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Category: Dom/sub

Husband, Husband, Neighbor (Part 5)

Read part 4 of “Husband, Husband, Neighbor” to get caught up before reading on…

By Thursday afternoon, I was a wreck. Gone was the focused productivity of the previous workday, and in its place was a sweaty, horny, humiliating distraction. Every time I rested my fingers on the keyboard to respond to an email or update a client file, my caged cock practically cried out to be fondled. Again and again, my right hand abandoned the desktop and drifted between my legs. Every time, I felt nothing but disappointment and the lack of stimulation as my fingertips bumped against the inert barrier encasing my junk.  

After dismal performances in the day’s first two meetings, my coworkers expressed concerns, and my manager eventually “encouraged” me to take the rest of the day off. With nothing at home to distract me, I ran some errands. If sitting at my desk in the privacy of my own home had been frustrating, nothing prepared me for the way the heavy cage undulated between my thighs with every step I took. More than once, I caught myself staring at my bulge in public, and I was sure that everyone else was, too.  

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Husband, Husband, Neighbor (Part 4)

Read part 3 of “Husband, Husband, Neighbor” to get caught up before reading on…

A low, guttural roar followed by the clang of metal against metal jolted me out of my dreamless sleep. Disoriented, I squinted at the morning sunlight streaming through the blinds and struggled to hoist myself into a sitting position. My lower back ached—I wasn’t old, but I was too old to spend the night on the sofa and not feel it the next day—and so did my balls. It wasn’t even 36 hours since Paul had locked me in chastity, and already my pent-up sexual energy was taking a physical toll. I reached down and fondled the steel cage encasing my junk. The tight fit prevented me from getting fully hard, but that didn’t stop my desperate cock from leaking precum all night long. I sighed in defeat and got up off the sofa. That the cruel device might have slipped off overnight was too much to hope for.  

Clang.  

I recognized the noise coming from outside. Our next-door neighbor, Mike, was lifting weights. When his ex-wife moved out six months ago, Mike gradually converted the empty half of their two-car garage into a home gym. Delivery trucks arrived at our cul-de-sac every week or two with new equipment—a rowing machine, a squat rack, and a trendy Wi-Fi-enabled boxing bag were just some of the latest additions. Paul and I had made a recurring game of trying to guess the next fantastic contraption.  

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Husband, Husband, Neighbor (Part 3)

Read part 2 of “Husband, Husband, Neighbor” to get caught up before reading on…

Sleep didn’t come. It was well past midnight, and I laid on my bed, exhausted and sweaty, scrolling through the increasingly desperate text messages I’d sent to Paul that evening. 

D: Hey babe, how was the flight? 

D: Wish you were here, sexy. 

D: Thinking of you. Hope Milwaukee is treating you well. 

D: Miss you, stud. Horny and locked thinking about my big, sexy man. 

D: Everything OK, babe? Your dick is on my mind. 

D: Fuck I want you so much. 

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Husband, Husband, Neighbor (Part 2)

Read part 1 of “Husband, Husband, Neighbor” to get caught up before reading on…

The next morning, I awoke before dawn. My half-erect cock pressed against the inside of the cage, veins throbbing in sync with my heartbeat. My head still foggy from sleep and last night’s sex, I reached down to adjust myself. My fingertips ran into the steel barrier encasing my junk, rocketing me back to stone cold reality. Before I even opened my eyes, I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down. It was in vain. 

“Rise and shine, beefcake.” 

A rush of cold air swirled around my naked body as Paul yanked the covers away. I shivered. When I finally opened my eyes, he was standing at the foot of the bed, holding the bedsheet like a matador’s cape. He whipped it around with a campy flourish and winked. 

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Husband, Husband, Neighbor (Part 1) 

I dropped the laundry basket on the bed. It bounced and turned onto its side, spilling clean clothes onto the bedspread. It was after ten o’clock at night, and my husband Paul, procrastinating as usual, sat shirtless atop the covers. He smirked and nudged the basket with his size 13 foot.  

“Can I talk you into folding that for me?”  

My playfully defiant expression was just a performance and a transparent one at that. Before Paul finished asking, I had already started picking through the pile of clean clothes, sorting out which were mine and which were his. I balled up a pair of his socks and lobbed them his way. They landed on his thick pecs and rolled down his furry belly. I bit my lip when they stopped right between his thighs, resting against the bulge in his briefs. Lucky socks.  

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The first meet

I stood alone in the empty corridor. A few yards away, an ice machine rumbled. Further down, the elevator chimed. I jerked my head in its direction like a startled animal and waited to see if anyone had emerged from the vestibule. No one did. I willed my nerves back down.  

Horny online chats were one thing. Coming to Sir’s hotel room was another. I wanted this so badly, but my anxiety and apprehension threw up barrier after barrier to sabotage me. There would always be work projects that demanded my attention. There would always be friends who wanted to make plans at the last minute. I committed to dismissing every one of those mental roadblocks when they arose. I was proud of myself for getting this far.  

I already flaked on Sir once before. He graciously accepted my apology and backed off while I sorted myself out. It wasn’t long before I started messaging him again. He was patient yet firm in guiding me toward a second meeting. It was inevitable. I knew I wouldn’t get another chance if I flaked again. This was it. Now or never.  

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Open House (excerpt)

The following excerpt is from Open House, which is available exclusively for purchase on Kindle.

“Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Look, I’d prefer to keep this strictly business, if you don’t mind. I’m not the same person I used to be when we—”

Jordan took slow steps toward me. My voice trailed off as he got closer. He had no more than three or four inches on me, but his attitude might as well have added another foot. He firmly clenched my chin and forced me to look up at him.

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Poker with the guys, part 2

The story continues from part 1 of “Poker with the guys.”

Thirty minutes later, Didrik pulled into the driveway of a nondescript ranch house at the end of a dead-end suburban street, exactly the type of place he imagined someone like Steve living. The guys’ firm handshakes and offers of whiskey and cigars put Didrik at ease, and after playing a few hands, he felt less like their interloping boss and more like one of their peers. 

“Hey, do we have any more chips?” Doug called from the kitchen during a snack break. 

“Don’t ask me,” Bill said. “Jim was supposed to do this shopping this week.” 

“No way, man,” Jim said, returning from the garage with a fresh bottle of whiskey and a bag of ice. “I mowed the lawn this week. It was Steve’s turn to go shopping.” 

Didrik was confused and intrigued by the conversation. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You all… live together?” 

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Poker with the guys, part 1

Didrik liked his job. It was challenging, the pay was great, and it was a bit of a coup for an early-career guy like him to land it. He was only 29, and he’d never managed a team before, but his years of experience with SalesFarm, the software platform the company recently adopted, had won him the job. 

He was young, full of energy, and eager to prove himself. There was just one problem: He didn’t fit in. 

When he was introduced to his team on the first day, Didrik expected to meet a group of recent college grads, with maybe one guy in his thirties who’d changed careers. Instead, he found himself awkwardly shaking hands with Bill, Doug, Jim, Lou, and Steve. Every guy he managed had at least 15 years on him, and their attitude in the workplace was unorthodox, to say the least. 

A pair of aces on top of a fan of US dollar bills
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