Unforeseen Accident

You barely managed to push yourself upright on shaking legs, ass still throbbing like it had its own heartbeat, when Dorothy’s gaze dropped again—this time to the front of your shirt and the waistband of your bunched-down shorts.

A dark, wet stain had spread across the cotton, sticky and obvious. Your poor little cock, untouched for the last few minutes, had apparently decided the spanking alone was stimulation enough; thick ropes of cum had leaked out in helpless spurts while you were draped over her lap, soaking through fabric and marking you like a brand.

Dorothy’s lips parted in a slow, delighted exhale.

“Oh, baby…” she cooed, reaching out to trail one fingertip through the mess on your shirt, then bringing it to her mouth for a dainty taste. “You came just from Mommy’s hand on your bottom. How precious. And how messy.”

She straightened, robe slipping open further to reveal the proud, still-hard length of her own cock glistening at the tip.

“Can’t have you tracking that all over my clean floors, can we?” she murmured. “Wait right here.”

She disappeared up the stairs for less than a minute, bare feet silent on the carpet, then returned holding a small, pastel-pink gift bag tied with a satin ribbon. She set it on the bottom step and beckoned you closer with one curled finger.

“Strip,” she ordered softly. “Everything off. Mommy will dress you properly.”

You hesitated—only for a second—before peeling the cum-soaked shirt over your head and kicking the tangled shorts and underwear away. Naked now, skin prickling in the cool air, cock still half-hard and shiny with your own release.

Dorothy upended the bag.

Out tumbled:

A pair of bubblegum-pink lace panties, the kind with a little white bow at the front and thin straps that would ride high on your hips.

A matching pink micro chastity cage—barely two inches long, made of smooth, translucent pink plastic with heart-shaped ventilation holes and a tiny built-in lock.

A cropped baby-doll top in sheer white chiffon, edged in pink ruffles, so short it would leave your midriff bare and your red ass peeking out below.

Thigh-high white stockings with wide lace tops.

You stared, throat dry.

“W-what… what is that?” you managed, voice cracking as your eyes locked on the tiny cage.

Dorothy picked it up between two fingers, letting it dangle. The little lock clicked softly.

“This,” she said sweetly, “is how we keep tiny, leaky clitties from making more messes without permission. It’s very cute on small boys. Almost… dainty.”

She stepped closer, breasts brushing your chest as she held the cage up to your still-sensitive cock like she was measuring a ring size.

“But Mommy isn’t cruel,” she continued, voice dropping to that rich, hypnotic purr. “I’ll give you one chance to keep your freedom. A little game.”

Her free hand wrapped loosely around your shaft—warm, firm, thumb stroking once along the underside.

“You have thirty seconds,” she whispered against your lips. “I’ll stroke you. Nice and slow. If you can keep from cumming in that time… no cage. No pretty clothes. You can stay naked for Mommy all day if you want.”

She gave you one teasing pump—enough to make your knees buckle.

“But if you do cum…” Her eyes glittered. “Then you ask me—very sweetly—to lock this tiny thing away, and you spend the rest of the day dressed like the needy little girl you just proved you are.”

She leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Thirty seconds starts… now.”

Her hand began to move—slow, deliberate drags from base to tip, twisting gently at the head, slick with the remnants of your earlier release. Every stroke was perfectly calibrated: too good to ignore, too controlled to push you over the edge quickly.

Ten seconds.

Your hips jerked forward involuntarily.

Fifteen.

A whimper escaped you; your balls drew up tight.

Twenty.

She sped up just a fraction—thumb circling the slit, spreading fresh pre-cum.

Twenty-five.

Your thighs trembled. The heat in your ass flared with every tiny thrust into her fist.

Twenty-eight.

She leaned down and whispered, breath hot against your neck:

“Cum for Mommy, baby. Show me how badly you need to be caged.”

Your body betrayed you before the clock even hit thirty.

A choked cry tore from your throat as you spurted—weak, pathetic ropes that landed on her wrist, her robe, the carpet—each pulse wrung out by her unrelenting grip.

When the last tremor faded, you were panting, boneless against her.

Dorothy smiled—slow, victorious, maternal.

“There we go,” she murmured, milking one final bead from you with a gentle squeeze. “Such a predictable little thing.”

She released you, picked up the pink cage, and knelt gracefully in front of you.

“Arms up, sweetie. Let’s get you dressed.”

She started with the panties—sliding them up your legs, tucking your softening cock and balls carefully into the lace pouch. The fabric was cool, humiliatingly snug.

Then the cage.

She fitted the pink ring around the base of your shaft and balls, slid the tiny tube over your spent length—barely any resistance now that you were soft—and clicked the lock shut with a soft, final snick.

The sound echoed in your ears like a gavel.

Next came the stockings, rolled up your legs with reverent care, lace tops snapping against your thighs.

Finally the baby-doll top—slipped over your head, the sheer fabric clinging to your skin, hem fluttering just above your caged cock and the bright red handprints on your ass.

Dorothy stood back, admiring her work.

She circled you once, slow as a shark.

“Perfect,” she breathed. “My pretty little summer toy.”

Her fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your face up.

“Now say thank you, baby. Thank Mommy for dressing you like the **** little slut you are.”

Her other hand drifted down, cupping the locked cage through the lace—giving it a gentle, proprietary squeeze.

“And then…” She leaned in, lips brushing yours in the barest tease of a kiss. “…you can crawl upstairs to Mommy’s bedroom. I want to see how those stockings look stretched over red cheeks while I fuck that sweet mouth of yours.”

She released you.

Stepped back.

Pointed up the stairs.

“Whenever you’re ready, princess.”

Your caged cock gave a useless, trapped twitch inside its pink prison.

The summer had only just begun.