I had thought that kitting him out in his cock cage was the ultimate, the final gesture of control, the conclusive evidence of my dominance. But no, it wasn't an ending, it was a beginning. As we walked out of the clinic, Mr Loverman crimson-faced as he passed the knowing and smirking receptionist and adjusting his unwonted cage, I felt a surge of power the like of which I had never known.

I realised, though, that it was no longer enough for me to simply heap indignities on Mr Loverman at work, to force him at will into demeaning situations, to make him perform at my whim: I could do that, I knew I could and, more importantly, he knew it too. We had nothing to prove to one another in that respect.

What I realised as we walked down the steps of the clinic into the bright, unknowing light of that Thursday afternoon, was that while this may have started as a game, it had all too suddenly taken on a completely different complexion. I had discovered in myself a latent desire to control and, once unleashed, it had swept through my mind and body and soul like a cancer, replicating itself at will, insinuating itself into my every waking thought, provoking a constant craving, a ceaseless hunger for power. The game was real, and I was as much under its spell as Mr Loverman: we were Janus, two heads inhabiting the same body, guarding the public gates of acceptability, scratching at private, hidden doors of conscience, daring to cross the threshold. And I didn't know where it would end.

Except that Mr Loverman would be mine.

"How does it feel?" I asked.

"It hurts. It's uncomfortable." He sounded miserable. He was looking around self-consciously, like a furtive schoolboy about to start shoplifting for the first time. I knew that, because his emotions were running high and he could think of nothing other than the cage, his mind would extrapolate from that and make the nonsensical but unavoidable assumption that everyone else knew about it too. There was no reason why they should: it was a beautifully made product and it was completely invisible under his clothing, but his mind would be telling him that nothing which was so intrusive to him could be completely hidden to everyone else. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from believing that everyone was staring at him.

"You'll get used to it. It's like when you first wear contact lenses. At first all you can think about is "I'm wearing contact lenses, I can feel them, they're in my eye". After a while you take them for granted and leave them to do their job."

"And what is the "job" of this thing?" he asked morosely.

"The job? To remind you who you are and what you are. Tell me, who and what are you?"

"I'm Mr Loverman and I'm yours, Miss." As we walked I took his hand and slipped it under my blouse, folding his fingers around my right breast. Despite the fact there were dozens of people around, passing close by us, no-one displayed any interest: it is amazing what you can get away with in public if you do it nonchalantly. I slid his fingers under my bra so that they rested on my bare breast, his index finger on my erecting nipple.

"That's right," I said. "And you're here to do whatever I want, aren't you?"

"Yes, Miss." Mr Loverman groaned loudly and began shuffling beside me. I immediately knew the cause of his discomfort and the knowledge thrilled through me. My nipple hardened further, swelling and growing in Mr Loverman's hand, an act which, of course, further heightened his senses.

"Everything okay there?"

"No, Miss. Oh god 3; Miss, stop please."

"What's wrong, Mr Loverman?"

"Please, I'm getting an erection."

"I don't think you are, Mr Loverman. I think you'll find that's impossible."

"I know that. I can feel it."

"Don't get tart with me, little man."

"I'm sorry, Miss. But it hurts."

"Think about something else. Something boring. Take your mind off it."

"I can't Miss. Not with my hand there."

"Men. Always thinking about their little thingies. Well, you're going to have to learn, Mr Loverman. You're going to have to keep yourself in control until I choose to take your cage off." I eased his hand away from my breast and allowed him to walk unprovoked beside me. I had plenty of time to play with him later.

"And when are you going to take it off, Miss?"

"I've told you before. Your cage is ensuring that you save yourself for Pamela. I told you the next time you use your little todger it'll be inside her." Mr Loverman groaned.

"Please Miss, no, not that."

"Pamela's a lovely woman. You should be flattered she fancies you."

"She's a tub of lard. I couldn't, I just couldn't."

"Well okay, I'm not going to force you. It's your call, Mr Loverman." He looked momentarily relieved, but instantly a suspicious cast overtook him. "It's no sweat to me," I continued, "you can still service me quite happily with that little cage on. Your tongue will do perfectly well."

I stopped on the pavement.

"But the cage doesn't come off until you're ready to serve Pamela."