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.”