Ever since Master C installed the cage a couple of years ago, it has been a constant source of dread. It is His last recourse of discipline, to be used when a simple thrashing is not sufficient for the transgression that I have committed.
The punishment for those very worst offences is always the same:
Step one: I am thrashed/birched soundly.
Step two: With my hands cuffed behind my back, I am forced to kneel before Master C as He wanks, then cums all over me.
Step three: I am pushed into the cage, the door is locked, the light is switched off, and I am left overnight to contemplate my behaviour.
Step four: At some point the next day, I will be required to apologise, suck His cock through the bars of the cage then, once released, submit myself for another thrashing.
I fear and dread the cage more than anything. More than simply being thrashed. More than being denied the release of orgasm. I fear it because it denies me a night spent next to Master C, feeling His body against mine, feeling safe wrapped up in His strong yet soft embrace. I fear it because it means I have done something so bad, I have temporarily lost the right to His protection.
And yet, the cage isn’t always bad…
Sometimes, when I’m feeling low after a bad day at work, or a particularly bad bout of PMT, I will retreat to the cage, waiting for Master C to return. The cage becomes a sanctuary, a place of comfort and security. When Master C comes home and finds me in my cage, He knows that I’m feeling particularly fragile, that I need His care and reassurance more than anything else. It is my sign to Him that the world is proving too much for me and I need Master C to look after me, to cherish me, to love me.
It is a sign that Master C knows only to well how to interpret. I need Him to be my caring, protecting Dominant. He never fails me.