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Chapter 7: My Practice

My cage bounced with every thrust, the padlock clacking loud enough to be heard over my muffled moans. My dress lay discarded on the floor at the foot of the bed, my panties next to it. But my corset was tight around my belly, the steel bones bending me into an hourglass. Thick straps with delicate lace edging connected it to my stockings, the gentle tug sending whispered delight across my skin.

"Fuck, your tongue is so much better than your clit ever was," Goddess moaned from above me, one hand holding tightly to the bottom of my corset. "I can't believe we waited this long to lock you up."

"Thank you, Goddess," I said from below her, looking up at her back.

Her hair spilled down between her sculpted shoulder blades, the curve of her rear almost eclipsing my view. For a moment, she had forgotten about what she was doing to me. I took it as a compliment, that my careful, practiced ministrations should be so distracting. I dove back between her legs, sucking her clit between my cherry-red lips.

She cried out in pleasure, curving backwards and squeezing her breasts while she rode my face. Her thighs dug in at my sides. Even the boning of the corset was no match for the strength of her pleasure. I closed my eyes and threw myself into her.

When she had regained herself, I felt her lean over. Her breasts brushed against my cage, the motion practiced and intentional. It made her wetter in my mouth, and I knew it was as much for her as it was for me. She liked me caged, preferred me that way. My pleasure was irrelevant until it mattered to her.

And tonight, it did.

The thick shaft began sliding quickly in and out of me, its carefully placed knobs and ridges bumping against my sissy spot as she thrust. It felt enormous, but by now I had enough practice with it that I wanted it big — needed it that way. After months of work, I was sure that I could cum just from that.

From being fucked, I thought. Like the sissy girl I am.

The thought sent acid pleasure coursing through me. My cage twitched against Goddess' chest. She moaned happily in response, picking up her pace.

"Thinking of something nice?" she asked.

"Thinking of you," I answered dutifully.

She snorted. "What did you really think about, sissy?"

"About what you're doing," I said hesitantly, my words punctuated by groans as she worked me. "About what we're doing this for. Practicing for."

"So you can cum in your cage?" she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes," I moaned, her words filling me with pleasure. "So it can be permanent."

"I love hearing you say that. Say it again."

"My cage will be permanent."

"It will. Your clit will be mine forever."

"I'll only get to cum from being fucked."

"Ooooh, yes," she moaned, and I felt a shiver run down her back. "You'll be my good, perfect sissy girl. Ready to please, always horny."

"Pretty and desperate, just for you."

"I'll never touch your clitty again, unless it's to torment you."

"I want you to torment me, Goddess."

"Oh, I will, Dalia. Your devotion to me will be measured in denial and frustration and arousal."

"And pretty things?"

"You were meant for this," she giggled. "Yes, and pretty things, too. Dresses and petticoats and panties, all the more to arouse you with. So you can make me cum knowing full well that all I ever want is to see you frustrated and dripping and desperate. Because your orgasm doesn't matter. Only mine does."

"Fuck, Goddess," I moaned, the pressure morphing into pleasure. "I'm so close to cumming, don't stop."

"You don't get to cum," she said, pushing herself onto my face to muffle my voice. "No matter how close you get, you don't get to cum. Only I cum. You're just here to make that happen."

She drove it in and out of me while I clenched and held and fought the rising tide of my orgasm. My stocking-covered toes curled in my strappy black sandals, the tall, slender heels digging into the bedspread. My breathing was fast and ragged, my cage so tight I was sure it would explode before I did.

I poured myself into her, transforming my need and desire into passion for her. I needed her to cum to end my torment. I licked and probed and kissed and sucked and felt her body tense and curl in response. She was close, and tonight I was not going to draw it out for her.

She screamed as she came, her hips slamming against my face, the dildo inside of me forgotten. Instead, she rested her head next to my cage, her hand tight around it. She squeezed me as her orgasm crashed into her, waves of pleasure spilling across her. I was proud and desperate and hopeful, wanting to cum more than anything.

Wanting to stay locked even more than that.

She wiggled my cage and electric pleasure coursed through me, the sensation almost too intense to bear. I cried out from beneath her. Involuntarily, my body tried to pull away, but I was held too tightly to move. As her orgasm subsided, a new one took its place. The simple pleasure of climax replaced by the darker complexity of teasing and power.

"This is mine," she said as she brushed her long nails against my package and probed the open tip of the cage. "I control this. I control you."

"I want to give myself to you."

"Are you ready for that?"

She didn't need to say it for us both to know what she meant.

Permanence. The final gift of control and denial.

"Yes, I'm ready. I — I'm sure I can cum like this now."

"Good," she said simply. "I know just how to make that happen."