Page 6 of Regal Feather
“T-thank you, Sir.”
I wasn’t allowed to touch myself, but maybe I could…
Sir Ismael allowed all sorts of object insertion and toys, so long as I sent him videos of it. He just didn’t let me use my dick unless he was in a really good mood.
“But how can anyone call you a pretty slut with that thing dangling between your legs, pig?”
A grunt slipped out this time. This was the kind of talk we’d negotiated back when I matched with him on the BDSM-focused app. I wanted humiliation and degradation, and I wanted to be chastised for everything traditionally masculine about me, but mostly my dick.
“I-I don’t know, Sir.”
My breathing was ragged against the phone I kept clutched against my ear.
“Have you ever caged your cock, pig?”
“No, Sir.”
I whimpered. There were so many forums about chastity, and so many people writing about doing it solo, but I hadn’t been sure it would hold any appeal if I didn’t have someone holding the key. Reminding me of it. Degrading me for it.
“I’ll send you a link.” Sir Ismael cleared his throat. I held my breath while I waited for the next thing that would come out of his mouth. “If I cage you, I’ll pull random checks on you throughout the day. Is that acceptable?”
“What does that mean, Sir?”
I hated asking for clarification, but it was one of the most important things the people at Plumas had taught me to do. To feel confident about it, even if the questions left my mouth dry.
“It means, if I ask you, you’re going to excuse yourself to go to a bathroom stall, or anywhere else, pull off what you’re wearing, and show proof that your cage is there.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. Heat swirled within me at the idea, my hips thrusting upward against the air as I struggled for a release that would be acceptable. “I can do that, Sir. I would love to do that, actually.”
“Good.” I could hear movement in the background. I wondered if he was touching himself, if my submission was making him feel good. “I suppose, once you wear your cage, I should start calling you girl, don’t you think?”
My chest constricted. I gasped.
“Yes.” There was no other option, nothing else that made it past the haze of lust clouding me. “Yes, please, Sir.”
“Good.” He chuckled. “Fuck, you’re my easiest sub by far. Probably my filthiest, too. I’m going to send you the link and a task now. Do not contact me again until the task is done.”
Unless I needed to safeword. That part was unsaid, but I knew it was there regardless.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Sir Ismael didn’t acknowledge my words. He just ended the call, leaving me with my heart thrumming against my ribcage and a hard cock I didn’t know what to do with. What was acceptable.
I almost lost my grip on my phone when his message came, the buzzing too loud in the otherwise silent room.
Sir Ismael
Your task: when the cage is there, put it on, and write what a filthy girl you are with permanent marker across your stomach. Send pics
I reread it three times. Maybe he was going to add something else.
Nope.
His profile went offline, and he had said not to contact him until the task was done, which meant I couldn’t ask for permission to come now.
I kicked half-heartedly at the sheets before turning on my stomach, rutting against the mattress. It was a fine line between obeying and breaking the rules. I knew I couldn’t get release, and I didn’t want it per se, but I needed something. Some reprieve from the pressure building up at the base of my spine.
