Locking Up Michael

A few years ago, I had the pleasure of enjoying a slut named Michael for a time. He was not very tall—a good pair of three-inch heels on my five-six self was all it took to allow me look down on him—but desire to serve a powerful woman spilled from his melted-chocolate eyes. As a bonus, he was hung like the proverbial horse. It quickly became apparent, however, that along with his obvious charms came a tendency to play with said cock anytime the whim took him, despite my instruction time and again that his cock belonged to me and his cum was no longer his own. I soon realized that I would need to take a more active role in his self-control. I went to my favorite website for devious devices, ordered a couple of choice items, and awaited the arrival of a nondescript brown package with some excitement.

 

One winter evening, a few days after my prizes arrived in the mail, the moment came. I was tired after a full day of teaching followed by SoulCycling and attending a youth production of Fiddler on the Roof in which my students were playing three of Tevye’s five daughters. So it was with very little patience that I entered the bedroom to find Michael sprawled in bed, porn playing on his tablet computer, in the midst of pleasuring himself. Not letting on my considerable annoyance, yet, I greeted him. “Good evening, slut,” I purred, syrupy sweet. “Having fun?”

 

Before his cum-addled little brain could fully realize the danger he was in, he drawled, “Oh yes, Miss.” He looked up at me then, and something in my body language must have cued him, because he immediately dropped his hand from his twitching cock and started to get up to greet me properly.

 

“Too late for that,” I said coldly. “You reek of sex and sweat. Get up, bathe, put fresh linens on the bed, and then come and get me for your punishment.”

 

Not daring to make eye contact now, he said only, “Yes, Miss.” I stalked out of the bedroom and into the living room. Settling on the sofa with the latest J.D. Robb mystery at hand, I idly removed the pins from my hair, shaking my head so that my tawny brown tresses fell from the conservative twist to hang past my shoulders in a silky cascade. I read for about twenty minutes, until Michael came into the living room and kneeled before me. Per my standing orders at home, he was naked except for his black, lacy panties. I could see a little trepidation in his eyes, yet his impressive cock was a rock hard bulge under the lace.

 

“Very pretty panties, whore,” I said, and watched him flush. It always amazed me that after all we had done and would do together, a simple compliment on his lingerie would still make his cheeks turn pink. “Go along to the bedroom and kneel up on the bed. I’ll be there in a moment.” I retrieved the small package from the locked drawer of my desk, went to the kitchen and filled my 1950s-style ice bag, making sure to rattle the scoop in the ice drawer so Michael could hear it, and then walked up the hall to the bedroom.

 

Michael was kneeling on the bed as directed, knees apart, hands clasped behind his back. I walked toward him slowly, enjoying the sound of my heels on the hardwood floor and the way he held his body rigid with anticipation. I felt his eyes on me as I walked past him and set the box and ice bag on the side table. I met his eyes as I slipped my fitted blazer off my shoulders and then unbuttoned my blouse and removed it. I took my time going to the closet and hanging them neatly before shimmying out of my tight black pencil skirt and carefully hanging it as well. Devastating in my black lace bra and thong, thigh-high stockings, and shiny black patent leather heels, I turned back to Michael. “Like the view?” I asked, letting him look his fill.

 

“Yes, Miss.”

 

“Is this the image you had in mind when you played with my cock this evening while I was out? Is this what you were hoping you’d get to fuck tonight?”

 

I watched him swallow hard. “Yes, Miss.”

 

I stepped in and grabbed his cock through the lace panties. “Is this your cock to play with, slave?”

 

He looked away. “No, Miss.”

 

“Did you not understand the rules? Have I not been clear?”

 

“No, Miss,” he responded in a small voice.

 

“What was that, slut?”

 

“No, Miss. The rules were very clear, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss.”

 

“You’re sorry?” I repeated, annoyed again. I raised his chin and slapped his face with my open palm. “You’re always sorry, my darling, and yet you always transgress again.” I lifted my other hand and slapped the opposite cheek.

 

“Yes, Miss. I am a bad slut, Miss.”

 

“Yes, it’s clear that I need to be much firmer with you . . . Don’t. I. Greedy. Bitch?” I asked, punctuating each word with a slap to his face.

 

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

 

“I think a 72-hour hold for this greedy cock should do the trick nicely, don’t you?”

 

His eyes widened. He had never gone more than half a day without coming in all the time I’d known him. “I . . . will try, Miss,” he said hesitantly.

 

“Oh, you’ll do better than try,” I assured him. “But don’t worry; I’ve got something that will help.” I went to the small package on the side table and retrieved the black-and-orange box inside, which read CB6000 in large letters. “Do you know what this is, wanker?” I asked, showing him the box.

 

His eyes big and a little afraid, he nodded. “Yes, Miss. I’ve seen them online.”

 

“Oh good,” I said, as I opened the box and began laying out the pieces of the little device on the bedspread beside Michael. “Then I don’t have to explain how this lovely little collection of bits of plastic will keep your cock locked away from those wandering hands of yours. I don’t have to tell you that this little lock”—I held up the small brass padlock—“has only one key. And where do you think that key will live?”

 

“With you, Miss,” he said, his voice betraying that the idea excited him a little—as did his cock, which remained rock hard. I stroked it with my fingernails over the lace. Walking to my jewelry box, I fetched a delicate gold chain.

 

“Yes, right here on this chain.” I threaded the key onto the chain and fastened the chain around my neck. The key fell in the valley between my breasts, cool against my skin. I leaned in and breathed in his ear, “Kiss it, slut. This key is your best friend, and you won’t be seeing it for three whole days.”

 

His breath caught for a moment, and he leaned in and buried his face between my perfect breasts to kiss the key. I was ready for him to become overeager and try to take more than was offered, but apparently my point had been made, because he pulled away respectfully.

 

“All right, jerk-off, it’s time to put this greedy cock on a timeout. Are you ready?”

 

“Yes, Miss,” a bit of fear, but mostly excitement in his voice.

 

“Pull your panties down, but leave them around your ankles like the little whore you are.”

 

“Yes, Miss.” He complied and again kneeled on the bed for me.

 

“So hard for me, even with this nasty little chastity device all laid out to lock you away,” I commented. Ignoring his importunate, bobbing dick, I slid the horseshoe-shaped plastic ring behind his balls, fitted the top piece of the ring, and added the spacer. His erection, though, presented a problem. “Hold this,” I ordered, putting his hand on the ring to keep it in place. “You’ll never fit in this little cock cage while you’re so aroused. Whatever shall I do? I’m usually more concerned with keeping this lovely cock hard for me, not making it soft . . . but since you boys take cold showers when you need to calm down, I figured this might work. Lie back,” I instructed, and he obeyed, dutifully keeping his hand on the ring. I saw on his face that he had totally forgotten about the ice bag until I retrieved it from the nightstand. Cool condensation dripped from it as I held it above his cock. I used my free hand to adjust how he held the ring in place so that his hand would not protect him. I pressed the ice bag down onto his cock and balls. His face screwed up in displeasure as the icy bag covered his sensitive flesh. “Now relax. You’ll want to let things get soft for me, or I’ll have to get even more creative.”

 

“Yes, Miss,” he agreed at once. He knew me well enough to fear my creative impulses.

 

A few minutes of the ice was all it took to make his cock and balls shrivel nicely. Kind Mistress that I am, I dried his soft little cock with a rough towel before applying the silicone lube and sliding the cock cage onto him until it fit onto the pegs of the ring. I threaded the little padlock, closing it with a loud click.

 

He looked so deliciously helpless there with his cock shrunken and encased in plastic, I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked up at me, pouting with his eyes. “Oh, my pet, don’t look at me like that. It won’t be all bad. For three days you’ll actually be able to focus on me, as you should.” I teased his hard cock through the holes in the cage as I talked. “And when you come out . . . who knows? Maybe I’ll just clean you and play with you but not let you come, and then put you right back in.” I chuckled as he gasped, from my threat or my fingers or both. “In the meantime, I’m all wet just thinking about it. Make yourself useful and lick my pussy before bed. I want to come all over that slutty face of yours.” As he pleasured me, I was surprised to learn that there was an unexpected bonus to locking up his cock this way:  his moans as his cock tried to grow erect while he licked me only added to my pleasure. I already knew I wasn’t going to want to let him climax any time soon . . . He was going to be much more fun this way.

 




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