I carefully dialled the number written in red in my address book and made arrangements. "Four o'clock this afternoon? That's excellent. And when will it be ready? Tomorrow? Oh, that's wonderful. I didn't think it would be so quick. Okay, see you later, bye."

Mr Loverman eyed me nervously as he fumbled with his shirt buttons. He had heard me begin the phone call by asking for an appointment for a fitting. I hadn't at any stage mentioned him, but I think he knew instinctively that, somehow, he was going to be involved. And he was.

At four o'clock we stood in front of Fiorile's in west London, an unremarkable building which looked as though it might be a solicitors or financial accountants. Indeed, most of the neighbouring buildings were. Fiorile, however, was an artisan, a craftsman of exquisite skill, a man dedicated to his vocation.

"Here we are, Mr Loverman," I said, clicking my fingers and ascending the short flight of stairs.

"Where, Miss?" I knew he had been bursting to ask throughout the tube journey and short walk.

"The place which changes everything, Mr Loverman. You're going to love this." Or hate it, I reflected: it'll be one of the two, although in Mr Loverman's twilight world of humiliation the two emotions are almost entirely interchangeable in any case. I opened the door and entered a huge, spare Georgian hallway, grand in size but satisfyingly simple in style, full of classical elegance with none of the tawdry neo-classical fripperies which so devalued later architecture. It had the ambience of a dentist's waiting room, which I thought was probably not altogether surprising, given the nature of the appointments for which people were waiting. A young woman, wonderfully attractive, with jet black hair and stunning Latin looks, all dark skin and hazel eyes, with a dramatically constructed nose, came through a doorway and smiled a greeting.

"Good afternoon," she said.

"Hello, we have an appointment. Four o'clock."

"Ah yes, Ms Scott. We were expecting you. And is this the gentleman?"

"This is him. He doesn't know what's awaiting him yet."

"Oh. It's best to tell them in advance, you know. Less of a shock."

"Don't worry, I'll tell him while we're waiting. He won't mind. He'll be quite happy, in fact. I'll see to it."

She smiled politely and returned through the door, and Mr Loverman and I took a seat on the elegant, leather backed chairs. The preceeding conversation had clearly rattled him, and he looked at me with alarm, imploring me to speak.

"Well then, Mr Loverman," I said, stroking his thigh affectionately. "I suppose I ought to explain." His eyes told me yes, it was time. "This place is a highly specialist factory. It's been in existence for about thirty years, apparently, and has a reputation for being the best." I delighted in watching Mr Loverman conceal his impatience as my preamble continued. "It was recommended by a friend of mine, who had it recommended to her by someone who had it recommended to her. That's the way it works: it doesn't advertise, it doesn't need to. Word of mouth." By now, Mr Loverman's expression was screaming "tell me" and I feared he was about to explode. "You haven't worked it out yet?"

"No, Miss," he said deliberately and, I thought, a touch petulantly. I'd see about that later.

"This place, Mr Loverman, makes many things. But mostly, it is famous for its bespoke cock cages." I paused to allow the words to sink in. Mr Loverman looked at me, horror-struck, incomprehending, his eyes pleading for me to say it was a joke.

"Miss?"

"A cock cage, Mr Loverman. You're going to have a chastity belt, to make sure you don't do anything naughty before you've bedded Pamela. I want you to save all your little energies for satisfying Pamela. She's a big lass, I think she's going to take a lot of satifying."

How cute, a tear sprung in his eye. He looked completely crestfallen, but also, I noted with satisfaction, totally resigned to his fate. I could see no defiance in him at all: perhaps this morning's unsavoury episode, with his refusal to obey a simple instruction and the resultant punishment, had served a useful purpose after all, breaking down his resolve even further, making him more pliant. I tried to reflect on what he would be thinking. Humiliation certainly, but this went far beyond humiliation. This was in some respects akin to removing his masculinity, denying him the chance to express himself in the most natural way possible. This truly made him mine, as only I could control the sexual aspect of his psyche; he was completely in my thrall, dependent on me for release, at the mercy of my whim. Poor Mr Loverman, what a place to be.

"It is permanent, Mr Loverman, and only I will have a key. It is going to be built especially for you, hence the fitting today. They're not cheap, of course, so I hope you've got your credit card." That was a neat touch, I thought. Not only was he being forced to relinquish his sexuality, he was being made to pay for it too. I smiled and continued. "You're being fitted today, and it'll be ready tomorrow. Once it's on it doesn't come off, not at night, not when you pee, not when you crap, never. And the really clever thing, Mr Loverman, you're going to love this, the metal cage is built around your flaccid penis, and there's no room for expansion. You know what that means?" I could tell from his eyes that he did.

"Yes, Mr Loverman, that means you can't get an erection. Not until I permit it by releasing your cage. In about three months probably. That's good isn't it?"