We fell asleep like that. His warmth, his breath on the back of my neck, the softness in his touch — it quieted something deep in me.
I stirred to the feeling of pressure — slow, warm, deliberate.
My eyes blinked open, and I looked down as best I could with my wrists still restrained above my head.
Carter was between my legs.
His hand was wrapped around my cock — gently. So gently. Barely stroking.
And he was watching me.
“Good morning, baby,” he whispered. “You looked so pretty in your sleep. I couldn’t help myself.”
I gasped. “Sir…”
“You’re still so hard. Still leaking. Poor thing.”
He leaned in and kissed the head of my cock, then continued stroking. So slowly. Barely enough friction. Just… enough.
“Did you dream about cumming?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, sir.”
He smiled. “Me too.”
And then his hand began to move — slow, smooth, steady.
And I knew it was going to drive me insane.
Carter’s hand was still wrapped around my cock — slow, lazy strokes that were barely enough to keep me from crying. The morning light filtered through the window, golden and warm, but it felt almost mocking against the full-body ache of need.
“You slept so well,” Carter whispered, lips brushing the inside of my thigh. “All tied up. Dripping. Dreaming about me, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I rasped, voice still hoarse from the night before. “I woke up hard. Still hard. So hard—”
“I know.” He kissed the tip of my cock and grinned. “You’ve been hard for… what? Twelve hours? That’s gotta be a record.”
I whimpered, squirming uselessly in the restraints. “Sir, I—please—I can’t take much more—”
“Oh, you can,” Carter said with maddening calm. “And you will. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
He reached for something on the nightstand. I couldn’t see it at first, not until he held it up in front of my face with a little smirk.
A cock cage.
Clear. Compact. Chrome lock glittering at the top.
“Do you know what this is, baby?”
My heart jumped. “Yes, sir.”
“And do you know what it means when I put this on you?”
“That I’m not allowed to cum,” I whispered.
“Exactly.” His eyes sparkled. “You’re mine. And I decide when you get to cum.”
He sat between my legs and finally released the restraints from my ankles — only to spread them wider. I was still tied at the wrists, stretched out and trembling as he leaned in closer.
“I’m going to cage you,” Carter said, “but that’s not all.”
He reached for a bottle of lube, uncapped it slowly, and held up something else — a sleek, black vibrating plug.
My breath caught.
“Sir—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said with a sweet smile. “This one’s remote-controlled. I thought it’d be fun to try in… public.”
I moaned, helpless. Carter coated the plug in lube with expert care, then leaned in, gently spreading me open. His fingers were soft, patient, teasing — just enough to make me writhe before he slid the plug in, inch by inch.
The feeling of fullness, even after last night’s torture, was overwhelming. My hips jerked, and I gasped.
“You’re so tight, Johnny,” he murmured. “But you’re doing so well. Just relax. That’s it…”
When the plug was finally seated inside me, Carter gave it a small twist — and then turned it on.
A low buzz filled the room.
I howled.
“Oh, that’s low,” he said with a laugh. “This thing has ten levels. Isn’t that fun?”
“Sir, please—”
“Shhh.” He stroked my thigh, then focused his attention on my cock again. "Now let’s get you locked up, yeah?"
He dried me off, cleaned me gently, and positioned the base ring behind my balls. The cage slid into place with practiced ease, snug and inescapable. He locked it with a satisfying click.
“There,” he said with pride, leaning back to admire his work. “Perfect. No touching, no leaking. Just me. And my control.”
I was gasping, aching, every nerve ending lit up from the plug’s buzz and the fresh frustration of the cage.
“Now,” Carter said, stretching. “I’m starving. Let’s get breakfast.”
My jaw dropped. “Like this?!”
“Exactly like this.” He tossed me a pair of sweats and a hoodie. “You can wear these. I’ll help you walk.”
The act of getting dressed was its own form of agony. Every step, every movement made the plug shift inside me. The cage pressed firmly against my throbbing cock, reminding me who owned it.
Once I was dressed — oversized clothes hiding the torment underneath — Carter kissed my temple.
“You’re doing so well, baby. Come on. We’ll grab bagels.”
We walked the two blocks to the café like everything was normal.
No one around us knew I was wearing a cock cage.
No one knew there was a vibrating plug inside me, buzzing gently as we stood in line behind two women with strollers and a guy reading The New Yorker.
I was sweating.
Hard.
“You good?” Carter asked, leaning in. “You look flushed.”
“Sir—please don’t—”
He grinned and, without warning, pulled out his phone. Opened the app.
And turned the vibration level up by one.
I gasped, knees buckling slightly.
Carter handed me a menu like nothing had happened. “I’m thinking bacon egg and cheese. You?”
“I—I can’t think, sir—”
He turned it up again.
Level 3.
A steady hum, directly inside me. My cock twitched uselessly inside the cage, pressing painfully against its constraints.
“You’re blushing,” Carter said sweetly. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”
The woman behind us glanced over, probably wondering why I was bent forward and biting my lip like I’d just stepped on something sharp.
Carter ordered casually, then guided me to a table in the back corner.
And just as I was sitting—
Level 4.
I moaned. Out loud.
Carter shot me a fake stern look. “John, keep your voice down. This is a family place.”
“You’re evil,” I whispered, trembling. “You’re actually evil—”
He took a bite of his sandwich. “I’m making memories.”
Ten minutes later, my legs were shaking under the table. I kept clenching and unclenching my fists to stay grounded.
And Carter?
He turned the vibration off.
Completely.
I blinked. “Wait—sir—”
“You want it back on?”
“Yes—no—I don’t know—fuck, I don’t know—”
He reached across the table, held my hand in his, and leaned in.
“I love seeing you like this,” he said, voice low. “Utterly helpless. Desperate. But still trying so hard to be good for me.”
“I am being good,” I whispered. “I haven’t touched myself—”
“Because you can’t touch yourself,” he reminded me with a wink. “But I know. You’ve been perfect. And I think you’ve earned a little something.”
He turned it back on.
Level 2.
I sighed, body slumping in surrender.
But Carter wasn’t done.
He lifted the phone, tapped the screen again, and started something new:
Pulse mode.
The vibrations shifted — not constant anymore, but waves. Slow, rhythmic bursts.
I groaned into my sleeve.
“You’re going to cum so hard when I let you,” Carter whispered, finishing his drink. “You’re going to shake. Scream. Fall apart.”
“When?” I asked, voice barely there.
Carter stood, tossing our wrappers into the trash. He leaned over and kissed the top of my head, so sweetly it hurt.
“Let’s get home first, baby.”
By the time we made it back to the apartment, I could barely walk straight.
Every jolt of the plug during the walk had sent sparks up my spine. Every buzz against my prostate made my caged cock throb with aching futility. I felt used — in the best way. My clothes were damp with sweat. My legs trembled. My whole body felt like it was humming.
“You did so good,” Carter said, guiding me inside with a palm on my lower back. “Proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled, dizzy from being edged for what had to be over 14 hours now.
“Let’s get you cleaned up a little,” he said, pulling me gently toward the bed. “Then we’ll chill for a bit. You need a break.”
A break? I wanted to scream.
But instead, I nodded obediently and let Carter peel the hoodie and sweats off of me, leaving me in just the cage. He knelt behind me, warm hands spreading my cheeks as he clicked the plug off, twisted it gently, and slid it out with care.
I moaned — more from the sudden emptiness than the discomfort. The moment he was gone from inside me, I felt the absence like a void.
Carter pressed a kiss to the small of my back. “That’s better. You’ve been so full, baby.”
I barely registered when he guided me to the couch, tossed a blanket over both of us, and settled in beside me.
“Let’s watch something,” he said casually, grabbing the remote. “Something dumb. You need a break from thinking.”
He put on a movie — one of those easy action-comedies we used to watch as roommates, something we’d half-memorized already. I tried to focus. I really did.
But I couldn’t.
Because Carter had his arm thrown across the back of the couch… and the other hand was resting on my thigh.
And then—softly, almost absentmindedly—he reached down and unlocked the cage.
I gasped as the pressure released, my cock springing free — flushed, swollen, twitching like it didn’t even believe it was free.
But Carter didn’t say anything.
He didn’t look at me.
He just started… lightly stroking.
Just two fingers, barely there, tracing along my shaft like he was idly petting a cat.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, already moaning. “Sir, please—please—”
“Hm?” he said, eyes glued to the screen. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re touching me.”
“Am I?” He kept stroking. Barely. Featherlight. Maddening. “Huh. I guess I am.”
“Sir—please—I’m gonna—”
“No you’re not,” Carter interrupted calmly. “Not until I say.”
I clenched the blanket in both fists, trying to focus on anything other than the soft drag of his fingertips along the underside of my cock. My hips bucked involuntarily, but Carter’s hand didn’t speed up — if anything, it slowed.
“You’re so easy to wind up,” he muttered. “I barely even touch you and you’re trembling.”
“I can’t help it,” I whimpered. “Sir, it’s been all night—please—”
Carter sighed, as if I was the one bothering him.
“You’re missing the movie,” he said. “Pay attention.”
He didn’t even glance at me. His strokes stayed slow. Lazy. And utterly lethal.
I bit my lip so hard I thought I’d draw blood. My whole body was strung tight — every muscle locked. The movie might as well have been in another language for all I could process.
I was going to lose my mind.
Halfway through the movie, Carter adjusted himself — stretched, shifted the blanket — and took my cock in his whole hand.
Still slow. Still infuriatingly casual.
Every now and then, he’d thumb over the head. Or give me one single, firm stroke before going right back to ghosting touches.
I didn’t even beg anymore. I couldn’t form the words.
I just moaned softly. Helpless. Ruined.
And Carter kept watching the movie.
As the final scene faded and the credits rolled, he finally looked at me for the first time in over an hour.
My eyes were glassy. My cock was throbbing and leaking. My hands were clenched in fists. I looked like I’d been crying.
And maybe I had.
Carter’s gaze softened. "I'm pushing you too hard. I'm sorry, Johnny. Here, let's get that load out of you."
"Wait," I said. I couldn't believe I had said it. "Only let me cum if you want me to. Not because I want to.
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face — but his eyes, god, his eyes were tender. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Johnny,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against my cheek. “You just said the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
I flushed, breathing hard, my cock still aching and leaking from hours of denial. I was so close to the edge that even talking about cumming made me twitch.
But Carter pulled back, his gaze roaming over my face.
“In that case,” he said, voice low and full of promise, “I don’t want you to cum just yet.”
I nodded, helpless. “Yes, sir.”
Carter guided me gently to the bed again, lying down on top of the covers. He pulled me over him, not roughly, but with quiet authority — until I was straddling his hips, our chests pressed together, my caged cock not even touching him.
“Come here,” he said, tugging my face down.
And then he kissed me.
Long. Deep. Slow.
It started soft — just lips, just breath — but it built with a pressure that curled my toes. He opened his mouth against mine and took his time. His tongue teased mine in lazy strokes, his hands sliding up my sides, down my back… but never anywhere near my cock.
I moaned into his mouth, desperate for friction, but Carter just smiled and kissed me harder.
When I tried to grind down against him, he grabbed my hips and held me still.
“Don’t move,” he whispered. “This is just kissing. That’s all you get.”
Just kissing.
Just his lips, his tongue, the heat of his breath.
For minutes.
Then tens of minutes.
I lost track of time.
His hands kept roaming — up my ribs, around my neck, into my hair — but he never once went lower. Not even close. He kissed me like he had all day. Like my lips were the only part of me that mattered. Like he was drinking me in, sip by agonizing sip.
I was gasping into his mouth now, trembling from the tension coiled tight inside me. My cock throbbed inside its cage, drooling helplessly against my belly.
“Sir,” I breathed, breaking the kiss just for a second. “I—I don’t know how much longer I can—”
“You don’t need to know,” Carter murmured, trailing kisses across my jaw. “You just need to feel. And be good.”
His mouth found mine again, harder now, almost aggressive. He sucked my lower lip between his teeth and bit down, just enough to make me moan — not from pain, but from the sheer lack of everything else.
I’d never been so worked up from just kissing.
And Carter knew it.
“You’re such a good kisser when you’re desperate,” he teased, pulling back just a breath. “You moan into my mouth like you’re gonna fall apart.”
“I am falling apart,” I panted, nearly crying. “Sir, please—just—anything—”
But Carter only kissed me again. Slower. Lazier.
I sobbed into his mouth.
This wasn’t a break from teasing. This was a masterclass in it.
He dragged his hands through my hair, gripping lightly at the base of my neck as his lips moved with impossible patience. His kisses weren’t just affectionate — they were commanding.
He was owning my mouth the way he owned everything else.
I could feel it — the pressure building, the heat coiling low in my belly, even without a single touch to my cock. I was close. So, so close — from nothing.
Just Carter’s lips.
His breath.
His control.
He kissed me until my lips were swollen, until my chest was heaving, until I was trembling all over and dripping pre-cum onto his stomach from the sheer denial of it all.
And then, finally — FINALLY — he broke the kiss.
He stared up at me, eyes heavy-lidded, lips glistening, and whispered, “I have a feeling you're not gonna cum tonight, Johnny.”
I whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, almost delirious with frustration.
“You’re gonna go to bed like this. Hard. Caged. Dripping. And you’re gonna thank me for it.”
I didn't know what to say. I'd never known desperation until these last several hours, and there was still more ahead. So I just said, “…thank you, sir,” I gasped, the words breaking out of me like a sob.
Carter smiled and kissed my temple. “You’re welcome.”
He rolled us onto our sides, pulling me close, my leaking cock trapped between our stomachs.
His arms wrapped around me like nothing was wrong — like I wasn’t coming apart inside — and he whispered in my ear:
“I’ve never had more fun in my life.” Carter yawned and got up. And I was left to contemplate what this was.
You must’ve dozed off. Just for a minute. But the pressure in your cock never let up — it pulsed behind your eyelids like a drumbeat. You woke to Carter still wrapped around you, warm and calm, lips pressed just beneath your ear.
“Johnny,” he whispered. “I have one more game for us before dinner.”
I whimpered.
“Nothing painful. Nothing messy.” He pulled back slightly to look at me. “Just a game of focus.”
“…okay,” I rasped, already afraid.
Carter grinned and reached over the side of the bed — retrieving a small box I hadn’t seen before. He opened it with reverence.
Inside: a strip of small silver chain, a blindfold, and what looked like… a pack of ice cubes in a thermal pouch.
Oh no.
“Here’s how this one works,” Carter said, voice soft, like he was reading me a bedtime story. “You lie there. Perfect. Still. Hands above your head. I’m going to blindfold you and lay this little chain across your stomach. Just the weight of it, nothing else.”
He held up the chain — thin, cool, delicate — and let it fall lightly across my chest so I could feel the sensation.
“And then… I’m going to trace your body with ice. Slowly. Everywhere. Except your cock.”
I groaned. “Sir—please—”
“You want to beg already? I haven’t even started.”
He slipped the blindfold over my eyes, and the world fell into darkness. My senses narrowed — every sound, every whisper of movement suddenly sharper.
The weight of the chain settled across my lower belly.
“Don't move it,” Carter said, brushing a hand down my chest. “If it slips off, the game starts over.”
My breath hitched.
He kissed the center of my chest, then pulled away — and the next thing I felt was a shock of cold as the first ice cube traced along my collarbone.
I gasped.
The cube danced across my chest, melting slowly as Carter’s hand guided it in delicate circles. He avoided my nipples at first — just close enough that the chill in the air made them harden from anticipation alone.
Down my ribs. Across my hips. Over my thighs.
The whole time, my cock was twitching in its cage, desperate for anything — even just the accidental drip of a melting cube.
But Carter didn’t slip. Not once.
“You’re leaking again,” he said conversationally. “All this from a little ice? You’re so easy, Johnny.”
I whimpered as the cube slid along the underside of my thigh. My skin felt fever-hot in contrast. The chain across my belly didn’t move — but only because I was using every ounce of strength not to twitch.
“You’re doing well,” he murmured, kissing my jaw as he reached for another cube. “Let’s see how long you can last like this.”
The second cube hit lower. Between my thighs. Behind my knee. Down the curve of my calf. Carter worked like an artist — slow, methodical, impossibly gentle. Every inch of my body was on fire, except for the one part that needed him most.
And that’s where he kept teasing — around it.
Never touching.
Just close enough to make me feel the absence.
By the fourth cube, I was sobbing into the blindfold.
“Still want to cum?” he whispered.
“Yes, sir,” I moaned. “I need it—please.”
“And yet… we’re still playing.”
I didn’t know how long it lasted. All I knew was the weight of the chain. The cold drip of melting water. The buzz of desperation that replaced my heartbeat.
Eventually, Carter leaned in, breath warm against my ear.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he said. “Shaking. Melting. Obedient.”
He lifted the chain from my stomach, setting it gently aside. Then he removed the blindfold.
I blinked up at him, tears clinging to my lashes. My chest was damp. My thighs were shaking. My cock looked red and caged and miserable.
Carter leaned down and whispered:
“You win.”
I gasped. “Does that mean—?”
“No,” he said with a wicked grin. “Nice try, though."
Carter helped me sit up slowly. My legs were wobbly and my body felt like it had run a marathon in a thunderstorm. But he was gentle — one hand behind my back, the other combing through my sweat-damp hair.
“Alright, enough torture for now,” he said, his tone soft but teasing. “You’re gonna faint on me if I don’t feed you.”
I managed a hoarse laugh. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
He rolled his eyes and kissed my temple. “Shut up. Come on, champ. Let’s eat something that isn’t me.”
I winced as I stood, my cock still caged and aching, but Carter helped me shuffle into the kitchen, one arm slung lazily around my waist like I was his dazed but beloved hostage.
Dinner wasn’t fancy — just leftovers heated up and shoved onto plates — but it tasted like the best thing I’d ever had. Probably because my body had no energy left to be picky.
Carter sat across from me, watching me eat like a proud coach who’d just seen his player survive a brutal training montage.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
I paused mid-bite, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m… really good.”
“Not too much?” he said. “I mean, I know I’m an asshole, but I wanna make sure you’re not like… quietly traumatized and just pretending you’re fine.”
I smirked. “I literally begged you not to let me cum unless you wanted me to.”
“Yeah, and that was hot as fuck,” Carter said with a dreamy sigh. “Top ten moments of my life, easily.”
“Only top ten?” I teased.
“Well, number one is when I got a free sandwich at Jersey Mike’s for filling out that customer satisfaction survey—”
“Fuck off.”
We both laughed — a real, belly-deep, joy kind of laugh that made everything feel light again. The tension was still there, low and pulsing between us, but the edge had softened. This was the part I hadn’t even let myself hope for: Carter being Carter again. Still filthy, still smug, but warm. Human.
He kept watching me, that crooked smile softening into something closer to affectionate.
“You know,” he said, pushing his plate away, “I really do like you.”
I looked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like, a lot.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “It’s not just the sex stuff. Though—obviously—the sex stuff is amazing. But I mean, this. Us. The way you trust me. The way you let me… have you. It’s—fuck, I’m gonna sound like a rom-com monologue.”
I grinned. “Please. Go full Hugh Grant on me.”
Carter groaned and dropped his head dramatically to the table.
“You’re the worst,” he mumbled into the wood.
“You love it.”
“I do,” he said, lifting his head. “That’s the thing. I love all of it. The teasing, the begging, the stupid jokes, the way you curl into me after. I’ve wanted this for so long, Johnny. I just didn’t know how to say it without ruining everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I said. “You made it better.”
We sat there in the quiet for a moment — the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled.
Then Carter gave me a long look. “So... does this mean we do this again tomorrow?”
“God, yes,” I said, laughing. “Just maybe not all of it. My body needs a minute.”
“Noted,” he said with mock solemnity. “Tomorrow: fewer feathers, more breakfast.”
“But still the cage?”
He grinned. “You’re so staying in the cage.”
After dinner, Carter helped me clean up, even though I kept getting distracted every time his hand brushed against mine or his breath hit the back of my neck. He didn’t push. He didn’t tease. Not outwardly, anyway. But there was a glint in his eye the entire time — like he knew exactly what he’d done to me and exactly how long the ache in my cock would linger.
When we finished, he tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder and said, “Okay. Your body’s been through hell. Your mind’s probably mush. So obviously, we should play something highly competitive and potentially friendship-ruining.”
I laughed. “You mean Mario Kart?”
He raised a brow. “Even worse.”
He pulled out a board game from under the console — Codenames: Deep Undercover.
“Oh my god,” I said, groaning. “Really?”
“What? It’s intellectual,” Carter said, with mock pride. “And deeply inappropriate. Just like us.”
We spread the cards out on the coffee table and flopped onto the rug, side by side. Carter still had that cocky dom energy humming through him — but now he’d layered it under flannel pajama pants and a soft hoodie that somehow made him look even more dangerous. Like a wolf pretending to be domesticated.
And I was still in his oversized t-shirt, my caged cock tucked uncomfortably beneath it, every movement a reminder that my body still wasn’t mine.
“Alright,” Carter said, clapping. “Loser of each round has to answer a personal question.”
I raised a brow. “Oh, so this is basically foreplay.”
He grinned. “Isn’t everything?”
The first few rounds were chaotic — filled with bad guesses, suspicious stares, and Carter making absolutely unhinged connections between the words latex, basement, and celebration.
“You’re terrible at this,” I said, laughing so hard I had to wipe tears from my eyes.
“I’m creative,” he insisted. “It’s called lateral thinking.”
“It’s called losing.”
“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Hit me. Ask something scandalous.”
I leaned in, grinning. “Okay. First time you realized you were into guys?”
Carter actually blushed. Just a little.
“I was sixteen. Football practice. I caught myself staring at one of the seniors while he was changing. And not like, ‘whoops, locker room accident’ staring. Like... lingering.”
I smiled. “That’s kinda sweet.”
“Sweet?” Carter scoffed. “It was a full gay crisis. I went home and Googled ‘Can straight guys get hard from looking at other guys?’”
I cackled. “Oh my god.”
“Your turn to lose,” he said, resetting the board. “Get ready to spill your soul, Johnny.”
And so it went — back and forth, flirting and laughter, secrets traded under the soft glow of the living room lamp. Every now and then, Carter’s knee would bump mine, or his hand would linger on my wrist a second too long. It wasn’t overt. But it was constant. He couldn’t stop touching me — even in the smallest ways — and each one sent a pulse straight to my still-caged cock.
Eventually, we stretched out on the carpet, side by side, heads resting on folded arms, half-playing and half-daydreaming.
“You really okay with all of this?” Carter asked suddenly, his voice softer now. “Like... the teasing. The denial. Me being kind of a bastard about it.”
I turned my head to look at him.
“Carter,” I said, “I’ve never felt more seen. Or wanted. Or safe. You’re not a bastard. You’re just really, really good at knowing what I need before I do.”
He blinked like he wasn’t expecting that.
“…Well,” he said after a moment. “That’s possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I smiled. “You’re welcome.”
He reached out and took my hand — casually, like it wasn’t a big deal — and then ran his thumb across my knuckles.
“We could do this again tomorrow,” he said. “Or not. You could just sleep in my bed, and I could hold you. I’m good either way.”
“I want to do all of it,” I whispered. “The teasing. The games. The kissing. The cuddling. I want you.”
Carter didn’t say anything for a second.
Then he leaned in and kissed me — not like earlier. Not like a tease or a test. This one was soft. Slow. Real.
“Good,” he murmured against my lips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
