He smiled and inhaled the smell of me. I walked him past the bed to the cage that sat unused in the corner of our room. With my foot, I kicked the door of it open.
“Go on, then,” I told him. “It’s time to rest.”
The noise that left Kevin’s throat was nearly inhuman, a whimper that sounded like relief and agony all at the same time. He turned and wrapped his arms around my waist, damp cheek pressed flat against my chest as he wept.
“Kevin,” I whispered, ghosting my fingers over the bandages on his back.
“I love you so much,” he said, voice cracking with the words. “I love you more than everything in this life.”
“You are my life.” I kissed the top of his head. “Now go. I’ll get you a blanket.”
Kevin untangled himself from me and crawled into the cage, making a failed and lazy attempt to hide his thickening cock from my view. I grabbed the comforter off the bed and squatted down in front of the cage, pushing the thick material toward him and arranging it to cover his lower half.
“Do you need anything before I turn off the lights?”
“This is perfect,” he sighed.
I swallowed, watching the way he settled onto the ground like it was a ten thousand dollar pillow top, and then I climbed into bed, buried my face into Kevin’s pillow and went to sleep.
* * *
The following morning,I woke to the smell of French toast. With my eyes closed, I stretched and rolled over, dragging my hand over the empty side of the bed. A habit. The bed was of course empty, the cage also. I hadn’t locked it before climbing into bed. It hadn’t been intentional, maybe I was just out of practice on the steps required to properly cage the man I loved for the night.
I forced my eyes open, knowing I would find the cage empty. What I hadn’t expected was to find the blanket he’d slept with spread over the top of me. I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes, flinging my forearm across my face. Kevin was…a rare kind of man, and I often wondered if I deserved him. I’d whipped him bloody, deprived him of his release, and made him sleep in a cage, and he was up before me, makingmebreakfast.
“You’re a bastard,” I muttered to myself, climbing out of bed and shuffling into the kitchen.
Kevin hovered over the stove, a spatula in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He was naked as I’d left him, and a spark of possession and pleasure burned low in my gut.
“Good morning,” I said.
Kevin turned with a smile and handed me the coffee he’d been holding. “Good morning.”
“I can get my own coffee.”
“This is yours,” he said, giving his wrist a shake.
I took the cup from him and gave him a doubtful look over the rim.
“I heard you rustling around,” he said, unsolicited.
“How did you sleep?”
Kevin scraped a slice of French toast out of the pan and slid it onto a plate. “Like a baby.”
“Babies sleep like shit,” I reminded him.
“Then I slept like the dead.”
“Any aches or pains?” I eyed the bandages on his back, the curve of his hip, the angles of his shoulder blades.
“Nothing that doesn’t make me smile.” He handed me the plate, two slices of French toast with a fork and a knife beside them. “Eat while it’s hot.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
I took the plate and the coffee to the table, setting it down and waiting for him to join me. He sat in his usual seat, naked, and sliced into a piece of his breakfast. Kevin watched me with an easy smile as he chewed and swallowed.
“You look well-fucked, Kevin,” I remarked.
