I hadn’t come in seven f*****g days.
And not just from self-control or teasing. No, she locked my c**k up tight, stainless steel and made sure the only thing I could do was leak. I woke up hard every morning, or at least as hard as the cage allowed, straining until it hurt. Skin swollen, purple, dribbling pre-c*m that dried sticky on my thighs before I could even beg her to notice.
But she always noticed. She loved it. Called me her little leak machine. Her pet. Her pretty thing who couldn’t get hard without a punishment. And I wore it all—the ache, the cage, the humiliation—like a collar.
She hadn’t touched me in three days. Just the plug. Thick. Black. Silicone. She shoved it into me while I was bent over the edge of the couch, told me to take a deep breath, and pushed until I whimper
