Page 36 of The Club

He passes out.

***

Rocco straightens from his slump against a wine rack as I emerge from the hidden passage into the cellar. His expression is grim, his body language heavy.

“Cleanup?” he asks dully.

“Just fuck off,” I tell him.

He blinks. Then the biggest, dumbest smile spreads across his broad face.

I narrow my eyes.

“I’m gonna get some food,” he says, heading to the door into the house, still smiling like a fucking moron.

I glare at his retreating back then make my way to the steps and the exterior door. My shoes crunch over the gravel as I return to my car and pop the trunk. I rummage in the bag until I find what I’m looking for.

I make my way back to the cell.

Rafael hangs limp in the cuffs, his head bowed. I walk up to his still form. I fit the straps around his hips to settle the cage in place, then I slip his cock inside it. I close the ring around his cock and balls.

I crouch down and reach between his legs for the remaining strap, fitting it between his ass cheeks. I draw it along his taint to attach to the ring. I fit the lock in place and turn the key. I put the key in my pocket.

Still crouching before him, I admire the sight of his cock within the bars of my cage. I admire that beautiful, long, thick shaft and plump head curving over his balls. I cup them and stroke them like I did when I sucked him.

He’s gorgeous, Rocco said.

Yeah. He is.

And he’s mine.

THIRTEEN

Rafael

The first thing I’m aware of is arousal and pressure on my dick like it’s being squeezed. Something’s wrong. It’s like my cock is trying to get hard but can’t.

I reach under the sheets, vaguely aware that I’m in my own bed with daylight spilling into the room. Panic spikes when my fingers encounter something metal on my dick. I throw the covers aside and stare down the length of my body.

“What the fuck?” I mutter and grab at the chastity device. My cock is bulging against the bars. I gasp at the brush of my own hand. My dick is desperate to harden, the sensation hugely intensified by the restriction.

Jesus fucking Christ, what is going on?

A dozen images and impressions try to gather into a picture, but I can’t really think about anything other than the fact that my dick is locked—with a goddamn padlock—into a cage. This isnotmy kink.

The straps around my waist are a pliable plastic, but cutting them won’t get me out of the cage, not with the ring around my balls.

I sit up, furious, and fiddle with the padlock. It’s small. It could be cut off with the proper tools.

I notice a piece of paper stuck behind the strap at my hip. I pull it out and unfold a note bearing a slanting handwriting.

If you remove it, I won’t fuck you for a week.

I stare.

Then a smile spreads slowly across my face. I’m not yet thinking about how this came about. The pieces of memory are fragmented, not yet slotting together.

I’m still pissed about the cage—I donotlike denial, and that’s what this is—but it’s a promise too.

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