The Reunion, Part 2

I wake up to the familiar feeling of the cage around my cock and balls. The memories of last night flood back, Christine, her shape, her confidence, her cock, the way she made me cum. Just thinking about her makes me start to get hard, but the cage cuts off the sensation immediately, leaving me frustrated and leaking precum.

Throughout the day, every time I shift in my chair or walk, I'm reminded of the cage. And every reminder brings back images of Christine, the graceful way she moved, how her slim hips swayed when she walked to get the cage, the contrast between her delicate wrists and the thickness of what hung between her legs as she jerked us off. It's maddening how someone so petite everywhere else could possess something so substantial.

At the end of the day, my phone buzzes: "Hey, I'm home. Come over. 😘"

The little kiss emoji makes my stomach flutter in a way that surprises me.

I arrive at her apartment, and she opens the door wearing only an oversized t-shirt that barely covers her thighs. Her soft cock peeks out from underneath, and I can see the gentle curve of her hips, the way the fabric clings to her small breasts. She's barefoot, her toenails painted a soft pink, and there's something so soft about her that makes the memory of her even more striking.

"Well, well," she says with a playful smile, "look who came running when I called."

"Tell me about your day," she continues, walking to the couch with that same graceful stride. She sits cross-legged, and I watch as she settles, her cock resting on top of her ankle. The casual way she displays herself, completely comfortable with her body, makes my breath catch.

I tell her about my struggles with the cage, how every time I thought about her, I'd start to get hard only to be stopped by the metal. She listens with her head tilted slightly, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, nodding with understanding and what looks like amusement.

"Oh, poor baby," she says with mock sympathy, though her eyes are sparkling with mischief. "I know your problem. We need to make sure you can't get hard at all! We need a harness to make sure it's always tightly secured to your body."

As she says this, she jumps up with an almost childlike excitement, her small breasts bouncing slightly under the thin fabric. "This is going to be so much fun," she adds with a grin that's both sweet and slightly wicked.

I watch her rush to the bedroom, her legs long and lean, her movements quick and purposeful. When she returns, she's holding a thong-like contraption with small clips, twirling it around her finger like a toy.

"Put this on," she says, extending it toward me with a theatrical flourish.

"What? How?"

"Alright, alright, let me handle it," she says, moving closer with that confident smile. "Can't have my boy struggling, can we?"

As she kneels in front of me, I'm struck again by how petite she is. Her fingers are slender as they work with the clips, and when she leans forward, her cock brushes against my leg, soft now, but still noticeably thick even in its relaxed state.

"Hold still, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice taking on that commanding tone that makes me shiver.

She clips the harness into the ring of the cage, her movements precise and confident, pulls the harness taught that makes the cage push my cock further inside me. "Now, see, it pokes out a little more because of the angle, but now you can't get hard at all!" she says, sitting back on her heels to admire her work like an artist examining a sculpture.

I examine how the harness feels, the way it pulls against my hips and between my cheeks. "I see. So is the harness necessary? I feel like this would show through my clothes."

"Yeah, for now, I don't have a smaller ring. Let me see how it fits from up close," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the couch with surprising strength. "Come here, let mama take a look."

The way she says 'mama' makes my face burn with embarrassment and arousal.

I stand in front of her as she examines the fit, her face level with my caged cock. She reaches out and traces the outline of the flat top with one finger, making me gasp.

"I see the problem. You know, you have cute balls," she says matter-of-factly, cupping them gently in her palm. "On the smaller side, but cute. I'm pretty sure you'll need the smallest ring because of it."

"Thanks, I guess," I say, realizing she just called my balls cute and small while holding them.

"Can we take this off now?" I ask as I start to feel aroused again, the cage immediately cutting off any real sensation, putting me in my place.

"What do you mean?" she asks innocently, though her smile suggests she knows exactly what I mean.

"You said yesterday you'd let me out today. I'm basically edging since I woke up," I say shyly.

"Oh, sweetie," she says with a laugh that's both sympathetic and delighted, "I think you misunderstood me. I said we're doing this again, not that I'd be opening the cage." She leans back against the couch cushions, her expression becoming more predatory. "I have so many things to show you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I say carefully, drawing it out. "What kind of things?"

"Well, considering how things went yesterday, I'm quite confident about one thing," she says, and I watch as her cock begins to stiffen in her lap. "You like that I'm bigger, right?" she asks with wide, innocent eyes that don't match the knowing smile on her lips.

"Maybe."

"And you like it when I tease you about it, right?" she interrupts playfully. "You came when I used your limp little cock to jerk off yesterday. I think it's pretty clear, don't you think?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure. This is all so new to me," I say, sitting down in the armchair facing Christine. I spread my legs, showing off the cage. "I'm not sure if I like or hate this thing."

"I think it's both," she says with understanding. "I love to hate it when I wear it. It's delicious torture, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Scoot further down a little, show me your caged little cock!" she asks, her voice taking on that commanding tone again.

"Why?"

"Just do it, baby," she commands, standing up. Her cock is stiffening now, and I'm mesmerized by the transformation, watching it grow from soft to semi-hard, the way it curves slightly upward, how much thicker it is than mine.

She sits on my knees like yesterday, a little farther down, not letting her cock rest on me just yet. "You want it?" she asks, her voice husky.

I just nod, blushing, straining against the cage, leaking precum.

"Use your words, sweetheart," she says with a teasing smile.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I want it."

"Good boy," she purrs, and the praise makes me feel warm all over.

She slips forward and plops her cock right onto my cage. The weight of it, even semi-hard, is substantial. "I think I can make you cum just by knocking on here," she says with a sly smile and starts to slowly but forcefully slap the flat side of my cage with her cock. "I'll teach you something you won't forget."

The sensation is incredible, the weight, the warmth through the holes of the cage are almost burning. The vibrations traveling through the metal and into my trapped cock. I watch her small breasts bounce with each movement, the way her face flushes with excitement, how her breathing becomes heavier as she gets more aroused.

"Look at you," she says breathlessly, "getting so worked up from this. You're such a good little toy."

"How long can you last if I speed it up?" she asks, increasing the pace. Her cock is fully hard now, and the contrast is almost comical, this beautiful, feminine woman with her delicate features wielding something so much obscenely thick, her cock completely hides my cage when she "knocks".

"I'm cumming!" I say as cum dribbles out of the flat cage. "Oh god, it feels so good," as more dribbles out. It's a surprising amount, but no spurts, just steady dribbles. Christine doesn't stop, and the underside of her cock is now covered.

"And your little cock is fully soft," she says with satisfaction. "This is the lesson. Most men don't believe it without experiencing it. You just came all over yourself, limp, getting bumped by the cock of a woman." She smirks, clearly pleased with herself.

"Maybe it's me who should have the cock in this relationship," she says with a coy smile, running her finger through the mess we've made.

I can only grunt and slide down further into the furniture.

"Come here," she says, standing up, her magnificent cock bouncing slightly with the movement. "I want you to taste me. Taste us."

I move to kneel in front of her, and she guides my head forward. Her cock is still slick with my cum, and as I take her into my mouth, I'm struck again by her size, how my jaw has to stretch, how she fills my mouth completely.

"That's it, baby," she whispers, her voice breathy, her hands tangled in my hair. "You're so good at this. Such a natural."

She moves her hips gently, and I can taste myself on her, salty and warm. The intimacy of it, the way she controls the pace, makes my head spin.

When she cums, it's with a soft gasp, her whole body tensing. She pulls out and finishes on my face, warm streams coating my cheeks and dripping down onto my caged cock below.

"Beautiful," she breathes, looking down at me with genuine affection.

As she softens, she playfully slaps my face with her cock, leaving trails of cum and saliva. "You like that, don't you?" she says, noticing how I lean into her touch. "My messy little boy. Next time you swallow!" she says with a smitk.

We cuddle a little on the couch, she traces patterns in the cum on my face while we chat, casual and intimate.

"Let's get cleaned up," she suggests, helping me to my feet.

In the shower, under the warm spray, I watch the water cascade down her lean body, tracing paths over her small breasts and down her flat stomach. She moves with such natural grace, even here, soaping herself with delicate movements that somehow make her femininity even more pronounced.

She gets hard again, and I feel her press against me from behind, her cock sliding between my cheeks. The contrast hits me again, how someone so slender and graceful can possess something so substantial.

"You know," she whispers, her breath warm against my ear as her hands rest on my hips, I can feel her between my cheeks, "we could try this if you'd like. I'd be so gentle with you."

I tense slightly, feeling the weight and warmth of her against me. "I... I don't know. I've never..."

"It's okay, sweetheart," she says softly, her voice understanding but with that familiar note of control. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. Yet." The way she adds that last word makes my stomach flutter.

I'm unsure and shake my head, but I can feel myself trying to get hard against the cage, the metal cutting off any real arousal but leaving me with that familiar frustrated ache.

"Here," she says, changing the subject gracefully, "let me show you how to clean yourself properly with that on. Can't have my boy getting uncomfortable."

Her movements become gentle and caring as she demonstrates how to work around the cage, how to make sure everything stays clean and comfortable. Her fingers are soft as she helps me, and there's something almost intimate about the way she takes care of me.

"The important thing is to be thorough but gentle," she explains, her voice taking on an almost nurturing tone. "You don't want any irritation. I need you comfortable so you can focus on... other things."

We finish showering and dry off together. She wraps a towel around herself, tucking it just above her breasts. The white terry cloth clings to her slim frame, but it's not enough to hide the obvious outline of her cock beneath it. Even soft, the imprint is unmistakable, pressing against the fabric in a way that makes my mouth go dry.

I try not to stare, but she notices my gaze and smirks. "Like what you see?" she asks playfully, adjusting the towel in a way that somehow makes the outline even more prominent, shaking her hips a little bit.

"I... yeah," I admit, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.

"Good," she says with satisfaction. "I want you thinking about it."

While I struggle slightly with my towel around the harness, she watches with amusement.

"Here, let me," she says, helping me adjust it so it's comfortable. Her fingers brush against my skin as she works, and I shiver at her touch.

We lie down together on her bed, and I drift off feeling her warm body pressed against mine, her arm draped across my chest, her breathing soft and even against my neck.

When we wake, the evening lights are filtering through her curtains. I feel her stirring beside me, and then her hand finds the cage, stroking it gently.

"You know," she says softly, her voice still thick with sleep but carrying that familiar note of authority, "you're mine now."

I turn to face her, and she's looking at me with those dark eyes, a small smile playing at her lips.

"This little thing belongs to me," she continues, her fingers tracing the outline of the cage with possessive gentleness. "How does that make you feel?"

"I... I don't know," I admit. "Scared? Excited? Both?"

"Good," she says, leaning closer, her smile becoming more predatory. "That's exactly how you should feel. Uncertainty keeps things interesting, don't you think?"

She guides my hand to her cock, which is warm and heavy in my palm, already beginning to stiffen at my touch. The weight of it, the thickness, still amazes me.

"And I'm yours," she whispers, her eyes locked on mine, though the way she says it makes it clear who's really in control here. "This belongs to you now. Do you understand what that means?"

I nod, though I'm not entirely sure I do.

"It means we take care of each other," she explains, her hand covering mine as I hold her, guiding my movements. "It means you trust me with your pleasure, and I trust you with mine. But mostly, it means you do what I tell you to do." The last part is said with a sweet smile that somehow makes it more commanding than threatening.

"What if I want to take it off?" I ask quietly.

She considers this for a moment, her thumb stroking across my knuckles. "Do you want to take it off right now?"

I think about it, feeling the constant pressure, the reminder of her control. "I... no. Not right now."

"Then we'll talk about it when you do," she says simply. "But David?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you're going to find that you like belonging to me more than you expect. In fact, I'm counting on it." Her smile is both sweet and slightly wicked.

We lie there for a while longer, her hand occasionally stroking the cage, mine resting on her cock as it grows harder under my touch.

"I should probably go," I finally say, though I don't really want to.

"Probably," she agrees, but she doesn't move away from me. "But you'll be back tomorrow, won't you?"

"Do I have a choice?" I ask, half-joking.

"Of course you do," she says, sitting up and letting the sheet fall away from her body. "You can choose to come back, or you can choose to spend another day thinking about coming back. Either way, we both know where you'll end up."

Eventually, I force myself to get up and get dressed. The harness feels strange under my clothes, more noticeable than the cage alone. As I pull on my jeans, I realize with growing horror that the outline of the harness is clearly visible through the denim, the straps creating obvious lines across my hips, cheeks, and between my legs.

"Shit," I mutter, looking down at myself.

Christine, still wearing just her towel with that unmistakable outline beneath it, notices my distress. "Problem?" she asks with amusement.

"You can see it," I say, gesturing helplessly at my jeans. "The harness. It's completely obvious."

She walks over and examines me critically, completely naked, with cock half erect. "Hmm, you're right. That is a problem." She taps her finger against her lips thoughtfully. "Do you have a longer shirt? Something that might hang lower?"

I shake my head. "Not with me."

"Well," she says with a mischievous grin, "I guess you'll just have to be creative. Maybe walk with your hands in your pockets? Or carry a jacket?"

"Christine, I can't walk around like this. People will notice."

"Will they?" she asks, stepping closer. "Or are you just paranoid because you know what's under there?" Her hand reaches out and traces one of the visible lines through my jeans. "Besides, maybe it's good for you to be reminded of who you belong to."

"That's not helping," I say, but I can feel myself trying to get hard again at her touch.

She laughs, a sound that's both sympathetic and delighted. "Okay, okay. Here." She disappears into her bedroom and comes back with an oversized hoodie. "This should help."

I put it on, and she's right, it hangs low enough to mostly hide the harness lines, though I'm still paranoid about them showing.

"Better?" she asks.

"Better. Thank you."

"Text me tonight," she says as I'm putting on my shoes, her voice taking on that commanding tone again. "Tell me how you're feeling. And David?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't even think about trying to take that off without permission." Her smile is sweet, but her eyes are serious. "I'll know."

"How will you know?"

"Trust me," she says with a wink. "I'll know."

She walks me to the door, still wearing just her towel. The way it clings to her slim frame, the obvious outline of her cock beneath the fabric, makes it hard to look away.

"David?" she says as I'm about to leave.

I turn back to her.

"Thank you," she says, her voice softer now. "For trusting me. For being mine."

As I leave her apartment, I catch my reflection in the building's glass doors. I look different somehow. There's something in my posture, in my expression, that wasn't there before. The oversized hoodie helps hide the harness, but I'm still acutely aware of it with every step.

The cage is a constant reminder of the choice I made, the trust I gave her, and the control I handed over.

On the way home, I can't stop thinking about the outline of her cock beneath that towel, the way she looked at me like she owned me, because maybe now she does.