Locked and Waiting -1: Alone

You’d been counting down the days to this vacation; not just for the snow-covered mountains or the crisp December air, but for the exclusivity of the first three days. Your family was already there, settling into the warmth of the lodge, but your mom, had booked two rooms. One for her, your dad, and the younger kids; and one just for you. For the first three nights that is; before your brothers and cousins arrived, that room was yours alone.

It felt like a secret gift wrapped in cold air and pine trees. A room of your own in the middle of a crowded vacation. No one barging in. No need to explain. Just soft sheets, icy windows, and silence. And you knew exactly how you’d use it.

Packing had been careful, almost ceremonial. A few clothes. Your charger. A few pairs of Calvin Klein thongs but you kept one out for the ride. Finally, a small zippered pouch, tucked deep in your bag, holding your favorites. You’d tried plenty over the past year; plugs, dildos, toys that pushed your limits; all while chastity held you the longest. Eight cages now, each with a different weight, a different lesson. This time, you brought the newest: a neon-orange nub cage with a black strap to accompany it, snug and unforgiving. The feeling just makes your mind race, and being a self locker it is fun without too much consequences.

You woke up aching, already two days into being locked. The cage had become a steady throb, a constant reminder of what you were building toward. Every morning, the pressure hit harder but today came with a pulse of excitement. You’d prepared for this, and now the wait was almost over.

That morning, you took your time in the shower, letting the heat soak into your skin as you slowly shaved everywhere so careful and deliberate, smoothing out every inch. It was part of the ritual now, a way to feel even more exposed beneath it all. After toweling off, you dried completely then rubbed your entire pale white body with lotion; your heart already racing as you slid the cage back on, locking it in place with practiced ease. Then came the thong; tight and minimal, the fabric leaving little to be desired aside from the small cage firmly covered, making the pressure more intense. You slipped into your pants, the cage pressed firmly in place, then picking out a shirt and putting on a baggy jacket in case you need to hind the cage. Then you headed out for the drive, every mile a slow build of tension and anticipation.

The cold outside only made the heat under your skin sharper, more present. Every bump in the snowy road pressed the cage tighter against you, a pulsing reminder of what you were locked into and what you were about to explore. By the time the hotel room door clicked closed behind you, your heart was racing. Three nights. Locked. Alone. The mountain air might be cold, but everything inside you was burning.

It was late, with your parents were staying just a few doors down, already tucked into their room for the night, no doubt thinking you were doing the same. But your heart was racing for entirely different reasons.

When you stepped into the suite, a slow grin pulled at your lips. It was even better than expected. The main space had a full kitchen and a cozy living room setup, with big windows framing the snowy mountain view. Off to the side, a separate bedroom waited, it was warm and quiet, centered around a massive bed with fresh white sheets begging to be ruined. One wall was taken up by a huge mirror, perfect for capturing every angle and every moment. The bathroom was clean and simple, but the real surprise was the extra room off the side! A private, steamy, with a large hot tub already humming to life. It wasn’t just comfortable. It was the perfect setup. A place to unwind, tease, and indulge in every inch of the time you’d carved out for yourself. Throwing your things on the chair in the corner you fall to the bed on your back. Flopping down getting a reminder as you feel pressure on your little cage. You can’t resist and find your self undressing as if some primal need went off in your head.

You stripped down slowly, nerves tingling and your heart racing. Underneath your clothes, the familiar pressure of your chastity cage pulsed against you; tight and snug, a constant, teasing ache. The chastity cage was a bright, almost neon orange; a stark contrast against the pale skin it rested on. Compact and minimal in design, it was a nub-sized device, built for discretion and control rather than comfort. The snug fit emphasized its restrictive nature, the plastic catching the light in sharp angles. It was more symbolic than ornamental, a quiet, visual reminder of surrender and restraint.

You hadn’t been unlocked in days. Every shift of your thighs, every little brush of fabric, only deepened the desperate need building inside you. It’s ridiculous how small it is. Just this bright little cage, barely enough room for anything and yet it owns you. You can’t get hard, not even close, but that doesn’t stop your body from trying. Every little twitch just reminds you how tight it is, how impossible it is to grow, to feel any kind of relief. And God, that frustration burns.

But somehow, that’s what makes it worse… or better. I don’t know. You can’t stop thinking about it. The denial, the pressure, the way it makes every passing thought feel sharper, hotter. You’re aching and needy, but completely powerless. Locked away. Kept. And the more you feel trapped, the more you want to stay that way. There’s no escape, just this endless, helpless wanting. A wanting to please.