JUSTIN’S POV

Your toes are swishing back and forth over the ‘X,’ threatening to erase it, but you have bigger concerns, concerns about Brian pulling a black latex glove over his fingers, concerns about Sixty being afforded some kind of attention that belongs to you from someone who…belongs to you…in a position that, quite frankly, belongs to you. “This was what I was going to demonstrate for you today,” the cage Master says to you pointing to Sixty on the stage who’s on his hands and knees, his face lowered between his palms. “But then you had to change our plans, so now your partner gets to run point and I get to babysit you.” Brian has a wooden clothespin and a ball of string in his hand, and you watch him carefully kneading the skin on Sixty’s thigh and then applying the pin resulting in a cry of pain from Sixty. The string runs through the mouth of each clothespin as Brian works his way up Sixty’s inner thigh to his ass. Soon Sixty looks like a porcupine, a very uncomfortable one at that. Brian applies the pins across the slave’s ass and then back down his other leg. “It’s called ‘the zipper,’” the cage Master says as your body starts to sway again and bumps into him. By the time Brian finishes, Sixty is shaking and begging to touch himself and Brian obliges him. You stare, still drooling, as he pumps lube into his glove and carefully fingers Sixty as he masturbates. “Anyone who can take that kind of pain, deserves some pleasure; don’t you think?” the cage Master asks you. You nod, and he pinches your ass hard, giving you some idea of the pain Sixty is in. You forget your current status and give him an evil look because it really hurts and he laughs, “The pinch isn’t the problem; it’s when those pins come off that the pain really sets in. Fortunately for Sixty, though, you’re going to help him with that.”

He reaches up, waving his hand again, and you feel the tension on the rope give way, letting your aching arms sag. The cage Master unhooks your wrists from the imposing metal hook and grabs you by the upper arm, instructing, “You’re going to take the stage now, too.” Your shackled feet shuffle toward Brian in tiny steps. Once you’re on the platform, Brian finally really looks at you in all your dungeon finery, giving you the vibe that he’s not impressed with what he sees. The cage Master is standing behind you like he’s preventing you for making a run for it as Brian approaches you, touching your gag with his ungloved hand. “Get that out of your mouth,” he orders you, “We need to put something else in it.” Your cuffed hands reach up and pop it out of your mouth so that the wet ball hangs around your neck. And then he meets your eyes with a steely gaze as he toys with the top of the panties you’re wearing. “Pull them down,” he demands and you struggle to do it with your hands bound and he just stands there and watches you like you’re the most tedious human being he’s ever met. “I want you underneath him,” he says pointing to Sixty who’s hands and knees are balanced on different platforms leaving three or four feet of open space beneath him. You try to kneel and sort of fall sideways and have to scooch across the platform to position yourself underneath him. “Is he hard?” Brian asks you after assuming his original position behind Sixty.

“No, Sir.”

“Well, help him out then. I’ve never seen someone with so much self-control.” His praise to Sixty elicits a, “Thank you very much, Sir,” from the slave. He starts fingering him again and Sixty starts to moan in response. Brian offers him a suggestion, “Sixty, perhaps you can gain some genital inspiration from Seventy-two’s unauthorized and yet raging erection,” and then to you, “Make sure he can see it, Seventy-two. I would be horrified if it went to waste.” He points to Sixty’s cock when it hardens, “You’re the official cum bucket today, Seventy-two. Start sucking.”

Sixty’s cock isn’t impressive in the slightest. It’s nothing like yours or Brian’s--not as big, not as hard—and it even tastes boring. You watch Brian’s thighs from between the slave’s legs wishing you were across them instead of under this kid. Right when you’re about to get a good rhythm going, Sixty’s body shudders in extreme pain, and you realize that Brian and the cage Master pulled opposite ends of the zipper at the same time. Clothespins rat-a-tat-tat all over the stage. You reach up and try to serve as a prop for Sixty because he feels like he’s going to fall on top of you. The slave ends up coming all over your face. Every guy in the room is laughing as Brian squats down where you’re sitting and admonishes you, “Nice job, Seventy-two. You can’t even suck cock correctly.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Now all these good people think you don’t know how to swallow. What a fucking travesty.”

……

As the audience gets up, you see the door opening to the dungeon. Guys begin milling around, making plans for afterwards, and coming up and shaking Brian’s hand as they introduce themselves. The slaves are freed of their various shackles and some of them get dressed from the pile of clothes in a corner of the room. There’s a lot of smiling and joking around and then there’s the four of you still on the platform. “We need to wrap up,” the cage Master says to Brian, “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before Dave has to shut down. He has to pick up his son.”

Brian nods and starts walking toward you with a pair of scissors in his hand. He squats down giving you a cross look as he snips either side of the panties trapped around your thighs and then yanks them free. “Wipe the cum off your face,” he advises you, offering them, and, “Get up.” After you clean your face, you watch the cage Master gather Sixty’s clothes from the corner pile and help him off the platform. “We have room five,” he tells him, “Come with me.” Brian gives him a conciliatory smile as the two of them walk to the lobby, and then he turns back to you just as you’re getting back on your feet, “Let’s go. Hurry up.”

~+~+~+~+~
BRIAN’S POV

Twenty minutes later you’re pulling out of your parking space on Liberty Avenue. It’s after five thirty p.m., dark and drizzling. Justin is free of all of his latest dungeon attire except for the collar which he didn’t seem to want to take off. You watch him play with it for a second and then focus your eyes on the wet road and bright blurry headlights. “So, what did he say to you?” you ask Justin after you’re off Liberty Avenue and heading home. You’re referring to the conversation Geoff (the cage guy) had with Justin while you were in Geoff’s car talking to Evan, aka Sixty, a few minutes prior.

Justin sighs, “He said that maybe this isn’t the right branch of the tree for me, but that he hopes I had a good time.”

“Did you?” you ask.

“I had a good time watching you. You were having a marvelous time.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I haven’t seen that predatory look on your face in years. It was like being thrown into a human episode of Wild Kingdom or something set in the backroom.” His words concern you, but yet there’s no attitude behind them; they’re just very matter-of-fact, and then it’s his turn to ask you, “What did you say to Sixty?”

“Well, that I was sorry I didn’t have actual time to sit with him and make sure he’s all right, that I had to pass that task off to Geoff.”

“Is he all right?” Justin asks you.

“Yeah, I think he was still in the headspace which concerned me a little because I don’t know him; I mean, I don’t know if that’s his normal behavior.”

“He was definitely in subspace. His pupils looked like deep black holes. I hope he’s okay; that was painful, what you did to him.”

Unknowingly, he gives you the opening you need, “Well, I wasn’t actually the one supposed to be doing it. I arranged for a demonstration of that punishment; you know, not thinking that you would do what you did. I mean, I’d hoped to be sitting comfortably next to you while you watched it.”

“Why?”

Your tires swish onto the freeway as you pick up speed. “Well, that was the punishment that I had planned for you yesterday. You know…the one that didn’t happen.”

He turns and looks at you—and you flash on how handsome he looks—and says, “You mean because I got the ‘butt buzzer’ instead?”

“Yes, it was far less intense.”

“Like you would know that.” And again, the conversation stalls as he stares out the window as the shadowed trees lining the shoulder of the highway.

……

……

“Maybe we should wait and talk when we get home,” you offer. “It’s kind of hard to talk about this while I’m driving.”

But Justin ignores your suggestion, “Are you angry at me because I got undressed?” and pivots the whole conversation.

You supply an answer that’s about ninety percent true, “Absolutely not.”

“I think you’re lying.”

You ponder whether to double down on your lie or not as you back your wipers off a little. You don’t even know why you then make the decision you do, “There is no scenario on this earth in which I would be angry because you’re clothes came off.”

“Maybe ‘angry’ isn’t the right word,” Justin surmises.

You ride in the silence for the last seven minutes or so until you finally pull into your driveway and put the car in park. Justin is confused and tries to reach for the garage door opener. You block his hand, “Just relax a minute. I think we should talk before we go inside.”

“About what?” he asks and still, he doesn’t seem the least bit angry, but you don’t believe him, and you don’t understand how this is supposed to work if you both think the other is angry and neither will confirm it. You take a deep breath and try a little honesty, the bit that feels safe to say, “Okay, I think you’re right. I think ‘angry’ is the wrong word. I don’t think this is about anger at all. I think it’s about…humiliation.”

Justin turns in his seat, tucking his leg under the other and questioning, “In what way?”

You proceed cautiously as if you’re still on that busy dark, wet highway, “I think you like it. Both sides of it…. I think that’s why you push it…you know…maybe….”

He looks at you long and hard and then looks down at his hands in his lap; before you can react, he snaps his seat belt free, opens his car door and walks up your front sidewalk alone in the cold, icy rain.