Fire

I knew I was playing with fire, knew I shouldn't talk to him, but he was so confident, so assertive, taking my shyness not as a rejection but as a challenge. 

One day were were the last ones at work and that was when he made his move. "How long have you been on hormones?" he asked.

"My...my wife started me on them a year and a half ago," I said, hoping invoking her would stop him. 

"They're beautiful," he said, eyeing my chest.

"You...you can't know that," I said, "you've never seen them."

"True," he said, brazenly walking up to me and undoing several buttons of my blouse.

"See," he said, "I told you. Beautiful."

"Mark," I moaned, stunned at his assertiveness, ashamed at my lack of willpower.

"Are they sensitive?" he asked, blowing on my breast.

"God," I shuddered.

"Hmmmm," he said, "guess so. And what about down here?" He reached down for my trousers. "Is is smaller now?"

"Mark, I...I..."

"Does it still grow?"

"I...I don't know," I blurted out.

"Why don't you know?" he asked, reaching into my trousers, his hand on the front of my panties, finding the small, locked cage. "Oh my," he said, chuckling.

"My wife...we...she doesn't let me..."

He smiled. "No, of course not," he said. "How long?"

"How long am I?" I asked horrified.

"No, how long have you been...caged?"

"Since...since I started...started on hormones," I said.

"The whole time?"

I nodded. "The...the whole time," I said.

He leaned forward, kissed my neck, my ear, whispered. "Have you been with a man?" he asked.

"N...no," I said.

"I'll be gentle, then," he said, "until I'm not."