Connor Chapter Two: Securing Tactical Advantage

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: pic

whats this shit u sent

ur insain now way am i doin this fuc u man

-Sent from my iPhone

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic

Hi Connor me mucky old mucker,

Glad my package got to you ok! My faith places great value on patience, and I think it's something you could really benefit from appreciating more -- you can't have everything whenever you want it! Be it computer games, trainers, or orgasms.

Have you tried putting it on yet? Might be a little snug -- it was made for little tiddlers, not big woolly mammoths like yours!

Now, don't worry about the key: I have that -- and let me assure you, it'll be winging its way to you in the post, and should be with you in a wank or so -- I mean, week or so! Freudian slip, lol.

But to be serious for a minute, you can totally trust me; I'm a man of religious conviction. And who ever heard of a religious person doing something bad?! I know I haven't, and I'm absa-positively-bloomin sure that you haven't, either.

Now, my suggestion: have a cheeky wank now, to get all the muckiness out of your system, and that'll help keep you focussed for the next seven days.

Don't forget -- you need to send me a pic as soon as you put it on, to prove you've done it. The seven day countdown only starts from the day you provide the picture :-(

Oh, and I'm going to put the little outburst contained within your last email down to an overproduction of testosterone on the part of those large testicles you carry around with you, for which you are not to blame, and let you off. Because we do both remember that if you so much as dare to think about not doing what you're asked, then that video gets made public?

Yeah, I'm sure we both remember that little factoid.

Dems da rulez, sorry!

Lovingly yours,

-Ben xxx


I'd sent my wild army stud a...device. A device to help provide him with some much needed focus. It was basically a plastic, transparent sheath for his cock. It slid snugly over the cock, and was locked in place with a small, but conventional, metal padlock. It made erections painful – you couldn't get fully hard, and after a while, the hardness you did have would dissipate because it got so fucking painful to maintain.

I'd never used it myself, but I was eager to try it out -- and who better to test it on than a sexually conventional, straight edged bull of the British Army?

I knew Connor was used to a disciplined life in the forces. This just took his discipline to the next logical level. I told myself, anyway. I mean, the way I saw it, his army training made him well suited to this sort of thing; the army takes an idiot like Connor, breaks him down, and rebuilds him as a well-built stud who does what he's told and only fucks what he's supposed to fuck.

Which, of course, is just how Connor likes it...or so I kept telling myself. This belief was just that -- a belief. A hunch.

But...I dunno. I guess I felt pretty sure of myself. In my experience, most straight lads relish the imposition of boundaries; it's what boys need to function.

It's just a case of fucking that fact into them.

Now. I should say at this point, I originally envisaged the device serving as a sort of...bargaining chip.

Connor would flat-out refuse to put it on; I would, 'reluctantly', demand of him something not quite so humiliating, and he would jump at the less humiliating option, thinking he'd got away pretty light.

It didn't quite work out like that.

I don't know if it was my email which scared him, or if he just hadn't read the email properly and didn't know what he was getting in to, or if he just really wanted to put his dick in my hands, but the next thing I get is this:

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: pic

howd i get it of if i get hard

-Sent from my iPhone

Accompanied by a picture of my big hunky para, trackies and white Calvin Klein's pulled down around his thighs, and with the hard transparent device firmly ensconced over his soft slumbering cock.

I couldn't help but laugh...and wonder. Could he seriously of misunderstood the device, or misread my email? I wanted to ask...but I didn't. This whole mission of mine was about creating a pleasant fiction to allow him, a straight boy, to lose sexual authority to me, another man; to start questioning him about the details would undermine that.

So I stuck with the pleasant fiction.

For his sake.

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic

My recommendation: don't get hard. And WHATEVER YOU DO: don't let any girls see it. Because even if they don't say it, they'll think you're a total grade A faggot with that on.

Also, there's been a change of plan. Would you believe, I've misplaced my stamp! So instead of me sending you the key, we're going to meet up. Now, I work during the week, and I've got an activity weekend planned with the local synagogue this Saturday/Sunday, so we'll have to meet NEXT Saturday -- that's 11 days from today. Ok champ?

So on Saturday afternoon, slap on your most understated cologne, squeeze that manacled cock into your ripest boxers, and get your arse to the big shopping mall in town for 2pm. Go to the food court on the fourth level. Sit down. Relax. Have a café latte, maybe. Oh, and keep your phone on. Don't bother replying to this email; if you don't show, that vid is made public, and you'll need to call a locksmith to get you out of that cage, lol! So you'll be showing up. Let's not even bother pretending otherwise.

See you there!

Yours in salty release,

-Ben xxx

I didn't actually get a response from Connor. But I was sure the clamp on his cock provided a pretty constant reminder of his dilemma and, whilst the hormones would be steadily building and with it, his natural inclination to rebel, I felt certain that the cage and his military training would keep him in line; keep him controlled - like all big dumb straight army lads are meant to be.

The following Saturday was predictably busy at the town's biggest shopping centre. I arrived at about 1.30, so I could set up. Not that I had much to set up -- I queued up for my coffee and sat down on the fifth level; an atrium which overlooked the fourth level below it, with a table which afforded me a good view of the comings and goings on the lower floor.

I removed my smart phone, and an envelope. I tore the envelope open, removed the key, as well as the note it came with. I didn't read the note (not really necessary, given that I'd written it) but I pushed the whole lot back into my coat pocket.

Connor arrived at about 2.05pm. He wore white Adidas trackies, K* Swiss 'Altadena' trainers (brilliant white with a skyblue gradiant brushed along the side); and a light grey hoodie and dark grey baseball cap with a white Reebok logo on the front.

The hood of his hoodie was pulled up over the cap; clearly, Connor wanted to see, but not necessarily to be seen.

He looked around nervously as he slowly sat himself at a table just in my direct field of vision.

Pretending to still read my book, I picked up my phone, and placed it over the concealed pages of text, and began my email.

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: I can see you

Hello Connor,

You're late, but I'll put that down to the buses. How are you feeling? Nuts driving you nuts? Just about ready to burst? Well, maybe today'll be the day you can relieve some of that pressure...but know that if you fail to do as instructed, then it most definitely won't be that day. Understand?

I'm watching you right now. I'm also watching the person you're about to walk over to -- on the fifth level, mid 20s, short dark hair, skinny build, on his own, wearing an AC/DC T-Shirt. About 20 minutes ago, I put an envelope on his table. I did this walking past his table from behind him, and I immediately went to the toilets to take off the coat I had worn whilst doing so. This means he is unable to identify me, having never seen my face or the clothes I am now wearing, so don't bother doing your Miss. Marple impression on him.

In the envelope is the key for your little device. I also included a note detailing what it unlocks, and how the person who wants the key will probably do quite a bit to get it back. Your task -- as part of your charity task -- is to go over there, and do whatever the fellow wants, in order to get your key. Who knows? Maybe he'll just want you to wash his car. But given that he was reading the Gay Times as I walked past, I somehow doubt that.

Theatrically yours,

-Ben xxx

Of course, that was all bullshit. The mystery man whom I had described as having just received the key to Connor's testicular salvation was, in fact, me.

Connor's face as he read the email on his phone was a right picture.

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: I can see you

just giv the key 2 me

this aint funy any more i think im guna b ill if if i cant wank 4 much


-Sent from my iPhone

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: I can see you

Yes Connor, that's terrible -- my cock weeps for you, it really does; but I don't have the key any more. Understand? I haven't given the guy a copy or a fake or another set of keys -- he has the only key.

If you want the key, you have to get it from the person who has it.

Good luck.

When Connor slid the phone back into the pocket of his worn trackies, I surreptitiously watched out the corner of my eye as he looked around himself, either trying to spot his enigmatic controller, or trying to think of a way out of this.

Eventually, after a few minutes, he cautiously stood, and made his way to the stairs.

In no time at all, he was on the fifth level, spotted me, and reluctantly approached.

He'd shaved that morning, but still maintained a five o'clock shadow from his dark, rounded jaw. His round face made him look younger than he was, but he possessed the heavy build and tired, smoky eyes of maturity.

But I was happy to see he still had that boyish countenance – the effervescent don't-give-a-fuck gait and intimidating alpha-male stare; the tell-tale signs of a creature ruled not by the contents of his head, but by the contents of his bollocks.

I knew he also possessed a lad's inbuilt need to breed. I mean, that's why he was here -- as his curt email earlier demonstrated, this wasn't about any video -- he couldn't give a fuck about that any more -- he wanted to regain the ability for his angry cock to rear up and slam into something.

Little did everyone else in that shopping mall realise, but the lad standing before me was at that moment forlornly breeding into a male chastity device, his balls controlled by my little key.

He spoke first, mumbling "you...the guy with the key?"

I replied, "you...the army guy with his dick locked up?"

He sat down without replying, planting one thick right arm on the banister beside us looking down on the lower level, leaning back in the chair with his legs spread wide.

His youthful stance could not make up for the nervousness in his voice.

Unlike myself, Connor was not a Thespian.

"So," he began, very matter-of-factly, "um, I'd be, like, really grateful if I could just have the key."

"Well," I replied, "the note did sort of imply that you'd be willing it."

"Listen, I'm straight. If that's where this is heading...I'm, I'm straight,

so, that's not gonna work."

"Sure, I understand," I replied. "But, you have let some guy lock your dick up, and I am the only one with the key."

He leaned across the table. "This guy, yeah...he's a fucking psycho. Now, I'm not saying you should get involved or anything, but that's the truth of it. The guy's, like, insane. So, just have some fucking compassion, and give me the key."

It was a well-reasoned argument. But, given I was the psycho he was referring to, not one I was especially sympathetic to. "Mate, listen...I'm going to give you the key. Ok? Don't, don't worry about that. But bearing in mind the guy is watching us, I think we should probably play along, right? I mean, if he's crazy, it'll only make things worse if I just give you the key right now and destroy his game, won't it?"

He reluctantly nodded. "'spose so. So...what do we do? Just sit here?"

"Well, let's just talk for a bit, ok? That's not so bad."


Hehe. He'd wish he was doing anything but talk after realising what I had on my list of conversation topics.

I was hoping to keep Connor's attention and servility in answering my questions through keeping my tone light, breezy and chatty. I notice guys who might object to marking their sexual preference on an official form are quite happy to chat about how big their dick is with their mates down the pub.

Connor is no different.

I began as I meant to go on, asking "so what is this thing you've got on, exactly?"

He looked around, embarrassed, as his cheeks turned pink. "'s, like, a sort of see-through plastic case sort of thing, which me dick goes in."

"'s it work? Does it just go over the willy, or does it go over your nutsack too?"

Connor paused, and then looked around again, checking yet again that he wasn't being listened to in the busy coffee shop. "It, like, just goes over the, um..."



"Can you still do wee-wee in it?"

"Can I piss? Well, yeah, it''s got, sort of like, a hole in the end, where you piss out of."

"Oh, I, how's it stop you from cumming?"

He sighed loudly. "Man...this is uncomfortable for me."

"What, the thing on your dick?"

"N-NO, the, the fucking conversation. Ju-just talk about something else."

I put my hand on his own on the bannister. He flinched, but I ignored it; he pulled away, but I held his hand. "Mate, I don't want to, ok? So...again, how does it stop you from cumming?" I smiled as I added, "I don't understand."

" can't really touch yourself, and also it really fuckin hurts if you get a hard on. 'cos there's only enough room in it for when your soft, and as you get hard, well...there ain't enough room. And it hurts. Ok? Heard enough?"

"And you're a grower, are you?"


"You're a grower? Your penis grows significantly when its hardens?"

"Um, I guess. I dunno..."

"How'd you clean it?"

"Clean what? The...the case?"

"Well, yeah, that's what I meant -- but how'd you clean your dick, too, now that I think about it?"

He rolled his eyes; walked into that one. "Erm...the plastic, I guess you only properly clean it when it comes off. Can't really clean my dick, either, when the thing is on. Just sorta let water go over it in the shower."

"You wear it in the shower?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, sort of...I, I ain't showered for a coupla days, 'cos the water makes me hard, and hurts."

I smiled, and hardened. Poor, dumb stinky Connor. Literally basting in his own precum. This was hardly how he'd envisioned spending his break away from active deployment.

"Ah. Do you make a lot of precum?"

"What? Fuck, Christ..."

"Precum? You know, the stuff your willy makes before you cum? Like, when your fucking?"

"I know what it fucking well is, these questions are just so personal..."

"Well, I just wondered how mucky your cock cage is. Like, some people produce precum when they're not even fully hard -- now, if you were one of those, you could be leaking into that thing even though your not allowed to have a hardon. See what I'm saying?"

"Yes. I see what your saying. But the question is still-"

"So yes or no? It's nothing to be ashamed of, man. This guy's seriously screwing with you -- it ain't your fault you can't control your dick any more."

"I -- ok, first, I do control my dick -- I don't have someone taking me for a piss and shaking me off when I finish or anything," give it time, I thought as he continued, "and I've just got to figure out a way to get him back. I mean...did, did you see him? Like, at all? I can't believe you didn't see him..."

"What can I say? He was wearing a hat. Honestly, I didn't even realise he'd put something on my table until he was off walking down the stairs. It was all over before I knew it'd begun."

Innocent, me.

"He keeps giving little clues in his emails and stuff...saying he's going to some place, and whatever...but I think that's all bollocks. I dunno. I ain't really cut out for this sort of thing."

"All that spunk in you can't help."

"Excuse me?!?"

"If you don't cum for a while -- like, a long while, long enough to develop an...accumulation, like what you have -- it can be difficult to concentrate."

"I see."

"When was the last time you came?"

"Why'd you care?"

"Professional interest."

I could tell Connor was now just humouring me; he found the conversation exceptionally awkward, and was probably fantasising right now about knocking my teeth out.

But I knew he wasn't going to do that.

He was like an angry Pitbull, which I'd trained to roll over so I could scratch his belly for him. He might not like it, but what was he gonna do? Walk off? No, no, no. I had something that mattered very much to him – the key to his growing reserves of spunk.

A ten minute conversation in exchange for that key was good deal.

", eleven? Yeah, eleven days ago, I think."

"Yikes. That's a LOT of spunk. Bet you'd like to cum right now, huh?"

"Well, not RIGHT now, but I'll be glad when I get this thing off, yeah."

"Is it like this in the army?"

He frowned, and chuckled. "No. In the army, you're allowed to cum whenever you want."

I chuckled myself. "No, I know that. I mean, operational necessity and all that -- I guess sometimes you go for a while without jacking off?"

"Not this long."

"Well, today I guess you will, eh? Provided I give you that key, I mean."

Connor breathed in deeply. "Yeah," he said as he slowly nodded.

He got the message.

I took a sip of my coffee, now cold. "Can you wear underwear over this thing?"


"Any type of underwear?"

He shrugs. "I guess so. Haven't really compared."

"Oh, so you prefer a particular type? What do you wear; boxers, briefs,


"Boxers normally. But we wear special kit if we're in Afghanistan."

"Ah, ok. What's your girlfriend say about all this?"

"She don't know."

"Wow. How've you kept that from her?"

"By bein' a dickhead. Avoiding her and stuff."

"That's a shame. I'm sure you both miss each other a great deal?"

"Well...I miss fucking her, yeah."

I laugh. "Yeah, I bet you do. And I'm sure she misses getting fucked by you. What's your favourite position with her?"

"Is blowjob a position?"

I laugh again. It's almost as though we're friends. I get the feeling he's just doing a good impression of a friend, though. There's no warmth in his attitude; he's just being polite, and even that is only because of what I have.

This encourages me to keep going.

"You're wearing boxers now I take it?"

"Err, well, yeah..."

I shuffle around the table a bit so I'm directly opposite him.

"Okay, slouch down in your chair a bit, I just wanna feel this thing."


"Just slouch down in your chair a bit! Christ, it's not a big fucking deal -- you just told me your whole sexual history. I just wanna feel what this thing feels like."

"Man, this is too risky-"

Hah, this kid was so fucking easy.

"You don't know anyone here, and it'll be over before you know it. I'll be really quick. You won't even feel anything. Now come on! I'd of done it by now if you'd just did it the first time!"

"No way, man..."

"I do have that key, remember? And that bloke's watching...he must be expecting something a bit kinky. Come on, just slouch down."

Big hunky Connor craned his neck around in every direction before his wide torso steadily descended beneath the table, his thick legs opening to me as he slouched down in the chair.

I toed off the trainer from my right foot and quickly but firmly planted my foot in the crux between his legs, my heel digging into the balloon-shaped fleshy nutsack and my toes curling around the hard sheath his shaft was wrapped in.

He jumped back into his chair after a fraction of a second, and my foot returned to the floor. "I fuckin' felt that!"

"Don't be such a bloody crybaby."

"And people saw."

"Nobody saw."

"Those people over there were looking, and now they're laughing."

"I couldn't help but notice you're very well maintained down there."


"I mean, I'm sure the cock-cage adds ten pounds, but even so, that's some pretty heavy-duty equipment your packing."

"Man, I'm not-"

"Ok, let's go through how the rest of the day'll pan out for you. If you want to get the device off, first, you're gonna give me a handjob. And then, I'll take the cage off for you."

Connor slammed his hand on the table and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. He balled his hands into fists, slid them behind his head, and looked at me through those cool eyes as he kept muttering "no, no, no..."

"Your attitude's not very charitable," I remark unhelpfully.

"This...has fuck all to do with charity, and everything to do with me giving a handjob to some bloke I just met. A BLOKE. No, man. No way..."

"Ok." I stood, collecting my things.

"NO! Please, wait, just, please, make me do something else. Ok? You, you said you'd try and help-"

"I am! This way, about an hour from now, you're dick'll be free and easy. That's the price. You paying it, or not?"