Two weeks in the top drawer

The box sat in the top drawer of the dresser for two weeks, under my tights, and he knew it was there.

He had put it there himself: brought it back from the pickup point, showed it to me unopened, and I said “in the drawer.” He never asked out loud. He asked once, a month earlier, while I was locking his cage for the night and he was watching my hands:

“Would you ever want to wear something else?”

“Maybe.”

We didn’t come back to it. He placed the order himself; the model I chose from a link he sent without a word. For two weeks the box lay there, and every evening, when I took out tights for the morning, he saw that I didn’t touch it. That was part of it too. A request that has been accepted and left lying weighs more than one granted at once.

On Friday I took it out along with the tights and set it on the bed.

“Shower. Inside as well. Then back here, on your knees.”

He looked at the box and left without answering. If he had answered, I would have heard what his voice was doing.

The straps

While the water ran, I unpacked the box. Black straps, wide, with heavy buckles; the dildo itself smaller than I expected, which is right for a first time. The lube was in the same box; he had put that in too. I undressed, fitted the dildo into the ring and buckled the straps around my hips. The buckles clicked dry, one and then the other. There was a weight between my legs now, foreign and hard, pulling down, and I felt it with every step. I went to the mirror. The woman in it stood the way I usually stand when he is at my feet, only now she had, in front, the thing she was about to put inside her husband. I liked it. I don’t want to explain that.

He came in, saw, and stopped in the doorway. Lowered his eyes, raised them to the straps, lowered them again. Water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders and he didn’t wipe it. The cage stayed on him; it always does, and tonight I had decided in advance: the lock stays shut. Whatever happened to him in the next hour, there would be no way out of it.

“On the bed. Knees. Shoulders down.”

He got onto all fours facing the headboard. I said “shoulders,” and he lowered his chest to the mattress, forehead in the pillow, so his back sloped down and everything else came up. The steel hung between his legs, locked, and I could see it already pressing: there is no room in a cage, and he would have liked some. I ran my palm down his spine from his neck to his tailbone and felt all of him tighten under my hand, then make himself let go.

“Breathing?”

“Yes.”

“Your word?”

“Red.”

Inside

I didn’t spare the lube: squeezed so much onto my fingers it ran down my wrist. One finger, slowly, and he breathed out into the pillow. A second, and he moaned and pushed back. I took my hand away.

“Don’t move. I do the moving.”

He froze. I put my fingers back and held them inside until I felt him stop clenching. Then I slicked the dildo, set it against him and went in an inch, no more. He cried out, short, into the pillow, and I stopped and waited. I counted his breaths. On the fifth he loosened, and I went in further. Like that, in stages, over a few minutes, until the straps, until there was no more. My hips touched him, the straps lay against his buttocks, and I stood like that, not moving, holding his sides with both hands.

That is what I remember most. Not the movement — the way he stayed there, all the way onto me, shoulders down, waiting. He was locked in front and full behind, and all that was left to him was breathing. He breathed.

I began to move, slowly, almost all the way out and back in to the hilt. After a minute he started pushing back to meet me: on his own, without a command, hips back. I stopped and took hold of his hips hard, so that he couldn’t move forward or back.

“No.”

He went still. I held him like that for half a minute, saying nothing, and felt everything in him pulsing around the dildo. Then I started again, at my pace. He didn’t push back after that. I could see his cage between his legs: the steel hung there and dripped onto the sheet, clear, in a thin thread, and he didn’t know.

He couldn’t come: you can’t get hard in a cage. But around the eighth or tenth minute he moaned the way he moans when he comes, and arched, and I felt him clench around me again and again, and what came out of the cage was no longer a drip. He was crying into the pillow. Not from pain — that would have been a different sound.

I pulled out of him slowly and stayed standing behind him, my palm on the small of his back. He didn’t move until I said.

“Lie down. On your side.”

The chair

I unbuckled the straps myself and put them on the chair by the bed. Not in the box, not in the drawer, but on the chair, dildo towards him. He turned his head, saw that it had been left in plain sight, and closed his eyes again. I lay down beside him with my back to him and put his arm around my waist. He breathed into the back of my neck for a long time, until it evened out. I didn’t unlock him. He was wet down there and getting cold, I knew he could feel it, and I left it like that.

In the morning he was up before me and put the kettle on. I came into the kitchen and saw the chair was empty.

“Where are the straps?”

“Washed. In the box, in the drawer.”

“I didn’t tell you to put them away.”

He went quiet. The kettle boiled; he poured my tea and set it on the table without looking at me. I came up behind him, put my arms around him and laid my palm on the cage through his trousers. The lock was in place.

“How are you?”

“Good. Thank you for not putting it away last night.”

“Next time you leave it until I say.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The box went back into the top drawer, under the tights. I take tights out every evening. He watches.

• Accept the request, but don’t grant it at once. Two weeks in a drawer is already part of the practice.
• First time: a small dildo, plenty of lube, an inch at a time on his exhale.
• Keep the cage locked. Locked in front and filled behind, he understands which of you is doing the moving.
• When he pushes back to meet you, stop and hold him. The pace is yours, even if he wants it faster.
• Leave the straps in plain sight until morning. You will put them away, when you decide to.