Story: Caged!

Grown men don’t cry, do they?

They do. And I am crying.

I am crying, begging and pleading for the agony to stop; wishing and desperately hoping that she will yield and show mercy to me, but I know my cause is hopeless. She will not submit to my pitiful cries and deep down, I do not want her to.

My situation is somewhat strange: I separated from my wife and moved into a one half of a small country cottage on the outskirts of a plush village a few weeks before Christmas. I was welcomed by my new neighbour: a playful, cheerful young lady called Natalie, when she returned from her holiday. The walls were thin, but it was relatively cheap to rent, and I had a bedroom, shower, kitchen and living space as well as a shared garden that was not overlooked. It was perfect as I adjusted to my new life as a single man.

A shortage of ready cash meant that I intended to see in the New Year at home, and on learning that I would be alone, Natalie invited me to her flat for her “get together” with her friends. The cynic in me thought that if I was upstairs with her, then she wouldn’t need to worry about the noise that her party made, but I appreciated the company.

I brought a couple bottles of wine, and was introduced to all of Natalie’s friends, who were upwardly mobile, ambitious but borderline alcoholics and by the time Big Ben was bonging, it was just Natalie and myself who were not comatose or incoherent. “What’s your New Year resolution?” She asked with glazed eyes as we talked alone in the kitchen, both of us keen to be away from the totally inebriated individuals.

“I’m going to lose weight,” I promised. “I need to lose a couple of stone and it won’t shift.”

“You really want to?” She enquired. “I mean really want to?” She looked at me, trying to decide something as she appeared pensive. I never realised at the time, but on reflection there was a reticence and excitement in her facial expression that oozed scheming witch and screamed warning signals. “I have a plan that will make you lose weight but …” She hesitated and peered through the doorway to her lounge, to check she wasn’t being overheard. “It’s not for the feint-hearted, but my friend lost over two stone by August and it works.”

“Are you a fitness instructor?”

She laughed. “No. This is more … intimate.”


She winced and then, obviously feeling unsure of herself, the pretty girl told me to “forget it” but my interest was certainly piqued and I asked her to show me. She smiled and beckoned me into her bedroom, closing the door behind her and opening her bottom drawer, taking out a clear plastic contraption.

“What’s that?”

“All the incentive you will need,” she promised and knelt down in front of me, unbuckling my belt. I protested and asked what she was doing. “Trust me,” she said, with a wicked grin and shielded her actions from my view. I felt my balls being stretched and touched and then something moving my cock.

“What are you doing?” I asked, feeling apprehensive about what she was planning, when she withdrew her hands and I looked down at my cock padlocked in a clear, perspex sheath, held on with a cock ring that went behind my testicles. “What is this?”

She giggled and held the key in front of my eyes, attached to a silver necklace that she put around her neck with a broad, beaming grin. “I’ll weigh you every week,” she promised. “Come here every Sunday evening. If you’ve lost three pounds or more, I’ll take the chastity off for the week. If you haven’t, it stays on.”

“Hey,” I moaned instinctively, but her confidence was clear and she tapped the key between her bosom.

“Gareth, two stone, five pound, eight months,” she reminded me. “He took up squash, running, golf and walking to work.” Her eyes glanced at my encased cock. “And the walls are thin. I hear you and your porn every night,” she added with a giggle and tapped the hard plastic. “It will encourage you.”

It did; the first four weeks I lost two pound a week and despite my initial misgivings about her scheme, it did work. I was losing weight, but getting desperate. Natalie was quite the minx, putting dirty pictures through my mailbox, or even turning up at my front door, dressed in just lingerie to “borrow some sugar.” Not a day went past when I wasn’t teased and my inability to masturbate increased my frustration.

On several days, I had to change my underpants at work, such was the volume of pre-cum that leaked from my incapacitated manhood; Natalie revelled in my discomfort and every week congratulated me on my weight loss but refused to relent about the chastity cage.

Four weeks had come and gone since I last orgasmed and as I stood on Natalie’s scales, groaned as the reading showed another two pound loss. “Please,” I cried, tears starting to form in my eyes. “My balls hurt so much and I just need it. Please, please, please,” I begged. My genitals ached from the pain of abstinence, and I was desperate. Desperately pleading with the young lady to bring a hiatus to my torment and allow me access to my manhood for 24 hours; hopelessly begging her to slide the key into my padlock and give me a day, or an hour, or even just five minutes with my cock to alleviate my suffering.

I needed it, but she shook her head, as I buried my face in my hands. It was too much and I needed relief, but she sat on the floor in front of me, and slid open her dressing gown, leaning back against the wall. “Think,” she muttered. “Think how good it will be when you are allowed.”

The blonde lady averted her eyes and kissed the tip of her finger, tracing the outline of her body as her hand plunged between her bosom and dived underneath her pink dressing gown. I gulped; the feintest hint of bosom, the subtle shapes of her pert orbs sang from underneath the fleecy garment and I groaned; my cock strained in the plastic sheath and my soul weeped a bit more.

I needed relief. I needed to be free, but Natalie would not let me and glided her hand further down her body to touch her thighs and then lift the hem of her dressing gown. She flashed skin at me; the wondrous smooth skin of her inner thigh, openly flaunted at my eyeballs and I shivered; my cock responded and I felt an explosion of horniness engulf me as I whimpered in pain and frustration. “Easy,” she teased as her fingers reached the top of her legs, and she parted them.

My whimperings turned into cries; her delicious slit winked at me as my perineum tightened and I fidgeted on the sofa. My eyes were glued to the sight in front of me, as Natalie’s finger slid into the folds of her skin and sighed dramatically.

I clenched my fists; eager to release myself but was helpless. I was glued to the chair, I had to see this, but I needed to divest myself of sexual interaction; I could not cope with the temptation and teasing. Natalie knew that my resolve was weak but her fingers glided effortlessly over her clit before circling her button while watching me squirm.

I cried; tears rolled down my cheek as I desperately wanted to play with myself. Everything strained and ached; my lust engulfed me as every fibre of my being needed to touch myself. My soul cried and begged for mercy, hoping that Natalie would yield. But she did not.

She played with her cunt and groaned; her breathing ragged and snatched as her lithe body steadied itself for an orgasm, marked by loud squeals and desperate cries that filled the room.

I was weeping; desperation dripping from every part of my body as I begged, pleaded and beseeched my neighbour to give me the relief that I craved. She laughed. “No,” she said firmly and smiled at the pool of pre-cum on her leather sofa. “Why not do a ten mile run tomorrow?” She asked and I nodded eagerly. “Then I might have to unlock you next week.” She winked at me with a sly smile. “And then we can do that … together!”

Now I know how her friend lost so much weight!

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