Loced Down in Locdown

Lockdown had been tough. I think that like everyone, in the first few weeks, I went through the same nervous energy, the excitement, the newness that everyone did. But after the first two months, that started to fade, and the reality of being shut into a relatively small two-bed flat -- admittedly, with the state-permitted exercise and shopping permitted -- started to sink in.

There's only so many local walks you can do, and I really started to crave anything different. I suppose I was lucky that I could work from home, I had a job and I was healthy, because so many people weren't -- but it was still hard.

I think my flatmate felt it too. Rachel had also gone through the yoga / baking / zoom drinks phases and we were both pretty bored of them.

Also, and this probably sounds terrible, but being locked up with an attractive woman, who has always been off-limits, started to make me pretty horny. Neither of us were in serious relationships, but I'd always thought it was a terrible idea to get involved with a flatmate, even if she was funny, interesting, and actually, just a really great flatmate.

But the desire for the forbidden started to creep in. Most of the time I suppressed it, but when your flatmate is wandering around in leggings after a yoga session ... well, it's hard, you know.

Then we got drunk.

And obviously, we'd been drunk before -- actually quite a lot, but for some reason this night felt different.

Anyway, a bottle of wine and a few shots later, we're looking through Netflix and 50 Shades comes up. There's an awkward pause and Rachel looks at me.

"I always figured fifty shades had it wrong," she says, slurring slightly. "Why couldn't they both just explore bondage and get over themselves?"

"Totally," I laugh. "Grey is so serious. Couldn't they just have some fun?"

There was a pause.

"Hey Ben," she says, giving me a look. "Do you want to have some fun?"

I swallow, hard. "What did you have in mind?" I manage.

"Let's keep it interesting," she says. "Flip a coin. Whoever wins gets to ... indulge themselves. Only, the other person can stop it all at any time -- but if they stop more than twice in a row, then we can it. No hard feelings, it just wasn't for us. What happens in lockdown, stays in lockdown."

Damn. I look Rachel up and down, feeling a surge of uncomfortable arousal. I hope I haven't got the wrong idea about all this.

"Sure," I say. "Let's do it."

She gives me a wicked grin and pulls out a coin. "You flip."

I flip it, and ask her to call. "Heads," she says.

I take my hand away and show heads, feeling a slightly sick feeling of anticipation -- or maybe it's just lust -- curling through my body.

"You're on," I say, wondering what she has in mind -- and if I'm honest, kind of relieved that I didn't have to go first.

"Great," she says, pulling out a small bag and pushing it across the table to me. "Trial by fire. Go to your room and come back wearing this. Only this, mind you."

Confused, I take it and go into my bedroom, wondering how long she's been thinking about this for. I stumble slightly, tipping the bag out onto the bed. There's a slightly confusing set of metal rings, a small combination lock and ... some kind of tube falls out. I have ...

Oh, wait.

Shit.

It's some kind of cock ring. No, a chastity thing. Like, when I put it on, my dick will be stuck in the tube.

What the fuck?

I swallow again, and think hard; I don't want to fall at the first hurdle.

I strip, thinking that we might as well play this out, but once I'm naked I feel incredibly exposed and vulnerable -- which is stupid, because right now I'm just in my room, alone.

But what's on the other side...

I try to stop thinking. Awkwardly, I put one of the rings behind my balls, pulling them through, then push the little rods through.

I can't get my dick in the tube though; all of this messing around has made me a bit hard. Shit.

I wait and take a drink of water. Am I starting to sober up a bit? I kind of hope not. I think about politics, work, anything serious, and after a few moments, it works. I slide the cage over my dick, then push the rods through. There's a small hole in one of them that I slide the lock onto, pausing.

It's a weird feeling; all I can really feel is my cock, in the cage. It's pressing against it, but I ... I can't get hard.

Fuck -- if I lock this, I won't be able to get hard until it's unlocked. And I don't know the combination.

I scour the bag for a fragment of paper, but there's nothing there. Shit ... I guess that's the game? What the fuck -- I was kind of expecting ... hoping ... for a drunken shag, but this is ... well, it's a bit more.

Fine. Fuck it.

Better not fail this before we get started, I think, and before I can think about this too much, I click the lock shut.

Leaving my bedroom has to be one of the hardest things I've ever done.

No, that's not true. Opening the door back to the lounge is.

I steel myself and push through, feeling the pile of the carpet underneath my bare feet.

I wait for Rach to laugh, to smirk, but when I step through, she looks me up and down hungrily instead.

"Very good," she purrs. "I almost thought you wouldn't be game. I expect you're wondering what the combination is."

I nod, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable. I'm not sure what I was expecting from tonight, but this ... this isn't it.

"Well," she says. "The combination to the lock isn't the combination that you're doing to earn. If you behave, you'll get four numbers from me, and that will open the new lockbox in the hall downstairs. That box in turn will contain the combination for the lock. So you'd better behave!"

I swallow, hard, and my heart sinks a little. The manager of our apartment block fitted the lockboxes and then went away to his country home. I don't know how to reach him, and although I suppose I could try and saw through the pins to the cage, I don't have any tools here. I'd have to wait until tomorrow.

Plus, you know, who knows where this'll go.

So I guess I'd better play.

I nod and Rachel grins.

"Good," she says. "Now, I was actually quite naughty and wrote one number down on a piece of paper and put it underneath the doormat of the flat upstairs. You can go and get it, sure, but if you wear these as well, I'll tell you whether it's the first, second, third or fourth number."

She reaches down again and brings out what looks like a lacy thong.

I swallow, hard, and take it, stepping into it and pulling it up, barely covering my cock. The thong bit slides up my ass uncomfortably, and I realise that I must look completely ridiculous.

"Excellent," she purrs again.

Feeling incredibly vulnerable, I open the front door to the flat and peek out.

"Tick tock," Rachel says, grinning, waving me out.

Fuck. Hearing nothing, I take a nervous step out into the hallway. It's brightly lit and quiet, but it's cold, and I'm in a pair of panties and a dick cage -- that's more than enough to get me in a big amount of trouble. I glance around and silently pad up the stairs to the next floor.

There's two doors on each floor, but one of them doesn't have a doormat. Trembling and listening hard, I pick up the doormat and peer underneath. Fuck. There's nothing here. What the fuck am I going to do? I look at the mat to check whether it's got stuck somewhere, but no, there's nothing.

Shit. I almost run straight back downstairs, but then realise -- Rach didn't say which flat upstairs. There's two more floors above.

I run up to the next floor, almost pissing myself as I hear TV coming from inside one of the flats. There's a light on, and the flat door has opaque glass in it. They can't see me, but they could probably see that there is something moving around out here.

Hurriedly, I pick up the next mat -- nothing.

I hear voices from one of the flats; I really, really don't want to get caught, feeling incredibly awkward right now. What would I even say? How do you even start to explain something like this?

I pull up the next mat and a slip of paper flies out from underneath, floating down the stairs. Shit! I put the mat down and almost trip down the stairs, barely catching myself on the handrail. Thankfully, the slip is just lying on the floor outside the first flat I tried, and I pick it up, seeing that it's got the number nine on it. Phew. One down...

Shivering almost uncontrollably -- although it's not really that cold -- I go down another floor to our flat and find the door shut. My pulse skyrockets as I bend down and call Rachel's name softly.

"Rachel? Rachel, please let me in."

I hear slow footsteps coming over to the door.

"Did you get the number?" she says slowly.

"I did," I manage, hopping from foot to foot, suddenly really need a piss.

"Well, I suppose..."

There's a pause and I think I hear noise from the street.

"Oh, ok then," she says, and the door opens.

I feel a profound sense of relief to be back in the flat with the door closed, although before today, I never would have said I'd be feeling good to be wearing a chastity cage with a pair of women's knickers on top.

"Did you have fun?" she says archly. "Please, help yourself to vodka."

I almost run across the room and down a shot before handing her the paper.

"Very good," she says. "This is the first number."

I down another shot, feeling the after-effects of the adrenalin really hitting me.

"Now," she says. "I like gifts. I would like a sex gift, and since you've got a pair of mine, an underwear gift."

She slides a laptop over to me with two tabs already open -- a sex shop, and an expensive underwear shop. I wince and grab my wallet, ordering her a nice pair of lacy underwear and matching bra, then spend almost the same on a vibrator, catsuit and bondage kit. I confirm both the orders, and then look at her expectantly.

She laughs. "Oh, Ben," she says lightly. "That was just for me. I didn't promise you a number, so you don't get a number. Remember, you're all mine tonight."

I swallow, hard, feeling embarrassed. This woman has caged my dick, made me wear her knickers and now I've spent my money on her for nothing. Maybe I could get out of this cage if I tried hard. I glance down; it's metal, but the struts look a bit thin. I wonder if I could bend them or ... shit, there's three of them, and that's my dick we're talking about. I don't want to risk doing myself an injury and having to go to hospital or something -- that'd be ... too much.

Best ... best just see how far this goes. I guess nothing has harmed me so far, and honestly, there don't seem to be any limits as to how far I could make Rach go if tonight is anything to go by.

The thought of endless blowjobs from my flatmate makes me really uncomfortable in the cage. Focus, Ben, focus. Let's get through this evening.

I sink to my knees. "What should I do next?" I ask. Rachel grins and leans back, pulling her top off to reveal a black push-up bra and some very sexy cleavage. I gape -- I'd anticipated something else humiliating or expensive, but not this.

"Take off the knickers," she commands, and I pull them down, relieved to be out of them.

Then she stands, pulling her shoes off, then unfastening her jeans and tugging them down, standing in front of me in a small pair of black knickers and her bra. I wince as my dick presses against the cage; it's really uncomfortable. Rachel notices and her grin widens.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" she says, looking down at the cage. "You can't get hard at all. Revolutionary."

She reaches over to the laptop and slides it over to me. "Bring up some porn," she says. "And I'll tell you the second number in the series if you log into at least one of your accounts."

I sit down on the sofa and she sits next to me, just about touching me. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, I log into a site I know too well and start scrolling.

"No, look at that one," Rach says, and together, we watch a threeway. My dick screams for release, pushing against the cage. We watch another, listening to the woman moaning, the guy grunting. I feel a little warmth against my thigh -- precum is dribbling out of my dick.

"Oh incredible!" she says, looking down. "Stand up, please."

I stand, and she inspects my leaking dick, putting one finger out and capturing a small amount of it on a fingertip. She looks at it for a moment, then holds it up for me, raising her eyebrows. It takes a moment for me to realise what she wants.

Shit.

Oh well. As I lean forwards and lick her finger clean, more of my resistance dribbles away and I go back down on my knees, waiting for her next command.

"Very good," she says. "The next number is seven. Now, we're going to try some simple obedience. Put these on."

She reaches into a bag and pulls out a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. Oh god.

Despite every instinct screaming that this is a bad idea, I put the blindfold firmly around my eyes and snap the cuffs onto one wrist, putting both hands behind my back and clicking the other one shut.

Rachel giggles, and there's a long pause.

"Good," she says. "Wait a moment."

There's another pause. "Drink this," she says, holding something to my lips. I open and then a cold, lumpy liquid, acrid and alcoholic flows into my mouth. I swallow, wincing.

"That was tabasco, vodka and pesto," Rach says. "And you did that for no reason. The next one will be vodka and hot sauce. And the one after that will just be hot sauce. If you drink all three, I'll tell you the next number."

I shudder, but there's a part of my brain that's starting to switch off -- the part that normally says 'no' to stupid stuff. Another glass touches my lips and, I open my mouth, drinking a liquid that tastes spicy and bitter, sharp and alcoholic. I swallow, trying to avoid coughing, then open again, and this time, the liquid almost makes me gag; it burns my mouth and I'm desperate to get it out of my system. I cough, forcing myself to swallow, my eyes watering underneath the blindfold.

"Very good," Rach says. "One of the final two numbers is one. Now, if you want to know where it comes in the order, beg me to take photos of you right now."

I swallow, hard, trying not to focus on the burning in my mouth. "Please mistress," I say. "Please take a photo of me. I would be truly grateful if you'd take as many photos as you can on your phone. Please."

I continue, praising her and telling her how much I'd appreciate it. I carry on until she coughs, and I fall silent.

"Very well," she says. "I will do. Hold still."

There's another long pause.

"That one is the final number," she says, unlocking my hands and pulling the blindfold off my face. "Go clean your teeth then lick me until I cum."

Fuck! I'm still staring at her as she tugs off her knickers and unfastens her bra, laying back on the sofa. She's beautiful; small, pink nipples, a completely shaved pussy. My cock throbs uncomfortably in the cage and I can feel precum dribbling down my leg again. I hurry to the bathroom then come back to the lounge, kneeling at the foot of the couch.

Slowly, I work my way up the sofa, first licking her toes and caressing her feet before kissing her calves and then her soft inner thighs. By the time I reach her pussy, she's really wet, her hot, salty slit waiting eagerly for my tongue. I caress her clit, licking her folds, giving it a big long lick then lapping at it like a dog, playing with her, until she grips the sofa and pants, her thighs tensing then releasing slowly as she cums.

"Damn Ben," she says. "Damn."

Then I realise. She didn't offer a number. I wonder if she will.

Slowly, she sits up and grins as I resume my kneeling position.

"Well," she says, still breathing heavily. "I could get used to that. Ben, normally I'd just give you the final number, but I enjoyed that so much, and I wonder if you did as well. And I was wondering about giving you a choice of challenges, so here's the challenge -- do one of these, and I'll give you the final number. One, voluntarily put some of your photos online. Two, surrender to me again tomorrow night. Three, give me your online banking login and surrender your financial independence to me for the next two weeks."

Shit. None of these are good options. Putting stuff online is a definite no; it'll be copied and I'll never get rid of it. I'm not sure about doing this again tomorrow night; it's been weird, although a strange part of my brain has enjoyed it -- I never thought I'd be tongue deep in my flatmate's pussy.

Maybe she'll sober up tomorrow and this will just be a game. Hurriedly -- and in retrospect, I wonder if I was a little too drunk -- I scribble down my bank details and Rach tests them, logging into my current account.

"Oh Ben," she laughs. "You don't have a lot of money, do you? Well, now it's mine -- and if you want to pay the rent, you'll have to be good."

In front of me, she transfers everything from my account to hers. Our rent is due in a week.

Fuck.

"Oh, and the number is six," she says, laughing lightly. "Please, go and get what's in the locker."

Shit.

Once again, I go to the front door and open it a crack, listening intently. It seems quiet, so I hurry out, making sure to grab the spare front door key first, then pad down the stairs silently. I find the lockbox, wincing as the automatic light comes on. I pray that no-one comes through the front door right now.

There are four lockboxes and the combination doesn't work on the first two. I'm sweating by the time the third clicks open, another small box inside. I tear it open, finding a slip with four numbers on it. Then I pause. I suspect that they aren't in the right order.

Bollocks.

I run back up the stairs, almost tripping on the concrete, finding the front door still open, and Rachel still naked on the sofa, looking expectant.

"Well?" she says archly, and I resume my kneeling position.

"Mistress," I say. "Can you tell me which order these numbers go in?"

"Did you try them already?" she asks, and I shake my head.

"Excellent," she says. "Would you believe me if I said that the lock would jam if you entered the wrong combination?"

I don't think I do -- it looks cheap -- but I nod nonetheless. "Yes, mistress," I say, and she grins.

"Well," she says. "Perhaps I will tell you. But first, lick me out again."

It takes longer this time, and halfway through, she demands that I literally kiss her ass and smother her feet with kisses, before kissing and licking pretty much every inch of her body. I have to admit, when her nipples get hard, my cage gets really uncomfortable again. She eventually cums saying my name, and has a vaguely disorientated look in her eyes.

"Oh Ben," she says languidly in a postorgasmic haze. "Write a note saying you'll do that again twice tomorrow and I'll give you your online banking details and your money back."

Hurriedly, I do, and before I know it, she's transferring my cash back, still looking slightly out of it. I wait, still kneeling as she gets a glass of water and drinks it, giving me a long, speculative look.

"Mmmm," she says. "Very good. Now, what would it take to get you in that cage again? Because I know when we wake up tomorrow morning, this will all seem like a dream, a weird, wrong dream. But tomorrow, I want this again -- and more. Ben, would it be pleasure or pain? Or a little of both?"

I don't answer, and she pauses, thinking. "How about this?" she says. "If you forgo the flip tomorrow and do what I want, all night, without question, I'll be yours, equally without question, for the following three days and nights. Plus, I'll take off that cage right now and demand that you fuck me hard. If you breathe a word of any of this, I'll post those pictures online and send hard copies to your family. Got it?"