Page 7 of Caged By the Stranger
The damndest thing of all is I can feel myself getting turned on again already. I nearly blacked out from what he just put me through. How in the hell am I going to survive it twice? I suppress a delirious laugh at the thought of having to crawl out of Illusion to get to my car, so drained from pleasure that I can’t use my legs.
A light draft chills my exposed skin from the other side of the panel. There’s a soft click, but this time, it isn’t on my cock. The wall vibrated when it happened.
No…
Did he just walk out the door?
It feels like minutes, but it’s probably only seconds as I stand rigid with terror. I can’t just wait here if he’s actually left.
Why would he leave? Did he need to use the bathroom?
Surely, he’ll come back. He wouldn’t just leave me like this. That would be cruel. He’s not cruel. He’s…
He’s…
What am I saying? I don’t know a thing about him.
Every pleasant feeling that was left in me is snuffed out like a candle flame. It’s like a blanket of my own stupidity settles over me, leaving a nauseous sensation in my stomach. The reality is suddenly vivid. I trusted a total stranger with my dick in a precarious manner.
Fuck!
Gingerly, I inch back from the wall, imagining the worst. Being chained to the other side is one possibility. How the fuck do I know what this guy did to me?
The blue lighting reveals my flesh, however, showing me that some type of band is indeed cinched around my balls. What follows next makes my breath catch. Metal bands, braced by another thin one that connects them all the way down to my tip. Itisa fucking cock cage.
“Fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?”
Tugging at the end of it pulls the flesh around my sac and navel, causing discomfort. Shit. I’ll need to unfasten it, but I can’t see the fine details of the contraption in this crap lighting. I don’t see any kind of release mechanism on the band that’s cinching me, holding me hostage to the cage.
Hostage. My cock isnota hostage.
Fucking hell. Why would he do this? I don’t understand.
If he wasn’t enjoying this, he could have just declined last time. Does fucking someone over turn him on?
I can’t believe he hasn’t come back. This has to just be a messed-up joke.
The only other person here that I’ve talked to is the dickhead doorman. Great. Fucking great.
Isthatthe joke? Slap one of these on a guy, so he has to go out there and beg for help from that jerk? No fucking way.
There has to be a way to get these things off by yourself. Otherwise, people wouldn’t wear them, right?
One thing is clear—standing in here isn’t the answer to my problem. Tucking myself away, I wince, trying to angle my captured nuts back into my jeans. This issonot funny. You can see a fucking indent on my fly from the cage. It looks like I’m sporting a damn semi.
Stepping out into the hallway, I glance toward the door to the vestibule. The coast is clear; not that anyone might notice the secret in my pants in this shadowed corridor.
With each step, my junk shifts, something it’s always done, but it never felt like this. It is incredibly obvious to my conscience that I’m wearing a…device. I’ve never been more hyper-aware of my body. It’s so…strange. If I wasn’t freaking the fuck out, it might feel sexual in a pleasant way like it did for a moment back in that room. Right now, though, it’s a fucking time bomb. This freaking doorman better have good news for me.
“Hey,” I call as I push through the door to the vestibule, hooking my thumb into the waist of my jeans so my hand can cover part of my fly. “Is…number three still here? He just up and left.”
After five annoyingly long seconds, he finally looks at me and hikes his brows. “Maybe he didn’t like what he saw.”
Fuck him. This fucking fuck.
“Hilarious. Pretty sure he was the same guy as last week, so I doubt it, but…”
“But what?”
