House Rules
"You don't know how to put it on," she says. It isn't a question.
She disappears for a moment and returns from the kitchen with a small bowl of ice. She sets it on the nightstand without explanation, then gestures for you to stand.
You stand.
You dunk your still erect penis in the bowl. You make a sound you'd prefer not to have made. Charlotte does not comment. She works with the focused efficiency of someone who has done this before, many times, and in less time than seems possible she has the cage assembled and locked around you with a quiet, definitive click.
She steps back and examines her work briefly, then nods.
You look yourself in the mirror. Your testicles look swollen... visibly, noticeably so. You stare at them for a moment, genuinely unsure whether it's an optical effect of the cage, or whether weeks of accumulated denial have left a physical mark you simply hadn't noticed until now.
Probably both.
"One more thing," Charlotte says, picking up the key and sliding it into her pocket. "I won't be telling the others about this. It could embarrass you unnecessarily. Whether you choose to disclose it is your decision."
She pulls her dress back on.
"Breakfast in twenty minutes."
She walks out. You stand there in the quiet of her room, caged, keys in someone else's pocket, testicles aching, trying to remember what normal felt like.
You go make breakfast.