Property

The silence after your confession is deafening.

Dorothy doesn’t move for several long seconds. She simply lets your words settle between you like spilled wine staining the carpet. Then, very slowly, she crouches again—bringing her face level with yours so you’re **** to meet those warm hazel eyes that now look almost black with satisfaction.

“That’s the most honest thing you’ve said since you walked through my front door,” she murmurs.

Her thumb traces the line of your jaw, then presses against your lower lip until it parts again.

“Say it one more time. Slower. Let it sink in. Let yourself feel how true it is.”

You swallow, throat clicking.

“Because… I have a small cock… that can never satisfy any woman.”

Dorothy exhales a soft, pleased sound—like someone tasting something decadent.

“Good girl.”

She rises smoothly, towering over you once more. Her robe has slipped completely off one shoulder now; the heavy pearls rest between the deep valley of her breasts, swaying gently with each breath. Her cock—still rigid, flushed, glistening—bobs closer until the slick head brushes your cheek again, painting another slow, deliberate stripe of pre-cum across your skin.

“Since you understand your place so well,” she says, voice dropping into that rich, hypnotic register, “Mommy’s going to reward your honesty.”

She steps around behind you.

One hand plants firmly between your shoulder blades—pushing your chest down until your forearms are flat on the carpet, ass lifted obscenely high. The baby-doll rides up completely now, exposing the pink lace stretched tight across your cheeks and the tiny locked cage swinging helplessly beneath you.

“Look at yourself,” she orders, nodding toward the mirror.

You do. You can’t not.

The reflection is devastating: face flushed and smeared with her pre-cum, lips swollen from being used as a resting place for her shaft, eyes glassy with humiliation and helpless arousal. Your ass is still a vivid map of handprints—bright red, some already purpling at the edges. The pink chastity cage gleams under the hallway light, a ridiculous little droplet of pre-cum hanging from the tip like a tear.

Dorothy kneels behind you. She doesn’t touch you right away.

She simply breathes against the back of your neck, letting you feel the heat of her body, the faint musk of her arousal mixing with gardenia and vanilla.

“You know what happens to boys who admit they’re useless?” she whispers. “They get reminded. Every. Single. Day.”

Her fingers hook into the waistband of the lace panties and drag them down—not off, just low enough to bare your hole completely. Cool air kisses the sensitive skin there; you clench instinctively.

She chuckles low in her throat.

“So tight. So untouched. Mommy’s going to enjoy changing that.”

She leans over you, breasts pressing into your back, nipples hard against your shoulder blades. Her cock slides hot and heavy along the cleft of your ass—not pushing in, just gliding, letting you feel every thick inch, every vein, the blunt head catching briefly on your rim before sliding up again.

“Feel that?” she purrs. “That’s what a real cock does. It promises. It threatens. It owns.”

She rocks her hips once—slow, deliberate—letting the underside drag across your hole, smearing pre-cum there until you’re slick and shining.

“You’re going to spend the whole summer learning the difference between this—” another slow glide, “—and that sad little locked clitty that can’t even get hard without permission anymore.”

Her hand slips between your thighs from the front. She cups the pink cage entirely—your whole package disappearing into her palm again—and gives it a gentle, humiliating squeeze.

“Look how small it is,” she murmurs against your ear. “Even when it tries so hard, it barely fills my hand. Meanwhile…” She presses forward again, letting you feel how the head of her cock alone is thicker than your entire locked length. “…this is going to split you open, baby. And you’re going to thank me for every inch.”

She pulls back suddenly.

Stands.

You hear the soft rustle of silk as she retrieves something from the hallway table—a small, black velvet box.

She opens it in front of your face.

Inside lies a thin, delicate silver collar—simple, elegant, almost dainty. A tiny heart-shaped lock dangles from the front, matching the one on your chastity cage perfectly.

“Open your mouth,” she says quietly.

You obey.

She slips the collar around your throat—cool metal kissing overheated skin—then clicks the lock shut with a soft, final snick.

The sound is louder than it should be.

She hooks one finger through the heart lock and tugs gently, forcing your head up so you’re looking at yourself again: collared, caged, dressed like a cheap doll, ass presented, hole glistening with her pre-cum.

“Say it one last time,” she orders. “Loud enough that the neighbors might hear if their windows are open.”

You’re shaking now—humiliation burning so hot it feels like fever.

“Because I have a small cock… that can never satisfy any woman.”

Dorothy smiles—slow, victorious, maternal.

“That’s my good girl.”

She releases the collar.

Steps in front of you again.

Her cock hovers at your lips once more—thicker, harder, leaking steadily.

“Now crawl the rest of the way to Mommy’s bedroom,” she says softly. “Ass high. Back arched. Let the cage jingle with every step. When we get there, you’re going to thank me properly—on your knees, mouth open, throat ready—while I record how pretty you look **** on something that actually matters.”

She turns.

Walks a few steps down the hall.

Stops.

Looks back over her shoulder, pearls shifting against her breasts.

“Move, puppy. Mommy’s been patient long enough.”

Your caged clitty gives a useless, trapped twitch.

The collar feels impossibly heavy around your throat.

And you start to crawl again—ass swaying, cage jingling, hole still slick with her promise—toward the bedroom doors at the end of the hall.

The summer has only just begun.

What happens when you reach her room?

Do you beg for mercy?

Or do you open wider?