Itwasdone.
Doing his best not to panic, Owen returned to his bedroom. His cellphone was on his bedside table, and he sank down onto his bed beside it. Holding his caged cock with one hand and his phone with the other, he snapped a picture. The engraved initials were visible. There was no doubt the picture wasauthentic.
Seeing his cock caged and helpless on his phone stirred him, but there was no way for him to address his arousal. Owen gritted his teeth in frustration and carried his phone out of the room, returning to the kitchen to plug in Crawford’s number from the note. He sent the picture without any text toaccompanyit.
A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with areply.
Goodboy.
Two little words were all it took to make it all worthwhile. Owen shifted his hips and contemplated a response, but in the end, he left the phone on the kitchen table and returned to theshower.
If Crawford wanted to talk to him, Crawford would engage him inconversation.
Until then, Owen wouldbegood.
11
Crawford
Crawford’s gazetraveled acrossthe string of digits that made up Owen’s phone number. Ten numbers. Ten simple numbers, and yet Crawford couldn’t shake their significance from his mind. He let his thumb swipe across the screen, smoothing over the display as his mindraced.
Owen, masculine yet eager to please, painfully handsome, intelligent, and accomplished, had given his body toCrawford.
The glare on the cage made it hard to see the skin beneath, but Crawford didn’t care. The image was proof, not masturbatory fodder. What made Crawford’s blood race was the submissive intent of the picture, not thesubject.
His omega was eager to please, and Crawford was just as eager to reward him. Friday couldn’t come soonenough.
* * *
The week passed at a crawl.By the time Wednesday arrived, Crawford was restless. Owen had been on his mind all week. When the day drew to a close, Crawford settled onto his couch. He unlocked his phone and brought up Owen’s picture for what had to be the hundredth time. Owen was inexperienced, unbroken, and yet still so willing toplease.
Crawfordneededhim.
Pet, are youawake?
It was almost ten at night, and Crawford wasn’t familiar with Owen’s routine. In time, he hoped that wouldchange.
Yes.
The reply was almost instant, Crawford shifted his weight so he was stretched across the couch, head resting againstthearm.
What are youdoing?
Lying in bed, wishing it wereFriday.
Crawford reached without looking to the drink on the coffee table. He sipped, bitter cranberry with the strong string of vodka spreading across his tongue. Owen knew what he wantedtohear.
You want your freedom thatbadly,pet?
No. All I want is toseeyou.
Crawford coughed and set the drink down, flustered. Texts were devoid of context, but he had a gut feeling that Owen was being sincere. Crawford wasn’t usedtoit.
Friday willcomesoon.
I’mimpatient.
SoamI.
