Page 7 of Caged By the Stranger (Bad Decisions #1)

Staring at the suitcase lying open on my bed, it seems foolish to debate whether to bring swim trunks on this cruise.

The welcome email I received highlighted all the amenities on the luxury yacht, including a pool and two hot tubs.

There’s no way I want to risk the chance of someone seeing the outline of my cage in my trunks.

Yet, the thought of the cool water soothing my nuts might be a welcome relief and help get me through the necessary mingling.

I can’t just hide in my cabin the entire week while everyone else is living it up in the public areas.

I’ll look like I either don’t want the job or I’m some weirdo who hibernates to jerk off. If I could jerk off right now…

Grunting, I adjust myself and toss my trunks on top of a stack of the loosest-fitting shorts I own and zip the case closed. If I weren’t impeded and didn’t hate that man right now, I’d get out my lube, stroke myself stupid, and pretend it was his mouth doing the job.

Is he even thinking about me, I wonder. This is so not fair. He could be out there getting laid right now. Is he enjoying the fact that I have to wait for him to get relief?

A shudder ripples through me, nearly making my knees buckle.

Damn. How can I be lightheaded at the odd punch of arousal from the thought of that level of possessiveness?

It’s so bizarre. I’m as independent as they come.

I’ve clearly been stuck in this thing far too long if I’m getting hot and bothered about possessiveness over my dick.

Flopping back on the bed, I throw my arm over my eyes and blow out a breath of frustration.

That jackass doorman threw me out and told me not to come back when I demanded to speak to the owner.

He wanted to know my complaint. I could have fessed up, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of discovering my predicament.

Knowing him, he’d accuse me of putting it on myself or tell me what the internet said—that I can get it off on my own.

Maybe I can hire a private doctor to make a house call. One who’s discreet, has incredibly steady hands, and can get access to the world’s tiniest grinding tool. The thought of marred flesh at the V of my groin has my stomach churning. I could weep, I swear.

How am I supposed to get through this cruise?

I can barely focus, clouded by desperation and arousal.

All I can think about is my dick…and him .

The strangest part is how sad I feel. It’s a weighty sensation deep in my chest at the realization my dick has been abandoned.

Someone locked it up and threw away the key, like it doesn’t matter or deserve a chance.

It was a good dick. It didn’t deserve this.

If I could at least just get off once before I have to go to the airport in the morning, maybe I’ll survive this trip without looking like I’m constipated the entire time and making a fool of myself.

I’m so sensitive down there that it’s starting to affect the rest of my body.

My nipples have been hard nonstop. When I shampoo my hair, scrubbing my scalp feels almost erotic and has me moaning.

I think this thing is making me want to be touched everywhere else since I can’t do anything with my cock.

That’s not entirely true, though, is it? Some of those forum articles I read said you can still get off while wearing a cage. They called it a dry release. Some described it as less than satisfying, while others said they love it when they hold a vibrator on the cage while…

Ugh. That’s not going to work either. I tried prostate stimulation once in college.

Once was enough to prove to me that trying to jam my finger into my ass wasn’t satisfying.

I went on my merry way with oral and then, after graduation, I finally worked up the nerve to fuck a guy I met at a bar.

People with macho asshat brothers like mine aren’t big on experimenting.

I found what works for me and stuck with it nicely and discreetly until this fucking mess.

I think that’s what makes this so cruel.

I’m a private person. I wasn’t looking for anything kinky.

I wasn’t harming anyone and didn’t deserve to be punished.

All I wanted was some relief the way I like to get relief at a place that supposedly boasts they can provide it.

I think I ask for very little from the world of sex, and now I’m being tortured.

Grinding my teeth, I can’t believe I’m actually contemplating prostate stimulation. I shouldn’t have to, but what other option do I have? I don’t even own a vibrator. Why would I? The only thing I have that vibrates is…

Ah, shit. I didn’t pack my toiletries bag yet.

Shoving off the bed, I grunt at the way my over-sensitized skin feels pressed against the metal bars.

In the bathroom, I cringe at the bags under my eyes in the mirror.

I look exhausted, but at least I’m clean shaven.

Unplugging my razor, I grab my toiletries bag and head back to my room.

I don’t know how in the hell I’m going to get any rest tonight, being this turned on.

It’ll be a miracle if I don’t pass out from sleep deprivation on day one of this stupid cruise.

I can’t believe people on those forums I read said they actually enjoy being in these things.

Maybe that’s because, unlike me, they know they can get out of theirs.

I’m about to drop my electric razor into my bag when I realize for the first time just how perfectly curved it is. It’s a slight angle, similar to the one on the cage.

A wave of heat floods my face over even considering it, while a fire blooms in my belly and spreads lower.

My cock throbs against the cage like it’s begging to make the decision for me.

Some of those guys said they loved how it felt holding a vibrator against their enclosure.

I would love to love anything about my predicament, even for only a few minutes.

“Fuck it,” I grumble, yanking my sleep pants down and climbing onto the bed.

Oh brother, this looks strange—both the cage on my cock and the sight of my shaver in my hand next to it. I need to turn my brain off. That’s the only way I’ll be able to do this.

Flipping the switch, the device buzzes to life. Closing my eyes, my lungs are locked up in anticipation. Will this bring me pleasure or further discomfort?

An embarrassing sound tears from my throat the second I touch the shaver to the frame of the cage. Holy fuck. That feels good.

It’s like my dick has become part of the cage, vibrating right along with the metal. Shocks course through my navel and down my thighs, making my eyes want to roll back in my head.

Moaning, I drop my free hand to the bed to brace myself. Jesus, my thighs are quivering. It’s unbelievable—I think…I might actually be able to come.

I’m so hard now, my tip is pressed up against the end of the cage, nearly bulging out of the opening.

It should be obscene, but the longer I blink through the sensations of rapture, the more the sight turns me on.

A cock—a bulging, pressurized cock, pleading silently to come.

If my nuts draw up any higher, I might pass out.

“Come. Please. Please come.”

How those are words leaving my mouth, I don’t understand. I never talk when I masturbate. I barely even talk when I’m with a guy.

That delicious buzzing is criminal. I can feel it all the way down to my toes like a string is connected between my cock and my appendages. I have to be close. I have to. I can’t take the pressure much longer.

I thought it was just my thighs that were quivering, but I realize it’s because I’ve been trying to hold still and not look like a feral animal with blue balls.

I give up the fight and let my hips rock.

It’s so bizarre. Thrusting like I’m fucking isn’t going to help me achieve release, but instinct has taken over, instinct and a week of being deprived of release and teased to the point of torment.

“Come on. Uhn. Come on,” I grunt, gritting my teeth through the tightening pressure.

I can feel every centimeter of the cable around my sac, cinching my swollen flesh tighter.

Its cruel message is ‘ no ,’ while my body is screaming ‘ yes .’ I freaking sound like I’m winded, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

All my muscles are locked up the way they usually get right before I release.

I have to come soon. Any second now. Even my ass muscles are clenched in anticipation of the impending glory.

Kneading my fingertips into one cheek, I grip a handful, hoping to alleviate at least one point of tension in my body.

My hips jerk like I have no control over them. My pucker twitches so violently, I slam my eyes shut.

Shit. My eyes just crossed from touching my ass.

That’s…so fucking weird. I’m not an ass guy.

This has to stop before I either pass out or my nuts burst, but not in the good way.

Sucking in a breath, I ease my index finger lower.

I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this.

I know it’s not going to feel good, but there’s this incessant hungry need growing inside my hole.

Grazing the pad of my finger between my cheeks, a loud moan falls from my lips.

“Aw, fuck. Yeah.” They’re hopeful words, encouraged by the jolt of bliss that charges through me at that simple touch. “Please,” I add, because apparently, I don’t care what comes out of my mouth anymore.

Scrambling for my nightstand drawer, I grab my bottle of lube.

Fumbling it open with one hand, I don’t dare release my grip on the shaver and the cage.

With my luck, stopping would send me into some further kind of delayed release effect from this cage.

The liquid squirts all over the damn place, dribbling down my hand and onto the sheets.

If I don’t get this thing off me by the time the cruise is over, I’m going right back to Illusion and waiting outside the door until they let me talk to the owner.

Finger slick, I pinch my eyes closed and try to focus on the pleasure and not the memories of discomfort this once brought me.

Pressing against my ring, it’s strange how hot it feels against my fingertip.

It’s strange how much it feels like my digit could be a thin cock.

It’s even more strange that there’s this gnawing ache deep inside me, like it wants to feel a thin cock reach out and touch it.

Blowing out a breath, I press back onto my fingertip on another animalistic thrust of my hips. Too animalistic…

“Uhn… F-fuck. Ah!”

Hot waves of breath flood from my open mouth like I’ve just run a sprint.

I feel it. I can feel my prostate and let out a delirious sound, almost like a laugh.

Vibrations in the front and heaven in the back—this is beyond surreal.

I don’t dare open my eyes, not that I’d be able to see what I look like locked up while impaled on my own damn finger.

I’m beyond caring because I think I’ve finally found the secret to my success.

All I hear for the next few minutes is buzzing and unholy wanton sounds that don’t sound like they belong to me.

My hand is starting to cramp. I can feel a sheen of sweat on my chest and at the small of my back, but I let my body do what the urges demand.

Riding and buzzing. Buzzing and riding. It’s hell, and it’s the edge of a bliss I might actually kill for.

“Yeah. Please! Please!”

Some part of my hazy brain comprehends the complete neediness that’s taken over me.

The pitiful desperation is something akin to submissiveness.

There’s no one here to be submissive to but the just-out-of-reach pleasure.

Yet even that stoic shred of me that’s still somewhere online is forgiving.

The needier I sound, the more I give over, and the closer I feel to coming.

The further away from my stressors. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this… light.

My back arches as though something’s possessed me. The cage bucks in my grip. I open my eyes, but my vision is blurry as a wave of pressure rushes up through my cock and my gland spasms against my fingertip.

It’s an orgasm like I’ve never experienced. There’s a plume of pleasure in my channel that has me twitching and trying to see straight. And yet…my cock is softening like its job is done. I can feel it easing away from the end of the cage. I don’t understand…

When my eyes finally focus again, I click the shaver off and let it fall from my numb hand. Precum is dribbling from the end of the cage into a small pool on my sheets. Something crippling grips the pit of my stomach and my heart. It feels…a lot like sadness.

Fuck. I’m soft. It’s over.

It can’t be over. That can’t be all there was.

And yet, it seems like it would be greedy to want more, because that was something epic.

My weak legs collapse, leaving me sitting on my heels as I stare at my entombed cock and my swollen sac.

A sound pierces the silence. I ignore it the first time while my brain tries to make heads or tails of the bliss I just experienced and how it can be followed by this soul-crushing sensation of disappointment.

I weep again with more volume, and a tear tracks down my cheek. It’s not disappointment that’s imprisoning my emotions right now. It’s…yearning.

I need… him .

I can’t fucking explain it. Fifteen minutes ago, I would never have thought those words.

Whatever trying to achieve release in this stranger’s cage just did to me, however, is pummeling me with the cruelest sensation yet.

If I thought I was breathing hard a moment ago, this epiphany has me damn near hyperventilating now.

Because… because some foreign part of me feels like it wouldn’t mind weeping and begging all night if it meant some knight would rescue me from his shining armor.