Need more cock cages in your life? Check out Locked, by T. M. Chris, on sale for $2.99 or free to read with Kindle Unlimited. Currently in pre-order, with release scheduled for 6/26.
Need more cock cages in your life? Check out Locked, by T. M. Chris, on sale for $2.99 or free to read with Kindle Unlimited. Currently in pre-order, with release scheduled for 6/26.
Not of me and Graham. LOL. Got you there, didn’t I? No, I’m still here and the cage is still on. Clink, clink. Everything’s good. I just haven’t gotten around to updating my blog in a while because I don’t spend that much time on the internet anymore now that I’m not here for the porn, which leave me lots of time to take care of the apartment, take care of my body, take care of Graham.
I do still watch a little sometimes, when I have everything ready and I’m waiting for him to get home. He likes it when my dick drips chastity tears, so I’ll put on a clip and get a dildo. That was what we agreed on after the “incident.” If I want to masturbate, I can do it with a plug. There are guys on Tumblr who can come that way, but I don’t even try. I’ve learned my lesson there.
But I’ll rock on a fatty and watch the clips and by the time Graham comes home I’m dribbling up a storm and when he sees that long string of dick-drool hanging down from my cage, he knows I’m open and ready for him. Sometimes I’ll even get a fuck before dinner.
So that’s us, and it’s good, and I can’t promise I’ll be back around for updates very often anymore, so before I leave you, dear reader, here are a few scenes from this happy, locked-up life
*I’m on the ground between his knees. There’s basketball on and I hate basketball, but his dick’s in my mouth so I don’t care. At some point, he’ll throw me over the back of the couch and fuck me fast, or he’ll bring me in the bedroom and fuck me slow, or he’ll come in my mouth. But I don’t have to figure that out. All I have to do is keep sucking
*I decide to make him Swedish meatballs for dinner because he loves them at IKEA but they come out rubbery and weird and the noodles are undercooked and chewy and I hate myself because who fucks up noodles? But Graham knows what to do. He gives me a proper spanking so I can work out my feelings about being “bad” and then after I get all the cuddles while he coos what a good boy I am into my ear. He takes me out for steaks instead of rubbery meatballs and I’m sitting on a hard wood chair, my ass on fire, and he’s across from me looking perfectly proper in Abercrombie casual wear, and I love him, I love him, I love him
*He’s got me on my hands and knees to milk me using this new tool he brought online that’s a lot more precise than some random dildo. There’s a saucer set up to catch the drips—black because it shows better. He’ll take a photo of it when we’re done and I wonder if he’s got his own blog somewhere, but he swears it’s just to get him through the long days at work. I don’t care. I’d drip online for him
*I’m on the bed after my Friday release, feeling light and floaty and perfect. Graham gets up to get my cage but when he comes back to the bed, he’s only carrying the padlock and I look closer and I see the lock is through a platinum band. He gets down on one knee next to me, and I’m so excited I try to get down there with him, but he places me on the side of the bed, all upright and proper, and kneels there at my feet and tells me he never imagined he could be so happy. “I may hold the key to your cock,” he says, “but you hold the key to my heart. Will you marry me?”
Reader, I said yes.
Need more cock cages in your life? Go to the next post for info on how to buy Locked from T. M. Chris
Last Friday I missed my weekly release because I’d been bad.
Never mind how.
I was being sassy, OK?
I was born sassy and I’ll die sassy. Not saying I like being punished, but I will say I can’t always help it. Punishment these days means either a spanking or missing a release or both if I’ve been so bad that Graham’s still pissed at me after he finishes spanking me.
Missing a release is painful—my balls get raging full—and also sad. Alex is a sad boy because his Dom is mad at him and every throb of his balls reminds him of that. And also because he didn’t get his rocks off. Very sad.
But usually at some point during that second week of chastity I manage to pull off the old orgasm-in-a-cage trick, which is sort of my finger in Graham’s face. Like fuck you, you can lock me up, but you can’t keep me from getting off.
But this week, it hadn’t happened yet and we were already up to Wednesday, which meant only two days left to suffer, but fuck it really hurt, which led to me whining, which netted me a spanking, which didn’t make my balls any less full because I fucking love being spanked and it’s not the same if I haven’t been bad first. Did I say I didn’t like being punished? Ha ha. That was a lie.
So, balls full to bursting, I was still whiny after the spanking and that’s when Graham decided he was going to milk me. Graham’s a good top who educates himself on whatever shenanigans we get up to, but I’m not buying that responsible-top bullshit. Maybe some part of him was trying to be nice, to help me out with my little problem, but that part of him could’ve let me out of the cage and given me a handy. Instead, the part of him that’s a sadistic bastard came up with the scheme of torturing me via a process known as milking.
Milking, which I’m going to describe for you in case you’re not up on chastity Tumblr yourself, is the internet’s answer to what you do for a locked boy who’s gotten a bit backed up, shall we say. It involves removing the semen from the prostate, through the dick, by means of a non-erotic, purely-hygienic series of non-titillating strokes over the prostate something like shocking a dead guy’s last load out of him but without the electric jolt. The result is fluid release without orgasm. Relief without joy.
But ooh la lah, all the subs in long term chastity on Tumblr get milked so I was kind of excited about it. This was my rite of passage, and step one was Graham putting me back over his lap, where I’d just spent fifteen minutes getting my ass reddened, and step two was him sticking a lubed-up toy up my ass, so two steps into the process I was looking forward to the rest of my milking like it was Christmas morning.
!!!!DO NOT FALL FOR IT!!!!!
Should I add more exclamation points? I’m not sure I’ve adequately conveyed how completely wrong I was about this being fun. Sure, there’s stuff coming out of your dick, which is always a good time, but you really can’t imagine how slooooowly it comes out.
Drip, drip, like fucking water torture, and all the while this steady, rocking pressure that never quite built. I mean, I’d seen it on Pornhub, sure, but that was when it was happening to someone else. Poor subby boy having his orgasm tortured out of him one drop at a time, ha ha. You gotta admit that’s both funny and hot.
But not when you’re the poor subby boy!!!!!
Here, have some more exclamation points: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Graham didn’t stop, no matter how much I bucked and begged, until the well was dry. Then he flipped me over and fucked me, which was a whole other kind of torture because my prostate was a little sensitive by then, thank you very much, after having been fucking stimulated for half a fucking hour. I don’t even know where he got the patience from, but I’m the one who paid for it as he railed me good and hard, hard enough to have gotten me to come if there’d been any come left in there, while I drummed my feet on his back and squealed with every stroke.
He flops off me with this big grin and says, “Man, that was fun,” and I’m like, “You’re a fucking sadist, you know that?” and he’s like, “Yup.”
Then he gets kind of serious and tells me that he loves how good I am for him now but he likes punishing me too, so don’t ever completely stop being bad, and I’m like, don’t worry, boo. I don’t see that happening.
But honestly, I’m going to give an extra think before being bad now because there’s spanking punishment, which I like, and missed-release punishment, which I can live with for one week as long as I don’t sass my way into two, but now there’s milking punishment. And the jury’s still out on that one.
My ass hurts from the spanking, and I’ll probably scream if Graham goes anywhere near my prostate for the next twenty-four hours, but I have to admit that my balls don’t hurt anymore, and I have a sleepy, satisfied feel, almost like I came.
That’s from Graham being happy, though, from knowing I pleased him. That’s the best, when you know you’ve pleased your top. That’s what makes it all worthwhile. So if Graham enjoyed milking me, I can see I’m going to get milked.
I blame Tumblr.
I’d never have come up with the Hitachi Magic Wand on my own. Magic Wands are these vibrators women like because the vibrations are super strong. Like, you could vibrate the tusks off an elephant with one of those things, and according to Tumblr, a boy can vibrate himself to orgasm right through his cage without his keyholder being any the wiser too. You don’t even have to visit a sex shop or have it shipped in a brown paper wrapper, because a Magic Wand isn’t a sex toy. It’s a “personal health product.” Here’s to your health, am I right?
Now if you’re thinking that it takes a certain amount of premeditation to order a vibrator, wait for it to be shipped, keep an eye out for it so you can hide the box from your boyfriend, and then hold it up against your cage for fifteen or twenty minutes, you’re entirely right. I can’t exactly claim an errant Magic Wand fell on my cage out of nowhere and got stuck there.
But I didn’t know what would happen next.
It’s not that I want out of the cage. The cage keeps me good, and I’ve been GOOD. Graham is my Lord and Master. I spend every afternoon getting myself ready for him, making myself buff and beautiful, clean and shaved, soft and ready. And I am ready too—ready to pounce on him the moment he walks through the door. But I don’t. I don’t pounce on him. I give him appropriate amounts of affection per our agreement.
I take his coat. I hang up his suit while he changes into something more comfortable. I pour him a glass of wine, go down on him while he tells me about his day, serve him a hot meal, and then, only then, do I get fucked. I’m so GOOD. He tells me too, tells me I’m his angel and he’s lucky to have me.
But occasionally …
See, the devil who sits on my other shoulder is one seriously horny motherfucker and sometimes when the chores are done and Graham’s not home yet, I get to browsing Tumblr, just to pick up some ideas about how I can be a better sub, or so the plan goes, but one link leads to another and pretty soon my cage is tight and my nipples are hard and at times like that a little stimulation wouldn’t go amiss.
The first day I used it, I came home from work and there was the package from Amazon and I had to tear into it immediately because I couldn’t have Graham come home and ask what was in the box, right? I pull this thing out of the box. It looks, in case you somehow haven’t ever seen one, nothing like a dick. But that’s OK because a dick can’t do anything for my dick and Tumblr says, so I gotta believe.
I plug that sucker in (which is the key to the strength of its vibrations if you want an electrician’s opinion on this, not that anyone asked, but a couple of triple A batteries have got nothing on a hundred and twenty volts coming right from the tap) and cue up some porn. I mostly watch porn where the bottom’s in a cage these days because I love how the cage flops back and forth when the top’s giving it to him hard, and there’s a great new video of this big leather daddy with his dick scrunched down smaller than mine, which is hot, hot, hot, and I apply the wand and bzzz.
The porn’s already got me as hard as the cage allows me to get, so I rub that sucker all over my balls, my taint, right up against the cage, feeling for the sweet spot. It’s good shit. I mean, it’s very specific, doesn’t feel anything like stroking your dick, just this intense buzz right where it’s applied and when I touch it to the cage it makes the cage rattle all the way around my cock but so completely insufficient. So fucking light, just this tick, tick, tick of cool metal against hot skin.
Maybe I’ve abused my cock over the years (hey, quiet down back there; I heard that), but I could use a little more grip, more applied force, if you get me. The wand vibrates with the speed of hummingbird wings but with the cage in the way, it’s all second-hand.
But I do manage to come eventually and it’s OK. It definitely doesn’t have the zing of my handsfree orgasms with Graham because instead of feeling like we accomplished something together I feel like I cheated on him. Also, does that count as handsfree? I was holding the wand.
Anyway, I hide the thing in the back of the messiest drawer of the desk. I’ll know if he’s ever in there because he’ll immediately start bitching at me about why don’t I clean this shit out. Then I look at the time and see that, shit, that took longer than I realized. I barely manage to scramble everything together before Graham gets in the door, but I’m a good boy for him so I figure there’s no harm in the occasional buzz, right?
At first, I’m buzzing on Monday or Tuesday, so as not to ruin my big bang Friday night. Then Monday and Tuesday. Then Sunday if Graham has to go into work, so Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. And even that wouldn’t have been so bad except my ass never does stop sliding down the slippery slope once it lands on it and pretty soon I’m trying to buzz out a second orgasm to top off the first one.
The thing about a so-so climax is you get to wishing for a better one, even though the second one never is better, and if it takes a long time to buzz one out, you can imagine how long it takes to buzz out two, which means the inevitable happens and Graham comes home and catches me at it.
I figure I’m going over his knee, but no. He gets this evil grin on his face and says if we’re going to keep a wand in the house, he’s going to use it. And I’m like, o-kaaaay, because that was what I’d been working on when he came in—firing the second rocket. Then he takes me out of my cage and I’m like whoa, why am I getting mid-week treats?
Something’s telling me this isn’t going to be as good as my dick thinks it’s going to be but Graham’s hot when he’s mad, and my dick’s roaming free, so it gets good and hard and then he ties me up, spread-eagle on the bed and my dick’s definitely all the way up now. I love a good bondage session and the only thing better than an orgasm with my cage on is an orgasm with my cage off.
But this is where the wand comes in. He lays it up against my dick so the big head is vibrating right over my most sensitive spot and now I understand just how powerful that thing is. I squirm away because nice, but ow, and that makes him fetch a roll of duct tape and that’s when things get serious.
I can’t help but come. Even though it hurts. There’s a fucking vibrator taped to my dick—of course I come. I come in these painful jerks, and if you thought I was begging him to take it off before I came, you should’ve heard me after, but he just stood there as my dick got more and more sensitive, arms folded over his chest, listening to the mechanical hum and me screaming, grinning like the fucking sadist he is.
Three times, that thing made me come, each time more horribly painful, the last one like dry heaves—all the spasms with none of the spew—until I’m not even begging anymore, just crying, and finally I figure out how to make it stop and call red.
Graham unties me and brings me into the shower to clean me up, then dresses me in my softest PJs and gives me cuddles in bed. He asks me if I want the cage back on and I tell him I do. Graham’s cage is my safe space. It feels good to be small and soft again.
Then he asks me if we’re going to keep a Magic Wand in the house and I tell him no. I get out of bed and take that evil wand and stuff it way down deep into the garbage. I never want to see it again. Honestly, I’m not sure I ever want to have another orgasm again either.
But that’ll probably change.
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.
It’s been two weeks since I came, but whose fault is that?
Yep, I’m the genius. This was my brilliant plan. We haven’t been able to repeat that hands-free orgasm. Graham says not to stress about it, that he’ll give it a go any time. He’s even willing to unlock me during the week for a practice session, so long as the rule is that if I don’t come handsfree then I don’t come. Back in the cage, boppity-boo, which you’d think would be pretty good incentive.
Graham can go as long as I need him to. No worries there. The problem is that at some point my focus jumps into my cock and once it’s there, my dick demands friction. I grab for it without even thinking. Graham yanks my hand up behind my back, finishes himself off in a few strokes, the greedy bastard, and there I am. No whole body orgasm, and not even the regular kind either.
We tried a whole bunch of times, got close and then closer, and then I had the brilliant idea that if I wasn’t coming on Friday nights, if I was truly, truly desperate, it’d happen. So two weeks ago I made him promise no more orgasms for me AT ALL unless they were handsfree which means two weeks ago our Friday night fuckfest ended with me getting my balls iced until he could cram me back in the cage. Ditto last Friday night and then last night …
Last night I just started bawling.
I knew I wasn’t going to get there even before he came but when he came I was just so fucking frustrated and disappointed, not to mention missing his dick the second it was out of me. I crawled over him to lick it clean and got a good dose of my own tears mixed in with the traces of his come.
Graham says we can stop this little experiment at any time—he doesn’t like seeing me cry unless he caused it intentionally—but fuck that. He doesn’t know how good it felt that night. I mean, he loved that I came on his dick. His swelled-up head practically glowed for the next few days. But I felt it. And I want to feel it again. I’ll go as long as it takes.
Graham’s always said I’m a stubborn man. He has no idea.
Update: Bwah hah ha ha. I knew it. I knew my plan would work. It’s all a matter of sufficient deprivation, see? Someone should hire me to give lectures on this shit. We weren’t even trying tonight. I had my CAGE ON. That’s right, fuckers. I came with my fucking cage on. I’m like the king of locked boys now. And it was weird, let me tell you, coming with my cage on, but good?
Well, not really. I mean, it was an orgasm, don’t get me wrong. But my jizz kind of … spluttered out. Like firing a limp cannon and the cannonball plops out of the barrel and rolls to a stop. So physically, I’m going to give it a 3, maybe a 4. Psychologically, pow! Holy grail, motherfucker.
But now that I’ve done it once, I think I’m good. We can try the handsfree thing on Fridays, I guess, but definitely cage off, and if I need a hand, I’m taking one. That’s the deal we made and now that my master theory of locked boy cumology has been proven, we’ll go back to it.
I’ve never had a handsfree orgasm. Never aspired to it either. That was Graham’s kink—wanting to make me come with his dick alone, and I’ll tell you: I sympathize with women here. Like, your dick’s not that magic, dude. God gave women a clit, so you just go ahead and use it. And God gave me a cock which I’m going to use too, fuck you very much Graham and the gigantic ego you rode in on.
But, you know. It’s a challenge.
During the week, I take care of Graham, but Friday he takes care of me, lets me out of my cage and gives me my orgasm any way I want it. Sometimes we just end up rubbing off on each other because I’m impatient, but usually I pick hand or mouth. I want to stick my dick in things and wiggle it all around, it’s so glad to be free. Like a puppy, jumping and joyous.
Then, after, he locks me back up and fucks me, and I enjoy that too. In that other way. But I want to enjoy them together—the deep-owned fucking and the orgasm both—so last night when he unlocked me I told him I wanted to get fucked.
Graham’s a sport, so he didn’t argue. He even reached around to give me a hand because that’s the deal on Friday night—that I get to pick how I come—but I brushed him off. Having him touch me there made me realize I wasn’t even all the way hard, but in my mind I was harder-than-hard. I was that hard where my whole body is hard, where my whole body is cock.
Graham’s got stamina. He can go forever. Like a machine, I swear, but I could feel he was getting close. His rhythm got erratic and his fingers drilled holes in my hips and he says, ‘fuck Allie, that’s so hot, you’re going to come for me,’ and I wonder how he knows I’m almost there. Maybe because I’m bucking and rolling and crooning like I’m Frank fucking Sinatra.
My whole body’s shaking and I look down and there’s this steady stream of pre-come dangling from my half-hard cock like a river runs through it and then it hits me—the most full-body sensation of pure bliss.
The fluid dripping from me goes from clear to white. It’s running out in jerks and spasms, but it doesn’t spurt and it doesn’t stop. The extra wetness in my ass tells me Graham’s come too but he’s a trooper, my guy. He doesn’t slow down, just keeps fucking me all the way through his own orgasm, all the way through mine, until the come stops running from my cock and I collapse onto the bed a drooly desperate mess with my head spinning somewhere up in the stars.
Graham collapses next to me. He’s panting so hard I’m a little worried and he just keeps saying fuck Allie, fuck Allie like he can’t even believe that happened. And neither can I.
Did you know Toys R Us is closing down? That’s really sad. There’s this whole “r us” thing that’s just going to disappear, like when my parents get on a roll about ‘where’s the beef’ and I’m like what? That’s going to be me someday, all something-r-us and a snotnose brat will roll his eyes at me and say, whatever grandpa.
But we’re not there yet, so you got the R Us reference, right? Maybe not the Bator reference though, not unless you practically live on Tumblr, which I do.
Chastity Tumblr is the best. I mean, it’s totally crazy-train. I don’t know what fantasy planet some of those guys are living on, like I’m going to let Graham solder this thing onto my dick? Um, that’s a no. And it’s not the idea of permanence that scares me. It’s the idea of someone coming at me with a blowtorch or a hacksaw to get this thing back off me, because you know it’s coming off. It’s just a question of how.
But that doesn’t stop me scrolling through the pictures and drooling, even over those ones with the snapped off keys. It’s a fantasy, OK? No one’s doing it. Or at least no one’s doing it to me.
My favorite pictures are the ones where there’s the little locked up dick posed next to the big monster cock. That’s me and Graham. I asked him if I could take a picture of us and he said I couldn’t have a Tumblr because I had more important things to do and I was like, that’s not what I asked, but anyway. Don’t expect any pictures.
Also on Chastity Tumblr, sometimes there’s these big ole Doms and they’re like, you’re going to shave from head to toe and drink my piss sub-boy and I’m like LOL. You want my dick in a cage you better talk sweet to me. Graham’s my biggest fan when I’m locked up, and I’m his right back, don’t get me wrong. I’m just saying it goes both ways. That whole BDSM thing, it goes both ways. You probably knew that though, right? Those big-talking Dom dudes are basically the same as the subs who are ‘yay, I’m locked up forever.’ Just playing.
Anyway, I’ll tell you who’s not playing. Bator Tumblr. Or no, ha ha. They’re totally playing. WITH THEMSELVES. That’s what bator is short for, if you haven’t figured it out yet. Masturbator. Bators are guys who jerk off so much, they’ve made it into an art form, into its own kink, into this whole rules-based, competitive field of self-satisfaction.
I wish I’d found them back when I still had a dick to play with, except there’s no way I could compete because what makes a bator a bator is he DOESN’T COME. Yikes, right? But way hot. The idea is to get into this state, this absolute state of transfixion on your own pleasure, to hang right on the edge of it and milk it so long you never reach the end of the high you’re aiming for. Just higher, higher, deeper, deeper. Every touch—right there.
I get it. I totally get it. I wouldn’t be able to do it, not to myself, because we know who we’re talking about here. I have the self-control of a two month old puppy. But I get the concept. See, once you come, it’s done. There’s this gigantic, spectacular peak and the dramatic tumble and then blah. You go do the laundry or something.
That’s me with this cage. All week long, the beautiful buildup, endless foreplay and anticipation, all the longing and fantasizing and dreaming. Graham lets me out on Friday and pow! It’s over so fast and it’s so good but it’s over.
Saturday I’m moping around begging for more sex or sneaking off to enjoy a selfish wank, but the pow I get from that first orgasm Friday night isn’t repeatable. However many times I come the rest of the weekend, nothing compares. I’d say it’s anti-climactic except it literally is.
Once I’ve come, I need to go back in the cage, see? I need to recharge, build up that power again so I can burst like Clark Kent out of the telephone booth. Pow! Bam! Sock it to me. That might be Batman from that cheesy 70s version, not Superman, but you get what I’m saying.
So that’s why we changed the rules. I get one orgasm Friday night and then it’s back in the cage. That’s not Graham being mean to me. That’s Graham helping me—helping me make every orgasm count. I don’t want those little pop-pops I used to have. I want huge, necessary, epic orgasms. I want to pine for them like Heathcliff pined for Cathy. I want to live in a constant state of nearly-fulfilled hunger, that moment when dinner’s on the table and your fork is in your hand and you wait there, just wait there because the smell is better than the taste.
I want to know how long I can live on hope alone.
Yes, I’m in the cage again, and I’m not even mad. So there. And listen, you don’t get to judge me either. I know what you’re thinking: what kind of guy lets someone lock up his dick in the first place? Well, let me tell you something, I’m not the only freak who gets off on it. Just check Tumblr if you don’t believe me.
There’s a whole world of guys with their cocks in a cage over there. Twinks and bears. Even straight guys. I know because I’ve done some one-handed surfing, which is ironic since I can only beat off to locked boy porn when I’m not locked myself, which is not a lot these days. But even when I’m locked, I like to scroll through the pictures. Reminds me I’m not alone, gives me inspiration, puts me in the right frame of mind for when Graham gets home.
And you, Mr. Judgey Guy, why are you reading my blog in the first place, huh? Because you’re jealous, I’ll bet. Maybe you want a locked boy of your own or maaaaybe you want to be locked. That’s the truth, isn’t it? You’d give anything to have your cock in a cage and a keyholder like Graham. So drop the attitude.
OK, now that you’ve admitted that you’re a total voyeur perving on my kinky love life (I hear those chants of ‘lock him up’), you can ask me what you really want to know which is why’s it been so fucking long since I dropped you a new post? You’re in total Alex withdrawal, right?
Sorry, sorry. I haven’t posted in a while ’cause it was a lot of more of the same—in and out of the cage, punished and then freed, fucking up, sometimes because I couldn’t help it but a lot on purpose and kind of hating myself for it but needing it so bad too. Needing the cage. Because life’s good when I’m in the cage, but that thing I accused you of a second ago? Of thinking only a freak would let his dick get locked up? That was really me accusing me.
It’s a long step from admitting I love this new way Graham’s found of punishing me to admitting that I want lockup to be more the rule than the exception.
Graham’s the one who had to work that out, when he’d had enough of my bratty behavior one day and finally called me on it, told me if I wanted the cage to just fucking ask for it.
Well, that took me aback. Wanted the cage? Did I want the cage? I loved the cage, sure, but want?
So I asked him if he wanted the cage and he just said ‘Allie’ in this really resigned way like he should’ve known better and put me in the cage.
“I love this cage,” he told me once I was all locked up again. “And I love you. And I love you in this cage more than I ever thought I could love anything. I love it so much I’m tempted to never take it off again.
“Permanent punishment? How’s that fair?”
“What if it’s not punishment? What if it’s more, like, discipline?”
I understood where he was coming from. It was exhausting, this emotional seesaw we’d been living on. A few days of harmonious bliss, lots of good sex (well, good for him), the excitement of release day and then the next day nothing but a major letdown and some leftover nervous energy. I’d end up jerking off, more afternoons wasted on the internet, then the arguments would start, and if none of that got me locked up I’d commit escalating acts of super-brattiness until I finally found myself back where I wanted to be.
I understood why Graham didn’t want to live like that. I didn’t want to live like that either. I just hadn’t figured out what the alternative was. But I liked that word discipline. For sure, I was way more productive when the cage was on. Cooked dinner, ran errands—anything that’d put Graham in a fucking kind of mood when he got home.
I’d even worked out some of those days, only in the apartment ’cause it’s not like I’m going to the gym with a cage on my dick, but still a workout is a workout. All of that with the cage on. With the cage off … masturbation.
“Discipline,” Graham repeated like a light bulb was going off in his head. “You need it, don’t you?”
I could only nod at him, too embarrassed to admit out loud that a man my age couldn’t manage his own life without somebody holding his dick hostage, but Graham covered me in kisses and told me never to be afraid to ask for what I needed.
See, punishment is like lust, all angry and hot. A guy needs that sometimes—the angry throwdown when the gloves come off and passions roar free—but it gets old too. It’s not for every day. Discipline, though. Discipline is like love—steady, patient. Discipline’s still there in the morning.
So, you’ll be happy to know the cage will be on a lot from now on. From Monday morning until Graham gets home Friday night, every week, whether I’ve done anything to deserve it or not. Because I need it. Because we’re both happier with it. During the week, I’ll be all super-productive, laser-focused and then, gentle reader, if I’ve been good, the cage comes off and your boy, Alex, gets to have a little fun.
You know how I like being spanked? Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t know that. Sure, I flail my feet around and screech about it while it’s happening but that doesn’t mean I’m not loving every minute of it. The whole bare-butt-up-to-the-sky and Graham’s dick prodding me in the stomach as I squirm against it, the sound of flesh against flesh and his angry voice telling me what a brat I am or whatever I’ve done to deserve getting spanked, which is most likely being a brat because that’s kind of my default position.
Getting spanked hurts, in case you’ve never done it, but not in the way that stubbing your toe hurts. It hurts in that way that having your nipple twisted hurts (yeah, like you don’t love having your nipple twisted, come off it), which is this way that rushes like fire to your cock and lights it up like a Christmas tree and there’s bells ringing in your ears if you can hear them over the smacking and the screaming and it’s like all the devils inside you are being purged until you can’t hardly do anything except cry and wonder if it’ll ever end.
And then, if you’ve got a nice boyfriend like I do, you get all wrapped up and snuggled hard and told how good you are and it’s true then. You weren’t good before, but now you’re good. Clean and forgiven and your ass hurts just right and if you’re really lucky, there’s some sweet make-up sex to round the whole thing off. So yeah, I like being spanked.
And I like having my dick locked up, apparently, or I wouldn’t keep making it happen. That’s just between us though, OK? Don’t go running and telling Graham about it. If he ever got it in his head that I like having this thing on me, I’d never get it off again.
But so last night, it turned out there’s a new thing. There’s getting spanked and there’s having your cock in a cage, and then there’s getting spanked while your cock is in a cage. Which I didn’t know was a thing.
See, the cage is supposed to be punishment but if Graham wants to punish me and the cage is already on, then what does he do?
Apparently I can be a brat even with the cage on and apparently I was according to His Majesty (who gets to watch whatever he wants to watch because I could just watch what I want to watch before he gets home from work, or so his side of the story goes). And the next thing I know I’m over his lap with my pajama bottoms around my knees and that damn cage in between his thighs getting wailed on.
Not just once, mind you, but every time a commercial comes on. Do you know how many minutes of commercial time there are in an episode of The Walking Dead? And, dude! We have a DVR. You could be fast-forwarding through those commercials instead of using the time to pound on my ass like a bongo.
It’s a different experience getting spanked in a cage because it’s twice as humiliating, for one thing. Sort of infantilizing, because I’m ass up over his lap and then I’m not even hard, which is how I usually end up. But last night, there’s just spanking, no wanking. No rubbing my dick against his thigh or trying to angle it down between his legs where it’s like fucking into him with every slap.
Last night, the pretense that I was being punished, not pleased, was really true. I was there because he was pissed at me, and because it was getting him off (his erection made its usual appearance, I promise you that) but nothing to do with me and what I wanted at all.
Which got me so fucking hot I couldn’t even stop the way I was grinding down on him. Uselessly. Totally uselessly grinding down on him and flailing around and yelling at him to quit it and then begging him to quit it and saying pretty much anything to get him to quit it except my safeword, but he didn’t quit it, not until stupid Walking Dead was over.
Then he made me suck his cock while he watched the news, which I hate. The news, not sucking his cock. I like that. But I didn’t even get fucked, which he said was part of my punishment. So apparently I can’t be a brat now? Yeah, we’ll see about that.