Day 10: Stall of Shame (Part 3)
When one has no choice in the matter, one can convince themselves (or be convinced) of nearly anything. I remember as a teenager the first time a guy gave me a blow job - I came right in his mouth less than a minute after he had specifically asked me not to do that. I apologized, of course, and then proceeded to tell him that cum was actually full of a special kind of protein that makes your dick bigger and stronger. I am certain in that moment that he believed me - after all he was super hot - which very often comes hand in hand with super stupid. At any rate, he really didn’t have any choice in the matter, I’d already spunked down his throat. He was the idiot that swallowed it. It was my first time. How was I supposed to know that pulling out was not going to be in the realm of possibility?
Oh why didn’t I stick with stupid? He would have never handcuffed me to anything.
So I stood in that stall, naked but for my plastic penis prison and a piss stained pair of somebody else’s underwear. Now it was me who I had to convince. And what I chose to believe was that urine-soaked underwear looks identical to dry underwear - only a couple shades darker. And it’s true - in the right lighting.
Unfortunately this was not one of those romantic candle lit locker rooms you hear so much about.
I stepped out of the stall and looked at myself in the mirror. Fluorescent lighting is a friend to no one. It looked like I’d pissed myself, which was less embarrassing than the truth really. It would have to do.
Assuming he was still using the same locker he always did, I headed toward that section. I passed a couple guys who weren’t paying attention and I just kept on going. I no longer had any idea what was a normal walking rate for an adult human male so I’m sure I looked slightly suspicious. I got to his locker and could see my jeans and shirt through the grate. I reached for the latch and just as my thumb touched the metal I heard a voice from behind me.
“Is this yours?” he asked.
I swung around and stared eye to beautiful blue eye with the the God of the Gym Rats. He was in basketball shorts that clung to his crotch in such a manner that no one’s gaze could escape its bulge. It was unfair really, a voyeuristic black hole. His body was muscled, glistening, tan, and a little too close to me actually. And in his left hand he held a single pair of handcuffs.
I looked at him like he was crazy and responded: “Uhhhh….Nope”
“Oh, I saw you leave the bathroom right before I went in, and I found these in there. Not yours?”
The tone was ambiguous. I didn’t know him. I couldn’t tell if he knew I was lying or if he was really some bondage-gear good Samaritan who honestly thought I’d absent-mindedly left my own pair of handcuffs cuffed to a men’s room toilet.
I smiled at him and shook my head as if the question was ludicrous. Then it was he who stole a crotch glance. I had a bulge too of course, but mine was oddly angular and had the outline of a padlock on it. The wet undies did nothing to conceal the chastity device. If anything it was more obvious. I hadn’t even thought about that in the bathroom. I was so used to the outline of it against my underwear and so much more concerned with the wetness that I’d forgotten to worry about it.
His gaze lingered a little too long - but it could have been a matter of milliseconds, any amount of time was too long. I instantly had no idea what he was thinking. Did a guy like this even know that such devices existed? Or was he thinking I had some kind of bizarre futuristic protective cup on? I turned around to end the encounter and opened up the locker door. I was dying to leave. Then I heard his voice again.
“Holy shit…fucking sick”
With that he tossed the handcuffs at my feet and walked away.
I was confused. Then I realized as I felt the back waistband of my underwear. There was a condom there - peeking just above the waist band. I hadn’t removed it, from when the guy had shoved it back in my ass. I’d just put the undies on and somehow it was pulled up in the process.
I didn’t have time to linger, I could hear the guy a couple sections down talking to somebody. His voice was purposefully loud. He evidently wanted the whole place to know.
I slipped my clothes on and started to leave. I could hear things like “you will not fucking believe this shit!” and “This cocksucker…” and “No he’s here now, this just happened!”
I got to the end of the section then hesitated for a second and realized I should probably take the cuffs too. I ran back to grab them. His comments were growing louder and I heard a locker door slam shut as I awkwardly sped out of the section.
I may have pissed myself - there was really no way to tell in my current state. But I got out.
I sat in my car and ran through the events. What was just about to happen there? Would he have come back over to where I was to confront me - to show his friends? Would he have pushed me up against the locker and pantsed me to reveal my chastity to the whole locker room? Would they have beat the shit out of me? My dick was locked up - maybe safe even - but my balls are even more vulnerable squeezing through the plastic ring, pressed up against the plastic shaft. I sat in the car and imagined him kicking me or punching me there. The pain would be unimaginable. What would they have done to me? Demand that I give them head? All of them (however many there were?) I could feel my heart beating in my throat.
But I don’t think it was fear.
In the pit of my stomach I felt a tightness - a ball of tension. It echoed the tightness of my cock straining against the chastity cage. I was hard - uncomfortably and uncontrollably bent-dick hard. And despite all common sense, I knew what it all meant: regret. I regretted not staying in that locker room to find out what they would do to me. I regretted not being humiliated by them, and exposed. I regretted not sharing my chaste shame with those complete strangers. And I regretted not submitting to their demands.
I sat in my car one day away from the end of my 2 week punishment and I considered going back in. I seriously considering going back in.
As stupid as that makes me, there will always be a part of me that regrets the fact that I didn’t.