Cody's On-Call Ch. 02

My phone buzzes. When I look at it, I see a text message. It's Cody, and my dick automatically starts to swell, a Pavlovian response from seeing his number on the screen. I open the message, silently praying it gives a time and doesn't just say, "Now." Those are the hardest, especially if I'm not at home. I have to make some excuse, find some reason to slip away, without even knowing how long I'll be gone. I wear a jockstrap all the time now, since I never know when the summons will come, never know when Cody may give me the chance to serve him again. Sometimes I think it will never come, that he has forgotten me, moved on; perhaps found a girl that makes him happy, or some other pathetic fag to take care of his needs. Sometimes I go weeks without hearing from him - weeks spent wondering, hoping, and eventually, despairing; certain that it's over, only to experience the thrill of seeing his number appear on my screen once again, beckoning me to come perform whatever act he desires.

The text says, "Now."

Fortunately, I'm not in the middle of anything, so obeying is easy. It isn't always. Once, Cody sent a "Now" text when I was out having dinner with some friends, so I texted him back that I would be delayed a few hours. He didn't respond, and when I finally arrived at his apartment, it was dark, the wooden chest still padlocked, the blinds drawn. I thought about knocking, but didn't dare. Cody's was sending me a message, and it was simple - I was to come when he summoned me, or not at all.

I didn't hear from him for three months after that.

I was convinced that was the end. The longer I went without Cody and his huge cock, the more I needed a "fix," like I was some sort of a cock junkie, and Cody the only dealer in town. I tried hooking up with some other guys, but it wasn't the same. Eventually, I became so desperate, I dared to text Cody, pouring out my apologies, shamelessly begging for him to use me again. I was disgusted with myself for doing so, but I couldn't help it. Cody had become more than just a hookup - he'd become a need, a primal addiction I couldn't shake. Text after text, I sent the most profuse apologies, the humblest begging, the highest praise of him I could compose, all in the hopes of winning his attention once more. I offered everything: any act I could think of, any debasement he could come up with, just for another chance.

Those were some of the longest months of my life. And then, late one night, the phone buzzed, and his number appeared. "Now," it said. I thought I would cum in my pants just from that. I think I set a record time getting to Cody's house and in position.

Once again, Cody had taught me a lesson. After that, any time he texted me, I reported as ordered, no matter what I was doing. The lesson was clear: nothing was more important than Cody.

I get over to Cody's apartment and walk through the warm evening to his patio as casually as possible, hoping not to attract any attention from his neighbors. I quickly strip to my jockstrap, opening the wooden chest to put my clothes away and get the collar. This time, however, I stop in my tracks. There is the collar and its heavy padlock, laying in their usual place. Beside them, however, is something new: a plastic chastity device, with a tiny metal padlock. The implication is clear, so I pick it up and examine it, trying to figure out how it goes on. After some struggling, I get it on, then click the tiny padlock into place after a moment's hesitation. I've never been locked in one of these before, and I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I Cody has left me little choice. Either I put it on, or go home, and I'm not sure I can handle losing him because of my own fear. I quickly put the collar on, and move to my knees to wait on Cody to let me inside. It's almost dark, so perhaps the twilight will help hide me, though I don't feel any less exposed. Quite the opposite, the chastity cage makes my jockstrap bulge even more obscenely than my hard dick does. The outline of the cage and padlock are clearly visible through the thin fabric of the jockstrap. As I kneel on the concrete, trying to catch my breath from the scramble to get here and get into position as quickly as possible, I finally look up and notice a small yellow Post-It stuck to the sliding glass door.

"It's unlocked," the note reads. "Make it shine."

It takes me a moment to process what the note might mean. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Finally, I crawl forward, open the door, and crawl inside. The apartment is dark and silent, except for one light on in the living room. Sitting in the middle of the living room floor is a bucket filled with cleaning supplies, a broom, and a mop.

"Make it shine," the note said. Cody wants me to clean.

I am stunned. This was never part of the deal. Cody has never used me for any kind of chores. I'm shocked and kind of insulted that he's done this. I pause, kneeling there looking at the cleaning supplies, trying to decide what to do. I seriously debate just leaving. I'm a cocksucker, not a maid. I take a deep breath, trying to make up my mind what to do, and catch a whiff of his scent, the odor that is distinctly him. It reminds me of his body, the soft feel of his firm, toned flesh, the compact power of his athletic young body. I want more.

Listening carefully for a moment, I hear no sounds, and notice I have heard none since I came in. It feels as if the place is empty, so I stand up and explore the apartment. I hope to find him upstairs, relaxing in the bed, hope to grovel at his feet, to touch his body; to, at a minimum, get to look at the jock god I worship.

But no - the place is empty, except for me: Cody's cleaning bitch.

Near the top of the stairs is Cody's bedroom. His scent is powerful here, intoxicating. I feel my dick start to grow, until it suddenly presses against the sides of the chastity cage and can go no further, a painful, frustrating reminder of who is really in charge, even if he isn't here. As much as I may want to leave, I can't. I'm locked in this collar and cage, with no access to my clothes. I'm stuck here as long as he wants me.

I pause at the entrance to Cody's bedroom, taking in my first look at his private inner sanctum, breathing in the accumulated scent of his body. His bed is unmade, left the way it was when he got up this morning. I want nothing more than to crawl into it, to be completely surrounded by the feel and smell of Cody, to have my body in the same place his naked body rests every night, the closest I will ever get to sleeping next to him. It's tempting, but I resist. I know that's not the place for me, no matter how much I want it to be.

His dirty clothes are scattered around on the floor, so I start by gathering them up, taking time to bask in the scent of his sweat on each piece. Inside my jockstrap, my little dick strains inside the chastity cage each time I inhale his essence. I never knew these things were so painful, my dick cramped and pinched as it tries to swell, only to encounter the hard plastic which denies my erection. I try caressing my dick through my jock, but all I feel is the rigid plastic cage and the solid metal padlock. Even without being here, Cody has managed to focus my activities solely on what he wants. The cruelty of his mind astounds me, and humbles me.

What is it about him that even his odor turns me on? It's more than just the huge cock, though that's certainly part of it; it's also the casual way he controls me, puts me in my place and keeps me there, seemingly without effort. No man has ever managed that before. For a young guy, and smaller guy, Cody has the arrogant self-confidence of a true alpha male, the kind of guy that knows he can get away with damn near anything. Other guys have "dominated" me before, tried using me before, but it always felt like they were just playing a role, pretending to be something they were not. With Cody, it's real.

I gather all of his clothes, plus the sheets off the bed, and put them in to wash. Then I start on Cody's bathroom. A single, busy college guy...well, you can imagine what the bathroom looks like. It is drudgery, scrubbing every inch of it, getting into every little crevice to remove the accumulated dirt and grime. Doing his laundry was bad enough, but this is much worse. I still can't believe I am here, on my knees, scrubbing old piss stains off his toilet. I have no idea why I'm even doing this, a question I ask myself over and over, even as I keep scrubbing. My mood starts with anger - anger that Cody is such an entitled bastard he would think he can order me to clean up his apartment, including this nasty bathroom, and just arrogantly assume it will be done. But then...I slowly begin to come to terms with a hard truth: he's right. Regardless of my clothes being locked away, regardless of his orders, the simple fact of the matter is, I am scrubbing his toilet and cleaning his apartment. Not because I want to, but because obeying and pleasing him is more important to me than the humiliation I feel being used like this. What is worse: Cody knew I'd do it. With no regard for how I felt about it, he did this because he knew he could, because he knew I can't say no to him. He knows me better than I know myself, it seems. He has managed to get deep inside my head.

That scares the hell out of me.

I spend hours cleaning. "Make it shine," he'd ordered, and it certainly does. The apartment is immaculate, and I'm exhausted. I've worn myself out scrubbing and dusting, folding Cody's laundry, making his bed. I was looking forward to a night at home, relaxing in front of the TV; instead, I've spent hours performing the most menial of tasks, all for a young jock who isn't even here for me to look at while I do it. It doesn't matter, though. What matters is that he will be pleased, that he will find me useful and worthy of servicing his body, worshiping his cock.

I am putting all the cleaning supplies away in the kitchen when I hear the front door open - Cody is home at last!

Immediately, I drop to my knees and crawl to the living room. Cody is standing in front of the couch, his keys still in his hand. I crawl over and kiss his feet repeatedly. He is swaying slightly, and I can smell beer on him. While I've been here scrubbing and cleaning, he's been out drinking and having fun. I feel a flash of anger, but it passes quickly, subsumed by my lust for his body.

Cody snaps his fingers. I look up, and he is unzipping his pants. Automatically, my mouth opens, my tongue hangs out, ready, desperate to receive his cock. This is what I've waited for all night, what I rushed over here for - the chance to have his huge pole buried inside me, joined with him, flesh to flesh, him taking all the pleasure he's entitled to, me giving it willingly, in full measure. I lean forward, as close to his cock as I dare to get. The head is less than an inch from my mouth, but I don't dare wrap my lips around it, not without permission. It's still soft, but even like this, it's a formidable club.

Just as I'm leaning in, getting ready to swallow his cock the very second he gives me permission, Cody turns and shoves his ass in my face. He bends over slightly while grabbing my hair, shoving my face into the crack of his ass. My tongue, which is already hanging out in anticipation of his cock, is now buried between his ass cheeks, as I start lapping at his hairy hole. Cody bends his knees, rubbing his ass crack up and down on my face, using my hair to pull my mouth tighter against his tight, muscular cheeks. I'm straining, trying to force my tongue ever deeper into his ass, craving the taste of his flesh, his musk in my nose, wanting desperately to get as deep inside him as possible. His ass is sweaty. It was degrading to be made to clean his apartment, especially while locked in this chastity cage, but this is just as bad, perhaps worse. I sense, somehow, this isn't just about pleasure for him, but about further degrading me, shoving me into his sweaty ass and making me lick him out, putting me further in my place, whatever place he has decided that should be. And it works. I am, indeed, feeling used and degraded, but at the same time wildly turned on by the entire situation, the chastity cage currently filled to capacity with my imprisoned dick. I feel shamed, not just by Cody, but by my own complicity, my own need for this treatment, and by his ability to read me so well. As the humiliation washes over me, I cope with it the only way I can: I shove my tongue deeper into his asshole.

Cody releases my head and turns around. I feel like an idiot, kneeling there with my tongue still hanging out, the scent of Cody's ass overwhelming me. His cock is still barely half-hard despite my rimming, probably because of the beers he's had. I feel his hand grab my head, his fingers intertwining in my hair. I expect he's going to fuck my face, ram my head down on his cock and hold it there as it expands in my mouth, slowly pushing its way down my throat as it grows hard. But Cody has other plans. He uses my hair to tilt my head back so that I am looking up at him. His cock is still just outside my mouth; the tip of it just grazes my lips, softly, like a caress. My eyes are focused on Cody's face. That sweet, wholesome young face, which at the moment is lit up by his smile. I know that smile - it hides his evil ideas. I'm staring straight into Cody's beautiful green eyes, which is why it takes me by surprise when I feel him start to piss in my mouth.

He's never used me like this before. I've never even tasted a man's piss; the idea always repulsed me. But now, with Cody deciding to use me as a urinal, I find myself in shock- first, that he is doing such a thing to me; and second, that my mouth suddenly opens even wider, the better to accommodate him, like I can't wait to get more of his piss inside me. I am disgusted at myself for doing this, but can't even contemplate not doing it.

The entire time Cody is feeding me his recycled beer, he's staring straight at me, as if he wants to watch me perform this disgusting service for him. His grip on my hair gives me little choice, but I hardly need restraint. Quite the opposite: his grip is the only thing keeping me from fully engulfing his cock with my mouth, allowing him to piss directly down my throat. In this moment, nothing matters to me as much as allowing him to use me any way he wants, connecting with him in any way possible. I am repulsed by what's happening - not that he would use me like this, but by my response to it, my utter willingness to submit to him totally and without reservation. As his hot piss flows into my mouth, I am painfully aware that my dick feels like it will burst out of the plastic chastity cage. Even though the cage is too small for me to get fully hard, it feels like my dick will explode, like I might orgasm without any contact.

Cody is cruel: he holds me off his cock, allowing it to almost rest on my bottom lip, but not quite. I can feel the heat from it on my face, but I can't touch it. I can't even lick it, occupied as I am in making sure I don't spill any of his piss on the floor. I hear a strange sound I can't place, the finally realize what it is - I am whining like a dog, literally begging for his cock. Cody's grin widens, but his grip on my hair grows firmer, his cock moving just a little further away from contact with my mouth. My frustration is almost palpable.

At last, Cody is done, and his flow of piss stops. Now comes what I've been craving: the chance to suck him off, to truly worship his huge cock. But that is not to be. Cody slaps his cock across my face several times, getting the last drops of his piss off. Already, I can see it getting harder; each time he dick-slaps me, it grows more. He continues beating me in the face with it. Finally, it reaches its full length, a mighty weapon, poised just on the very edge my lips. Cody tilts my head so I am staring at his face again, as he puckers up and releases a large gob of spit. It falls slowly, a thick, glistening rope of saliva, landing at last right on the swollen head of his cock. My tongue reaches out, trying desperately to catch his spit as it begins to drip off his knob. But, before I can, Cody's other hand reaches out and wraps around his shaft. He begins stroking it slowly, using his own spit as lube. I am mesmerized, amazed that his entire hand is wrapped around his cock yet still doesn't cover it, his fingers barely meeting due to the thickness. His hand can hide only a portion of his shaft at a time, with most of his cock still exposed as he strokes. Could he completely cover it with both hands, I wonder? Doubtful. He strokes slowly, never breaking eye contact with me, never relaxing his grip on my hair, always holding my head as close as possible to his cock, but just out of reach of my tongue.

It is torture. He is torturing me with my own desire, with enforced denial. I extend my tongue to its full length, a pale imitation of the length of his cock, trying desperately to make contact with his manhood, to wet it and mingle my own spit with his, to give him even a modicum more pleasure. But he won't allow it. I hear the noise again, that pathetic dog-whine coming from my own throat. It humiliates me, but I can't seem to stop it, so eager am I for his cock, so anguished am I by lust. Right now, I would do anything for him.

Cody continues stroking his cock, his big balls bouncing up and down, occasionally hitting me in the chin, but not resting there long enough for me to capture them, to suck one of them into my mouth and worship it, along with the cum contained in it. I have tried before to suck both of his balls, but it's impossible - they are simply too big to fit. The faster he strokes, the more they move, the more I feel the heat coming off his testicles each time they hit my chin. Cody grins, then maneuvers his balls right over my mouth. For one brief second, he dips them into my mouth. I am grateful for the chance to touch him, to worship him with my tongue, but then suddenly, I realize: he is teabagging me. Not a sexual act as much as a show of contempt, a show of raw power, the way straight guys display dominance. It hurts, but not nearly as much as my own realization of how much I need it, how grateful I am for it.

Cody pulls his balls away from my mouth and strokes faster. He's getting close, I can see it on his face. At least I will get his cum, get to taste his seed even if I'm denied his cock. But Cody isn't even that merciful; he is clearly in a cruel mood. As his balls draw up and his breathing catches, he lets out a small moan and tilts my head back down. He shoots his load on my hair and forehead, denying me even the opportunity to watch him cum. I feel his semen all over me. Some of it begins to drip down my face. I stick out my tongue, trying to catch it. Considering where he deliberately shot it, I don't dare use my hands to scrape it off.

And that quickly, it's over. Cody releases my hair as he tucks his cock back his pants. I feel like a dog that has just had its bone taken away. He walks to the sliding glass door, then outside, where he unlocks the wooden chest. I'm stunned. We can't be done. Did I do all this work for nothing, spend hours cleaning and scrubbing his apartment for no real reward? I'm crushed, not to mention so horny I can't see straight. My dick hurts from the cage, throbbing like a second heart between my legs. Surely, he won't send me home this way?

But that's exactly what happens. Cody comes back inside, and unlocks the padlock on my collar. I'm crushed. This absolutely means we are done for the night. He puts his keys in his pocket, and I quickly pull down the front of my jockstrap, silently reminding him about the chastity cage which also needs to be unlocked, my eyes pleading with him. Cody smirks, then reaches out with his foot and rubs his shoe against the front of my plastic prison, tapping the cage. He is enjoying my predicament, I can tell. It amuses him to see my discomfort, my desperation. He slides his dirty Nike underneath my balls, which are pulled forward by the chastity cage, so extremely vulnerable. I gasp, terrified he's going to kick me in the balls. Instead, he bounces my balls and caged dick on his shoe a few times, reveling in his power and control. Satisfied, he turns and walks upstairs, leaving me kneeling on the floor, his cum drying in my hair and on my forehead, the taste of his piss still in my mouth.