Tuesday's toy was hot pink. Six and a half inches long. Thicker. Heavier. The shaft had a defined head and pronounced veins, and it gleamed with a high-gloss finish that made it look obscene even just lying there in the drawer. The base read "Tuesday" in delicate cursive—but there was nothing delicate about it. It was 1.5 inches across at the head. It looked uncomfortable, and Nick felt himself clench just imagining it. His clit throbbed instantly. He'd been hard in the cage all night. Morning wood didn't exist anymore—just morning ache. He didn't even pretend to resist. He lubed the toy, climbed into bed on all fours, and rode it while facing the mirror on the closet door. Watching his body. Watching the cage bounce. Watching the way his hole swallowed every inch like it had been waiting all night. The stretch made him pant, whining into the sheets, whispering, "Mistress… Mistress… please…" He didn't know what he was begging for. Release? Mercy? More? By the time he came—dry, locked, helpless—his thighs were shaking and his hole was drooling lube around the base of the toy. He couldn't even get dressed. He laid there for ten minutes, still plugged, breathing hard. The conditioning was deeper now. That afternoon, it happened in a café. Someone behind him at the counter said the word Mistress, casually, in a book discussion—and Nick's hands started trembling. He left his coffee untouched, bolted to his car, pulled the seat back, climbed into the footwell, locked the doors, and pulled out Tuesday's toy. He lubed fast, suctioned it to the center console, and rode it right there in the parking lot. Drivers walked by. Someone glanced in. He didn't stop. Couldn't. Mistress was in his head. And that meant the toy had to be in his hole. He whimpered. Bounced. Leaked. And when it finally popped free, he was soaked in sweat and shame. He barely made it home. He used the toy again in the shower. And once more before bed—bent over the arm of the couch, chanting her name like prayer. "Mistress… Mistress… Mistress…" The app buzzed as he uploaded the video. Tuesday: Complete. Stretching well, little bitch. Tomorrow's toy will leave you wide open. Nick stared at the message, hips still twitching, hole still aching. Tomorrow's toy was thicker. Darker. Meaner. Mistress wasn't easing him in anymore. She was making him ready.
