Caged Clit

CHAPTER 1

I admired myself in the mirror. I was so pretty in lace and stockings. So feminine!

At least the clothes were. After all, I was a man.

But what really spoilt it was the stiff cock in the middle.

My wife had been surprising reasonable when I told her of my need to connect with my inner woman, and would she mind if I sometimes had female clothes?

"You daft bugger!" she said.

"Well it's your funeral, but you're not having any of my mine, and it's not coming out of the housekeeping, just your booze money."

My heart sank.

"This week, I'll just get my gin, and nothing for you. We'll do the same every week, and I'll keep the difference like a sort of savings account. When there's enough, you can buy yourself a frock, or knickers, or whatever. Oh, and when you go out with the lads, I'll make an appropriate deduction depending how drunk you are. And don't think I can't tell!"

It had taken a while. Quite a while, actually. I actually gave up alcohol, which was not as hard as I expected. Which meant I didn't go out with the lads so much. Just occasionally, but they said I wasn't as much fun on lemonade

And she had helped me with clothes - at least in buying. I made my choice and she bought it.

The first mistake was the bra. I added some inches to my chest size to get the bust size, but it turned out they are sold on band size, which is chest. As anyone with half a brain would realise, she told me afterwards. But she volunteered the opinion that D cups look really stupid on me anyway. So I did get one the right size with B cups. I stuffed them with my socks. Not actually ideal just yet, but good enough to be going on with. I got a full-cup bra (not having anything to show), with matching lace panties in white.

When I asked, she explained, so I began to understand women's sizes. Not completely - they can vary from shop to shop, and there are little technical tricks (like the band and bust size for a bra.) And of course they are based on some sort of average shape of women, which most women don't have, which means they have to decide if they are fitting the waist or the hips, mostly, so she buys anything from a 14 to an 18 depending which bit and which shop. I am a bit more.

I got a suspender belt and stockings ("rather you than me" she remarked) and a lovely lacey thing from the lingerie department. She was of the opinion it was neither underwear nor nightwear (and you wouldn't wear stockings with a nightie) but more half-dressed wear for posing in. They were all in white lace.

I agreed, and was sorry she wasn't there to admire my outfit. She didn't want to. It disturbed her, of course. I could only try things on in the spare bedroom.

Now she'd gone out for the Saturday shopping which would be at least a couple of hours, so I dressed myself, just fearing the postman's knock, meaning I'd have to answer the door. Thankfully it all went through the letter box today.

But there was that stupid cock. And I know what you're thinking (as well as 'what an idiot'), that's easy enough to take care of. There were two reasons why I couldn't.

The first was pulling on my dong was a decidedly non-feminine thing to do.

The second was I would be expected to use it later. My performance in recent years had been less than stellar, probably as my femininity crept in. I was very doubtful I could manage twice in one day. I didn't always manage twice in one week. And even when I did the second one tended to be half-hearted. Now here I was, fully hearted, with neither a cunt nor someone to appreciate my hard-won outfit. But I did my Saturday marital duty.

Over the next months I got some more clothes including a dress, skirt and blouse, but not much satisfaction. There were only limited times when I could express my femininity, but my cock was determined to resist, despite sleeping like a baby at all other times, and often looking very small indeed.

I wore panties to work, with the aim of sitting down to pee like a lady. But the sight of those panties round my ankles caused my treacherous organ to rise so that I peed under the seat onto them and the floor. Wrestling it down with my hand was not at all ladylike.

I could do it so long as I didn't have any female clothes. It became my sole ambition in life to sit on the toilet wearing a dress and pee no hands.

At last the wonderful internet came to my rescue. There was something called a cock cage. Literally a metal cage for a cock, to keep it pointing down, and with a little padlock. It wasn't cheap though. I was already thinking like a woman as I computed it in terms of the clothes I could buy instead.

Of course I couldn't get it on.

It was too small, of course, and by the time I had lubricated myself with baby oil and gone through the complicated procedure to get the retaining ring behind my balls, it was hopeless to even try. You couldn't return it of course, when you had attempted to use it.

So while she shopped, I was in a dress, too engorged to sit down to pee. Glaring at the cage didn't help.

"It's too small," I told her

"They should give better guidance about sizes. Maybe it's like women's clothes. It's not the true size."

She made an astute observation.

"The men who do this probably have quite small cocks, but don't like to think it. So maybe the sizes are an inch wrong so a four-inch cage fits a three-inch cock or less."

I thought there was something in that. It was the flaccid size, of course, but no way I was three inches.

I failed again the following Saturday, so decided to abandon it for now, and just concentrate on the clothes. Maybe I'd get used to them or something. If not, I'd buy a bigger cage when I'd saved enough.

The next Saturday she was getting ready in the bathroom, and it was my turn to have the shower. As I started to dry myself she said casually "Before you put on your glad rags, have a go at the drain outside. It's gurgling and the sink's not draining properly."

My heart sank. It was a combination of leaves, debris and fatty waste from the kitchen drain. It wasn't difficult, just disgusting, and might take some time.

"OK, darling. Will do."

I was towelling my hair when I suddenly felt metal under my balls and on my cock. There were two, snaps and I felt the weight. Looking down, there it was, just like in the pictures on the internet.

"Wh- How did you manage that?"

"I read the instructions," she said, concentrating on doing her eyelashes.

"So did I!"

"No, you looked at them. You weren't putting it together right, so you were fumbling around with an oiled willy, so no wonder it woke up. I oiled the cage instead, as instructed, and did it when you were thinking of something else. It popped in a treat."

"So I don't have to do the drain?"

"Yes you do, but not today love. Have your bit of fun."

"I love you!" I said.

"So you should."

She finished her makeup while I dried myself and shaved. (The shower softens the beard, and the face is puffed up first thing, so leaving it till after breakfast gets a smoother effect. She told me this.)

On her way out she called back "By the way no need to look for the keys. I've got both of them."

I had no chance to reply, so I went for the precious clothes.

It was painful, but wonderful, feeling the cock fighting the cage, and losing.

"Take that, you bastard!" I said, seeing it swell a little between the bars. And instead of wrecking the image of me in my underwear, it was like jewellery, in fact a trophy!

Femininity triumphant! The cock was no longer in charge, but my prisoner.

I put on the dress, made myself a cup of tea and swanned around until I needed a pee.

The discomfort was worth it to sit down in a dress and pee no hands!

But after an hour it was really getting to me. The main part of the cock had settled down to sullen defeat, but I was feeling really sore up near the balls. I discovered it was not so bad if I lay down on the bed, which was less fun. In another half hour, I was really willing her to come back early, so put away my clothes and lay on the bed in pyjamas.

Finally I heard the door sound. I was supposed to help her unload, but I didn't feel like it.

"Up here," I called plaintively, and she hurried to me.

"It hurts," I said, "get it off, please!"

She had to go downstairs to get her handbag for the keys, while I took off my pyjama trousers.

Then she came back looking really worried, first undoing and removing the padlock, but looking closely. Then adding some baby oil, she eased it off.

"Oh, I see," she said.

"It's nothing. The weight must have been pulling on some of your hairs. You'd better shave them before next time. If there is a next time? Shall we give up?"

I was feeling better. It hurt like having a tight shoe off, which is a sort of relief, and it was sore where the hairs had been pulled, but less so, now the tension had gone.

"I think it's best if we leave it to recover. So no nookie today, love. We'll leave it till Wednesday."

I agreed.

And that night had a wet dream about myself, but she was very good about it.

I dealt with the drain on Sunday.

Wednesday didn't really work, but again she told me not to worry, and I would have a nice feminine Saturday.

On Thursday morning we got up early, and she helped me to cut and shave my pubic hair so the skin could recover for Saturday.

On Saturday, it was surprisingly easy for her to put it on me. I just got out of the shower, she patted me dry and slipped it on. I think a lot of it was giving myself into her hands.

She looked at it and smiled.

"There, it's rather cute!"

"Oh yes, I got you some elastane panties, which I think will take some of the weight when you're in a dress. I'll take one key and I've put the other in an envelope which I've signed across the flap. You can obviously open in if you need to, but maybe I'll come home and know you've managed."

As soon as she had gone, I dressed in my sexy lingerie and admired my gleaming metal jewellery. There was the satisfaction of feeling my cock's hopeless struggle, but knowing it was my choice and that I had overcome my masculinity at last.

When I began to feel the weight was a bit much, I put on the panties, which helped. With cups of tea I was able to pee in a ladylike manner in both the dress and the skirt.

I felt triumphant when she got home, and the envelope was intact.

That evening we fucked and I had a great orgasm.

We (or rather she) decided not to risk failure on Wednesday. For Saturday, there was no envelope. That is, it was hidden, and she would text me where if she was delayed or I asked.

CHAPTER 2

As the weeks went by, she didn't unlock me as soon as she got back, but kept increasing it till I was having lunch and part of the afternoon. It wasn't painful, more uncomfortable at times when it made its bid for freedom, but nothing I couldn't manage.

Then one Saturday when I was locked in, she kissed me.

"There's no need to change when I'm coming home. Let's see what you look like, love."

I was so excited (mentally) that the morning dragged on.

I couldn't get shopping from the car, of course, but had to wait till she got them all in before I could appear.

I was in the dress.

"Well, not as bad as I feared. All right actually. Shall we see if you can manage till dinner?"

I kissed her, and told her I loved her, and we put away the shopping.

I could feel the cage more than ever, but it was a good feeling. At her request, I changed into the skirt and blouse. We had lunch and pottered about the house. After dinner, she asked if I was still OK, and I said I was.

"Well, I think I'm ready to see your sexy underwear, and the lacey thing, if you'd like to show me, but first I think you could use a little makeup, if you want."

Yes of course I wanted. It took quite a while and no way was I a pretty girl, but still it was feminine.

I went for a pee and came back in my underwear, and the lacey thing. I had really liked what I saw in the bathroom mirror, so was beaming when I came down. She took a breath, then smiled.

"I'm glad to see you so happy, darling. Why don't you take your panties off?"

I was surprised, but happy to oblige.

"There, much sexier! I wonder how it would go with black lingerie?"

There were tears in my eyes, as I hugged and kissed her.

Then she produced a pink nightdress and I actually cried.

She unlocked me, checked me for damage, then we washed and she showed me how to remove makeup.

In a while we made love. That is, I fucked her and had a great orgasm, but thinking how much I loved her.

Then I put on the nightdress, which was lovely, and snuggled down to sleep.

Except I couldn't sleep. My cock kept going up and down. Not far up, actually. If I had got a proper erection we could have gone again. Just enough to be annoying, but not enough to be useful.

At 2.30 I got up and put on my pyjamas, and was at last able to go to sleep.

In the morning I was surprised when she slipped the cage on me again, but was immediately pleased to think I could wear panties at work and pee sitting down. However, seeing me in trousers, she reckoned it showed too much, so off it came.

On Tuesday there was no cage for the day and evening, but we were going to try the night.

She reckoned I had got conditioned so I had to have the cage if I dressed feminine. However men usually have several erections a night, and of course it's awkward rolling onto it, so at four o'clock I had to beg her to unlock it. I had a pee standing and wore pyjamas for a couple more hours of sleep.

On Wednesday I was female while she visited a friend. She really had read the instructions and a lot more about getting used to the cage. Anyway, as the key holder, she was in charge. She put it on, she took it off, and in between I was privileged to be feminine. I was happy to leave it to her. I was happy full stop.

It went on like this for weeks. She bought me black equivalents of my white lingerie set, so it didn't come out of my booze account, and we both appreciated it.

Whenever I didn't have to go somewhere, I spent all day caged on Saturday and Sunday and a couple of evenings a week as well, either with her or alone, as she still went out for a drink with friends. On other nights I sometimes had a drink with the lads, though less often. It wasn't quite the same without the booze, though I did lose some weight, and diet soft drinks didn't count against my booze allowance. She hardly ever drank at home now, only when she went out.

I never managed a night's sleep with it. I lasted as long as I could, then I had to beg her to go and get the key from wherever she had hidden it.

Then one Saturday as usual I was towelling my face and hair when she slipped it on. But it didn't slip on. It took a little longer and felt different. I looked down and saw what I was feeling. It was tiny! My cock was already compressed and complaining.

"You can't be serious!" I said.

"I am. Grin and bear it. The other one was too big. Now I'm going shopping, and don't try looking for a key because I've got both."

I tried to get on with my usual routine, first in my sexy underwear. My jewel was smaller but tinier. In the dress, I noticed what I didn't notice. There was no giveaway projection at the front.

The ache subsided after an hour, still there, but quite bearable. When she came home I was already in trousers and T-shirt to help her unload. She suggested we went out for lunch. I used the toilet in the café.

I was in discomfort, but thrilled.

When we got back I put on my sexy black lingerie and makeup. At her suggestion, some low-cut bikini briefs covered my balls but let the cage peek over the top.

"That's not a cock," she said. "That's a clit decoration. This is a woman!"

We kissed, and she stroked it, saying "My darling girl."

"Now, safety check," she said in a more business-like fashion. "We'll take it off and have a look."

"Can't I wear it a bit longer?" I said, and immediately realised my mistake.

She didn't have to say anything. There was nothing formal, but she was the key holder, and she would decide when.

We went to the bathroom to let my clit out and wash it in warm water. When it had expanded a bit, she looked over it carefully.

"So far, so good. I read that a snug one can be better because it limits expansion early. Despite what you think, the first was too long. Several reviewers say so. Incidentally, I prefer the design of this one."

"Now you're going to stay out till after dinner, then we'll see how it goes overnight. I recommend you toss yourself off, because we're not having sex till at least next week."

I guessed she had a period. How did the discomfort of today compare with that? Women had no key-holder who could release them.

My cock stretched and made itself noticed, like a cat wanting attention, but I refused. The satisfaction of not having a wank! All I wanted was my clit in a cage and to wear a dress. It eventually gave up and didn't complain when I sat down to pee.

CHAPTER 3

In the afternoon she helped me to shave my chest, legs and bum, as well as my face and underarms. She thought it might draw attention if I did my forearms.

After dinner, she had to cool my clit a little, before forcing it in. It was definitely shorter.

I was glad to put on a bra and dress again. I didn't put on stockings.

We watched TV, we chatted, I almost forgot I had it on. It was only when we washed for bed and I saw myself naked in the mirror. I was transfixed. That annoying cock had gone and been replaced by a tiny little clit in a silver crown. Then she rubbed body lotion on my recently shaved areas and I put on my pretty pink nightie.

Somehow I was in a really relaxed mood. I was woken up a couple of times by rolling on my clit, and again when it told me I needed to pee. But there was a special satisfaction in sitting sleepily on the toilet and feeling the relief and the femininity.

In the morning she asked me how I felt, and I said OK. So she decided not to check me but send me to work. Of course I got excited and felt the pressure, but on with some panties, and a critical look at me in the mirror. Then I put on my male disguise.

I actually got a bit distracted at work, both noticing the feeling between my legs, and thinking "I'm a girl!" (In the sense that older women call themselves girls.) How nice to be sitting on the toilet at work with pretty panties.

In the evening, she didn't unlock it, but felt around and asked if I was sore. Under her instruction I cleaned under the retaining ring with a wipe, and used the shower head on cool to rinse it generally.

Makeup, of course, and a skirt and blouse. For dinner and the evening neither of us mentioned our genitals, they were just an accepted fact as we talked about the news and our days.

But I was thinking that I had managed 24 hours, and I'm sure she was as well. She didn't say anything about it as we got ready for bed. We hugged and kissed.

I woke up a couple of times, and went for a pee, so I never had a full bladder. Then work.

Two days.

On the third day when I came home, she took it off, I cleaned myself while she cleaned the cage and I was locked in again. It didn't take long and I was relieved to have it back.

On Saturday I had been caged for a week and we both went shopping, dressed much as I would be for work, but still locked and with pretty panties. Firstly the groceries and then the real shopping.

There were a couple of bralets, which I could wear under my work clothes and several what they call suspender tights - essentially high waist tights, with cutouts so that the material in between the waist and the legs acts like suspenders. If you wear panties over them, you don't have to take them off to use the toilet, unlike ordinary tights. This meant that I could feel as if I was wearing a bra, suspenders and stockings at work!