I’d been holding onto the little box for three weeks before I finally gave it to Mark. The brown cardboard box wasn’t wrapped. I didn’t want it to look like a birthday gift or some big ceremonial thing. I wanted it to feel casual… well, as casual as locking your husband’s little guy in a piece of steel can feel. But, I’ll get to that.
It was a Thursday evening. Dinner dishes were still in the sink, he had a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, and the smell of roast chicken was still hanging in the air. He was rinsing plates, his handsome forearms flexing just enough to make me notice. I had always loved his arms, strong but not too muscular. I caught myself daydreaming and that’s when I decided.
I slid the box onto the counter next to him. “I bought you something,” I said.
He glanced at it, then at me. “For me?”
“Yes,” I said, letting the word hang just long enough to make him curious. “Well, it would be more accurate to say for us.”
He wiped his hands, pulled the box toward him, and opened it. The half curious look on his face was worth the wait.
I leaned against the counter, enjoying the moment. “It’s a chastity cage,” I said matter of factly. “It’s a sexy little game, would you be interested in playing a game with me?”
That made his eyebrows go up.
“I mean it,” I went on. “I want to look at you the way men look at women in lingerie. I want to see your body as something beautiful and tempting. I want your body to feel like a treat I get to unwrap with my eyes… whenever I want.”
The First Click
I thought he’d laugh it off, or maybe try to stall. Instead, he just said, “You want me to try it now?”
God, I loved him for that.
“Yes,” I said eagerly, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse was absolutely racing.
He stepped closer to me as he opened the device, and the sound of the little pieces moving, the ring clicking shut, the faint tink noise as the metal pieces came apart was strangely intimate. Watching him tuck is parts into the stainless steel cage was thrilling. Not just the visual, but the act of it. Like he was placing something of value in my care.
When he slid the tiny lock into place and handed me the key, I swear I felt it in my chest and between my legs at the same time. A little jolt. I brushed my fingers over the steel, letting them linger, and said, “Perfect.”
House Rules
That night we sat on the couch, him still caged, and talked. I told him exactly what I wanted:
When the kids were at school or out with friends, I wanted him naked in the house. No shorts, no robe, no underwear. Just him and the cage. I wanted to be able to see him whenever I wanted — folding laundry, making coffee, walking past me while I was on the laptop.
I told him why.
“For years,” I said, “your body has been about what you do to me. And sometimes that feels like pressure. Like sex is something I owe you just because you happen to be aroused. But this… this changes that. This makes your body something I get to enjoy for my pleasure. I get to decide if, when, and how you get used. You stop owning sex in our relationship and I get to take ownership.”
He looked at me like he was seeing me differently, too. Not scared. Just… intrigued.
My Favorite Distraction
The next afternoon, I came home and there he was completely nude except for the cage, folding towels at the kitchen table like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I stopped in the doorway and just looked at him. His skin had this warm glow from the sunlight streaming in. The curve of his back, the faint clink of the cage as it brushed his thigh… I swear it was the sexiest sound I’d ever heard.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” I said, almost under my breath.
He looked over his shoulder and grinned, a little shy, like he didn’t know what to do with the compliment. I could tell he was uncomfortable with the way I was overtly objectifying his body. He was hot, locked for me and I felt like I could simply appreciate him for his hotness. I crossed the room, letting my eyes drag over him slowly. My hand slid over his hip before I gave the cage a little love tap with my finger.
The feel of the warm metal, the firm shape beneath, the undeniable restraint lit me up. I could feel the smile pulling at my lips. “This,” I whispered, gripping him just enough to feel the weight of it, “is mine. All mine.”
Feeding the Fantasy
From then on, I made sure he knew I was enjoying him. Every time I saw him, I said something.
When he leaned over to pick something up: “I love watching you move.”
When he was stirring a pot on the stove: “You make the best view in this kitchen.”
When he bent over to load the dishwasher: “Careful — I might just grab you and keep you right there.”
And always, always, a little touch. A finger tracing his lower back. A palm sliding over his ass. A slow, deliberate tap against the cage just to remind him — and myself — that it was there.
It became my little private game. Even if I was on the phone or halfway out the door, I’d detour past him just to run my fingertips along the curve of steel, feel the warmth, and keep going. Like my own living, breathing sexual object. God this cage made me objectify him in the most wonderful of ways.
What Changed in Me
Something strange happened over those first weeks — I started to think about him differently. Not just as my husband, but as my possession. My beautiful, obedient, well-kept possession. My best friend and my sex object. Why can’t he be both? I thought to myself.
Before, his body had always felt like something that came with obligations. If he was hard, I had to decide whether or not to deal with it. Sometimes I wanted to, sometimes I didn’t. But the cage flipped that script completely. His arousal wasn’t a demand anymore. It was a gift. Something I could enjoy from the outside, tease, ignore, or obsess over – all on my terms.
I’d find myself daydreaming about him while I was at the grocery store or on a phone call. The way the light hit his chest when he stood by the window. The way the cage pressed against his skin when he moved. The little sigh he’d let out when I tapped it without warning. It was like having my own living fantasy walking around the house but he was the exact same wonderful man that I’d loved for years.
My Favorite Little Habit
I don’t even know when I started doing it, but I got in the habit of giving him these quick little love taps whenever I passed him. Sometimes soft, like a teasing knock. Sometimes firmer, just to feel the restrained weight beneath my fingers. The little cage was surprisingly heavy and I liked grasping its weight in the palm of my hand.
It made me smile every single time. That physical reminder of my control and of the fact that he was mine, and that he couldn’t give himself release without my permission made me feel more alive than I had in years.
Sometimes he’d catch my eye right after and we’d share this quiet little smile, like we were the only two people in the world who knew what was really going on.
The New Us
Weeks in, I realized the cage hadn’t just changed him — it had changed me. I felt more playful, more confident, more turned on by him than I had in a long time. And he was more relaxed, more helpful around the house, more vulnerable, more open, more willing to be seen. He didn’t have sexual motivation to his conversation, it was simply being present with me and I loved very moment of it.
He started moving differently around me, slower, more deliberate, almost like he was performing without even meaning to. I could tell that he felt sexy and I couldn’t get enough of him.
Some days I’d unlock him, just to remind us both that I could. But most of the time, I didn’t feel the need. The cage wasn’t about denying him. It was about taking ownership of sexuality in our marriage. I realized that owning him is was what made it so intoxicating.
