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Between strokes, his voice came low and warm above me.

"You've been locked all day, haven't you, baby?"

I pressed my face into the duvet and nodded, the fabric soft against my cheek.

"Such a good little boy. Wearing your cage so well for Daddy."

My fingers curled into the duvet. The cage was something we'd talked about — something I'd asked for, actually, because the ache of being locked and unable to touch myself did something to my head that made little space deeper, more complete. I only took it off for hygiene and checks, or when Daddy wanted to play with my little cock.

"That's my good boy," he said, and his palm landed again, a little harder this time, and I wriggled and made a sound that was definitely not a laugh anymore. The flush was spreading across my skin now, a warm pink that I could feel even without seeing it. Daddy's hand was warm too, the heat building under his palm with each stroke until my whole body felt like it was glowing. My thighs trembled against his leg. My fingers gripped the duvet.

And through it all, the praise kept coming. Steady as the spanking. What a good boy. Daddy's perfect little one. So well-behaved. Each word landed like another touch, and I pressed my face harder into the bedding and let myself dissolve into it completely, the giggles and the sting and the warmth and the words all layering together.

His hand stopped. Rested on the warm curve of my ass, his fingers spread wide, and the weight of it was almost as good as the spanking had been. I lay there breathing, my chest rising and falling against his thigh.

Daddy's hand moved, stroking once, gently, over the heated skin.

"There's my boy," he said. "Ready for what comes next?"

Daddy's hands slid under me and lifted me like I weighed nothing, which to him I probably didn't. One moment I was draped over his lap, my face pressed into the duvet, and the next I was cradled against his chest, his arms solid around my ribs, and then I was on my back against the pillows with the whole wide bed underneath me and Daddy above me.

Everything slowed down. That was what Daddy did — he took time and stretched it out, like he had all of it in the world and none of it was in a hurry to get anywhere. He moved over me. His hands were warm as they pushed my shirt up my stomach and then off over my head. I lay there pliant, my skin still warm from the spanking, my whole body loose and buzzing.

He reached for the drawer in the nightstand and came back with the plug, the vibrating one, silicone and not too big but big enough that I always felt the stretch. He held it up where I could see it.

"This one, baby?"

I nodded eagerly.

"Yes, Daddy, please."

He reached for the lube, and then his fingers were between my legs, warm and slick, taking their time before he eased the plug into me. The stretch made my breath catch and my thighs tense.

"There you go, baby," Daddy murmured. "That's it. You're taking it so well for me."

His palm pressed flat against the base of the plug, holding it in place, and the stretch settled through me — slow and deep, enough to make my toes curl against the sheets. It was the good kind of fullness, the kind that told me Daddy was right there, that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. My breath came out shaky and I let it, didn't try to hide it.

"Such a good boy," Daddy said, and his thumb traced a slow circle around the base of the plug, not pushing it deeper, just keeping it there, letting me feel it. "Look at you. Taking all of it so nicely."

The stretch was still there, warm and insistent, and every time I shifted even a little bit I felt it again, a reminder of what was inside me. Daddy kept his hand steady there, and the other hand came up to stroke my hair back from my forehead, his fingers gentle against my scalp.

"Daddy's proud of you, sweetheart," he said. "You're doing so good. Ready?"

I nodded again, my fingers already curling into the sheets.

He turned it on.

The sound I made was high and startled. The vibration hit me all at once, a hum that traveled up through my core, and my whole body jerked under it. The plug was fullness and vibration layered together, and my thighs started trembling immediately, a fine shake that I couldn't control, and Daddy's hand smoothed down my leg like he was calming a nervous animal.

"There you go," he said, warm. "There's my good boy."

The cage stayed locked. He didn't touch it. Didn't offer to remove it. His hand stayed on my hip, on my thigh, and the ache of it — the constant, low throb of being locked and unable to touch — built and built until it was all I could think about, a pressure that had nowhere to go except through the vibration.

"Such a good boy," he said. "Staying locked for Daddy. So well-behaved. Daddy's perfect little one. Taking everything I give you."

The vibration hummed steadily against me until my thighs were shaking so hard I couldn't hold them still, and my hands gripped his forearms, and the sounds I was making had become just breath and whimpers.

I came like that — locked, full, vibrating, with Daddy above me, his toy inside me and his voice all around me. Locked orgasms were different, but they felt so good too. I was trembling everywhere, my fingers digging into his arms, and the cage didn't change anything about the intensity; if anything, it concentrated it, turned the orgasm into something that had nowhere to go except through my whole body at once.