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Truthfully, you know she is right. Your dick is really more like an oversized clit. You don’t deserve to fuck anyone. You couldn’t pleasure them that way even if you tried. Not with your pathetic little nub. Sometimes, late at night when you’re really horny, you pretend that your dick is even smaller. That you had a real man to put you in your place. You exist to get fucked and here is your chance. As hesitant as you are about getting your dick locked up, you need it.

“Please,” you beg her, “lock it up.”

“Glad to see that you know your place,” she smirks, “Unfortunately for you your little clitty is trying to get hard and pretend to be something it isn’t. We need it at it’s smallest size so that your new chastity device fits properly. Luckily, I have just the thing.”

The doctor gets an icepack from a nearby medical refrigerator and hands it to you with a wicked grin, “Take care of that for me.”

With a gulp of fear, you take the icepack and push it into your groin. Suppressing back the urge to swear and flinch away from the cold as your manhood shrivels up and your balls try to crawl back inside your body. You maintain eye contact with the doctor through the whole process. She smiles even as a few tears leak from your eyes at the cold pain.

“Good boy,” she praises you like a dog and if it weren’t for the ice pack, you’d be hard again.

When she finally lets you pull the ice pack away, your tiny nub is practically non-exisit. It’s like a comical little mushroom hat on top of your larger balls. The sight almost makes you hard again. Thankfully your sick is too numb.

The doctor takes the ice pack from you and picks something up from her tray of instruments and starts pushing it into your dick. It’s a catheter, you realize as it stretches your piss-slit. She’s really going to lock you up.

The hollow rod burns as it goes in, but goes in easily. Too soon, she is reaching for the next part of the device. Instead of the big cages you’d seen on their website, the doctor wraps a metal belt snugly around you waist before fitting a u-shaped piece between your legs. It’s more like the ones you’d seen on women than one you’d ever seen on a guy, but it plainly had a place for your dick and balls, and a single plug destined for your asshole.

It burns worse than the catheter, but the well-lubricated plug is soon seated uncomfortably inside you. A belt is lock into place around your waist and connects to the U-shaped piece.

Everything snaps together and you watch in fascinated-horror as ChastiCorp’s patented nanites get to work. All the joints in the device meld together and disappear. The whole thing tightens on your body and you know it is fusing with your skin.

A locked symbol appears where your dick would be, telling everyone that your shaft is closed for business. Without looking, you know the same can’t be said for your ass. A tap to pay symbol has appeared there. Anyone with a credit card can now fuck you and there is nothing you can do to stop them.

“Get dressed and get out,” the doctor orders, “You can pick up a manual from the front desk along with your enema supplies.”