Bedtime is inevitable.
Comfort, however, is not.
cage
Sure, the kennel is a little cramped. But they can’t just leave the kitty home alone when they go on vacation.
The mask is mockery. They all know who she is.
And now they all know what she is.
Squirm.
Ivy’s First Trip to a Dungeon, Part Five
Eventually, Craftsmate had me stop walking and hold still while he removed the blindfold, gag, hood and handcuffs. I blushed when I noticed the fact that there were people standing around near us and reached up to nervously wipe some drool from the corner of my mouth. Taking hold once more of the leash, he leaned down and kissed me, saying that he was proud of what I had done. And, truth be told, I was, too.
Beside us was what can be aptly described as a crawlspace with bars on it, essentially a cage dug into the wall. After opening up the door, Craftsmate applied some pressure to my shoulder and had me kneel and crawl inside. Once I was in, he pulled the bolt shut on the door and tied my leash to the bars to prevent me from crawling away from the front of the cage.
“Aw, look at you in there. How cute,” he teased. A couple walked by, both partners casting a glance down into the cage and smirking before continuing on. My cheeks were burning as Craftsmate pulled a chair up by the cage and took a seat. "I like you in there,“ he explained, "I think you’re going to stay in there for a little bit.”
I started to pout, but paused as I looked beyond him and noticed a man securing a woman over a bench. She was practically naked, save for a pair of panties and a collar around her neck. As the man began to flog her, Craftsmate followed my gaze and I could see him grin.
“Were you watching them?” He asked, knowing the answer.
“No,” I replied and turned my head.
He reached down through the bars and grabbed hold of my hair, turning my head. “No, no, I think you should watch him beat her.” He was smiling. “Do you like that?” He asked, patting my cheek. “Do you like the way he’s hurting her?" I tried once more to look away and he pulled my head back to face forward. "Come on, watch them.”
I could have died right on the spot.
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Four
After the food was made, Craftsmate had me take the apron off and go into his room. He had hung chain off of a section of his bed that turned the space under his bed into a makeshift cage. Blocking off the other sides with boxes, it was this fairly small area where I could crawl a few inches in either direction.
He made me get down into the cage and brought my food in to me. Before I could get to eating with the conspicuous lack of silverware, he took my hands and taped my fingers together into little “paws”. I huffed and bent down, a blush rising in my cheeks as I started to eat off of the plate.
It was indescribably humiliating. My face got messy, I would lose grasp on the plate and it would slide around, I felt utterly ridiculous lapping water up and out of a bowl. When Craftsmate reached down to have me eat something from his hand, I could barely keep it together.
Eventually, he got up and left the bedroom for a moment. When he got back, he had a bowl with some ice cream and apple pie. “The Prodigy made a pie and decided to share some,” he explained and took a seat at his desk, facing the cage. “Next time you see her, you’re going to thank her. Now, come here.”
Gingerly, I crawled out of the cage and rested my head against his knee while he ate, opening my mouth when he fed me some. When he had finished, he put the bowl in my face so I could lick it clean and I complied, feeling the humiliation burn in my cheeks.
“Good kitty,” he murmured, running his free hand through my hair.
If you’re going to lock her with her head facing in, you may as well throw a little friend in there with her first. You know, so she can inform her companion of what is going on outside the cage past the sheet, from what she can deduce from what she feels is happening to her body.
Perhaps her little friend will empathize. Or maybe just feel jealous and take it out on the poor girl.
Oh fuck! A cage with a locking collar on the door!
She’s lucky, facing this way. I think most of the time she’d be outside with her head being locked in the cage. I’d drape it with a table cloth or sheet, so she couldn’t see what I or others are about to do with her body.
You didn’t think I was pretending when I told you I would own you, did you? That somehow we were playing? We are grown-ups, dear. Children play; we commit. And you and I have committed.
In your case, to sleeping in this cage, chained to the bars, until you have developed a more positive attitude to your new situation. If you are good perhaps you will in time deserve a mattress, maybe even a blanket.
Mmmm. Damn.
I think we all are, in our own ways, thieves. Of course, we all have different methods, different motivations, different spoils. Some of us are more overt than others. Some steal things we can line up on our mantles, others prefer taking more intangible things. We like to loot each other, to pull apart each others’ fabrics for found objects we can tuck away as if they are our own.
At the root of our nature is selfishness. We’re all wide eyes and outstretched arms and grasping fingers when you boil us down at a high enough temperature and strip off the plastic of basic interactions. We’re thieves, complete and total kleptomaniacs who take because to bring something into us makes it a part of us. We’re emotional hoarders who pile up people and moments in the cellars of whatever organ you attribute to attachment until we’ve cluttered it to fire-hazard potential. And there is no way of sorting it into piles and clearing it away because it’s become, at some very basic level, ours.
And so we steal each others’ hearts and we’re taken with each other and we become highwaymen on each others’ paths who wait for the sound of wheels. I’m not saying that we’re merciless or always harmful. I’m just saying that we’re thieves. And we take. Because that’s what thieves do.
Or, you could teach her to sing.
Slightly absurd, as cages go, but pleasing for that. It might be rather nice to have a pretty girl on display in such a cage. She’d have to have learned to never speak, however. Speaking would entirely ruin the illusion of a creature on display for looks alone.
I’m baaack.
After a bunch of back-to-back deadlines that kept me a little tied up, I’ve found some time to tumblr. Somehow, I’ve managed to accumulate asks. I should get on that.