3 comments/ 15766 views/ 2 favorites The True Measure of Love Ch. 01 By: misterfriz I could tell something was wrong as soon as I opened the door the apartment. Jasmine, the love of my life for the past two years, always had time to straighten up the house despite the demands of her job. I helped as well, of course, believing that the best relationships are based on equal responsibility. On the weekends, I would wake up early and quietly tidy up the place before making breakfast for us both and bringing it in to my sleeping beauty. The living room was a shambles. The cushions from the furniture were tossed about the place. The collection of magazines and bowl of candies that normally adorned the guest table were strewn across the carpeted floor. The telephone was pulled out of the wall and lay in a jumbled heap on the other side of the room. "Jasmine?" I called out as I entered and shut the door. "Honey, are you here? Are you all right?" Silence was my only answer. I set down my briefcase and removed my tie, letting the richness of its silk fabric ebb through my fingers as I looked into the kitchen. My gaze was drawn to the block of unfinished wood that held a set of kitchen knives. I stepped over slowly to it, pausing to finger the sole empty slot in its display of sheathed blades. "Serrated bread knife," I murmured to myself. It was big and menacing, I mused, capable of inflicting a wicked wound on exposed flesh. My brow knit as I glanced at a small scar on my left index finger where that same knife had left a reminder for me to be more careful in the future. It was the perfect weapon to intimidate someone. I called out for Jasmine again, a little louder this time, but there was still no answer. The apartment's bedroom was less disturbed than the living room but the bed covers were thrown akimbo and the lamp from the nightstand lay on the floor, its bulb broken. The covers were darkened by spots of dampness, especially near the head of the bed. The top drawer of the dresser was open -- the place Jasmine stored the fancy lingerie and delicate negligee she would wear for my eyes alone. While we were equals in everything else, Jasmine ruled the bedroom. She must have sensed that need in me, that basic insecurity due to lack of experience in such matters. She was patient, comforting and yet subtly demanding, always taking the lead. The year before, she bound me to the bed with scarves and stockings and had her deliciously wicked way with me for the better part of a night and a day. Since then, we spent much of our available earnings on a large plastic tackle box and had filled it with various toys and restraints that she gleefully used on me time and again. I had spent many happy weekends as a helpless prisoner of that bedroom, squirming in cat's cradles of rope, while expressing my wanton desire and climatic pleasures in smothered moans through gags of various types. The box now lay open next to the closet door, its contents spilling out onto the carpet. My eyes widened in realization as I studied it. Several lengths of silk rope and a ball gag were missing. I felt my panicked pulse quicken as I drew shallow breaths, desperately suppressing an urge to cry out her name at the top of my lungs. I issued a bitter, shuddering sob before noticing the bathroom door was slightly ajar. I slowly pushed the door open. A sodden bath towel lay on the floor, amid the scattered contents of Jasmine's cosmetics and toiletries. Her wooden handled hairbrush lay in the sink. I picked it up, remembering the time she had turned me over her knee and applied its back to my posterior with several firm but loving strokes when I arrived home late from the office. Hot tears burned my cheeks as I clung to my memories of her -- of her long dark hair framing green eyes and night-pale features smiling at me just before we embrace. I relished the warm touch of her lips when we kiss, just before she forces her hot, wet tongue between mine. I longed for the pleasant swell of her bosom against my chest, the delicate scent of perfume on her skin, the music of her laughter... The cell phone in my pants pocket warbled, snapping me out of my longings and back to the present. I fumbled it out and checked the number and saw that it was Jasmine's cell phone. I hastily flipped the phone open. "Jasmine?" I practically yelled, "Honey, are you all right?" "No, Jonathan," said a calm but firm feminine voice at the other end. "I am Jasmine's kidnapper." It took several rapids beats of my racing heart for that to register. With that realization, came an unnatural calm. I took a slow, trembling breath and blew it out before speaking. "Is Jasmine all right?" I asked in a lower tone of voice. "While she is not entirely comfortable," replied the woman's voice, "she is unharmed." "What do you want?" I asked. The woman chuckled softly a moment before answering. "You are surprisingly focused, given the situation," she said. "That is good. You will need to be focused if you ever want to see her again." "You didn't answer my question," I said, letting some irritation creep into my voice. "Do not take that tone of voice with me, Jonathan," said the woman with an undercurrent of malice. "Let's make this perfectly clear at the start -- I will make demands of you, and you will obey. If you fail to follow my instructions precisely, Jasmine disappears from your life, never to return." There was a pause before she continued. "Do you understand?" I closed my eyes and fought down the urge to scream at the disembodied voice. "I understand," I said at last. "First and foremost," said the woman, "have you contacted the authorities or anyone else concerning Jasmine's disappearance?" "No," I replied. "Not a soul." "Keep it that way," replied the woman. "You will not involve anyone else in this matter -- NO ONE. Is that clear?" "It's just between us and Jasmine," I agreed. "Just please don't hurt her," I added with my voice cracking. "Steady, Jonathan," assured the voice with a touch of sympathy. "As long as you do what I say, I won't. Compose yourself, and then I will tell you what to do." Twenty minutes later, I was walking toward a small mom-and-pop motel that was nestled into a run-down residential neighborhood. I still wore my plain white dress shirt (sans tie), belted khakis and polished leather dress shoes from work. I stepped through the door to the office and rang the antique bell on the counter. A young woman in a pink t-shirt with her blonde hair tied back into a ponytail stepped through the beaded curtain. She favored me with a smile. "You must be Jonathan," she said cheerfully as she dug under the counter for something. She flipped a room key onto the counter before I could reply. "Suite 14," she said pointing to my right as she went back through the curtain and disappeared from view. Rather than shout in her wake, I sighed in frustration and picked up the key. I exited the office and walked down the sidewalk in front of the line of rooms to my right. Suite 14 turned out to be around the corner of the single-story rectangular building in the back. The area was screened in by trees and hedges and there were no vehicles parked next to the room door, nor any other room on that side of the motel. I noticed there were heavy curtains closed across the windows as I slotted the key and unlocked the door. I felt a hand grab the front of my shirt as I opened the door and yank me inside the room. As the door slammed shut behind me, my feet got tangled up in something and I pitched face-first onto the bed, whose ancient springs squealed in protest. Night-blind in the darkness, I felt someone -- a woman -- jump onto my back and clasp my wrists with warm, firm hands. I began to struggle, when I felt the touch of cold metal on the side of my neck. I stopped instantly, recognizing the feel of the serrated bread knife from the apartment kitchen. "That's better," said a woman's voice -- Jasmine's kidnapper -- from near my head. "Go limp," she added. "Offer any resistance and I will cut you." The woman on my back continued to hold my wrists. "May I ask a question?" I ventured. The knife came away from my neck. I was becoming aware of the dim shadowy figures of the two women in the gloom around me. I could hear the whisper of silk as the one near my head moved, towering over me in the dark. When she turned back, she had something in her hands. "You may," she replied to my question. "What is your na—MMMPH!" Her hands had shoved a wad of silky material into my mouth and were already strapping some sort of harness around the lower part of my face. I felt leather straps pulling tight around my head as she deftly buckled them. "My name," she replied as I felt metal rasp against metal behind my head, "is Cassandra." There was a click and I realized that a small padlock had been inserted into the buckle and locked. "But you will call me 'Mistress,' if I permit you to speak at all." I felt the knife's chill upon my skin near my neck again as I heard its working side shredding the fabric of my shirt. I whimpered softly with fear at the touch of the weapon. "Easy, Jonathan," said Cassandra, "Just relax and be still." With a series of quick cuts down the sleeves and the middle of my back, the shirt lay in rags around me. "Believe it or not," she added as she worked, "I really don't want to hurt you -- yet." I felt my hands drawn behind my back and the two women worked together to slide my hands into heavy mitts of leather that were buckled tightly around my wrists. My wrists were locked together with another padlock that passed through metal rings mounted on them. The women than rolled me on my side. While Cassandra undid my belt, the other woman pulled off my shoes and socks before Cassandra peeled off my pants and underwear. I could feel a blush coming to my cheeks as I saw Cassandra looking over my naked form. "Jasmine," she said, "has good taste in men." I felt her hands running lightly across my thighs, buttocks and flanks. I could see her smile as her hands lightly brushed my balls and cock. I twitched at the unexpected touch. "Very good taste," she added and turned back to the bag on the night stand beside the bed. Cassandra was a beautiful woman, despite the fact that she had kidnapped my love and was seemingly intent on doing the same to me. She was a tall, voluptuous woman with red hair and pale skin. The long-sleeved white silk blouse she wore clung to her generous bosom and enticing flanks, revealing that she wore a dark-colored corset beneath. Her black silk pencil skirt hugged the curves and contours of her hips and buttocks, distending slightly across her thighs as she moved, revealing the telltale bumps and bulges of a garter belt beneath. Her legs were sheathed in shiny, sheer copper stockings that whispered as she moved, providing wonderful highlights of her very long, shapely legs. Her feet were perched on open-toed stiletto shoes made of black patent leather. As I watched her, I felt leather cuffs encircling my ankles and being buckled in place. The now-familiar rasp of metal indicated that they too were padlocked together. Cassandra looked over at the other woman. "Get him on his knees," she said distractedly as she continued look through her bag on the nightstand. The other woman allowed me to pivot on my hip and squirm off of the bed enough to plant my feet before she eased me over the side and onto my knees. I glanced back at her and gave her a slight nod of appreciation for being gentle. I noticed that she wore a leather collar around her neck with a mounted ring of metal just below her chin. She flashed me a shadow of a smile in return then threw a cautioning look toward Cassandra. I quickly turned back to face my captor. Cassandra turned back toward me while holding a wide strap of leather in her hands. With me kneeling and her on five-inch heels, she towered over me. She stepped in close enough to let the hem of her skirt brush my face. I caught a hint of perfume as I felt the other woman threading a cord through the padlocks at my wrists and ankles. Cassandra looked down at me with a slight smile. Behind me, I felt the other woman tying off the cord, pulling it slightly tighter so that I had to lean back to put slack in the line. The other woman then stood and walked to the door, exiting the room quietly. I was now alone with my captor. "This," said Cassandra, indicating the strap she was holding, "is for you." She turned it over in her hands so I could see it. It looked like a slightly more heavy-duty version of the collar the other woman wore. My brow furrowed and then I looked up at the woman again. Cassandra nodded knowingly. "I know, I know," she said, "you are worried about Jasmine and are wondering what this has to do with her -- yes?" I nodded slowly so as to not show irritation. Cassandra smiled again. "You will see her shortly," she said, "provided you agree to wear this collar." I nodded. "I would not agree to that so quickly," cautioned Cassandra with a waggling finger. She turned the collar over in her hands again, looking at it. "I am a mistress, Jonathan. Not the kind you see in the movies who manipulates married men for money." She bent forward a bit and looked at me intently. "I am the kind of mistress who OWNS people. I take advantage of people's wants and desires, making them submit to MY wants and desires. And my desires are a mix of pleasure, debauchery and pain." Despite the situation, I could feel the sexual power of this woman. My heart was racing and I could feel a stirring of my loins. I could feel the heat of her against my naked skin, her perfume filling my senses with its enticing aroma. And looking into her eyes, I realized that she could sense my resolve eroding away under her feminine power. I gently strained against the bonds holding my wrists and hands, the leather creaking audibly in the silence of the room. "Oh dear God," I thought desperately, "I want this woman." I could feel an erection starting as my breath quickened. My cheeks were flush, burning hot against the strap holding my gag in place. Cassandra's smile widened as she regarded my discomfort. "If you wear my collar," she said slowly, "then you agree to do anything and everything I demand of you for as long as you wear it. It is a mark of ownership -- MY mark of ownership. Once I put it on you, it remains until I decide to remove it. Should you disobey or disrespect me in any fashion while you wear it, your punishment will swift and painful -- as will Jasmine's." The last of my resistance crumbled and I cast my eyes downward, my shoulders sagging as much as they could against my bonds. Cassandra gently kissed my forehead. "Good boy," she whispered. The leather collar encircled my neck, but my eyes were closed. Cassandra drew it snug, but not uncomfortably so, and buckled it behind my head. A padlock was slotted and locked home. I drew a shuddering breath as she walked around in front of me. A soft, warm hand found my chin and drew my gaze up to meet hers. Her blue eyes blazed in triumph as she looked down at me. "You are mine now," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Mine." The tableau was broken by a gentle knock at the door. Cassandra turned her gaze toward the door. "Enter," she said. She looked at me again, favoring me with a wicked smile. "Let's take you to see Jasmine." The True Measure of Love Ch. 02 PREVIOUSLY -- Jonathan comes home from work to discover that Jasmine, the love of his life, has been kidnapped. He receives a phone call from her abductor and walks to a nearby motel where he is also captured. Mistress Cassandra introduces herself and tells Jon that unless he submits to her whims, he will never see Jasmine again. Faced with that awful prospect and his own mounting desire for Cassandra, Jon agrees to wear the mistress' collar. *** I lay face down and naked on the carpeted floor of a room that I guessed was devoid of most furnishings, judging by the echoes. A length of opaque silk had been fashioned into a very effective blindfold for me, while a wad of silk sealed behind a leather muzzle kept my contemplations silenced. The collar around my neck limited my head movement slightly but was not overly tight. I squirmed slightly, listening to the creaking of leather ankle and wrist cuffs and hand mitts mixing with the dull jingles of padlocks and metal hardware that imprisoned my limbs. A cord had been looped between my ankles and wrists, hogtying me. I guessed that the journey from the hotel where I had been abducted by Mistress Cassandra to this place had taken a half-hour, mostly spent in the trunk of a luxury car. Someone had gone to the trouble of carefully padding the floor of the trunk. The ride to this place had been smooth and lacking in any sort of auditory landmarks as the classical music from the car's stereo system covered all but the rumble of the wheels on the pavement below. I truly had no idea where I was -- or where Jasmine was, for that matter. I stiffened as I heard the voices of two women outside the door. Then I heard a doorknob being unlocked and turned, feeling the gentle rush of air the opening door made across my naked skin. Something large was set upon the floor of the empty room, followed by two smaller items. The door closed again, but I could feel that whoever had entered the room still remained. There was a scent in the air, familiar and comforting. It took me all of three seconds to place it. JASMINE!! "Jonathan!" she exclaimed in hushed tones as she crouched down next to me, her shaking fingers untying the knot of silk that made the blindfold fast to my head. And then I could see her beautiful green eyes regarding me with maternal concern. She helped me to my knees and then threw her arms around me, clutching me tightly. I buried my face in her long, dark tresses, tears streaking my cheeks in relief that she was all right. It was only when she released me several long moments later that it dawned on me that she was also naked, adorned with wrist and ankle cuffs of leather and a collar with a metal ring mounted on it under her chin. Jasmine was oblivious to my observations as she quickly assessed my bonds. She undid the cord between my ankles and wrists, and spent a few moments working some feeling back into my calves and feet with her warm hands as I lay on the floor again. I looked around as she worked and saw that a wooden straight chair had been brought into the room. Two bottles of water had been placed next to it. The room was painted beige brick about twenty feet on a side and about half that high. There were no windows and just a single heavy wooden door. The upper portions of the walls held a number of small fixtures for low-wattage indirect lighting of the room. Above me was a small air vent and a functional-looking ceiling fan. The room also had a number of metal hooks and eyelets mounted at various heights along the wall opposite the door. At the wall toward my feet was a mounted pegboard holding multiple coils of rope of various lengths, mounted containers for metal clip links and padlocks, gags, blindfolds, leather straps with metal buckles, hoods, paddles, floggers and many other items that I could not readily identify. The wall toward my head had a large wooden wardrobe cabinet that was closed. My gaze returned to my lovely lady, somehow more desirable than I had ever seen her -- her nakedness enhanced by the leather fetters and collar she wore. Her glossy, ebony tresses cascaded in loose waves down her shoulders as she moved, the ends tickling the swell of her breasts. Her barren hips and buttocks moved in pleasing ways as she checked me over, and I felt the familiar longing for her, accentuated by the bonds that kept me from touching her at all. Jasmine happened to glance down at my privates and smiled at the stirrings of an erection. The smile quickly faded, though. "I love you too, sweetheart," she said softly to me, "but you need to be a good boy for Mistress Cassandra now." She planted a warm, lingering kiss on my forehead and then hastily retreated from the room, closing the door behind her. I squeezed tears from my eyes as I realized that I was alone again -- somehow more alone than I had been before Jasmine's visit. "What the hell is going on?" I murmured into the wadding of my gag. I thought Jasmine had been kidnapped, but if that was true, then why hadn't she fled? And why would I have to be a good boy for Cassandra if Jasmine seemingly wasn't in danger? My musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, just before it was opened. My breath caught as I saw her again -- my captor had returned. Mistress Cassandra's crimson tresses drawn tightly behind her head in a bun, held in place by a pair of large, lacquered hair pins. She had put on more dramatic makeup, emphasizing contrasts of light and shadow on her face. Her lipstick was blood-red, her blue eyes were framed in black and blue shadow, and her blush was a glorious rose. Gone were the blouse and skirt, revealing a black satin corset with blood red trim and edged in feathery lace. A pair of keys dangled just above the swells of her exposed cleavage on a gold necklace chain. The motif continued with her garter belt that held up sheer, glossy black stockings. Her silk thong panties also copied the style, worn over the garters. Her feet were clad in sandals with stiletto heels, an intricate set of black patent leather straps winding sinuously around her feet and ankles to end in small brushed silver buckles. Her hands and arms were sheathed in red satin opera gloves, with black wrist cuffs buckled over them. She smiled as she regarded me, like a mantis regarding its prey. "Hello slave," she said softly. "It's time to begin your servitude." She plucked the keys from her breast, removing the necklace in the process as she strode over to me. I watched the highlights dance on her stockings, hearing the intoxicating whisper they made as her thighs glided past each other. I felt desire stirring in me again as I watched, coming unbidden as if she could somehow conjure it at a whim. "Get to your knees," she said. I quickly struggled to comply, grunting with effort against the creaking leather bonds that held me. She was close now -- my eyes level with her crotch. I looked up and saw her dangling the keys on the chain. I inhaled that exotic perfume she wore as she stood there, contemplating me. "You've had that gag in place for over an hour," she said as she reached down with a free hand to gently brush my cheek with her gloved fingers. "Jasmine tells me you enjoy being gagged, and I must say I like seeing you that way as well." Her smile was a wicked tease and I could feel my body responding to her. "But I suppose you are thirsty," she added. "Would you like me to remove it now?" I nodded. She stooped to slot the key in the padlock, touching my naked shoulder gently with her stocking-clad thigh. The sensation was electric, blood-warmed silk against my skin. She paused to caress my shoulder blades, my body shuddering in surprise at the contact. My eyes closed as the contact continued for a moment, and I exhaled softly, relaxing slightly. "That's better," she murmured above me. The key rasped inside the padlock. "You still do not have my permission to speak," she warned as she worked, "so remain silent." The lock popped open and she removed the muzzle. "Spit out the wadding to the side for now," she said and I complied, running my tongue around the inside of my mouth for a moment as I watched her. She strode over to the pegboard and hung the muzzle by its buckle on one of the hooks. I drank in the fluid, sexual motion of her hips as she walked -- a practiced motion, I realized, like the catwalk strut of a clothing model. She made a quick glance over her shoulder, just to check that I was watching, and her eyes closed seductively as her smile got wider. My heart was already pounding in my chest, a mix of uncertainty and desire fueling its quickened pace. She went over to the chair and sat, picking up a bottle of water and crossing her legs. She pointed to a spot on the floor next to the chair. "Come here," she said. I struggled to comply, inching across the carpet on my knees while fighting the bonds on my ankles and being careful to maintain my balance with my wrists still locked behind my back. Cassandra's shining eyes told me she was enjoying my hardship as she watched my progress. When I finally arrived several moments later, she looked at me. "Would you like some water, slave?" I nodded. She removed the cap and set the bottle on the floor beside me. "Don't spill any," she cautioned. It took me a moment to reposition myself so I could grasp the neck of the bottle with my teeth and drink. As I did so, I felt the fingertips of her gloved hand gently brush my ribs. My teeth locked in a death-grip on the bottle's neck as my body trembled at her touch. "Good boy," she said as she continued the contact, running her hand down to my hips and buttocks. "I see why Jasmine adores you," she commented. I carefully returned the half-full bottle to the carpet and looked back at her. "Face me, slave," she said. As I complied, her hands played across my chest, lingering over my nipples and collarbones. One of her hands found my cheek as she looked at me with an expression of tenderness. "I know you have many questions, Jonathan," she said, "and they all will be answered eventually. But for now, you must endure my attentions -- for Jasmine's sake." "However," she continued, "since you've been a good boy so far, I will answer the most pressing one. You have realized by now that Jasmine's 'kidnapping' isn't real." She fingered the keys on her necklace again as she spoke. "That's because she has worn my collar for nearly four years. She has belonged to me all that time, the same way you belong to me now." "But now Jasmine wants to own you, Jonathan." That took a moment to sink in, but when it did I could feel my blush returning again as I smiled slightly. "Yes," said Cassandra, "and because I own her, I have the right to accept or reject her decision. If I accept, then I remove my collar so she can place hers upon you. However, if I reject it, her relationship with you will end." I couldn't stop from shaking my head, trying to deny that Cassandra had such power over the woman I loved. Her hand found my chin and held it still. "It's true," she said with some emphasis. "That's why she's wearing my collar and going around naked right now, instead of trying to escape. Her nakedness and collar remind her of her position and the power I have over her -- and you." She swatted my rump with a gloved hand for emphasis, and I jumped. It hadn't been hard enough to hurt, but she now had my full attention. "Make no mistake, Jonathan," she said slowly, "Jasmine is very special to me -- as she is to you, no doubt. But she loves you more than she has ever loved another man. Since I care so very much for her, I have to make sure you are the right man for her. And for your sake and hers, so do you." I met her gaze and nodded. And it registered in her eyes I would do whatever it took to be that man for Jasmine. She stood and looked down at me. I felt the now familiar longing for her again, the sexual desire that came unbidden at her feet. "You have potential, slave," she said as her smile returned, "but the journey is only just beginning." The True Measure of Love Ch. 03 PREVIOUSLY -- Jonathan is captured by and submits to Mistress Cassandra in an attempt to save the love of his life -- Jasmine -- from a kidnapping. However, Cassandra reveals that the kidnapping has merely been a ruse to get Jonathan to wear her collar. Cassandra also tells Jon that while Jasmine wants him to be her slave, he must first convince the Mistress that he is worthy of Jasmine's affection. Jonathan agrees to be "evaluated" by Cassandra in her "playroom," determined to be judged the right man for the woman he loves. *** I rested the back of my head against the cool, beige-painted brick wall and tried to wiggle some feeling back into my shoulders. Mistress Cassandra had tethered the leather mitts enclosing my hands to two of the many tie-down points on the wall. My arms were spread outward and upward so my hands were above the level of my head. My leather collar was also tethered to the wall by a pair of slack lengths of fine metal chain attached to the ring mounted on it under my chin. My cuffed ankles were being forced apart by two-foot long spreader bar. The ankles were also tethered to the wall, though with just enough slack to allow some small movement. Otherwise, I was naked as I waited alone in the room. Some of my questions about Jasmine's so-called kidnapping had been answered, but the answers left many more questions burning in my mind. Although I wasn't gagged, I had been forbidden from speaking, and the threat of retaliation against the woman I loved was all that kept me silent now. But who was Cassandra, and what could she possibly be holding over Jasmine to keep her as a slave for four years? I grunted as my left shoulder started to ache. In my academic past, I had injured it playing baseball. Even though it had healed, it still gave me the occasional twinge. I groaned and flexed my arms slightly as I leaned forward to take the weight off the affected joint, going until the slack chains on my collar were taut. I shifted my feet to the base of the wall and allowed my arms to bear the load of most me for a moment. Something in my left shoulder popped, and the pain subsided. I sighed and resumed my original position. While my arms were tired, they weren't in any great discomfort -- yet. Just as I finished assessing my physical condition, Mistress Cassandra entered the room. She was still wearing the ensemble of her black and red silk corset, garter belt, panties, stockings, stiletto heels and leather wrist cuffs over her satin opera gloves. She smiled at me as she closed the door and locked it. She walked to the center of the room and stood there, looking me over slowly letting her eyes drink in every inch of me from my toes to the crown of my head. I could feel my blush starting when I realized what she was doing. Her burgundy lips parted slightly, showing a tip of moist, pink tongue and straight, porcelain teeth before closing them again. She'd taken her hair out of the bun behind her head, allowing it to fall softly around her face and shoulders. I could feel my heartbeat quicken as I looked back into those beautiful eyes, as I felt the stirrings of an erection once again. "I missed you too, slave," she said at last. Cassandra stepped over to the mounted pegboard to her right, stooped and opened one of the containers toward its bottom. As she crouched down, my gaze was drawn to the glossy curves of her thighs and calves, sheathed in the sheer, smoke-colored stockings. She pulled out some sort of device with many straps and metal rings with a small, vaguely pyramidal framework at its zenith. She stood and showed it to me. "Do you know what this is?" she asked. I shook my head in response. I still had no permission to speak. She smiled wickedly as she slowly walked over to me. "This," she said, "is a cock cage. The fun begins when you get erect." I looked down at the item in her hands again, suddenly nervous. But then I noticed that my erection was well underway. I met her gaze again. "Good," she said as if savoring the flavor of the word. She spread the straps of the cage. "The nice part about his particular model is that it doesn't prevent an erection -- just makes it uncomfortable." She wrapped the cool leather straps around my scrotum and the base of my penis and gently drew them snug. I suppressed a moan of pleasure at her touch, as the straps of the cage pleasantly teased my privates. It wasn't until first touch of the cool metal of the rings along my shaft and the cage around the head of my cock that I felt any discomfort at all. And yet, having her there, the warmth of her body so close and yet untouchable, her complete attention, made my manhood continue its erection despite the increasing confinement of the cage. "Some slaves find it very pleasurable," she added, "to be caught like this. Teased...tamed...turned on...and completely helpless to stop it." She lightly ran the tips of her gloved fingers over my exposed scrotum for emphasis, and my privates twitched in their prison of leather and metal as I sucked in my breath in surprise. She laughed musically for a moment then planted an all-too-brief kiss upon my cheek before continuing her task. She threaded a tiny padlock through a pair of buckles on the cage and locked it home. She stepped back, holding the small key up for me to see. Then she carefully fitted it onto the ring that held the other two padlock keys that rode on a slender gold necklace chain. She stepped in close, letting the keys fall to the top of her generous cleavage. This close, I could smell her exotic perfume again. It was tantalizingly musky and sweet as I drank it in. I tried to move to embrace her, only to be thwarted by my bonds. She smiled seductively, mere inches from my body. She enjoyed my captivity -- using her sexuality and body language to give me all the right signs, to urge me on, only to be held in check by her bonds. I was completely in her power, still wanting her and she knew it. My cock responded to her flirtations and the cage's rings began to dig into the sides of my shaft. I grunted slightly at the sensation, muffling it as best as I could with closed lips. Her warm, moist lips found my right nipple, kissing it lightly at first, then slowly encircling it with them and teasing it with her tongue. My breath quickened as she turned slow, spirals around it with her tongue, pausing only to nibble upon its tip occasionally with her teeth. Her gloved hands were wandering across the small of my back, my buttocks and thighs in slow, suggestive caresses. My body trembled under her soft, sensual assault. I moaned through closed lips at first, but more and more loudly as the pleasure continued. Inside the cage, I could feel the prison closing in around my cock. The metal rings along my shaft were no longer cool to my skin and seemed to be getting smaller every second. The pyramid frame over the head of my penis had a network of slender and unyielding wires that were starting to press a checkered pattern into it as my erection continued to grow. The straps around my scrotum rode across the very base of it, tickling it with each twitch she elicited from my body. My testicles were already aching with the strain of trying to hold back the tide of the climax that was building there. Cassandra knelt down and shifted her oral attentions to my thighs -- kissing, licking and nibbling them -- as if she were methodically mapping out the sensitive places to exploit later. Her gloved hands caressed my buttocks, hips and flanks. During her attentions, one of her silk shrouded breasts brushed my knee. Blood-warm stockings with the tender flesh of her legs beneath tantalized my ankles. The heat of her passion seared my naked skin, branding me with red-hot desire for her. As much as the cage's rings and wires were starting to hurt my manhood, there was still no stopping its progression. Each of the metal rings was now indenting the flesh of my cock, as it strained against its confinement. The grid of wires across its head were pressing in on it, yet still had enough give not to make it prohibitively painful. A single milky pearl of pre-ejaculate beaded there as my throbbing cock sought some release from Cassandra's relentless stimulation. "Speak to me, slave," Cassandra said suddenly. "Tell me how good I make you feel." She started teasing my tortured shaft and aching balls with her tongue. At that touch, I shuddered in the bonds, every tether growing immediately taut as I realized how truly helpless I was now. "Oh God!" I moaned between gasps of pure pleasure. "Goddess," she chided with a gentle slap of the cage. I nearly cried out in surprise at the sensation. "Complete submission is what I demand," she added. "I am your only salvation, so you will worship me, slave." She resumed teasing my privates with her tongue again. I grunted and groaned in wanton lust to an accompaniment of softly creaking leather and the metallic rattling of tethers and links, my body trapped in a cat's cradle of sensuality and raw, naked need. "Oh Goddess," I heard myself beg between desperate gulps of air, "It hurts Goddess...but please don't...please don't stop! Oh Goddess...feels so good!" Cassandra stopped and slowly stood, raking my thighs, flanks and chest lightly with her fingernails. The sensation sent shivers all through me as I gasped for breath and fought for control. Her lips and teeth found my left earlobe, kissing and nibbling. "Mmmmm," she murmured softly. "Would you like to cum, slave?" "Yes Mistress!" I gasped in desperation. The nibbling on my ear continued as her gloved hand wandered over my chest. She started rubbing one of her stockinged legs against mine. I closed my eyes and fought the urge to surrender to the pleasure, but I was losing ground with each new sensation she gave. "Are you sure?" she purred. "Do you really want to cum now? Or would you rather cum for Jasmine?" At the mention of my beloved's name, I found new strength to resist. "For Jasmine, Mistress," I said, even as a fresh wave of agonizing lust washed through me. Cassandra stopped and looked at me, showing me a feral grin. Then her lips were on mine, her hot tongue plunging deep into my mouth. Her arms were crushing her incredibly desirable curves against my body. Her perfume accentuated every sensation as she held me there. I struggled in my bonds, desperate to fine either escape or the means of returning her passion. I whimpered in that embrace, my overloaded senses being born down by her sexuality and her power. But somehow, I resisted the nearly overpowering urge to succumb. My cock throbbed and ached in its cage, the metal digging into my flesh, the straps chafing my balls and scrotum as my manhood fought in futility to find its release from both pain and desire. Cassandra's attentions slowed and became tender -- the crushing embrace and forceful kissing both mellowing to a languid, sensuous pace, giving me time to respond in kind. Cassandra slowly edged her lips away from mine, exposing the side of her neck as she undid her necklace. I nuzzled her jaw aside and began to lavish attention upon it with my lips and tongue. As I did, I heard her release a shuddering moan of pleasure. She cradled my head with her hands, holding me there. I continued, making each contact longer in duration, occasionally nibbling her neck with my teeth. But even as I did so, I felt my own need for release flare again. My trapped manhood pressed painfully against the confines of the cage, the unyielding metal and leather checking my passion with unrelenting pressure. I whined inarticulately into her neck as my pain and passion mounted. Cassandra, gasping and moaning, finally tore herself away from me. We stared at each other, wild-eyed passion alight in our eyes, our bodies quaking in suppressed emotion. She stumbled over to the door behind her and fumbled with the lock, keeping her eyes on me. She practically tore the door open, but her gaze never wavered. "Jasmine!" she cried without turning her head. Jasmine rushed into the room, casting a longing glance at me before kneeling before her Mistress. She was still naked, still adorned in the leather cuffs and collar she'd worn when she'd checked on me hours ago. It was only then that I realized I no longer wore the collar. Cassandra dangled the necklace she wore, the keys on it jangling, placed it and my collar in Jasmine's hands. "Your slave needs to cum now," Cassandra said as she begrudged me a smile and a wink. And then she turned and strode out of the room, closing the door behind her. Jasmine knelt in stunned silence for a moment, her hands clasping the keys and collar, her head bowed. Then turned toward me and stood, resplendent in her near nakedness. It seemed impossible, but my manhood fought even more desperately against the cage, but the pain was now forgotten. Her lips found mine, her warm, soft flesh against mine as her arms wrapped tightly around me. I moaned in relief and desire into her mouth. She broke the kiss, still smiling. Slowly, deliberately, she placed the collar around my neck again and locked the buckle closed with its small padlock. Her eyes sparkled as she saw the recognition mine. "Mistress Cassandra says my slave needs to cum now," she said softly, as she ran her fingers through my hair. I nodded slowly, my gaze never leaving hers. Jasmine's smile turned mischievous. Her fingernails toyed with my scrotum, making my whole body twitch. "Are you sure, slave?" THE END