Page 18 of Covert Desires

I scream and shout against the tape gagging me, the cold metal uncomfortable around my junk.

It even detracts from the pain in my shoulder, forcing my mind on my needy dick.

But there’s no use.

Laughing manically, the innkeeper leans back in the chair to admire her handiwork.

My face flushes with embarrassment—I can feel it creeping up my neck, warm, unstoppable.This is fucking humiliating!

Instantly, I feel myself getting hard again.

What the fuck?

There is nowhere to grow though, and my dick presses uncomfortably against the sides of the cage, trying to spread through the thin spaces between the bars.

My tormentor picks up a bottle of half-drunk liquor from the floor and takes a big swig, eyes locked on mine defiantly, as she crosses her legs like she means business.

She grins, speaking slowly. “What did you say earlier? Oh yeah…Much better.”

That bitch!

Chapter six

Nurse

(Kiah)

WhenIwakeupfrom my much-needed power nap on the futon, I almost expect to find Nico hovering over me with a knife again. But the fucker is thankfully still tied and caged on my bed.

Relief soaks into my tired limbs as I drag myself off the floor.

I should probably move him and burn those sheets, but right now, I’m too drained for that kind of physical labor.

Coffee. I need coffee.

Glancing at the kettle-shaped clock above the stove, I do the math: I only got about four hours of sleep. Not ideal, but it will have to do.

After finally restraining the asshole, my victory drink turned into a victory binge, and I finished an entire bottle of red wine as well as the remaining whiskey, trying to calm my mind enough to sleep.

It’s a good thing I kept that chastity cage. The things people leave behind at their holiday destinations...It’s been in the cupboard for like a year. I don’t even know what made me think of it, but once the idea took root in my mind, there was no turning back.

Probably not therightthing to do. But who gives a fuck? That brat deserved much worse for his bullshit behavior.

I wish I could just snap my fingers and make Nico disappear.

A bit of back-up would’ve been great right about now.

But as usual, I’ll have to deal with this alone.

What’s new?

I’ve never had anyone but myself.

Here, pick me with the sad origins story. “I didn’t know they still left babies outside churches?”, my classmates would whisper behind cupped hands as I walked by, giggling like I couldn’t hear them. “Shame, her parents didn’t want her, did you hear?”

My foster parents always told me to pay the gossips no mind, that I was special, meant for great things. They were lovely people, kind people, but they were old—they died a few months apart when I was 12, leaving me with nothing except a single suitcase of clothes and the instruction to“move in with Aunt Martha down South”.

Aunt Martha was okay; she liked to bake square carrot cupcakes and watch birds through her oversized binoculars.

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