Sailor Moon Ch. 03

He took the box without any further discussion, looked at Jonathan for a few more seconds - trying to read anything from his expression yet still getting nothing - and then stood up and walked robotically towards the bathroom. It was crazy to think, but he couldn't shake the thought, that somehow everyone else in the cafe knew what was in the box even though he himself didn't.

It was a short but nerve-wracking walk to the bathroom, and he fumbled at the box several times before he was able to get it open. In his mind, he'd been running through a thousand and one scenarios - lingerie, some kind of flimsy, feminine, emasculating outfit, even - as his imagination had really begun to take hold - cuffs or some kind of leash.

He finally popped the box open and cast a furtive look around the small bathroom. It was single-occupant only, so the glance was entirely redundant, but in his agitated state, Scott began to imagine security cameras and a whole host of other wild conspiracy theories. After a few seconds of shaking, he finally convinced himself to inspect the contents of the box, which for the time being had still be obscured by some delicate, thin, pink craft paper. Tossing the paper roughly to one side, Scott almost dropped the box in surprise as he stared down at what had just been revealed.

"Oh my God." he whispered, and then clamped one hand over his mouth as instinctively looked behind to make sure the door was still locked. Wide-eyed, he looked back at the box again. Cautiously moving his hand off his mouth, he slowly reached down and pulled out a small metal and leather object. Holding it up, he let it dangle in front of him, and even though he'd never seen one up close before, the shape the small item made as he held it out left no room for doubt.

Master had provided his sissy with a cock cage. He closed his eyes and muttered to himself something about things spiraling out of control. Still, the instructions had been clear, and the man who had ultimately made those instructions had certain things on Scott that meant that following those instructions had an urgency of their own. He groaned and slumped his shoulders in defeat, but nevertheless dropped the box to one side in the cramped bathroom, and started to fumble at his slacks. As the box hit the ground, Scott heard a faint metal clink, and he looked back down again with a confused expression plastered on his face. Dropping to his knees and peering inside, he noticed there was also a small padlock in the box as well that he'd initially missed.

Retrieving it, Scott rummaged through the box and the paper for the key, and his confused expression was replaced by a frown as the key failed to materialise.

Scott dropped the box again after the third unsuccessful search, and was beginning to look around the floor in case it had fallen out, when a thought struck him like a slap across the face. Of course there was no key. At least not here. No, he'd have to _earn_ the key.

Scott had never put on a cock cage before, he'd never even held one in his hands. Dropping his slacks and underwear, he sighed as he tried to figure out what to do, and then groped at his own cock. Embarrassingly, he was beginning to get a little hard at the thought of putting it on, and not for the first time over the past few weeks, Scott cursed his own body for betraying him.

Shaking his head to try and clear his mind of such thoughts, he held the cock cage up again and tried to think about it objectively. Then, a knock on the bathroom door made him let out a shrill squeal and he let go off the device, causing a sharp metal clang on the floor.

"I'll... I'll be out in a minute!" he said nervously, trying to sound manly but still several octaves higher than usual.

Dropping to his knees hurriedly, he retrieved the cock cage again, and started to put it on as best he could. He grunted several times as the tight leather and metal constraint slipped and jolted his protesting manhood, and he yelped again as one of his balls got temporarily caught in the wrong place and he had to wriggle frantically to get it back to where it should be. The cold metal against the skin of his penis was an entirely new sensation for Scott, and he desperately tried to block out thoughts of exactly what he'd need to do to earn the right to remove this thing. There was a clasp that made sure the device wouldn't fall off, and there was also a little metal ring that Scott knew would take a padlock. The ring would stop the clasp from being moved, and by extension, his manhood would be ensnared in the restraint until either someone unlocked him, or he had what would have to be the most embarrassing trip to a locksmith that anyone could ever have experienced.

He reached over the flushed the toilet to try and cover his grunting, so that whoever was outside might just think that he was on the toilet. As the water swirled around the toilet basin, spiraling down into the pipes and who-knew-what beyond, Scott held up the padlock and couldn't help but feel the water draining away in ever decreasing circles was an apt enough metaphor for his new predicament.

For a moment, he considered simply ditching the padlock. He could claim he never found it! Pretend he'd missed it. He'd put on the cock cage - he was being compliant enough. Yet deep down he knew not to push his luck. Master did not seem to be the kind to suffer fools lightly. He hesitantly placed the padlock on the ring over the clasp, and paused. It was still unlocked. He had not yet passed the point of no return. He _could_ still remove it. Throw it away. Disavow any knowledge of it.

Closing his eyes, he felt his fingers move by their own volition. There was a light click. He looked down. The shackle of the padlock was now buried deep in the mechanism itself. Scott gasped in shock, even though he'd been the one to lock it. He looked down at the penis that was enveloped in the restraint - almost in a state of emotional detachment as if it wasn't _his_ appendage that he was staring at - and gave the padlock an experimental tug. He winced as he felt the restraint tighten around this now entrapped cock, and he knew that the device was now secure.

Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breathes in and just stood stock-still for a while, before he was broken out of his trance by another sharp knock on the door.

Scott quickly pulled his underwear and slacks up, and went to open the door. Every time he moved he could feel the restraint on his penis. Such a bizarre and emasculating experience - Scott couldn't help but wonder now just how long he'd be forced to wear this contraption.

He opened the door, and tried to mumble an apology to whoever had been waiting, keeping his head down so as to avoid any unnecessary eye contact, in case anyone could look into his soul and see the embarrassment that was building up inside.

He bumped into the person waiting, and he momentarily looked up to mumble a further apology, and then took an involuntary step back when he realised it had been Jonathan waiting outside all of this time.

The man gave him an amused smile, and then pointed down at Scott's crotch. Scott nodded mutely, and Jonathan crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Clearly he was asking for evidence, and Scott gave him a sharp stare as he nevertheless fumbled at his slacks and hastily pulled them down slightly, revealing for a moment the shiny metal lock and the black leather of the restraint.

Scott looked furtively around, hoping that no-one else in the cafe was seeing this strange interaction, and was relieved to see staff and customers alike caught up in their own business.

Jonathan's smile broadened slightly for a moment, and surprised Scott by similarly lowering his trousers for a moment and revealing his own cock cage. There was no padlock on his through.

"As I said," Jonathan said smoothly, pulling the front of his slacks up, "I've been you for a fair bit longer. Obedience has it's own rewards."

Scott didn't really know how to respond to that, so simply nodded mutely again.

"Now," said Jonathan briskly, "here are you next instructions. You will be at Joe's Sports Bar tonight at 7:30pm. The clothing you are to wear is listed on this piece of paper. Master will be in attendance. He will provide further instructions then."

Scott took the piece of paper offered by Jonathan, and looked down at it. His heart rate quickened for a moment as he saw what he was being asked to wear, but he fought to get himself under control again. Right now, his focus was on earning the right to get this damn cock cage off!

Jonathan - his job now done - gave Scott a wink. "See you later, Serena."

Scott looked up sharply at the name, the name that his Master had given him back by the motorway. However Jonathan didn't pause to engage in further conversation, and simply turned on his heels and strolled out of the cafe, giving a waitress a friendly smile on the way out. Left standing at the entrance to the bathroom, Scott hesitated for a few moments, staring at the piece of paper and trying to glimmer some clue of what was awaiting him tonight.

Finally, he tucked the paper into a pocket, and then followed Jonathan out of the cafe, lost in his own private world. It was sunny outside and the streets were full, however Scott could have walked past his own mother and not noticed her. Right now, his attention was split between 7:30pm tonight and the unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation of the restraint around his cock and balls. He was beginning to realise that he'd now have this infernal contraption on for at least seven hours, if not longer, and that was an awfully long time...

****

Scott looked up at the TV and began to sweat. It was almost half-time, and the Suns were trailing the Jazz by twelve points. It was not a game Scott would ordinarily have followed, being a fan of neither team. That may have surprised casual bystanders at Joe's Sports Bar, where Scott had been sitting with Master for just over half an hour, as Scott was currently wearing a Suns jersey over plain slacks.

Scott tugged nervously at the jersey, and felt it move against his bare skin underneath. A lot had happened in those thirty minutes. Scott was slowly learning not to be surprised by what happened on these adventures, so when he obediently arrived at the designated time, wearing the Suns jersey he'd picked up in a shop this afternoon as instructed, he tried not be shocked at the fact that Master was not alone.

What caught Scott a little by surprise was that while indeed there was another submissive man present - a blond-haired shorter man that Scott learnt was called "Kathy", and who was dressed in a Jazz jersey - there was also another man, well-set and bald, clearly used to being dominant and who was chatting with Master as if they were equals.

When Master had seen Scott he had indicated an empty stool right next to him, and Scott had taken his place and kept quiet, trying not to draw attention to himself. For while the Suns jersey was hardly out of place in a Sports Bar, the pink training bra that nestled underneath it would have shocked many of the patrons around him. Similarly, the slacks appeared drab and boring, but they were merely the cover for a pair of silly, girly red panties that had a Care Bears imprint plastered over his ass. And if at any stage he were to be made to take his slacks off, _those_ panties were the only thing stopping anyone from seeing the cock cage that _still_ ensnared his manhood.

Master had made Scott wait for him to finish his conversation with his bald companion, before finally turning back to address Scott. The Suns were already six points down at this stage, and as the Master looked over Scott, he nodded up at the large TV that hung down from the ceiling.

"Not going well for the Suns." Master said.

Scott shrugged. "Early days." he replied, although his knowledge of basketball was limited, and this was just a futile attempt to sound manly.

Master laughed, and took a swig of his whiskey. "Not going well for you either."

Scott looked at Master. What did he mean by that?

Master indicated to his companion, and to Kathy, who was sitting on the other side, similarly clutching on to his Jazz jersey but who had a faintly hopeful look on his face. "You see we made a bet," Master continued, in a light conversational tone that betrayed not a care in the world, "and I don't like to lose."

Scott went red. Somehow he knew he'd be featuring in the bet somehow. Master looked at him, noticed the flush in his cheeks, and laughed. "Oh, don't worry. I didn't bet _you_." Scott let out a sigh of relief. "No, no." Master went on, "I don't trade my sissies so easily." He glanced at Scott and took another swig of his whisky. "No matter how much they might like to be dominated by another man."

"I don't..." Scott started to say, but the Master waved his objections aside.

"Don't spin me that lie." Master said. "You're here. No one is making you be here. You're dressed in the clothes I told you to dress in. You didn't have to do that."

Scott had flashbacks to all of the emails, the photos and the videos that Master had of him, and to the memory of Robert being cast aside and forever blocked from further correspondence back at the forest. Yes, Scott could have just walked away. Yet at the same time, he couldn't.

"You do all of this of your own free will because," Master turned and leaned in to face Scott, "you're a silly little sissy girl who needs a good spanking!"

Scott recoiled slightly, but didn't reply. Master laughed lightly. "However," he said, "a spanking is not the bet today. No. I didn't bet you." he looked back at the screen and winced slightly as the Jazz sunk another three-pointer. "No," he drawled, "I just bet your clothes."

Scott let out a strangled cry and looked at Master. "Wh... my... clothes?"

Master nodded. Next to him, his bald-headed companion looked at Scott with an evil glint in his eyes. "That's right - whoever loses, the other man's sissy has to hand over their jersey."

Scott's hand protectively went up. Removing the jersey would mean all of these people - regular folk - seeing him in a girly pink training bra! Of course, as he'd been dressing before, he knew on some abstract level that there was a risk that this would happen, but it was one thing to think of it as a possible future, and entirely another thing to hear it said in such bold, hard words. Those words, and the ticking clock on the game, now made the finality and the nature of the risk all too real.

"I... can't." Scott whispered, embarrassed. "Not in front of..." he looked at across the packed bar.

Master snorted. "Well, if you're going to act that way simply from removing your jersey, you better hope the Suns don't lose by more than nine points." Master looked up at the screen without explaining any further. A turnover and a breakaway led to a Suns three-pointer and the deficit was back to six. Master nodded approvingly.

Finally, Scott worked up the courage to ask. "What happens... if... well... if the Suns..." he voice trailed off, and Master sighed.

"Well in that case, Serena," Scott flinched at that name being used in such a crowded place, "it won't just be the jersey you'll be losing." He looked down at Scott's slacks and gave him a meaningful stare.

"No..." whispered Scott. At this core, he'd hoped that the rendezvous at the Sports Bar was just an initial starting place before moving on to somewhere more discreet. With the benefit of hindsight, Scott couldn't really explain why he'd thought that would be the case, especially after the motorway incident, but with that hope now rudely ripped away from him, Scott sunk back into his stool and meekly watched the match unfold.

To lose his jersey and his slacks, to be reduced to his bra, panties and cock cage, in a packed bar, that would be a level of humiliation Scott had never experienced before.

And now it was half-time and the deficit was twelve points. Was that a large deficit to make up? Scott hadn't watched enough basketball to really know, but what he did know was that of the two of them, Kathy seemed the far happier.

He'd been about to order a beer at half-time when Master had cancelled his request and substituted it for a bright pink mocktail, with a curly straw and a colourful umbrella. Scott had sulked a little bit when the drink had arrived, but his growing nerves with how the game was going finally overcame his reluctance and he began to take a few sips, just for something else to do.

The third quarter was at least a closer affair, and as the bar began to get into the game, the Suns rallied slightly to only be down by nine points at the next break. Still, that kind of deficit was still in "flashing his bra and panties to the entire bar" territory, and as well as the Suns had rallied, the only dent they'd made in the Jazz's lead was three solitary points. The remaining nine point deficit was a long journey to travel still.

The fourth quarter began, and Master was looking solemn as the opening minutes saw both sides simply trade baskets in a stalemate.

Master took another swig of his whisky, and was now deep in conversation with his companion, who was looking more and more satisfied with how things were playing out as the seconds ticked by. Scott looked over the Kathy, and briefly made eye contact. He could see the nerves in the other man's face as well, but with a nine point lead and only seven minutes to go, Scott would have traded jerseys with Kathy in a heartbeat.

He drooped his head and stared at the bar top for a while, contemplating his next move. As always, he _could_ just leave. But Master had those photos, videos and emails. While Master had repeatedly said he probably wouldn't post them, there was something about the idea that if Scott just left, that Master would break off all contact, that kept Scott rooted to his bar stool.

He looked at his watch. A few minutes from now, he'd probably be handing over his jersey, potentially even his slacks, and be the subject of hooting derision from everyone around him. He was surrounded on all sides by men and women who Scott would previously have thought of as his equals, but when he was on show in a fucking training bar and these stupid girly Care Bear panties, then there could be no thought of them reciprocating that thought.

Already resigned to his fate, he began to imagine himself just standing there, arms clasped around his body, trying to hide the obvious and failing, while people pointed and laughed, jeered and whistled, and worse still, retrieved phones from their pockets to take photos that could easily go viral. He hadn't seen anyone he actually knew in the bar tonight, but as his heart sank further into the pits of despair, he was sure that this didn't mean that people who knew him wouldn't later see what he'd been up to.

He looked up a few minutes later, when a couple further down the bar who had been pretty sullen all evening suddenly let out a holler. Confused, Scott looked back up at the TV and then sat bolt upright. While he'd be resigning himself to the seemingly inevitable, a couple of turn overs and some sharp shooting had reduced the deficit to only three points! And with less than two minutes on the clock, the Suns were in possession and hot on attack!

Scott breathed deeply. Looking across, he saw a note of real concern plastered over Kathy's face. Master was also beginning to smile slyly, as even with the clock ticking down to zero, the tide began to turn.

The Jazz stole possession again and got in a two-pointer to extend their lead, but some fast work by the Suns' power forward led to a rapid three-pointer and the deficit was now under three.

Scott's pulse raced. There was real hope beginning to swell inside him. It was now the case that a single shot either way could decide the match, and more urgently, decide which sissy would about to be absolutely humiliated.