Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth - Sex Stories

Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth

Note from author: This is the second of a three part series and will not make sense without having read part one. I do not offer a recap.

Again, fair warning: this story covers a range of kinks and fetishes. And so if that isn't your thing, beware - and don't say you weren't warned. Enjoy.

I woke at just gone midnight, balls aching and the steel of the cock cage pinching against my shaft and cockhead. I clutched at the cage and pulled up in an attempt to relieve the pressure. I turned to Sarah, the key, threaded on a silver chain, hung between her breasts. I thought to wake her, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the whistle of her breath as it cut between just parted lips. She shifted, a little, and her slip rode up revealing milk white thighs and the suggestion of her blonde trimmed pussy. I could still smell her, the scent of her need, her sex, her fuck, and I thought to reach out and run my palm across the swell of her tits, trace the darkened turn of her areola with the flat of my tongue, the twist of her hardening nipple.

None of which was helping, all of which tightened the steel cage as my cock filled and pressed against the mesh.

I turned, half-sat, my hand still clutching at cold steel. My thickening cock had pushed the cage away from my body pulling the steel base-ring tight against my balls. I pressed the cage back into my body and cupped and tugged at my scrotum, the tightness tormenting with pain and pleasure in near equal measure.

'What's ...

... wrong?' Sarah mumbled, half turning, eyes lidded, her breath still soft.

'Uncomfortable is all.'

'Go to the bathroom then,' she said. 'Try passing water - it'll help.'

In the cold white light of the bathroom I stood naked before the mirror. My hairless cock and balls looked tiny and the cage protruded, swollen flesh squeezing and purpling against the confines of the steel mesh.

I lifted the toilet seat and pissed.

'Fuck,' I said, as the cage constrained and redirected the piss-spray splattering the toilet seat and against the floor.

'From now on, you'll need to do that sitting down,' Sarah said, 'Like a good sissy should.' She stood at the bathroom door, her smile cruel, but not entirely and not quite.

'Sit. Try again,' she said, 'and then clean up your mess. A good sissy always cleans up her mess.'

I wiped the seat, sat, and discovered that Sarah was right. Sitting was easier, necessary even. I pissed down into the bowl and, as I did so, my cock returned to it's flaccid state, partly resolved through the physiological act, and partly through the realisation that Sarah wasn't entirely wrong. Sissies do, indeed, piss sitting down, and, here I was, my tiny cock locked, inaccessible, making me tinier still.

Later, I lay against the pillow thinking about Kayla, thinking about Sarah, thinking about how we'd arrived at this. I thought about it all and mostly I thought about how I'd fucked up and how I might begin to make it right.

Sarah turned towards me, I ...