John stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar for the third time, the anxiety swirling inside him like a storm. He glanced at his reflection, then back at the clock. The time was ticking away, and he was still struggling to grasp how he felt about the night ahead. A party. A swingers party. The very thought made his stomach turn. But what worried him more than the idea of undressing in front of strangers was the cock cage.
That fucking cage.
The steel cage was ever present—always reminding him of Sara’s control over him. Always, he thought. He had worn the cage since Sara first put it on, and it wasn’t coming off tonight, either. He could ask, but deep down, he knew the answer.
“Sara,” he said softly, his voice betraying his anxiety, “Do I have to wear it tonight? I mean, it’s… humiliating?”
Sara entered the room as he finished speaking, her smile kind but firm. She carried with her a small overnight bag, an indication that she expected to stay at the party for some time. She didn’t respond immediately, instead walking over to him and standing behind him. With a gentle but purposeful motion, she tugged on the cage, testing its fit.
“I told you, John,” she said, her voice calm but commanding, “You always wear it. It stays on. And don’t forget who’s in charge here.”
Her words were soft but heavy, and John’s heart sank. He knew it was pointless to argue. She had the power. She always had the power. The ring wasn’t just a symbol—it was a key to something deeper, something that bound him to her, something that reminded him of his place. There was no choice in the matter. She’s in charge, he thought.
“I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to ask again,” Sara added with a small, knowing smile. “But it’s sweet that you tried.” Her voice softened a little as she reached out to adjust his collar once more. “You know you belong to me, John. The cage stays on. Always.”
John looked at his reflection in the mirror, and he felt the weight of chastity more than he ever had before. It’s just a cock cage, he tried to tell himself. But the feeling of being completely at Sara’s mercy, completely under her control, made him anxious. He was submissive to her, and the cage was a constant reminder of that fact. The thought of going to a party where everyone would see it filled him with embarrassment. What will they think?
“Sara,” John started again, his voice barely above a whisper. “The party… what if people laugh at the cage?”
Sara chuckled softly, as if she found his concern amusing. She stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her. “Let them laugh, John. It doesn’t matter. You will wear it, and they will see you for what you truly are. Mine.” Her eyes met his with a look that held no room for negotiation. “You agreed to this, remember?”
John nodded, feeling his stomach tighten. His fingers lightly traced the shape of the device through the front of his trousers. The feeling of being completely exposed was overwhelming.
Sara gave him one last smile, a smile that was kind yet filled with authority. “We’re leaving soon. Don’t worry. You’ll be just fine. Everyone there knows exactly who you belong to.”
John’s breath hitched. What does that even mean? The thought of being exposed in a room full of people, with that symbol of submission on his genitals, sent a wave of unease through him.
But he didn’t have a choice.
The drive to the party was awkwardly silent. John’s nerves were on edge. What if they laugh?
Sara’s calm presence beside him did little to ease his discomfort. She seemed unfazed by everything—the party, the idea of being surrounded by people, the cage. It was just another evening, another event for them to navigate. But for John, it felt different. It felt like he was about to step into a world that didn’t quite belong to him, a world where he wasn’t sure where the boundaries were.
When they arrived at the house, the warmth of the building seemed to embrace them, but John’s anxiety didn’t go away. The house was spacious, filled with laughter and music from inside, yet he couldn’t help but feel exposed even before entering. The sense of discomfort only grew as they entered the door and were greeted by Marla, the hostess.
“Welcome, Sara! John! So glad you made it!” Marla said, pulling Sara into a hug, then extending a hand to John. He shook it, but his palm felt clammy.
“Thanks for having us,” John mumbled, though his words felt hollow as they left his mouth.
“Come in, come in. Let’s get you settled,” Marla said, leading them inside. She made small talk with Sara as she walked them toward the back of the house, stopping in front of a room that seemed removed from the main gathering.
“This is where you can change,” Marla explained, with a knowing smile. “It’s a private room, if you need it. Feel free to freshen up here before you join the party. It’s a little quieter.”
John hesitated, feeling the weight of the cage on his cock. This is it. This is where it starts. He followed Sara into the room, the door clicking shut behind them.
Sara began undressing without hesitation, while John remained frozen for a moment, his hand instinctively touching the cage. I’m not ready for this, he thought.
Sara, already slipping out of her clothes, glanced over at him. “You’re going to be fine,” she said softly. “Just let go. You’ll feel better.” She stood in front of him naked, except for the chain around her neck with the key to the cage.
He didn’t respond immediately, but after a moment of indecision, he too began to undress. The cage was burning his genitals.
Once they were both undressed, Sara took his hand, giving him a gentle but firm squeeze. “Are you ready?” she asked, her voice calm, though there was a hint of excitement in her tone.
Taking a deep breath, John nodded, and together they walked out of the room, joining the other guests, feeling the weight of their vulnerability but also the undeniable pull of Sara’s authority guiding him every step of the way.
When they entered the party, the sight of the other guests only made John’s discomfort worse. Every single guest was female. They were all laughing, talking, with drinks in hand, but , every woman in the room seemed to turn in unison, their eyes immediately drawn to the cock cage. He felt the weight of their gazes, each look a silent judgment, and a deep sense of humiliation washed over him, the cage was a glaring symbol of his submission.
Sara, however, seemed completely at ease. She leaned toward him, her voice a soft whisper in his ear. “Does it really matter? We’re here to have fun, John. Relax. No one’s going to judge you.”
But John couldn’t relax. The cage still felt like it weighed 500 pounds.
One of the women, a tall brunette with a mischievous smile, approached them. “Hi, John! I’m Vanessa,” she said, her gaze drifting over him with a warmth that almost made him feel more nervous. “Welcome to the party.”
“Uh, thanks,” he managed, his throat dry. He could feel the weight of the ring pressing against his skin as she leaned in close. “It’s great to be here.”
She grinned playfully. “You’re looking good. Mind if I steal a kiss?”
Before John could even react, Vanessa brushed a soft kiss against his cheek. The brief contact sent a shock through him, and he stiffened, not knowing how to respond. The cage felt tighter, as if the weight of it was now making itself felt with each passing second.
Another woman, this one with short blonde hair, smiled at him from across the room. “Mind if I kiss you too?” she asked, walking over with a playful look in her eyes. Her fingers brushed against the cage with purpose, and John’s skin prickled with a mixture of excitement and fear. What am I doing?
John froze. He glanced at Sara, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “It’s part of the fun, John,” she said, her voice calm, almost amused. “Just relax.”
The blonde woman kissed him on the lips, a little longer this time, and John tried his best not to recoil. He felt so out of place, so exposed, yet Sara was standing there, watching with that same reassuring look, as if everything was normal.
Before he could process what was happening, the other women began to join in, taking turns giving him quick kisses on his cheek or lips. As each kiss came, his discomfort only deepened. The cage, too tight, pressed harder into his genitals reminding him that all of this felt so wrong, so surreal.
After the other women had kissed him, Marla approached with a confident smile, pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss. As she pulled back, her fingers gripped the cage firmly, giving it a subtle tug, her eyes glinting with mischief as she watched his reaction.
John’s breath caught in his throat at the sudden tug on the ring, the sensation sharp and invasive. His heart raced, a mix of embarrassment and discomfort flooding through him. He instinctively clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the weight of the ring tighten around his finger, a constant reminder of his lack of control. His cheeks flushed, and he looked down at the ring, unable to meet Marla’s gaze, his humiliation growing with every passing moment.
And through it all, Sara watched, content, her presence a steady reminder that she was in control.
As Marla stepped back, she gave John a mischievous look before nodding toward the door. “Follow me, John. We’ve got a special place for you. I think you’ll like it.”
John followed, his steps hesitant as he moved past Sara and Marla toward a small, intimate room off to the side. Once inside, the room was quiet and dimly lit, with soft cushions arranged on a daybed in a way that suggested this would be a space for private conversations, or perhaps something more.
Sara stayed by his side for a moment longer, her hand resting on his arm. “You’ll be fine, John,” she said gently, her voice full of quiet confidence. “The women will take turns visiting you here. I know it’s overwhelming, but just remember—I am in charge.”
Sara glanced at John with a calm, knowing smile. “Remember the BDSM games we play in the bedroom, John,” she said softly, her voice steady but filled with authority, “this is just another step in our trust.”
Sara stood up gracefully, her movements deliberate and confident. She walked to the closet, the soft rustle of fabric filling the quiet room as she pulled something from the shelf. Turning back toward John, she held it out to him—a pair of leather cuffs with buckles and a short chain. Without a word, she stepped closer, her eyes locking with his. Gently, but with unmistakable authority, she fastened the cuffs around his wrist, her fingers brushing his skin as she secured the straps. With a purposeful motion, she attached the other end of the leather to the headboard of the bed’s metal headboard, ensuring he was firmly bound in place.
“This,” she said softly, her voice steady, “is to remind you of your place tonight. Not just mine, but the other women at the party as well. Tonight, you will be under their control too. You wear this because you trust me—and because you understand that your submission to me, and to them, is part of the experience we’re sharing.” She gave the leather cuffs a final tug, her gaze intense. “Relax and embrace it. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
Sara stood and barely glanced as she stood up and left the room.
The room felt even darker now, the low lighting barely enough to make out the outline of the next woman entering. She was tall, with deep, dark eyes that seemed to pierce right through John. Her lips curved into a slight smile as she studied him. He vaguely remembered her from the other room, though everything had been such a blur. Her attire, a silhouette in the shadows, was difficult for John to make out, leaving him feeling disoriented and uneasy as she moved closer.
“Well, hello there, John,” she said softly, her tone playful. “Sara’s told us so much about you. I’m Brenda.”
John’s mouth went dry as she stepped closer. “I see you’re wearing a cage,” she murmured, her voice almost like a caress. “How does it feel?”
John felt his breath catch in his throat. He could barely find words to answer, his entire focus consumed by the sensation of her fingers on the cage, on the small piece of metal that seemed to control so much of him.
“It… it feels fine,” he managed to say, though the words came out strained.
The woman leaned in then, her lips pressing softly against his. For a moment, everything seemed to fade away—the cage, the room, the nervous tension. It was just her, her lips on his. He hardly felt the rubber dildo brushing against is cock cage.
As they pulled away, she smiled again. “I think we’ll both enjoy this,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with confidence. “Remember, it’s all about trust. Just relax and let things unfold naturally.” She firmly placed a hand around his ankles and pushed John’s knees to his chest, exposing his anus.
It was clear to John that Brenda was going to peg him. It was of course not the first time he’d been fucked by a strap-on. Sara used one on him several times a month as part of a ritual, always on a Sunday evening, and as part of the act of milking him.
Expecting lube, he was surprised when the stranger simply spit on his anus before she started forcing the dildo into his rectum. John tried to relax and just let it happen, but it was painful. He let out a girly squeal as the bulbous head of the plastic cock past the sphincter with a noticeable pop.
Other than Sara, Brenda was the first person to peg John. This was obviously not her first rodeo as she stabbed John’s ass with one deep thrust. John let out a loud cry of pain and Brenda moaned, clearly getting sexual pleasure as she began thrusting in and out.
Minutes passed as Brenda fucked John with abandon. She occasionally withdrew the dildo to examine her gapping handywork before returning to the task of punishing John’s ass.
After perhaps twenty minutes, Brenda experienced a massive, squirting orgasm that left John’s chest soaking wet.
Brenda collapsed on John for a minute to compose herself, then she stood up and slapped John’s ass while saying, “Thanks for the fuck, John.”
One by one, the other women came in, each taking their turn with John, each of them leaning in first to kiss him, some a bit more forceful than the others. Each fucked him as Brenda had. The experience left John both embarrassed and helpless, the ring like an anchor around cock and the cuffs leaving him helpless.
Halfway through the women, John looked up to notice Sara standing by the door, watching. She didn’t intervene, but her presence was undeniable. She was in charge of this, of him. And as the women came and went, John couldn’t help but feel the full weight of his situation—the power, the control, the vulnerability.
When the final woman left, the eight, Sara entered the room, her smile a little wider, a little more knowing. She stepped forward, grasping his cock cage, the key to his ring resting against her chest. “Well done, John,” she said softly, her voice filled with satisfaction. “I knew you’d do just fine.”
“Time to rejoin the others,” she said gently, her voice steady but carrying an unmistakable authority. Unlocking the restraints and helping him to his feet. Her touch was firm yet reassuring, guiding him back toward the door. “You’ve done well,” she added, her gaze meeting his with a hint of approval. “Now, let’s go back and enjoy the rest of the evening.” With a final glance, she led him out of the room and back toward the party.
As Sara led John back into the party, the room fell into a brief, expectant silence. The guests turned their attention toward John, their eyes restudying him with curiosity and amusement. John could feel the weight of their stares while his ass burned from the time he had spent alone with each of them. He tried to hold his head up, but the tightness in his chest and the prickling heat on his face made it difficult. Sara’s calm, confident presence beside him only made him feel more exposed, as though the contrast between her composure and his own unease was starkly apparent. A few of the women exchanged knowing glances, some offering polite smiles, while others seemed to look at him with an almost predatory interest. John’s heart raced, the room feeling much more oppressive than it had when he first arrived. Despite Sara’s reassurances, he couldn’t shake the feeling of humiliation. All of the women had come to “know him.”
Sara gave John a knowing look, her voice light but commanding as she asked, “Be a sport, John, and serve the women some refreshments. It’ll make the evening more enjoyable for everyone.” John hesitated for a moment, his discomfort still weighing heavily on him, but he nodded reluctantly. He moved toward the small group of women standing by the drinks table, his palms sweating as he approached them one by one. “Can I get you something?” he asked, trying to mask his nervousness.
Brenda was the first. She stood a tall figure with a confident stance. Tilting her head as she smiled slyly. “I’ll have a glass of wine, John,” she said, her tone playful but with a subtle edge. “But make sure to remember the service you provided earlier. I think I can still smell my cum on you.” She stepped closer to him, her fingers brushing his arm as she placed her order, her voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “And don’t worry, we’ll have some more one-on-one sometime soon”
Another woman, her voice velvety smooth, leaned in just enough for John to feel the heat of her breath. “I’ll take a gin and tonic, John. You were so eager to please earlier. I think we’ll expect that same attention to detail here.” She paused, letting the silence stretch for a moment, then added, her gaze intense, “Remember how docile you were when it was just the two of us. I think we’ll have plenty of time for more… fun soon.”
Each order was delivered with a knowing smile, sometimes a lingering touch of his cage, and a reminder of their time together in the room. The comments made John’s face flush with humiliation, and he struggled to maintain his composure as he served the drinks. The weight of their dominance hung over him, and every moment felt more suffocating than the last.
As the evening stretched on, John found himself serving the ladies for another hour or two, each round of drinks only amplifying the discomfort he felt. He was hyper-aware of their eyes on him, the subtle smirks and knowing glances exchanged between them as they took their drinks from his hands. Some would lightly caress his arm or give a playful tug on his cage, the intimate gestures serving as constant reminders of his submission. Each woman’s words were carefully chosen, laced with teasing dominance.
One woman leaned in closer with a sly smile, her voice low and almost intimate. “You’ve been such a good boy tonight,” she said, her fingers brushing against the edge of his cage. “I think you deserve a reward… don’t you?” Circling around to his backside, the woman pressed her palm between John’s shoulder blades and forced him to lean forward slightly before she used both hands to spread his butt cheeks. John swallow hard, his discomfort growing as he nodded silently while his penis shriveled in its cage. The woman forced her finger into John’s irritated butthole, causing him to wince and almost spill the drink he had brought her.
Pulling her finger out of his ass, she stepped in front of him, The finger she had used was pointing towards the ceiling, and she looked as John with expectation. John, sensing she se was after, leaned over and sucked the finger clean before thanking the woman and passing her the drink.
The rest of the women exchanged similar comments, some more direct, others more subtle, all designed to remind John of his place in the room. Others touched him in various ways. John felt like the property of every woman in the room.
He felt, a mix of exhaustion and humiliation washing over him as he continued his task. But the weight of their gaze, the knowing smiles, and the teasing touches never left him. It was as if he was nothing more than a servant, a toy to be used for their amusement, and the realization settled deeply in his chest.
As the hours passed, the sense of powerlessness only deepened, and John struggled to hold onto any shred of dignity as he continued to serve the women. Each movement felt more humiliating than the last, and he couldn’t escape the feeling that they saw him as little more than an object, there to please and serve them.
As the last of the guests trickled out, John found himself cleaning up the remnants of the party, the weight of the evening settling heavily on his shoulders. The laughter and chatter had faded, leaving only the scattered glasses and plates that needed to be tidied away. One by one, the women departed, their whispers and soft chuckles lingering in the air, leaving John feeling exposed and small. He moved methodically, folding napkins and picking up glasses, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of humiliation as Sara and the hostess, Marla, stood by the door, exchanging a few final words.
Sara was fully dressed now, her confident demeanor restored, while Marla, too, had returned to her outfit, though she still had an air of amusement about her. John, however, remained undressed, still bound by the lingering effects of the evening’s strange and uncomfortable events. He worked in silence, occasionally glancing over at Sara, who watched him with a look of quiet satisfaction. She seemed unbothered by the fact that he remained exposed while the others had dressed. When the final woman had gone and the last echoes of footsteps faded away, Sara gave him a brief, approving glance before turning to Marla.
“Well, John’s been quite a sport tonight,” Sara remarked with a smile, her voice light but laced with authority. “We’ll be going soon.”
Marla chuckled, eyeing John with an amused glance as she smoothed the fabric of her dress. “You know,” she said, her tone playful yet authoritative, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen someone quite as… exposed as you, John. Still without clothes at the end of the night, huh? I think you’ll be remembered for quite a while.”
Sara raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at John and spoke to him sarcastically. “I suppose he just couldn’t resist the opportunity to show off his cock cage, could he?”
John’s face flushed with embarrassment as he focused on the floor, his hands still occupied with cleaning up the last of the mess. He was fully aware of their words, though, and the humiliation of being the only one undressed in the room was sharp. His pulse quickened, but he remained silent, waiting for Sara’s next command.
“Well,” Marla continued, taking one last glance at John before heading toward the door, “it was a fun evening. Thanks for being such a good sport, John. I’m sure you’ll be back again soon.”
As Marla stepped outside to see the last two guest off, Sara gave John a final look, her smile approving. “Let’s go,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet, commanding tone. “You’ve done well tonight.”
John hesitated, glancing at the door. “Sara… can I get dressed before we leave?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of hesitation and hope.
Sara’s eyes locked with his, and her smile softened, but only slightly. “No,” she replied firmly. “Don’t spoil the evening now. You’ve done just fine the way you are.”
Her voice brooked no argument, and John lowered his gaze, feeling the weight of his submission settle back over him. Without another word, he followed her to the door, still undressed, the silence between them thick with the quiet power of her control.