Chapter 7
“Honey,” Melanie said after we’d returned to normal. “I don’t want you to wear a cage. I don’t want to take away your ability to get hard, and I don’t want to keep putting you into smaller cages until your c**k looks like a clit.”
“I’d do it for you,” I said.
“And, I love you for it. We can play around with a cage for fun, but I don’t want you wearing one all the time.”
The restaurant had a roaring twenties theme with guys in 1920s gangster suits and their dates made up as mob molls or flappers. Melanie and I had visited some used and antique clothing stores until we found just the right things to wear.
I’d gone traditional gangster—a dark double-breasted suit with large labels, widely spaced white pinstripes, a fedora hat, and a black shirt with a short white tie with pictu
