She puts the cage on you.

Thirty-one days. No erections she doesn't permit. No orgasms she doesn't allow. You watch the key nestle against her skin and feel a strange, electric pull in your stomach. Nicole tilts her head, studying your face. "You okay?" she asks, softer now. "We don't have to start tonight. We can just... look at it." She giggles.

But her fingers are already tracing the curve of the cage's shell, and you can see the flush creeping up her neck, the way she keeps glancing down at your lap like she's already imagining you in it.

"Alright, let's do this", you hear yourself saying.

The words sounds steady, but your pulse is doing something complicated behind your sternum.

Nicole exhales like she's been holding her breath. "Yeah? Okay. Okay." She sets the box on the coffee table and stands, pulling you up by both hands. "Come on. Bathroom — you need to be, you know. Not..." She gestures vaguely at your crotch, and you both laugh, the nervousness cracking open into something warmer.

In the bathroom, you pull down your sweatpants and stand there while Nicole kneels in front of you, the cage in her small hands.

"I need you soft for this part," she murmurs, and the absurdity of it — the woman who has made you hard a thousand times, now asking you to not be — makes you huff a laugh.

"I'm trying."

"Think unsexy thoughts."

"You're kneeling in front of my dick, Nicole!"

She snorts, covers her mouth with the back of her hand. "Fair point. Just — give me a second." She looks away deliberately, studies the tile grout, and you focus on the cold air, the sterile brightness of the bathroom lights, anything except her warm breath ghosting across your skin. Eventually your body cooperates.

The silicone ring slides behind your balls first. It's snug; like a firm grip that doesn't let go. Then the shell clicks into place over your shaft, enclosing it, pressing it gently downward. Nicole's fingers are precise and careful, tucking and adjusting. The padlock snaps shut with a sound that's far too soft for how final it feels.

"There," she says, standing up. She cups your face with both hands and kisses you, her tongue brushing your lower lip. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright. "How does it feel?"

You shift your weight. The cage is present — a constant, low-grade awareness. "Weird", you say. "Tight. Uhm ..." You search for words. "Not bad, I think", you add, although it sounds a bit lame.

"Good."

She touches the key at the hollow of her throat it absently. "Alright: rule from today on" she says: "I decide when — if — you get to come."

"And what do you get out of it?" you ask, pulling your sweatpants back up. The cage shifts against the fabric. You know that Nicole normally loves sex, loves penetration, loves watching you cum. Sometimes she just asks you to stroke yourself in front of her. She had always been fascinated with your cock.

"The look on your face right now," she replies, grinning. "That's already worth it."

You wonder if that's really all.

Later, you fall asleep tangled together, her back pressed against your chest, your hand resting on her hip. The cage is a strange new weight between your legs, a constant pressure that follows you into dreams.

You wake to grey October light filtering through the bedroom curtains and the immediate, disorienting reminder: the cage. Your cock has tried to harden in your sleep — a morning erection meeting resistance, pressing against the silicone shell. The discomfort is strong enough to pull you fully awake, a dull ache radiating through your groin.

Nicole is already up. You can hear her in the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifts down the hall. When you stumble out, still half-asleep, she's leaning against the counter in her sleep shirt, both hands wrapped around a mug, watching you with a particular smile.

"Good morning," she says. "Happy October first."

What have I gotten myself into, you wonder ...