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Matt had been the one to bring it up, to ask if Foggy would be willing to have that much power over him. And at first, Foggy had been hesitant. Between their daily casework and Matt’s nightly “Daredevil-ing,” as Foggy called it, the thought of adding an extra distraction gave Foggy pause. But eventually, Foggy had caved, taken in by Matt’s eagerness, agreeing to a trial period that they could both veto at any time.
And Matt can’t get enough. He’s tried to explain it to Foggy, how it feels to have his cock locked up tight, completely out of his control beyond any that Foggy gives back to him. About how exciting it is to wear a near-permanent marker of Foggy’s ownership, hidden underneath his suit like their filthy secret. So turned on by the weighty reminder that his cock doesn’t belong to him anymore that Matt can barely think sometimes, humiliated and aroused by the thought that he can’t even pleasure himself without Foggy’s explicit approval.
And about the sharp, vicious thrill of dirtybadwrong when Foggy’s fucking him. Matt’s cock bouncing between his thighs with each long thrust, kept tiny, soft, and denied by the restrictive metal. Reduced to wanton begging, pleading for Foggy to let him out, to touch his needy cock. Whimpering as he’s simply told no, as Foggy fucks into his prostate until Matt’s cock dribbles weakly, an intense experience, but one that leaves him unsatisfied and desperate for more.
But all Matt can bring himself to say is, I love being your good boy .
Which was enough, as far as Matt can tell, for Foggy to feel just as invested.
“Please,” Matt begs, flush mouth open in a soundless gasp, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.
Foggy lets out a breathy laugh, rolling Matt’s heavy balls gently in his hand, but the light sensation is enough that Matt’s cock and balls hurt , Foggy’s touch like sandpaper on his overstimulated nerves
Too much. Not enough.
“You’re so desperate, Matty,” Foggy’s voice is smug, dripping in satisfaction.
Matt’s eyes sting with frustrated tears, hips thrusting helplessly up into Foggy’s touch, his cock limp and constricted, pressing painfully against its little metal cage. It’s been weeks since Foggy locked the steel ring at the base of his balls, slipped the metal tube over the head of his cock that keeps him hanging soft and useless between his legs. Weeks of mind-numbing frustration, of Foggy’s fingers tracing over every inch of him, until all Matt can think of is the desire to come, focused on the ache between his legs and the heady smell of Foggy’s arousal soaking into his underwear.
“Please,” Matt chokes out, when Foggy starts to caress the head of his cock through the tiny gaps in the metal. “Foggy. I- I’ll do anything. Just please, please , let me come.”
The laugh Foggy lets out is louder this time. More cruel, as he thumbs insistently against the leaking head of Matt’s cock, the sensation so good it’s torture.
“Matty, I know you’ll do anything.” Foggy purrs, and a shiver runs down Matt’s spine. “Anything I ask, anytime I want. And do you know how I know that?”
Foggy’s fingers go back down to tease at Matt’s swollen balls, tickling and kneading and squeezing, while Matt’s scrambled brain rushes to come up with an answer.
“B-because I belong to you?”
“Is that a question?” Foggy asks, voice faux saccharine. “Doesn’t sound like you’re too sure...”
The need is unreal, pooled at his groin, sharp in his stomach. Matt’s abs contract at the overstimulation, pain vibrating through his cock, down to the throbbing ache in his balls. He grinds his teeth, eyes prickling even harder, hips snapping up on pure instinct, body desperate for stimulation against his cock.
But Matt needs to answer, fast. The last time he’d failed to answer a question correctly, the punishment had been maddening . Foggy had stripped Matt naked in his office before tying him to his office chair with thick hemp rope. And then, with a stiff, fine-haired paintbrush, had delicately worked over the sensitive head of Matt’s cock. Painting from the slit to the crown, up and around, over and over, smearing precome against every accessible sliver of skin, until Matt was sobbing, begging and screaming so loudly that he’d gone completely hoarse.
Foggy’s response had been to stop just long enough to gag Matt with his own boxers. Before starting up again for another torturous 15 minutes.
“Yours,” Matt whines, hips stuttering up again into Foggy’s grip. “I’m yours.”
“There’s my good boy. Humping the air, like the needy little slut he is.”
The tears in Matt’s eyes finally spill at Foggy’s backhanded praise, hot and embarrassing down his flushed cheeks in a way that makes Matt feel humiliatingly small. But he can’t stop fucking into the air, not when Foggy’s hands are still there. Not when he can hear Foggy’s legs spreading, the fabric of his slacks shifting across Foggy’s thick, erect cock. Not when Foggy’s soaked through his slacks with precome, the smell so heavy on Matt’s palate that he can taste it.
Not when his fried senses are painting him a picture of Foggy, who smells and sounds just as aroused as Matt feels.
“Turn around, baby,” Foggy requests silkily, hand pulling away with one lingering touch to the seam of Matt’s balls.
Matt obeys clumsily, muscles shaking as he gets on hands and knees on their bed, hopeful that Foggy’s going to fuck him, end their session, maybe make him come.
Instead, Foggy’s fingers trace slow, lazy circles over Matt’s hole, sliding in only just enough to almost touch Matt’s prostate, occasionally dipping down to fondle his balls, again and again for so long that Matt starts to sob, cock straining helplessly to get hard.
This goes on for another infuriating week. Matt locked up tight, Foggy teasing him for hours at a time, until Matt’s reduced to a sobbing mess, until Matt can’t even think, senses so shot that his entire world is reduced to the sensations coming off of Foggy, a slapdash portrait of a flushed face, the occasional swallow of saliva, and a fat, leaking cock pulled through the fly of Foggy’s pants, while Matt’s own cock screams with need, limp and pathetic between his shuddering thighs.
Distantly, Matt knows he’s being secured to their bed, rope digging into his wrists and ankles as he’s tied spread-eagle against the silk sheets. He doesn’t start paying attention until he feels something cold and slick pressing against his hole, the smell of lube and silicone wafting up as Matt is stretched open by the insistent plastic.
Matt screws his eyes closed, hissing at the sensation. His mind goes blank, a dull white roar in his ears, insensate with need as Foggy twists and slides the object into him in random spurts. The toy’s small, not nearly enough to fill him, but Matt’s already overstimulated, hungrily pushing back in the desperate hopes of getting it deeper inside of him.
“I love seeing you like this, willing to let me do anything to you” Foggy says, pressing a wicked kiss against head of Matt’s cage. “Knowing you’d take anything I want to dish out.”
For a moment, he can hear Foggy’s mouth upturn into a smirk, before the thing inside him starts to vibrate. Matt’s mouth opens in a sharp breath, chest tight, head thrown back and digging into the bed, writhing as he pulls at the ties around his wrists and ankles. Matt can’t get his breathing steady, pressure building in his balls, cock pressing agonizingly against its cage as it tries to fill at the stimulation.
“I wanna see you come with your sweet little cock still locked up, Matty.” Foggy’s voice is hard to make out through the deafening buzz of the buttplug, and Matt struggles to understand him as the overwhelming pressure continues to build. “That plug is going to sit right up against your prostate, and it isn’t going to stop until it’s milked you dry, baby.”
And with that, there are footsteps and the sound of creaking wood as Foggy takes a seat in a chair next to him, leaving Matt without any distractions, as the familiar tingling in his thighs builds, as his muscles twitch, quivering with so much arousal, so much pleasure-
Matt comes with a shriek as his entire world splinters apart, shivering uncontrollably with pleasure as his voice goes rough from shouting. Another wave of pleasure crashes through him, even more relentless than the first, and Matt’s gone, completely lost to the waves of merciless pleasure, cock pulsing as weeks of denial splatter hot against his stomach, his thighs, his cage.
The vibrations slow after a moment, and Matt feels destroyed. Mouth dry, muscles twitching. Matt thinks he can make out Foggy jerking off, hand gliding along his length in slow, lazy motions.
“You look even better like that, all wet and sticky with your own come,” Foggy eventually says, before Matt hears a click, and the plug inside him speeds up again. So intense that Matt’s only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down his face, the whimper that scrapes out of his throat as Foggy laughs. “But like I said, I want to milk you dry.”
When Matt wakes up, the world comes back to him in bits and pieces, each sound and smell from outside slotting into place in a way that would almost be unbearable, if not for the warm, comforting presence of Foggy pressed against his side. Matt soaks in the luxury of Foggy’s sweat-slicked skin against his own, on the loud, steady thump of Foggy’s heart, on the soft praise being murmured into Matt’s ear.
It takes Matt a little longer to take stock of himself. His face is still a little tear-streaked, eyelids tacky and sticking together. He’s still bound to the bed, filthy and soaked from the stomach down in his own come, the damp smell almost overwhelming. Some of it is already drying, but he can feel thick drops sliding against his thighs, leaving behind sticky trails as they trickle down to his hole.
The mess across his chest is more of a mystery to him, until Matt realizes that it has to be come. Specifically Foggy’s come, splattered against his chest sometime during his milking.
“You did so well for me, Matty,” Foggy assures him, hand tracing Matt’s abs through the rapidly cooling come.
Matt’s boneless against the bed, all of that pent-up arousal gone thanks to the intense milking. But when Foggy presses something against his mouth, Matt opens up, tongue lapping weakly, eager to show Foggy what a good boy he still is, even when he’s this worn-out. It isn’t until his tongue meets the bitter taste of his come and the tang of metal that Matt realizes.
His cage is off. His cock is free for the first time in almost a month.
“I love you,” Matt rasps, voice rumbling out of his throat.
“I love you, too, Matty,” Foggy replies, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Matt’s cheek.
Before Foggy pushes the cage between Matt’s lips for him to lick clean.