Chapter 1: The Setup: A Husband Unaware
The pub was fairly busy laughter and the clatter of glasses under too-bright lights. Jewels leaned against the bar and watched the door. She sipped a gin and tonic, the ice mostly melted. She’d been waiting 15 minutes.
When Rory pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning, she felt that familiar kick of mischief. He was handsome and had dressed well, his shirt crisp, his hair still damp from a shower. He looked like a man expecting a pleasant, uncomplicated fuck. Jewels smiled. She was about to complicate the hell out of his evening.
He sidled up to the bar, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She turned her head at the last second, letting his lips brush the corner of her mouth. “Jewels. You look… incredible.”
He hadn't seen her for months and had been incredibly excited when he got the test summoning her to meet him, even more so now seeing her dressed up. Her short dark hair was a little roughly spiked, she wore dark make up, smokey eyes and very dark red lips. A dark leather jacked over a ripped clash t-shirt showing flashes of black under, a short leather mini skirt over fishnets and best of all towering stiletto slingback sandals.
She didn’t return the smile. Instead, she looked at her phone, then back at him, her gaze flat. “You’re seven minutes late. Don’t ever do that again. I’m not one of your bored housewives you can keep waiting while you pick out a fucking shirt.” Her softy Canadian accent turned him on.
Rory’s confident smile faltered. “got stuck in traffic....”
“I don’t care. If you're seeing me you show respect, deference.” She cut him off, her voice a low, cool blade. She took a slow sip of her drink, letting the silence stretch until he shifted his weight. “Did you tell Sarah where you were going?”
“She already knew.”
“Of course. You don't think I'd meet you without her permission” Jewels set her glass down with a definitive clink.
"Did you shave your balls in anticipation for me?" She purred. "I remember you always shaved your balls when you thought that big handsome cock that you're so proud of was going to get some action."
"I did actually." He grinned, proud and excited by her comment on his cock
She reached into the small black handbag on the bar and pulled out a velvet pouch, about the size of a large sunglasses case. She slid it across the sticky wood toward him. “Sorry to disappoint you. This is for you. For the evening.”
Rory stared at the pouch, a mix of confusion and dawning apprehension in his eyes. “What is it?”
“Don't open it here.” She leaned closer, the mischief in her eyes now sharpened to a predatory gleam. “Take it. Go to the gents. Lock yourself in a stall. Put it all on. Don’t keep me waiting.”
He picked up the pouch. It was heavy, he realised what was in there. He looked at Jewels, but her expression offered no comfort, "Go." She commanded . The noise of the pub seemed to recede into a dull roar as he turned and walked toward the sign for the toilets, the pouch feeling like a lead weight in his hand.
The gents smelled of urinal cakes and stale beer. Thankfully, it was empty. He pushed into the farthest stall, locked the door, and leaned back against it, his heart hammering. He unzipped the pouch and tipped the contents into his palm.
A cock cage. Not a cheap, novelty plastic thing. This was serious hardware. Cold, polished stainless steel, a hinged ring, and a cylindrical cage that he knew was a very tight fit. It gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light. It was wrapped inside sheer black lace —a pair of Sarah’s see through Agent Provocateur knickers he realised. Seeing them here, now, in this context, sent a confusing jolt through him. A mix of shame, arousal, and profound dislocation.
A small, folded note fluttered out. Sarah’s handwriting. Remember Fabian insisted you wear this when i went to fuck him. Think of him while you put it on. Hope you have fun tonight. Jewels said she'll send me pictures x
Fabian. That name was a guy they had met in a club and his wife had seen a few times last year, a dominant, very well hung, overly confident fucker. His cock, traitorously, began to swell at the thought, at the sheer audacity of it.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his fingers fumbling with the cold metal.
He got the base ring open, pushed his balls through first. The metal was shockingly cold against his scrotum. He was half-hard now, just from the taboo of it all, from the note, from the obedience Jewels demanded. He lined up the head of his cock and tried to feed himself into the narrow tube. It wouldn’t go. He was too thick, too engorged. He took a few deep breaths, trying to will his erection down, but the mental image of Sarah with Fabian, kept him stubbornly semi-hard.
He spat into his palm, slicked himself, and tried again, gritting his teeth. It was a tight, punishing squeeze. He had to press the head firmly, forcing it into the constricting opening with a soft, pained groan. Finally, with a click that seemed echo in the silent stall, it was in. He fastened the lock that came with it—a tiny, brass padlock—and snapped it shut. The sound was final. He was caged. His cock, his proudest possession, was now a trapped, throbbing lump of metal and flesh, already aching with unused pressure.
He stared down at himself. The steel glinted, absurd and severe. He pulled on the black knickers next, the silk whispering against his thighs. They were tight, feminine, the lace panel at the front stretching awkwardly over the foreign bulk of the cage. He tucked himself in, pulled his trousers back on. The fabric of his best jeans rubbed against the lace, a constant, whispering reminder. Every movement sent a small, confined pulse from his locked-up cock.
He flushed the toilet for show, unlocked the stall, and went to the sink. He avoided his own eyes in the mirror, washing his hands mechanically. He felt utterly transformed. The confident man who walked in here was gone. In his place was someone else, someone whose reality had just been sharply redefined by cold steel and his wife’s secret past.
Walking back through the pub was an ordeal. The bulge of the cage was large and conspicuous. He felt like everyone would see, sense the contraption hidden beneath his clothes, the feminine silk against his skin. He was hyper-aware of the slight, awkward weight, the gentle clink of the padlock if he moved too fast and dawning on him that he didn't have the key.
He spotted Jewels at the bar. She wasn’t alone .A woman was with her. Older than Jewels, maybe early forties, with a voluptuous figure poured into a sleek, burgundy jumper dress that ended just above the knee. She had curves in the old-fashioned way—full, heavy breasts, a cinched waist, generous hips. Her auburn hair was styled in soft waves, and she wore sheer black stockings, the line of the seams perfectly straight up the back of her calves and high black court shoes. She was sexy in a completely different way to Jewels—softer, but with an uncertain, watchful expression.
She held a large glass of white wine, her nails painted a dark, matte burgundy. Her eyes flicked to Rory, then away, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
“This his him,” Jewels said, her voice cutting through the pub noise. No warmth. It was a statement of fact. “Rory, this is Alice. Alice, Rory.”
Alice offered a small, tight smile. “Hi.”
“Alice and I met on Tinder a couple of weeks ago,” Jewels continued, swirling her gin. “She got divorced recently. A decade of missionary lights-out sex with a nasty controlling prick. Said she was done with men for a while, I caught her eye for something different. We've been having some fun." Jewels leaned in toward Alice and continued in hed sexiest purr, "I've been opening her eyes, as well as her legs." Alice blushed and gave a short very nervous laugh. "I've offered to introduce her to the scene. The kinky scene, parties like where I met you and Sarah.”
Rory nodded, his throat tight. With every word from Jewels the cage seemed to grow tighter.
“I also told her,” Jewels said, leaning an elbow on the bar, her eyes locking on Rory’s, “that I used to fuck you. And your wife. Sometimes together, sometimes separately. That you were both... eager to please me.”
Alice’s eyes widened slightly. She took a larger gulp of wine.
“So,” Jewels finished, her gaze dropping meaningfully to Rory’s crotch. “How do you feel?”
The question hung in the air. It wasn’t about his mood. It was an order for a status report. A demand for submission.
“Uncomfortable,” Rory managed, his voice rough.
“Good.” Jewels turned to Alice. “He’s wearing a cock cage. And his wife’s knickers. He’s locked, and I have the key.” She fished a small, brass key from her jacket pocket, let it dangle for a moment, then tucked it away. “He can’t get hard. Not properly. He can’t fuck. Everything he feels tonight is just… pressure. Need with no outlet, no cumming. He'll have to just serve someone else’s pleasure.”
Alice was staring at Rory now, her earlier shyness replaced by a keen, fascinated curiosity. Her eyes travelled down his body, seeing the large bulge through his jeans. “Does it hurt?” she asked him directly.
“It’s… very tight, quite heavy,” he admitted.
“He’ll get used to it,” Jewels interjected. “He has to. Tonight, Rory, your job is to serve and entertain us. Alice needs to enjoy being the centre of attention, without a man’s dick being the endgame. And you… you need to remember what it’s like to not be the one in control. To not be the one fucking. To be useful in other ways.”
Jewels picked up her bag. “My place is ten minutes away. Rory, you’ll drive us. Alice, you’ll sit in the front. Ask him whatever you want. I want you to see the quiet, obedient version of Rory.” She reached into her bad and took out a leather collar and placed it round his neck in the pub.
The collar was cold, a broad band of black leather that clipped shut just below his Adam’s apple. A heavy D-ring hung at the front. A few heads turned at the bar, eyes widening, then quickly looking away. Jewels didn’t even glance back as she strode toward the exit, the click of her own heels a commanding metronome. Alice followed, her stockings whispering, her face a mask of conflicted intrigue.
Rory stood frozen for a second, the leather an alien weight, a brand. Then he moved, the subconscious obedience more frightening than the cage. He caught up to them in the car park, the cool night air doing nothing to ease the heat crawling up his neck.
“You drive,” Jewels said, . “Alice, shotgun.”
They got in. Rory adjusted in his seat, his movements stiff, the cage a constant, awkward presence. He started the engine.
“So,” Alice said from the passenger seat, her voice in the dark cabin. “You’re really wearing that thing?”
“Yes,” Rory said, focusing on reversing.
“Can I see?”
Rory’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. He glanced at Jewels in the rearview. Her eyes glinted in the passing streetlights. “Pull over for a second, Rory. Show her.”
He eased the car onto a quiet residential street, put it in park. The engine idled softly. His heart hammered against his ribs. He unbuttoned his jeans, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet car. He pushed the fabric down over his hips, just enough.
The overhead dome light was on. The black lace of Sarah’s knickers was stretched taut over the rigid steel cage, which pushed obscenely against the delicate fabric. The padlock hung low, a crude, brass weight.
“Holy shit,” Alice breathed, leaning closer. She didn’t touch, just stared. “It’s so…. I mean, the cage. It looks you bulging aginast the bars.” Her clinical curiosity was laced with a new, dark warmth. “Does it feel degrading?”
“Yes,” Rory whispered.
“Good,” Jewels said from the back. “Now cover up. Drive.”
The rest of the journey passed in a blur of streetlights and tension. Alice asked more questions, her voice growing steadier, more assured. “Did you want to wear it?” “What does Sarah think about you being here?” “What are you allowed to do tonight?” Rory answered each with a clipped truth, each admission stripping another layer of his ego away. He was a thing being explained.
When they parked outside her building, she attached a steel lead to the collar and handed it to Alice. "Would you please take our toy in?"