This story is an original work. It should not be reposted or reproduced in whole or in part without the author's consent. Copyright 2021 by Jeff Hamby. All rights reserved.
Warning: This story contains sexual acts between adult males. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relationship to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
If you enjoy this story, please make a donation to Nifty! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Cody's On-Call
Chapter 2
My phone buzzes. When I look at it, I see a text message. It's Cody, and my dick automatically starts to swell, a Pavlovian response from seeing his number on the screen. I open the message, silently praying it gives a time and doesn't just say, "Now." Those are the hardest, especially if I'm not at home. I have to make some excuse, find some reason to slip away, without even knowing how long I'll be gone. I wear a jockstrap all the time now, since I never know when the summons will come, never know when Cody may give me the chance to serve him again. Sometimes I think it will never come, that he has forgotten me, moved on; perhaps found a girl that makes him happy, or some other pathetic fag to take care of his needs. Sometimes I go weeks without hearing from him -- weeks spent wondering, hoping, and eventually, despairing; certain that it's over, only to experience the thrill of seeing his number appear on my screen once again, beckoning me to come perform whatever act he desires.
The text says, "Now."
Fortunately, I'm not in the middle of anything, so obeying is easy. It isn't always. Once, Cody sent a "Now" text when I was out having dinner with some friends, so I texted him back that I would be delayed a few hours. He didn't respond, and when I finally arrived at his apartment, it was dark, the wooden chest still padlocked, the blinds drawn. I thought about knocking, but didn't dare. Cody's was sending me a message, and it was simple -- I was to come when he summoned me, or not at all.
I didn't hear from him for three months after that.
I was convinced that was the end. The longer I went without Cody and his huge cock, the more I needed a "fix," like I was some sort of a cock junkie, and Cody the only dealer in town. I tried hooking up with some other guys, but it wasn't the same. Eventually, I became so desperate, I dared to text Cody, pouring out my apologies, shamelessly begging for him to use me again. I was disgusted with myself for doing so, but I couldn't help it. Cody had become more than just a hookup -- he'd become a need, a primal addiction I couldn't shake. Text after text, I sent the most profuse apologies, the humblest begging, the highest praise of him I could compose, all in the hopes of winning his attention once more. I offered everything: any act I could think of, any debasement he could come up with, just for another chance. Those were some of the longest months of my life. And then, late one night, the phone buzzed, and his number appeared. "Now," it said. I thought I would cum in my pants just from that. I think I set a record time getting to Cody's house and in position.
Once again, Cody had taught me a lesson. After that, any time he texted me, I reported as ordered, no matter what I was doing. The lesson was clear: nothing was more important than Cody.
I get over to Cody's apartment and walk through the warm evening to his patio as casually as possible, hoping not to attract any attention from his neighbors. I quickly strip to my jockstrap, opening the wooden chest to put my clothes away and get the collar. This time, however, I stop in my tracks. There is the collar and its heavy padlock, laying in their usual place. Beside them, however, is something new: a plastic chastity device, with a tiny metal padlock. The implication is clear, so I pick it up and examine it, trying to figure out how it goes on. After some struggling, I get it on, then click the tiny padlock into place after a moment's hesitation. I've never been locked in one of these before, and I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I Cody has left me little choice. Either I put it on, or go home, and I'm not sure I can handle losing him because of my own fear. I quickly put the collar on, and move to my knees to wait on Cody to let me inside. It's almost dark, so perhaps the twilight will help hide me, though I don't feel any less exposed. Quite the opposite, the chastity cage makes my jockstrap bulge even more obscenely than my hard dick does. The outline of the cage and padlock are clearly visible through the thin fabric of the jockstrap. As I kneel on the concrete, trying to catch my breath from the scramble to get here and get into position as quickly as possible, I finally look up and notice a small yellow Post-It stuck to the sliding glass door.
"It's unlocked," the note reads. "Make it shine."
It takes me a moment to process what the note might mean. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Finally, I crawl forward, open the door, and crawl inside. The apartment is dark and silent, except for one light on in the living room. Sitting in the middle of the living room floor is a bucket filled with cleaning supplies, a broom, and a mop.
"Make it shine," the note said. Cody wants me to clean.
I am stunned. This was never part of the deal. Cody has never used me for any kind of chores. I'm shocked and kind of insulted that he's done this. I pause, kneeling there looking at the cleaning supplies, trying to decide what to do. I seriously debate just leaving. I'm a cocksucker, not a maid. I take a deep breath, trying to make up my mind what to do, and catch a whiff of his scent, the odor that is distinctly him. It reminds me of his body, the soft feel of his firm, toned flesh, the compact power of his athletic young body. I want more.
Listening carefully for a moment, I hear no sounds, and notice I have heard none since I came in. It feels as if the place is empty, so I stand up and explore the apartment. I hope to find him upstairs, relaxing in the bed, hope to grovel at his feet, to touch his body; to, at a minimum, get to look at the jock god I worship.
But no -- the place is empty, except for me: Cody's cleaning bitch.
Near the top of the stairs is Cody's bedroom. His scent is powerful here, intoxicating. I feel my dick start to grow, until it suddenly presses against the sides of the chastity cage and can go no further, a painful, frustrating reminder of who is really in charge, even if he isn't here. As much as I may want to leave, I can't. I'm locked in this collar and cage, with no access to my clothes. I'm stuck here as long as he wants me.
I pause at the entrance to Cody's bedroom, taking in my first look at his private inner sanctum, breathing in the accumulated scent of his body. His bed is unmade, left the way it was when he got up this morning. I want nothing more than to crawl into it, to be completely surrounded by the feel and smell of Cody, to have my body in the same place his naked body rests every night, the closest I will ever get to sleeping next to him. It's tempting, but I resist. I know that's not the place for me, no matter how much I want it to be.
His dirty clothes are scattered around on the floor, so I start by gathering them up, taking time to bask in the scent of his sweat on each piece. Inside my jockstrap, my little dick strains inside the chastity cage each time I inhale his essence. I never knew these things were so painful, my dick cramped and pinched as it tries to swell, only to encounter the hard plastic which denies my erection. I try caressing my dick through my jock, but all I feel is the rigid plastic cage and the solid metal padlock. Even without being here, Cody has managed to focus my activities solely on what he wants. The cruelty of his mind astounds me, and humbles me.
What is it about him that even his odor turns me on? It's more than just the huge cock, though that's certainly part of it; it's also the casual way he controls me, puts me in my place and keeps me there, seemingly without effort. No man has ever managed that before. For a young guy, and smaller guy, Cody has the arrogant self-confidence of a true alpha male, the kind of guy that knows he can get away with damn near anything. Other guys have "dominated" me before, tried using me before, but it always felt like they were just playing a role, pretending to be something they were not. With Cody, it's real.
I gather all of his clothes, plus the sheets off the bed, and put them in to wash. Then I start on Cody's bathroom. A single, busy college guy...well, you can imagine what the bathroom looks like. It is drudgery, scrubbing every inch of it, getting into every little crevice to remove the accumulated dirt and grime. Doing his laundry was bad enough, but this is much worse. I still can't believe I am here, on my knees, scrubbing old piss stains off his toilet. I have no idea why I'm even doing this, a question I ask myself over and over, even as I keep scrubbing. My mood starts with anger -- anger that Cody is such an entitled bastard he would think he can order me to clean up his apartment, including this nasty bathroom, and just arrogantly assume it will be done. But then...I slowly begin to come to terms with a hard truth: he's right. Regardless of my clothes being locked away, regardless of his orders, the simple fact of the matter is, I am scrubbing his toilet and cleaning his apartment. Not because I want to, but because obeying and pleasing him is more important to me than the humiliation I feel being used like this. What is worse: Cody knew I'd do it. With no regard for how I felt about it, he did this because he knew he could, because he knew I can't say no to him. He knows me better than I know myself, it seems. He has managed to get deep inside my head.
That scares the hell out of me.
I spend hours cleaning. "Make it shine," he'd ordered, and it certainly does. The apartment is immaculate, and I'm exhausted. I've worn myself out scrubbing and dusting, folding Cody's laundry, making his bed. I was looking forward to a night at home, relaxing in front of the TV; instead, I've spent hours performing the most menial of tasks, all for a young jock who isn't even here for me to look at while I do it. It doesn't matter, though. What matters is that he will be pleased, that he will find me useful and worthy of servicing his body, worshiping his cock.
I am putting all the cleaning supplies away in the kitchen when I hear the front door open -- Cody is home at last!
Immediately, I drop to my knees and crawl to the living room. Cody is standing in front of the couch, his keys still in his hand. I crawl over and kiss his feet repeatedly. He is swaying slightly, and I can smell beer on him. While I've been here scrubbing and cleaning, he's been out drinking and having fun. I feel a flash of anger, but it passes quickly, subsumed by my lust for his body.
Cody snaps his fingers. I look up, and he is unzipping his pants. Automatically, my mouth opens, my tongue hangs out, ready, desperate to receive his cock. This is what I've waited for all night, what I rushed over here for -- the chance to have his huge pole buried inside me, joined with him, flesh to flesh, him taking all the pleasure he's entitled to, me giving it willingly, in full measure. I lean forward, as close to his cock as I dare to get. The head is less than an inch from my mouth, but I don't dare wrap my lips around it, not without permission. It's still soft, but even like this, it's a formidable club.
Just as I'm leaning in, getting ready to swallow his cock the very second he gives me permission, Cody turns and shoves his ass in my face. He bends over slightly while grabbing my hair, shoving my face into the crack of his ass. My tongue, which is already hanging out in anticipation of his cock, is now buried between his ass cheeks, as I start lapping at his hairy hole. Cody bends his knees, rubbing his ass crack up and down on my face, using my hair to pull my mouth tighter against his tight, muscular cheeks. I'm straining, trying to force my tongue ever deeper into his ass, craving the taste of his flesh, his musk in my nose, wanting desperately to get as deep inside him as possible. His ass is sweaty. It was degrading to be made to clean his apartment, especially while locked in this chastity cage, but this is just as bad, perhaps worse. I sense, somehow, this isn't just about pleasure for him, but about further degrading me, shoving me into his sweaty ass and making me lick him out, putting me further in my place, whatever place he has decided that should be. And it works. I am, indeed, feeling used and degraded, but at the same time wildly turned on by the entire situation, the chastity cage currently filled to capacity with my imprisoned dick. I feel shamed, not just by Cody, but by my own complicity, my own need for this treatment, and by his ability to read me so well. As the humiliation washes over me, I cope with it the only way I can: I shove my tongue deeper into his asshole.
Cody releases my head and turns around. I feel like an idiot, kneeling there with my tongue still hanging out, the scent of Cody's ass overwhelming me. His cock is still barely half-hard despite my rimming, probably because of the beers he's had. I feel his hand grab my head, his fingers intertwining in my hair. I expect he's going to fuck my face, ram my head down on his cock and hold it there as it expands in my mouth, slowly pushing its way down my throat as it grows hard. But Cody has other plans. He uses my hair to tilt my head back so that I am looking up at him. His cock is still just outside my mouth; the tip of it just grazes my lips, softly, like a caress. My eyes are focused on Cody's face. That sweet, wholesome young face, which at the moment is lit up by his smile. I know that smile -- it hides his evil ideas. I'm staring straight into Cody's beautiful green eyes, which is why it takes me by surprise when I feel him start to piss in my mouth.
He's never used me like this before. I've never even tasted a man's piss; the idea always repulsed me. But now, with Cody deciding to use me as a urinal, I find myself in shock- first, that he is doing such a thing to me; and second, that my mouth suddenly opens even wider, the better to accommodate him, like I can't wait to get more of his piss inside me. I am disgusted at myself for doing this, but can't even contemplate not doing it.
The entire time Cody is feeding me his recycled beer, he's staring straight at me, as if he wants to watch me perform this disgusting service for him. His grip on my hair gives me little choice, but I hardly need restraint. Quite the opposite: his grip is the only thing keeping me from fully engulfing his cock with my mouth, allowing him to piss directly down my throat. In this moment, nothing matters to me as much as allowing him to use me any way he wants, connecting with him in any way possible. I am repulsed by what's happening -- not that he would use me like this, but by my response to it, my utter willingness to submit to him totally and without reservation. As his hot piss flows into my mouth, I am painfully aware that my dick feels like it will burst out of the plastic chastity cage. Even though the cage is too small for me to get fully hard, it feels like my dick will explode, like I might orgasm without any contact.
Cody is cruel: he holds me off his cock, allowing it to almost rest on my bottom lip, but not quite. I can feel the heat from it on my face, but I can't touch it. I can't even lick it, occupied as I am in making sure I don't spill any of his piss on the floor. I hear a strange sound I can't place, the finally realize what it is -- I am whining like a dog, literally begging for his cock. Cody's grin widens, but his grip on my hair grows firmer, his cock moving just a little further away from contact with my mouth. My frustration is almost palpable.
At last, Cody is done, and his flow of piss stops. Now comes what I've been craving: the chance to suck him off, to truly worship his huge cock. But that is not to be. Cody slaps his cock across my face several times, getting the last drops of his piss off. Already, I can see it getting harder; each time he dick-slaps me, it grows more. He continues beating me in the face with it. Finally, it reaches its full length, a mighty weapon, poised just on the very edge my lips. Cody tilts my head so I am staring at his face again, as he puckers up and releases a large gob of spit. It falls slowly, a thick, glistening rope of saliva, landing at last right on the swollen head of his cock. My tongue reaches out, trying desperately to catch his spit as it begins to drip off his knob. But, before I can, Cody's other hand reaches out and wraps around his shaft. He begins stroking it slowly, using his own spit as lube. I am mesmerized, amazed that his entire hand is wrapped around his cock yet still doesn't cover it, his fingers barely meeting due to the thickness. His hand can hide only a portion of his shaft at a time, with most of his cock still exposed as he strokes. Could he completely cover it with both hands, I wonder? Doubtful. He strokes slowly, never breaking eye contact with me, never relaxing his grip on my hair, always holding my head as close as possible to his cock, but just out of reach of my tongue.
It is torture. He is torturing me with my own desire, with enforced denial. I extend my tongue to its full length, a pale imitation of the length of his cock, trying desperately to make contact with his manhood, to wet it and mingle my own spit with his, to give him even a modicum more pleasure. But he won't allow it. I hear the noise again, that pathetic dog-whine coming from my own throat. It humiliates me, but I can't seem to stop it, so eager am I for his cock, so anguished am I by lust. Right now, I would do anything for him.
Cody continues stroking his cock, his big balls bouncing up and down, occasionally hitting me in the chin, but not resting there long enough for me to capture them, to suck one of them into my mouth and worship it, along with the cum contained in it. I have tried before to suck both of his balls, but it's impossible -- they are simply too big to fit. The faster he strokes, the more they move, the more I feel the heat coming off his testicles each time they hit my chin. Cody grins, then maneuvers his balls right over my mouth. For one brief second, he dips them into my mouth. I am grateful for the chance to touch him, to worship him with my tongue, but then suddenly, I realize: he is teabagging me. Not a sexual act as much as a show of contempt, a show of raw power, the way straight guys display dominance. It hurts, but not nearly as much as my own realization of how much I need it, how grateful I am for it.
Cody pulls his balls away from my mouth and strokes faster. He's getting close, I can see it on his face. At least I will get his cum, get to taste his seed even if I'm denied his cock. But Cody isn't even that merciful; he is clearly in a cruel mood. As his balls draw up and his breathing catches, he lets out a small moan and tilts my head back down. He shoots his load on my hair and forehead, denying me even the opportunity to watch him cum. I feel his semen all over me. Some of it begins to drip down my face. I stick out my tongue, trying to catch it. Considering where he deliberately shot it, I don't dare use my hands to scrape it off.
And that quickly, it's over. Cody releases my hair as he tucks his cock back his pants. I feel like a dog that has just had its bone taken away. He walks to the sliding glass door, then outside, where he unlocks the wooden chest. I'm stunned. We can't be done. Did I do all this work for nothing, spend hours cleaning and scrubbing his apartment for no real reward? I'm crushed, not to mention so horny I can't see straight. My dick hurts from the cage, throbbing like a second heart between my legs. Surely, he won't send me home this way?
But that's exactly what happens. Cody comes back inside, and unlocks the padlock on my collar. I'm crushed. This absolutely means we are done for the night. He puts his keys in his pocket, and I quickly pull down the front of my jockstrap, silently reminding him about the chastity cage which also needs to be unlocked, my eyes pleading with him. Cody smirks, then reaches out with his foot and rubs his shoe against the front of my plastic prison, tapping the cage. He is enjoying my predicament, I can tell. It amuses him to see my discomfort, my desperation. He slides his dirty Nike underneath my balls, which are pulled forward by the chastity cage, so extremely vulnerable. I gasp, terrified he's going to kick me in the balls. Instead, he bounces my balls and caged dick on his shoe a few times, reveling in his power and control. Satisfied, he turns and walks upstairs, leaving me kneeling on the floor, his cum drying in my hair and on my forehead, the taste of his piss still in my mouth.
I wasn't prepared for any of this. Cody has never used me like this in any of our encounters. I've never done chores for him, beyond fetching him a beer. I've never been alone in his apartment, and I've never had the least interest in piss. But here I am, standing on Cody's patio after all that, scrambling to put my clothes back on as quickly as possible, contemplating all that happened and what it means. While I'm alone in the dark, I use my fingers to scrape as much of his cum off of my face and out of my hair as I can, then suck my fingers clean. This is all of him I'm getting tonight. At least the salty, slightly bitter flavor helps partially cover up the taste of his urine. As I pull my shorts on and zip them up, I am keenly aware of the uncomfortable plastic cage locked on my genitals. How long will this last?
The drive home is hell. I've developed a routine since I've been serving Cody. Since he forbids me to touch my dick while I'm with him, I leave his place so horny I can barely drive. As soon as I get home, I jack off furiously, reliving my time with him while the scent and taste of his body still lingers on me. Usually, I cum three or four times in a row as a result.
Now, that isn't possible. I spend the rest of the night with the smell of Cody all over me, the combined taste of his cum and piss still lingering in my mouth. It's foul, but it's all I have, and I begin to cherish the mixed flavor, viewing it almost as a new gift he's given me.
I can't sleep. I'm too horny, with a frustrated erection that I can't even touch, one which refuses to go away. Cody is all I can think about. When I finally drift off to sleep, I dream of his face, that wicked grin as he stared into my eyes, his cock brushing my lips as he degraded me in a way no man has before.
The next few days are torture. Rather than calming down, my sexual needs go into overdrive. I can barely function at work; home is even worse, since I have nothing to do but sit and think of Cody. I try to distract myself, but the weight and bulk of the cage is a constant reminder of him; the subtle yet distinct clinking of the metal lock against the plastic when I move in certain ways seems to mock me, reminding me of what he has done to me, how low my obsession for him has taken me. I get so desperate I consider cutting off the lock, but quickly discard the idea. That would surely mean an end to my chances to serve Cody again. No -- he put this on me, so it must stay on, I decide, no matter how much I hate it, no matter how much it makes me suffer. The worst part, of course, is that I have no idea how long it will be before I hear from Cody again. It could be days; it could be weeks. What if he makes me wait months again, locked up like this? I will surely go mad, both from frustration and the separation from him. I make up my mind and steel my resolve -- if this is what Cody wants, I'll suffer it gladly, I decide. Consider it another way of worshiping him and showing him my devotion, of being connected to him on a constant basis.
I last five days.
Five long days. Five endless, mostly sleepless nights. Every time my dick starts to swell, it presses against the cage, and I wake up in torment. My brain can't focus on anything except thoughts of sex. I'm hornier than I've ever been in my life. Finally, I break, and I do the forbidden, the thing I have sworn to myself I will not do, not matter how bad it gets.
I text Cody. And I beg and plead like I haven't ever before, not even when he ignored me for months. I am at a breaking point. I am practically crying as I type, that's how desperate I am. If only he will remove the cage, I'll do anything he wants. Anything. Or, lacking that, if he will just use me, give me a focus for all this pent-up sexual energy.
The messages I send him are increasingly desperate, increasingly humiliating and pathetic. I'm ashamed of myself, but can't stop. I watch as each message is delivered, as each one is confirmed read.
I get no response.
Perhaps he doesn't care. Or, perhaps Cody is enjoying my desperate begging and groveling. I have no way of knowing.
Early in the wee hours of the 13th day, I am lying in bed, trying to sleep. I hover somewhere in that twilight area between awake and asleep; my mind is a mishmash of sexual thoughts, feelings, and images playing on a constant loop, as if I were stuck in a fever dream, when the text finally comes in.
"Now," the message reads.
I don't even think. I can't think. The word "Now" keeps echoing in my brain like the refrain of a song that won't stop. I throw on my clothes and rush out the door. Desperation makes me hurry, as thrilled for an end to this torment as I am for the chance to experience Cody's cock.
The trip to his apartment is a blur. I can barely catch my breath before I'm on my knees as required. At least it's late; at least it's dark. I'm less concerned about the neighbors seeing me this late, kneeling here in the dark. Cody's apartment is dark, too. I don't know if he is home or not. I say a prayer he hasn't fallen asleep, in which case I might be kneeling here all night, or until I give up. No, I realize, I'd be here all night, which is both very honest and desperately pathetic.
The living room lights come on inside. Cody has the blinds open on the sliding glass door, so I can see inside clearly. He's naked. Naked and beautiful. His cock is about half hard, bobbing in front of him as he walks around, his big balls swinging low in their sac. I watch him as he walks around the living room, fascinated by the leonine gracefulness of his walk, the power and impressive size of his exposed genitals. I watch as he moves to the couch, carrying something. He sets it down on the couch, then sits beside it. I watch as he unfolds a towel and lays it on the floor at his feet. Surely, this is a sign he's almost ready for me, about to let me in to grovel at his feet where I most long to be. He clicks on the TV, and then reaches beside him for the object he was carrying.
It's a bottle of lube. He pours some on his cock, then begins to stroke himself. He's apparently got porn playing on the TV, because he is focused intently on it as he strokes his cock slowly, the movement of his hand as it slides from the swollen head of his dick all the way to the base and back up, causing his balls to swing in rhythm with his stroking.
I feel something wet on my chest, and realize I am drooling on myself. I become aware my tongue is hanging out, my natural response to seeing Cody's cock. I am overwhelmed with longing and desire; to be this close, and unable to touch it, is agony even worse than the last time. At least then, I could smell it, almost touch it with my tongue. But this is worse than porn: my heart's desire is so close, on the other side of the glass, yet completely untouchable, forbidden, denied. My dick is throbbing so much I won't be surprised if the chastity cage actually explodes into pieces. I look down at my crotch -- the entire cage is moving as my dick throbs in time with my heartbeat. A small pool of precum is visible on the concrete, glistening in the moonlight, a silvery thread from my imprisoned dick to the ground.
Looking back at Cody, I can't believe this is happening. This is so cruel, beyond the kind of thing I expected, even from him. I want nothing more than to crawl through that door and be at his feet, to worship that perfect pole of flesh he's slowly stroking, but I don't dare. I don't even dare move out of this position, in case he sees it and decides to put an end to even letting me watch. Involuntarily, it happens again -- I start whining like a dog not allowed its treat, a desperate, pathetic, anguished sound I'm embarrassed to be making, but unable to stop.
I hold out hope for a little longer; hope that Cody is merely warming up, that he will stop stroking his cock, stop torturing me like this; that he will finally allow me to crawl inside and swallow him down to his balls. Or perhaps he is getting himself ready to bend me over and spear me with his cock, and this is just a way to get it lubed up for a nasty, painful fuck.
But the more he strokes, the more he watches the TV, completely ignoring the faggot he has stationed outside as his audience, the more the truth becomes plain: I am only here to watch. He is deliberately torturing me, denying me the one thing I crave more than anything else. He knows how insanely horny I am. The increasingly desperate messages I've sent begging to serve him have made that abundantly clear. I am finally forced to admit to myself the ugly truth: Cody brought me here for exactly this torture, to make me watch him enjoy the exact pleasure he has denied to me -- stroking himself to orgasm. Not only can I not touch myself, I'm forced to watch him do it, which is doubly agonizing.
I am in awe of his cruelty.
Cody wraps both hands around his shaft, squeezing it, admiring its size, almost waving it at me. He is showing off how big it is to add to my torment. He strokes it faster, using both hands now. He throws his head back. I know what is about to happen; I've seen that look before, many times, and it's followed by my mouth being filled with his seed. Not this time, though. I imagine I can actually hear him groan as he shoots his load, his cum arcing out in long ropes and landing on the towel at his feet.
As I watch this scene play out, I realize I am now crying as a result of my frustration and horniness.
Cody bends over and wipes his hands on the towel at his feet, then picks it up and grabs his keys from the table next to him. He opens the door and walks over to me, his cock still hard. Perhaps I am wrong; perhaps he does intend to use me after all. He walks over to me and stands right in front of me, his cock bobbing less than a quarter inch from my mouth, one last, perfect drop of his cum beaded on the tip. I stretch out my tongue, trying to at least touch it, but he moves away, teasing me with it. Suddenly, he steps forward and rubs his cock on my upper lip, smearing the drop of cum across my lip and on to my nose. The smell of his semen is intoxicating. I think I may cum just from the smell, without any contact at all to my dick, but can't quite manage it. Cody places his bare foot on the front of my jockstrap, pressing against the plastic cage, his toes right against my nuts. He plays with the cage the way he did before, bouncing it around, enjoying my predicament. He takes the towel and opens it up, turning it upside down and rubbing his cum on me -- in my hair, on my face, all over my head.
My eyes are closed, breathing in his scent, licking his seed off my lips as much as I can, trying to get any part of him inside me, even if it's just drops of his cum. At the same time, I notice a pattern. This is the second time he has called me here and denied me, sending me home covered in his cum, but without the chance to truly worship him. He has transformed me from his cocksucker to his cumrag. As much as that disgusts me, I am more disgusted that I feel happy to get even that much. If he would allow me, I'd beg aloud for it, even beg for his piss at this point. That's how horny I am, just that desperate. What is the power this young jock has over me, and why do I need his abuse so badly?
I don't see him unlock my collar, but I feel it, and know what it means. We are done. This is all there is. He walks over and unlocks the wooden chest, then turns and goes back inside, my last glimpse of him being his beautiful ass as he turns out the light and locks the patio door.
I thought it would be impossible for me to get any hornier than I already was, but I was wrong. Another lesson Cody has taught me, as I am forced to drive home, my jockstrap soaked with my precum, and every breath I take permeated with the scent of his load. I will never be able to sleep like this, but I can't stand the thought of washing it off.
For now, it's all of him I have.
I call in sick the next day. I'm still exhausted from the lack of sleep and my trip to Cody's last night. And, truth be told, I am still covered in the remnants of Cody's dried cum. How pathetic is that? I hate myself for feeling this way; but each time I inhale and get a whiff of his scent, it makes my caged dick throb, my full balls ache. My obsession with Cody is reaching dangerous levels.
I nap. I roam my house, debating how much more I can put up with, how much longer I can handle being locked in this chastity device, and whether it's all worth it. I could easily find another cock to suck, someone else willing to use me and even abuse me.
But none of them will be like Cody. He is a rare find, and I know it. That combination of angelic looks and evil mind; a truly straight alpha male jock that is still willing to use a faggot like me to get off. And that cock - the biggest I've ever seen in real life, definitely the biggest I've ever had in me. It has become an addiction.
I am just about to sit down and eat my dinner when the message comes in: "Now." My food, already on the plate, is left uneaten. Being summoned two nights in a row is another change, but one I thank God for. My desperation, my need for relief, or, alternatively, for Cody's cock inside me, has surpassed anything I thought I could tolerate. I am functioning now almost on instinct, a walking, throbbing sexual being.
Summertime means it there is still plenty of light out as I strip on Cody's patio; plenty of light to allow anyone who cares to look to see how desperate I am, how quickly I rush to abase myself for Cody's amusement; to see the huge wet spot already forming on the front of my jockstrap where my precum drains out of the bottom of the cage. Anyone could see me here, the collared, nearly-naked fag ready to beg for cock. And I am ready. Ready to do anything and everything he wants.
He makes me wait about 20 minutes before he comes downstairs and unlocks the door. As many times as I've done this, as often as I've been exposed out here like this, I should be used to it, should have overcome my fear of being seen, but every single time it is just as bad as the first time. My need for Cody is mixed, as always, with relief to be out of public view as I crawl inside and immediately start kissing his bare feet.
Cody must be off tonight. He is wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts, thin ones which seem barely able to contain his erection. He lets me kiss his feet for a few minutes while he stands over me, then snaps his fingers and points to his erect cock, which is now hanging out of his shorts. I need no other invitation. I swoop down on his dick, reveling in the way it fills my mouth to capacity. Cody grabs my head and forces himself down my throat as far as he can go, so that his balls are resting on my chin. He holds it there as I try to breath and begin to choke. Finally, he lets me up for air, only to repeat the process; not fucking my mouth, just making sure the entire length of his cock is lodged firmly in my throat. Finally, he pulls it out of my mouth entirely, shining with my mucus and spit. He snaps his fingers and points to the arm of the couch. There is a towel laying over it. I'm about to get fucked.
Cody has never used my ass before, and, to be blunt, I'm terrified. Not of getting fucked - guys have done that before, certainly. But I've never taken a cock the size of Cody's. Based on the way he plows my throat, I know I'm in for rough and painful ride. I have no time to prepare for this, mentally or physically, as I feel him move into position behind me, the swollen head of his cock pressed against my vulnerable hole. The jockstrap leaves my hole perfectly exposed, and keeps my dick out of sight, just the way he prefers it. He doesn't pause, but shoves right in, the big knob popping inside my anal ring so fast it takes my breath away. Cody starts shoving his massive log inside my ass, using my own spit on his cock as lube. He gives me about half his cock before I can catch my breath. I am intimately familiar with the size and shape of his dick, but that's when it's in my mouth; going up my ass, it feels ten times bigger. Cody is relentless, but not brutal -- he obviously knows the damage he can do with his dick. Inch after inch, it fills me. Just when I stretch to accommodate what's already inside me, he adds more. I am already stuffed to the length of most men's dicks, but Cody's cock is still only halfway in. It seems like it will never end, him putting this thing in my guts, rearranging them so they fit around his cock. He shoves his hips forward, spearing the rest deep inside me, until, at last, he is buried in me all the way. His cock feels like it is about to come out of my mouth, that's how full I am; his pole is reaching places deep inside me no man has ever touched before, the girth of it stretching me painfully.
The spit and mucus from my throat provide just enough lubricant to keep my hole from being damaged, but not enough to lessen the pain of this invasion. I have never felt so full. The thickness of his manhood pressing against my prostate, swollen as it is from my enforced chastity, is like nothing I've ever felt, like the start of an orgasm each time his cock touches it.
He fucks me then. Each time he withdraws, it feels like he is turning me inside out; with each thrust of his cock, it feels as if he is reaching inside me with his arm, all the way up to my chest, squeezing my heart. Every inch of his cock rubbing against my prostate threatens to send me over the edge, to make me shoot my two-week load of cum without even touching myself.
Cody pulls his cock all the way out of my ass, and it suddenly feels like he has removed a part of me, the gaping emptiness inside a painful absence. I ache to have him back inside me, to have him joined with me, body to body. He suddenly impales me full-length on his cock, driving it deep inside in a single thrust, only to pull completely out of me and repeat the process, grudge fucking me. I am out of my mind, squealing - literally squealing - each time he punch-fucks me with his cock.
I am riding a wave of sensation, both from the pounding of Cody's cock in my ass and the stimulation of my prostate. I am on the very crest of an orgasm, but the wave never breaks, never spills over into a sensation of release, instead keeping me there at that peak right before you shoot, unable to go over the brink. At the same time, I can feel the cum flowing out of my caged dick and leaking on to the towel below me. Cody's huge cock is milking my prostate, forcing the cum out of my balls in a near-constant flow without the benefit of an orgasm -- physical release, but no pleasure, and also no relief from my burning desire.
He reaches a crescendo and slams deep into me, his balls banging into mine from behind, as he shoots his load deep into my guts, breeding me, claiming me as his bitch. I experience his orgasm almost as if it were my own, even though my pitiful dick is still locked in the cage, untouched and unable to get fully hard, my nuts still aching. Whatever cum Cody's fucking has forced out of my nuts isn't nearly enough to relieve my blue balls.
He lies on top of me momentarily, catching his breath. I cherish the moment, the closeness, the feel of his big pole still plugging my hole, almost like it was a new part of my body. Too soon, he stands up and pulls his softening cock from my ass, leaving my hole gaping and dilated, his cum slowly beginning to trickle out of me.
I have never felt so empty.
Cody snaps his fingers. I drop to my knees instinctively and begin to kiss his feet. He reaches down and unlocks my collar, then pulls up his shorts. I whimper as he dresses, knowing he is about to take his cock away from me again. He walks outside and unlocks the chest, waiting on me to crawl outside. Reluctantly, I crawl to him and kiss his bare feet again before he turns and walks back inside, closing and locking the door behind him.
Just like that, he is gone. Never before have I felt so used, so thoroughly a cum dump for him and nothing else. I am covered in cum: his leaking out my ass, my own completely soaking the front of my jock. I reek of sex, and hope I don't get pulled over or break down on the way home. After I dress, I limp back to my car, my ass stretched and ravaged. I know I will walk funny tomorrow, another lingering reminder of Cody, as if I needed more than the plastic cage between my legs, currently filled with to capacity with my engorged dick.
I feel cheap, and used, ashamed of my pathetic need for Cody. But I know, as soon as his next text arrives, I'll be back here on my knees again, desperate, needy, worshipful.
He haunts my dreams.
******************************************************************************************* I love to hear from readers! Please contact me at jeffhamby1025@gmail.com