Laying in his chains on the bed, Stephen learnt a lot in the time- probably about ninety minutes- before Mandy came to take him down to dinner. As his penis began to strain against its cage, he tried ever harder to take his mind off it. If he thought about practical matters- grocery prices or home improvements- he immediately realized that they were no longer his concern. If he tried to think of plot lines for his novels, they were invariably erotic. His fictional mother, now sold by the tribe and forced by Arab slave-traders to demonstrate her oral skills to a potential buyer, only inflamed him further. He thought that it would enhance the scene to have brazier of hot coals in the corner, with a branding iron ready for use when the deal was closed, but that idea caused even more blood to be pumped into his penis. He dragged his mind away and began, instead, to concentrate on trivial details of his environment. Blackout curtains obscured the only window, so he could not have seen outside even if he had been able to raise himself enough to look out. There was no wallpaper- the walls were painted white- but he now realized that various hooks and rings, that most people would have assumed to be for lamps, plants or pictures, could easily be used for bondage. That didn't help, so he started wondering about the heating. There was a very large radiator and he knew that the house, like his cottage, had a heat pump and an array of solar panels. The walls were thick and he knew that the windows were treble-glazed. In months to come, at dead of winter with the wind howling and snow coming down, it would still be comfortable for him to lie chained and naked on the bed. That didn't help, either.

As the pressure of the cage on his swelling penis had begun to increase, Stephen had been quite frightened, not knowing how painful it would get. Much to his relief, it reached a peak of discomfort after which it got no worse. The wires of the cage were, as he imagined, quite thin and they did sink into his flesh, and especially the softer tissue of the glans. There were, however, quite a lot of them, so the pressure was evenly distributed, and there was never any possibility that he would be cut, or even seriously marked. He ached and longed for release, but he was not in agony, nor did it diminish his still-mounting arousal.

The problem- if it was a problem- was that the cage had a similar effect to that of a woman's hand grasping him a little too hard, probably with a thumb placed firmly on his tip. The appropriate reaction to that, for him, would have been to thrust harder until he obtained release through an orgasm. Stephen's instinct led him to squirm on the bed, pushing up his hips with his feet on the mattress, pulling at his ankle chains to give himself an extra inch or two of room for manoeuvre. Obviously, it didn't work, because there was no way he could move his penis relative to its cage. It did rock and sway, both up and down and side-to-side, and that gave him a fraction of the feeling that he might have had from being manipulated by a firm hand. Ultimately, however, he just had to give up, accepting that he could do nothing to help himself. It did help a little to pull on his wrist chains, distracting him from the sexual frustration that subsided only very slowly.

His struggles told him something else. The bed, with its inertia reels and chains, worked as a kind of exercise machine. In his writings he had often felt the need allow for the muscle wastage that constant bondage an inaction would cause, so his enslaved characters usually spent at least an hour a day locked to exercise machines, encouraged by whips or electric shocks to reach the targets set for them. Perhaps that would be his fate as well, but he knew that pulling and straining at his chains was giving him valuable exercise. There was a very short delay built into the reel mechanisms, so that when he pulled the chains as hard as he could, a moment elapsed before they snapped back with an audible 'clink' that he found curiously satisfying. After a few minutes of that he was tiring, and the distraction had eased the pressure on his penis, so he was able, probably for forty minutes or so, to drop off to sleep.

Stephen woke up with another erection, and just in time to see Mandy, fully gowned, sweeping into the room, opening the curtains and coming to stand over him. 'You've been thinking bad thoughts', she pronounced, and waggled his penis as if to prove it.

'I haven't been thinking much at all, mistress', he replied in his own defence. 'I went to sleep, and I usually wake up woody.'

'Don't argue with me. If you're hard when you're asleep, it just goes to show that the wickedness is so deeply embedded that you don't have to think about it. Sinfulness is your default state of affairs. Now let's get you ready to go downstairs.'

While she was speaking she ran her fingertips up and down his shaft, feeling the ridges of flesh that bulged through the bars. He was straining up towards her, but she stopped suddenly to begin the process of revising his bondage. In a few minutes he was standing by the bed, wrists now locked behind his back, ankles separated with about eighteen inches of chain. This time she had locked another chain, about four feet long, to his collar to act as a lead. She took him to the toilet first, but this time she did not relieve herself. Then he had to descent the stairs, which fortunately were fairly shallow. The ankle chain was long enough to allow him to descend one step at a time and she steadied him with the lead. She went down before him, so he was comforted by the thought that he would probably not be hanged if he fell. His caged penis, which had not slackened noticeably when he had done his best to pee, was fully hard and bobbing up and down as he walked into the kitchen-diner, where Sandra was watching him from in front of the cooker. It struck him that this household was quite different to most of those featured in his novels. There were no cooks, kitchen sluts or serving wenches, and no scullions to do the washing-up. He assumed that he was not expected to do housework, so it all fell to the two women. It was no wonder, then, that what passed for cookery was mostly kits and ready-meals, or take-aways reheated in the microwave. This time it was Chinese, chosen possibly because it was easy to feed to him with a fork. It was only after his first few meals with them that he understood that, although he was allowed to drink through a straw, he would never eat solid food himself. There was wine with dinner, although he was only allowed two small glasses; about a third of a bottle. The two women never drank to excess, although Stephen did not know that as he sat between them, being fed his first full meal. There were strawberries and cream for dessert.

It was a very intimate experience, sitting with them close on each side, their breasts almost on a level with his face as they leant over to feed him. He could sometimes feel them through their clothes, for Sandra was, unusually for her, wearing a thin dress. They spent much of the time talking across and about him, and he understood without being told that he should not speak unless addressed directly. 'He was like a rock when I went up to get him', said Mandy as she fed him a forkful of special fried rice. 'I can't help wondering whether we should be feeding him bread and water until he learns some self-restraint.'

'We have to be a bit flexible.' Sandra surprised him by coming to his defence. 'He needs a balanced diet to serve our needs properly, so I'm not in favour of using food to discipline him. We have whips and canes for that, and cold water to dampen him down when we need him soft.'

The last bit was a disappointment, and Mandy's next contribution a surprise. 'I don't like the name "Stephen". It sounds too serious for a sex-toy. Can we think of anything better?'

'It's not a good idea to make something up, like Cunny or Sucknip. I'd suggest Dicklet, because it suits him so well.' She lifted and dropped his penis to demonstrate what she alleged was his diminutive size. 'The trouble is that people might overhear us talking about him, or calling him while one of us is on the phone. Let's call him Dickie, and we'll both know that it's meant as a diminutive.'

'Done. That was easy, wasn't it?' Mandy addressed him directly. Your name is Dickie now. We'll think about it again in a couple of months.' To Sandra she said: 'Do you want to depilate him tonight? We've probably got plenty of time.'

'Let's just do his pubes; the hair there is more stubborn and if we do his whole body tomorrow, they'll get a double dose. Will we be able to get the cage off him?'

Mandy had the key handy and slipped it off in a moment. All the talk of names and depilation had distracted him, and he was almost soft. He had, although he didn't know it, missed a possible orgasm, as she could probably have masturbated him in the cage if necessary. They refrained from touching him as they put him on the sofa and locked his ankles together, to wait for them to clear up the handful of dinner things. He was silently repeating his new name to himself, fearing the consequences of failing to answer to it. Almost as an afterthought, after starting the dishwasher, Mandy came to him with a handful of pills. 'Take these', she said. 'You'll know what most of them are.' She was doubtless referring to the drugs and hormones with which he bombarded most of the characters in his stories. He had always assumed that the treatments- to prevent cramps and muscle strains, improve libido and sexual responsiveness, immunize against a range of STDs and other ailments, and regularize digestive and toilet habits- did not exist in real life. He opened his mouth to protest- respectfully- that he had no idea what they were, but never got a word out. Finding him to hesitant in obeying her she grabbed his nose and dumped the handful into his mouth. Then she held her hand over his mouth until, feeling that resistance was, as usual, futile, he started swallowing them. She grabbed a bottle of water to help him swill down the rest. 'Just do as you're told, next time', she said, her smile for once almost absent. 'It'll be easier that way.'