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honors with the cage and it’s the stainless steel with teeth for you.”

“No!” Pence tries to pull out of the pillory, his heels rumpling the plastic sheet as he futility backpedals. “No, Master Harold, no! Not that! Please, not that! I’ll pick the other choice!”

“While you get the medieval torture device, I’m going to get the cinnamon oil and a gag, because I can’t listen to his whining for another minute,” Dana says gleefully, as she all but skips off to an apothecary cabinet on the far wall.

Pence is screaming by the time they return, straining against the wood holding him in place so hard he’s going to have bruises, and no one’s even touched him yet. I guess he really, really doesn’t like that particular cock cage. Since CBT’s not my thing, I don’t know much about the different types of cages, but I’ll admit the device Harold returns with looks fairly terrifying: all gleaming stainless steel and short pins inside the cage that will dig in if Pence swells much past limp. Pence tries to struggle when Harold kneels to fit the cage on him, but a punch to the sub’s balls that makes my eyes water just watching ends his struggles and Harold fits the cage over the entirety of Pence’s cock and balls before locking it with a firm click.

Harold returns to my side while Dana gags Pence, puts a squeaky-toy in each hand so he can safe word, then snaps on a surgical glove and walks around behind the sobbing sub with a small bottle of oil and an evil grin.

“He really doesn’t like that thing,” I say quietly to Harold.

“No reason for you to know it, but that cage is one of the things that turns him inside out. He loves his orgasms, does Pence, and there’s not a chance he’ll manage one while that cage is on. I’ll check him every thirty minutes if that’s okay with you. Four hours should be fine, but I like to check to make sure his balls aren’t going blue.”

“Fine by me.” I know generally what to look for when a sub’s in bondage, but I don’t have much experience with cock-cages, so I’ll happily defer to Harold’s expertise.

“Once it comes off, the boy won’t be able to hold back, so expect him to come quite a bit. He’ll need water regularly, at least twice an hour.”

“I’m good with that. Nothing about tonight is intended to do him lasting injury, even though his words and actions could have caused permanent mental harm to my submissive. I want him to remember it, and never even be tempted to say something hurtful to Emily again, but do whatever you need to do to keep him safe.”

“Hmm.” Harold rocks back and forth on his boot-heels. “I’d better get some more serious canes then. Those rattan jobs won’t even make a dent. Boy’s got a bit of a leather-ass. I use stainless steel when I want to make an impression.”

“Works for me. Tonight’s intended to make a big fucking impression.”

“I’ll grab my toy bag. Nico’s doing a scene with that new redhead, what’s her name, Annabelle? Annabeth? The one with the pretty tits. But he said he’d be in when he’s done. The brat’ll really regret opening his mouth once Nico and his single-tail get here.”

Seeing Pence’s eyes widen above the gag, hearing his whimpering gain an octave, makes me smile. “Perfect.”

“That’s if there’s anything left after Dana gets done with him. Where’d you find that, woman, a sports supply store?”

Dana, who is strapping a black dildo that could double as a baseball bat around her hips, glances up at us and smiles. “Just making sure he gets the full ‘fire’ experience. Between the cinnamon oil and Big Boy here, he’ll know all about ‘rings of fire’ shortly.”

She pats Pence’s round ass-cheek, already jiggling as he shuffles around, futilely trying to escape the burn of the cinnamon oil in his ass.

Fuck, she’s evil.

“I don’t think we’ve done a scene together before, Mistress Dana,” I say. “But I like your style.”

She gives me a smile that would do Elektra Natchios proud before she goes back to buckling the straps around her slender hips.

“Emily, I think it’s time for us to take our seats and enjoy the show.” I release her wrists and turn her to face me, lifting her chin until her eyes meet mine. “Fetch Daddy’s toy bag, a pillow and a blanket for later so Daddy can cuddle you when we’re done. What’s your number for tonight, little girl?”

She squints up at me as she considers. Such a cute little face. “Four, Daddy?”

“Daddy’s number is twelve.”

“Twelve?” she squeaks.

“Um-hum, maybe we can split the difference and call it ten.”

“But, Daddy, half-way between four and twelve is eight.”

“Is it now? How about this, for every orgasm you manage over four, you can have a day of coming without permission, whenever you want.”

“A whole day?”

“Twenty-four whole hours, baby girl. Is that good incentive to shoot for Daddy’s number?”

She bounces on her stockinged toes. “Yes, Daddy!”

“That’s my beanie. Go get the things I asked for so we can have a good long play while Daddy enjoys Pence’s screams. Chop-chop, little girl.”

She scampers away, her round little ass-cheeks jiggling above the white ruffles of her stockings. Every eye in the room except Pence’s follows her movement, which makes me grin, because it’s not just entrancing, it’s all mine.

When she returns, I set the toy bag and blanket on the chaise and toss the pillow between my feet as I sit on the edge of the chaise. “Kneel.”

Every ounce of tension melts out of her and she sags gracefully to her knees. I put my hands on my thighs, palms up, and Emily scoots forward until she can rest her little hands in mine. I catch her eyes and hold her gaze until the muscles around her eyes relax. She sinks into my dominance with a sigh.

“Good girl. Tell me where we are with your breath

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