Toronto with @torontodominant and @musclegrowsub last year had me soaked and throbbing with ideas… so I wrote this: Locked Boy #7 meets Locked Boy #2 🔒🔒
It’s been exactly one year since I last been to the city. This time Sir decided one muscle boy isn’t enough; but two eager muscle boys, two locked cocks, two muscle faggots begging to be used is clearly better. The entire train ride into the city I’m already throbbing in my cage, replaying the way his voice alone can melt me into a puddle of need.
I step into his dim, warm apartment and the heat wraps around me like his control will soon do. Nerves dissolve into pure, aching want and need. I strip fast, slide the black mask over my eyes, and walk into Sirs bedroom wearing only my jock and the chastity cage biting into my swollen cock.
He’s reclining on the bed in nothing but boxers, exuding calm, brutal control. I drop to the foot of the bed without a word and begin worshipping his feet: soft kisses, slow strokes, gentle massages, right, then left foot, then both at once. The small talk is only an illusion; his dominance has already swallowed the room whole.
His phone pings.
“Number 4 is here,” he says, voice low and filthy. “Living room, boy.”
We move. In the living room waits his throne-like chair and, on the floor beside it, two plush pillows. My lips curl into a needy smile. He sits. I sink to my knees instantly, nuzzling up his calves, his thighs, begging with my whole body to be allowed higher. When my nose finally brushes the bulge in his boxers I lose myself, dragging in lungfuls of his musk like it’s oxygen, humping the air shamelessly with every breath.
The front door clicks. Footsteps. I hear Number 4 stripping, hear the soft clink of his collar chain, the rustle of his harness. Sir’s voice cuts through the haze: “Turn around and greet your new friend, #7.”
I twist on my knees. Fuck. He’s a sculpted himbo, thick pecs, abs popping, black harness framing everything, collar gleaming, jock barely containing the fat outline of his caged cock. We crash together without thinking: hands roaming muscle, noses buried in necks and pits, a hungry, with a taste of nervousness and excitement calashing with shared desperation.
“Good boys,” Sir says” that’s good enough for now, both of you, at my feet.”
We drop side by side, four hands and two tongues fighting to adore every inch of his legs and feet. Sir snaps his fingers. “Four, up here, mouth on my cock. Seven, stay low.”
A bottle cap pops. He tips the poppers under #4’s nose first, then mine. The rush slams into me, lighting every nerve on fire.“Seven,” he purrs, “tell me how Four’s muscle ass looks from down there.”
I turn my head. That perfect, round, muscular ass is flexed right in my face, the thin strap of his jock disappearing between two glorious cheeks.
“It looks… fucking delicious, Sir.”
“Then get a better taste.” I don’t wait. I grab those hard cheeks, spread them wide, and dive in like a starving man. My tongue finds his tight hole instantly, circling, pressing, fucking into him while he moans around Sir’s thick cock above me. I eat him like I’ll never eat again, face smashed deep, nose grinding against his taint, lost in heat and musk and submission.
“Enough,” Sir finally grunts. “Stand up, boys.” Cocks straining uselessly in its cages. #4 flexes on command, arms high, lats flared, every muscle popping like he was carved for this moment. Sir nods at me. “Inspect him #7.”
I’m on him again, nose in his sweaty pit, licking, sucking, hands worshipping the swell of his biceps while he feeds me another brutal hit of poppers. Sir’s voice is velvet and steel: “Rub those pathetic caged cocks together. Show me how pathetic you boys are.” We slam together, arms locked around each other, muscles intertwined, cages clacking and grinding, pre-cum smearing between us as we kiss like animals.
“ Boys grab your nipple clamps,” Sir orders…
Like, write “good boy” & RT if I should keep going ✍️😈🔒