Keypad couple

Dave’s thick fingers brushed against something unfamiliar, something rectangular, beneath Ed’s waistband as they cuddled on the sofa. Figuring it must’ve been part of the new gear Marc had brought over during their latest hookup, Dave ignored it and continued gently fondling Ed’s package. The bearish husbands had struck the jackpot when they invited Marc into their newly open relationship. Not only was he handsome, muscular, and perpetually horny, he was totally content to remain Dave and Ed’s side piece; a nonthreatening addition to their rock-solid marriage. 

The gear was just icing on the cake. Dave and Ed were initially suspicious that Marc’s gifts of shiny, skintight fetish gear would come with strings attached, but Marc never asked for anything in return. All he cared about was that Dave and Ed wore them during their hookups. It took the middle-aged bears some getting used to, but before long, they’d incorporated the sleek Lycra bodysuits and rubber jockstraps into their sex life even when Marc wasn’t around. For the past week, they geared up after dinner, exploring each other’s bodies while binge watching bad TV. The Lycra suits clung to their stocky frames and reflected the light with a glossy sheen. It was a bit of sexy fun; something new and different to spice things up for the forty-something couple. 

When Dave’s fingers came across the same mysterious object in Ed’s junk a second time, it emitted a barely audible click, as if a switch had been flipped or a button had been pressed. 

“Seven,” Ed said, his voice uncannily flat. 

Dave froze. His large body, usually so relaxed and comfortable during their nightly binge watch, felt a sudden jolt of tension. “Babe, what did you just say?” He turned to look at Ed, a concerned frown forming beneath his graying beard. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Ed replied. His deep, husky voice was back to normal, casual and calm as if nothing had happened. 

Dave’s gaze lingered on his husband. They were both about the same age, mid forties and heavyset with broad, sturdy builds. Ed’s belly—slightly more rotund than Dave’s thanks to an incurable sweet tooth—filled out the shiny black Lycra suit, the sleek material rising and falling in rhythm with Ed’s breathing. Normally, Ed was the more laid back of the two, and his soft eyes framed by a rugged, weathered face always carried a spark of humor. But something felt off tonight. 

“You definitely said ‘seven,’” Dave said, his voice dropping a little. He reached down again, pressing his hand against the metal codpiece contained inside Ed’s rubber jockstrap. The smooth material stretched taut across Ed’s package, squeaking faintly as Dave pressed harder. Then, there it was again—a faint click. 

“Four,” Ed said, his voice completely monotonous again. 

Dave’s heart skipped a beat. He jerked his hand back and stared at Ed in disbelief. “Something’s wrong.” HIs fingers trembled as he pulled at the waistband of Ed’s jockstrap, tugging it down slightly to expose the metal codpiece concealed within the pouch. 

There, embedded within, was a small keypad.  

“What the hell is this?” Dave whispered; his voice barely audible. The keypad’s raised buttons glinted faintly under the light. “Looks like you’re smuggling a calculator down there.” 

Ed sat up slightly, his brow furrowed, but his body still seemed unnaturally stiff. The shiny black Lycra suit stretched across his broad chest and belly, making him look almost artificial, like a figure in a store display. He looked down at himself, running his hand over the keypad, his expression shifting from confusion to shock. “I don’t remember putting this on.” 

Dave’s pulse quickened. He pulled at his own waistband and revealed the same thing: a keypad embedded in the metal codpiece of his matching rubber jockstrap. His large, heavyset body tensed as he traced the numbers with his fingers. “I’ve got one, too.” 

“Why would Marc give us these?” Ed’s voice wavered, the tension mounting. 

Dave’s hands trembled as he fumbled for his phone. His mind was racing. They’d only met Marc a few weeks ago and hooked up a handful of times. But the confident thirty-something muscle bear had easily snuggled his way into Dave and Ed’s relationship. Perhaps too easily. Even as he dialed Marc’s number, Dave couldn’t help feeling his cock twitch from thoughts of his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and thick, dark beard. 

The phone rang twice before Marc answered. Dave didn’t wait for him to say hello. “Marc, get over here. Something’s wrong.” 

---

Waiting for Marc felt like an eternity. To their frustration, Dave and Ed were unable to remove their own keypad codpieces or each other’s. Each time they tried, their hands went numb and refused to take their brain’s commands. They could, however, freely press the numbered keys. The same blankness overcame them each time as they mechanically announced the number aloud. Neither husband confessed to the mind-numbing arousal that accompanied each instance. 

Finally, Marc arrived and followed Dave into the living room, exuding a casual confidence that enraptured the bewildered husbands. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his own Lycra suit and chiseled body underneath. He looked at Dave and Ed, whose exposed keypad codpieces stood out amid the glossy black suits. 

“So what’s the problem?” Marc asked, his smirk almost playful, his dark eyes glinting with faux curiosity. 

“These cups,” Dave began. “They’ve got keypads on them. What the hell is this?” 

Marc’s smirk widened as he stepped closer, his muscular thighs straining his tight jeans. He knelt in front of Ed and brushed his fingers over the surface of the codpiece. “Keypads, huh? Yeah, I thought you guys might enjoy this little feature.” 

“Enjoy?” Ed blurted. Marc’s inexplicable magnetism prevented him from moving out of his reach. 

Marc didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed a sequence of numbers on Ed’s keypad. Ed’s body went completely still as each key clicked. 

“Four. One Two. Six,” Ed’s broad chest and belly stilled under the tight Lycra and his face went slack, as if his mind had completely switched off. His hazel eyes were now empty and unfocused, staring a thousand miles into the distance. He stood motionless, his large frame seeming almost mechanical. 

“Ed?” Dave’s voice cracked as he reached for Ed’s arm, shaking him gently. “Ed, say something!” 

But Ed didn’t respond. His mouth opened slowly, and his voice came out cold, robotic. “Please enter withdrawal amount.” 

Dave’s heart pounded in his chest. His fingers gripped Ed’s shoulder, but it felt like shaking a mannequin, not his partner. “What the hell did you do to him?” 

Marc stood up, dusting off his hands casually. “Relax,” he said, his voice smooth as ever. “He’s in ATM mode. It’s a feature I added.” 

“ATM mode? What the hell, Marc?” 

Marc shrugged. “Control, Dave. It’s all about control.” 

Before Dave could react, Marc reached down and pressed a sequence of numbers on Dave’s own codpiece—5, 3, 9, 0. The moment the last number clicked, a wave of numbness washed over Dave’s mind. His large body, normally so full of life and warmth, felt heavy and distant. His thoughts slowed to a crawl, and he felt himself slipping into the same blank state as Ed. 

“Please enter withdrawal amount,” Dave said, his voice flat and monotone. 

Marc’s grin widened as he eyed the two men. “Five hundred. Each.” 

Without hesitation, both Dave and Ed fetched their wallets. Their movements were smooth, synchronized, the shiny Lycra of their suits swishing softly as they returned to Marc. In unison, they pulled out five crisp hundred-dollar bills each, their faces expressionless as they handed the money over to Marc. 

“Thank You for using Your Human ATM,” Ed said, his voice devoid of emotion. 

“I exist to serve,” Dave said. “Please take Your cash.” 

Marc pocketed the money, his smirk satisfied. “Good boys,” he said softly. “Now let’s get you back to your quiet little evening.” 

With a few taps on their keypads, Marc reset their programming. “Resume previous activity.” 

Dave blinked as the fog lifted from his mind. He settled back into the couch, pulling Ed closer, the Lycra stretching over their bulky bodies as they snuggled up again, completely unaware of what had just happened. 

“Where were we?” Dave asked, his voice light and relaxed. 

“I think we were just getting to the good part,” Ed replied, his eyes now clear again as though nothing had occurred. 

The TV flickered softly in front of them, casting a warm glow over their shiny suits as they resumed their evening, none the wiser. Neither remembered handing over the $500, nor the control Marc had exerted over them. It was as if nothing had changed. 

Marc lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, watching them. Then, with a satisfied sigh, he slipped out of the apartment, the money now safely tucked away in his pocket.  

Dave and Ed remained on the couch, the glossy Lycra reflecting the flickering light as they lay together, unaware of the quiet power Marc held over them.

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