8pm sharp.Address: 32A Dominion Crescent. When I shifted wrong. Gay sex I reached for the small integrated lock Sean had provided and slid it into place.The click was almost inaudible.But it thundered through me like a closing vault door.I sat there for a moment, breathing hard, the weight of the cage already beginning to register against my skin—heavy, foreign, unescapable.I was locked.Owned.A soft tremor went through me.There was still one last command to fulfill.Shame coiled tight in my gut as I set up my phone, propping it against a stack of books on my dresser. No room to grow. I was unraveling—and Sean hadn’t even touched me again.At the office, he was nowhere to be found.I checked my emails obsessively, watched the hallways, lingered by the kitchen longer than necessary. Shower. My body fought me, confused by the strange mixture of arousal and fear. Nude. It was seamless—no latch, no twist-cap. Good boys stay hard for me, even when they can’t do anything about it.I shifted in my seat, biting down a whimper.The metal pressed cruelly into the tender underside of my cock, every pulse of arousal magnifying the ache tenfold.A minute later, another message popped up.No words this time.Just a photo.I stared, pulse hammering in my ears.It was a close-up shot of
