Chapter 31: Locktober Begins
The memory of the pub cellar clung to Rupert like a stain, a secret musk beneath his shower-fresh skin. A month had passed, but the echo of Henrietta’s demands and the feel of her sweat-slicked body under his still surfaced in quiet moments, jolting him with a shameful thrill. He was learning to carry these ghosts.
On the first of October, a Tuesday smelling of damp leaves and cold coffee, Margot watched him stir his porridge. Her stillness was a prelude.
“October’s date is the thirty-first,” she said, her voice casual, as if discussing a dental appointment. “Halloween. Seems fitting.”
Rupert’s spoon stilled. “Fitting for what?”
“For surprises.” Her eyes, that mischievous green, glittered. “You’ve been so good, Rupert. So… receptive. Georgina’s… tutelage. Henrietta’s… enthusiasm. You’ve earned a little escalation.”
The words ‘prostate milking’ and ‘fuck me like you hate me’ flashed through his mind. He wasn’t sure ‘earned’ was the right term.
“What kind of escalation?”
“The kind that requires preparation.” She stood, grabbing her car keys from the bowl. “We’re going out. Now. I’m driving.”
He didn’t ask where. The not-knowing had become part of the fabric of his new life. He followed her to the car, the autumn sun weak through the windscreen. They drove to the nearby town, to a discreet side street and a shop front with elegant script: ‘Belle Époque Waxing Salon’.
Margot patted his knee. “A little pre-date grooming. My treat.”
A bell chimed as they entered. The air was warm, thick with the scent of honeyed wax and lavender. A woman with a severe blonde bob and a crisp white tunic greeted Margot with a familiar smile. “Right on time. And this must be Rupert.” Her gaze was assessing, professional. “The room is ready.”
Margot gave him a gentle push. “Go on. Be brave. I’ll be right here.”
He was led into a small, dimly lit room dominated by a padded table covered in crisp paper. Soft, instrumental music trickled from a hidden speaker. The beautician, who introduced herself as Chloe, gestured for him to undress from the waist down and lie on the table. His hands trembled as he fumbled with his belt, the memory of Henrietta doing the same making his face flush.
Chloe was efficient, her touch impersonal. She applied the warm wax in strips, the smell cloying. Then, with a practiced, ruthless speed, she ripped them away. Each tear was a sharp, stinging fire that stole his breath, a systematic denuding. He gritted his teeth, eyes watering, feeling increasingly exposed and vulnerable. When it was over, the skin felt alien, hypersensitive, the air itself a new sensation.
“All done,” Chloe said brightly, gathering her tools. “I’ll just give you a moment.” She left, and the door clicked shut.
The moment stretched. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling raw and strangely hollow. Then the door opened again.
It was Margot.
She was holding a small, black velvet box. Her expression was a mixture of tenderness and fierce possession. “Surprise number one,” she whispered, coming to stand beside the table.
She opened the box. Nestled inside, against the plush lining, was a device. It was made of smooth, black plastic, with a complex-looking lock. It was a chastity cage.
Rupert’s breath hitched. “Margot… what is that?”
“It’s your new accessory,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Consider it a focus tool. All that energy you’ve been spending, all that… tension you’ve been releasing. We’re going to let it build. For the whole month.”
She lifted it from the box. It was smaller than he expected, designed to encase and confine. “Chloe’s done the necessary landscaping. Now for the architecture.”
Her hands were gentle but deliberate. She took his flaccid, traumatized penis and guided it through the central ring of the device. The plastic was cool against his inflamed skin. Then she folded the main body of the cage over him, clicking it into place. It was a tight, constricting fit. With a final, definitive snap, she turned a small key in the lock.
The sound was final. A prison door closing.
She held up the key, a tiny silver thing, and threaded it onto the chain of her necklace, letting it fall between her breasts. “I’ll hold onto this. Until Halloween.”
He looked down at himself. The black plastic seemed to absorb the light, a stark, shocking contrast against his pale, hairless skin. He was caged. Owned. A low thrum of panic mixed with a dark, undeniable current of arousal. He was completely in her power. Georgina’s commands, Henrietta’s rough use—they had been temporary. This was a constant, physical reminder.
Margot leaned down, her lips close to his ear. Her breath was warm. “No more sneaky wanks, Rupert. No accidental night-time emissions. Every bit of your frustration, your need, it’s all mine now. You’re going to be so desperate for release by the thirty-first, you’ll do anything.” She kissed his cheek, a soft, possessive smack. “Now, get dressed. Let’s go home.”
He moved slowly, the unfamiliar weight and pressure of the device a constant, nagging presence. The rough texture of his jeans against the sensitive, waxed skin and the hard plastic cage was an agony of sensation. Every step, every shift of fabric, was a reminder. He was locked. And the key, nestled in the warmth of his wife’s cleavage, felt a million miles away.