Ella had cautioned him about weddings. More importantly, how busy and frustrating wedding planning could be. He cautioned her that she had a ready and willing man to do anything she asked. He wasn't the usual fiancé, he said. He was her petitioning slave.
Jim took care of the arrangements as she saw fit. His office and hers were a buzz of delight and expectation. It was to be a small ceremony, but a venue had to be rented, tables and chairs rented, flower arrangements selected, food, cake, seating charts, invitations . . . . The list dragged on.
Even he had to admit it was more than he was prepared for, but if he struggled, it was for her. He did as much as he could until she had politely ordered him to rest. He was looking more like an exhausted bride than a hopeful groom. Although, she saw that he, as a man, handled it differently. Where she would've had a fit and broke out in tears of fatigue, needing reassurance and some hardcore snuggling, he carried on, more and more ragged each day, but trudging on nevertheless. She couldn't help giggling at that. They'd both been married once before. The last time she'd tried to plan a wedding, she'd ended up bordering on anorexic.
She was determined to enjoy it this time, and he was making that possible.
It occurred to him that she'd never officially said "yes". Perhaps, she didn't feel she owed him that, but he had a sneaky suspicion she had something else in mind. He wondered.
They discussed wedding plans while he knelt and listened. His day of rest had come and gone. It was back to business. She ordered him to stand, and the hard tone in her voice caused a deep thrill to run through every part of him. It was like there was no doubt left in her mind that he would do anything but obey.
Jim stood at attention before her while she fiddled with the lock of his chastity device. It popped loose and his cock began to grow. It was interesting, she noted, how it waited now to be released. When he first wore it, his poor cock would pick the worst times to squeeze itself against the metal bars of the cage. She hadn't noticed it doing that as often. She hadn't noticed him waking up in the early morning anymore either.
"You've trained it, Mistress," Jim explained.
She gave him a curious expression. "Explain." Her tone was stern and to the point. She no longer worried about it; it was a button she could push and did so without thinking. She commanded; he obeyed. That's how he liked it, and she enjoyed what it did to him.
His eyes met hers, his cheeks pink with humiliation. "It used to get hard a lot, but I guess it finally learned that made it hurt, so it stopped doing that. I'm not sure when. I just realized it the other day. Even when I'm so turned on I'm ready to explode, when you do things, say things with that beautiful, sweet–"
"Enough flattery. Get on with it," she barked.
His head sank. "Yes, Mistress." He wanted to apologize for wasting her time with his adoration, but she did not want his apologies; she wanted his swift obedience. "Even when I feel turned on, if the cage is on, it doesn't seem to get very hard. I was freaking out about it a little until you took it off and it sprang to life. I feel like I get extra hard now, but only when it's free and it's only free when you free it."
She gave him an amused expression. "It obeys me now."
He shuddered. "Yes, Mistress."
She smirked. "And you–" she rubbed his nipple, "–you obey it. That's how I make you obey."
He nodded. "Yes, Mistress."
She held up the device before him; his eyes fixed on it. "You're totally used to it now, aren't you?"
She always did this, made him think about things, pushed unrealized things into his consciousness, pushed his buttons. That's why she did it, and that's why he loved it. "I am, yes, Mistress. I barely even know I'm wearing it anymore. In fact, when I'm not wearing it, it feels . . . odd. Sort of naked. There's no weight to it. It almost feels wrong."
His cock jutted straight out, long and proud. She grinned and applied one finger to its base, running the soft pad of her finger down its length, rubbing it in a slow circle around the tip. She put her other hand on his chest as she sighed and sagged against him, letting him binge himself on her scent. "It's hard when I tell it to be hard."
His breath caught in his throat. She was barely doing anything, yet somehow it made him feel as small and as tight as the engagement ring wrapped around her finger. "God, yes, Mistress."
"But more importantly," she continued, the breath of her whisper brushing across his cheek, "it's soft when I command. It can't cum without my say so. It can't get hard without my approval. It can't twitch, drain or get any pleasure unless I say so. It's mine to play with, my little toy. You don't get to play with it anymore, and I'm sorry to say, Jim, after we're married . . . you'll never play with it again."
