Graham says this has to stop. By “this” he means that thing where I jump his bones the second he walks through our door. I say he knows how to stop it, by which I mean he can take the damn cage off. I’ll have a good wank before he ever gets home and not bother him one little bit. Then he says that the cage is a punishment and I say oh yeah, well, it’s one or the other, and you can imagine how the rest of it goes.
The thing is, I get horny. Or not so much get horny as stay horny. And then get hornier. Every day is another day with it all piling up in there—all the come, all the ecstasy, all the want. This is how it normally goes: you get horny, you come, you move on to other things. Like roll over and go to sleep or, hey, isn’t there a game on?
But my life doesn’t go like that right now. It goes like this: I get horny, I get fucked, I don’t come, I get hornier. Is it any wonder I’m trying to get Graham’s dick in my ass whenever I’m around it? And it just feels so fucking good. Not orgasm-good but orgasm-that-doesn’t-peak good. My whole body lights up and all I want is for it to go on and on.
And then come. Except that would spoil it. Or be the best part. I get so confused between wanting this and not wanting it and all I know is that when I hear his key turn in the lock, I’m over there like a flash, practically panting, definitely begging, my shorts off and my ass lubed and raring to go.
Which is the part he says has to stop. Apparently, after x number of days, x being easy to pinpoint as exactly four, it stops being fun.
“I love the enthusiasm,” he tells me. Because damn right. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? “I love the affection, the horniness, all that. But sometimes when I get home I just want to have dinner, maybe a drink, sit and catch up. You’re not appreciating what it’s like for me because you’ve already been home a couple of hours.”
“And you don’t appreciate what it’s like for me to have my fucking dick locked up in a fucking cage by my fucking boyfriend and need to be fucked and be treated like I’m a fucking nuisance for it,” is what I wanted to say. But what happened instead was that I started bawling because I just want him to love me and want me and tell me that I’m gorgeous and sexy, and I don’t feel like any of that is too much to ask except, OK, maybe it can wait until after dinner.
That’s what we ended up agreeing on. There’s only two days left on this term and no way I’m doing anything to put myself back in here once the cage comes off this time, but for the next two days Graham gets to have dinner before I jump him.
In exchange for which, if I’ve been a good boy, I maybe get fucked again at bedtime.
And in three more days, I come.
Only three, I was telling myself, but it just occurred to me—my whole first lockup was only three days.
Three more days. Holy shit. How hungry for cock am I going to be by then?