Another Saturday Night with Miss Morrigan

Saturday night.

It could have been just another Saturday night, watching college football and eating leftovers, and re-reading old texts from Ms. Morrigan.

Instead, she had called me and invited to come over and amuse her for the evening.  And suddenly I was filled with that sense that anything was possible.  And, with Ms. Morrigan, anything was.

She might have me remaining fully clothed; or she might have me completely naked except for the shiny metal cage around my genitals.  She might have me massage her feet, or she might have me doing her dishes.   She might have me using my mouth to clean a smushed Hostess Twinkie from between her toes and off of her floor, or it might be a freshly-baked brownie.

And perhaps tonight would be the night that she allowed my hands to caress not only her feet and ankles, but to move up her calves all the way to the backs of her knees.

And so an hour later I was kneeling on the floor in front of her, naked this time, except for the steel device grasping my straining penis, while she sat back in an arm chair, sipped from a glass of Woodford Reserve, and watched me painting her toenails with a polish that was so blue it was almost black.

"It's called 'Naval Intelligence,'" she informed me.  "Do you recognize it?"

"Yes, I do," I said, with a swell of pride.  It was an item that I had purchased for her.   And unlike so many other items she had allowed me to gift her with ... from jewelry to dresses to  lingerie ... she was allowing me to see this one.

"Very nice," she said, a while later, after I had finished the job to her satisfaction.  "Good boy.  Now, we'll just need to sit here for a few minutes until it's dry."

I sat back on my haunches and watched her, wondering what she was implying.  She was wearing a shiny black satin dressing gown -- another one of my recent gifts -- and I was driving myself crazy imagining what she had on underneath.

After a few minutes, she set down her empty glass and extended her hand.  I stood up and helped her up out of her chair.   Standing up, I towered over her ... although somehow, her diminutive stature just amplified how much power she held over me.  

"So, Rimmy, you've been such a good boy," she told me.  "I think tonight is the night I want to take you to my bedroom."

My heart leapt into my throat.  Well, that was beyond my wildest dreams.

She turned toward the stairs, looking back over her shoulder at me, and hooked a finger at me to gesture for me to follow.  And I did.

A moment later, she was opening the door to her inner sanctum.  Immediately I was struck by the intensity of my sensations.  The intimate furnishings, bathed in low light.  The power of her scent, concentrated in this small space where soft sheets caressed her perfumed and moisturized body for hours at a time.

I stepped in behind her.  She was smiling coyly.  "See anything familiar?"

I nodded.  The Norse-mythology themed wall-hanging.  The comforter on her queen-sized bed.  A sheer black blouse and accompanying pencil skirt laying on top of the comforter.  All items that I had purchased for her as gifts over the past year.

Of course there was the elegant dressing table, with the array of fragrance bottles.  And in one corner, an antique paneled room divider, with an oriental pattern stenciled on it, like something Veronica Lake would have changed clothes behind in a '40s movie.   I hadn't bought that.

"So, Rimmy, you're finally in my bedroom," she said, teasingly.  "Is it anything like you expected?"

"Actually, yes," I replied.  At this point I knew her tastes pretty well, and the eclectic and artistic decor matched my imaginings.  But I wasn't prepared for the intoxicating sensation of intimacy, or the nearness of her body to my own.  My own naked body.  

"Well, good," she said, actually taking my hand, intertwining our fingers, and leading me toward the foot of the bed.  Then past the foot of the bed.  "But I want to give you an experience tonight that is beyond your imagination."

At that, I could feel the ring of my cage digging in to the flesh at the root of my cock.   

She had led me past her bed, to the room divider in the far corner.  Then she pulled the hinged panels to one side.  I gasped.

Behind the folding wall was a human-sized wrought-iron cage.  Although, so small, it was almost more of a medieval gibbet.  But it was rectangular -- probably six feet tall, but less than three feet wide, and barely a foot deep.  A man in that cage would not be able to turn around, let along sit down.   I certainly hadn't bought her that.

She reached down and pulled, and the door opened with a menacing creak.  A vintage padlock dangled from the latch.

"I call it my oubliette," she said.

Oubliette.  "To forget."  Oh, my God, she was going to abandon me here.   Unbelievably, I felt my penis struggling even harder to burst out of its own prison.

"Go on," she goaded me.  "You want to step inside.  I can tell."   I pulled my gaze away from the cage and toward her face.  Her eyes were sparkling and she was smiling deviously.  But she was looking down where my manhood was betraying my excitement , bulging through the bars of the chastity device.

I sighed, quivered, but turned turned to face her and began to step back into the cage.  She stopped me.  "No.  Face the wall."

I could tell my eyes must have been as round as dinner plates, but I turned around.  I felt her warm presence behind me.  She touched my shoulders, making me quake with desire; I could feel the warmth of her body almost pressing up against my naked back.  Then she gently nudged me forward and I stepped into the cage.  The wall was just on the other side of the bars, so close to my face that my eyes couldn't focus.  Behind me, I heard the door swing shut and the sickening clank of the padlock being snapped shut.

"Good boy."

"Where are you going to be?"  I asked her, nervously.

"That's a good thing for you to wonder," she responded sweetly.  "Maybe I'll stay right here and ... oh, no, I don't need to do my nails, you just did that.  Maybe back downstairs.  Maybe ... out."

Out.  Out where, I wondered.  Shopping?  It was a little late for that.  Clubbing?  Then I remembered the outfit that was laid out on the bed.   In particular, the sheer black blouse.  It had a fun, retro feel to it, with little red buttons and just a touch of black lace at the collar and on the sleeves.   God, the attention she would draw wearing that in a club.  From men and women.  With or without a bra or corset underneath.

"What do you think would make this evening more ... interesting for you?   Should I stay in?   Or should I leave you here and ... go out?"

I closed my eyes and shuddered.  I knew that one of those options was a really, really bad idea.  But that's the one that my cock was screaming for me to choose.

"I think you should ... do whatever pleases you," I croaked.

"Okay," she agreed.  "So, I'm going to get dressed now."

A few seconds later, I could hear the soft sounds of fabric being drawn over flesh, of fingernails fumbling with buttons.   Finally, of heels clicking on the floor.  

"So, Rimmy, while you're here," she said to me, just before leaving the room and closing the door behind her, and letting me hear her footsteps recede down the hall, "I want you to memorize everything you're thinking about.  Every little thought.  So later, you can write it all down for me."

And that's what I'm doing now.  Just another Saturday night.