2

-North-

One week later

On Wednesday morning I wake up tied to the bed.

Well. This is new.

My wrists are roped to the headboard, and my ankles are tied to the bedposts, as wide as the bed will allow, so I'm spread-eagled on the mattress. I'm completely naked—Mal likes it when I sleep in the nude—except for the metal cage on my cock, and the plug up my ass. The ropes cut into my flesh, and I pull against them, relishing how they hold me firmly in place, leaving me completely helpless.

A polite cough at the foot of the bed makes me lift my head.

Malcolm stands between my feet, with that smug "cat got the cream" look he does so well. Over the past week, he's grown more and more comfortable with sharing my space at night. As far as I'm concerned, we're a couple in every way that matters, except by name. He's made it clear I'm not his "boyfriend." We just spend all of our time together, sleep in the same bed, fuck like rabbits, and absolutely obsess over each other. We don't need a label for this, other than "fucking great."

"You're awake," he says.

"Good morning to you too, babe," I say.

Malcolm lifts the butt plug remote and clicks a button. The plug inside my ass vibrates on the highest setting, sending a jolt through me. I jerk and gasp out a swear word and the vibration stops.

I blow a lock of hair out of my face. "Ok, it's a no pet names kinda morning," I say. "Got it."

We don't use pet names, unless I'm trying to get a rise out of him. So, actually, I guess we do use pet names quite a lot. Or at least I do. He pretends they irritate him, but I know he loves the excuse to react. And I love giving him the excuse.

Malcolm leans over the end of the bed, resting one arm by my leg. "Any more smart comments from you, and I won't let up."

Fuck, his voice sounds so good with that taunting edge, so cool and in control. The joke's on him though, I don't want him to let up.

I clear my throat and try not to sound too unsteady. "OK, daddy."

That does it. The plug jumps to life again, and this time it doesn't stop.

Mal watches me squirming. "Got anything else to say?"

All I manage is a kind of strangled whimper as I struggle against the ropes. He keeps me like that for a few minutes, just watching as the plug thrums in me like the freaking energizer bunny, and my cock tries valiantly to fill in the cage. It's not long before I'm flushed and aching for release.

Mal walks around the side of the bed, sliding one hand up the length of my body as he goes. "You've done really well recently, North—study, practice, diet. I can't fault you on any of it. Except . . ." he trails off and tips my head up with his finger, exposing my neck and the bite marks littering my skin—his new favorite hobby. "There's one area where you've really let me down." He gestures around the room, really hamming it up. "This place is a fucking pigsty."

I look around at the piles of clothes, dirty underwear, football gear, and books strewn across the floor and grimace. I didn't realize how much of a mess it has become. My dorm is always a dump, but I've managed to stay relatively neat here, even though I can't remember putting any extra effort in to clean up after myself, Malcolm's house seems to magically clean itself . . .

Wait.

Has he been tidying up after me this whole time? The mortifying realization sinks in. It's either that or he has a secret maid that he keeps locked in a closet somewhere, which, knowing Mal, I wouldn't be entirely surprised by.

"You haven't been picking up my dirty jocks have you?"

He crosses his arms. "Not for the last week I haven't," he says.

I want to bury my burning face, but I can't. "Sorry about that," I say, flexing my hips pathetically. This is humiliating, and it's embarrassing how much it's turning me on.

He tuts. "It's disgusting. I want this room kept tidy from now on."

"Seriously, Mal, if you don't want me to call you daddy you're going about it the wrong way," I groan.

He pinches my nipple and twists, and my body arches under his hand.

"I don't give a fuck what I sound like, when we're done here you're going to clean this room on your hands and knees."

Oh, fuck yeah. Only Mal could make tidying sexy. I roll again as his hand leaves my nipple, curving my chest up toward him, desperate for more contact.

"And I found these," he adds.

He holds up my half-empty packet of very secret cigarettes that were very cleverly hidden under my pillow. Shit.

"Oh," I say. "I mean, what are those? I've never seen them before."

He waves them loosely, unimpressed. "Did you really think you were being sneaky? North, I can smell them on you whenever you sneak off to have a smoke. And hiding them under your pillow? How old are you?" He sighs. "You quit today."

"I'm sorry, Mal. I've been trying to stop. I swear."

"Don't say sorry to me, apologize to your lungs. It's them you're fucking up. But I can't blame you, I know your self-discipline is nonexistent. It looks like I'll have to keep you in line myself."

He tucks the packet into his pocket, and his eyes darken. "So that's two things I need to punish you for. But first," he reaches between my spread legs and teases my sack, stroking it lightly and rolling it in his hand. I jump at the unexpected contact. "While I've got you all tied up, it seems a shame to waste it."

His hand leaves my balls and he slides his fingers along the length of the cage, teasing my cock through the meager spaces between the bars. My hips jump, pushing my trapped dick into his hand, but he backs off again. Goddamn, but he must have a degree in edging.

He retreats to the end of the bed again and crouches down, only his head and shoulders visible. I lift my head, but I can't see what he's doing down there.

He fiddles with something, and then a buzzing fills the room. When he stands again he's holding a vibrator wand with a bulbous head, thrumming like a nest of hornets. I gulp.

Moving slowly and keeping his eyes on my face, he brings it to my caged dick. It's like an electric shock on my already aching cock. My body spasms. He drags the wand up my body, circling my erect nipple, pink from being pinched, and then buzzes it lightly on the stiff bud.

With me tied in place and unable to move, he keeps going, alternating between my cock and nipples while I writhe, until I gasp out a strangled, "Fuck!"

Finally, he stops the torment and steps back. My body twists with burning arousal, my caged cock leaking between my legs. "Goddamn, Mal, I need to come."

He tilts his head as if he's considering it. "As much as I love to hear you beg, I want to hear your desperate muffled moans while I work on you more."

He ducks again—does he have a whole goddam stash of sex toys down there—and brings up the red ball gag. Oh, fuck yes.

I whimper as he pushes it into my mouth and fastens it behind my head.

"Safe signal?" he asks.

I snap my fingers and give an enthusiastic thumbs up for good measure.

"Good."

He steps back and takes me in with dark brown hungry eyes, head tilted, arms folded, the vibrator held loosely in one hand.

"If only the team could see you now. What would they think?" One side of his lips quirk up. "I could call them, get them to come over. Do you want that? Get them all in here and let them see you tied up and caged, squirming and begging for more like a slut. Maybe I'd let them take turns with you. I'd enjoy watching them stretch out your hole one by one. Make you beg and cry to come with no relief."

Even though I know he would never do that, the idea is enough to make me whimper helplessly around the gag. Because he could if he wanted to, and there wouldn't be a damn thing I could do about it. And fuck me if it doesn't make my cock twitch.

He steps forward and presses the rod to my cage again and my body goes rigid as more cum leaks out.

His eyes are blown wide with lust, and he shakes his head. "The star of the college. You're in your element on the field. But like this? This is what you were made for. You might be everyone's golden boy out there, but in here, where it matters, you're my toy."

It's true. It's so fucking true. This feels more real and vital than anything else in my life. I belong to Malcolm completely and wholly.

He rests the vibrator against my hip with the head on the cage and leaves it there, thrumming me into sweet agony. There's no escape and no release. Mal climbs up and takes position between my stretched legs. After a liberal dousing of lube from his apparently secret stash, he grasps the base of the plug and eases it out slowly, then slides it back. He repeats the action, stretching me with each thrumming thrust. I move my hips, pushing down on it, and he speeds up until he's fucking it in and out of me.

The noises I'm making are loud and wobbly. Noises I should be embarrassed by, and I would be if it was anyone but Mal. But only he can do this to me, only he can wreck me so thoroughly that I shrug off any kind of dignity, and I let the noises batter against the inside of the ball in my mouth.

With a final tug, he pulls the plug all the way out and I whimper at how woefully empty I am, needy and pathetic and so past caring.

He sets the plug aside and snaps the waistband of his pants down, revealing his cock, long and hard and ready to fuck. I whimper again at the sight of it. His top rides up, exposing a swathe of his hard abs, littered with dark hairs. God, he's so fucking hot. How can someone just go around being this hot and get away with it? It should be illegal.

I wish he'd take the rest of his clothes off, I want to see his tight body, that scar slashing across his shoulders, his thick thighs, the mounds of his abs, and the way his body strains when he's fucking me.

But a second later I forget all about it because he slides his knees under my thighs and grips my hips. My crack is slick with the cum that's dribbling out of me, and the head of his cock pushes up into it, smearing it around. His face is tight with concentration as he eases his cock inside me, and my legs shake as I stretch around him.

"Too much?" he checks in.

I shake my head.

"Want it hard?"

Oh god yes. I give him a jerky nod.

He draws out, then slams back in, filling me all the way in one thrust. I throw my head back and scream into the gag. My hands ball into fists, pulling tight against the rope as my cock strains painfully against its cage. He pulls out and slams in again, fucking me hard in a relentless rhythm that makes me see stars, and burning pleasure mixed with pain hammers through me again and again. He leans forward as he works and the fine golden chain around his neck falls free of his top, dislodging the key to my cage to swing directly over my trapped cock, taunting it with its release. Tantalizingly close but still so far.

He thrusts hard and I screw my watering eyes shut.

"Look at me," he snarls. I force them open again and our gazes meet. His is furious with hunger, searing into me until I feel it like a burn in my chest. The sheer possessiveness in his eyes takes my breath away.

Then his muscles bunch, his eyes fly wide, and he's emptying inside me, filling me with warm cum as the cords on his neck stand out and his shoulders strain. He keeps pumping, riding his climax to the very end, and I clench around him, eager for everything he has.

Finally, he flops down on top of me, boneless and limp, with his softening dick still inside me. I rut up against him as much as I can, whining.

"You wanna come?" he rasps against my throat.

I nod desperately.

"Then earn it."

He heaves himself up, pulls out of me, and produces a huge dildo. With a twist and a shove, he pushes it up my ass, trapping his cum inside me. Then he unties my arms and legs.

"The gag stays in. You're going to clean this room on your hands and knees with that dildo up your fucking ass and stuffed full of my cum." He tucks his spent cock away. "I'm going to wash up. If this room isn't clean when I get back, I'm going to tie you up again, take that dildo out, and throat fuck you with it. And then I'm not going to touch you for the rest of the day, and you'll be locked up with no relief. Understand?"

I nod, eager to do his bidding. I would dance naked around the flagpole in the quad right now if he wanted me to. If it meant I could get off.

"You've got twenty minutes."