Page 29 of Taste Test

My mind was racing with questions I wasn’t sure I should ask. Were Kieran’s feet clean when Jared did this? Did they ever try anything else? Did he suck Kieran’s cock?

Almost as if he was reading my mind, Jared spoke again. “And no, we didn’t do anything else, if that’s what you’re thinking. My interest in guys is strictly below the ankle. And it’s only very few guys who do it for me anyway. Has to be the right feet, you know?”

He paused, his hands resting on my soles.

“Feet like yours,” he said in a gravelly whisper.

“Oh dear.” I forced a laugh. “Guess I’ll have to start wearing socks to bed.”

“Nah, socks won’t save you. You wear those little ankle ones, right? I’d peel them off in two seconds flat.”

“Then I’ll get the thick woollen ones. With the stupid Christmas patterns.”

“Better make it two pairs, mate. And maybe duct tape.” He chuckled, thumbs pressing into my arches again. “Or you could just get some of those massive fluffy slippers. Proper nana gear. Bet you’d look hot as hell stomping round in those.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Anyway, you don’t need to stress. I’m not about to ambush your feet in the middle of the night. But if you offered them… that’s different. You’d fucking love it too. You’d act all reluctant for five seconds, then melt the second I got your toes in my mouth.”

“You’re full of it.”

“Then let me prove it,” he said. “Not right this second. Your feet are covered in oil. But later… we could put a movie on. We can chill on the couch, you can swing your feet up on my lap, and I’ll show you just how good a toe-job feels.”

“But it’s Saturday. Aren’t you going clubbing?”

“Not if you’re offering me your feet.” He said it simply, like it was the most obvious trade in the world. “Beer, Netflix, your toes in my mouth. That’s a better night out than any club in town is gonna give me.”

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. I’ll skip the club. Skip the sweaty strangers and overpriced drinks. If you’re down, I’m yours for the night.”

“You’re saying you’d rather suck my toes than get laid?”

He laughed. “There’s no guarantee I’ll get laid if I go out. But there’s a guarantee I’ll get quality toes if I stay in.”

Liar , I thought. If anyone was guaranteed to get laid on a night out, it was Jared.

“What do you say?” he asked. “I’ll give you the full toe package. I’ll even let you choose the movie.”

I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no either.

I just stared at the floor through the cut-out in the massage table, waiting.

Part of me kept bracing for him to laugh it off.

For the inevitable gotcha! or the classic just kidding, bro that would snap things back into their usual shape. But the punchline never came.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know this about you,” I said.

He chuckled, this time a bit sheepish. “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly pub chat, is it? ‘Oi lads, who else here’s bi for feet?’” He worked his thumb along the curve of my instep. “But I dunno… we’ve gotten closer lately. Feels like I can share more shit with you.”

And that, somehow, hit harder than the toe-sucking offer. I’d always assumed Jared Sutherland was an open book. But apparently there were still pages I hadn’t read.

He let go of my foot, oiled up his hands again, and started working on my thighs, his grip both firm and careful. The oil was warm against my skin, and I could feel myself relaxing again.

His hands moved higher, fingers digging into the muscle just above my knee, then working their way up. Strong thumbs pressed into the meat of my thigh, finding knots I didn’t even know were there.

“Your hamstrings are proper tight,” he said, fingers kneading higher up my thighs. “When’s the last time you did any decent stretching?”

I was about to answer when his hands slipped beneath the edge of the towel, fingers working dangerously close to territory that made my breath catch.

“This is getting in the way,” he said matter-of-factly, tugging at the fabric. “I can’t work your glutes properly with it there.”

Before I could protest, he’d whisked the towel away entirely, leaving me completely exposed. My first instinct was to tense up, but his hands were already back at work, palms pressing into my arse with confident strokes that made rational thought impossible.

I closed my eyes again and let myself enjoy it whilst I pictured a teenaged Jared on the floor of Kieran’s garage sleepout, sucking long toes whilst he jerked off.

My school years hadn’t been that gay, and I was gay!

Yet apparently our school’s supposedly straight heartthrob had spent two years having regular foot worship sessions with a male classmate.

And that’s when my cock tried to respond to my dirty imagination but was met with the unforgiving plastic of Dash’s stupid cage. I hissed involuntarily as the thing pinched.

“You alright?” Jared asked, his hands pausing. “Am I hurting you?”

“You’re not hurting me,” I said, then quickly added, “I’m fine.”

Thanks a lot, Dash, you absolute knobhead, I thought as my trapped dick throbbed against its plastic prison. Your joke gift is currently crushing my cock whilst I’m getting a massage from a rugby god.

I barely had time to recover from the throb when his hands suddenly spread my buttocks apart. I could feel the cool air licking my arsehole. I tried not to think about what he could see, tried to focus on the massage itself rather than the vulnerability of my position.

But his hands had stopped moving and I could feel him staring, and the silence stretched on long enough to make me squirm.

“Are you staring at my arsehole?” I whispered into the face cradle, words I never thought I’d say to a flatmate.

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I can’t believe you’ve had a dick go in there.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Random much.”

“Sorry. It’s just that it looks so tiny. And tight. I can’t imagine something big going in there without doing damage.”

“Who said any of them were big?” I joked.

“Fair point.” His hands resumed their work, letting my cheeks fall closed again as he moved back to safer territory on my lower back. “Still, it must hurt like a bitch taking a dick inside your body. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Lube and patience.”

It was odd, having this conversation while naked and exposed, but also not odd at all.

This was Jared. Straight, rugby-mad Jared.

A bloke I’d seen demolish a whole meat lovers’ pizza in eight minutes flat, who left his muddy boots by the door and his sweaty socks in the lounge.

And here he was asking about dicks up my arse with the same blunt interest he’d use talking about a shoulder injury.

Odd, but not odd. At least not when it was him.

A few minutes passed with just the sound of oil and breath between us.

Then:

“Can I look at it again?” he asked. “At your arsehole?”

“Okay,” I said, because I’m a bloody idiot.

His hands grasped my buttocks again, opening me up like a book.

“Can I touch?”

“If you want,” I said, more breath than language.

His finger slid down, through the shower-moist hair, and pressed lightly against the ring of my arsehole. He made a slow circle with his fingertip, and I sucked in breath. My cock tried to swell but was once again restricted by the cage, and I had to grit my teeth against another hiss of pain.

Despite it being the softest of touches, the intensity of sensation was almost painful, as if he were drawing the blade of a knife rather than his finger over my skin. Every nerve ending seemed to light up under that gentle exploration.

“I still can’t get over how dainty it is,” he said, stroking the surface. “How many guys have had the privilege of being allowed inside?”

“A few.”

“A few? What’s a few? Three? Ten? Fifty?”

“Not fifty!” I shrieked.

“Sorry. How many?”

Normally I wouldn’t have minded answering that question. But it’s a bit different when the person asking is staring directly at your arsehole whilst your dick is trapped in a plastic cage.

“Four,” I whispered. “Four different guys.”

“Four? That’s it? I thought gay guys were supposed to be slutty.”

“Not all of us are sex maniacs.”

His finger continued its gentle exploration, mapping the sensitive skin and moist hairs lining my trench. “What’s the biggest cock you’ve ever taken? Because this looks like it could barely fit a pencil.”

“The biggest was probably seven inches. Maybe a bit more.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. “He was thick too. Took ages to get it in.”

“Bloody hell. Seven inches?” His touch paused. “That’s a decent cock.”

“Guessing yours is a bit under, huh?”

“No,” he said calmly. “You pretty much just described mine. Bit over seven. Thick.”

That shut me up. And made my cock try to strain against the cage once more, sending another spike of discomfort through me.

His finger moved again, prodding gently. Just enough pressure that I felt my rim give slightly under the touch.

“I hope Mr Seven-Incher felt guilty for fucking you,” he said.

“Why?”

“Dunno… just seems wrong to hurt something that looks this pretty.”

The word hung in the air ( pretty ) and my whole body tensed around the echo of it. My dick gave another futile attempt at hardening, the cage biting into sensitive flesh.

“But if I were gay,” he went on, “I’d probably want to ruin it too. Just to see it stretch. Watch it open. Fuck it until it stopped being so damn sweet.”

I had no idea what was happening here, other than the fact my hole had started twitching and my cock was in agony.

“Sounds like that would hurt a lot,” I croaked.

“It would. But don’t worry. I’m a good boy.”

“So if you were gay, you wouldn’t wreck me?”

“Oh no,” he chuckled darkly. “I would wreck the absolute shit out of your pretty little hole.”

The tip of his finger finally breached me. Just a smidge, just enough to make me gasp. My cock throbbed uselessly against the cage, and I nearly whimpered. It was like my body didn’t care about consequences anymore. It just wanted.

“But because I’m a good boy…” He bowed down and planted a soft peck on my arse cheek. “…Good boys kiss it better.”

“Fuck,” I exhaled.

He didn’t respond. Just kept his finger there, barely inside, like he was waiting for permission he didn’t need. His breath was warm against my skin. His other hand rested heavy on my hip, grounding me like he was pinning me to the moment.

“You’re twitching,” he said.

“I can’t help it.”

“Course you can’t.” His finger gave the slightest twist, making me gasp. “Even good boys know how to make pussy twitch.”

Oof. I hated my arsehole being feminised. But right now he could have told me I had a cunt between my legs and I’d be living for it.

The buried tip of his finger withdrew, and he resumed the massage like nothing had happened. And for a moment I almost wondered if I’d imagined it. Except the faint sting still blooming at my rim told me I hadn’t.

But I wasn’t about to fall victim to a repeat of the carrot incident. I knew better than to mistake Jared’s wayward hetero banter and dubious touches for anything more than what they were.

“Well,” he said after a beat, hands sliding up my back. “I’m sorry, Casey, but you’re officially forbidden from taking any more cock.”

“What?”

“You’re a top only from now on. Can’t have this poor little fella between your cheeks getting wrecked by some rugby player with a horsecock.” His voice was mock-serious. Protective. “I’m declaring it a no-entry zone. This arsehole is under my protection now.”

I laughed. “You can’t just declare my arsehole off-limits.”

“I can and I have. Royal decree.”

I chuckled, letting myself enjoy the banter. Even though a moment ago it had felt like we were teetering on the edge of a very sexy cliff. I was just relieved I hadn’t fallen for the bait. Not this time.

Don’t get me wrong, my cock was throbbing painfully against its plastic prison, but at least the evidence was hidden. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Sort of.

I let myself melt again, falling under the spell of his magic hands. Jess was a bloody idiot for cheating on this man. Seriously. Great with his hands, allegedly packing a thick one, and capable of filthy, filthy talk followed up with soft little good-boy kisses?

You don’t cheat on that. You jump on it. Hump it. Marry it. Rinse, repeat.

I lay there, almost drifting to sleep, lulled by the rhythm of his hands and the ambient whale-song bullshit humming from his speaker.

There was something hypnotic about it. The slow kneading of muscle, the warmth of his palms, the way my dick occasionally tried to respond only to be reminded of its current imprisonment.

It was bliss, torture, and comedy all rolled into one.

Until:

“Right,” Jared said. “Roll over. I need to work on your front.”

Bloody hell.

“Can you put the towel back over me first?” I asked, spotting the skimpy white fabric crumpled on the floor through the face-hole.

“What’s the point? You’re already naked, mate. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“You’ve never seen my dick.”

“No, but I’ve seen loads of willies in the locker room.”

He may have just had an up close and personal meet and greet with my arsehole, but I wasn’t in a hurry to give away all my body’s secrets. “Not mine.”

Jared sighed and bent to retrieve the towel. “Fine. If it makes you feel better.” He held it up, ready to drape it over me. “Flip over when you’re ready.”

I rolled over and Jared kept his gaze politely averted as he lowered the towel over me. For one blissful moment, I thought I’d escaped disaster.

Then the ridiculously small towel, slick with massage oil from his hands, slipped straight off and fluttered to the floor like a white flag of surrender.

“Shit,” I blurted.

That made him look down.

I shot upright on the table, hands darting down to cover myself, but it was too late. Jared’s gaze had already latched onto my crotch.

“Casey,” he said. “Is that…?”

“Don’t.”

“Is that a chastity cage?”

“I said don’t.”

“Where the bloody hell did you get a chastity cage?”

I closed my eyes and wished for death.

“Wait. Did you wear that because you were worried about getting a boner from me touching you?”

“No!” I snapped. “It’s not… I mean, sometimes I just… it’s sort of a thing I do. Sometimes. Like a… kink thing.”

The lie tasted like battery acid, but it was better than admitting I’d caged my own dick to avoid Jared-induced wood.

He nodded, looking interested rather than judgmental. “Do you still want the towel or…?”

I let out a breath and shook my head. What was the point now? He’d already seen what I was trying to hide.

“Right then.” He clapped his hands. “Lie back down and let me finish what we started, Robo-cock.”