Battle in Captivity: A Brutal Combat Sport
Fiona returned from her summer vacation in the United States with a new gizmo. It was the start of the new academic year at our college.
"It's a penis cage!" she exclaimed. "They're all the rage over there. Keeps it small and angled down, away from trouble!"
We all laughed.
Yes, it looked like a small cage with some components at the back and a padlock.
"You're kidding, right?" asked Amelia.
"No, seriously. Girls put these on their boyfriends, and keep the key. It's completely safe, but the guys can't sleep with anyone else!"
"One of the challenges is to see how long they can handle it before they're pleading for release!"
"I'll pass," said Algy, looking at Jocasta, who smiled and pouted.
"I'd love to see you two begging!" said Cynthia, looking at Beaky and me. She'd slept with us both before.
"Which one do you think would crack first?"
"Beaky, of course!" I said. "No self-control!"
"You can say that again," he replied. "I'm confident I'd last longer than you."
"Looks like a contest," said Fiona. "Lucky I brought two!"
"Are you up for it, boys?" asked Jocasta.
"It doesn't bother me," said Beaky, as if lounging on a sofa.
I sneered.
"Me neither."
"It's on, then," he said. "Let's take my car against yours. (Mind you, mine's far superior.)"
The women suggested we have a mini-competition to ensure a fair start - you know, no standing around - so we went to our rooms and, well, you know ... Fiona and Cynthia returned to put us in those funky pinchers.
It was a bit complicated mechanically, but they managed it. I didn't have a clue, but I was studying Greats - that's Latin literature - while Beaky was keen on politics, so he was doing PPE: politics, philosophy, and economics. Beaky and I were both locked up, and they recorded the time: one hour for me, two for him, because his car was superior.
An hour later, I was regretting my decision, but managed to remain strong until dinner, during which we wore gowns for Formal Hall, allowing me to hide my predicament.
"How are you holding up?" the girls asked.
"No problem," I said nonchalantly.
"Forgot you're wearing it," said Beaky.
"Nighttime's gonna be tricky," said Fiona, nudging Cynthia. They sniggered together.
Oh, boy, she was right. With a full bladder, John Thomas makes an appearance. Morning wood is okay, but not when you're confined and pointing down. Urination was a challenge.
Despite my steadfastness, I managed to endure the night, put on the roomiest trousers, and made it to the lectures the next day. Several times I struggled not to hunch over.
Although the course schedule was littered with academic pursuits, I had to face the fact that one of my professors had sizable breasts and a short skirt - not what one needs after days of confinement. Luckily, cold showers and a little olive oil kept me going.
The following day, after the first two days, the girls said we needed to be examined to check for any potential skin damage from the pinches.
"It could be," I said. "So maybe we'll have to stop."
"No way!" laughed Fiona, while Cynthia grinned malevolently. "We'll just give you a week to recover, then start again!"
"For this mercy, I'm grateful," muttered Hamlet in a separate context, but that's what popped into my head as my, er, equipment sprang free. Two pretty young women inspected me while Beaky's was also examined before we were released to return it to its original state.
After waiting a week, we were reexamined. The inspectors said a biweekly examination was enough unless one of us was ready to give up.
I discovered later that Beaky had discomfort during the first week, but a switching out with a larger bit allowed him to continue, and he was fine at the next inspection. He never mentioned it, but Cynthia did.
Sadly, one of my courses was dedicated to Catullus, the Roman poet famous for his risqué sexual references, as well as his admiration for Sappho of Lesbos - the origin of the word "lesbian." Required discussion in tutorials - yuck!
I couldn't help feeling a bit jealous of Beaky. I'm sure you'd need to be born into banking to find excitement in Economics.
It didn't take long to learn what a wet dream was. I'm pretty sure this happened during my youth, but I couldn't remember. It wasn't exactly comfortable.
We couldn't hide our situation anymore, so the group laughed about it. Fortunately, it wasn't noticeable in regular pants if you didn't look.
Beaky shared that we couldn't use urinals and had to sit down to pee now. Elaborated, "Well, welcome to the club ladies!" Fiona whispered something into her friend's ear, I don't know what. Perhaps she could stand and pee like horses? I wonder if I could convince her to demonstrate if we ended up together.
Oxford has shorter terms and longer breaks than most other schools, yet it still felt like forever until the end was near.
I praised Beaky for his resilience and agreed.
"We've made it this far, Percy. We have a few more weeks left. The girls won't be able to inspect us for it to keep up with the game during the holidays. We'll agree to a draw."
He looked doubtful, but didn't respond.
During the Christmas gathering, I exclaimed to the girls, "Beaky and I should be commended. Isn't that right?"
Beaky shook his head.
"No, we have to keep going until one of us gives in!" Cynthia announced.
Beaky then worried, "But what about the inspections?"
"You'll have to make sure it's not chafing. It'll be six weeks!" Fiona offered help.
"I'll keep an eye on you, Beaky. I'll even spend the night with you when I come to check it to make sure you're comfortable, without grinding on your rocks."
"You can't do that with me!" I exclaimed.
"We'll be in France! I've already arranged someone to complete the checks."
There was a glimmer of hope. Maybe I could use my charms to convince this mystery girl to give me some relief? I'd be bound in January, as long as she claimed to have just checked in between the regularly scheduled inspections.
Considering their history, I didn't think Fiona and Beaky collaborated. She'd never spend a night with him unless he was caged, although it would be cruel for him.
"Is there someone I know?" I asked curiously, and Cynthia grinned, which immediately alerted me.
"Your mother!" She mentioned their shared past at Roedean.
"She was thrilled about the idea and promises to keep to the rules."
Fuck, fuck, fuck, double shit!
CHAPTER 2
In enthusiasm, my mother greeted me with a smile.
She kissed me and asked, "Welcome home, dear child. Now show me your special prize."
Unfortunately, I had to accompany her to the toilet and drop my bags. She inspected it closely: "It's rather adorable, wouldn't you agree? I think men should wear this all the time!"
She looked at the lock with a interests. "One moment, let me check the key."
She unlocked it and the hope in me swelled until she locked it again.
"Okay, I'll perform a thorough assessment this Saturday before we head to France. Unless you'd prefer me to remove it now?"
Her eye flashed caution when she asked me, "Are you serious, Percy? It's uncomfortable. Just let me reattach it before returning to school. Our little secret?"
She had a more malicious look in her face. "You little bastard, though you are. The foundation for the best education, the best tutors so you could attend the prestigious college of your father. A sports car for your eighteenth birthday! Yet you fritter all away because of a bet?" Her anger vanished and a teasing glint in her eye emerged.
"Now, listen. You're either going to win with an excuse, or lose without one. If you manage to win, just claim it was all a joke and let him keep his car. But if you lose, you'll definitely lose your car, and you won't be getting another until you earn it through your hard work."
"I hope it's uncomfortable for you, because you'll be experiencing it with me unless it seems like you're near death."
Saturday arrived, and we found ourselves trapped in the bathroom.
Oh, the relief when the trap was removed!
Oh, the embarrassment as she examined it, surveying every crevice and applying baby oil where the ring had once been. I tried not to think, "It's your mother!" as it began to expand.
"Don't worry," she said.
"I'm your mother. I've washed it so many times before, and witnessed quite a few others. Now, enjoy this rest, because you've got twenty-eight minutes to get it off, or lose the wager. And, to ensure you don't handle it, I'll be right here."
Of course, that's exactly what I wanted to do.
"Mum, can I have five more minutes?"
"No. I could flick the switch with my fingernail really hard, if you want. That's what I did to Dad to tell him he wasn't allowed inside. Don't you agree, dear?"
"Now, stand in the bathtub."
She turned the faucet to cold and switched to the shower hose. I washed it with soap and freezing water, which didn't feel pleasant as she sprayed it. Eventually, it was clean and small, and she patted me dry.
She washed and oiled the cage in the sink.
"You can't put it back on," I said. (This moment had been meticulously planned.)
"Because of the security check at the airport. It's made of metal. I won't be able to wear it during the flight. You'll have to place it in your luggage, and we'll attach it at the villa."
(Meanwhile, I would visit an airport bathroom and experience a blissful masturbation session. She wouldn't be allowed in a public restroom.)
"I can do that," she replied, as she started putting it together. "I'll take care of it."
I was dumbfounded.
At the airport, she took my passport and went to talk to someone. A security guard accompanied us, and spoke to the person at the metal detector. I went through, then was subjected to a wand over my groin area that made the appropriate sound.
This was years before Brexit, so there were no customs at either end, and no one checked if you had a bomb on you after leaving the plane, so it was immediately out of the airport and into the limo to the villa.
When we reached the villa, I asked Mum what she had told the security.
"I said you had an accident and had surgery, so there was a sort of metal cage to support your penis while it healed. Of course, you were humiliated. They were all very sympathetic!"
It was just me and Mum, as Dad had a real job and would only be joining us later.
Six weeks! What was I supposed to do?
Mum had anticipated this. She had arranged for the servants at the college to pack up all the textbooks I had left in my rooms, and they arrived a few days later. I had brought a few, naturally, but now I had them all, and no more excuses to study. This was without a doubt the worst Christmas ever.
And it was.
The usual housekeeper had been replaced by a younger one, who wasn't quite ooh la la, but still attracted my attention, which I was not interested in.
In a few weeks, we were joined by Dad, and my sister, who was studying in France and had brought a friend with her. This was a ridiculously attractive 17-year-old who was confused by my attitude and finally asked if I was gay.
Having been informed about my situation, she devised ways to wear as little clothes as possible and ensured I had plenty of opportunities to admire her charms. She and her friend laughed together. When they left, they both kissed me and managed to discreetly pat the device, which thrilled them. My sister insisted it had been the best Christmas ever!
The French are much more lenient about nudity and sex. So while watching a movie on TV, it's usually acceptable for a woman to undress and even have sex. What would be considered pornography in Britain is simply entertainment. If I said I wanted to study, I was told not to be a buzzkill and to enjoy the film with the rest of the family. It was agonizing.
I didn't even get a Christmas masturbation session! (Just a disturbing wet dream.)
Two weeks to go. And for the first time in my life, I couldn't help but appreciate how attractive my mother was. She may have been older, but she had fantastic breasts, especially as she rarely wore a bra around the villa. And when she bent over! Ouch!
And the maid was certainly showing herself off!
In the end, we were at the airport, and Mum went off to speak with a jolly airport security guard. I was taken through before the other passengers. Everyone was encouraging and supportive to the poor patient.
At home, it occurred to me.
"Mum, did you tell the French security the same as the English?"
"No, sweetheart. I informed them my child is a mischievous lad, so I have confined him in a chastity belt until he learns to be good. I gave them the pamphlet Fiona had sent me, explaining its assembly. They found it hilarious."
Once more, I shared with Beaky how the festivities had intrigued him in all possible ways, having Fiona over for two whole weeks in a row for checks. In university terms, it would usually translate to studying, thereby extending the interval between our inspectors. Unfortunate, for sure, since spring match up with revision time. But who would negligible the inspection duties?
Sometimes, the pressure of the academics lessened the stress over our prisoners. We both, though, lamented the absence of a relieving masturbation session during revision periods.
Luckily, the season brought a six-week break, which delayed our spring examinations. I could've extended my academic stay at Oxford, but Christmas Fiona was unavailable, amidst Cynthia and Mum's travel plans.
So, when would Amelia lend us a hand? Cynthia convinced her to drop by that weekend while Mum was away in a villa holding a party with a classmate. However, would the narrative explain my sudden date? Remember, Dad often connected dots Daddy-style, particularly when his favorite offspring stayed away.
A few days since Mum's check and cage cleaning—like our kitten's vet—Amelia arrived. Amelia donned a sophisticated suit in person. Cynthia would identify the designer but Dad and I couldn't tell. The ensemble looked decent enough, in my opinion.
Dad inquired about Amelia's reading material. She responded with Mathematics and Statistics, crucial knowledge which fascinated him to describe how valuable to his life.
Dinner over, he suggested, "Why don't you play in your rooms, children?" and flash his fatherly Ladosha.
Amelia reddened, yet it was the window to our private space.
I'd seen Amelia at parties we attended together—a common sight in our family—and interacted briefly with her. So, I showered for our encounter. Perceptibly braless, she was our selected mistress without an ounce of alluring beauty, yet she gladly 'served, to borrow Beaky's term.
We stayed slightly uneasy during her straight-out debut.
"Does it hurt?" she curiously inquired, as if intending to treat me with gentle compassion.
"It's a constant awareness, but attention can be averted when focused elsewhere. But the torture occurs when tantalising thoughts or the urge to tinkle tingles," I said. Since she fit the profile as a more pureminded woman, I didn't anticipate her to use my unfortunate device for ill-intentioned mischief like Fiona. Avert, I hoped for a release.
"Oh, poor fellow. I've spent a year viewing Fiona struggle through it. Her approach seemed quite abusive. I'll try to be gentle with you; I'm not that beautiful, and tend to dress modestly in your dad's presence."
"Thank you so much," I complimented her, then gave her a kiss—a conditioned action between us—and both her blushed and sighed.
Briefly, Amelia extended the idea of releasing me. However, she had taken an oath to continue my suffering, one I had judged rightfully.
"If you'd rather lock it up again, we can abide by our promise," I urged.
Without hesitation, she got it.
"You unlock it, and please be patient," she demurred, trying to memorize the pamphlet instructions.
"You need not do it," I assured her.
I anxiously attempted anyway, and as I mashed the wrong buttons, she finished; allowing it into her hands to act.
Amusing and intriguing. A participant to one of the boldest experiments describing human lust and manipulation. Sharing the Viscount's humorous anecdotes with the Vice-chancellor's handsome aid. My newfound 'most beloved' with the ticklish clitoris, scattered the
inspection duties. The human male was indeed fascinating. Was it possible she'd offer me sweet release without breaching my agreement?
Behind closed eyes, she announced, "I'd want to unlock it, yet keep my promise... are you up for that?"
I said no, but inside, I cheered.
"Here's how we do it then: don't worry.
I was still treading inspired waters, dotted with fears, hoping she would give me the break I needed.
"Things unfolding spontaneously," I responded. Still, she disguised it and it worked.
"Well, do it," she instructed—so after a moment of delay, her fingers operated the pugnacious metal, usually just a protective attribute to my manhood in a manner she'd soon come to understand.
We mischievously joked that she wasn't supposed to interact with it once locked, except to wash it cold water. It would take some time for her to handle it properly.
The romantic suspense persisted.
She gently removed the cage, then watched as I gradually enlarged, meaning it would be impossible to take off the ball ring, as she swiftly discovered. My mother and Fiona were so swift and skilled it was off before the beast had completely awoken.
Her soft hands made the situation even more delightful - from the male standpoint.
I might have been overthinking it, but I peered down at what I perceived as her face looking up towards me in admiration as I expanded to my full glory. Yes, I was proud of my rigid penis - it's a natural state for a man. The Romans even had a god for it - Priapus.
I guess my facial expression spoke volumes.
"You can't touch it," she said.
"But we have thirty minutes. Why can't you enjoy it for a while?"
"It's a nice one. I like it," she added.
It took me a moment to process her kindness.
"You're an angel," I said.
She examined the penis itself (which was nice) but understood it was the area below the ball ring that was important.
Then I simply stood there flaunting my erection as she appreciated (or at least looked at) it. Not much, but the best thing that had happened to me in a while. If only...
She cleaned the cage and lubricated it for future use, then I had to endure the cold shower treatment. I had to guide her in inserting my penis and its two companions through the ring. She cleaned the ring while I lathered up in cold water, then inspected and felt me.
"It's a slightly reddish, but I think it's okay," she said, applying some oil.
She seemed somewhat nervous about forcing my three parts through one at a time, but once the cage was assembled, she gave a contented smile as she secured the lock and closed it.
"Sorry," she said, "I shouldn't feel like that, but it was a bit of fun playing with a penis and balls, and a kind of puzzle, like figuring out the solution to an equation."
"Sorry," she said with a little chuckle.
"Not the best analogy for a non-mathematician!"
We then talked about various topics, which mostly turned into me learning about her. She was a friend of Cynthia's, of course, and I learned that she was studying Mathematics and Statistics.
I didn't know much else about her.
She was a grammar school girl and the first of her family to attend university.
"Congratulations on starting at the top!" I told her.
"I wouldn't have thought of it myself," she said, "and my parents had no idea about universities, so I was planning to just attend our local one. But a teacher convinced me to add Oxford to my application, and they were very kind during my interview, so here I am!"
Her father worked as a bus driver and her mother was employed at a supermarket. They were very much in love, she said.
"Sorry, have I said something inappropriate?" she asked, looking concerned at my expression.
"No, my mistake. That was just an unusual thing to say. I mean, I suppose Mum and Dad... do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, of course. You can tell by the way they touch and gaze lovingly at each other. They're always trying to find little gifts for each other. It's lovely, and I know he loves her a lot. They try to be discreet, but I know they make love frequently."
Well, I supposed Mum and Dad had physical relations, but we lived in a large house with multiple bedrooms. There were four guest rooms as well as my sister's and mine. (We don't have any live-in staff.)
Dad was always busy, and Mum sometimes stayed at the villa. But of course they were in love.
After a few hours, she said perhaps that was enough pretend intercourse for today and we should head back down. She touched up her makeup, and I put on a different shirt, and we returned from what appeared to be a fiery encounter.
My father gave a big grin but said nothing.
She complimented the garden and inquired if it was my mother or father who tended to it. I said neither, really, we just had a gardener, and I believed it was professionally designed. Her parents only had a very small one, but her mother took good care of it while her father cultivated vegetables on an allotment. It was a city-sponsored community garden where ordinary people could rent a plot as an addition to their regular garden or if they didn't have one. She said it was quite social and her father spent as much time chatting with the other allotment owners as he did working on it.
I realised I'd seen allotments before but never really knew what they were.
My father was unusually cordial towards women when my mother wasn't around, but then he excused himself to his study.
"That was nice of him," she said.
"What?"
"Going to his study. I bet there isn't anything he really needs to do. He just thinks we want time alone together."
"Aw, it's unfortunate we can't do that." She commented. "Would you like to try some independent research? I can stay down here and watch some TV if you want to head to your room."
"Nah, it's all good, I don't mind staying with you."
"You got it then," she said, and I realized my misstep.
"I mean, I'd like to be with you, if that's okay."
"Alright," she replied with a grin. "We won't mind each other's presence."
We watched some TV, made a few remarks on it and about random stuff.
We had just watched the 9 o'clock news, and she made a comment.
"You know, Perry, you come across as more likable when you're not boasting. Fiona does it, and Simon, and Cynthia too, they all try to outdo each other."
"Simon?" I questioned.
"Simon Jones. You call him Beaky. He may have a large nose, but it's hurtful. I believe that might be why he competes with you and you're engaged in this silly game."
"Simon?" I asked, confused.
"Yes, Simon. Simon Jones. Simon is his real name, but everyone calls him Beaky. He was just telling Jocasta in private when you overheard him. He wasn't inviting people to use it; he was simply complaining. You started it and everyone followed suit. He just needs to laugh it off like he did in school."
We both became silent for a while.
"Fancy a cup of tea?" she suggested after some time.
"Actually yeah, but I won't. A full bladder at night can be a bit tricky for a man in a cage, but you go ahead."
"Hey, of course."
She grabbed some tea, and we chatted more.
Dad approached us at around 11 pm to wish us goodnight, and she mentioned she'd like to get ready first.
I was a bit taken aback when she returned wearing a dressing gown and no makeup. I had never seen my sister without makeup since she was twelve at most and never saw Mum without it. All the girls I knew, either in class or in bed, always wore it. Even though she didn't seem attractive, I felt uneasy as we said goodbye and departed.
I wasn't trying to flirt with her or anything, just trying to be friendly. But I'd been in forced chastity for a long time, and I was next to a woman. I woke up the next morning with an uncomfortable feeling.
CHAPTER 4
The next day, she inquired about my course, and I said she probably wouldn't be interested, but she insisted on hearing about it. I told her I was currently studying the Peloponnesian War as mentioned by Thucydides, but it didn't faze her. So she tolerated my lesson for some time.
When she inquired about my course, I got a bit excited. It's actually Literae Humaniores, which means "Literature which is more human" and differs from Theology. It's about people and their various actions, done through classic literature. It's an interdisciplinary course that covers language, history, politics, philosophy (except economics), and psychology and sociology with many possible options.
I talked about how Thucydides was called the father of scientific history because he was searching for logical explanations and accounts for people's actions.
We spoke more at lunchtime, then took a stroll in the nearby park, where she stopped me and asked me to clarify something.
"By the way, that's a lot like Game Theory."
I didn't understand it immediately, but over the next few days, we discussed Game Theory like two Oxford students. I had to look up some things, and she found straightforward examples on the internet.
I began to understand that Thucydides was thinking about something similar to Game Theory. I felt a strong urge to write an innovative essay.
Naturally, we had to interact with Dad, and go out with him sometimes. We had simnel cake and chocolate eggs, and Amelia had a nice dress for Dad's sake.
Actually, I somehow realized something. Amelia dressed properly. Fiona, Cynthia and Jocasta dressed seductively and trendily, trying to impress. My sister also dresses that way, particularly the sexy part.
We adventured out with our dad and on our own for meals and to explore the local surroundings. Other than that, I shared more details of my course with her and we talked about the shared philosophy we had—mainly logic. She had yet to delve into ethics, but her inquisitive mind prompted me to double-check my knowledge, making me realize I wasn't as well-versed as I thought.
Her teaching style was subtle, but it boosted my learning process, similar to that of a devoted mentor.
I inquired if I was hindering her studies, but she reassured me that it was not the case.
"I test myself mentally, yet if you can do it, you can. There's not much memorization. Some of your work reminds me of various perspectives, which is intriguing."
Following my final inspection, Amelia began packing up to catch his train.
"Could you linger a little longer?" I inquired.
"Not really. The train ticket was reserved, and I must board it or spend almost the same amount on a single fare."
I had never pondered these details before. We'd always purchase first-class return tickets that were valid throughout the trip, but not her.
"I'll chauffeur you home," I informed her. "Please stay for a while."
"However, it might be uncomfortable for you during the nighttime hours."
"Yes, but I'd still like you to remain. May I? Please?"
She phoned her parents, who agreed it was okay and I wouldn't have to travel to drive her. Eventually, we decided she would stay almost throughout the entire break, and I would escort her back to school.
Then I broached the idea of kissing her.
"Of course," she replied. "But why did you ask?"
"I want to do it in earnest, not just for dad, or because I can."
She turned slightly pink and agreed, so I did. My first time was hesitant, not like me, but then I held her close while we embraced.
"That was lovely," she said. "You can do it again if you want."
When Mom returned home, it was clear that Amelia was now my girlfriend.
One night, I implored her to remove her nightgown.
"Won't that... disrupt you a bit?"
"Yes, but I'd still wish to see you and tolerate any fallouts."
She eliminated the gown and stood there, blushing.
"I'm sorry, but I can't take off my panties. It's my period."
She wasn't striking a pose or swaying like other girls would, but her sincerity was endearing.
"You're exquisite," I commended, and embraced and kissed her, avoiding any metal contact with her.
We continued chatting until I fell asleep.
Eventually, I fulfilled my promise to transport her home. It was a terraced brick house surrounded by two gardens—one small one in front, and a more spacious one at the back that undoubtedly required great effort and time.
Amelia's quarters resembled a storage and served as a waypoint to the toilet. The occupants had piled numerous books about the house, suggesting her folks were avid readers and borrowers.
Her parents were gleeful and a touch over-attentive, as if I were a celebrated celebrity. It was heartwarming yet slightly embarrassing as they gushed over me. I felt awkward that I wasn't acquainted with their preferred authors or television shows.
However, they appeared to be kind-hearted individuals unlike some I knew.
Upon our return to college, it was time for action. I'd pondered over Thucydides' advice and weighed the potential outcomes using Game Theory. In contrast to financial stuff, I had to determine the value of each course of action.
I summoned the relevant folk to my quarters, guaranteeing stimulating conversation with free nourishment and drink.
When everyone had arrived, I rapped my glass against the side and made a significant declaration.
"Citizens, mates, friends!" exclaimed Algy, generating laughter.
"Indeed," I said, "I come to surrender. Simon is the superior human, and I wholeheartedly apologize for ever uttering another name. From today onwards, I'll solely call him Simon."
I knelt down.
"Cynthia, Fiona—I implore you—will you liberate me? Please grant me the key?"
Cynthia hesitated before offering it to me as others applauded.
I filled in the Plastictruss with the hardware and yielded it to her.
"Still warm," she observed before smelling it.
"And that's what they called it - 'Perfume of Percy.' It made everyone laugh," she said, smiling.
"Here you go, Amelia. This is a gift for you." The woman handed her the object. "Souvenir."
"Simon, do you want your key back?"
He reached out his hand, and she placed the key in his palm.
"But I want to give it to you instead," she said. "It's up to you to decide when I'm allowed out - if I ever am!"
Her words left him stunned, but then he smiled. She held out her own car keys. "Here you go, Simon. You won this fairly. Enjoy it!"
"Am I crazy?" he asked incredulously.
"Well, yes, if you want to insure a sports car for someone under 21 in Oxford," she said, shaking her head. "It would be a disaster for our finances. I've kept my own keys just because of the bet. I don't drive anything fancy - it's a bicycle and the train for me until I graduate. Just take the car and good luck."
Thankfully, I was able to express my feelings towards Amelia that night in a way that I had always wanted.
I was humiliated when I discovered how expensive my parents' car insurance was, and they agreed to cancel it. Although they're wealthy, it was a waste of money. Apparently, my dad just wanted to relive his (or what he thought his) youth through me. Mum admitted that she might be trying to do the same with my sister and her school in France.
Simon told me that he found Fiona's teasing amusing, so now they've started using the cage for fun. He'd sometimes be caged for hours or even weeks, with the expectation of pleasing her while remaining denied himself - but when she did release him, he had astounding orgasms.
I'm not sure if Amelia and I will ever become that kind of couple, but it does make me think that she might lock me up just to ensure our relationship is stable when we're apart. My mother could always have the second key in case of emergency.
In fact, my sister mentioned that my mother bought a plastic cage for my father... but she's not sure if they've used it yet.
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