We were ushered through to the workshop, where a businesslike gentleman of around fifty was waiting for us, dressed in a starchy, icy-clean white gown.

"Have you had one fitted before?" he asked.

"No, first time," I replied. "He's a bit nervous."

"No need to be. Perfectly painless. A few quick measurements and we can have you sorted in no time."

"Tomorrow, I believe. It'll be ready tomorrow?"

"Yes, indeed. Unless he's a particularly unusual size. Not hung like a donkey, or anything?"

"Him?" I snorted. "Fat chance. You'll not waste much metal on this one." Mr Loverman shrunk into himself as the conversation about his private parts ranged around him. He looked completely miserable, the poor dear.

"Okay, strip off then, please." Mr Loverman made no move, and I clipped him briskly on the ear. I don't think, even yet, he knew what was happening. Reluctantly, he stood and unzipped his trousers and slipped them down to his knees. He quivered before, us, a pathetic specimen in his little blue knickers, an expression of true dejection masking his face.

"And the rest," I cautioned, my voice crisp and precise. He slowly peeled his knickers down, revealing both his flaccid prick and his vulnerability.

Mr Fiorile set to work briskly, measuring the length and width of Mr Loverman's cock and his waist and leg measurements. All the while Mr Loverman stared stoically into the distance, trying to shut out what was happening to him, trying not to anticipate what was about to happen. The fitting took a matter of minutes, and in no time we were back on the streets, clutching the receipt for the £300 which Mr Loverman had just handed over for the loss of his sexual freedom.

I can't deny it, I was tremendously excited. All that night and the next morning I thought about it, anticipating the moment when I would cage Mr Loverman and make him mine. It may only have been one day, but it seemed forever before we were able to return and collect our new toy.

Mr Loverman was once more in a state of agitation and I revelled in his discomfiture. We were greeted again by the beautiful, dusky receptionist with the dark eyes and long nose, and she smiled complicitly as I declared that we were here to collect after yesterday's fitting. She told us to wait in the same reception area and we headed for the comfortable benches while she disappeared into the workrooms. As we sat expectantly, I slid my hand over Mr Loverman's groin, gripping his cock through the material of his trousers and rubbing it, feeling it start to erect instantly. Mr Loverman looked at me piteously, but he was unable to prevent himself, his prick growing despite his embarrassment. The receptionist returned after a moment, emerging noiselessly through the door behind her counter; she saw what I was doing and began to watch intently, but I didn't care: this was Mr Loverman's last moment of freedom and I felt he should have the chance to use it.

I rasped my nails up and down his crotch, feeling the now completely hard cock through the fabric of his trousers. Staring at the receptionist, I slid my hand up underneath Mr Loverman's waistband, my fingers wriggling down past his knickers onto his pubic hair, then finding his prick and balls. I squeezed hard, smiling at the girl, who smiled back, valiantly trying to mask her surprise. Mr Loverman groaned quietly, his shame now complete.

"Take it out," I told him. He didn't respond, so I squeezed his balls hard and long, eliciting a squeal of pain. Immediately his hand flew to his zip and button and I felt the grip of his waistband on my wrist suddenly release. With my hand on his balls I splayed my fingers, pressing them against his thighs and pushing them outwards; Mr Loverman took my lead and spread his legs obscenely. I removed my hand from his knickers, pointedly wiping away the precum on his shirt.

"Okay, Mr Loverman, get to work," I said. "Start beating that meat." Instantly, his panicked eyes turned to the receptionist, who was leaning on the counter staring at us. "Never mind her," I chided. "This is your last chance for a bit of satisfaction, so I suggest you take it. After the fitting you'll wish you were able to do this, so get on with it."<

Mr Loverman's right hand slid tentatively towards his groin and slipped underneath his knickers. He gripped his cock and began to work himself very slowly and tentatively, trying to ensure that his cock remained beneath the tented knickers.

"Get it out, little man," I cried exasperatedly. "This is going to be your last come for God know's how long. Don't you want it to be a good one?"

Mr Loverman slid his knickers down, revealing his very hard cock. His glans was engorged and shining purple, the little eye already seeping and the shaft pulsing and spasming of its own accord. He was staring at the ground as his hand mechanically pumped up and down.

"Look up," I told him. "Look at the girl as you do it." He did so, and the receptionist grinned wickedly as he caught her eye. She nodded approvingly, clapping her hands in mock congratulation. Mr Loverman groaned in abject humiliation, his body tensing and his hand speeding up, and I knew he was about to come.

"Yes, yes, well done, little man," I told him as a fountain of come spewed out of his cock onto his shirt. "Enjoy it, Mr Loverman. Remember the sensation, because you'll not be feeling it again for a long time." He pumped and pumped, folding into himself, his legs jacking off the ground and his torso thrusting forward. All the while, his shamed eyes never left the girl at reception. Finally, he came to a halt and I surveyed the damage.

"Do you have some hankies?" I asked the girl. "He's made a bit of a mess over here. Boys, eh, what can you do with them?"

On to next story: The cock cage