‘In the cage, you feel loved, not trapped. Just like me.’
– Caroline Kepnes, You
She liked to dress up to masturbate. She always had. Fiona could never quite work out why so many people treated wanking as a secret or secondary exercise. Her friends would spend hundreds of pounds on expensive lingerie to excite their partners, choosing fabrics that felt luxurious or made their tits look like heaven, but would never wear them when they were alone. Why shouldn’t she feel sexy just for herself?
Because most of the time, her solo sex felt just as important as any partnered sex. Maybe even more so! Fiona liked to take time to enjoy herself, to connect with her body and remind herself that she was sexy and sexual. Damn, sometimes she needed that! Needed reminding that she was more than what someone else thought of her, more than who someone else wanted to fuck. And, personally, she liked to look as well as feel sexy for that to work.
She felt fucking sexy today! The striped hold-ups reached all the way to her thighs and were topped with pairs of tiny cufflinks. They were enough to form a whole outfit and she felt like a kinky cartoon witch, ready to cast her spell over those fortunate enough to stumble into her path. As she strutted around, admiring how the stripes hugged her legs and emphasised their shape, Fiona tried to decide whether she’d be a good witch or a bad one. Even though costume stereotypes would suggest that the striped tights belonged to the Wicked Witch of the East, she quite liked the idea of being a benevolent witch. She could charm her partners to reveal their greatest fantasies and then grant them wishes in exchange for sexual favours. Yes, there was some mileage in this train of thought, but Fiona knew it wasn’t the one for today.
Particularly as just the thought of being the type of witch who imprisoned her lovers in cages had sparked something deep in her lower belly. She imagined standing before them, magnificent in her long stockings, radiating power, and offering them the choice – the cage or the door. She promised to tease them, to torture them until they said stop, to pleasure herself in front of them and leave them begging for more, all while they were restrained in their cage. All with their consent of course. Even the baddest witches had to have a code of conduct!
Of course, in her fantasy, everyone agreed. Fiona imagined the room full of cages, each filled with a different lover. There was the hot gym instructor, his oiled and buff body straining against the bars. His cage would be small enough and cramped enough that he couldn’t reach his cock. Instead, she could stroke him as his dick got harder, waiting until he was right on the edge before leaving him hanging. She’d keep going, stopping and restarting, until his cock was throbbing, until his body was trembling, but she still wouldn’t let him come. Instead, she could ignore his pleas and wander off to another cage, leaving him incapable of release as she teased him from afar.
The snotty receptionist from work could be in the cage next to him. She really wanted to slap the smirk right off that bitch’s face! She always made Fiona’s job unnecessarily difficult but in her fantasy, the tables had turned. Now Fiona was in the position of power and the receptionist was the one who was humiliatingly eager to please. She was still dressed in her power suit, still looking glamorous, but her usually immaculate hair was disheveled and her make up ruined. Fiona could stand over her, pushing her cunt against the bars so that the kneeling receptionist could reach. With her face pressed into her body and her tongue swirling around her clit, Fiona imagined how her juices would wipe that red lipstick further from perfection, how greedily her work nemesis would want to please her, and how much pleasure Fiona would gain from coming all over her face.
And so the fantasies went on and on. A different cage for every crush, a different tease for every need.
When one item of clothing could spark such a strong seam of orgasmic delight, who wouldn’t want to dress up to wank?
This is post #1 of a planned 6, all written during the 12 hour Smutathon writing challenge.