some of those dildos are probably nicer than Graham’s cock, not that I’m going to say so where he can hear me. Ooh the punishments I’d get for suggesting anything could be bigger or better than His Majesty’s dick.

Which I’m not posting a picture of. To answer one of the other questions I get most often.

Aside from the requests for inappropriate photos and the people trying to pick my brain for how they can find a keyholder of their very own (or how they can get their boyfriend’s dick locked up which I’m not the right person to be asking given that I’m the one who somehow ended up in a cage), the rest of the questions basically boil down to these two: “What’s the best part about being locked in a cage?” and “What’s the worst part about being locked in a cage?”

The worst part, to give you the sexy answer, which I know is what you’re looking for, is not getting to come. That’s not getting to come on Saturday. Not getting to come on Sunday. Not getting to come on … You get the idea, right? And then sometimes not even getting to come on Friday because I’ve been bad, which is my natural state. Even with the cage on, I can get a little ornery and then Graham reminds me that release is a reward not a right, and the next week you’d better believe I’m on my best behavior and come Friday I’m down on my knees fucking begging for it. Begging, begging, for just that brief respite, that moment of release.

So I could tell you orgasm denial is the worst part of being locked in a cage, but it’s also the best part too. This is who I am, who Graham is, who we are together and I’m so glad we found it. He owns me, all of me. The cage is just a symbol, but it’s a good symbol. And functional too, because we know me—ha ha—and I’d never be able to submit to him this way without something as hard as steel keeping me in line.

With the cage on, denied the release I’d take for myself, I walk around all day in this rainbow haze, perched on the sweet edge of orgasm, yearning for that little bit more. Nothing can bother me when I’m that close to coming. Work goes by in a heartbeat and then I’m home with Graham and he lets me have all the cock I want because I’m his good boy and he loves me.

So how do you say the worst part of being locked up is not coming, when that’s the best part? If I’m answering more honestly, the worst part of being locked up isn’t sexy at all. It’s stupid inconveniences like trying to get my dick clean with a cage in the way or the pain of the cage catching a pubic hair, which is why Graham buzzes me clean every Friday before locking me back up now.

Then there’s having to pee sitting down—not being able to whip it out and let fly. I never realized how inconvenient it must be to be a woman. But that’s all minor shit. Well worth it.

I guess the real, true answer for the worst part of being locked up is the ache in my balls. That’s not sexy at all. That just hurts. Especially after going two weeks. I really need to learn how to be good.

‘Course Graham could make me come in my cage, as we now know, but after all the obsessing over me being able to come on his dick, guess what? Now he’s decided he doesn’t care if I come at all. Says it’s distracting, that we’re both focusing on my orgasm instead of his. Which is true enough. Takes a lot of concentration on my part and it turns out it’s not something I can do without him. He’s gotta hit me at the right angle and keep it up for long enough to pull my trigger.

So apparently that little parlor trick I mastered is only going to be used for special treats and in the meantime, my balls get full. These settled, heavy weights that get more tender as the week goes on. They ache, especially at night when Graham strokes his thumb across them while we’re watching television, but also during the day when the cage clanks around in my work pants. The ache reminds me about the cage and then my dick swells, filling it, pressing against it, weeping for a release Graham won’t give me.

It’s only going to get worse too. His reasons for why I don’t deserve to be unlocked on Friday are growing thinner. He wants me in the cage. And me? God help me, but I want to give him what he wants.

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