What was the movie called again? I can’t even remember right now. It was hard to focus on what was happening after that. It was one I’d never seen either. We both got to experience it for the first time together, and I also felt like so much more was being introduced to me.
Gah, the deep chuckle and rumbling sounds he made. All those “mmms.” He said them whenever he was thinking. They did something to me inside that I’d never experienced before. It was explosive. A growing spark working its way to a flaming fire.
I give myself a few strokes, my head falling back as I buck my hips. My palm glides against my shaft, the friction movingup and down with each touch. I keep going, each pump of my fist growing faster as I fuck against hit, using my other hand to squeeze my balls. My orgasm is so close, and it keeps staying that way without going any further.
Then I hear that sultry voice in my head.“You ready to come for me again, Honey? You liked thinking about that cool metal rubbing over your sensitive skin, didn’t you?”
My breaths stutter and heat scatters across my lower stomach. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Before we wrap your cock in it, let’s see if you like the way it feels here first.”
My hand becomes his as I bring the cock cage up the center of my body. I drag it between my pecs and back down before circling each areola. My nipples tingle, growing needy for more attention, so he gives it to them. He brushes the right nub with the bottom of the cage and then rubs it on the other. I come hard, my body folds in on itself, and I bite so hard on the inside of my cheeks that I draw blood. The metal taste rolls over my tongue and I lift my face to the ceiling, lips shifting into an automatic smile as I continue to spasm out of control, my cum coating my body.
“Fuck.” I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. It’s the closest this will ever come to a reality. He may flirt more and more with each call, but it’s probably only to humor me. No way it could be more than that.
With the heels of my feet digging into the mattress, I let my knees fall wider apart as I open the top of the cage and slip my soft cock inside, holding my balls out of the way. I close the latch and fiddle with it until I get the lock on with the key still attached. It’s a strange feeling at first, and I’m not so sure how I feel about it until I imagine handing Rafe the key. Giving him full control of the next time I get to have my cock played with.
Why do I like the idea so much? There’s something so exhilarating about him making that decision for me and preventing me from being able to get off until he says I can. What’s gotten into me? Yes, I’ve seen lots of orgasm denial videos before and even jerked off to some, but I’ve never cared to bring the idea to any guy I was dating.
But once I start thinking about doing this all with him, I can’t stop. He knew what it was right away. He . . . he made a joke about it having a key. Has he put one on someone before? When we were last ordering things together off Amazon using Travis’s card, I made a joke about ordering a dildo and extra-large condoms in case he looked. That’s when he said, “Do it, and while you’re at it, add some nipple clamps too and a textured paddle.”
There was an odd jump in his voice as he said it. The same that he had when talking about the cock cage. Almost . . . almost like he wanted . . . no. My boyfriend of three years didn’t want any of that with me, so why would he? In fact, when Travis wanted to add excitement to the bedroom and try new things, I wasn’t so much as a thought in his mind. Someone else was. Was someone else in Raf’s too? Is that why his tone came off so heated?
I go back to my fantasy of handing him the key, pretending he takes it from me, and as I’m spreading my fingers to let it drop into his palm, it rolls off the side of the bed, hitting the floor instead. Shit. I shuffle off the mattress and drop to the floor on my knees, hands running all over the cool wood. Turning around, I search everywhere my hands can reach under the bed.
I can’t call my friend or my sister for this. I’ll keep looking. I do, and so much more time goes by with zero luck. I shake the device holding my cock hostage. Great, I’ll never get off again, and it’s not because someone completely out of my reach has the key but because I’m a dumbass.
I slap my hand to my forehead, rolling my oversized shirt up. According to one of the many apps I use now, it’s navy. I have it in four different colors because of the soft texture against my body. I’ve left it on during sex before, enjoying how it rubbed over my nipples and brushed my cock head as I bounced myself on Travis’s cock.
My heart aches. Like Raf said, to hell with that asshole. It’s not that I necessarily miss him, I just miss having someone and talking to Raf these last few weeks has made me yearn for it more. I pull the shirt over my head and use the side of the bed to pull myself to my feet. I grab my cane that’s leaning against my nightstand and walk to the bigger dresser, opening the middle drawer to retrieve my baggiest pair of lounge pants. I don’t bother with underwear.
The cage isn’t as uncomfortable as I think it’ll be. After heating up ramen, listening to some Christmas music while fixing me a cup of hot chocolate, I try to shower and struggle to clean around the metal. Couldn’t Travis have bought a more flexible and shower-friendly kind?
I wash my hair next, and when I’m all free of all soap residue, I step out to dry off. I leave a lot of wetness between the small bars, and it starts to cause a slight itch when I’m lying on my bed listening to an audiobook.
I can’t keep this on forever. Pausing my book, I huff out a breath of air and slip back down to the floor. I crawl over every area of the floor, shoving half my body under the bed, and still have nothing to show for it in the end. Great, this thing is going to have to be buried with me when I die. On my headstone, it’ll read: “And here lies a man who spent the remainder of his days behind bars without ever committing a crime.”
Now isn’t the time for stupid jokes. Think, Henry, fucking think.
I have to call someone. It can’t be anyone who I’ll ever have to be in the same room with . . . I won’t ever be in the same room as some stranger on the Be My Eyes app. Do they help in these kinds of situations? The thought has my insides shifting. Then there’s Raf coming to mind again. He won’t make me feel ashamed for this. I know he won’t. He’ll want to help anyway he can and will treat me the same afterward.
Yeah, I’ll call Raf. Picking up my phone, I use a voice command in the app to contact the last person who helped me. The one I’m ready to hear on the other end telling me, “It’s going to be okay, Honey. We’ll get through this together.”
Because it was never about me being helpless but him wanting to be there for me whether I needed him to or not.
Twelve
Rafael
I have to be hearing things. Please, please say I’m hearing things from lack of sleep. It’s been three days and all I’ve managed is six measly hours, and I may not have thrown any new bodies in ponds, but this is where it all starts, isn’t it?
Waking up in front of a random house without remembering ever driving here. Except this isn’t that random. I feared this would happen. This is my second morning driving out to thesame neighborhood, though I haven’t made it out of the car yet. What happens once I do? Will I hurt him too?
Will he end up frightened of me like everyone else? People don’t ask for help from people they’re scared of.
Stomach twisting in knots, my fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I shift my attention back to the news on the radio. Two were found dead in their vehicle because of faulty brakes. They’re suspecting foul play. Of course they are. Those names they mentioned have been carved in my brain since my last deployment. More army buddies who were in the barracks with me that night. Is that the real reason I was at Rory’s house with a knife in my hand?
Did I want to ensure his new boyfriend kept his mouth shut and couldn’t ever tell anyone what really happened that night? I’m going after them one by one, aren’t I? I woke up last week with the bottom of my shirt covered in brake fluid. It was me who caused that crash. I can feel it in my bones. It’s a sharp, ugly sensation, and the pressure wrapping around them makes it hard for me to sit up straight.
