My Friend Dave
Monday chaos hit the office like a tidal wave—paperwork avalanches, Karen’s third “urgent” coffee break—but all I could focus on was the cage’s relentless grip under my slacks. I was in some loose black slacks to try and hide the bulge the cage was producing in my pants, and for the most part, it was working.
Karen’s third “casual” stroll past my desk confirmed it—the cage wasn’t as hidden as I’d hoped. It made my bulge look front and center. Her eyes lingered just long enough to make my skin crawl. I, of course, just pretended everything was fine and nothing was wrong. It was all I could do. But I made a point to stay at my desk all day, busy like everyone else.
The day crawled. I had to sit and pee just to make sure I would not make a mess on myself. But it was more than just Karen that took a longing, hungry look at my crotch. Bengi from the printers did a double take, a smile spreading on his face. Owen from maintenance adjusted himself as he looked at the bounce in my slacks as I walked by. I pretended to not see any of it. Last thing I needed was drama at work.
As soon as the day came to an end, I packed my laptop and files into my leather crossbody bag. I was tempted to run out, but I noticed that the cage gave me an exaggerated, visible swing if I moved too fast. I said my goodbyes and made my way to the car.
I was putting stuff away in the back seat, not paying attention to my surroundings. I had been horny all day—I needed to leave. When I looked over, I saw Karen’s husband looking at my ass intently as he walked up.
Shit, I thought. Let’s roll with it. “Bill, how’s it going, man? Here for the little lady?” I said brightly. He smirked, now looking at my bulge.
“Yeah, you know—a happy wife is a happy life,” he said with that Southern charm in his tone. Bill pulled me into a hug—our crotches pressed together, deliberate, I thought. Fuck! He knows, I thought. I froze in fear, but Bill pulled off quickly and made some small talk before walking back toward the building like nothing had happened.
Good, I thought. He’s just a Southern hugger. He didn’t suspect anything.
I got in the car and sat there before snapping out of it and making my way down the road. Fuck, I was horny, and I had been fighting it all day. Even the speed bumps were stimulating me as I drove away.
The phone rang—an alarm—and it was Jack. He sent me a hello, and I replied, asking how he was doing.
I got three attachments, and my heart skipped a beat. The first was Jack looking at the camera as he sucked on the head of a big black cock, his own cock hard and in hand. Shit. I felt the pain in my groin. I swiped to the second photo—it was Jack on a bed, his neck collared and tied, his arms stretched out and his legs tied to his arms. He looked fucking amazing, his big cock pointing straight up and his pink hole front and center as he smiled into the camera. My heart was racing, and the pain was just barely bearable. The third photo—Jack mid-orgasm, ropes of cum suspended in air—was the trigger. My body betrayed me, climaxing without permission, through the fucking cage. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and open my mouth as I came into my pants. The pain in my groin wasn’t a deterrent—I started sweating, confused over what had just happened.
Panic set in, and I placed my sweater across my legs as I drove on, feeling unsteady.
I was shocked and honestly afraid. Was this normal? I drove straight to the quick mart. I wanted this off.
I pulled in and walked in to see the supervisor there. I asked about Jack, and he said, “He’s off—something about visiting a friend. He’ll be back on Friday.” He noticed the wet spot at the front of my slacks but kept his eyes glued to mine.
I left, and thankfully, my sweater around my waist covered most of the mess.
I got home and found it strange that the guys hadn’t texted me or anything.
I texted Dave: Hey buddy, you there?
Dave replied: Yeah, what’s going on, buddy? Sorry I didn’t text, but I figured you’d keep us updated. We didn’t want to push if things didn’t work out. We know you’ve been through it already.
I texted the following: Dave, let me know if we can talk. I need some help. And I did—I wanted this thing off.
Dave replied quickly: Sure, buddy. I can come over at 7pm. Is that okay?
I said: Yes.
Oh, good, I thought. If anyone knew how to get this off, Dave would. I had seen him with a harness, and he loved wearing leather stuff when we went out to party.
I showered and waited impatiently until the doorbell rang.
“Miss me, buddy?” Dave said as he came in and gave me a bear hug, bringing me close. He reached around and gave my ass a good squeeze—I’m sure he was expecting a slap or a punch to his shoulder, but I did nothing.
He pulled back and looked at my face.
Dave was wearing a workout shirt that showed off his mass and some of the now-popular baby shorts that everybody was wearing, straight and gay, to the gym.
He looked down and stared at my crotch. I was wearing some loose sweats and a muscle shirt.
“Uh…” He paused and looked me in the eyes. “Are you… wearing a cock cage?” His words were measured and laced with surprise.
I could tell he noticed how uncomfortable it was for me to even talk about it. My face flushed red, and I might have been near a breakdown of embarrassment.
“Okay, okay,” he broke the silence. “Show it to me.”
I took a deep breath and pulled my shorts off.
“Now the shirt,” he said, and I took it off.
I was standing in front of my friend with just a cock cage and nothing else.
His eyes looked me up and down intently before he walked me over to the couch, one hand on my shoulder and the other right at my ass, and then sat across from me. “Tell me how this happened.”
I told him it was a sexual thing, meant to heighten the encounter we were planning for Friday, but that I wanted to know if he could take it off. After more questioning from him, I told him how I came with only a semi, and I was sure it was not unhealthy.
He then told me it wasn’t unusual—that he had caged guys before, and they would cum hands-free, sometimes even while flaccid.
“If you’re uncomfortable and Jack’s out till Friday, I can see if I can take it off. I know most of them are tricky to remove, but let me go to my car and see if I have anything—maybe oil to slip it off.”
“Thanks, man. You’re the best,” I said as he walked out.
I watched as he made his way to the carport. He pulled out his phone and texted, then as he moved his gym bag, the phone rang. I was pulling my robe on when I heard Dave laugh and say something: “Yeah, I know. I can’t wait. Be patient.”
I heard him as he was coming up the stairs. He looked happy and excited.
“Okay, man, I wasn’t prepared, but judging by the small tubular key opening this cage would need, I don’t have much to offer other than some mighty slippery oil.”
I tried to joke to defuse some of the stress and apprehension I was feeling. “Did your last date give you a call?” I smirked, as if I knew something.
Dave smiled and said, “Let’s just say me and the baby-faced bartender are close now.” He grinned.
I laughed, but it was more of a nervous laugh. “So it was that good?” I said.
He grinned mischievously. “We are so close now,” before we broke out laughing.
“Okay, man, let’s try and get this thing off. Let’s do this in the bedroom,” he said. “Let’s see if this thing was placed correctly or if we need to rush you to the emergency room to get it off.”
I froze as he said this. It would be the worst thing that could happen.
“I’ll be checking for bruising, cuts, or just irritation. So take that off and hop on the bed—on all fours, my man,” he ordered.
I was looking around as I got on the bed, on all fours, facing away from Dave.
I could see him behind me in the large mirrored wall that served as my headboard. I loved the angles during sex—I loved watching the faces of lust, pain, and pleasure during sex. It was so fucking sexy.
Dave’s focus on my muscular cheeks, a small smirk forming at the edge of his lips—and like I’ve said before, Sam and Dave love my ass, touching it, looking at it, they just can’t get enough of it—I couldn’t help but compare Dave’s lustful looks to the way I watched my own sexual partners. I, too, loved a big, muscular ass. The irony, I thought.
“Okay,” he said as he took his shirt off and poured some oil into his hands. “If you feel any pain, you need to tell me.” I just nodded.
I felt Dave’s thick hands massage the oils into my exposed ass, his hands working expertly around my muscular cheeks, his fingers brushing the mounds of my hole, his thumbs sliding and flickering around as he adjusted his movements, adding oil to the edges of the cage. He was sending tingling sensations to my cock, but I resisted.
I opened my eyes and looked at his reflection—he was shirtless and very much occupied with what he was doing. His face showed real intensity. His chest was a pale white, but the red hair of his chest reminded me of a Viking from some TV show series—strong, thick, and muscular.
“The area between your balls and hole looks a bit red, but it could just be from sitting around at the job,” he said as his hand rubbed that sensitive area.
I just nodded as the sensation was enough to make my cock twitch.
“Okay, here we go,” he said as he dropped the cool oil into my cock cage. The cool, wet feeling made my cock jump to life. Blood threatened to rush in, but I resisted. I closed my eyes and focused.
Dave started working the oils into the cage—only the very top of his finger could touch the skin beneath, and I couldn’t lie—it felt so good. He was rubbing in small circles around my balls and then my shaft. My cock head was now fully covered in oil. So good, I thought.
I felt a jolt of excitement as I felt some pressure on my hole as he rubbed, and involuntarily clenched my exposed hole.
I felt Dave stop. “Did that hurt? I saw you clench your hole,” he said plainly, as if we had talked about these things our whole lives—it was casual. He rubbed my hole with his oiled thumb to relax it.
“Shit,” I whispered, then regained my composure. “No, it just felt strange,” I replied as he applied pressure on my hole as his hands passed it and down to my cage.
“Okay, let’s see,” he said as he rubbed my shaft with a newly squeezed-out, cold, wet glob of oil, rubbing it along my now semi-hard shaft. “Hold on,” he said, pushing my face down on the mattress. “Help me out, Dean. Spread your legs nice and wide. I want to get a nice grip on this fucking cage,” he ordered.
I did as I was told. Shame burned my cheeks—but deeper, under the humiliation, a traitorous thrill coiled in my gut.
I felt Dave grip the cage and yank it down, hoping the oil would loosen it. I felt the slightest slip of the cage off my balls and cock—not enough to hurt too much, but enough to stimulate my cock head just enough.
“Mmm,” I moaned, much to my surprise, before panic set in. He yanked again, and again, I moaned in pleasure. He yanked a third time, and again, and again—several more times. I responded with moans and deep grunts.
I could feel him as he yanked—he blew out some air, and it was just above my oiled-up hole. There was no denying it—I had just grunted and moaned in pleasure in front of my friend Dave, who was just trying to help me. I felt the blood rush to my face.
With my face on the mattress, I looked back between my legs—my friend Dave behind me, both hands gripping the cage, pulling it down, then letting it go, then yanking hard and letting go—from a soft pull to a hard yank. It felt so good.
His thick fingers knotted in my hair, forcing my head up until our eyes locked. “Fuck it, buddy. I got you.” Dave’s voice was low, almost gentle, but the glint in his eyes was anything but. Before I could react, his oil-slicked middle finger pressed against me—I held my breath—waiting, resisting—until his knuckle breached me with a slick pop. My body arched, a broken noise tearing from my throat
A protest dying in my throat as his finger curled just right—a spark of white-hot pleasure searing up my spine. My back arched, a ragged moan escaping me. “No. This isn’t—” But Dave was already finger-fucking me with brutal precision, his grip on my hair keeping me trapped in his gaze.
The hunger in his face was new. I should stop this. Yet every twist of his finger dragged another broken sound from me, my body betraying me with every slick stroke.
“That’s it, Dean, that’s it. Relax that hole,” as Dave’s fat finger dove in hot and fast like a fine piston hitting its target.
After several heart-stopping thrusts and dips into my hole, I felt the unmistakable feeling—I was gonna cum, and it was coming fast.
“Ohhh shit!” I yelled as the first shot dripped out of my cage. My eyes were half-closed, my mouth open as I was swept away in this amazing feeling.
“Fuck yeah, Dean! Let my finger fuck that cum out of you,” he said, his tone the same one he’d used with the small bartender Alan.
“What’s my name, Dean?’ He growled my name like a curse, twisting his finger deeper. ‘Say it like you mean it” he yelled, obviously lost in the thrill of fingering my ass, that ass he had been touching and squeezing and fantasising about for so long.
“Aaaauuurrrggghh! Daaaavvvveeee!” I yelled as the second wave came over me, my body shaking. Dave had his hand tightly gripping my hair, making sure I wasn’t going anywhere. He quickened the pace, and I moaned in response as the third wave of cum came out of me.
“Aaaaaaaasssssshhhiiit,” I hissed, completely lost to the feeling of my hole being used by my friend Dave.
“That’s it, Dean. Give into it,” he yelled. “Squeeze your hole around my finger. Do it.” And to my utter amazement, I did as I was told.
“Fuck yeah,” Dave growled as my legs gave out, collapsing onto the bed. I was still shuddering from my orgasm, my breath ragged and uneven, when he yanked me down by the hips—my ass now hanging off the edge, exposed and vulnerable.
Through the haze of aftershocks, I caught the reflection in the mirror: Dave stripping off his shorts, no underwear beneath, his thick cock already hard and framed by the red curls of his pubic hair. He fisted himself slowly, eyes locked on my wrecked body, and for the first time ever, I saw him. Not just as my friend—but as a man, primal and hungry, jerking off to the sight of me.
A jolt of panic and something hotter spiked in my gut. This was wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t. His grip tightened, precum glistening as he stroked, and I couldn’t look away—terrified, fascinated, turned on in a way that made my spent cock twitch.
“Fuck, Dean, you’ve always had a great ass,” he grunted feverishly as he jerked his cock.
I was breathing hard, still processing the surrender, when his voice cut through the haze: “I’m close! Dean. Spread your ass—show me that pink hole, now!”
A command, not a request.
My body obeyed before my mind could protest. Hands gripping my cheeks, I exposed myself—for him—and watched his face twist as he stroked faster. His grunts turned ragged, eyes locked on my newly fingered hole.
“Here it comes, slut.” His voice was rough, drunk with lust. The first thick stripe hit the back of my head—warm, possessive. “Fuck yeah.” The second splashed across my lower back, and the third…
I tensed as I felt Dave place his cock between my ass and start sliding it along the full length of my crack. “Yeeeesss,” he hissed as he used his hands to squeeze my cheeks shut around his cock.
“Uuuhhmmm,” I groaned in response.
He climbed onto the mattress behind me, his chest burning against my back. My knees wide as he placed his arms under my shoulders to pull me up slightly, I lost my balance, so I reached back with my arms, holding my ankles as he slid and slammed his cock along my ass and sensitive hole. “I got you, buddy,” he whispered in my ear as slap after slap of his hips slammed against me. His rasped, uneven breathing right at my ear as he chased his final release.
My body shaking as Dave lost all control and started slam and slide his cock through my crack with abandon, his cock like a hot spear rubbing my hole over and over again. I held on to my ankles as my cage bounced and slapped. I was lost in pain and pleasure—then I remembered.
How I loved putting my bottoms in the “hooked-in position.” I would brag to Sam and Dave how much they loved it and how they would jerk off to completion as I pounded with abandon. The irony seared me—this was my move, my power. Now Dave’s hands and cock pinned me in place, my grunts echoing the ones I’d once wrung from others
“Ooooo yeah, that ass feels amazing,” he grunted into my ear, snapping me back to reality. Dave sucked greedily at my neck, groaning and grunting as I felt his final spurt erupt onto my ass and down to my legs.
We both collapsed onto the bed, his cock sitting right at my hole, warm and wet. I just lay there, strangely turned on, afraid of how this would change our relationship. Yet I was completely spent, my balls were drained, and I felt strangely relaxed as well.
We lay there, the air thick with sweat and the musk of what we’d just done. Then, like idiots—like *teenagers* who’d just gotten away with something—we started laughing.
Every shaky chuckle made his cock twitch inside me, the tip nudging my hole like it was asking, "You sure we’re done?"
The laughter was raw, half-hysterical. Not because it was funny, but because neither of us knew how else to bridge the gap between, that and whatever came next
“Well, that was something,” he said, breaking the silence, and I agreed. The shower spray couldn’t scrub away the silence. Dave whistled joyfully, casually, nervously even, while I talked about the beach and sports.
“Well, buddy, you came nice and hard.” He placed his hand on my neck, the other on my ass, and gave it a nice squeeze. “And that should at least release the pent-up sexual tension you had there.” He smiled. “The bad news is that I can’t take it off without causing you some real pain. I say just hold out till Friday. You’ll be back to your old self.”
We cracked open beers shortly after and talked, carefully avoiding - it. No mention of what just happened. Too raw. Too fucking strange. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to put words to it.
On his way out, he gave me a huge hug and took the time to grab my ass. “Damn,” he whispered in my ear.
I slapped his hand off, and we play-fighted in fun but awkwardness too.
“Look at the bright side, Dean—at least it’s something new,” he said as he walked out the door. “Oh, wait!” he said, flashing a smile back at me. “Sam owns several cock cages. If you ask him, he might have a round key that fits. You know, if you can’t handle the wait. It’s only Monday, after all—you should be fine, I think.”
I was about to bring up the obvious when Dave said, “And don’t worry—I won’t say a thing. This was a one-time thing, and it’s over.”
I thanked him, and he was on his way.
I walked back in and closed the door behind me. I had just been finger-fucked, and I came. I had been finger-fucked by Dave, of all people, my friend, and the fucker had blown his load all over me, using me like a rag doll—even cumming right over my hole.
No, I thought. It’s this fucking cage. It’s bad enough that I have such a high sex drive, but being caged was making my cock and balls extra sensitive to any attention. This was going to be a difficult week.
I took a cold shower and went to bed, only to shower again at 3 a.m. when I woke up horny and in pain from this damn cage.
When I finally went back to sleep at 4m only to wake with my fists clenched in the sheets, my cage throbbing. Not from pain, but from the phantom weight of Dave’s hands fisted in my hair as he facefucked me without mercy. Fuck!. The worst part? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to punch him—or beg him to finish what he started
What was going on? I thought in a cold sweat.
