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Sissy Academy, Part 3: Locked

By Aria Wilde · Sissy feminization erotica · 8 min read · part 3 of 11

The infirmary

The infirmary is white and cold and smells of antiseptic and something floral underneath. There is a padded table with steel stirrups. There is a tray with a small pink plastic cage on it, and a padlock no bigger than your thumbnail, and a key on a thin silver chain.

You cannot stop looking at the key.

Nurse Ivy is plump, pretty and cheerful, with dimples and a starched white uniform that strains across her chest. She takes your hand like a children's doctor and helps you up onto the table, heels and all.

"First time?" she asks. "Don't worry, sweetie. Everybody cries the first time. It's very good for the skin."

She puts your heels in the stirrups and straps your ankles in. She straps your wrists to the sides of the table. She does all of it while chatting about the weather and the new girl in Dormitory B who sleeps with a teddy bear, and you understand slowly that she is going to keep chatting no matter what she does to you.

Empty first

"Now," Nurse Ivy says, snapping on a pair of purple gloves. "We can't cage a full one. It's unhygienic, and you'd be a nightmare all week. So first we make sure you're completely empty."

She pours lube into her gloved palm. A lot of lube.

"Headmistress's orders are very clear. You don't get to cum, sweetie. You'll just leak. Have you ever been milked?"

You haven't. You shake your head.

"Oh, you're going to love it," she says, and slides one slippery finger inside you.

Her finger curls, searching, and finds it: a slick, swollen spot inside you that you never knew was there. "Hello, prostate," Nurse Ivy says cheerfully, and presses. A second finger joins the first, stretching your insides with slow, rhythmic circles that make your toes curl in the stirrups and your inner muscles tremble, while your untouched clitty twitches and drips onto your belly.

"Good girl," she whispers, noting how much fluid keeps oozing from your untouched clitty into the little glass dish she holds under it. "See? You're just a little faucet that won't turn off." She lifts the glass again, letting the last few droplets fall into your open mouth as you groan loudly, your body arched against the straps by the relentless pressure on your prostate. Her gloved fingers stroke deeper now, finding that sweet spot where pleasure builds but never breaks, making your untouched clit to pulse with a wet, helpless leak that continues to fill her small dish without a single stroke. "You're so full of it," she chuckles, pressing just one more time until you sob aloud, your eyes watering as the dual stimulation drives you toward an edge of sensation that has no peak.

She milks you until nothing more comes, until your clitty lies soft and spent on your belly and you are sobbing at the ceiling, completely drained and not satisfied at all. Then she pulls her fingers out slowly and holds up the dish to show you how much you made without ever coming. "There," she says brightly. "Empty as a teacup."

She shows you the little glass dish. She makes you look at it. Then she holds it to your red lips, and because she asks so sweetly, and because the rules say you obey every woman in this house, you open your mouth.

"Thank you," you say afterwards. You say it to the ceiling. You can't look at her.

The click

The cage is smaller than it looked on the tray. Nurse Ivy slides the ring behind your balls with practised fingers, feeds the soft, spent thing into the pink tube, aligns the pieces, and threads the tiny padlock through.

It does not fit so much as surrender. There is no room in there for anything to grow.

"Ready?"

You are not ready. You nod.

The lock closes with a sound so small you would not hear it anywhere else. Click. In the white quiet of the infirmary it sounds like a door shutting at the end of a long corridor.

Nurse Ivy lets the silver chain dangle from her finger, key swinging, and then, instead of keeping it, she walks to the door and opens it.

Aria is there. Of course she is.

The headmistress holds out her hand and Nurse Ivy lays the key in her palm. Aria fastens the chain around her own neck and lets the key drop between her breasts, where it disappears.

"There," Aria says. "Now it's mine. Like the rest of you."

Seven days

The first day you notice the cage every minute. The second day you notice it every time a woman walks past. By the third day the noticing has become a single, steady pulse that never stops, a hunger with nowhere to go.

Miss Vale teaches you to walk in the locked heels. You fall eleven times on Monday and four on Tuesday and only once on Wednesday, and each time she lifts you by the back of the corset and you say thank you. In the afternoons you serve tea in the staff room and the teachers ignore you completely, talking about you as if you are a lamp, while their skirts brush past your face.

At night the headphones. Aria's voice, closer every night. Locked, Lacey. Say it with me. Locked. And each time she says it, the cage seems to grow a little tighter, and your mouth waters, and you do not understand why.

On the fifth night Nurse Ivy comes round the dormitory with a torch, checking cages. She lifts your blanket, taps the plastic, and smiles at the wet spot already spreading on your panties.

"Oh dear," she whispers. "Somebody's very full again. We'll have to see to that."

She doesn't wake anyone else. She rolls you onto your knees with two hands, presses your face into the pillow and pulls your panties down around your thighs, and the cold air of the dormitory touches your bare bottom and the locked pink cage hanging beneath it.

"Shh," she breathes. "Not a sound, sweetie." She tugs the cage gently, feeling its weight, and a cold fingertip slips between the bars to tease the swollen tip trapped inside. You bite the pillow. Then her fingers are slick, and one slides into you, then two, then three, slowly, all the way in.

She fucks you with her fingers in long, unhurried strokes, curling them every time to rub your prostate, and the cage starts to throb and drip onto the sheet. "Oh, listen to that," she whispers. "Five days and look how desperate you are. Dripping like a tap, wiggling on my fingers like a little puppy." You are shaking, sobbing silently into the pillow, right at the edge and held there by the bars and her rhythm, and she keeps you there until you can't breathe. She pulls her fingers out, pats your bottom, and leaves you dripping in the dark.

The keyholder's office

On the seventh day you are called to the red office.

Aria is sitting on the edge of her desk with her legs crossed and her shoe dangling from one toe. She lets you kneel on the carpet in front of her for a long minute without speaking. The key is visible today, resting on the black silk over her heart.

"Seven days," she says. "How does it feel?"

"Full," you say. "It hurts. Thank you."

She laughs, a real laugh, warm and delighted, and something inside you that you didn't know was waiting turns toward that sound like a flower toward a window.

"Come here, Lacey. Kiss my shoe."

You drop to your knees instantly, the cool carpet burning through your thin panties as you press your face against the leather sole of her stiletto. The smell of her polish and sweat rises up to meet your nose, sharp and intoxicating, while your tongue darts out to lick the smooth heel, tasting the salt of her foot. Her other foot, wrapped in sheer black silk, rests firmly on the pink cage locked around your hips, pressing and rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. "Good girl," Aria purrs, watching your head bob at her feet. "You taste like submission. You smell like a little sissy who knows her place."

"Please, Headmistress," you whimper, drool dripping from your chin to wet the floor. "Please let me out. It's so full, it aches, it leaks all day. Please, I'll do anything." She lifts her other stocking-clad foot, dangling the heavy silver key on a chain just inches from your lips. Your tongue laps at the cold metal, tasting the promise of freedom, but she pulls it back before your lips can close on it. "Close enough," she murmurs, and lets it drop back between her breasts. "You kiss and lick perfectly, Lacey, but you forget one thing: the cage is locked because I haven't decided you're clean yet."

She shifts her hips slightly, grinding the stockinged toe against your lower belly while she lifts your head to smell her silk panties again, the fabric soft and warm from her proximity. "Feel that?" she asks sweetly as you press your nose into the lace edge. "That's my heat, my dominance. Now come here between my thighs." She spreads her legs wide, creating a dark tunnel of scent and shadow, and guides you in by the hair of your head until your face is buried deep in her underwear. Your cheeks burn as you inhale the musk of her skin, while her hand reaches down to cup the leaking cage, rubbing slow circles that make your inner thighs tremble and fresh fluid drip onto her dark carpeted floor.

"Look at how much water you're making," she coos, tracing a wet finger along your thigh. "You're such a desperate little thing, dripping all over my office because you can't hold your own pleasure." Her hand moves lower again, pressing flat against the narrow bars of your pink cage, feeling the tight, pulsing muscle beneath. "And yet, here we are, seven days in and still trapped inside this tiny prison, waiting for a real orgasm that never comes unless I say so." She leans forward, her bare feet flexing as she presses the cage hard with her toe, watching your hips sway helplessly as another wave of heat floods your core. "Locked," she whispers, and every part of you answers.

She lets you go at last and straightens her dress.

"Miss Vale tells me you've learned to walk," Aria says. "And to kneel, and to thank. That means you're ready for a new lesson." She opens the drawer of her desk and takes out a harness of black leather straps and a long, smooth, pink silicone shaft, and lays them side by side on the wood. "Thursday afternoon. Strap-on hour. Miss Vale is very good at it."

She looks at your face and smiles.

"Don't be frightened, Lacey. It only hurts the first time you say no."