2

-NORTH-

HE YANKSmy pants down, followed by my briefs until they're both pooled around my ankles, and I can feel the brush of his breath against the sensitive skin of my groin.

Shit, he's going to suck my cock.

Arousal blasts through me and my dick responds. But he doesn't lean in any closer, and the next moment he fishes something small and shiny out from the neck of his top.

The key.

That's when I remember I'm still wearing the cock cage. He's not going to suck me off, he's unlocking me. He's taking the contraption off my dick and setting me free.

The flash of disappointment is so strong and unexpected that I can almost taste it.

It takes all of my strength not to moan when he takes my trapped dick and fits the key into the small padlock holding it in place. The small amount of contact from his fingers through the bars is utter bliss. There's a twist, a click, and then all too quickly it's off. My dick hangs free and keeps on filling, but in a blink, he shoves the cage into his bag and pushes me out of the way. The door swings shut behind him with a quiet click.

I slump against the wall, my heart hammering inside my chest. Jesus Christ, if he'd have actually tried to suck me off, I would have let him. Hell, I still want him to. It's scary how quickly I lost any will to fight.

I let out a shaky breath and swipe a hand through my hair, feeling shaken. Aside from my terrifying lack of self-control, confrontations are the fucking worst, and even though we've only had sex once, what just happened feels far too much like a breakup. Does that make him my crazy ex?

Now that it's got its freedom back, my dick is still reacting to the meager touch it got from Mal. It juts out, painfully hard.

I glare at it. "I hope you're happy. You got me into this whole mess. That was fucking stressful."

It doesn't seem to care. Maybe I should . . . take care of it. But no, there's no way I wouldn't be thinking about Mal, and jerking off over him now would be all kinds of messed up. So I tuck myself away and sort my shit out.

There's no sign of him in the hallway. Did I think he would be lurking, waiting to pounce on me again like some kind of animal? That's it then. Experimental phase over. Back to real life.

"North!"

The call makes me jump, but it's not Mal. At the end of the hallway Professor Halloway is leaning out of his room. His expression looks like bad news. I cover my crotch, aware that my boner is still raging, and try to look like nothing just happened.

He gestures with his head into his office. "Can you come here please? I need to speak to you."

* * *

I failed.

The paper in my hands is a wall of meaningless black text, apart from the small part tucked in right at the bottom which is practically glowing. I read the score again.

I failed.

I'm failing.

"You missed the test results feedback since you had to go see the coach." The professor perches on the edge of his desk, legs crossed neatly, but my eyes are glued to the words of doom on the paper in my hand. "I don't have to tell you how disappointed I am. Your work isn't up to academic standards. And this has been happening for too long. If we don't see improvement soon, I'm afraid the admission team will have to consider the validity of your studying here with us."

That does make me look up. My heart is in my stomach, my stomach is in my feet. They're going to kick me out. I'm screwed. I'm so screwed. They're going to kick me out and my career prospects are going to go down the toilet.

"But . . . the football team?" I say. They need me. I'm the star player. That has to count for something. But Professor Halloway just shakes his head.

"I'm afraid it's not enough to save you if your academic scores aren't up to scratch. And right now, they really aren't. Catching up is your only option."

There's no way I'm going to be able to catch up. I'm fucked.

"I'll catch up, I promise," I say.

"Please do, I would hate to see someone as bright as you throw his future away." He sighs. "You're a nice guy, North, but I've cut you all the slack I can. You need to get your butt in gear before it's too late."

"Yes sir. I will."

I'm fucked.

* * *

I might as well just quit now.

I've been sitting here for hours, hunched over my tiny desk with the overhead lamp bleaching the page white. My eyes ache, the words blur and shift together, and a constant state of horniness buzzes in my ear like a hornet, drawing my attention, making me fidget.

I blink hard. Come on North, get with it. Concentrate. I'm not dumb, but it can take a few tries for something to click, and it doesn't help that I'm so easily distracted. Over the last few days—weeks, months even if I'm honest—I've let it slip more than I should, and then with the whole thing with Mal, I've been too busy either fantasizing about him or concentrating on not fantasizing about him. That's all over now, so I should be able to think about something other than him. So why can't I concentrate?

I push back from the desk with a groan and run a hand over my face. It's like my cock is making the most of its freedom and demanding I join in by giving it attention. You'd think it hadn't been touched for years. It was only locked up for like twelve hours for fuck's sake.

Great, and now I'm thinking about Mal taking the cage off, the slight brush of his fingers against me, tantalizing and inadequate. And how I wanted him to grab my dick hard, pin me against that door, and do whatever he wanted to me. And, shit, now I'm thinking about the things that he did do to me. How he cuffed me, naked, on full display, as he used my mouth and then my ass. My cock twitches, and it feels like someone just turned the heat up in my room by a few degrees.

My eyes drift up to the laptop next to me on the desk and the forbidden tab I have open, hidden behind the others; the one of the gay porn site that I haven't had the guts to properly look at yet.

Studying is almost impossible when I'm this horny, and I need to take a break anyway. I can just take a glance at it.

Checking over my shoulder as if someone might be crouched in the corner of my dorm room spying on me, I click open the tab. The background is black, with large video thumbnails that show a short preview when I hover the mouse over them. My body is clenched up tight. I scroll through the videos on the front page, hovering over each, sneaking just a taste, fizzing energy building in my belly.

I keep going until I find one that catches my attention more than the others and lean closer. The thumbnail shows a shot of a guy tied naked over some kind of wooden bench, with his lips stretched around a bright red ball gag. His wrists and ankles are strapped to the legs of the bench, holding him in place. He can't move or speak, he's entirely helpless. I chew on the inside of my cheek, adrenaline shooting through me like I might get caught at any moment, and hover my mouse over it. The image jumps into life, and another guy comes into the shot. He's big, and completely naked. His torso is sculpted with muscle, and his dick is already standing up away from his body, huge and thick. His heavy-lidded eyes take in the twitching man strapped down and exposed before him. As I watch with bated breath, he takes up position between the guy's stretched legs, and starts fucking him from behind. The tied guy's face screws up around the gag as he's penetrated. And my body tenses along with him.

Is that what I looked like last night? Has Mal ever gagged someone like that? Would he do it to me?

My hand drifts down to my groin, and I stroke the bulge through the fabric. The touch feels like fire, and the pleasure that jolts through me is enough to snap me back. Shit, what am I doing? I need to study, not jerk off to BDSM porn.

I close the tab, close the browser, and then close the whole laptop for good measure.

But now I'm impossibly horny, my cock desperate for attention and straining in the confines of my underwear. When I'm in this state the only thing that will work is to pump one out and get it done with. But I'm not going to look at any kinky gay porn, and I'm not going to think about Mal. I'm going to jerk one out and then get back to work.

Getting straight to it, I slip my hand into my sweatpants and grip my dick, no messing around. It's achingly hard already, and I stroke along its length, shuddering at the feeling.

Don't think about him. Don't think about him.

I try with everything in me, but he comes barging his way into my mind anyway. And suddenly it's his hand on my dick instead of mine, wringing the pleasure from me as I struggle and try to pull away. But he's too powerful, he's too strong, and he holds me down and makes me enjoy it.

I reach climax embarrassingly quickly, and grunt as I come, grabbing a tissue to catch the erratic spill that catches me off guard. As the bliss rolls over me, I slump back in my chair. But it's dim and fleeting. Unsatisfying and hollow. My cock shrinks back down, satiated for now, but I can tell it won't last long. In no time at all it'll rise from the dead. I need to do something to stop it or I'm never going to be able to catch up on my studies.

I think of the cock cage, keeping me in check all last night and this morning. It didn't stop the mental arousal, but it stopped the physical one at least. And with that on, getting distracted wouldn't even be an option.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. I pick up my phone and type out a message.

Me: hey i need it back

I'm surprised when a reply comes through almost instantly. I wasn't really expecting him to respond after what happened today.

Psycho: What?

Me: the cage. i need to borrow it again for a little while so i can concentrate

Psycho: Then buy one yourself.

For some reason the idea of buying myself one is too embarrassing to even consider. And what would be the point if I had the key? I know I'd just let myself out whenever I wanted to jerk off.

Me: that wont work

Psycho: I thought you didn't want anything to do with me. I'm crazy, right?

I cringe.

Me: you think i would be asking if i had another option? i just need to borrow it for a bit so i can study and then ill give it back. ill pay you if you want.

Psycho: Fuck off. I don't want your money.

Me: this is really important. please

There's no reply this time. I lock my phone and throw it onto the bed, cursing. That asshole. Why did I bother asking him? Of course he wouldn't do anything for me, because he's a selfish jerk. A small voice at the back of my head tells me that he has no reason to help, I did just dump his ass, and I wasn't exactly nice about it. Fuck that. With my entire future hanging in the balance, I'm not in the mood to be reasonable.

Irritation bubbling through me, I turn back to my books. But I barely get halfway down the page before my mind wanders back to him again. What if he's on his way here right now? He might be just about to burst in through my door, kick the thing right off its hinges, and pin me down. He'd tear my clothes off as I tried to fight him, probably tie me to the bed. He might even have to gag me to stop the others from hearing my shouts for help. I glance over at my door as the ache inside me builds. It stays shut. I let out a very long sigh and scrub my hands over my face.

Can you hear yourself? What is wrong with me? Am I really fantasizing about that?

But the more I try to concentrate the more my mind wanders and the more my hunger grows. I'm like an addict, hooked from just one taste of a drug I never knew existed until a few days ago. And just like an addict, I can feel myself getting desperate. I need relief and there's only one place I can get it.