My transition into the inescapable reality of the Kothi escalated mid-week. On a Tuesday evening, I received a blunt text message from Mrs. Shalini ordering me to the estate for my permanent cage fitting. I arrived nervously at the back door, discovering that Shalini wasn't even home; she was out at an exclusive society dinner, living her life of pristine, untouchable luxury.
I went to the back door as instructed and waited. When the heavy teakwood finally opened, Rahul stood there, swaying heavily on his 6-inch stilettos. He had just finished scrubbing the baseboards in the living room. Because it was a weekday, he was completely devoid of his elaborate weekend sarees and heavy makeup. He had scrubbed everything off for his day job at the construction site.
He was completely naked. He wore absolutely no panties or modesty garments. His massive, augmented breasts were severely bruised, red, and tender from being painfully compressed under a tight, suffocating binder all day at the site. Now, they hung freely, swaying with his chained steps. He wore only his towering heels, his heavy gold mangalsutra, and his brutal hardware. His wrists and ankles were weighed down by the heavy brass cuffs, the taut 6-inch connecting chains instantly robbing him of any normal stride. His massive red silicone ball gag was buckled tightly behind his head, rendering him completely mute. His brutally small metal chastity cage bit into his flesh, and the heavy bejeweled plug forced his hips to sway aggressively to avoid the automated shocks.
He turned his exhausted, heavily lined eyes to me and gestured sharply for me to strip. I undressed quickly, trembling violently under his severe, silent gaze. He procured a custom-machined metal chastity cage, identical in design to his but fitted specifically for me. It was brutally short, unforgiving, and freezing cold.
The fitting process was terrifyingly fast and clinical. Rahul did not waste time, nor did he remove his gag to offer a single word of comfort. He grabbed the temporary metal cage I had been wearing, unlocked it, and tossed it aside. He procured a cold, sterile wipe and roughly cleaned my exposed, terrified anatomy. When my body betrayed me with a slight, involuntary stir of fear and exposure, Rahul’s eyes narrowed. Without a sound, he raised his heavy, brass-cuffed hand and delivered three incredibly sharp, stinging slaps directly to my exposed flesh. The shocking pain caused me to instantly shrivel, retreating entirely into myself.
Satisfied, Rahul immediately forced the freezing, heavy metal device over me. The metal teeth bit fiercely into my skin. There was absolutely zero room for comfort or growth. He secured the locking pin, pushing it through the metal loops, and turned the key with a definitive, final click. The entire process took less than three minutes.
He operated with the terrifying, strict efficiency of a broken servant who completely accepted his chains. Once I was permanently locked away, he threaded my small silver key onto a delicate chain. He reached up and secured it around his own neck, letting it rest perfectly in the deep, bruised cleavage of his massive breasts, the cold silver resting right next to his gold mangalsutra. He pointed a trembling, chained finger to the door, dismissing me back into the night so he could finish his chores.
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