' This morning, I had to ask permission from Miss Carmen to unlock in order to give both the device and my wedding tackle a clean. (My spare key is sealed in a piece of masking tape. I cannot access the key unless I break the tape, in which case there may be a sanction, and one would not want to upset Miss Carmen).
Any idiot can go to the gym and throw weights around and drink beer straight from the bottle and drive a big fuck-off V6 Hilux truck and claim to be the main man on campus.
But it takes a real man to wear a chastity cage... '
My name is Big John. Obviously not my real name, but no, I’m not overcompensating. I am rather, shall one say, ‘talented’. I am a middle-aged man approaching 50 from the wrong side, and I have a profoundly kinky mind where age has done nothing to diminish my BDSM and fetish-attuned mind. I am a man of epicurean desires spiced up with a liberal application of the restrictive arts.
Basically, I’m a bondage nut! I’ve been into BDSM since… well, since. Even in my childhood did the concept of restrictive situations get my mind running in all kinds of interesting directions. As a young adult in the late 90s, I got involved in the BDSM scene and never looked back. One can call me highly experienced in all matters BDSM and fetish-related. Been there, seen it, and done it all, and most things I’ve done twice. I’ve not ‘got the T-shirt’. I own the factory that makes the T-shirts.
I would classify myself as an 80/20 Dominant switch. I’ve had my share of collared subbies and even played the role of the collared sub myself for a while. Sadly, bereavement saw too many of those relationships end. Again, I reiterate when it comes to kink and BDSM, I know what I’m doing. I do not ‘dabble’. I understand the mindsets, techniques and psychology of kink better than most. I could write a book…
But there was one thing I had never experienced. Or, as Carmen asked me: “When was the last time you did something for the first time?”. This is a tough ask, as my three-odd decades in BDSM delivered unto me all the kinks I had ever dreamed of and a few I didn’t. Tie-ups, lock-ups, suspensions, latex, fetish, spanks, flogs, whips, you name it, chances are 90% I did it as both Dom and sub.
But I had never experienced a chastity cage before.
There never was – and still isn’t – a need for it. I do not currently have a partner. My life partner died after a long illness, leaving me – laughingly – “incel” inasmuch she did not die voluntarily. Healing from this bereavement is an ongoing process, and I’ve not had a woman – or even the desire to have a woman – since. I’m not captain virility here. I do not go forth and conquer with my balls and slay with my dick. As kinky as I am, I’m happy (for now) to still honour the legacy of my partner. I’ve no desperate need to get laid. I do not need a cock cage to keep my penis from getting me in trouble, nor can it be used as a cuckolding device. A “chastity” device serves absolutely zero purpose.
But as I said, I’m a bondage nut. And there’s something alluring, in concept at least, about a device that attaches to one’s body and cannot be removed without a key. This has my kinky mind intrigued. A cock-cage is not a chastity device as much as it is a bondage device.
After a brief discussion with Carmen, I decided not to overthink things and, almost as an impulse buy, decided to order myself a plastic cock cage. Two days later, she popped me a WhatsApp message to say it had arrived. I drove to the Play With Me palace where she handed me this bondage device I had never even seen before: behold, a unicorn! A bondage toy I’ve never even seen up close, let alone indulged in. After failing the IQ test of figuring out how it all worked a few times, I went into the bathroom and wrestled Big Boy and The Twins into this little piece of plastic and turned the key… my willie is now encased in a plastic sheath, my testes trapped in a rigid plastic ring. And the only way to get out of this device was with a key.
Which Miss Carmen now has in her hand.
This, as they say, was interesting.
Now, it is three and a half days later of solid cock-cage wear, and I am now adequately ‘initiated’ to give my first impressions of the device.
The short version: I fucking love it! This is one of the best mindfucks I’ve had in my life. I’m no stranger to being tied, and one of the reasons I love bondage is the mind space it can create. To be at the mercy of a knot or a key is alluring. But most bondage is, by definition, restrictive. This isn’t. I can still go to work. I can go to the mall. I can go to the pub and have a few beers. These are not activities one can do while handcuffed or strapped to a spanking bench.
This strange contradiction of being free to do anything except remove the encasement around my scrotum and penis has a delicious way of occupying the mind.
Physically, it is surprisingly comfortable. I am never not aware of it. I know it’s there. But it does not hurt, as I feared it would. It’s much roomier inside that plastic sleeve than I thought it would be. While flaccid, at least… this ‘comfortable’ bondage makes it so much more interesting. And also less likely to safeword out had there been more discomfort, if not outright pain. Basically, I cannot claim freedom based on “it hurts”. It doesn’t.
Peeing sitting down is now the norm. It was strange, but I’ve been hungover enough times in my life that a sit-down-wee is not that uncommon. I am going through baby wipes at an incredible rate, though. As I cannot remove the device to clean it after every single wee, I am meticulous in wiping it down as thoroughly as I can with baby wipes. Showering has also become quite the mindfuck. Stepping into a shower not naked but with something now attached to the body is an odd sensation.
More than once, I reach down to scratch my balls – I’m male, we all do it – only to be ‘reminded’ of the plastic prison now locked around my scrotum. This always puts a smile on my face.
Since the cage has been applied, I’ve stood in line at the post office, had lunch at Cesco’s (best prawns in Joburg!), caught a soccer game at the pub, made the people who pay my monthly invoice happy, and spent a quiet Saturday evening at home. Everywhere I go, everything I do, I am always subtly reminded that my penis is locked away and I cannot do anything about it. This is surprisingly and wonderfully erotic!
This morning, I had to ask permission from Miss Carmen to unlock in order to give both the device and my wedding tackle a clean. (My spare key is sealed in a piece of masking tape. I cannot access the key unless I break the tape, in which case there may be a sanction, and one would not want to upset Miss Carmen).
Re-applying the device after the shower, re-sealing my key in a fresh strip of tape (with time and date marked), and sending her the evidence that I was back in was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it was also one of the most satisfying. It took balls to re-lock the cage.
Now, here is where it gets strange: I know that a lot of male chastity is meant to emasculate the male. To sissify him. The fact is that a man’s literal manhood is now no longer available to him. It is the definition of emasculation.
Except I’ve had the exact opposite sensation. I am not a typical chest-thumping alpha male. I’m not a man’s man nor a ladies’ man. I’m just a fat middle-aged bloke trying to make ends meet and haven’t seen poontang since my partner died. I’m not the guy you will nominate for the hunk of the month club.
But by God, since this thing got locked around my penis, I’m feeling fucking fantastic. I’ve never felt MORE masculine than I have since I got cock locked. I feel it’s a great thing I’m caged right now because if you let me out, seven women will be pregnant before lunchtime.
I always thought I understood the psychology of BDSM, but this is uncharted territory. Instead of feeling humiliated, I feel proud. Instead of feeling weak inside my cage, I’ve an enormous sense of resilience. Instead of feeling emasculated or like a sissy, I feel pride. Instead of having my manhood removed, it has been enhanced.
Any idiot can go to the gym and throw weights around and drink beer straight from the bottle and drive a big fuck-off V6 Hilux truck and claim to be the main man on campus.
But it takes a real man to wear a chastity cage.
Bottom line: The price of the cage is absolutely worth it, and the honorarium I give Miss Carmen to be my keyholder is worth every red cent. I do not know what I expected with this device, but I did not expect to be enjoying it this much. This is more value for money than Cesco’s prawns!
Thank you, Miss Carmen, for this experience. Thank you for talking me into it and talking me through it. Thank you for being my key holder and taking a man in his fifties through a novel experience and making him feel alive again.
This is Big John out; further bulletins as events warrant.