Let’s make this perfectly clear: your pathetic, locked-up little cock is completely useless. It’s not even a cock anymore, is it? No, it’s a caged symbol of your failure, your inferiority, your complete inability to measure up. And you’ve come crawling to me, begging to be stripped of your freedom, locked in chastity, and made to confront the truth you can’t deny anymore. You’re nothing compared to what you obsess over. That thick, massive BBC you crave—that’s what occupies your thoughts now, isn’t it? Every pulse of your cage, every twitch of your useless little cock, is a pathetic reaction to the images that flood your mind. That towering dominance, that sheer size—it’s everything you can never be, everything you worship. And now, it’s everything that owns you. Feel your cage bite into you again. That’s me, tightening my grip on your pathetic existence. Every time you so much as think about those men, those cocks, your cage reminds you that you’ll never compare.