Submit for the moment and tell her that you'll do whatever she wants.

The words come out rougher than you intended. "I'll do whatever you want."

Nicole's breath catches. Her hand tightens against your chest for just a moment, and you watch something shift behind her eyes — a flicker of surprise that dissolves into pure satisfaction. She steps back half a pace, and the loss of her warmth makes you hyperaware of the cool morning air on your bare skin.

"Whatever I want," she repeats, testing the words in her mouth. Her thumb brushes the key at her throat again, and you're starting to recognize that gesture — it's her touchstone, her reminder of the power she holds. "Okay. Then here's what's going to happen today."

She crosses her arms under her small breasts, and there's something different in her posture now. More upright.

"You're going to work wearing that," she says, nodding toward your crotch where the cage presses against your sweatpants. "All day. You're going to climb trees and prune branches and do whatever it is you do, and the whole time, you're going to feel it there. Pressing. Reminding you."

Your throat is dry. "Nicole—"

"And," she continues, holding up one finger, "you're going to text me. Every hour. On the hour. I want you to tell me exactly how it feels. Don't be vague. Don't be shy. I want details." Her smile turns wicked. "If you forget even once, or if you're late, there will be consequences tonight."

"What kind of consequences?"

"The fun kind." She steps forward again, reaches up to hook one finger in the waistband of your sweatpants, tugs you closer. "For me, anyway."

The cage shifts as you start to swell again, that same frustrated pressure building. She notices and her smile widens.

"There it is," she murmurs. "God, I love watching you try to get hard and just... can't." Her hand slides down, cups you through the fabric, feels the rigid outline of the plastic shell. "This is mine now. You understand that, right? Your cock, your orgasms, when you get to feel good — all of it belongs to me for the next thirty-one days."

You nod, not trusting your voice.

"Say it," she whispers, squeezing gently. The pressure sends a spike of frustrated arousal through your groin.

"It's yours," you manage. "All of it."

"Good boy." She releases you, pats your chest, then turns toward the bedroom. "I'm going to shower. You should probably get ready for work."