Our next date marked a milestone in our relationship, because Laura invited me to her flat for dinner. She even cooked it, and very good it was. However, whilst she enjoyed a glass of Prosecco, she expected me to drink tap water. (“You'll be driving later, poppet,” she reminded me.)

I helped her clear up after the meal and, without being asked, I washed the dishes. Then I made us both a cup of coffee, which I took into the lounge, where she was now relaxing in an armchair.

As I placed the mug on the table alongside her, she asked, “Tell me, Stevie, do you masturbate?”

Instantly, I went crimson. “Er..., well, er...”

“It’s a simple question. Yes or no?”

“Er..., yes I do, Laura,” I replied.

“I knew it!!... How often?”

“Hmm..., er.”

“Come on, tell me and I want the truth.”

“Er..., almost every day,” I responded, wondering where this conversation was going. I would never have dreamt of asking her the same question, yet she showed not the slightest embarrassment in exploring this intimate aspect of my life.

She stared at me, open-mouthed. “What!? Didn’t your mother tell you it would make you go blind?”

I returned a nervous smile, “No, but that’s not true. It’s a myth.”

“Oh, so you’re a doctor now? You’ve added a medical degree to your history qualifications, have you?”

“No, but...”

“It’s going to stop, Stevie. No more wanking. Do you understand?”

“I... I’ll try,” I answered.

“You’ll have to do more than that if you want to be my boyfriend, Stevie. I want someone who is faithful to me, and worships me, not themselves. Let’s see how long you can hold an erection without any physical stimulation. Trousers and underpants off. Now!”

What was I getting myself into? Perhaps I should have turned tail and run, but I felt a compulsion to obey her. Even as I undressed, my penis sprang sharply to attention.

She positioned herself on a high stool that she fetched from the kitchen. “Kneel down in front of me. Put your hands on your head so you can’t touch yourself.”

As I did so, she spread her legs, forcing her short skirt up her thighs. She wasn’t wearing tights, but she was wearing panties—white satiny ones. “Use your imagination to picture what’s behind that fabric, Stevie. I want to see how long you can maintain a stiffy.”

I stared intently at her panties, desperate for my erection to persist for as long as possible. It was not difficult to imagine her vulva hiding behind the flimsy material and it soon helped that a damp patch appeared in the satin, and began to grow. This must have been prearranged. Surely, she would usually wear a pantiliner to stop her knickers getting damp?

She was timing me on her phone, but said nothing. Perhaps she didn’t want her sultry voice to prolong my erection.

I willed my penis to stay hard, but after five minutes without physical stimulation it was starting to droop, and by six minutes was only semi-hard, certainly not firm enough to have penetrated her, had that been on offer—which it wasn't!

She snapped her thighs shut. “Not very good, poppet,” she concluded. “Too much jerking off is to blame. I'm very disappointed with you. We’ll do this test again in a few days' time and if you can’t do better, it will tell me that you’ve been abusing yourself. Then you will go over my knees. And we may even have to consider some other means of stopping you from masturbating. Have I made myself understood, my little cabbage?”

“Er, yes, Laura,” I replied, feeling ashamed that I had masturbated within the past twenty-four hours.

“And I want you to start calling me Miss, pumpkin. I think that might emphasise to you that I'm more mature than you and I'm here to cure you of your bad habits, such as being late, touching girls inappropriately, and self-abusing.”

“But... but I've apologised for being late and touching your knee, Laura. We all make mistakes!”

“Are you telling me that you masturbate by mistake? How does that happen?” She shook her head in feigned disbelief.

“That's not what I meant, Laura. And... and surely you must masturbate as well?”

“We're not talking about me—we're talking about you. No one can serve a mistress and a master, poppet. You have to choose between me or your prick, you can't serve both.” Her calculated use of the word “mistress” caused a frisson of excitement to ripple through me. “Don't you want to become a better person, more mature, more altruistic, more disciplined, with more self-control? Don't you think I'm the one to help you achieve those aims?”

Was she threatening to end our relationship? Probably not, but that was a risk I couldn't bear the thought of.

“But... but how will it help, me calling you Miss, Laura?”

“It shows respect for authority, poppet. Didn't your mother tell you that you should show respect to others?”

“Well, yes, she did but...”

“And did you? Did you treat your mother with respect?”

“Yes, most of the time. We had fallings out, but I did respect her. But...”

“So, you failed! And did you treat your sister with respect?”

I very nearly gave a snort before replying, “I tried to, but it was difficult. She often bullied me.”

“Bullied you!? Don't you mean she tried to instil some discipline in you?”

No, that wasn't what I meant, because my sister could be very cruel, but I meekly answered, “Yes, I suppose that might have been what she was trying to do... Miss.” I had done what Laura wanted, and I had addressed her as “Miss”.

Laura's eyes lit up and she gave me a satisfied smile. “That wasn't so difficult, was it, sweetie? Get into that habit of calling me Miss, so it becomes second nature.” She paused to hold me in a steely stare. “I think we both understand the nature of our evolving relationship, and our relative positions in the pecking order. Hmm?”

“Yes, er… Miss,” I answered. I did indeed understand that we were entering a dominant-submissive relationship. The thought caused my penis to start swelling again, which brought a flirtatious smile to her face.

“Get dressed, and go home, poppet,” she commanded.

oooOOooo

Laura was busy on a field trip for the next few days, so it wasn’t until towards the end of the week that I received a message from her, instructing me to present myself at her flat at 7 PM on Saturday evening. As usual, she didn’t check my availability, but naturally I was free. More to the point, I had been waiting, longingly, to receive that summons and nothing would have stopped me attending.

I had curbed my masturbation habits, but not entirely. Being made to demonstrate how long I could maintain an erection while gazing at her damp panties had messed with my mind so much that I had wanked on getting home. I immediately felt guilty about what I had done, so I managed to “stay clean” for the next few days, despite my frustration building up as I awaited her message. By Saturday, I was desperate for release, and I was convinced that I would be able to maintain a hard-on for longer.

On arrival at her place—ringing the bell at precisely 7 PM—she ushered me inside and immediately told me to remove my trousers and underpants. My organ quickly sprang to attention as I knelt before her, her thighs spread apart, revealing pale blue knickers.

Without being told, I placed my hands on my head and knelt gazing at her crotch. As I did so, I was aware of a moist spot, telling me that I was again causing her to become excited and that she was again not wearing a pantiliner.

I wondered what I would have to do to catch sight of what lay beyond the satiny fabric, and, more so, what I would have to do to place my mouth around her sacred altar. And as I watched, hypnotised by the growing moistness, I wondered if she had sufficient willpower to resist me servicing her. The thought of eating her out helped prolong my stiffy and it seemed ages before penile exhaustion set in and my member started to wilt.

I was certain I had beaten my previous time, but then I saw the look of disappointment on her face. She was slowly shaking her head. “I’m not impressed, poppet. Okay, you lasted longer, but not even eight minutes. Either you are still self-abusing or else you don’t fancy me? Which is it?”

“Miss, I do fancy you. I really do! I long to please you, Miss.” (I hoped that calling her “Miss” might help my case, but it was not to be.)

“Hmm..., so I take it you’ve been self-pleasuring. Yes?” She started sternly at me.

“Only once, Miss, I...”

She interrupted me, dropping off the tall stool, “Once is one time too many, pumpkin. I warned you what would happen, didn't I? I said you would go over my knees.”

“Er..., yes, Miss,” I hesitantly replied.

“Don't you think you deserve to be spanked, Stevie?”

“Er..., yes, I do, Miss, I do.” As I was replying, we were both aware that my manhood was undergoing a revival. Laura said nothing to acknowledge what was happening, but there was a sparkle in her eyes. She moved to a kitchen chair and pulled her skirt right up, baring her thighs—I would be in contact with her naked flesh!

“Get over my knees,” she hissed. “Quickly!!”

I scrambled to my feet and nervously spread myself over her lap for the first spanking of my life. When she had first mentioned the possibility of me being punished in this way, I had pictured an erotic scenario where sensual pleasure would outweigh any pain. How wrong I was! Rhythmically, she started slapping my bare buttocks. Individually, each blow was not especially harsh, but, delivered incessantly, one after another, alternating left buttock then right buttock, the pain quickly built up. Soon I was wriggling, and then I was crying out, but all to no avail as blow after blow struck my fleshy bottom. Only after what seemed like an age, did she push me off.

“I hope that’s taught you a lesson, poppet. We’ll talk about this after dinner, but while I prepare it, I suggest you go and face that wall, with your hands on your head so you don’t rub your bum. Go on, what are you waiting for?”

She had used the word “suggest”, but her tone of voice was authoritative and brooked no argument. I immediately complied with what she wanted. If I thought a spanking was a childish punishment, then standing facing the wall was more so.

“Nose pushed against the wall, pumpkin, feet slightly apart. I don’t want to see any fidgeting, or you’ll be over my knees again.”

oooOOooo

My shoulders aching, I faced the wall for almost half-an-hour while Laura busied herself cooking a two-course dinner. As she served up, so she told me to come away from the wall, put my pants and trousers back on, and sit at the table. I gingerly eased myself onto the seat and we ate dinner as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. We spoke about books we had recently read, just like any other couple might do.

As usual, I cleared up and washed the dishes before taking coffees through to the lounge where she was then sitting. “Thank you, Stevie,” she said, as I put her mug down beside her. “Now, what are we going to do about you self-abusing? I’m sure your mother wouldn’t approve if she knew.” She glared at me, waiting for an answer.

“I’m really sorry, Miss. I shouldn’t have done it. It won’t happen again, honest.”

“If only I could believe you, but I don’t think men, and that includes you, have the willpower to resist.”

She paused to think. “Hmm...,” she pondered, “For your own good and wellbeing, I wonder if there is some physical way we could prevent it happening?” She glared at me, looking for my opinion.

“I... I don’t know. Perhaps there might be,” I answered, although one possible solution had already sprung to mind.

“Hmm! I’m sure other women must have faced this problem, so let me set you some homework. I want you to do some Googling and see if there is any way to stop male self-abuse. It's a farfetched idea, but maybe someone has invented a mechanical device that might do the job. Come back next time with some ideas, sweetie. OK? Don't disappoint me!”

“Er..., yes, Miss, I will do research. I won't disappoint you.”

oooOOooo

I was sure it was clear to both of us that the primary means of preventing male masturbation was the enforced wearing of a chastity cage. The thought of doing so was amazingly arousing, yet I wondered if I would be able to cope, locked up, for more than a couple of days. How long did Laura have in mind, I wondered?

Our next date was again at her flat. She let me in and quickly quizzed me on the outcome of my research. “So, Stevie, how are we going to stop you masturbating?” she bluntly asked.

“Well..., er..., I used Google, like you suggested, and, er..., well...”

“For crying out loud, pumpkin, get to the point! What did you find out?”

“Er..., chastity devices, Miss,” I blurted out, later feeling thankful that addressing her as “Miss” was now second nature.

She gave me a look of mock surprise. “What?!”

“They’re little..., well they come in different sizes..., but they lock onto willies and stop them getting stiff.”

“Oh, my God!” she shrieked, with glee. “Who would have thought of such a fiendish thing?” Well, Laura for one, was my initial reaction. I was convinced none of this was news to her.

She continued, impatiently, “Show me a picture. I want to see what they are.”

I opened my phone and brought up an online store that stocked a large selection of different devices. She took the phone from me and scrolled through the images, looking at them open-mouthed. “We must get you one, Stevie,” she enthused, barely able to contain her excitement. “This is the answer to your problem—our problem! We’ll order one now.”

She looked through the images again, scrutinising each one. “This is what we’ll get,” she decided, pointing at a plastic cage that was a vivid pink colour.

“Gosh! Does it have to be pink, Miss?” I asked.

“Yes, I love pink, and so should you.”

“And it looks very small... It... it might not fit.”

“Don’t overrate yourself, poppet. I’m sure it will fit—we’ll make it fit! Besides, I'm certain it's not designed to accommodate a hard-on. Shrivelled up, you'll fit in with no problem. Stop thinking of things that get you aroused—it can't be that damn difficult. Now, give me your credit card.”

How was I to remained shrivelled up, as she put it? Just being close by her and picking up her scent and body heat was enough to excite me. But I passed her my card and, before I knew what had happened, she had placed the object in the shopping basket and was keying in my details.

“Done!” she exclaimed. “It’ll be here in a couple of days. I can’t wait to try it on.” She was bubbling over with enthusiasm at the thought.

I looked at her open-mouthed. “I don’t know, Miss. It’s a big step. What if it hurts me?”

“Oh, diddum's can’t take a little discomfort? Well, you’ve only yourself to blame. More self-control and this would not have been necessary. I’m sure your mother would thank me if she knew how I was helping you.” The thought of my mother ever finding out caused my stomach to churn.

“We’ll fit it the day it arrives, poppet. Not a day too soon. Can you be trusted not to jerk off before then?”

“Yes, Miss,” I lied, knowing that nothing would stop me having a final wank.

oooOOooo

The very next day, around 5 PM, I received a text from Laura instructing me to come around at 6 PM. Nothing more was said in the message, but I guessed the chastity device had arrived a day early. It was with butterflies in my stomach that I set off to her flat.

She quickly summoned me inside and wasted no time issuing an order. “Strip off, poppet. I want to see what you look like in the nude and then we'll fit you into your cage.”

“What? Take off everything, Miss?”

“Good grief, Stevie. Are you dim, or what? How can I look at you naked if you've got clothes on?”

“Yes, sorry, I understand, Miss.” I quickly removed my clothes, while she sat watching, intently. Despite Laura remaining fully dressed, she was still alluringly attractive and despite the humiliation I felt—or perhaps because of that humiliation—my penis sprang up and was soon sticking out at an awkward angle.

She was not impressed. “Have you got no self-control, Stevie? What would your mother say if she saw you standing here looking like that? Or your sister?”

Their likely reactions didn't bear thinking about, although I could not possibly conceive how they would ever witness this scene. Nonetheless, pointing that out was not the answer Laura was looking for.

“They would be disappointed in me, Miss.”

“I'm certain they would be very, very disappointed, Stevie, and so am I. You can't go around sporting an erection whenever you want. If that happened when you were out with me, I would die of embarrassment, poppet. It goes to show how important it is we get this device locked on.” With that, she produced the bright pink cage that she had ordered online using my card. Attached to it was a small padlock, which was open, but the key was not there. I guessed she had already secreted it somewhere.

“I will get a bag of ice,” she remarked, disappearing into the kitchen. “No touching yourself while I'm gone,” she shouted back. She had already trained me to obey her and, without thinking, I automatically placed my hands on my head, awaiting her return.

“Goooood boy!” she said, on coming back into the room, as if addressing a recalcitrant puppy who was finally learning to be obedient. Then, unceremoniously, she placed the bag of ice cubes against my tumescent organ. Instantly, I gave a shriek and took a step back.

“Naughty boy! Naughty!” she shouted. “Turn around!” I did so, and she sharply slapped the backs of both my legs. “You don't back away from me like that. Now turn to face me again.”

I did so, and she reapplied the ice to my penis, which had already started to shrink. Gritting my teeth, I held my position until she was satisfied that the ice had done its job. Then, wasting no time, she slipped my numb member into the cage and snapped the padlock shut.

“How does that feel?” she asked.

“Strange,” was all I could reply.

“Get down on your knees,” she said. “We need to find out if it's robust enough to withstand pressure.”

I dropped to my knees and, to my amazement, she slipped off her skirt and knickers. Sitting herself down in an armchair, she spread her legs wide, laid back and commanded, “Get to work, pumpkin! Put your hands behind your back, I don't want to be groped by your hands.”

Not needing to be asked twice, hands clasped behind me, I hobbled forward on my knees and buried my mouth in her vulva. I immediately tasted her rich juices and knew that locking me up had aroused her. Despite not having much prior experience of delivering oral sex, I found it came quite naturally to me. Using my tongue, I sought out her clitoris, working blind, but looking for signs from her that I was in the right spot. She responded with twitches and groans. I used my lips to caress her labia before returning my attention to her clit. Her excitement was growing, and she pulled me in closer, twisting my head around to improve the area of contact. My tongue then started to probe her love tunnel, and I was aware of her growing frenzy.

Meanwhile, I was also becoming aroused, and my penis was desperate to escape its small prison and was pushing against the bars. The pain was intense, but I was determined to show her that I was a worthy lover. I continued my oral ministrations, and she responded by jerking and moaning. The moans became more vocal and suddenly, with little warning, she climaxed, sending a spray of her heavenly secretions into my mouth. I held on, continuing to stimulate her until she came down from her crescendo.

She let go of my head and I moved back a foot or so. She was breathing heavily, and it took a couple of minutes for her to be able to talk. “Wow, poppet! For a supposed beginner, that was bloody fantastic. After a bit more training you'll be perfect—I've chosen well, selecting you as my boyfriend. How was it for you?”

I took pride in the praise she was heaping on me, but I didn't know how to answer her question. “Er..., it was painful, Miss.”

“What did you expect, muffin? I would be very disappointed in you if you didn't find that arousing—I know I did. But, more importantly, has the cage survived?” She looked down, and I gazed down as well. My swollen organ was doing its utmost to squeeze through the narrow gaps between the bars. “Wow, it has,” she announced. “It's so strong. I thought it would be in a zillion pieces by now. That cage is so well made! That was a good buy we made.”

I felt the need to ask her a question. “Please, Miss, may I ask you something?” She peered at me and nodded. “How long do I need to wear this for?”

She laughed, answering, “We've only just put the damn thing on you, and you're asking when it comes off! Really, muffin?”

“I... I don't expect it to be removed straightaway, but I was wondering how long before it will come off.”

“That depends on you, doesn't it? You're wearing it for your own good, remember? It won't come off permanently because we can't risk you wanking, but, if you're a good boy, and if you please me next time, like you've just done, I will unlock you and give you a hand job. What do you say to that?”

I had been hoping for more than a hand job, but I couldn't risk sounding ungrateful. “Thank you, Miss, that would be amazing.” She smiled at me, saying, “I do a good hand job—you won't be disappointed, but it does rely on you not letting me down.”

Laura told me to get dressed, and she did likewise, before asking me to help prepare dinner. The rest of the evening was spent enjoying each other's company. To an outsider, we might have seemed to be an ordinary couple, but an outsider may have detected the occasional winces crossing my face as my penis explored the constraints of its cage while she teased me with her astounding beauty.