A long time ago Lion wore a collar. It had tags on it that identified him as my pet and my phone number so if anyone saw him being naughty they could contact me. He mostly wore it at home so there was little chance people would see him in it much less see him being naughty. I didn’t really care if he wore it or not. It didn’t mean he was any more or less my pet. I always thought the collar was silly. From my point of view, the only thing it did was to provide a place to tie the rope that bound his balls. His cage is different.
Why? Why would the cage be any different from the collar? No one sees the cage either. Is it because he has no choice but to wear it once it’s locked on? Is it because it renders his penis useless to anyone but me except for the purpose of peeing? What is it about the cage that makes me want him to wear it? I think I’m more invested in it. I’m not sure if that’s because of our new-found communication or the sex it brought; or maybe it’s the blog which has helped us work things out. I just know I want my Lion to be caged. Somehow it makes me feel closer to him. Maybe, unlike the collar, the cage makes me realize he is mine. We wear wedding rings and he’s always told me he’s my pet, but maybe the cage seals the deal. Is it the location of the cage versus the collar? I never worried that Lion was going to stray. I never knew he masturbated frequently. There was never a reason to be overly protective of my property.
Then I hit upon something that makes me a little uncomfortable to admit. What if it’s because someone else made him wear a collar once before? She also made him eat from a dog bowl, which struck my as silly too. Why does that realization bother me? I’m not exactly sure, but it did make me sit back for a few minutes to think about it. What else am I doing or not doing because the little green jealousy monster is lurking around? Maybe it’s not even jealousy. Maybe I just like the cage because it is ours. As far as I know (and please don’t burst my bubble of naivete, Lion) no one else has ever caged him. No matter how many people have spanked him, flogged him, pegged him, had sex with him, this is something that is just ours. It’s fine if I like something just because it’s ours. It’s less fine if I don’t like something because he did it with someone else.
I’ll have to consider my potential little green jealousy monster further.
No one ever caged me before. You are the first, my dear lioness [Lion]
First, feel free to tell me to bugger off at any time.
I think that while the cage itself is a powerful symbol, the fact that you dialogue about the cage, about the blog and about your sexual desires and fantasies are the most powerful factors in your renewed sex life.
I could be wrong but if I understand your story right, the cage was the turning point for you two which makes it uniquely special. It is a private mark of ownership (rings and collars are both public, and supposedly the use of a ring to mark a married woman originated with a collar to mark a favored slave), but it’s also that “Thing” that sparked you two to really talk about your life together and how to make it better.
And the cage can’t be ignored. If the Lion is feeling like he needs a release, he’s got to talk to you about it. I imagine that if you wanted release you could ignore the Lion and just see to it yourself, but why would you when you know your Lion will happily supply you with an orgasm both out of courtesy (he is your pet) and out of a hope for some release time (because, ya know, caged). More than the collar (which had to be removed for going in public) or a ring (which really no one looks at most of the time outside of clubs and bars and pick-up places) the cage is always there, and always reminding you both of what you mean to each other. It’s not the kind of thing you can get to work and realize that your morning routine got all collywobbled by the kids and you forgot to put it on (which I admit I’ve done a few times while I still wore my wedding band (which I only don’t wear because with my weight loss I’m fairly likely to lose it by sliding off my finger)).