Walking Barefoot
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
I arrived at my villa with my “gift” bag in hand, part nervous, part excited, still slightly hard from the excitement in the dining room.
I tossed the bag on the bed, stripped out of my bathing suit and walked over to the wardrobe to pick out a new outfit for the night, then I remembered the boys’ instructions: the only thing I was to wear for the week was the cage I picked from the bag I’d just tossed aside.
Well, at least that made one decision simpler!
Back to the bed and the bag Grant had given me.
I’d looked at the cages briefly in the dining room, but now I was going to have a real close look at them, see what they were really about. I wasn’t really sure how to pick the right one for me, but Grant had told me to pick one that was snug, “squished” my dick in the cage he’d said.
Ugh.
I guess I would figure it out.
When I opened the bag, I was shocked to see just how many cages there were inside. At least two dozen metal devices, each with its own lock holding a ring segment and a cock shaped portion together. There was a key in each lock — presumably in case I made a mistake when I chose — and it seemed like the cages varied both in ring size and the size of the cock cage.
I was already naked so I got started shuffling through the bag looking for a cage that seemed like it would do the job that Grant had prescribed. I pulled out the first one that looked suitable, held it up against my now soft cock, and tried to gauge whether it would be a good fit.
Well, only one way to find out!
I undid the lock, separating the ring from the cage and then, after a few moments of effort and problem solving, figured out how to get both of my balls and my cock through the solid ring. It didn’t help that I got a little… excited a few times during the process. Once I was through the ring — and soft — it was a simpler matter to insert myself into the cock cage, connect it to the ring and “seal the deal” with the tiny gold lock that had accompanied the ensemble.
While I had done a fairly good job of measuring the cage out, leaving very little room between the tip of my cock head and the end of the cage, once I let go of the metal weight, it was clear the ball ring was much too large as the whole device began to slip off almost immediately.
On to the next one..
It took me five more tries before I found a cage that really closed the gap between the tip of my penis and the metal bars of the enclosure and that had a ball ring tight enough that the whole cage wouldn’t start to slide off of me either.
Once I was sure I had the right fit, I decided to take a look at my new “clothing” in the mirror.
When I looked in the mirror, it was like seeing a different version of myself. Same soft brown hair falling into my eyes, same narrow waist, same lean chest that hinted at muscle that hadn’t really come into its own yet, but now, there was a metal cage where my dick used to be. And not just that. The way it sat there, tight and snug, made everything else about me look different too. Smaller. Weaker.
My thighs weren’t bad: toned enough from walking to class and hitting the gym just enough to not feel guilty. But what stood out most was my cock squished into a chrome prison that shone in the villa’s soft lighting, drawing even more attention in what was an otherwise dim room. My balls looked extra exposed, hanging there under the cage like soft, pink targets.
I turned slightly and caught the side view. That was worse. From that angle, the cage stuck out just enough to be obvious, but not enough to be impressive. I could already imagine the boys catching sight of it, snickering, making comments, flicking at it just to watch me flinch. And I would flinch. Of course I would.
I was extra glad I’d shaved myself down there in preparation for the week before leaving for the trip. It was something I’d started doing a few months ago in horny anticipation of a hookup on one of the apps — a hookup that never happened — and that I’d repeated in hopes of something happening with the boys this week. Now it was proving to be a boon seeing as there were no stray hairs caught between the bars of the cage and, in my opinion, the cage at least looked a bit nicer on me that way.
I looked back at my own eyes, trying to find something strong in them. All I found was a dumb, horny nineteen-year-old staring at himself in a cage he’d voluntarily put on. Because five straight college guys told him to.
Fuck.
I looked at the bedside alarm clock, expensive and elegant like everything else in this place, I had spent almost the entire allotted 30 minutes fitting chastity cages and checking myself out in the mirror. It was time to go out and face the boys.
I walked towards the door of the villa, turning the knob hesitantly, knowing that once I opened it, something new would begin. I also realized that no one had told me where I was supposed to meet up with the rest of the gang, but I had a feeling that somehow, they’d make that apparent for me.
Outside the air was thick with that jungle heat: warm, wet, heavy. It clung to my skin the second I stepped out, sliding over my bare body like it had been waiting for me. I felt every inch of it now: the breeze brushing my chest, the loose bits of grit underfoot, the way the metal cage shifted slightly with each step. I’d never felt so naked in my life. Even with this tiny modicum of modesty hiding a sliver of my genitals, I felt more exposed than I would have if I were walking out completely bare.
The stone path leading from the villas was quiet, framed by low lights tucked into the landscaping like little secrets. No voices, no music, no sound except the occasional rustle from the trees and the steady hum of the evening creatures that were slowly claiming the night. I glanced around, half-hoping someone would jump out and tell me this was a prank, that I could go put on real clothes now. But nobody came.
I padded forward, bare feet slapping softly against the warm stone, every step driving home the fact that I wasn’t just exposed — I was owned. Or at least that’s how it felt. Like I was already theirs, and all I’d done so far was put on a metal cage and walk outside.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the faint clink of glass and low laughter, male, familiar.
That way, then.
I turned toward the sound, the cheeks on my face already burning, the cheeks of my butt already clenching, even though no one could see me yet. I could feel my cock with every step I took. I was more aware of it than I’d ever been in my life; I could feel its presence like a weight bearing down on me, a private shame that was oh so incredibly public.
God help me.
I kept walking towards the source of the sounds, the echo of the glassware now joined by rowdy laughter. I couldn’t help but notice how different the ground felt underneath my bare feet; I absorbed every texture, every pebble, every grain of dirt as I trudged towards the group of men who would determine my fate for the rest of this week.
When I found them, they were sprawled on a mix of rattan recliners and these oversized, circular lounge chairs that looked like half a cocoon. The recliners were set up in a loose arc around a sunken firepit, all clean lines and cream cushions, like resort minimalism pretending to be rustic. But it was the round chairs that caught my eye: tightly woven, low to the ground, and shaped like something you’d curl into with a lover or a very expensive cocktail. They hugged the boys’ bodies in a way that made everything look even more casual, almost sensual. Tyler was practically draped across one, his legs slung over the side, abs on display, a drink resting on the curve of the armrest like it belonged there.
They looked like they’d been born into those seats. Not unlike princes perched in woven, wicker thrones.
They were dressed the way only rich college boys could be. It was what I’d describe as attempting to look like they didn’t care but every piece probably cost more than my entire wardrobe at home. Bryson wore a loose linen button-down, already unbuttoned exposing his chest and abs. It was accompanied by tailored lounge shorts in washed-out pastels, some high-end label disguised as a thrifted find: loose at the thigh, soft as sin, and definitely not off the rack. Aiden had on some buttery-soft drawstring shorts that looked like they belonged in a GQ spread shot in Tuscany. Most of them were barefoot, but Bryson still had on his designer, Dior slides.
Grant was in a tank top so thin it may as well have been sheer, the edges raw-hemmed like it had been torn just right by a stylist. Connor wore one of those oversized Balenciaga T-shirts, like he might be about to hit the gym, or model for a gym’s fragrance line. He wore a heavy silver chain around his neck and had slicked his hair back since dinner. And Tyler, of course, looked like a walking thirst trap in a pair of white mesh shorts that left nothing to the imagination, paired with a pink Stüssy tee that had slid halfway off his shoulder.
It was rich-boy leisurewear done to perfection. Everything looked thrown on, but not a single thing was accidental.
As I walked into the midst of whatever was going on, the group went silent and all eyes focused on me.
I immediately felt even warmer in the night’s heat and I knew my skin must have been turning a pleasant shade of red for all of my friends to enjoy.
Connor spared me the agony of having to speak first.
“Good boy,” he said.
Simple. Slightly demeaning. Nevertheless, it set my mind at ease. I had done well and the boys were pleased with me.
I took a few steps further into the light of the fire, exposing myself more. I could feel the boys’ stares intensifying as they checked out my newly locked dick.
Grant was the next to speak.
“He really did it. He really fuckin’ did it. He locked his dick away. Amazing!”
Grant stood up almost immediately, and sauntered over to me until he stood mere inches from my face. Standing so close now, the difference between him and I became even more pronounced. Him, standing a few inches taller than me, smirking fiercely, full of confidence, all of his clothes on, cock free and clear. And then me: completely naked, unnerved with my prick locked in a cage this man had picked for me himself.
I shrunk mentally, and I felt like I must have shrunk a few inches physically that moment too.
I really didn’t expect what Grant did next.
I didn’t even see his hand move I was so focused on meeting his stare. I just felt it when it connected with my junk. His full palm spread around my cock and balls — well, the cage and my balls really — and then closed tightly, possessively, around them. I squirmed uncomfortably, then keeled over slightly as Grant intensified the pressure to the point of real discomfort.
“These,” he said, “are ours for the week. Finally under control. No more Tommy tentpoles getting in the way of things.” He laughed. “That’s what we used to call them you know. When you would get hard sucking us. Tommy tentpoles. There were so many of them. You were hard more than us. Before the blowjobs. During the blowjobs. After the blowjobs. Always that little tentpole sticking up to remind us it was a dude doing the deed.”
I reeled internally at Grant’s admission. I was taken aback by what he’d told me. I hadn’t realized how obviously lewd I’d been back then. Had I really tented my pants so noticeably that they’d all talked about it behind my back? If I thought I couldn’t feel more embarrassed than when I’d walked out in the chastity cage, I was wrong; I felt a new level of shame rise in me and a new layer of red spread across the back of my neck.
All I could think to offer in response was a feeble, “I’m so… sorry.”
Tyler jumped in to correct my apology.
“You’re so sorry, Sirs.”
“Huh?” I queried, my brain still fogged from what Grant had just told me.
Ever the explainer, Connor spoke up:
“Well, yeah, that’s the thing, Tommy. This fancy vacation, all the bells and whistles, it comes with conditions, yeah? You’ve learned some of that already. But another part of it is respecting the dudes who brought you here. To this place you would never have been able to reach on your own. Not in a million years, right?”
I swallowed hard. He was right, but where was he going with this?
“So for the rest of the week, you’ll show us that respect by addressing us all as, “Sir” or, when it’s not clear who you’re speaking to you can say “Sir whoever” to let us know which of us it is you’re talking with.”
They wanted me to call them all Sir, like some kind of old fashioned workplace? This was really getting weird now. I mean, I guess I’d seen this kind of shit in porn here and there, young boys who called the guys fucking them ‘sir’ or ‘daddy’. I usually just filtered it out, focusing on whether or not the guys in the video were hot and I assumed they were just saying that shit during the sex, not all the time.
Again, I responded the only way I thought I could, “Ok…”
Tyler was quick to correct me again, “Ok, SIR. Or even better: Yes, Sir! Try again!”
I wasn’t sure if he was serious but when it quickly became clear from Tyler’s intense gaze and the accompanying looks from the other guys that he definitely meant business. I summoned every nerve I had left in me, even as I felt my legs go weak beneath me and said:
“Yes, Sir.”
It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t all started to laugh hysterically in response. Grant even doubled over where he was standing only a few feet away from me. I wanted to run and hide, but where would I go, and at this point, I’d already gone this far, and I hadn’t even got the reward — my vacation and their cocks.
Connor picked up where he’d left off with another, “Good boy,” and then, “Don’t forget your manners or there could be consequences for you.”
Consequences? Oh, great!
“But let’s not dwell on the formalities, we can discuss more of the rules later. Right now, I think we’d all like to have some fun, and I’m sure you wanna get started just as much as the rest of us.”
Connor threw Grant a quick nod, which Grant reciprocated seemingly signaling that he should return to his seat before something new began.
“So, we told you we discovered some shit at school that we either tried and liked, or didn’t get to try or didn’t get to try enough.” Connor looked around getting nods and smiles of approval from the others. He leaned back in his cocoon chair, almost splaying himself out, letting his legs stretch out towards the fire pit in the centre of the group.
“One thing we were all kinda into or interested in — that definitely didn’t happen enough —was having our feet massaged, licked, and just worshipped. It’s fucking awesome dude. You should try it someti….” Connor’s voice trailed off as he realized the absurdity of what he was saying. He chuckled as he started again, “Well anyways, whatever you do on your own time, we figured a good way to “kick” this week off would be for you to get down on your knees and give us that sweet, sweet foot lovin’ we didn’t get from the ladies at school.”
While I tried to mentally dissect the success or failure of Connor’s attempt at a play on words, my brain also tried to process what I’d just been told, the boys wanted me to “worship” their feet. I was much more interested in the appendages between their legs than I was their sweaty soles and toes, but it didn’t seem like I had much choice in any of what was happening this week.
God; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It was just feet right?
As usual, the guys didn’t give me much time to think. Tyler pounced like a puma.
“Well, Tommy Tentpole, what are you waiting for, we’ve got feet, you’ve got knees, get over here and let’s get this weekend started!”
Aiden whooped in response raising his glass of — whatever the fuck — in the air and stretched his legs out, presenting his big feet and long toes for service.
The boys poured themselves fresh drinks, settled into their chairs, got comfortable and prepared for a night of relaxation and pleasure.
As I walked towards the closest boy, Bryson, I prepared for my first taste of a dude’s feet…
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