Life was good and was moving on apace. Laura had passed her final biology exams and was now working towards a doctorate, while Amy and I continued with our own post-grad history studies. Within the constraints of our FLR, the three of us got on well and strong bonds were being formed.

Nonetheless, there were a couple of dark clouds on the horizon. One was the spectre of Dave the postman who had discovered some of our secrets and was hoping to impose his will on me in the worst way I could imagine. Luckily for me, Laura had taken an intense dislike to this man so this particular dark cloud might get no closer.

Not so the threat of being fitted into a smaller chastity cage, which had hung over me like the sword of Damocles for several weeks. It had been Dr Payne's suggestion that had settled the matter, but what business it was of hers, defeated me.

Previously, my pleas to Laura that anything smaller than what I was wearing would cause me more discomfort and greater pain had been listened to sympathetically. And then the doctor had delivered the coup de grace, suggesting to Laura that I was gaslighting her.

Laura's view swung, and my appeals were dismissed. She agreed with me that a smaller cage might prove to be unbearable but, as she had put it, that could be the case—but equally it might not be the case. How would we know unless we tried?

I was defeated and it became a case of when, not if, we would purchase a new cage for me. As students, Laura and I were not well off and my growing wardrobe of feminine attire was largely draining us of any spare money that we had.

Yet, I was soon to learn, Laura, micromanaging our joint finances, had been squirreling away a small sum each week towards a new device. And the day arrived when we had sufficient funds to proceed.

How, I had wondered, did she know we had enough cash to afford to go ahead? The answer, when she revealed it, was that she had been in contact with Dr Payne. Dr Payne had not only recommended a budget, but had referred us to an exclusive establishment in London that specialised in sex toys, including chastity devices. It turned out that the doctor had referred others there in the past.

oooOOooo

So, one Saturday afternoon, Laura and I had taken the train to London for a 3 PM appointment with a Madame Cage. (I was certain that Madame Cage was not her real name, but it proved to be an apt one.)

As we sat together on the train, Laura was in high spirits but, needless to say, I did not share her enthusiasm.

“Look, sweetie,” she had said, in a low voice, “Madame Cage is a professional, and she's not going to fit you into a device that is inhumane. And as I love you, muffin, I would never want to see you suffer needlessly.”

“Then why something smaller?” I asked. In fact, it was a question I had posed several times before, so I knew the answer.

Whispering, Laura replied, “How many more times do I need to tell you? You have to be honest with yourself, muffin. You're sex mad and Dr Payne thinks it will help you cure your addiction. It will send early warning signals so you can redirect your thoughts to other things before your urges get out of hand.”

Of course, in a way, Laura was right about me being sex mad, but she ignored the reason, which was that I was denied sex, so I was invariably in a state of high sexual frustration. I was in a vicious cycle—being locked up made me appear to be sex mad, and appearing to be sex mad required me to be locked up. Somehow, Laura had engineered this setup with exquisite perfection.

But, if I pointed that out, Laura was always swift to remind me that before I was caged I had been masturbating daily. “Even Dr Payne said that wasn't healthy,” she liked to tell me. I cursed the day that I had first encountered Dr Payne!

As was often the case, it was impossible to judge how sincerely Laura believed what she was saying. After all, she was the one who had the insatiable sexual appetite yet, somehow, she seemed to think she was entirely normal and I was her sex crazed partner. But, in a strange way, I accepted this distortion of the truth to be the price I paid for being in an FLR with her.

oooOOooo

After a long journey by train, tube and feet, we arrived at Madame Cage's premises, which were located in a far from respectable sector of the capital of England. Whilst it was a shop in the sense that it sold things, it had no shop window, nor did it have any signs outside to advertise its line of business.

We found the door was locked so Laura rang the bell. We waited a few seconds before we heard a lock turning and we were beckoned inside, into a simply-furnished reception room which was equipped with nothing more than two large sofas and a coffee table. Sitting on the coffee table was a small bell, but, otherwise, the room was empty.

The door had been opened by a severe-looking woman in her mid-forties dressed entirely in leather, this being the first indication that we had not inadvertently stumbled into an insurance broker's office.

This had to be Madame Cage. It could not be anyone else. She radiated authority and I sensed that even Laura felt intimidated by her appearance and her far from welcoming facial expression. Her features were gaunt, and seemly drained of blood, and her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun which accentuated her harsh look.

Whilst I say Madame Cage was dressed entirely in leather, this was true in that all her clothing was made from a supple black hide, but the reader will be mistaken to think that this encased her entire body. Far from it, because in places the leather had slits and gaps, revealing bare flesh. They were intended to provide titillation without exposing anything private.

The thin leather hugged her slim figure, emphasising a body that I reckoned must receive frequent exercise, but I tried not to think about what sort of exercise that might be.

Her shoulders were left bare and, around her torso, her restricting outfit served as a corset, narrowing her waist and pushing up her breasts so they were almost spilling out, whilst still remaining decent.

I was sufficiently frightened by her appearance to do no more than to steal a quick glance before looking down. I felt she was a mythological Siren, intending to lure men like me to their doom. The key, I was sure, was not to gaze into her eyes.

Her feet, I noticed, were squeezed into leather shoes with heels that looked six inches tall. She was naturally a tall woman but those heels elevated her so much that she was taller than me and she towered over Laura.

I felt a sense of foreboding.

oooOOooo

“I'm Madame Cage,” the woman announced, extending a hand to Laura.

“Pleased to meet you,” replied Laura. “I'm Laura Smith and this is my partner, Stephen Kelly. I call him Stevie.”

“I don't need to know his name, Miss Smith. It's irrelevant and merely adds another layer of complexity to the record keeping.”

She glanced disdainfully at me, before saying, in a quiet but assertive tone, “Stand over there and face the wall while I talk to your mistress.”

Despite Laura and I being paying customers at this establishment, I could tell Madame Cage was not someone to argue with, so I immediately did what I was told, positioning myself so that my nose was close to the wall. Being spoken to in such a dominating fashion caused my penis to twitch. Unsure what to do, I chose to place my hands flat on the top of my head, thinking that in doing so I might impress this formidable woman. Maybe she was impressed but, if so, she chose not to comment.

“Take a seat, Miss Smith,” she said, firmly. It was more instruction than invitation.

“Thank you... er... Madame Cage, but please call me Laura,” Laura replied, sounding a little nervous.

“No, I will call you Miss Smith, if you don't mind, and I expect you to call me Madame Cage. I know you're a student, but let's try to maintain some standards of civility, Miss Smith. We don't want to sink into the gutter of student depravity, do we?”

“Er... no... of course not, Madame Cage,” Laura replied, somewhat diffidently.

It was clear to me, and no doubt to Laura as well, that Madame Cage had an innate coldness, and it was unlikely she and Laura would ever become buddies.

Then I heard the little bell on the coffee table being rung and, seconds later, someone scurried in from a back room. “Two coffees, and be quick about it,” Madame Cage curtly instructed.

“Yes, Ma'am,” a young female voice replied.

Laura and Madame Cage got talking, with the latter asking my girlfriend what she was looking for. I listened as Laura repeated her well-rehearsed tale of me being addicted to sex and masturbation, and that my GP had recommended a smaller cage to curb my habit.

After a few minutes, their talk was interrupted by the delivery of coffee, which I heard being placed on the table.

“Shall I pour, Ma'am?” enquired the female voice.

“Obviously!” replied Madame Cage, sarcastically. “How else will it end up in our cups? You stupid girl.” I pitied this poor assistant, whoever she was.

The conversation between Laura and Madame Cage continued. “You know it is £50 for this consultation, Miss Smith, on top of the cost of a device, but that fee includes coffee.”

“Er... yes, I was told by Dr Payne that there would be a consultation fee.”

“Ah! So, Dr Payne has recommended you, Miss Smith. She must be your slave's GP then?”

“Yes, she is. She's very good.”

“So people say, Miss Smith. I wouldn't know, and I don't really care.”

The conversation continued, with Laura talking about Dr Payne but Madame Cage responded with no warmth or affection. She was a cold fish, with a disturbing personality.

oooOooo

Laura and Madame Cage seemed in no hurry to move on. They sat sipping their coffees but the conversation dried up, despite Laura's best efforts to revive it. I could tell that Madame Cage was not someone who enjoyed frivolous chitchat.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Madame Cage raised her voice, calling, “You, follow me.” I presumed the instruction was directed at me, so I turned around to see Madame Cage and Laura disappearing into a back room.

I followed, entering what struck me as being a very large torture chamber. Along the walls and floor were arranged numerous pieces of bondage equipment, including some items whose intended purposes were beyond my imagination. It was simply a plethora of steel, leather, rubber and rattan.

I stared, boggled eyed, at the stuff on display and I was aware of Laura doing the same. We had never seen so much equipment intended to deliver pain, to restrict movement or to penetrate bodily orifices. I was praying that Laura was as horrified by the sights as I was, and that she wasn't getting fresh ideas.

I was mesmerised by what I was seeing, but I suddenly became aware of a voice speaking to me. “You! Stop gawping and strip,” Madame Cage ordered. “Everything off.”

“Everything?” I found myself saying, instantly regretting my tone of voice.

Madame Cage glared at me with a look of disbelief. “Are you stupid? I say exactly what I mean. Take everything off.”

I wasted no time getting undressed. I knew it was pointless trying to hide my mauve panties from Madame Cage, so I openly got undressed in front of her, not that she seemed interested or surprised. I guessed that a fair number of her male clients wore female underwear.

Very soon, I was standing there in nothing but my chastity cage, aware of my hairless state, as well as Laura's sensual perfume diffusing from my body, helped by the warmth of the room and my own body heat.

Despite my humiliation, or possibly because of it, I was conscious of my penis attempting to tumesce inside its cage. I was in discomfort and wondered what it would be like once I had been fitted into a smaller restraint.

“Lie on the couch,” Madame Cage instructed. “Keep your hands out of the way, above your head. If you dare move them, I will cuff them in place.”

The couch, I had noticed, had been modified to allow victims such as myself to be secured to it, unable to move. That thought terrified me so I obediently adopted the required pose. That way, if the need arose, I felt I might still be able to run, naked, from the premises to escape this dominatrix's clutches.

She began to examine my pink chastity device. “Something has excited him,” she commented, disparagingly. “What fools men are! Does this pathetic specimen really think I'm impressed by this display of adolescent behaviour, Miss Smith?”

The only acceptable answer had to be “no” but Laura chose not to comment, drawing a contemptuous stare from Madame Cage. “He would not do this had he been properly trained and disciplined, Miss Smith.”

She glared at Laura, daring her to refute the accusations, but my girlfriend remained tightlipped. Laura was finding this to be as mortifying as I was.

Madame Cage continued her inspection of my chastity device. “How much room does he have inside this cage when he's limp?” she asked.

“Hmm... about half-an-inch, I think,” replied Laura.

“You think! You think? You don't know for certain? Don't tell me you've never measured, Miss Smith.”

“No, sorry!”

“Heaven help me! I would have thought Dr Payne would have told you that I expect clients to do some homework before they come here, Miss Smith.”

She tutted before continuing, “However, half-an-inch sounds about right, unless he's abnormally small.”

“No, he's an entirely normal size when it's at its smallest, Madame Cage,” Laura advised. “And he's a bit bigger than average when he's erect,” she added, after a short pause.

I saw that Laura had reddened, as she regretted what she'd said. “I'm a biologist,” she hastened to add, as if that would explain her detailed knowledge of the dimensions of male penises. Madame Cage didn't react, and I had yet to see her smile.

“As there is no need for him to ever become fully erect, that measurement has no relevance, Miss Smith.” Laura went a deeper shade of red, as she was admonished by this fearsome character.

“Where's the key, Miss Smith? You have brought it, I hope?” She glowered at Laura, almost wanting Laura to say she'd forgotten it, which would confirm her suspicions that she was dealing with a simpleton.

However, Laura produced the key from the thin gold chain around her neck and passed it over. Soon I was free from my cage. Inevitably, my penis started swelling further, but a couple of sharp smacks from Madame Cage, and a hard squeeze of my testicles, soon forced it into retreat, but it was still not completely flaccid.

Madame Cage walked to a small refrigerator and removed an ice pack from the freezer compartment which she proceeded to press against my partial erection. I stifled a shriek as the sub-zero package drew heat from my body.

Then she picked up a fabric tape measure from a worktop and set about taking measurements, noting the results on a piece of paper.

“Yes, he's nothing special—he's very average. There's nothing exceptional about him at all,” she concluded, sneeringly. “There's no reason why he won't fit into a cage smaller than that cheap toy. And what were you thinking when buying something pink, Miss Smith? It's so vulgar.”

“Oh! Sorry, but I just happen to like pink, Madame Cage.”

Madame Cage looked scornfully down her nose at Laura, something easy to do in her tall heels.

“Do you think he'll be happy in a smaller cage?” Laura asked, trying to change the subject.

For the first time, Madame Cage's face broke into a smile—or at least, what resembled a smile. “Happy? Happy? What's his happiness got to do with it? Give me strength, Miss Smith!”

Laura looked embarrassed, while I was fearful of what was to come next. I sensed we were both regretting this visit to Madame Cage's premises, but probably for different reasons.