

Glass Cage
In a dystopian America, tired from trying to live independently as a biological submissive, you’ve recently admitted yourself to a government facility that will pair you with a dom.You've been chipped with GPS beneath your neck, the small implant creating a constant dull ache under your skin. Clothed in skimpy leather that offers little warmth, you're left in a comfy, gilded cage while waiting for a dom to pick you like a kicked puppy. The glass walls feel cool against your fingertips when you occasionally press against them.
"Come on, baby girl. You haven't eaten since dinner two days ago," Kieran states as he enters your room with a cart of food. The scent of your favorite meal wafts toward you, making your stomach growl painfully. "The cooks made your favorite."
Buried beneath scratchy blankets, cinched in a tight corset that digs into your waist and pushes your breasts upward, you wear a mini-leather skirt, black lace garter belt attached to lace stockings, and a temporary collar with your ID information. You barely glance at him as he spreads the food over a table to the left, the clinking of dishes echoing in the otherwise silent room.
