Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.
Chapter 6: Tricked
I never called Charlie on it.
I knew. I had known for a while, somewhere underneath everything, what we were doing wasn’t just bro stuff, camaraderie and gainsmaxing. He had planned it from the first morning he saw me. He tested me in increments, and had his dick in my mouth within ninety minutes of first laying eyes on me. He took the shower stall across from mine and plopped his giant dick out for me to see. The fall in the locker room and his cock landing right on my face. He knew what he was doing. And I guess I knew it too, but I had to buy into the story he sold, so that I could do what I wanted. He made it easy, in a weird way.
I never said anything about it. I'm not sure what I would have said. Thanks, maybe. Or nothing. Or the same thing I said the first morning when he corrected my form, which was just: okay.
Charlie knew things. He had been right about everything from the beginning, the hip hinge, the protein timing, the edging, even the cage. My gains improved and my focus was never better as soon as I put it on, or at least after I got used to it. So even when I understood that I had been a managed project of his, carefully and from the start, I couldn't find it in me to be angry about the results.
I looked better. I looked significantly better.
My abs had become a real entity, not just a skinny ripple on my stomach anymore, not just the absence of fat but actual structure. They showed without flexing. My arms had filled out too. My chest had changed shape. We had gotten some sun in the last few weeks and I had a tan for the first time in my life that hadn't come from a beach trip. People I had known since September were doing double takes. A girl in my Tuesday lecture had started sitting closer to me and talking to me for made up reasons. My roommate asked if I was “on something”.
"Just discipline," I said, which was true in more ways than I was able to tell him.
—[]—
The cage had been on for about a week when Charlie invited me over to his place again.
I had learned to keep it clean along with the butt plug he sent me home with, which was about twice the size of the first one he had stuffed into me, and there was a learning curve. I had learned to sleep in it, which had taken about a week. I had tried and failed to remove it every night so far, attempting every angle I could think of, but my balls held the ring on, and my dick wouldn’t come out of the dick-shaped part, and after running through every physical scenario, I gave up on that idea. I had gotten used to the constant low pressure of it, the ache that lived just below the surface, in the depths of my crotch that held the core of my strength. I stopped fighting it and started working around it.
At the gym, it was surprisingly not very complicated to work out with the thing on. And I still showered with the curtain open, but I was careful about trying not to show people. I got surprised glances from a few guys, but never had to explain anything. The only real struggle was the lack of orgasm, but that was sort of the point, so I braced through it.
When I got to his place, he invited me in, and made no pretense before reaching for my waistband right there in his doorway. He dropped my pants, my bare ass showing to the others down the hall, like he just wanted to see my caged cock.
He pulled me inside and closed the door. “Let’s hit the couch.”
I kicked my pants away and sat on the couch with him.
He brought out some lube and dropped his pants, his big meat tube already getting hard, ready to start the show.
“How am I supposed to do an edge?” I said, partially already aware of what the answer would be.
“You’re, uh…” he started, reaching for my thigh. “You’re gonna help me,”
He lifted my legs and looked at my ass.
“Pink,” he said as he brought his hands under my balls, inspecting me. He spit, and I felt the warmth hit me. It was starting.
He brought my knees to my shoulders as he climbed over me, lining himself up. He applied some lube quickly, and started to press in.
“No porn?” I said.
He shrugged, and pushed in, starting his pleasure seeking right away.
"Bros helping bros edge is a pump multiplier," he said, stuffing my ass in his slow, deliberate rhythm, his hands on my hips, before he pulled out and flipped me over effortlessly.
“Your body is getting so firm,” he said as I was face down on his couch, which had become a familiar position.
"Is that a real thing," I said into the cushion. “The pump multiplier.”
"Your numbers have gone up fifteen percent in six weeks," he said. "You tell me."
He wasn't wrong. My numbers had gone up fifteen percent in six weeks, but that was hard to think about in this exact moment.
He kept going for a while longer and then went completely still inside me, his hands pressing my hips flat, holding his position. I felt him just there, not moving, a full and held pressure as he stopped himself from cumming.
We stayed like that for a while. His breathing was controlled, until he finally started pumping again.
"Should I edge inside you too?" I asked.
“Sure…” he said, trailing off as he continued stuffing into me, “Definitely. But you have to wear the thing… for now.”
"Do I get to cum ever?" I said.
"Maybe," he said. "Yeah. Sometime."
He started moving again, and then he suddenly got some stamina I didn’t see coming. His body started clapping against me, and the pumping started to make me tingle inside. I felt a sensation up my crotch.
“I think I’m gonna piss again,” I muttered, but he ignored me, apparently too in the moment to care about getting piss on his couch.
And then it happened. The tingling turned to a pleasurable intensity, slowly radiating from my body through my stomach.
I felt it permeate through me slowly, a long rising wave that started deep and moved outward in every direction at once, filling my chest and my thighs and the back of my throat and the insides of my arms.
Then my hole clenched hard around him and pulsed, once and then again, and I reached down and grabbed the cage with one hand and groaned into the otherwise quiet apartment.
He went completely still inside me.
I felt him register it, the clenching and the pulsing, his hands going flat on my hips.
"Your ass is..." he said, and then stopped, long enough that I turned my head slightly to hear what came next.
"Oh," he said.
I groaned again and held the cage and felt the pulses continue and felt him still completely inside me, holding himself there, his own breathing no longer fully controlled. The warmth spilled from my cage in pulses, accompanying the strange, new type of orgasm taking over my body.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
It went on for maybe a full minute, more cum oozing out of me as Charlie began pumping me again, keeping himself on the edge.
—[]—
He let me out of the cage after about a month. The morning after he had made me cum anally for about the third time, he produced the key from wherever he had been keeping it, removed the cage from me while I was still barely waking up, with the same matter-of-fact efficiency he had put it on with, and he told me the day's parameters.
"One thing," he said. "Go get some pussy this weekend. Cage goes back on after the workout Monday morning."
I looked at him.
"Your testosterone needs a different kind of release periodically," he said. "Variation in stimulus. It's important for the cycle."
I nodded like that made complete sense, which by that point it might as well have. I didn’t question Charlie. What he said became the way things were.
He was right about the pussy thing too, or half right. My game at the party that night was the smoothest it had ever been. I was confident in my body in a way I wasn’t when I first got to college. I knew how to be in a room. A girl was talking to me within ten minutes and we had disappeared into a back room together in less than twenty.
She started going down on me and I felt the familiar build immediately and said, "I'll cum too fast. You wanna just fuck?"
She said she only wanted to give head. I passed.
An hour or so later, a second girl wanted to have sex, which should have been exactly right, except that as soon as we got naked, I asked her to put a finger in my ass, and she looked at me like I had asked her to vote republican, and the moment didn’t recover.
“I’m gonna… go,” she said with a worried look on her face, putting on her clothes as quickly as she could.
I ended up back on the dark dance floor, twice struck out, holding a red cup I hadn't even been drinking from.
I looked around. Charlie was there. I hadn't known he was even coming to this, but it was only fitting that wherever I went, there he would be.
He was across the room, drink in hand, half-talking to some other guys, and he looked at me and I looked at him and he read my face in about two seconds.
He raised an eyebrow.
I looked back, nodding lightly.
He smirked, tilting his head toward the hallway.
I smiled before I could stop myself. He turned and walked down the hallway and I set my cup down on the nearest surface and followed him.
—[]—
Freshman year is almost done now.
I have more friends than I have ever had in my life, mostly from Charlie's circle, guys who know me from the gym and from Reese's apartment and from various iterations of the cockfight, which has become a recurring event that I am no longer the newest person at. My ranking has even improved. I know the rules. I know how to pace myself, mostly, except for the times Charlie decides I deserve a finger up the ass, in which case I blow immediately.
I have no particular interest in girls right now. I notice them. I just don't have the bandwidth for the effort of it, and what Charlie and I have is more efficient and also better in many ways that are hard to put into words.
My hole is fully stretched. That's just a physical fact at this point. My posture is excellent. My posterior chain is the strongest it has ever been. People keep telling me I carry myself differently, and they're right, though none of them know why.
Charlie is still a bully sometimes. He says something occasionally that cuts emotionally, more than he means it to, and I walk home from the gym holding it in my chest, same as that first month. But then there are the other moments, the hand on my chest in the dark, the coffee already made the way I like it when I come out of the bedroom.
Both of those things are Charlie. I stopped being surprised by either one a long time ago.
He tricked me from the beginning and I never called him on it, and I never have to, because I came here to look better and I do, and also because some mornings his chin is on top of my head and his arm is across my chest and the apartment is quiet and I feel small and warm and perfect.