The day it all ended. Part 1

The day it all ended Part 4

It had now been four weeks since my life had changed. I no longer kidded myself that Brett had any plans for me other than torture. This wasn't something he was getting over - it wasn't a joke or a prank. I was so fucking horny - I hadn't been able to jack off for nearly a month, while I was firmly in his control, with my dick locked in a cage I couldn't remove, and the threat of blackmail due to his constant photographing of me in compromising, naked, locked up positions. My dick dripped all the time. And I mean all the time - have you ever gone four weeks - that's 28 days - without blowing a load? It was all I could think about. I began to obsess over my cock every minute of every day. My balls ached with a deep need to empty.

My daily routine had become, well, routine. At Brett's orders I was expected to be up at 6.30 every morning, and to go and make coffee and breakfast in my "uniform", which was me wearing nothing except this piece of shit thing on my dick, drawing attention to my daily-shaved crotch. Most days Brett would mope into the kitchen and silently eat breakfast while I stood around silently.

The worst mornings were when he had someone staying over, generally a twinkish young thing whose attention he had caught with his outward masculinity, really fucking tight body, and a giant cock that swayed heavily when he walked naked and filled up a pair of underwear impressively. These mornings involved gawking and laughing as I was forced to stand in the corner, pretending my dick wasn't oozing while two hot men who had just spent the night fucking were recounting what they did, and then laughing at my predicament, often physically apparent as my dick tried to get hard, pulling on my balls and making them ache.

After breakfast I was allowed a shower, during which I shaved over where my pubes used to be. I then went to work but was expected back at 5.30 in the evening with food I bought on the way home, in my uniform, in the kitchen. Brett, who worked from home, was a stickler about this as he liked to eat early. The one day I was late he grabbed my balls as I came in the door and squeezed them so hard, I collapsed; it was effective. I was never late again. The physical threat on top of the ownership of my dick and the photographs meant I stayed in line. I did what Brett said, and I was totally powerless to do anything about it. I never left the house except to go to work or the shops, and when I wasn't cooking of cleaning I stayed in my room, hoping that somehow, I could get myself out of this shitty, shitty situation.

And then one day, as I was making dinner, he walked into the kitchen and out of nowhere asked me if I wanted to cum. I wasn't sure how to respond because Brett had fooled me with this once before. "DO YOU WANT TO CUM, FUCKER?" he yelled, while I stood there dumbfounded. "Yes! Yes!" I responded, "please for the love of god can I cum PLEASE!"

"Follow me," he responded, and we walked into his room. He bent me over his bed and cuffed my hands to his bedpost. "Thank you, Brett," I said, "I am so desperate to get out of this cage it is killing me. I'm so fucking horny. I am so desperate to cum."

"What?" replied Brett, with a full-of-shit look on his face. "You misunderstand. You will cum. It's good for you. But I'm not taking the cage off." He grinned, flashing his pearly white teeth at me, and pulled out a small vibrator, which he turned on. I was stuck half bent over with my hands cuffed to the middle of the bedpost, unable to really move much. Brett reached through my legs, pulled the whole cage with my dick and balls back through, forcing me to bend over further, and held the vibrator to the cage, which immediately stimulated my dick, which began dripping precum like a soft-serve machine.

"You see, fucker, if you cum this way then the cage never, ever needs to come off your tiny little dick. Ever."