a-male-gaze:

Clit Cage

(nonconsent, pain, denial, extreme)

She’d been very reluctant, but her husband had explained it to her. “These people have a deeply held belief that women should not experience pleasure during sex. We can’t be seen to infringe their religious freedoms, especially considering the situation back home.”

Oh, she’d been so excited back when her husband had been appointed Ambassador to Misogytopia. It was a significant career advancement, and it would do wonders for her own prospects once the posting was over. Now she deeply regretted having moved here with him. He’d told her how important it was, of course. An Ambassador without a wife would not be respected by the locals.

Now she was about to take another, much more intimate step for the sake of that respect. She was tied securely to a metal frame, wearing her stockings and an elegant top but nothing in between. In front of her stood an elderly man who was staring between her widely spread legs and frowning. The Ambassador had asked around to find the very best practitioner.

The old man took a small wooden device and pressed it against her vulva. There was a crank on the end of the device. He turned the crank and the device started vibrating, its two halves pressing on her pussy lips in alternation. He turned it steadily, patiently, forcefully, until she started breathing heavily and felt her clit twitch and wake up. When she moved her hips, he took the device away and knelt down in front of her crotch, staring intently.

She blushed as she realized her pussy was all swollen and red, and her clit now stood up and peeked out from under its hood. Having this stranger inspect it so clinically made her feel more shy than she’d ever been before.

He took out a small metal cup, shaped like a thimble except that it had small holes instead of indentations. He carefully placed it at the top of her slit, then slid a little tube over the cup. The tube was connected to a hand pump, and with a few quick squeezes he had sucked her clit and its hood up into the thimble, filling it completely. She gasped at the intense feeling, but he ignored her reaction.

Then he took out a delicate curved needle and started stitching the rim of the thimble to the flesh around her clitoris.

Her husband had not quite understood. He had asked for the “best” practitioner, but in this context the word also meant “most painful”. The stitching was normally a ten minute job but his wife’s screams of agony echoed from the embassy for more than an hour.

The Ambassador gained a lot of respect that day.

Now her clit was caged. It and its hood permanently filled the thimble, and the stitches held everything in place. The hard metal prevented her from getting any pleasure out of rubbing it or pressing on it. Neither did she get anything from pulling or twisting or anything else she tried over the following weeks. She had been used to almost daily self-pleasuring sessions, and now all she had was frustration.

When she had sex with her husband, which used to feel so good as he slammed his weight into her cunt again and again, she felt nothing except an uncomfortable sensation whenever the cage moved and pulled on the stitches. Most times she would cry when they had sex, which was also something that increased her husband’s status after the household staff heard it and remarked on it.

However, not all was roses for the Ambassador. As his wife grew more frustrated, she frequently expressed her anger to him, sometimes in full view of the staff. When he discussed that problem with the city governor, who was a good friend of his, the governor seemed surprised at his difficulty. “When she does that, just add a pin. She will behave.”

The Ambassador expressed his confusion, and the governor said he would demonstrate. “Please call her in,” he said, and the wife was duly summoned.

“Excellent. Now take off your underthings, sit here on the coffee table, and spread your legs. Show us your cunt,” he said matter-of-factly.

She blushed furiously, but something about the governor’s stern look and her husband’s attentive gaze made her comply.

“Hmm, she does have a nice one. I understand why you feel strongly about her.”

“It’s not just that,” her husband started to protest, but then he remembered to go along with local custom and just nodded.

“Now, when she misbehaves, you just do this.”

The governor leaned forward, and deftly inserted a sharp little pin through one of the holes in the clit cage. The pin went all the way through her most sensitive flesh, with its head flush against the hole and its point almost reaching the other side. The wife threw her head back and screamed in pain, then curled up on the coffee table, hugging her knees and sobbing.

“See? She will remember, and every time she steps out of line or fails to satisfy you, you just put in a pin. Here, take these,” said the governor, handing the Ambassador a small box of elegantly fashioned pins. “Use them when needed. Or, you know, just add some when you feel like it.” He winked lecherously as he said this. “She will feel the pain every time she moves and every time you use her.”

The Ambassador shifted uncomfortably to hide his growing erection. “Very interesting. Thank you for the gift. And, how long should I leave the pin in?”

“How long?” The governor raised an eyebrow. “You misunderstand. The pins lock into the frame. You only add.”

The Ambassador nodded, his eyes wide and shining. A new phase of their marriage had begun.