"Settle down, little man. It'll all be over soon." I patted his head gently like a spaniel that has, quite unexpectedly, done what you asked it. After another couple of minutes the receptionist approached and summoned us through to the surgery.

"We're all ready for you now," she beamed, stroking Mr Loverman's arm in a somewhat over-familiar manner; but then again, she had witnessed him in action only minutes before. And a momentous occasion that had been, of course, Mr Loverman's last piece of action for who knew how long. He was sweating and pale. I felt his brow and he was cold and clammy; clearly, he was on the verge of something close to panic. I took his hand, squeezing it comfortingly, and led him to his destiny.

"All ready?" Mr Fiorile asked as we sat down in the plump, leather chairs.

"All ready," I confirmed. "And you?"

"Oh yes. It's done. I have it here." Mr Fiorile pulled from the shelf behind him a plain, brown box and placed it on his desk with a flourish. He fiddled with the lid for a moment and carefully swung it open. Mr Loverman bent forward to see the contents, his upper body tense with trepidation.

And then he came face to face with his future.

He saw, for the first time, the new limits to his sexuality, the tool with which I was going to ensure that Mr Loverman was mine completely. I already controlled his mind: that was the easy bit. I could make him do whatever I chose, whenever I wanted. Now I was going to dictate what his body could do, too. Men have no control over their own bodies: their little cocks grow erect at the merest glimpse of thigh; they wake up in the morning, desparate and hard and hopeful, fumbling for autoerotic relief; they jack off any time they feel the need, disappearing to the toilets at work in the middle of the afternoon for a frantic wank at the memory of the sly glances at the prominent nipple of a colleague seated opposite them; their minds, apparently, turn to sex every six minutes, and their eyes constantly seek out a new conquest. It's all part of the game, of course, and I enjoy the thrill of the chase as much as anyone. But poor Mr Loverman, he was about to be substituted, he was about to be withdrawn from the pool of the active to languish on the fringes of sexuality, by appointment only to his Mistress.

Inside the box, gleaming in metallic splendour, was Mr Loverman's bespoke cock cage. A chastity belt for a little man.

"It is designed, said Mr Fiorile, drawing the implement from the box, "to be worn under nromal clothing and will not be at all visible. Only the wearer and the owner of the key will know you have it on." Mr Loverman was swallowing repeatedly, his eyes hovering between Mr Fiorile and what must have seemed, to him anyway, an instrument of torture. Mr Fiorile continued.

"Once it is on you can wear it permanently, until the key owner decides to unlock it."

"No!" exclaimed Mr Loverman. His eyes were glassy with panic and he rose from his seat in horror as he digested the implications of Mr Fiorile's words. Bless him. He clearly hadn't understood the full extent of my plans; he clearly thought it was just a little game, something I would tease him with for a couple of hours before freeing him and giving him manly relief. He really should have known better, shouldn't he?

"Oh yes," continued Mr Fiorile, surprise showing in his voice. "You can wear it in the shower or bath. It's stainless steel, it doesn't rust. You can perform all bodily functions quite easily. You'll have to pee sitting down, of course, because you can't move it at all. But once it is locked in place you can continue with your life quite unaffected."

"Except," I interrupted, smiling.

"Except," Mr Fiorile replied, "except of course you will be unable to have an erection. The metal sheath fits very tightly and completely encases your penis. It will not be possible for it to expand normally."

"Do you understand, Mr Loverman?" I said. He sat ashen faced, staring at the floor. "No more erections. Ever. Not until I free you."

"Indeed," continued Mr Fiorile. "However, this will be difficult for you, because even the slightest movement will cause considerable stimulation of the organ. Every time you move, in fact."

It was this combination of stimulation and control which made the cock cage so ingenious. As Mr Loverman moved the cage rubbed against his cock, stimulating it, exciting it; and yet, because of the sheath, he would be unable to get a full erection. The pain would be considerable, of course, as his cock strained to react naturally to the stimulation it was receiving only to be prevented by a sheath of intractable metal. Oh Mr Loverman: see what happens when you play with fire; see what happens when you take on the big girls.

"Trousers down," I told him. He was too shocked to argue and mechanically, almost unknowingly, he stood up and undid his trousers. "And knickers." Morosely, Mr Loverman slid them down and stood before us, exposed and forlorn.

"I will demonstrate how it works," said Mr Fiorile, kneeling beside the distraught Mr Loverman. He took some cotton wool and dabbed it in an alcohol solution, then stroked it along the length of Mr Loverman's dick. "This will make it easier to insert," he explained. "It's designed to be a tight fit, you see." Mr Fiorile picked up a stainless steel tube, about an inch, maybe less, in diameter and slid it over Mr Loverman's prick. A look of alarm swept over the hapless subject's face as his manhood began its descent into submission.

Holding this sheath in place, Mr Fiorile brought up a metal shield which he placed over Mr Loverman's groin. Using pins on the sheath he attached it to the shield and fiddled with it for a moment, trying holes at different settings, ensuring the shield was properly adjusted. Next, he swung a waist belt around Mr Loverman's hips and pulled it tight, then attached the groin shield to it. Mr Loverman's restraint was in place. All that was required now was to ensure that it remained that way. And there, gleaming and provocative, were two locks, one attaching the shield to the sheath and the other attaching it to the belt. I grinned with delight.

"Would you care to do the honours?" Mr Fiorile asked, holding out the keys.

"Most certainly," I replied. "Mr Loverman, consider yourself mine, body, mind and soul. My little plaything." With a satisfying click, the locks closed around Mr Loverman's freedom.