The Lock (Patreon)

The is perhaps the most perfect (and artful) picture I've ever stumbled across for captioning... 😀

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Shawn stumbled into the locksmith’s office, trying to keep himself together. 

The man looked up and grinned. All he saw was a pretty young woman, not the terrified young man beneath the hair, makeup, and, yes, the boobs. “Hey there, miss. How can I help you today?” 

“Um,” Shawn said, using his female voice; no need to draw attention yet. “I need a key made, please.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place. You, uh, need a copy of the key for your boyfriend’s house, maybe?”

“N-no. I actually don’t have the key,” Shawn said. “I only have the lock.”

“Hm. Well, that makes things a bit harder. First, for instance, I gotta make sure you own the thing that’s locked.”

Shawn lifted his dress, revealed the padlocked leather panties. “Is this proof enough?”

The man removed his glasses and started. “Oh... I... uh.... Is this some kind of sexual mishap?”

“Sure, whatever. Can you unlock me?”

“Absolutely. The lock looks simple enough. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

The locksmith went into the back and was gone the few minutes. He returned with a set of tools and got to work. He was right, the job only took a few minutes. Shockingly, he actually pulled down the zipper when he was finished. Shawn’s shrunken penis flopped out, barely three inches long.

“Well, well, well…” The locksmith said.

Time to come clean. “Please, this isn’t what it looks like. For the last two years I’ve been held captive by—Oh, shit! Here he comes. No! Please, you have to hide me!”

Mr. Potts barged into the locksmith’s shop. Shawn stood frozen like a deer in the headlights. “Hello Sarah,” he said, then turned to the locksmith. “Hello Roy.”

“Hey Mr. Potts,” the locksmith replied. “This is your best one yet, I think.”

Shawn’s heart sank. “What... You know each other?”

The locksmith laughed. “Sweetheart, Mr. Potts is my best customer. Who do you think made that custom clitty cage? I phoned him when I went back to get my tools.”

“Come along, Sarah,” Mr. Potts said. “I’ll have to think of a very creative punishment for this attempted escape. Perhaps it’s finally time for those implants, or for you to lose your precious testicles. You know what? I’ll be generous: Lady’s choice.”