Chapter 2: The Full Reveal
They passed the dildo back and forth until both of them were hoarse with laughter, spit-slicked silicone shining in the lamplight. Flip set it down on the mattress between them, and Jacqui flopped back on his pillows, still catching her breath.
"No," she said, pointing at him. "That was too good. Too practiced. Nobody deep throats like that on their first hobby."
"It's been two years," he admitted. His ears were still burning.
"Two years." She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand, and looked at him the way a cat looks at a locked cupboard. "What else are you hiding from me, Flip?"
He was quiet for a moment. The wine sat warm and stupid in his chest, and her eyes weren't mocking him, exactly. They were hungry. He got up off the bed before he could talk himself out of it, crossed to the dresser, and pulled the bottom drawer all the way out.
"This is most of it," he said.
Jacqui sat up so fast she nearly headbutted the ceiling. The drawer was crowded: a purple dildo with a suction cup, a thick black one with a flared base, a smooth glass toy curved like a question mark, two butt plugs in descending sizes, a bottle of lube half-empty, a folded length of red rope.
"Oh my god." She was off the bed and on her knees beside the drawer before he could blink. "Oh my god, Flip. How many of these have you, you know."
"All of them." He swallowed. "That's kind of the point."
She picked up the glass one and held it to the lamp like a jeweler. "Which is your favorite?"
"The black one." His voice came out thin. "It's big. It took me months to work up to it."
Jacqui made a small, delighted noise and set it down carefully, like it might bite her. Then she looked under the bed, and went very still.
"Flip."
"I know."
"There is a machine under your bed."
"There is a machine under my bed."
She hauled it out into the lamplight. It was a metal frame with a motor housing and an articulated arm, and at the end of the arm, currently detached and sitting in a ziplock bag, was a dildo molded from an actual cock, veins and everything. Jacqui turned it over in her hands with the reverence of an archaeologist.
"How does it work?" she asked.
"You clamp it to the frame, put the arm where you want it, and dial the speed." He gestured vaguely. "There's a remote."
"A remote." She looked up at him, and her smile was wide and slow. "You fuck yourself with a machine. In this room. While your friends are downstairs."
"It's quiet," he said, and she burst out laughing, hips shaking, until she had to put the dildo down and wipe her eyes.
Then her laughter stopped, and she looked at him with something sharper. She reached out and hooked one finger into the waistband of his sweatpants, just barely, not pulling.
"Show me," she said.
"It's weird."
"Flip. I just watched you suck a cock down to the balls. There is no 'weird' left tonight."
His hands were shaking a little as he pushed the sweats and his boxers down to his thighs. His cock was half hard, flushed pink, and locked inside a small clear silicone cage, the ring snug at the base, the shaft trapped in a curved little prison no longer than a thumb. The little brass padlock glinted.
Jacqui's mouth fell open. Then she leaned in close, studying it, breath warm on his stomach.
"You're locked up," she whispered. "You keep your own cock in a cage."
"Since March," he said. "I can't even get hard properly. It aches all the time. I love it."
She touched the padlock with one fingertip, gentle as touching a bird. He groaned, and his caged cock gave a useless little twitch inside the silicone.
"And the rest," she said, not looking up. "All of it. What else do you love?"
"I love getting fucked." The words came out of him in a rush now that the dam was broken. "In the ass. That's what the machine's for, most nights. And the plugs. I sleep in one sometimes."
"Flip."
"And I like wearing girls' clothes." His face was scarlet but he didn't stop. "Panties, mostly. There's a box in the closet. A skirt. Some of it I bought, some from thrift stores. I like it when it's, I don't know, made into a thing. When someone makes me do it."
Jacqui sat back on her heels. She was breathing faster than she had been, and her hand had drifted to her own thigh. "Someone," she repeated. "Who makes you do it?"
"Just me. Until tonight."
The room was quiet except for the lamp's faint hum. Then Jacqui stood, smoothed her dress down, and pointed at the closet with all the calm authority of a woman who had just been handed the keys to a kingdom.
"Open the box," she said. "And get on your knees while you do it."
Flip went down to the hardwood without a word, and went to work on the latches.