It’s been a funny week. I found Mistress Pixie on Saturday, had booked with Her on Tuesday, was taking Her strap-on on Thursday, and by Friday night, I was sitting at home with a chastity cage around my cock. I didn’t even let myself have one last wank before I messaged Her and asked Her if She’d like me to put a numbered lock on, and send her proof. She confirmed that She did want this, and that was it. I was now her chastity bitch. Mistress Pixie has also informed me that in order to serve Her, I must wear sexy, pink ladies panties. All the time. Photo message spot checks will occur, and punishments (that I WON’T enjoy) will result from late replies or non-compliance. Needless to say, the sight of my caged dick, bulging balls at the sides, hardly hidden at all behind a thin piece of pink fabric, is an hilarious sight for Mistress to behold. The cage is comfortable enough, no pinching (I’ve worn worse), but the fact that I can no longer touch my penis is something that will take getting used to. It isn’t a steel cage, where I can offer comforting touches through the bars, but pink (naturally, for my pink loving Mistress) and fully encasing plastic, with just a few small airholes and another hole for pissing through. Unlike some cages, there is NO chance of escape, no wriggling our for a cheeky fondle. My dick really is trapped. I could, at any time, cut the plastic, uniquely numbered lock off, and free it. But as I’ve already sent a video to Mistress of it going on, and She has a note of the unique number, She’ll know I’ve strayed. And this is only a temporary measure.
My next visit to Mistress will see her removing the device to wax off my pubic hair, and refit the device, but this time with a metal padlock, both keys to stay with Her. Then, any release will be entirely up to Her. Any visits to Her won’t necessarily mean a release, no matter how well I’ve behaved or the gifts I’ve presented. A Mistress has moods, and a slave suffers accordingly. So for now, I will go to bed without stroking myself to erection. I will wake with a bulge and lie in bed, frustrated by waking dreams of Mistress Pixie smiling sadistically down at my predicament. I will piss sitting down, as all women do, my shameful panties around my ankles. And I will live in fear of my Mistress, wonder where she keeps the keys, and dread whatever degrading and demeaning lifestyle choices She has in store for me. As I write this, it hasn’t even been twenty four hours.
This is just the beginning.