I did not have a plan. I was improvising. I was not fully aware of my desires. I was following what amused and titillated me. I approached the McMansion with the open package tucked underneath my arm and rang the doorbell at the big door.
A young, attractive and professional cleaning woman opened, looking both casual and no nonsense. “Is Zack Taylor here?” Her eyes rolled toward the upstairs. I got the impression she judged how a leisurely Zack could be having a slow morning while she worked a real job.
“One second,” she said as she backed toward the foyer and yelled, “Zack! One of your friends is here!”
“I’m not a friend, actually,” I said. She shrugged as I saw Zack’s fit figure jaunt down the stairs toward the entrance. He was in tight, running compression gear with ear pods and a buff that pushed his wavy brown locks around his forehead.
“Thanks, Gina,” he remarked to the cleaning woman. “How can I help you?” he said in a nice baritone. You really would never expect he was a fag. His eyes immediately went toward the box in my arm and I saw his eyes widen. He swallowed hard as he reached the landing and slowed his pace. Seeing his anxiety stirred something within me.
I opened my mouth and paused as Gina the cleaning woman was still standing in the foyer. After an awkward silence and a nervous glance from Zack, she went back to her work in another room.
“This package was delivered to me by mistake and I wanted to return it,” I said. I held out the box with its open lid. “Sorry I opened it.” I felt a little nervous myself but Zack was starting to sweat bullets. He was at a loss for words. I felt emboldened by his uncertainty. “Hey, your secret’s safe with me buddy.” I patted him on the back and he winced at the touch as he was left holding the box. “You know… as long as you put it on for me.”
Yes, I know it was bold of me. But I had heard these gay guys are constantly having prompt, anonymous sex on Grindr. He could deal with a stranger and some foreplay. Just putting on a toy seemed like something these sluts could handle. Or maybe even be turned on by.
Zack started to blink rapidly. “What?” he whispered. “No–, I…”
“It’s just a little fun. Go put it on. I’ll be waiting outside,” I said, projecting calm as I returned to the porch. I looked him up and down with appraisal. I was about to claim him as my property. This Adonis prize. He was shaking his head and I thought I saw moisture around the eyes. Nevertheless, he shut the door and I heard him climbing up the stairs.
My worst fear had come true. Some maniac had discovered my secret. But maybe it was also my biggest fantasy. And he didn’t look like a maniac. He looked and acted just like a normal dude. In fact, he was just the kind of man I was often drawn to with that gold chain hanging down his v-neck and that striking earring. Those arm sleeve tattoos marking his nice forearms.
The way he just took hold of the situation was so intoxicating. Deep down, I knew he meant me no harm. But he did want me to submit. He’s an alpha. You should do it. You’re built to please.
I couldn’t let the brain rot from porn destroy my sense of reality. This was a stranger. What if he tried to blackmail me? What if he put me in danger? I had to remember that real life was not like all the filthy material I consumed and dirty thoughts I had.
But what if I had struck gold? I had tried to find doms – online and off – on Grindr, Reddit, and Recon. No one ever stuck. Now, a dom was delivered straight to my door, right along with the cage I had always wanted. Part of the dream was always that someone else would place me in it. After all, there was little point of being locked if it was up to me when I could get out.
All these contradicting thoughts swirled through my head as I went to my room, pulled down my compression shorts, and fit my balls through the ring with the help of some Lubriderm. I put the short tube, the second smallest sized tube the company had, around my dick and fished the airlock through the hole. It was labeled with the serial number: 452985. I closed the loop of the lock with an emphatic push. Damn. The cage wouldn’t come off unless I cut the plastic airlock.
I surveyed myself in the bathroom mirror. My toned muscles were in stark contrast to the tiny, contained nub. I was finally what I had always wanted to be: a locked twunk. I felt myself hardening inside the tube to a pleasurable pain.
I pulled up my compression pants. There was the tell-tale sign of the Cobra’s locking mechanism where a bulge should be. The would-be erection continued to fight for relief. It being obvious that I was locked to others was another part of my fantasy. That everyone would know I was an inferior man being humbled by a real one.
I almost forgot that the real man was right outside my house, waiting for me. I loved how unassuming he was. He was not some gay guy’s idea of an alpha. Not just some “top.” He was just a dude who would never lock up his dick because it was against his nature. The nature of a man. A guy who enjoyed my submission because masculinity respects hierarchy and he knew I was below him. It both disgusted him and, yet, attracted him to me.
Flustered, I considered changing my compression shorts to looser athletic ones. Then, I decided against it.
“No. I want this,” I thought as I descended back down the stairs as if in a trance.
For a moment, I thought he would not come back and the fun would be over. That he would run and hide. Did I really want to taunt him? Force him? No, I wanted him to choose. To surrender to me.
I hid my satisfaction as the large door opened and the statuesque man – now boy, or maybe even girl in my mind – exited. His eyes darted around, on the lookout for neighbors. He wore embarrassment like a fine suit. I could see the contours of the cage through his tight short-shorts and tried to suppress a smile, but I felt the corners of my lips turn upward. Part of me just thought it was so fucking funny and pathetic. But it made me hard anyway. Like when girls go “glug-glug-glug” with getting dicked down.
It dawned on me that Zack was already dressing the part and desperate to be on display. An object for the pleasure of others. Guys just don't dress up like sluts to exercise. Not the secure ones. Not the ones who have any self respect.
“Take off your shirt,” I said. I wanted to test him and see how far I could go. He looked around and huffed in reluctance.
“Guys take off their shirts when they run. Take it off,” I said. He nodded and complied, peeling off the skin-like garment to reveal his toned lats and abs. He tucked his shirt into his shorts.
“Flex,” I said to an immediately sheepish expression. He was begging with his face for me to relent but all I saw in his eyes was a desire for more. “Flex. Now,” I said.
He raised both arms and squeezed. A posed monkey. A Greek statue. Just for me. “Good boy,” I thought in my head. It was pleasing to be obeyed. Like when you teach a dog a trick. His body was pleasing too. Was I attracted to it sexually? It felt more like appraising a nice Lambo. More merchandise for me to steal. Who knew I could just take a prized specimen like this?
I raised my phone and he started to lower his arms to which I cautioned, “Keep fucking flexing.” My dick twitched at my own cruel tone. He raised his arms back up as I snapped a photo. He shuddered at the shutter sound. He started to say something and stopped.
“What’s your number?” I asked. Voice shaking, he told me his digits and I sent the photo to the number. I heard a vibration through his waistband strap.
“We’ll be in touch,” I said.
“Yes, Sir,” he said. Sir? Was that some gay lingo? It seemed too polite. Something I’d call my elders. I wasn’t just a Sir. I owned him.
“How about Lord?” I said. “Lord Alex.”
“Yes, Lord Alex,” he repeated, as if he had practiced it thousands of times before.
“Good bitch. Now go for your run and don’t you dare put that shirt back on.”
“Yes, Lord Alex.”
Hah. “I could get used to this,” I thought as I turned toward my car and Zach Taylor took off in the other direction. It was like taking candy from a baby.
