I lie on my back on the floor, my legs between the sissy’s legs, as my toes play with her cage.  Every tap I do with my toes, she moans.  Every movement I do, every stroke. Everything.  She moans and whines.

“Puh–please, Miss, let me cum.”

“Who does this little sissy caged clitty belong to?” I ask her.

“Muh-my owners.”

“Am I an owner?”

“Nuh-no, Miss.”

“What am I?”

“Muh-my caretaker.”

“Good, little sissy.  Edge for me again.  Let’s try for four times, this time?  Unlock your cage, and check for chaffing too.”

This has been an interesting past few days.  My health has been up and down.  Spa has been able to get me to admit to stuff I can’t or don’t dare to to Spitfire directly, but because the three of us are in a joint chat in Discord, she can read everything.

My concerns over my health, over drama llamas within the collective and more have spilled out thanks to Spa.  Spa has this ability to get me to pour my heart out about things I’m reluctant to say to Spitfire because of personal reasons on Spitfire’s part, and Spitfire is able to read them as if she was reading a newspaper or book, instead of being spoken directly to her.

Then… a couple of days ago, we found out that Spa was caged and I was the one picked to caretake her while caged.  I am not allowed to let her cum, but I can tease and torture her.  The message in my inbox said “I’m going to let her cum, rarely.”

I giggled.  I’ve been asked when she should come as part of a group decision and more.  Honestly, it isn’t my choice, but the entire process is tantilizing.  I don’t feel dominant, but I do feel deliciously naughty.

“You two talk far too much,” Spitfire admonishes us and squinting at Discord, while tapping Spa’s cage.  “How is the dragonnette this morning?”

Morning for them, but late evening for me.  I’m beginning to get tired, but am nowhere near ready for bed.

Spa moans and I giggle.  “F-fine.”

“Has mine been behaving herself?”

Behaving needed to be defined, but yes, I was.  Helping Spa by making her repeatedly edge and more, helped her focus on her graduate school work.  She was able to finish an essay she needed done.  Meanwhile, tormenting her and more was a good distraction for me from having panic attacks over my scary cough.

Later that day, I’m straddling Spa and teasing her, rubbing my nubbin on her caged clitty.  She moans loudly, and I hear a growl from behind me, as blue hands lift me up and away.  “There will be none of that, Kittlen.  No distracting the dj.”

“But, mistress, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we used the sissy as a platform for you to claim me on again?  Rubbing myself along her cage, while you staked your claim?” I was wet and squirmy at this idea – being the meat of a sandwich.  Using me to torment another, even as my owner made me squeal and squirm along her shaft.

“Do not distract the DJ!”

I pout, and spend the next several hours trying to behave.

No, really. I tried to behave!

I had gotten Spa dressed in something frilly and feminine for her sissy outfit.  Something that I have a similar dress to.  Some glass slippers were perfect to round out the feminine.

I straddle her lap and play with her.  I rub against her caged clit.  I tap it.  I play with it and her lower lips with my toes.  I run fingernails down her thighs. I sit in her lap and demand that I get curried with my favorite brush.

I play with Spa over and over, tapping the cage, making her moan.  The power of suggestion of a written word sends her reeling.  My task isn’t simply to make her moan, but to make sure she is well maintained.

I still want to be a sandwich between them, my nubbin on her caged clit, while Spitfire claims me the way she does best…

“It is a submissive act, mine.  I will not be caged again,” I can feel the anger in her words as Spitfire rejects my thought of her being caged too.  “I am the dominant in this relationship.  I will not be caged again.”

I am wet with desire as these two very important people in my life discuss being caged.  One was caged over a year ago and I found it thrilling as Spitfire opened up to me at the time about it.  It was so very hot, and she could have easily sharked me away if she had tempted me with playing with her then.

Spitfire wasn’t the first one to ever tell me they were caged, nor will she be the last.  She was, however, the second one I gave a damn about.

“It’s not a submissive act to be caged,” I tried to argue, but Spitfire was not hearing me.

“I got injured.  Thankfully, the injury isn’t permanent,” she explained to us, “but that was the end of being caged. I will not go into one again.”

I tried to implore to her, “it isn’t the tool, or toy, that makes the submission, it’s the act.  You could be caged and it would not lessen your dominance.  In fact, it would be a dominant act.”

“You would have the key and decide if it comes off.  That makes it submission.”

“No, it doesn’t.  You could give me a key for emergencies, but I wouldn’t be able to simply use it.  I’d have to either do as you instructed or beg you permission to.”

“Go on, mine.”  Spitfire tapped Spa’s cage, causing the dragonnette to moan again.

“If you caged yourself, Mistress, I wouldn’t be able to touch you.  I’d have to beg to be able to retrieve the key and uncage you.  It isn’t the act of being caged that is the act of dominance or submission, but why you’re caged.  If you’re caged because you are showing me your dominance, by not allowing me to touch you there, it would be acts of submission on my part to get you to release yourself so I could.”

“I’d have to beg you,” I went on, “to let me get the key.  You could use the cage as dominance by making me have to take care of you – make sure you’re clean, and have had no injury from the device while caged.  While locked up, I wouldn’t be able to touch it, or enjoy it.  If you kept control of the key, everything would be your choice.  You could order me to take care of you, make it added to my lists of tasks, and if I stepped over the boundaries you’ve set out, be punished for doing so.”

“The point is moot. I’m not going to cage myself again.  Not after the injury I sustained.”

“Understood, Mistress.” The problem is, I don’t know if I’m secretly relieved or upset that she won’t be caged too, so that I have two caged clittys to play with.  Time to tap Spa’s cage again and make her moan.

I writhe in her lap.  She knows not to touch me without asking permission first.  I get manhandled by Spitfire again, pulling me away from the little sissy and her caged clitty.  I want to play and tease and more.

Nope, I need to let the sissy sleep.


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