Chapter 5
MILES
I knew it was him before I opened the door. Something in the rhythm of those two knocks, confident but edged with hesitation, like he’d practiced the exact pace on the walk over. My cock gave a hard twitch in my shorts just from the sound.
I opened the door.
Brett stood there in a fresh shirt and jacket, hair styled like he was going out instead of coming in to beg.
He’d clearly made an effort, but it didn’t hide the truth.
His broad shoulders were tense, thick pecs stretching the fabric, and a faint sheen of sweat already glistened along the sharp cut of his jaw.
Below the hem of his jacket, I could see the obvious, heavy bulge of the steel cage pushing against his jeans, the thick ring framing his trapped balls so prominently it made the front of his pants look obscene.
Every small shift of his weight made the cage tug visibly, forcing that once-proud jock cock to stay crammed down in its tight metal prison. His powerful thighs flexed under the denim, and I could practically smell the frustration rolling off him.
“Hey,” he said, voice low.
“That was fast,” I said, keeping my face neutral even though my pulse was already hammering.
“Yeah.” He looked past me into the room, then back, not quite meeting my eyes. His big hands stayed shoved deep in his jacket pockets like he didn’t trust them not to wander down and adjust the aching cage.
“Come in,” I said.
He stepped inside. I shut the door behind him. He stood in the middle of my room, hands still pocketed, looking like a man who had rehearsed every word on the way over and was now completely blanking.
“Something wrong with the fit?” I asked.
“No. It fits.” A pause. “That’s kind of the problem.”
I waited, letting the silence stretch.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I need a favor.”
“I’m not unlocking you.”
“I know that.” He glanced at the ceiling, jaw tight, then forced his dark eyes back to mine. “I need you to finger me.”
I let the words hang there, watching the flush crawl up his thick neck.
“Finger you?”
“I’m so fucking horny I can’t think straight.” He said it fast, like ripping off a bandage, voice cracking with raw need. “I think it would help. A little.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
His eyes dropped to the floor. Came back up. His strong jaw worked once, shame and desperation fighting across his handsome face. “I could... give you a blowjob.”
I laughed. “Have you ever given a blowjob?”
“Well.” He straightened his massive shoulders. “No.”
I looked at him standing there in my dorm room on a Saturday night, freshly groomed, caged, and volunteering to suck his first cock just so I might finger his virgin hole.
For years, this same arrogant jock had been bothering me, and grinning like he owned the world.
Now his thick, locked-up cock was straining uselessly against steel, his heavy balls aching, and he was offering me his mouth like it was currency.
My heart slammed hard against my ribs. I breathed through it, savoring the power.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll give it a try.”
His massive shoulders dropped in pure, unguarded relief, gone again in a heartbeat.
“But Brett.”
He looked at me.
“No teeth. If you do a good job, I’ll finger you after.”
He nodded quickly, swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I dropped my voice. “On your knees.”
Brett went down slowly, like every inch of the descent was a negotiation with his own pride.
His thick thighs flexed hard as he lowered himself, powerful quads stretching the denim until he finally settled on his knees right in front of me.
The sight of him there — Brett Calloway, all square jaw, wide shoulders, and six-foot-three of pure jock muscle — looking up at me from the floor with those dark eyes already glassy, sent a hot spike straight through my gut.
I shoved down my shorts. My cock sprang out, already rock-hard and flushed dark, pressed insistently toward his face. Neat dark hair framed the base, and the fat head glistened with a fresh bead of pre-cum that stretched into a shiny string as it pointed straight at his mouth.
Brett stared at it, lips parted, breathing already heavier.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself.
“Okay,” I said.
He leaned in. His first attempt was clumsy and tentative, those full lips barely parting as he took just the head into the wet heat of his mouth.
The sudden slick warmth made my hand shoot out and grip the edge of my desk until my knuckles went white.
He pulled back immediately, like the taste and feel of another man’s cock had shocked him.
He tried again, taking more this time. His mouth was hot and inexperienced, and his teeth caught along the underside. I hissed.
He pulled off immediately and looked up at me with something close to panic.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”
I looked down at him and let the silence sit. “What did I tell you?”
“No teeth.” His jaw tightened. “I know. It was an accident.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.” His voice had an unfamiliar edge to it. It wasn’t defensive, more like worried. “Are we still — is the deal still —”
“Get back to work,” I said.
The relief that crossed his face was immediate and unguarded.
He wet his lips, adjusted his grip on my thighs, and tried again.
This time his tongue led the way, a nervous correction that worked, smoothing the path as he took me deeper.
No teeth. His heavy jaw worked in that stupidly handsome face, sweat beading at his temple and dripping onto my thigh, his big hands digging into my legs as he found something closer to a rhythm.
Not good yet. But he was trying. Really trying.
I loved the visual.
The big, cocky jock on his knees, broad shoulders rounded, legs spread wide. His lashes lay dark against his flushed cheeks, that perfect jaw stretching around my cock, lips shiny and stretched as he tried to take me deeper.
He showed more improvement with his rhythm, slower and more deliberate. He hollowed his cheeks on the upstroke, and I felt it all the way down my spine, the tight suction pulling a low groan out of me.
“Better,” I praised.
He made a low, broken sound in his throat, not quite a moan, something raw and unnamed that vibrated straight through my cock.
His hands tightened on my thighs, thick fingers pressing as his head started to bob with more purpose.
The wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth filled the room, slick glides, soft gags when he took me too deep, the heavy rasp of his breathing through his nose.
I was getting close. Way too close, way too fast.
I slid my hand onto the top of his head, not pushing, just resting there, feeling the damp heat of his hair. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he took me a little deeper, throat tightening around the head as another desperate noise rumbled out of him.
I put my hand on his broad shoulder and squeezed. “Stop.”
Brett pulled off my cock slowly, a thick string of spit and pre-cum stretching from his swollen pink lips to the glistening head before it broke and dripped onto his chin. He looked up at me with glassy, half-lidded eyes, that strong jaw slack, lips puffy and shiny from working his first dick.
“Get your pants down,” I ordered. “And get on the bed.”
He rose on slightly shaky legs, powerful thighs flexing as he shoved his jeans and briefs down in one rough motion.
The steel cage caught the light from the lamp, swinging heavily between his legs, the short tube crammed full of his straining, frustrated meat while his heavy balls bulged obscenely through the ring.
A thin string of pre-cum already leaked from the slit at the end of the cage and dripped onto the floor.
I pulled the lube from my desk drawer.
“Lie down,” I told him.
He stretched out on his back on my bed, all six-foot-three of thick muscle on display.
I swung over him, facing the opposite direction in a 69-pose, planting one knee on either side of his wide chest, and lowered my still-wet cock back toward his face.
His hot breath ghosted over the back of my thigh.
Then I got my first proper look at what was waiting for me.
Brett Calloway had an obscene ass. Dense muscle from years of squats and sprints, the cheeks round and powerful, dusted with dark hair that thickened into a dark trail right down the deep crack.
Completely natural, completely unaware of how fucking incredible it was.
I grabbed two big handfuls of ass and spread him open wide.
And there it was.
His hole. Tight, pink, and virgin, puckered into a tiny slit. Up until that night, I imagined he had never even considered letting anything inside. It clenched under my stare, so small and untouched, it made my mouth water and my cock throb against his cheek.
I took a moment just drinking in the sight of the cocky jock’s most vulnerable place spread open for me.
His hole was perfect.
I clicked the lube open and warmed a thick, generous amount between my fingers.
Beneath me, Brett had already leaned up and wrapped his lips around my cock again, sucking with fresh hunger now that relief was close. His hot mouth worked me with clumsy enthusiasm, wet slurps and muffled breaths vibrating straight down my shaft.
I pressed the pad of one slick finger slowly against that tight little pucker.
He went rigid instantly. Every muscle in his powerful body locked up, thick thighs tensing, ripped abs clenching into hard ridges, a low, muffled groan vibrating around my cock.
“Breathe,” I said calmly.
He exhaled shakily through his nose, hot bursts of air against my balls. I felt him consciously trying to relax, the tight ring softening just a fraction under the steady pressure.
Then I pushed in to the knuckle.