How a journalist put on a penis cage and started walking in high heels. A story.

A few weeks ago I received an email from a customer. A simple question about sizing and looking for recommendations. Nothing strange about it. We started emailing back and forth and then he revealed that he is a well known journalist and asked if I would be interested in publishing his experience of trying a chastity cage. Happy with the offer and eager to hear his thoughts, I jumped at the chance and quickly accepted.

Here's his story.

Lock and keys

I had never heard of male chastity until the subject came up at a party a while back, the conversation being led by a lady who was very much in favor of the idea. I listened quietly on my side of the table, contributing little but taking in much. I left, intrigued, elements of that discussion buzzing in my mind long afterward. I am a journalist and consider myself open to new ideas and chastity sounded rather attractive. While it surprised me to think so, I found myself liking the idea of ​​being locked up, my energies refocused, channeled into channels other than my own pleasure.

And so a seed was planted. When Covid came along and ended international travel, limiting my freedom, I decided to take the lockdown literally and use it as an opportunity to embark on my own inner journey: exploring this brave new world of chastity.

I had this creeping desire to wear high heels for a long time. It was my guilty pleasure. One I never thought I'd actually do. But if I were to spend the next few months at home writing a novel, why not? to buy. I had no idea what a fantastic combination chastity and heels would turn out to be.ijn.

And so I went shopping. And what a pleasantly dizzying novelty it was to rummage through heels So many styles, colors and heel heights to choose from, all dangerously feminine and miles outside of my usual self. I had never tried on a pair of heels in my life. As for style, all I knew was I wanted pretty, nothing cheap, no stripper heels, no platforms, nothing fetishistich

After a long pleasant indecision, I narrowed down my choices to an Almond Toed Pump in black leather or a classic women's knee-high boot in brown, both with four-inch stiletto heels. In the end, I chose the boots - on the rather nonsensical grounds that they seemed less girly at the time.

My quest for chastity was simpler, but no less dizzying. Smiling, Fate led me to the virtual doors of the House of Denial. Again I was faced with a bewildering choice, but after a pleasant exchange of emails with Mistress K, who sent me a very helpful size chart, I ordered one of their Rimba stainless steel cages - a rather elegant stainless steel specimen, whose artistic nature - for lack of a better word - seemed to make it less hardcore and confrontational.

My boots arrived first, neatly folded in their box, wrapped in tissue paper, richly scented with new leather. As I unwrapped them I felt my cheeks turn red and my heart pound, suddenly embarrassed in the face of my own daring. After a long break I try them on. I am pleasantly surprised that they fit beautifully. They seemed oddly small at first, but then I wasn't used to the shortened effect of high heels. I sat for a while, holding my feet up, admiring myself in stilettos.

Then it was time to stand; the big reveal. I put my feet on the floor - or rather I try, because only the balls of my feet touch the ground, the rest is held up by a towering heel. After another long pause to collect my thoughts, I get up. It's exciting. I notice a subtle shift in my center of gravity, an unusual elevation on my toes, and an intriguing sense of feminine grace. A giddy realization comes over me: I'm wearing heels!

And my cheeks turn red: I actually quite like this.

No, I love it.

My cage arrived the next day. Again I feel a bit overwhelmed with my purchase. I twirl it in my hands, admiring its weight, precision, and purpose. The stainless steel is smooth and polished, tactile. With the almost Art Nouveau styling on the grille at the front of the cage, I feel like I have a work of art in my hands - but very functional art. When I test the key, the lock closes with a definite click. Once it's on, I'm not coming out of here.

Excited to begin this journey to chastity, I take a shower and put on the cage. Bumbling fingers and clumsy winding mean it takes a few tries, but then suddenly everything falls into place, the cage slides into place, and before anything can slip out of the line, I insert the key and lock myself in.

And there it is.

I've been audited.

I look at my cage, neat, smug, safe, and take a deep breath.

I think I'm going to like this...

I'm happy to find that my cage is discreet enough to wear under my tight jeans without showing a noticeable bulge, although of course I know it's there. It is comfortable, but pleasantly present at the same time. Intrigued by my submissive state, and more than a little excited by it, I find I can't resist playing with it, fiddling with it experimentally, I want it to be safe, of course, but at the same time I wonder if I might not what can wriggle and relieve myself a little bit. But no. No matter what I do, I am absolutely unable to give myself any pleasure or relief. Nothing to touch but rigid steel. And since I've hidden the keys in inconvenient places, it will stay that way. I don't intend to cheat.

Acceptance and submission is the only way forward.

A focus on other things.

There really is no other choice.

As I settle into my cage, I find that thought oddly liberating.

Masculinity has been put aside, locked up, is no longer the driving force.

 And wow what a difference! These powerful sensations are heightened even further as I slip on my heels and head down to begin my daily work. There is a sense of submission, my limited gait a reminder of empowered femininity. I can feel it flowing through me, guiding me. As I write at the table, in jeans, sweater and stiletto boots, masculinity locked in an elegant steel cage, I am totally open to the idea of ​​exploring a side of myself that I have barely recognized or acknowledged. And with this openness comes a surge of creativity, with no outlet for expression other than the page I'm writing on. I may be stuck at home, but I feel like I'm embarking on a big journey. This is gonna be good.