**”Kitchen Confessions”**

It started with a bottle of wine in my kitchen, just like any other night. Except tonight, Ira wasn’t just teasing me—she was *owning* me. My cock had been locked in a tiny pink chastity cage for a week now, and every time she caught me squirming, she’d smirk and remind me who was in charge.

“You look so fucking cute like this,” she purred, swirling her wine while I stood there helpless, my thighs pressed together. Her nails traced my hip, then dipped lower, making me whimper as she tapped the cold metal of the cage. “All this pent-up energy… what should I do with you?”

I swallowed hard. “Whatever you want.”

Her grin turned wicked. “Good answer.” She reached behind her, pulling out a sleek black strap-on from the drawer—one we’d bought but never used. My stomach flipped when she dangled it in front of me, the silicone glistening under the kitchen lights. “You’re gonna take this like a good girl, aren’t you?”

Fuck. My caged dick strained pointlessly as I nodded, already feeling my hole clench in anticipation. She poured more wine down her throat, then pushed me against the counter. “Pants. Off.”

I fumbled with my sweatpants, kicking them aside while she strapped herself in, her fingers testing the lube on the toy. It wasn’t small—not that I wanted it to be. The moment she stepped forward, pressing the tip against my tight hole, I gasped.

“Relax,” she whispered, gripping my hip. “You *need* this.”

I bit my lip as she pushed in, my body stretching around the thick shaft. The burn made me whine, but I arched back, wanting more. Ira didn’t go slow—she fucked me in sharp, deep strokes, my ass jiggling with each thrust.

“God, look at you,” she groaned, her free hand groping my cage, making me shudder. “Your *real* cock’s useless, huh? Just a leaky little thing.” I moaned, pre-cum dripping pathetically as she pounded me. My knees wobbled, but she held me up, her nails digging into my skin.

“Fuck—*fuck*—you’re so tight,” she panted, slamming into me harder. I could hear the wet slap of the strap against my ass, my own broken moans filling the kitchen. Every thrust sent shocks through my locked dick, my neglected balls aching.

“Please,” I begged, not even sure what I was asking for.

Ira laughed breathlessly and reached around, rubbing my sore clit through the cage. “You wanna cum like this? Just from getting fucked?”

“*Yes*—”

She kept going, her rhythm brutal, relentless. My toes curled against the tile as the pressure built, my body writhing between pleasure and overstimulation. When I finally came, it was dry—just a pathetic twitch in my cage, my hole clenching around her strap as I whimpered her name.

Ira slowed, giving me a few last thrusts before pulling out, leaving me gaping and breathless. She unbuckled the strap, tossing it onto the counter before grabbing my chin.

“Still think you’re the man in this relationship?” she teased, licking wine from her lips.

I shook my head, still trembling. “No, ma’am.”

She smirked. “Good girl.” Then she kissed me, deep and filthy, and I knew—tomorrow, the cage would still be on. And I’d love every fucking second of it.