Last night was all about me. (I hear you asking if this entire thing is not all about me and I don’t appreciate it, so wipe that smirk off your face.) What I mean is that last night was release night and Graham told me before he left for work that I didn’t need to worry about dinner, that he’d take me someplace nice, which he did.
We went to Swank Puss, this totally hipster upscale joint with the hugest cocktails. I drank mine through the little plastic straw, all flirty-like, and for once he didn’t act like my obvious gayness was offensive to him, not even when I got a teeny bit loud because those cocktails pack a pretty good punch.
No, there was no judgement from him last night, nothing but appreciation. He asked me all the things—like about my work, which we never talk about because it’s honestly a little repetitive, and when I thought Walking Dead had jumped the shark (totally season 8). I told him how Isaac had been perving on my cage and then he totally perved on Isaac perving on it and I perved on him perving on Isaac perving on it and my cage got pretty uncomfortable which only turned us both on more.
And just whatever topic came up, he listened to me, the way I’d listened to him the night before and the way I was listening to him right then, like we couldn’t take our eyes off each other, like the waiter was an intrusion, not a blessed relief interrupting the awkwardness of two people trying to pretend they’re enjoying each other’s company. The whole evening had this shimmering anticipation to it, like we were on the brink of something big, this renaissance of us.
I think we’d both forgotten by then that the cage started as a punishment, and when we got home and undressed and he pulled me in between his legs with that miniature key in his hand, I almost told him not to. Not to unlock me. But I didn’t and then my cock is free and there’s this moment of timelessness where everything hangs in the balance and then my cock jumps up and I jump Graham.
I want him, all of him—his body, his hands, his mouth—all of it on all of me, and I can’t get it fast enough. Graham’s laughing as I shamelessly molest him, humping and grinding and kissing and grabbing, and he asks me how do I want to come?
All the ways. I want to come in all the ways.
Eventually I settle on his mouth. I don’t last long before I’m spilling down his throat and then I’m sort of wishing I’d come where I could see how much it was, admire the volume of a week’s backlog sprayed over his chest. Or at least the sheets.
The volume takes Graham by surprise, I can tell. He gives a good blowjob. I might’ve complained before like he never does anything for me sexually but that’s not true. He’s always been a good cocksucker, and not shy about doing it when I’ve deserved it, so when he chokes I know I fed him a good load.
Graham was still hard, of course, so I asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted to fuck my delectable ass, so I let him do that. Normally I don’t like being fucked if I’m not hard because it feels like being used, but there’s this switch that’s been flipped now and I’m like fuck yeah, use me, Daddy. Use me so good.
My ass has sensation it never used to have, not just my prostrate but every inch. I’m moaning as Graham gives me these sweet deep thrusts that are lighting me up and suddenly my cock realizes it can get in on this party, that all that ass-joy I’ve been experiencing for the last week can be combo’d with cock-joy. It’s a two-for-one party as my cock goes full-on hard and my ass sucks down Graham’s sweet, sweet boning.
My hand finds my cock to give it the few tugs I need to come for a second time and then Graham’s hand is there, gently prying mine free and I think, sure, babe, you do it. But he doesn’t do it. He just holds my hand back by hip and keeps fucking me.
I get this moment of anger, this flash of what I would’ve felt a week or two ago, like why don’t I get to come? I need a hand, then give me a hand. It’s not all about your magic dick, dude.
But my head can’t focus on the anger, it’s so wrapped up in the sensation of cock in ass, those long, deep strokes that hit spots inside me I didn’t used to know I had. My head wants me to stop straining and enjoy, to let my cock go because it’s distracting me from his.
I don’t end up coming the second time. I almost feel like I could, but I don’t. Graham comes and he curls me up into him and kisses me so many times and my hard-on hangs out there between the two of us, so obvious, so red, so needy. And I let it be. I drift off to sleep hard and I wake up hard and I go to work missing the cage.
Now I’m sitting here, at the computer. Hard. That kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it? And waiting. Waiting for Graham, waiting to come, waiting to see how our life will go without a cage in it.