A Bully Caged: Chapter 5

 David and Wes go on a date and visit a gay sauna.

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It's Thursday night. Tomorrow is the last day of school for me and Wes. However, that is exactly the last thing on my mind right now. I tousle my hair, look at it, flatten it, and tousle it again. I fix my shirt because of a tiny wrinkle on my shoulder. My teeth are white, but maybe I should brush them again to be certain.

 

God damn it, I'm a wreck.

 

Being nervous is about the worst thing on the whole planet. Instead of having to sit and deal with whatever the universe actually throws your way, you get to experience the great pleasure of facing each and every potential pitfall and fuck-up could come up. Of course, once you're pulled in that direction, you tumble down the infinite hill of anxiety, cracking your head on every rock and tree on the way down.

 

Usually I don't feel like this, but today is a variation from routine to the umpteenth degree.

 

Ms. Simmons clears her throat from the other side of my door, making me jump while I'm busy fixing my hair again.

 

"You'll have to leave in a few minutes, dear!" She says. I'm glad she's watching the time, but I'm already aware. I've been staring at the clock and counting down the seconds all day.

 

"Thank you!" I say. I can hear the tension in my throat.

 

The air feels stuffy, like the room's been heated and pressurized.

 

I'm ready for my first actual date with Wes.

 

I walk to the kitchen in an automatic, thoughtless way, pushing my heart from my throat, but as soon as I see him sitting at the table drinking tea, I feel it flip. He turns and nervously smiles at me. I smile back.

 

This was not my doing, for the record.

 

My car had finally kicked it this morning after a late breakfast, and Ms. Simmons told me that the only way she's helping me replace it is if I take Wes out on a proper date. Dinner and a walk by the water, she said. Nothing too fancy. Tonight. Less than a days notice.

 

It doesn't matter if we're going to be ordering off the dollar menu though—this is worlds apart from any other interaction we've had.

 

"Ready?" I ask.

 

"It's just dinner and stuff," he says, avoiding my gaze. "Nothing to be ready for."

 

But he's clean shaven, and he smells like patchouli and raspberry. It's a perfume or cologne, and I haven't smelled it before. He put on something new for me. On top of that, his hair was fluffy from being freshly washed, and it looked lighter. He was wearing a white button-down short sleeve shirt and skinny jeans. They're new as well. They fit like women's skinny jeans, clinging to his legs and hips.

 

"Did you bleach your hair?" I asked.

 

"Sun-in," Wes said, blushing.

 

I grab Ms. Simmons' keys from the counter. She's letting us take her car for the night, thankfully.

 

"Let's go," I say.

 

Wes nods and gets up. He reaches past me to grab his wallet from the counter, his arm brushing mine.

 

We're close to one another, and how much taller I am than him strikes me again. Only weeks ago, I dreaded seeing him. Now he looks so small and harmless. His eyes meet mine again, and as he looks up at me, he smiles. It's a genuine, if nervous, smile.

 

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We're sitting across from each other at a vegan restaurant downtown, just having finished dinner. I've never been here, but the plates were large and the servings were small, which generally means that a restaurant is either nice or overpriced. In this case, the restaurant was nice.

 

"Traffic was good," I say. I can't seem to do anything but spout small talk when I'm nervous.

 

"Yeah, and the food was too," Wes says, agreeing. We both look around, trying to avoid one another's gaze.

 

The restaurant is painted a warm white with exposed, natural beams overhead. Crawling plants and vines are placed on various shelves around the dining room, each piece of flora cascading past glowing LEDs. The effect is a subtle green glow that falls over the room. Some bouncy jazz hums in the background. I've never been here, but I like it.

 

"I've been past this place so many times—" I start.

 

"But I never thought I would like it," Wes finishes.

 

"It's different than I expected," I say.

 

"Good different, though," Wes says.

 

"Good different," I agree.

 

The song changes. I recognize this one. It's a cover of Volare. We talk some more, although I feel like the words flow out of me so easily I can't remember what I say as soon as I say it. I pay the bill, and we leave the restaurant.

 

It's not a long walk to the car, but it's a night to take our time. The dusk air is cool compared to the sweltering heat of the day, but it's mild enough that I'm able to roll up my shirt sleeves. It's a quiet warmth. Leaves rustle.

 

"It's a nice night out," says Wes.

 

"It is," I say, and I mean it.

 

"No clouds, but a gentle breeze," he continues.

 

"I fucking hate talking about the weather," I say, shaking my head.

 

"Why?" Wes says. He looks at me as he does, and I can feel those blue eyes on me.

 

"When people talk about the weather, it's just because they don't have anything better to talk about. I don't want to be that person."

 

"Sometimes," Wes says.

 

"Sometimes?" I ask.

 

"Yeah, sometimes," he says. "But sometimes it's because it doesn't matter what you talk about, it's just about who you're talking with."

 

My cheeks burn. "Yeah," I say. "I guess that's true. When did you get all social?"

 

"Ms. Simmons always talks about that kind of stuff."

 

"And you buy into it?" I ask.

 

"Not all the time," he says. "but right now, I do."

 

I close my eyes for a moment and appreciate how the wind folds around me like a blanket. It's warm and thick, but it's soft like satin. "It really is nice weather," I say. "Not too humid at all."

 

"It's a little cold," Wes says.

 

I put my arm around his shoulders, rubbing his bicep to warm him. He's wearing a short sleeve button down, and my fingers dance under the fabric as I caress his soft skin.

 

We don't talk about the weather for a bit, and instead we walk in silence. We walk right past our parking, and we silently agree to extend our walk. I don't take my arm from around him.

 

When we get to the water—there's a walkway by the river. We stop and look at the lights reflect off the water.

 

Wes opens his mouth to speak, but I move my hand to his waist, and I pull him closer. He melts into my arms, and we kiss. His lips are soft, and as they part, his tongue meets mine. He's like the summer air, warm and gentle.

 

Our kiss is brief, and his cheeks are rosy.

 

"Thanks," I say.

 

"I didn't do anything," he says. "You were the one who kissed me."

 

"You looked good, so I kissed you."

 

"Asshole," he mutters.

 

For a moment, I wonder if he's serious. But he's shifting from leg to leg, and his eyes keep tracing across my chest. He wants more.

 

"You can't just be a brat after all that sweet talk, earlier," I say, laughing a bit.

 

"What do you mean? I was just talking about the weather," he says, but his lips turn slightly. He has the same mischievous smile he's had for years—he knows he's playing hard to get. We begin to walk, and I let my hand take his.

 

"Then we'll just go to the car, and the night will be over," I say. I can play his game.

 

"i mean we don't have to leave," he says. "We just got downtown."

 

"Fine," I say. "Then we will go to the car, but our night will not be over.

 

His eyes widen as he realizes what I mean, and he picks up the pace. He wants this as much as I do.

 

"You don't have to hold my hand," he says. "I can keep up."

 

"That's not why I'm holding your hand," I say.

 

He avoids my gaze, but his grip tightens. Our pace is quicker than before.

 

We hurry past the same buildings and landmarks we just lazily walked past. Wes and I have a destination now: each other.

 

When we get to the car, I lead Wes forward a bit so I can push him against the door, and we kiss again. He returns my efforts and bites my lip. He firmly plants his soft hands on my cock, and he is now gripping it and massaging it through my slacks without me even guiding him. Holy shit. I'm in a frenzy, and I drag my hands from his hips to his face, feeling every inch in between. His hips buck, but his hands do not wander. Cars pass behind me.

 

"Stop kissing me," he half-moans. "It's—it's too much."

 

We are not in a private location, but tucked away between two buildings, nobody will see us without us knowing they're there. That being said, this parking lot is well lit, and I can even hear distant voices as people talk up and down the street. I don't care. I grab his shirt and rip it open. He yelps. Buttons bounce on asphalt. His chest is heaving, making his black-colored nipple and bellybutton piercings shimmer under the street lamps like drops of oil. His cheeks are red, just like I imagine mine are. I imagine mine are. Just above his waistband, I see his underwear. They're pink and lacy. God, combined with the skinny jeans, Wes' whole wardrobe screams that he wants nothing but cock.

 

"Shut up, straight boy," I say. In spite of his complaints, I lean in and kiss him again. He sucks on my tongue. The slut doesn't want to admit it, but he loves this even more than I do. Pulling back, I push his shoulder down, and he drops to his knees, pressing his face against my crotch immediately. I'm rock hard, and he caresses my clothed dick with his face, worshiping it through the thin fabric.

 

His big blue eyes meet mine, and with his face still buried in my lap, he looks like a puppy dog.

 

"You have to ask," I tell him.

 

He nods. "C—can I please," he whispers, "please taste you, sir?"

 

I'm breathless, but I nod.

 

He slowly undoes my belt, then my pants button. Already, my cock is straining. He grabs my zipper, and he pulls it down gently, savoring the moment.

 

When he at last reaches my boxers, he hardly has to pull them down before my cock is out and bouncing. The cold air feels good against my aching balls. Wes doesn't know, but I've been saving my cum for him the past few days. As my dick falls, it lands to rest on his cheek. His breath is hot, and I hear it catch in his throat as he sighs.

 

He wastes no time in wrapping his fingers around my shaft and pumping up and down as he deftly takes both of my balls in his mouth at once, swirling his tongue around them rhythmically. His palm rubs on my head and I hear him hum, almost whine, causing a small vibration to reverberate through me. I feel a tingle in my cock already. The motions have become natural to him.

 

"Good boy," I say, running my fingers through his thick hair. "You're my fag, aren't you?"

 

Wes hums again in response, and I grip a fistful of his hair in my hand. He squeaks, but does not stop sucking.

 

"You love this cock, don't you? I ask.

 

Wes nods and begins to pump faster. I swell at his touch.

 

I pull him away by his hair, but he continues to rub my dick. His drool and spit make the wind feel extra cold on my balls.

 

"Open," I say.

 

Wes opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue. I let saliva gather in my mouth before letting it fall from my lips. It lands right on his tongue. He continues to stroke me as he pulls my spit into his mouth.

 

"Now swallow, slut."

 

He does, keeping eye contact with me. His eyes almost look teary. "Yes, sir," he whispers. Even though we are doing this in public, right now it's just me and Wes.

 

I tighten my grip on his hair.

 

"Tell me what you love about dick," I say.

 

Wes blinks and purses his lips for a moment.

 

I pull his hair again. "Tell me, faggot," I say.

 

"F—fuck," he says. "I love the way that it—I love the way it smells."

 

"And?" I ask.

 

"And I love t—tasting it," he groans. My grip is tight enough that his hands have stopped in place and are now trembling. He's solely focused on my fingers intertwined with his hair and the pain I'm causing him.

 

"What do you love about the smell and taste?"

 

"I don't know. I—"

 

"Yes you do, faggot," I interrupt. "What do you love about the smell and taste of cock?"

 

"I—I love the salty taste of sweat," he says.

 

"What else?"

 

"I love the musky, manly smell on you," he groans. I keep my grip on his hair tight, but he starts stroking me again.

 

"Do you love the taste of cum?" I ask.

 

"God, yes," he groans. " I love how it's bitter and sweet at the same time. How it feels on my tongue, and the way it lingers in my throat when I swallow."

 

"Do you want to taste more?"

 

"Yes—yes, please, sir."

 

"Good boy," I say, relaxing my grip and guiding him to my cock head.

 

He is immediately greeted with a large amount of precum, and his eyes flutter as he sucks it down and begins to take my rod between his lips. His face turns bright red with shame as he worships my dick, but he doesn't stop for a second.

 

Fuck, he feels good. Cum is already rising and churning inside of me.

 

Now it's my turn to stifle a moan.

 

Wes swallows before pressing forward, taking my cock deep inside his throat.

 

I loosen my hold and play with his hair as he impales himself on my dick. He pulls back before swallowing me whole again. He repeats this over and over, taking every inch.

 

"That's a good boy," I say. "You're my faggot, okay? You're mine."

 

Wes looks up at me again, his mouth full and eyes wide as he bobs up and down. His cheeks are still scarlet. He tries to manage a nod.

 

I feel a surge of cum press against the dam before it breaks, and I pull Wes down until my cock is resting in his esophagus. The first jet of cum is a small one, but the world crashes down on me with the next rope. I bite my cheek, trying not to cry out. This orgasm is intense, and it feels like each stream of semen is being pulled out of me. After what seems like forever, it stops. I breathe shakily, and I look at Wes.

 

Tears and spit run down his cheeks, and his shirt hangs loosely off his shoulders as his shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath. A small stain of precum is visible through his khakis, and there's a hunger in his eyes. His blond hair is awry, sticking out in a sexy, unkempt way.

 

I slide out of his throat, and drool falls from his chin, landing on his chest. I crouch down, my face only inches from his.

 

"Now," I say, " we go to the second part of our date."

 

I kiss Wes, and this time, he does not complain.

 

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Wes is naked, and his hands move from his cock to his nipples, trying to cover his chastity cage and piercings. His blond hair shines in the low light, and now that his shirt is off, his black chain collar is visible with the small padlock on the end. He fixed himself up in the car, but he's more self conscious than ever now that he's naked. He moves back and forth from one leg to another, sticking out each hip in turn. Even Wes' demeanor, how he carries himself when he thinks nobody is watching, now exudes gayness.

 

A large Greek man passes with a towel around his waist, looking Wes up and down with a bearded smile. He winks, and Wes folds both of his hands to hide his small, caged dick. The Greek man makes no move to cover his own member, and it swells, thick and hairy. It's uncircumcised and bulbous at the tip.

 

"Hello, cutie," he says to Wes as he opens his locker and throws in a towel.

 

Wes is quiet until I nudge him. "Say hello," I say.

 

"Hello," squeaks Wes.

 

The Greek man smiles and walks to the showers, but not before running his hand down to his dick and adjusting it. His locker key, like ours, is on an elastic band, and he places it around his forearm.

 

I turn and finish getting undressed, feeling the dried spit on my balls and shaft from earlier in the night. I'm not going to show Wes of course, but I feel as exposed and nervous as he is. My cock is semi-erect, and my heart beats fast. I quickly lock both of our lockers and place the elastic bands around my arm.

 

I had spent days researching this place, but being here was a whole different beast.

 

We are at a gay sauna about an hour from home, The Steam Palace. House music vibrates through the place, and although we are only in the locker room, it is already markedly different than the ones we both are used to from school.

 

For one, it is bathed just in low light, and there is only a glass partition that separates the locker area from the showers. Wes and I can see a handful of naked men lathering their bodies. Their hands glide across their shoulders and stomachs, soapy bubbles blossoming on their skin. A brown-skinned man with a silver septum piercing is making a show of washing his ass, spreading his cheeks to let the water run between them and down his legs. His cock, which is small and cut, swings as he sways his hips. He has a bush trimmed into a landing strip. Another man, older and gray-haired, is scrubbing his own smooth chest. His dick is shaved, and even flaccid, I can see that he has a massive, veiny member. The third man is the Greek, bearded and decidedly ungroomed. He is swaying to the music and lets the water run down to his dick as it bobs back and forth hypnotically. He's stroking it gently, letting it grow to its full size. I look at Wes, and his eyes are darting from cock to cock, sometimes glancing at mine. Holy shit, the poor twink is pent up.

 

"We're... just here to look," Wes says. "Right?"

 

"That's mostly right," I say. "and to be looked at."

 

Wes swallows.

 

Wes and I have been in a whirlwind since check-in. Going over our IDs and taking the cash had been the least of the front desk worker's worries. He had been distracted checking out Wes. I can't blame him. Wes looked amazing. His toned figure and sharp features made looked beautiful even with clothes on, but knowing that he would soon be nude and exposed was an exciting prospect to both the doorman and me. I made Wes buy a bottle of lube as well, and he kept blushing. He could tell he was being mentally stripped and eye-fucked by both me and the front desk worker, but he enthusiastically signed the entrance form. As soon as he had learned where we were going, his eyes had widened, and any of his usual snark had disappeared.

 

Only a month ago, he was renowned as a soccer star fuckboy, and now he's a caged faggot stuck oggling at dicks without being able to even touch his own. The last vestiges of his straightness are evaporating before my eyes.

 

I place a hand in his ass, and I drag my fingers in a lazy pattern around his cheek. He shivers.

 

"You must be cold," I say. "Let's warm up." I move my hand to hold his, pulling it away from his cage. Even in this light, his balls look flush and swollen. With my other hand, I grab the bottle of lubricant Wes purchased, and I give it to him. I move toward the showers.

 

Wes is silent, but he follows, and as we walk around the glass, the steam hits us directly, gathering in dewdrops on our naked bodies. It's hard to see the others through all the fog. Wes squeezes my hand, and I squeeze his back. He pulls for a moment, and I slow.

 

"I—I don't know if I'm ready for this," he whispers.

 

I turn to him, and he looks small. "Wes," I say in a low, gentle voice. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. If you don't want this—any of this, we can leave. Do you want to leave?"

 

He pauses, biting his lip. Finally, he shakes his head. "Just—just make sure I'm okay as we go along, alright?"

 

I reach forward and touch his hip. He's lithe, and his muscular hip feels good under my hand. I pull him closer to me, and I kiss his forehead. His hand rests on my chest, and he leans into me. "Remember your safeword?" I ask.

 

Wes nods, and he begins gently kissing my collarbone.

 

"Good," I say. "Let me know any time. I'll be sure to check up on you, but let me know any time, okay?"

 

He nods again. "Thank you," he whispers.

 

I nod back, and we stay like that for a moment.

 

As we separate, I can see the showers have cleared a bit, and all three of the men keep looking mine and Wes' way. My cock stirs, and I take Wes' hand, pulling him farther into the showers. "Let's save water and take one together," I say. I turn on the tap, and the hot liquid crashes down on us. My skin stings, but Wes stands on his tip toes and kisses me on the lips. I'm surprised, but I kiss him back. It's a gentle, tender kiss.

 

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you."

 

I'm well aware that we're being watched, and as my hand finds Wes' cage, I can feel his excitement. He's throbbing under the hard cage.

 

"Anything you need," I say as I massage his balls.

 

"Uncage me?" He asks.

 

"Almost anything," I say.

 

He half-laughs, but he's moving his hips in rhythm with my hand, trying to hump his way to an orgasm. Now all eyes are fixed on us.

 

"Fuck," he whines. "I can feel it. I'm already close."

 

I move my hand to his hip and pull him in for a kiss as I continue to fondle him. I've hardly touched him, and he's already on the edge, even in his cage. Apparently voyeurism does it for Wes.

 

"Let's finish washing up first," I say, pulling back. My own cock is erect, but I'm trying to ignore that fact for now. There will be plenty chance to empty my balls later. I grab some soap and lather up, and the other men in the shower slowly pull their attention away from me and Wes.

 

Wes' breathing is shaky, and as he washes, I turn him around and start to rub his back.

 

"You want to leave?" I ask gently.

 

"God no," he whispers. It's only then I realize his shivering isn't from nerves. It's from being so monumentally horny. His cage has a thick string of precum hanging down almost six inches from his cock.

 

I carefully reach down and collect it on two fingers. I can practically see it vibrate with every bass-heavy beat. It's viscous and sticky. I slip my fingers into Wes' mouth, and he sucks them clean while keeping eye contact with me.

 

"Good boy," I say.

 

We finish washing up, and we quickly move on to the next areas with towels wrapped around us. Every man we pass lets their eyes linger on us as we walk, and some say hello. I have Wes walk in front of me so he's in full view. After a brief lap around the facilities, I steer him for the steam room last. I don't want our date night to run too long, and based on what I've heard, the steam room usually has some action.

 

I had heard correctly.

 

We open up the door and a blanket of wet heat unfolds over us. I lead Wes in. The room already has three people in it: a muscular man with five-o-clock shadow is sinking deeper onto the massive cock of a skinny, light brown twink. The muscular man is using the wall to stabilize himself and moaning loudly as he's penetrated, and he looks at us with a deep lust. His wet body hair sticks close to his muscles as he flexes and moves. The twink is biting his lip and taking shallow breaths, trying to hold back an orgasm. The third man, a tall and fully shaved surfer type with long hair, is watching intently. He pinches his own nipples and grinds his hips into the air as he watches the couple, but he looks intently at us as we enter, assessing us and cataloging our bodies in his mind. The men's cocks vary in size and shape, but the surfer's is smallest, four inches long and curving toward his stomach. It twitches as his hands squeeze his chest.

 

We obviously are the youngest two men in the whole building, and that has drawn the attention of any room we have entered. The men all acknowledge us with nods and steady stares.

 

I take the lead and I step up to the top bench on the leftmost wall, pretending not to notice the eyes on us. I drop my towel, letting my hard member sway as it falls. I wave for Wes to join me. He walks carefully, as if he's trying to silence each step even as he takes it, as if nobody will see him if he's quiet. I hold out my hand for his towel. He swallows and pauses before nodding.

 

He slowly unwraps himself while facing me. He's straining hard against his cage, and his whole body is blushing. He hands me the towel and the lube. I put them in a pile next to me. His ass is on display for the whole room.

 

The moaning starts up again as the twink starts fucking the muscular man harder.

 

"You okay?" I mouth.

 

Wes nods, and a nervous smile flashes across his face.

 

I nod back. "Good, then get my cock nice and wet," I say out loud.

 

"Yes, sir," Wes says, trying to be quiet. It's still loud enough for the whole steamroom to hear. He sits on the lower bench between my legs, having to half-turn his body. He parts his lips and immediately takes my cock in his mouth as if it belongs there, swirling his tongue around me in fast pulses in sync with the music. He's making my goddamn legs shake already. He takes no time in getting to a full pace.

 

"Fuck," I groan.

 

Wes slurps down precum and hums, sending a gentle vibration through my shaft.

 

I grab a handful of his blonde hair for the second time that night,, and as he looks up at me again with his blue eyes, I push myself to his throat. I feel the typical resistance and slow down, but Wes forces himself deeper, swallowing my whole dick until his nose is pressed against my trimmed pubic hair. He gags and jolts, but does not pull the cock out.

 

If he wants to go deep, we can go deep.

 

I hold his head down, pushing another impossible inch into his tight throat, and as he looks up at me, I see tears fall from his watery, strained eyes. His lips are flush against my groin.

 

"Good faggot," I whisper, feeling my dick surge in his throat.

 

I let go, and Wes pulls back, gasping for air and coughing. My cock is shiny with his spit, and thick drool is dripping from my balls.

 

"Ride," I say.

 

Wes stands and turns, leaving the tears and drool plastered in his face. His ass shakes as he presents it, and as he moves closer to me, I quickly grab the lube and apply it to my dick. I want to slide right into him.

 

The muscular man and twink have started fucking harder while watching us, and now that they can see Wes' cage and piercings, their eyes widen. The surfer makes eye contact with me and winks as he starts to stroke his cock. The twink reaches around and starts to pump the muscle man's cock. The room fills with deep moans.

 

Wes squats and lines himself up with my cock. My shaft shines and drips with lube, and as Wes lowers himself, I can feel the tip of my dick sink past his tight entrance. He takes in breath sharply and starts to relax. His ass is squeezing me from all sides, resisting. He moves more, letting me into him slowly but surely. I groan. It feels like his ass is trying to milk me dry. Each movement causes him to flex around my rod, accommodating me.

 

Even with the steam, I can feel the warmth of Wes' skin on my own. It feels like we're melting into each other. When his ass cheeks come to rest in my lap, I kiss his smooth shoulders. I can taste the beginnings of sweat. I grind into him, and he squeals. I push even harder, stretching him around me. He quakes, but he doesn't pull a away. I still can't believe it in some ways: Wes has now fully transformed from being my bully to being my fleshlight. Wes getting used to a cock inside of him seemed to take ages at first, but now it's like second nature. He has been reshaped inside and out by cock.

 

Wes starts riding me and moans again, and while using one arm to grip his gyrating waist, I reach around his chest and hold his throat, choking him hard. He gasps without breath. The three men are watching me fuck Wes like a toy, their eyes moving up and down with his bucking hips. His collar tinkles as I fuck him.

 

"Thank you, sir," he rasps. His face is turning red with oxygen deprivation.

 

"Good slut," I say. I already feel the cum in me rising up to fill him, and I try to fight it off.

 

Then the surfer slides closer to us, and he looks at me. The bubble that before has just held me and Wes is broken. His eyes are blue, and the dimples on his cheeks decorate a sharp jaw.

 

"Does he need somewhere to finish?" The surfer asks.

 

I choke Wes harder as I respond. "Ask him," I say, gesturing toward Wes. My cock throbs in his ass, and Wes keeps a steady pace.

 

Wes, while being choked, nods. I can hear his cage rattle as it bounces, and every so often it will brush my arm wrapped around his hips. A stream of precum is trailing from his cock as it moves, like the tail of a comet. He's set to explode.

 

The surfer slips to our feet and reaches forward to feel Wes.

 

Then I decided to be an asshole. "But no touching him," I say. "He's mine. You just get to be where his cum lands."

 

The surfer opens his lips to protest, but his small cock gets harder if anything. He closes his mouth. He squirms, and looks up at Wes. His cheeks are red, and he bites his lip. The surfer reaches down and begins to stroke his small cock again.

 

I'm not sure if it's me dominating the surfer, my possessiveness, or the sheer taboo of fucking in front of strangers, but both Wes and I approach our limits quickly. Everyone in the room is gasping, moaning, or panting.

 

I bite Wes' ear. "Fuck," I say. "I'm going to breed you."

 

"God—" Wes says as he bounces. "Please—please pump me full of cum, sir. Please."

 

As I feel my second orgasm of the night begin to rise to the surface, I feel Wes shake violently. He shoots a hand down, grabbing my leg as he starts to scream. "Fuck me, sir! Fuck me!" He's completely lost in the moment, and, as he says this, Wes' caged dick strains and starts to cum like a fountain. The bouncing causes the first stream to land directly on the surfer's dick, but each following surge becomes less predictable, landing everywhere from his knees to the surfer's perfect hair. Some runs down the cage, dripping down to land on the bench. Wes still bounces back against my cock, grabbing me and trying to force me deeper.

 

Watching this all pushes me over the edge, and I pull Wes as far onto me as I can. I feel the world go numb as my brain is awash in pleasure. I can only feel me and Wes, and I clench my eyes closed. Small pinpricks of light appear as a full body orgasm rocks through me, and while I breed Wes and open my eyes, I see the surfer scooping the load off his own body with his fingers and sucking it into his waiting mouth. A bead of precum is hanging off his dick. He's painted with Wes' cum.

 

I groan, and as my ears stop ringing, I hear the heavy breathing of everyone in the room. The other couple is in full swing, lost in each other and fucking hard.

 

Wes reaches back and rubs my arm as he leans on my rising and falling chest. He turns his head and kisses my cheek. "Again?" He asks.

 

-----------------------

 

The next morning, Wes and I wake up next to each other for school. In the almost-summer heat, we've decided to sleep with only a sheet covering us, and I can see every edge of Wes' naked frame. I reach to turn off my phone alarm, and I see a text.

 

Unknown Number: I know what you two are doing.

 

[IMAGE ATTACHED]

 

I open the picture, and my mouth goes dry. I turn to Wes, who's still in a tired stupor. Once he sees the text and picture, he jolts upright.

 

The picture is of us standing by the water during our date, holding each other and kissing.

 

Link: https://www.literotica.com/s/a-bully-caged-pt-05