She Locked Away My Cock and Taught Me a New Way to Come

He pressed the buzzer for her flat and waited. The familiar click and then the sound of her voice, thin and metallic through the speaker. All she said was his name, a question without the inflection. He said, hi, it’s me, and the main door unlocked with a harsh buzz. Her flat was on the third floor, no lift, and by the time he reached the top he felt the usual tightness in his chest, a sensation that had little to do with the exertion of the stairs. She was waiting in the open doorway, leaning against the frame in jeans and a grey t-shirt.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

He stepped inside and she closed the door behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into place. He took off his shoes and his jacket, placing them neatly by the wall where he always did. The flat smelled of her, that sharp citrus scent and something else, something woody he could never quite place. She was already in the small kitchen that opened onto the living area, filling the kettle with water.

“Tea?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Please.”

He sat on the sofa, the one with the dark grey fabric that was slightly worn on the armrests. He watched her movements, the efficient way she took two mugs from a cupboard, the precise tear she made in the top of the box of teabags. Everything she did seemed deliberate, even this. They had a routine, of sorts. They would have a drink and talk for a while. It was a performance of normality that preceded the rest of it, a necessary buffer.

She brought the mugs over and set them down on the coasters on the coffee table. “I saw that film you were talking about,” she said, settling into the armchair opposite him. “The one set in Berlin.”

“Oh, yeah? What did you think?” He picked up his mug. The ceramic was warm.

“The cinematography was interesting. But I felt like the director was more interested in the aesthetic of alienation than actually exploring it.”

He nodded, taking a sip of tea. He hadn’t really thought about it that much. He’d just thought the main actress was good. As Chloe continued to speak, analysing a particular long take, his attention drifted from her face to an object on the table between them. It was a small, square box, covered in dark blue velvet. It wasn’t large, it could fit in the palm of his hand. It sat next to a stack of books, looking entirely out of place in her curated, minimalist space.

He tried to pull his gaze away, to focus on what she was saying about the film’s score, but his eyes kept returning to it. He could feel his pulse in his throat. The box was closed. It was just a box. But its presence felt significant, a dense object pulling all the light and air in the room towards it. He found he could no longer properly hear her words. They were just sounds, shapes of a conversation he was supposed to be a part of. All of his focus was on the object, on its texture, its silent and heavy promise.

She stopped talking. The silence that fell was different from the comfortable pauses that usually punctuated their conversations. It was heavy, pointed. Liam finally looked up from the box and met her eyes. She was watching him with an expression he knew well, a kind of calm, analytical curiosity.

“You’re not listening,” she stated. It wasn’t an accusation.

He shook his head, just once. “Sorry.”

Her gaze dropped to the velvet box, then returned to his face. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and picked it up. She held it in her open palm, her fingers long and pale against the dark blue. He watched her thumb stroke the soft pile of the fabric. The air in the room felt thin, difficult to breathe.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” she said, her voice low and even. “About the terms of this. I think we could introduce a new rule.”

Liam swallowed. The tea in his stomach felt like a hot stone. He said nothing, just waited.

She didn’t open the box. She just continued to hold it, as if its weight was part of the explanation. “This is a chastity device,” she said. Her words were precise, stripped of any emotion. “The idea is that you would wear it. All the time. And I would keep the key.”

A cold dread spread through his abdomen, so intense it was almost nauseating. He felt his hands grow clammy around his mug. He could feel the shape of her words in the room, the absolute power contained within them. You would wear it. I would keep the key. He imagined the cold metal against his skin, the permanence of it. The thought was terrifying. And underneath the terror, a deep, pulling current of excitement started to flow, hot and shameful.

“It would mean you can’t get hard,” she continued, her eyes fixed on his. “It would mean you can’t touch yourself. At all. Any release you have would be my decision. When it happens, and how it happens. Or if it happens.”

The scent of her perfume, that sharp citrus and wood, seemed to intensify, filling the space between them. It was the same scent that had clung to her hair weeks ago when she had leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered, Don’t come until I tell you. He had been on his knees then, his face pressed into the mattress of her bed, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding back. The memory of that specific, sharp command, of the desperate relief when she had finally given him permission, was inextricably linked to this moment. This wasn’t just a suggestion. It was an escalation of that same feeling, magnified a hundred times over. It was the offer of a state of permanent surrender, a constant, physical reminder of her control. His anxiety was a tight, cold knot, but the thrill wrapped around it was undeniable, a familiar and addictive poison. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly it made him feel sick.

He held her gaze for a long time. The room was so quiet he could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. He watched the corner of her mouth, the slight upward tilt that wasn't a smile. It was a challenge. It was a question she already knew the answer to. He could say no. The thought occurred to him as a distant, theoretical possibility, like a path on a map he had no intention of ever taking. Saying no would mean leaving this flat and never coming back. It would mean the end of this, and the thought of that was a hollow, empty ache. He looked at her eyes, dark and unblinking, and felt the last of his resistance dissolve.

He gave a single, short nod. It was a barely perceptible movement, but she saw it. Nothing in her expression changed, not really. She did not smile. But the hard, interrogative intensity in her eyes seemed to soften, the focus shifting into something that looked like satisfaction. It was the look of a problem being solved, of a plan clicking neatly into place.

With her gaze still on him, she used her thumb to press the small clasp on the front of the velvet box. It opened with a soft click. She turned it so he could see inside.

Lying on a bed of white satin was a cage made of polished, surgical steel. It was smaller than he had imagined. There was a solid ring, designed to sit at the base of his cock and balls, and attached to it was a short, ventilated tube that would sheathe his penis, ending in a flat plate with a small opening for urine. On the side, a tiny, integrated padlock was nestled in its own cutout in the satin, its key next to it. The metal looked cold and absolute.

Chloe picked it up. It seemed delicate in her hand, despite its purpose. “This is the base ring,” she said, her voice retaining its calm, instructional tone. She touched the hinged circle of metal. “It comes in two halves, for comfort. It sits behind everything.” She then pointed to the main part. “The cage itself attaches to the ring here, with a pin. It covers you completely. It’s designed so that you can’t get hard. If you start to, the ring will pull tight. It will be uncomfortable.”

She demonstrated how the pin slid through the aligned holes of the ring and the cage. “And then the lock goes through the end of the pin, here.” She picked up the tiny padlock and clicked it into place. “And that’s it. It’s on.” She unlocked it again, the mechanism making another small, precise sound. “It’s medical-grade steel, so it’s hygienic. You can shower with it on. We’ll need to take it off for a proper cleaning every few days. But otherwise, it stays on.”

She held the assembled device in her open palm, offering it for his inspection as if it were a new phone or some other piece of technology. He looked from the object to her face. She was just watching him, waiting. There was no excitement in her expression, no hint of arousal. She was simply presenting the facts of the situation, the mechanics of his submission.