Into the Dog House Ch. 01

Gregory took the cage out of the drawer and pouch, inspecting it. The lack of key was a little alarming, but he imagined she'd tucked it into her purse to enjoy having while he agonised over this decision. He thought about what she said, how exciting she'd find it, and sighed to himself. Maybe he didn't have to take this as the insult he instinctively felt like it was. Her wanting to trap his cock wasn't necessarily a disinterest in his cock, right? In fact, she was giving it unique attention.

Well, if he was going to do this, he'd have to do it fast. He didn't wanna jerk off twice in one afternoon -- he wanted to save his stamina, even if his cock was going to be locked into a cage. She'd probably let him out.

Using a little more lube, he slicked up the inside, and, standing with his legs apart, set about pushing his dick into the cage. He was an average sized guy, but this cage felt tiny. While he was soft, he could just about get it inside without pain. Grunting, he looped the metal ring around his balls, drawing them up tight between his legs, and closed it. He fingered the hanging lock for a moment, hesitation freezing him in place.

Here went nothing. Gregory pinched the lock closed, and felt the click of it tumbling into place like it reverberated throughout his whole body, taint first.

The pulse of arousal was immediate, and so strong that he felt his knees weaken. Gregory balanced his hands against the edge of the bed, processing the alien feeling of the cage dangling between his legs, of his cock trying to harden itself within it. "Come on," he groaned, waiting for that wave of arousal to diminish, and it sort of did. Sort of. With his cock unable to get hard, it felt a little like he was teetering on the edge of arousal, which was very much like being aroused.

Tentatively, Gregory squeezed his hand around his caged cock, running a fingertip against the slightly swollen tip where it pressed against the bars. The sensation felt like a spark of electricity. He fidgeted with the lock, tugging it, then pulled at the whole thing to see if it would slip free -- but no, it held fast, and he gave another groan as the reality of what he'd done sunk back in.

Nothing for it now.

Gregory picked up his phone from the bedside table, and sent her a text: 'hope you have a key for this thing'.

A moment later, there came a reply. 'I sure do' with a loveheart emoji, followed by a selfie -- Rachel smiling with a mimosa in hand, enjoying her birthday brunch. For the millionth time in his life, he had to marvel: she was just so fucking beautiful. Barely a lick of makeup on her face, and glowing and radiant, with her feline smile and brilliant blue eyes. Gregory's focus gravitated to the necklace she was wearing, one he hadn't seen her wear before, nor noticed it on her when she'd headed out for the day. On a fine chain, resting above her cleavage, dangled a small silver key.

Arousal and affection both throbbed through him. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

***

The rest of the afternoon dragged by. He'd thrown on some comfortable clothes to help ignore his cock cage, but decided to keeping wearing the collar. Why not? He'd had to have put it back on anyway. He idly did some work, ate some leftovers, checked the time. It was pushing past four o'clock, and she'd said she'd be back in the afternoon. Time to get ready.

Stripping off his clothes and tossing them into the hamper, Gregory took all his accessories out into the livingroom, along with his phone. The socks went on first, and then the harnesses. The one at his groin closed around his waist like a belt, then drew straps down between his legs and over his ass, keeping everything important exposed. With the addition of the cage, it looked a little like they went together. He felt the tail behind him, where it curved up over his ass, and would wag with every little movement.

The other harness fit snugly across his chest over his pecs, looping over his shoulders. It showed off his muscles in a way he liked -- maybe, when all this was over, he'd keep the harnesses for fun, while trying to get some resale value out of the rest. The head harness was distracting, distinctly feeling it where it looped under his chin and across his nose. It secured at the back of his head, and he checked the reflection in the TV to make sure the ears were sitting right. He looked pretty ridiculous, but that was the idea.

Then, the front paws. Gathering them up, Gregory sank down onto his knees. The motion tugged the harness between his legs, jostling his caged dick, and his reflexive gasp tightened the harness across his chest. The whole outfit, such as it was, had a weird eroticism to it that immediately redirected blood flow to his cock, which he felt try to fill his cage again.

This was all a little crazy. Sure, he'd dressed up for her in the past -- a Christian Grey-style three piece, latex undies, sexy fireman -- but none of that had affected him like this. Thank god for the cage, or it'd be painfully obvious to everyone involved how into it he was, when this was meant to be for Rachel.

And arousal did not diminish as he crawled into the cage, seeing the world through tight black metal bars. He hooked his finger around one of them in the door, and tried not to focus on how eager he felt when he closed it. Swallowing around a dry mouth, he poked his fingers out to reach for the latch, nudging it into place so that the door wouldn't swing wide at every little jostle, and just like that, he was confined in a cage he barely fit, forced on all fours, naked save for leather straps and metal.

Now, for the paws -- before he properly chickened out. Tugging on one was simple, bundling his left hand into soft leather that kept his fingers closed against his palm, and clicking the cuff closed. The next would be more difficult, and he hadn't practiced it. Good thing he'd decided against a mask, or else this would be impossible. He delicately gripped the edge between his teeth as he pushed his hand into the mitten. Then, he nudged his wrist against his arm until the cuff clicked closed, trapping his hands.

It was really only then that he realised the obvious thing that had skipped his mind completely -- that in doing so, the mittens weren't coming off without his wife's help. And without the mittens coming off, there was no way he could open the cage he was in.

This realisation hit him like a bolt of electricity, one that started between his legs and ended at the back of his throat. Dizzying, this realisation at how much of his mercy he'd put in his wife's hands, and she didn't even know it. What if he needed to pee? What if there was a firedrill? What if someone had to kick the door down and find him like this? What if Rachel hadn't factored in what kind of surprise he'd prepared for her, and brought in her sister for a last drink before dinner? The front door was immediately in view of the cage, and he was trapped inside of it, wearing bondage gear he didn't have the fingers to undo.

Panic filled his chest, and he pressed his hands -- no, his paws, he pressed his paws against the cage door, and pushed. Metal bowed just a little under the force of it, but it was sturdy stuff, designed to keep a big dog inside under any circumstance. He scrabbled at the edge of the door as if he could reach through the bars to get at the latch, but of course, there was no fitting anything through them with his hands balled into paws.

He stopped, resting on hands and knees, breathing, and froze when he felt something -- a damp coolness that trickled against his thigh. He looked down to see pre-cum squeezing out from his tortured trapped cock, leaving a droplet of wetness on his skin. As panic simmered and burned off, the deep, dark arousal was left to scorch him in its place. He was almost dizzy with it, and certainly not thinking clearly.

It was going to be fine. She'd be home soon. She wasn't gonna bring anyone inside, knowing what she knew about their evening together.

And besides, this was meant to be a present for Rachel. He was supposed to make her laugh, supposed to make her excited. Lick her to death, maybe get her to let him fuck her life a bitch in heat, then, you know, enjoy some takeout -- not make himself so horny he couldn't function. But god, he'd found some several buttons inside of himself that had gone unpressed. Couple that with the dry spell of a century --

He heard his phone buzz, and jerked his head up suddenly enough to hit it against the top of the cage. He'd set his phone down on the arm of the couch and forgotten about it, and this time, his dismay was very specific: how stupid are you, Gregory?

He sure hoped that she was texting him to say she was on her way over, and not, say, that she'd decided to go out for a bar crawl. It seemed plausible, all of a sudden, that she might just enjoy locking him up and taking the key with her while she painted the town red -- and that if there was a real problem with that, he could just call her.

Except he couldn't.

Suddenly, getting to jerk off twice in an afternoon sounded really appealing, cock throbbing and straining in its cage. Gregory gritted his teeth together, and focused on breathing. There was nothing he could do but hope, and then show up to please her when she got home -- which would hopefully be in the next twenty minutes.

Sighing, he settled into a position that seemed comfortable -- half laying on his side, on his bed of blankets. Every movement seemed to tug at the harnesses in a way that drove him a little nuts, and the fact he couldn't stretch his legs or even sit like a person wasn't helping, but as time wore on, he was able to get back a little control. Boredom had that effect.

Despite everything, despite the perpetual edge of arousal and his deep awareness of his own confined cock, Gregory felt himself begin to drift. The blankets were comfortable, and there was something soothing about the loose foetal position he was forced into, and the absence of knowing exactly when he was able to leave his predicament made time trickle by in a strange and slow way.

When the front door opened, he didn't stir. When clicking heels on the hardwood floor came to a surprised halt, he began to drift out from his dozing nap.

It was the sharp smack of the door shoved closed that startled him to consciousness, twisting his head around to see his wife standing in the middle of the livingroom, her mouth fallen open as she stared at the cage with her husband inside. From this vantage point, her five-foot-two height seemed toweringly tall, in powerful possession of the room where she stood. He could smell her perfume, his senses attuned to the sound of her keys in her purse, the scrape of her highheels on the floor, and he felt a dull pulse of arousal as his body followed his mind into waking up.

"Hey honey," he said, climbing onto all fours. He felt the dog ears on his head brush the top of the cage, reminding him that he could stand no higher. Get a grip, he told himself, planting his paws on the blanket, feeling his tail wiggle where it curved up from his belt.

Rachel's hand drifted to her open mouth, but not before he detected a slight smile curve at the corners of her lips.

Gregory put on his best and most confident smile. "You always wanted a puppy."

***

[ Note: Next time, Rachel is introduced to her new puppy, and Gregory finds out just how much his wife would prefer a dog to a husband. ]