Chapter 37: The Weekend Slave
The position was unsustainable. His back screamed, a hot line of fire along his spine. The cage pulled mercilessly at his trapped flesh with every shallow breath. Annika’s feet, still in their black socks, rested lightly on the small of his back. She was watching something on her phone, her occasional laughter vibrating through him. He was furniture. He was nothing.
Time dissolved into the ache of his muscles and the cold pressure of steel. The chatter of the other girls faded to a distant murmur.
Then, new footsteps. Light, quick. He couldn’t turn his head.
“Well, look at this. The loaner unit is already in use.”
Samantha’s voice, but closer. She was in the room. A fresh wave of shame, hotter than the pain, washed over him.
“Just breaking him in,” Annika said, not moving her feet. “He makes a decent ottoman. A little tense, though.”
“We’ll fix that.” Samantha’s heels clicked on the hardwood as she walked around to face him. He could only see her ankles and the hem of her dress. “The weekend itinerary is set. The others are prepping the basement. We’re moving this party downstairs. More privacy. More… tools.”
Annika finally removed her feet. “Up. Follow.”
He struggled to rise, his joints stiff and protesting. Samantha and Annika led him out of the lounge, down a narrow hallway, and through a heavy door that opened onto a steep wooden staircase. The air changed instantly—cooler, damper, carrying the scent of concrete and old laundry.
The basement was a long, low-ceilinged space. Fairy lights were strung haphazardly over exposed pipes, casting a weak, multicolored glow. In the center, illuminated by a single utilitarian worklight, stood a stark, X-shaped wooden structure: a St. Andrew’s cross. Leather cuffs hung from each extremity.
Leaning against a stained pool table were the other girls. Julika, sipping from a water bottle. And two new faces, matching the user’s details. Anna, with her short, sharp hair and watchful eyes, arms crossed over her small frame. Elia, a tapestry of vivid ink on pale skin, her crazy, colored hair piled high, scrutinizing him with a faint, cruel smile.
“Chain him up,” Samantha commanded, gesturing to the cross.
Julika and Annika took his arms, leading him to the apparatus. They pressed his back against the cold, rough wood. Julika secured his left wrist, Annika his right. The cuffs were snug, lined with faux fur that did nothing to soften the bite of the restraint. His arms were pulled wide, chest exposed. He was utterly spread, completely vulnerable.
Anna stepped forward first. She approached slowly, her eyes scanning his body, lingering on his caged cock. It looked obscene in the clinical light, a grotesque parody of masculinity. “So this is the famous hardware,” she said, her voice dry. “The source of all the trouble.” She reached out and ran a single fingernail down the length of the steel bars. A shiver of trapped sensation rattled through him.
“He leaks,” Julika offered helpfully from the sidelines. “Even in the cage.”
“Disgusting,” Anna murmured. She leaned in closer. Then, without warning, she pursed her lips and spat. A thick, warm glob of saliva hit the cage, splattering across the bars and dripping onto his trembling thighs. “That’s for every time a guy thought his dick was a personality trait.”
Elia laughed, a bright, musical sound at odds with the setting. “My turn.” She sauntered over, her eyes gleaming. She gathered saliva in her mouth and let fly. Hers hit higher, coating the padlock. “A little lubrication,” she smirked. “For the mechanism.”
It became a game. Julika spat. Annika, with dramatic relish, hawked up a huge, viscous load that slapped against his lower belly. Samantha watched, a queen observing her court’s amusements, a small smile playing on her lips. His skin grew sticky and cold under the coating of their spit.
“Okay, enough warm-up,” Anna said, wiping her mouth. She walked to a small table and picked up a black vibrator, a bullet style. She thumbed it on. It emitted a high, aggressive buzz. “Let’s see how secure this cage really is.”
She dropped to her knees in front of him. She pressed the buzzing bullet against the underside of his scrotum, right where the delicate skin met the harsh steel of the base ring.
The effect was instantaneous and electric. The vibration didn’t just touch his skin; it traveled, a punishing current of stimulation that shot directly into his tormented cock. It was pleasure, but it was agony—a frantic, buzzing demand for release that the cage transformed into pure, undiluted torture. He threw his head back against the wood, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. His hips jerked uselessly, straining against the cuffs.
“He’s trying to fuck the air,” Elia observed, delighted. “Look at him hump nothing.”
“He’s close,” Anna said clinically, watching his face contort. “Look at his eyes. He’s already on the edge. Pathetic.”
She increased the pressure. The buzz became a deep, insistent roar in his balls. Pre-cum seeped in a continuous, shameful stream from the cage’s tip, mixing with the spit on his thighs. The world narrowed to the vicious buzz and the impossible, mounting tension in his gut.
Then, Elia moved. She walked to the front of the cross, directly before his face. She was wearing a short, pleated skirt. With two hands, she grabbed the hem and pulled it up to her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Her cunt was bare, shaved, and glistening. He could see the delicate, flushed pink folds. The scent of her, musky and sweet, filled his nostrils.
“You like watching, don’t you?” she taunted. “You like seeing what you can’t have.” She placed a hand on the cross above his head for balance. Then, in one smooth motion, she lifted herself and straddled his face, lowering her pussy directly onto his mouth and nose.
She was wet. Her heat and moisture smothered him. “Lick,” she commanded, grinding down.
He couldn’t breathe. He flicked his tongue out, tasting her salty tang. He lapped at her, desperate for air, his actions clumsy and choked. She moaned, a genuine sound of pleasure, and rode his face harder, her thighs clamping against the sides of his head. The world was darkness, her scent, the crushing weight of her, and the unrelenting, brutal vibration on his balls.
“You cum without permission,” Annika’s voice slithered into the chaos from somewhere nearby. She was right next to his ear. He felt her small, cool hand wrap around the caged head of his cock and give a sharp, twisting flick. White-hot pain splintered through the pleasure. “We add another week. You understand? You spurt in that cage, and this becomes a two-week loan. Maybe a month.”
The threat pierced the sensory overload. A month. The concept was a black hole, sucking all thought into it. He fought the climax, a war raging in his pelvis. He swallowed against Elia’s cunt, his tongue moving frantically. Anna kept the vibrator pressed hard, her knuckles white.
Elia’s breathing hitched. “Oh fuck, yeah, right there,” she gasped, riding his tongue roughly. She came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing against his face, her wetness flooding his mouth. She shuddered and went still, then pushed herself off, leaving him gasping, his face slick with her juices.
Anna immediately pulled the vibrator away. The sudden absence of the buzzing was its own shock. The tension remained, a coiled, throbbing knot in his belly, but the immediate pressure valve was shut off. He sagged in the cuffs, drenched in sweat, spit, and her come, trembling violently.
The girls stepped back, observing their work. His thighs were coated in a shiny, disgusting mix of fluids. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs.
Samantha finally approached. She used two fingers to lift his chin, forcing his bleary eyes to meet hers. “Good,” she said simply. “The control is impressive. The desperation… perfect.” She turned to the others. “We’ll continue tomorrow. More tests. More edges. Let that need bake into him.”
They left him there, chained to the cross in the silent, flickering basement. The faint echoes of their laughter and footsteps faded upstairs. The door clicked shut. The bolt slid home.
The ache was monumental. It was a physical entity, a second, more brutal cage inside the first. He hung in the dark, every minute an hour, every hour a day. He wept silently, the tears cutting tracks through the mess on his face. He begged the empty air, his voice a raw, broken whisper. “Please. Please. Let me cum. I’ll do anything.”
But there was only the hum of the worklight and the relentless, aching throb of his own denied flesh.
Sunday night arrived. He had lost count of the edges, the violations. His throat was scraped raw from begging and from servicing them. His body was a map of aches and dried fluids.
They gathered before him one last time, all five of them. They looked fresh, showered, casual. He was a ruined thing, stinking and broken.
“Time for the vote,” Samantha announced, as if choosing a movie. “The loan period concludes at midnight. Do we release him back to my sole custody, somewhat chastened? Or…” she let the word hang. “Do we find his performance worthy of an extension? For continued study and correction. All in favor of adding another week?”
He held his breath.
Annika’s hand shot up first, a wicked grin on her face. “He’s too fun to give back.”
Julika nodded shyly, raising her hand.
Elia shrugged. “I haven’t finished my experiments.” Her hand went up.
Anna looked at him, her expression unreadable. “The data set is incomplete. We need to observe the long-term psychological effects.” Her hand rose.
Samantha smiled, a slow, possessive victory. “Unanimous. Congratulations, Chris. You belong to the house for another week.” She walked forward and patted his cheek. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start all over again.”
They filed out, turning off the worklight, plunging him into absolute darkness. The only light was the faint, green glow of the digital padlock on his cage. A tiny, unwavering ember of his captivity.
The silence was total. The despair was infinite. He was still hard inside the steel. He would be hard tomorrow. And the next day. For seven more days.
In the dark, he began to laugh, a soft, unhinged sound that echoed off the concrete until it turned into sobs.