I looked at the small chastity cage he sent me in the mail, turned it over and over in my hands. I shook the box, nothing fell out; there was no key. I looked at the device more closely, realized to lock it didn't need on; a key was only needed to open it.
I picked up my phone, texted him as he'd requests. "I got your gift, Sir," I said.
He'd didn't respond, as I'd come to expect. I wanted to wait for him to text back, but couldn't, and picked up my phone again. "It doesn't have a key," I texted.
Again nothing. I knew what he was doing, he always responded less than I did, making me the one chasing him. I knew it was a power thing, something men did with women. Or with feminine boys like me. But knowing didn't change the power of it.
"It's kind of intimidating," I texted again.
"Is it on?" he finally responded.
"No, Sir, not yet."
"Why not?" he responded right away.
"There's no key," I said.
"That's the point," he answered.
I put my phone down, walked away from it; put the cage in a drawer. I checked my phone every hour on the hour; nothing.
"Sir, I'm afraid of this...no key..."
Nothing.
"Sir, I'm having drinks with that girl on Saturday..."
"Why do you think I sent the cage," he answered. "You have this continued, warped idea that a woman is going to sleep with you. Women don't want sissies; how many times must I tell you this. How many times must I tell you to accept what you are."
"But..."
"Go out on a date if you want, but remember all evening, you won't be sleeping with her."
I frowned, typed an answer. "I keep telling you I'm not gay," I said.
"You tire me, sissy. Straight boys don't flirt with men by text. Straight boys don't let men send them gifts. Straight boys don't wear pretty lingerie and sext with men. You tire me. Put the cage on, lock it, and send me a picture of you wearing it. Or don't. You have an hour, then I'm blocking your number."
My blood felt cold as it locked, felt cold as I looked at it, knew I was at his mercy now. A stranger who wasn't a stranger.
I took the picture, sent it.
"I know what you're thinking," he responded, "what do I need to do to get him to send me the key. That's the wrong thought."
"Why?" I asked. "That seems reasonable."
"Because a sissy's role is to serve. A sissy never thinks about her own pleasure, she only thinks of pleasing others. There won't be a key, not while you're involved with me. This isn't a game, this is reality."
I looked down at my caged, locked cock, felt a moment of panic, something he clearly anticipated.
"You'll get the key the day you tell me to delete your number," he texted me. I've told you again and again what I expect from a pet. Service. Always service."
