Don't... (5 page)

The voice shouldn’t have shaken me, but it did, and I spun around looking for the source. “Enjoy watching me jack off, you fuck?” The thought pissed me off, but even that was lost to the blush on my cheeks. Yeah, could I blush. I grabbed the sheet off the floor and wrapped it hastily around my waist. “You really don’t want to piss me off, mate,” I said coldly, although my own question stung me painfully in the ass; what the fuck could I do? I wasn’t self-conscious over my body, but I couldn’t fight thin air, I couldn’t fight what I couldn’t see.

“Don’t...”

I froze.

“...look in your bottom drawer, Jack.”

I looked to my left and my bedside unit stole all of my attention. It was like having a huge kick-ass spider in the room. Nothing else existed, just you, it, the possibility it was going to move at any point, grab your sofa, and claim your gaff as its own with these big
fuck you
signs attached to all eight legs.

I wasn’t scared of spiders. I sure as hell wasn’t scared of my bottom drawer. But there, scratching. That feeling of spiders crawling over my skin, of needing to itch.

Don’t...

I pulled open the drawer, giving a deep sigh and brief close of eyes as I felt the weight of my drawer in my hand. It took me a moment to register that a small grey box, roughly about the size of a slim watchcase, glared up at me. A yellow sticky note was tagged to it.

Don’t...

I groaned.

...open me.

Don’t-don’t-don’t-don’t oh....
One hand fisting my sheet, the weight of the drawer felt heavier and heavier in the other.
Don’t....

A tug at the case, I pulled it free and threw it on the bed (spiders, real big fucking spiders). Glaring at it for all of two seconds (I knew because I fisted them into my sheet, lengthening each one as long as I could, one second... one and a half, one and three-quarters, two...), then the inevitable: don’t. I flicked the clasp and opened it up.

Inside was the cruellest-looking torture device I’d ever seen, and I’d seen a few. Picking up the slim black case, I saw a penis-shaped cage, just criss-crosses of silver that would leave parts of the cock visible when worn, all attached via discreet hinges to this silver ring that had a small padlock and key, no doubt to lock everything in place and stop the cock falling out.

A fucking cock cage. It looked painful; painful with a huge side order of debasing. The ring looked too small to get over my balls, let alone my cock through and into the cage.

Again—why the fuck did I stand there considering it?

“Don’t...” His soft voice. I swore he was over my shoulder whispering that in my ear, because I shivered, his voice so fucking calm.

“Don’t what?” I snapped.

“...wear it for me, Jack.”

I let out a breath, hating how it itched like hell waiting, then that release of pressure.

“Careful, Jack. You’re getting hard.”

I’d let the sheet fall to my feet and my cheeks burned. Breathing, just light, dusted the room; I knew it was his, but mine matched it until I couldn’t define who was breathing for whom.

“It will hurt, Jack.” His voice was a little lower, almost seductive, driving me fucking nuts. “Don’t... control it.”

“I don’t know how,” I snarled, the hopelessness real lousy in my voice.

“Control gained through rhythmic breathing, Jack. You don’t think I could come up with something far worse for that fine body? You don’t think I know you? That all it would take would be a message in the right inbox to bring you to your knees, bring your business down if you don’t... control it.”

Business? What the fuck? Picking up the cage, unlocking the padlock and separating it in to two pieces, I followed his quiet instructions. With the ring held closest to my sac, I took my left ball and gently eased it through the ring. The metal was cold, causing my balls to instantly retract, and I swore, thinking it had been kept in a deep freeze somewhere to create that very reaction. Ignoring it as best as possible, I worked my other ball through and felt the ring almost choke my sac as it settled around the base. How the hell was I supposed to get my cock through that too?

I figured it out for myself and, keeping my head down, I bent my cock in ways contortionists were never taught, all so I could push the tip of my cock through the already packed ring. I was on automatic, slipping into work-mode, concentration and a line of sweat marking my forehead in different ways as I figured out how things fitted together.

Feeling tight to the point of uncomfortable at the base of my sac, I slipped the silver cage over my dick, and locked it securely into place. The tight space between ring and cage meant my balls were packed tight against the cage, all to stop my dick slipping out.

“Looks sexy, Jack. Real fucking sexy.”

“I catch you on my CCTV, your ass is done for,” I said quietly. But I was too distracted to carry through on that threat. It looked weird, my cock all encased in silver, visible in places as my dick pushed against the casing, my balls bound tight against it.

“Hang on.” I tugged at the silver casing but couldn’t pull it off without using the key. “How the fuck do I relieve myself?” There was a soft chuckle, and I glared around the room. “Don’t take the fucking piss.”

“The shaft is designed for any needs you have, Jack. Relax.”

Sure enough, feeling at the far end of the casing, there was a larger space for nature’s call. But I didn’t relax.

“Twenty-four hours, no longer,” said the voice. “And, Jack?”

“
What
?” I spat.

“Night, gorgeous.”

I didn’t feel like he gave me any privacy; he’d just simply let me know he didn’t want to talk anymore. The hairs on my neck were still pricked, every muscle tense, eyes and ears alert for any other sounds. There was a faint breathing. Maybe? I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t tell with pressure pushing through my head and giving me that whoosh-whoosh sensation in my ears.

Grabbing the sheet, the blush infecting the rest of my body, feeling the silver shaft slap my thigh as I got in bed, I pulled the covers over my body, pillow over my head, and tried to sleep.

Hands instinctively sought my groin as I woke crying out. Sheets were wrapped tight around my waist, and I blindly pushed them down as I curled to my side, pulling my legs up into a defensive position I hadn’t used since I was a kid feeling his first kick between his legs and needing to cradle the damaged goods. Gray and some soft unknown voice had pushed into my dreams and played devil with my morning wood. A normal reaction, but now it felt like my shaft was compressed between a vice and kiln, hot-headed need squeezed so tightly into the cage my cry was the only stress giver in order to release the pain.

Hurt. It fucking hurt in ways I never wanted to experience again.

“Don’t—”

“Stop it.” I cried into my pillow, muscles straining in my neck and face heating from the humiliation; he knew—he fucking knew I hurt because of the hardness going on between my legs; that his culling had kicked in. I thought nothing could top being caught jacking off. Yet this.... I held back tears as I gripped the warmth of the cage, needing desperately to feel my own cock in my hand but with no mind left to know where I’d put the fucking key.

“...control it.”

Another cry, I writhed and curled into a tighter ball. “It fucking hurts too much, you bastard.”

“Control. Pleasure is forcing pain. Take away the cause, cancel the effect. Don’t... fucking... control it.”

“You better pray I don’t catch you on that fucking CCTV. I’ll—”

“
If
you catch me, Jack. Your security is pointless without a face-to-ID check.”

That was all the fight I could manage. Chin to chest, I blew deep breaths and tried to concentrate on the rhythm of breathing, just ignore the heat between my thighs. Instinct wanted to rip the cage off, stop its asphyxiation of my cock, but now I couldn’t even remember what a key looked like. Too many stars danced around my vision, too much heat, too much blood bubbling between my thighs, too much need to slide my hand down my cock.

“Coil springs on a Land Rover 110. Don’t... tell me how you replace them.”

“What?” I forced out.

“You heard what I said.”

He knew my profession,
that
registered somewhere among the chaos and was enough to throw a little cold water on the fire. Enough to force my head into gear and recite the process in my head.

“No. Out loud. Don’t... Jack.”

The mechanics fell from my lips before I knew what I was doing. His calm voice interrupted in parts, inquisitive at times, calming the next. Everything began to ease; I began to breathe. The restricted blood flow between my thighs had left a bad ache in its wake, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. His calm voice broke my groans, and I found myself going through the whole process backwards, naming each part and stating its relevance. I’d used that technique enough times with my trainees; having someone oversee me do it had my body cooling to arctic temperatures and body parts more than unwilling in the sex department.

Eventually, my body uncurled, relaxing into the bed with a more insistent morning need to piss taking over everything else.

“Better?”

I frowned into my pillow. “I—”

“What, Jack?”

“I need to go to the bathroom.” What else did he know—who else did he know? My work colleagues? My father? Mother? People from this new Strachan deal I was working on? Webcams meant one major fuck-up for me on his part; everything could be spread over the Internet. I hated the fucking Internet.

I threw the covers off and covered my groin as I got off the bed. It was a stupid reaction, covering up; he’d seen nearly everything I had to offer, but it gave me some comfort as I headed for the bathroom.

Relieving myself was just as cheek burning as I stood there holding that silver casing, waiting for the burn to push through the soreness going on with my cock. But the worst part came in the shower. Did cock cages fucking rust? I looked down. Yeah. Just how fucking stupid would I feel facing the doctor and asking for a tetanus jab while explaining the weird shit I’d gotten myself into?

At least a long shower had me more than willing to face the day in the garage as I stepped out, and—

Shit. I stopped wiping the towel against my abs. Work hadn’t occurred to me. I had to go out in public with this thing on. I’d never be able to look anyone straight in the face. Not Steve, not without pissing humiliation over the floor, and all the other guys? Sue? Fucking Sam?

And fuck rusting, what about welding? I had a big weld job on today and sparks flew in the literal sense. Melted through clothing, burnt skin. What if?

I’d have to run with the idea that these things came all rust and weld proof. The humiliation I couldn’t get away from.

Back in my bedroom, I slipped boxers and jeans on before grabbing a fresh T-shirt. Sorting through my coveralls, I chose the loosest pair possible (brake cables weren’t the only things I’d be adjusting today, so discretion was the key). T-shirt and coveralls in-hand, I paused by the computer desk, looking at the Polaroid, fingers digging hard into my palm. Fuck it. I didn’t need to straighten it, the need to eat burying anything else as I headed down for some breakfast. Seems I could eat through my shame.

I headed through to the kitchen, poured some cornflakes into a bowl, and sat at the breakfast bar in just jeans, the cool tiles under my feet. Part of me was semi-conscious that someone might be watching, but by my second spoonful, all uncomfortable issues were all but forgotten about. If the guy kept his distance from me, fair enough. If not? Well that would be just fucking peachy in my book.

The vibrating of mobile phone on wooden stairs interrupted my trance and, breakfast bowl and spoon in-hand, I went on through to the hall remembering it was my usual place to throw it. Mobile didn’t exactly mean I got to take it with me. A look at who was calling, I said, “Steve, what’s up?”

“Jack, are you on your way in yet?”

With the mobile balanced between shoulder and ear, I took a spoonful of breakfast. “Uh-uh.” I hoped it came across as a no.

“Good. Can you drop by Nissan and chase up those spares for me?” Paperwork was shuffled about. Was he in already? “Bastards are giving me bullshit over the phone, and I’ve got two returning MOTs booked in for today that need those parts. Bloody Mustang job is due soon too, and we’ve still got nothing from the supplier there.”

Anything to delay actually making an appearance. “Sure,” I let slip between bites. “I’ll get on to the supplier too.”

“Thanks. You up for doing one?”

“What?”

“An MOT?

“Oh, right. I’ve an exhaust change, full service, and weld job on for today. Not to mention fixing that bloody track on the roller door in unit four.”
One garage spread over four units, what the fuck was I thinking?
“I’ll see if I can give you a hand, Okay?”

“Good, good. By the way, Sam’s pulling a flanker and saying he’s not up to full steam.” Steve drew a sharp breath. “He’s in and needing to stay and get his attendance, but he looks like shit, Jack.”

That didn’t improve my mood. After all the jerking around that had gone on yesterday. “What’s his problem this time?”

“Hmm, best explained when you get here, I think.”

If it was enough to put Steve on a downer, it had to be serious. “Okay. Put him on light duty. If he can manage to hook-up a few extra fans to help ease the heat on the guys—”

“Already on it.” He sounded a little relieved. “You sure you’re okay about those parts? I’d ask one of the other apprentices but—”

“No. It’s fine.” More than fine. “I’ll be about an hour. Just ask Sam to look after Mr. Matthews. He’s booked in with me for eight.”

“No problem. Will do.”

I slipped the phone into my jean pocket and finished up breakfast.