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He gave me attitude about dressing up, but in the end, he always ends up exactly where I want him. Pink bra, matching thong, and yoga socks — my choice, my rules. The second he’s dressed, I push him forward, take position, and make him mine. His tiny locked clitty dangles helplessly between his legs, leaking precum while he braces himself against the bed. My strap is slick and ready, sliding against his smooth, waiting hole. One thrust and he gasps, another and he moans, the thong pulling tight as my hips slam into him over and over. I don’t stop. I keep my pace steady and deep, hands gripping his waist as his cage bounces uselessly with every stroke. Close shots catch it all — the shine of oil on his skin, the pink thong framing his cheeks, his socks curling against the sheets, and the locked cage dripping while I work him. This isn’t just pegging; it’s control. It’s me taking exactly what I want from my feminized, locked submissive. Would you dare to get dressed up like this for me, knowing you’ll end up bent over and used while your cage leaks?