SPH-THEMED EROTICA STORIES

Prologue

My submissive has been waiting for over a week for me to allow him to cum. We meet in his small apartment on a rainy day. He adores being caged and having me mock his small penis as part of our play. He wears his cage when we are apart.

***

A Caged Submissive’s Reward

His tiny cock sticks out like a steel hook from which to hang small items.

So I do.

I remove my panties. My panties have a whole day’s wear in them, and the gusset is rich with my scent. I hang them over his erect prick. It makes his prick look better, the way a small Christmas tree branch looks better with a bauble.

His cock and balls are hairless, and the testicles are like marbles in a small pouch. They’re not hanging, like a bull in a field. No threat of gallons of cum from these tiny balls. Maybe a few small spurts.

He has been wearing the panties I told him to wear. He has worn them over his cock cage until 30 minutes ago. This is as much his choice as it is my instruction. He often requests to go back in his cock-cage when he is having lustful thoughts about self-pleasuring his thimble of a prick.

He knows he is only allowed that as and when I allow and only ever when I am present. It is my duty to him as his Dominant to make sure he is worthy and has been a good boy. I often tell him he is a worthless sissy even when he has done nothing wrong. It is his default state of mind, and he always feels reassured when he is brought back to it, as if he were at home and belonged.

The clock on the wall reads ten thirty. Ten o’clock is when he is allowed open time. He is allowed access to his toothpick of a penis to shave the stem and the ball sack underneath while I watch. This morning he has all the paraphernalia ready when I arrive. He is eager for the key to unlock his chastity.

He often tells me that the anticipation of my arrival can make him leak precum, and he is worried I will think he has been playing with it through the cage or that he is thinking dirty thoughts when I arrive. It is always a pleasure to see he hasn’t been able to pleasure himself. It makes me feel calm. It helps me feel in control. He feels in control by having hard limits put on his sexual behavior. He likes being controlled to the point where his ‘thing’ is off-limits and locked away.

That is what I call his penis in front of him. It’s his ‘thing’ or just ‘it’, sometimes.

It is a shame because it is a very nice-looking cock, even though I would never tell him as such. It is just that its size and the way he likes to be talked to work so well together. It is the perfect focus for our play.

I pull my black satin gloves all the way past my elbows. I tell him to step closer and place his hands behind his back.

He watches like a hawk as I run my fingers past one another. He loves to watch me check the fit of the smooth fabric between my fingers and tug at the lace border around my upper arms.

I do it slowly and make sure he can hear the material glide over itself. The movement is smooth and frictionless. The satin is soft against his small hairless penis. A tiny bead of precum forms at the tip.

I place a gloved hand on either side of his hips with my thumbs hooked under the pink, lacy elastic of his panties. I rub the satin up and down on the lace. I graze over the front of his hips, just below his panty line, looking at how it frames his tiny offering. I pull his panties down, under his ball sack, out of sight between his legs.

The panties I hung off his tiny hook of penis are moving. His prick twitches at the anticipation of what will come next.

I lift the sticky garments from his erection using just my thumb and forefinger.

“Hold them against your face,” I say.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Smell my cunt.” I say, inspecting his acorn of a penis.

“And do not even try to taste them until I say so. Do you understand?”

He does as he is told and whimpers as my hands return to pulling tension on the panty elastic. The tension makes his balls lift as I run the soft satin over his skin.

Leaving one hand on his hip, I move my other hand so I can run a satin-gloved finger along the underside of his penis, the way you would stroke a cat’s chin. His cock responds, and jerks from its root, searching for the soft folds of a pussy that is not there. This cock is not entitled to or worthy of a pussy.

The clock ticks on the wall. The ticking is loud. I move my finger to the slow beat of the second hand.

1… I start at the base of his steel-like shaft.

2… I travel up, ensuring he can feel the soft satin.

3… I linger around the middle.

4… all the way up to the underside of the tip. I pause on the five, before starting in reverse.

The tip of his penis has been pink since we started, and now it is red. Very, very red and very, very hard. I could hang my heels from it, not just my panties.

I look up, and his eyes are screwed shut. He is inhaling through the balled-up gusset of my panties like he is on life support.

I circle the tip of his penis between my thumb and forefinger and tighten my grip a little as I jerk him in tiny, almost imperceptible strokes and bring my mouth towards the tip.

Stringing a slick bead of precum against my tongue, I draw it out for an inch as I open my scarlet lips, ready for the torrent of cum to follow.

And boy, does he cum!

Thick spurts, heavy with relief, releasing the torment in his sissy balls, spurt after spurt of thick gooey spunk landing on my tongue and over my red, red lipstick.

I look up at him. He is in ecstasy—the ecstasy of relief.

His climax subsides, and his pathetic penis loses its stiffness.

“That seems like an adequate amount, sissy.” I say, in a low, serious tone, “Now pop that cock cage back on it, and we will see whether you deserve that again sometime next year…”

The End.

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