Page 43 of The Key Holder

The image of the cage on Dylan's cock was burned into my memory. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Did he wear it all the time? Was it his choice, or was it like a weird bet with some friends? Is that what he meant by a sexless summer? If he was at the point where he needed a chastity cage to control his urges, then…damn. How out of control was his sex life?

My mind raced, thinking back to every moment we had shared this summer. Had he been wearing it this whole time? Was he going to wear it the whole summer? When would he decide to unlock it?

As a distraction, I tried to lose myself in the mundane. I went through the house, picking up stray socks and wiping down counters, but every polished surface showed me my own reflection and my face said it all. It didn’t matter what I did or pretended to do; my mind kept thinking about the smooth black finish of that hard plastic and the way it had encased his dick.

Late at night, when I couldn’t sleep, I attempted to read, but the words blurred. The story felt trivial compared to the real-life adventure Dylan and I were having. Giving up, I found myself watching him while he slept instead, a soft groan escaping every now and then.

Was he dreaming of release? Did it turn him on to be confined like that? The questions felt like tiny, annoying gnats buzzing around my head. The whole situation was like a funhouse mirror distorting my perception of what was real and what was fantasy, though the ache in my ever-hard cock was very real to me.

Whenever he was around, I studied his movements, searching for answers. Did he wince when he sat down? Was there a subtle stiffness when he walked? I was like a dick detective. I could see The Hardy Boys title now: The Secret of Dylan and his Captivating Cock Cage.

Hypnotized by it, I caught myself staring at his crotch more than once, then quickly averted my eyes, hoping he hadn't noticed. A nervous energy constantly rippled under my skin, and as if it were a fidget spinner, I played with the key on my chest as if that could release it somehow.

Every night I’d scroll on my phone, catching up with clients, while I let Dylan use the bathroom first to get ready for bed. At first he was modest, coming out of the bathroom wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but tonight he was wearing only briefs. I tried not to stare.

He slipped under the covers with a low groan that made my cock take notice, and said, “Your turn.”

“Thanks.”

While the water warmed up, I started teasing myself with gentle strokes. Watching myself in the mirror harden, I imagined Dylan looking at my body, getting on his knees…

Fuck.

After stepping into the steamy shower, I let the water cascade over my torso for a few moments, letting my sore muscles soak up the heat. With a quick pump of soap and a few strokes, my dick was coated with body wash. The memory of Dylan’s body, that secret chastity cage locking away his desperate little cock, combined with the speed of my hand pistoning up and down my shaft brought me close to the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

I wasn’t sure how to confess my growing feelings for Dylan. There was the possibility I was reading everything wrong and he might not feel the same way.

But fuck…if he did.

I would treat him like the prince he was.

I imagined teasing his swollen balls, making him beg for release, until he became so desperate he’d whisper ‘I need you to fuck me!’. Closing my eyes, I pictured his flawless ass and the tight hole my cock would be wrecking.

My breaths turned to gasps as I felt my balls tighten.

“Fuck!”

I watched the first rope of cum ricochet off the wall then threw my head back into the spray of water as the rest blasted out. My hand slowed its rhythm as the head became more sensitive until I had nothing left to release.

With my muscles loose and relaxed, I soaped the rest of my body quickly, knowing I had already been in here a suspiciously long time, and paid special attention to both my ass and my dick. Now that Dylan was in such close proximity to me, I was self-conscious about my body odor. After a few splashes of water cleared the wall of my cum, I was finished.

I dried off quickly but realized I forgot to bring clothes into the bathroom with me. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I headed back into the bedroom. A small pang of guilt hit my gut when Dylan made eye contact with me and smiled, innocently, knowing I had just done something he was unable to do in his current state. But I returned the smile anyway and tried not to think about how he was likely watching me get dressed.

Once my briefs were on, I returned the towel to the bathroom and came back to my dresser for some shorts and a tank top.

"You know, I've seen you in a speedo,” Dylan said, his voice quiet and steady. “We both know you're going to take all that off anyway." He paused and smiled. “Just come to bed. If I haven’t mauled you already, you’re probably safe tonight."

I hesitated, considering his words, but couldn’t deny his logic. With Dylan in my bed, it felt wrong to sleep naked, but even with the ceiling fan, I always ended up stripping all but my underwear off every night. There wasn’t much point to the pretense if he had already noticed.

Tossing the t-shirt and shorts aside, I made for the bed. Dylan looked pleased with himself, enough to make me chuckle.

“What?” He asked.

“Oh nothing.” I slid into bed, next to him. “You just like being right, don’t you?”

“It’s exhausting, but someone has to be.”

With only a few feet separating us, my desire to say something was hard to control. Dylan’s words were an admission that he had been watching me. But the question remained, the question I asked myself with every guy.