7

-NORTH-

THE CAGEstays on all the next day, even during football practice, and I feel oddly collected. Focused. Calm. Afterward, on the way back to the locker room, Coach slaps a hand on my shoulder, beaming.

"It's good to see you back on form, North! I was starting to worry you were losing your edge." Over his shoulder, Malcolm locks eyes with me and nods subtly, and warmth spreads through my chest.

I smile at Coach and get changed in the shower stall so no one sees the cage.

When I get out, Mal is waiting for me in a fresh set of black clothes that show off the shape of his body and the length of his muscular legs. He takes me back to his place, strips me naked and chains me to the desk.

"You have half an hour, and I want two pages. Go."

He sets the timer and steps back, taking a seat in a deep armchair, crossing one long leg over the other. I glance around the room and shift in my seat, feeling the hot prickle of embarrassment again. Malcolm isn't looking at me, though, he picks up a book and flicks through it lazily, scanning the pages with heavy-lidded eyes. I watch him for a moment. He looks so at ease, so calm, the tightness that always grips his wide shoulders has melted away. And it makes me feel calmer, too, somehow. I turn my attention back to the page of text in front of me and start to read.

There's nothing to distract me, no phone, no laptop, no internet. The cuffs restrain me, keeping me here until Mal decides to release me. There's nothing I can do but accept it. Gradually the embarrassment leaves me, and I relax back into my chair. Being naked and chained starts to feel kinda . . . normal. I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but once I let myself give in to it and ignore the thoughts that I shouldn't be doing this, the words soak in, and I write my summaries.

Mal reads my summaries and either punishes me or rewards me, and I no longer fight against it. I take what I'm given in the knowledge that it is out of my control, and probably for my own good. Mal seems to know what he's doing, he's in charge now.

While I study, he leaves the room a few times; he brings me a drink, a snack, and gets a new book for himself. But even when he isn't in the room, I can still feel his presence hovering over me, controlling me. And fuck I feel comfortable. Is this what brainwashing feels like? I try not to think about it too much. I can worry about my identity crisis after my grades are back where they should be.

***

As the days pass, I get fewer punishments and more rewards, and I fall into the rhythm of our agreement. Classes, practice, study, sleep. Malcolm is stern, cool. Not really kind, but also not cruel. He's fallen into this dynamic as comfortably as I have. And I'm not sure if I should find that worrying or not, so I just don't think about it.

But it's not all study. Malcolm makes sure that both sides of the agreement are held. Throughout the week, at any time of the day—except during classes—I get the order; it could be a text, a look, a spoken word, anything. And I'm his. I don't get a say in it.

On Wednesday in bio, the professor asks a question to the class, and I'm surprised to find I know the answer. The professor looks pleasantly surprised, too, when I offer it, and a moment later, my phone vibrates.

Psycho: Go to the sports equipment closet after class.

My heart speeds in anticipation. Once the class is over, I follow his instructions, and he's waiting for me there.

"On your knees," he says.

I kneel in front of him, trying not to fidget as adrenaline shoots through my body. His fingers tangle in my hair and tilt my head back.

"You did well today. Most of the class didn't know the answer to that question."

I'm not supposed to speak unless he asks me a question, so I just gaze up at him, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Is he going to reward me?

He moves around behind me and crouches.

"Hold onto the shelf in front of you. Keep your hands there. I don't want you to let go."

I raise my arms and grip onto the edge of the metal shelf. When my arms are in place, he reaches around and starts to undo my fly. It all feels so naughty. I hold still and he opens them and pulls my pants down far enough to take my cock out. I close my eyes briefly, enjoying the sensation, but they snap open when I hear a metallic click. Malcolm has slotted the key into my cock cage and works it lose. He's taking it off, which means he's going to let me come.

"Not until I say you can," he says, and I'm so dizzy with excitement I think he's read my mind. His fingers press at my mouth, and I part my lips to let them in, sucking on his fingers eagerly. When they're slick with spit, he pulls them out and drags his hand up the length of my stiffening cock. It feels so good that a groan escapes me before I can stop it. His hand clamps down over my mouth, muffling me, and I close my eyes again, keeping my grip on the shelf. Being controlled like this, grabbed and manhandled, is beyond hot. Between that and the edging I've had all week, it's not going to take long for me to finish.

He jerks my dick roughly, breathing into the side of my neck. My head flops backward onto his shoulder, tugged back by the hand on my mouth. My fingers dig into the metal of the shelf as pleasure makes my body writhe. Each tug on my cock drives me closer and closer to the edge until I'm thrusting into his hand with frantic energy and whining against his palm. I want to grab hold of him, feel his body, but if I move my hands he might punish me, or worse, he might stop.

"You've been such a good boy this week," he murmurs into my ear, before taking the fleshy lobe between his teeth and biting down hard.

I snatch in a stuttered breath through my nose as my whole body tenses, my balls tighten, and I release. His hand keeps pumping me, not relenting at all as my orgasm rolls over my twitching muscles, and I spill over his hand onto the concrete floor of the closet.

I collapse back against him, still held in place and obediently gripping onto the shelf, and shudder as the last of my cum dribbles out. He lets go of my mouth, wiping my saliva on the leg of my pants. Then he releases my dick and, still reaching around from behind me, reattaches the cock cage over it. I watch his hands, between my raised arms, as they move over my cock and slip it back into place. His other hand comes to my lips, wet with my cum.

"Clean it off."

Oh god. I moan in my throat, and I lick my cum from his fingers, tasting my own salty tang on my tongue.

"Good." He stands, entirely unruffled, not a hair out of place, and looks down at me on the floor, cum stained and panting, still clinging to the shelf like my life depends on it. "You can let go now."

***

I'm alone in the room, apart from the professor sitting quietly behind his desk. The only noise is the clock ticking on the wall. I scan the paper in front of me. This is it. This is what I've been working all week toward, this is what all those spankings were for. The cock cage sits snug under my pants, keeping my dick restrained, under control.

The professor glances at the clock and clears his throat. "Ok, North, you have one hour. Please start."

OK. I can do this. Mal says I can do this, and I do whatever Mal says, so that means I can. But what if I can't? What if I fail again? A spike of anxiety goes through me. If I fuck this up that's it, end of the road. I take a deep breath. No, I can't psych myself out now. I concentrate and imagine Mal standing behind me with the timer, the cuffs on my wrists, keeping me grounded in the moment. Hell, I even imagine myself butt naked. Thank god telepathy isn't a real thing, or Halloway would have some very uncomfortable questions for me.

The anxiety settles. I start. All I have to do is what Mal has trained me to do in the past week. I regurgitate the information, analyze, expand, and define. It flows surprisingly easily, my confidence builds, and I write furiously, the scratch of pen on paper loud.

When it's done, I put my pen down and sit back with a release of breath. Well, that's it. I'm done. Now that it's over I let myself feel the nerves again in full force.

The professor grades my paper there and then, nodding his head as his pen skips down the page, bobbing with growing enthusiasm. I watch, fidgeting.

"This is much better, North! It's not the best mark, but you're well above the pass level." He smiles at me as I sag in relief. I've done it, I'm safe. I'm so relived I almost melt into a puddle on the floor. "I'll admit you've surprised me. What's your secret?"

Malcolm Blackwood is my secret. Oh, and I'm wearing a cock cage right now. I stifle a grin at the thought and shrug innocently. Somehow, I don't think he'll want to hear that answer.

"I'm learning some self-discipline." Which is true enough, I guess.

He smiles widely. "Well, you've really turned it around. Well done and keep it up."

Oh, I intend to. I feel giddy, I want to go find Mal and jump on him and kiss his stern face. Because, fuck, it actually worked.

But I've passed now, what does that mean for our deal? I frown. Do we keep going, or was it only a temporary thing? We didn't agree on how long we'd keep this arrangement going for. My relief at my victory stales slightly. Now that he's had me for a week, is he going to stop? He got what he wanted for a while, what if he's tired of me now?

My phone vibrates, setting off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. Speak of the devil.

Psycho: Well? Did you pass?

I really need to change his contact name. I go for a casual response, like I wasn't shitting myself.

Me: Yep

I add a smiley, delete it, then add it again. Then tell myself to stop being stupid and just send it. I wait for his response, almost as nervous as I was for the exam itself.

Psycho: Come here.

My heart leaps. He doesn't have to tell me twice, the thought of being rewarded has me jumping inside like a touch-starved puppy. I run.