by Gray Fisher
Days went by and my frustration continued to mount. Her nylons seemed to beckon me. I touched their soft weave, inhaled their various lovely scents, but that only caused greater frustration. I tried to focus on other things, with little success. Falling asleep became difficult; when I slept I inevitably had erotic dreams of Sasha, and unidentifiable women using their bodies to make me submit to their desires.
The days turned into a week, then two. I was nearly at the end of my tether when my phone chimed with a Facebook message. As that was how we mainly communicated, just the sound made my penis twitch. I’d become the dog to Sasha’s Pavlov.
“Let’s meet. I’m sure you’d like the key,” she wrote.
My eyes lit up, my heart sang!
“Yes.”
“Tonight. That Scottish-themed restaurant on Highland. You know it, right? The place where all the servers wear those cute plaid skirts and darling white knee socks?”
I did. I also noted she didn’t ask if I was available. Truth is, I’d have dropped everything to see her and get that key.
“Yes.”
“I thought you would. It’s right up your alley, I bet.”
I gulped.
“7 pm. I hope you’re hungry.”
I could barely concentrate for the rest of the afternoon. I needed to get that blasted cage off, I needed release. The two weeks of tease had nearly broken me.
Finally, 7 arrived and I found Sasha at a table near the bar. She wore a black turtleneck, a tight fitting green suede skirt, sheer black hose and matching green suede, 3-inch pumps. She looked lovely.
We made small talk, as if I wasn’t wearing a cage beneath my khakis to which she held the key. We browsed the menu. Eventually, the waitress came over.
“I’m Amber, I’ll be your server tonight.” She was about 20, very pretty with long blond hair and a sweet smile. Her legs above her knee socks were a healthy shade of tan, despite it being winter.
Sasha replied introducing both of us.
“What would you like?”
Sasha ordered a cobb salad, then turned the question on me. “Tell her what you’d like, Gray.”
“I think I’ll have the open corned beef sandwich, and a Coors Light, thanks.”
Sasha interrupted. “Make it a Diet Coke.” Then, to me, “I want you completely sober.” She smirked, then added cryptically, “it’ll be that much more difficult. Now tell Amber what you’d really like.”
The waitress stopped and looked at both of us quizzically. My stomach knotted.
“I just told her…”
“No, tell her what you’d really like. Why you’re here tonight.”
I sucked in my breath. “Please, no,” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said, staring at my eyes.
I quickly analyzed the situation, and didn’t see a way out. Sasha was in control if I wanted release today.
“Um, I, uh, I’d like the key…”
“Key?” Amber asked.
“The key to what, Gray?”
I pursed my lips. Sweat began to form on my forehead. “The key…to the chastity cage I’m wearing, please.” My face became warm as red flushed over it.
“I see,” Amber said. “Oooh-kay!” Her eyes moved quickly down to my crotch, then to the side as she made a speedy exit from our presence.
“Good boy,” Sasha said. “You’ve passed the test.”
“You’re cruel,” I said.
“Yes, I am. I’m also treating to dinner. When you’re done, you’ll get the key.”
Amber returned soon after with our meals, and Sasha and I settled into more or less normal conversation. I tried to catch some glimpses of her legs under the table. Oddly, when I was nearly done, she summoned our waitress.
“Amber, he’d like some more fries, please.”
“Sure thing!”
I hadn’t quite finished the fries that came with my sandwich, nor was I craving any more, but they were good, so what the heck.
I continued chowing down, getting quite full, and watching Sasha cross and uncross her legs. At this point, I was becoming solely focused on getting the key, saying goodnight, and getting that dastardly cage off for the first time in two weeks. But it wasn’t to be, not quite yet.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” The singing came from behind me. I turned, and was greeted by four lovely, kilted servers coming toward our table, a mélange of sexy legs in those white knee-highs with the bows on top. My eyes moved upward. What the hell?
Amber, in the lead, carried a platter with a large cake. It towered several inches above the tray, and turned heads in the restaurant as it passed the other tables. It was reddish-beige in color, with some icing lines going up the sides. No, it couldn’t be.
It was.
“Happy birthday, dear looooos-er, happy birthday to you!” The song culminated in laughter, more than one girl covering her face with her hand so as not to be caught sneering. There was scattered applause.
Amber set down in front of me a lifelike erect penis made from flour, sugar and icing. It had to be eight inches tall and three inches across, veins running down the sides, and two “testicles” at its base. A single candle jutted out of the “urethra.” I felt utterly mortified, being at the center of this obscene tableau. And “loser”…really? How did I get here, I wondered. Did I really deserve this? A part of me supposed I did, by approaching a virtual stranger and revealing my desire for her pantyhose. Though they tried gallantly, Amber and the other servers couldn’t fully rein in their laughter.
“Blow, Gray,” Sasha said, arching one eyebrow and staring right into me.
All I could do was comply and blow out the candle. The kilted girls watched entranced, then like the wisp of smoke above the penis-cake, drifted away, but not completely out of view. This must’ve been a real spectacle to them.
“So if you haven’t figured it out, the key is buried in the cake. You’ll have to eat your way to it…but be careful not to swallow it, hee hee.”
“But I’m pretty full…”
“Be that as it may, you’re not leaving until you get to the key, nor, I suppose would you want to, because my schedule’s pretty full and it will be at least another two weeks before I could meet you again.”
“Why?” I asked.
Sasha ignored me, throwing cash down into the folio Amber’s colleague left with the cake. “I’m going. Enjoy your birthday cake, Gray, and, I know you’ll be enjoying the pantyhose later...”
My (full) stomach sank at the prospect of digging into a penis cake in the middle of the restaurant. I supposed I could just rifle through the spongy dessert, grab the key, and beat a hasty retreat. No way could I eat even half of it.
“By the way, that’s my husband and his friend at that high-top table by the door.”
I followed her finger and saw a beefy guy with a salt-and-pepper goatee, sucking down a beer with another man who was bigger than he was, and with a thick neck and buzz cut.
“I never told you how pissed he was when he found out I’d sent you my hose,” Sasha continued, laughing. “I had to let him take me up the ass just to pacify him. Hah, you should’ve seen the way he ripped through my gusset to get to me!”
She clicked her tongue, as her eyes pierced me and a cruel smile spread on her face. I could only sigh, succumbing to my plight. “He’s pretty annoyed with you, too. I wouldn’t try to leave until you’ve eaten all the way down to the key. Bon appétit.”
Sasha spun on her heels and walked out, nodding acknowledgment to the two men. My baser instincts inflamed by all that had occurred, and contrary to my present predicament, I couldn’t help but admire the view of her legs and suede pumps as she departed.
I was left to gaze down at the cake. In my peripheral vision I could see several very attractive, plaid-clad waitresses loitering nearby, trying not to watch me too obviously. Amber and another whispered to one another, and chuckled. Even some patrons were looking in my direction. My own penis stirred in its pris
on, trying in futility to become as bloated as my stomach felt. My temples throbbed and my face flushed.
I began to eat.
About the Author
Gray Fisher has been writing erotica since 2007. Since then, he has published multiple stories in Leg Show Magazine and at www.bestlegshow.com. His first two fiction anthologies, The Playful Babysitter and Other Tales of Male Submission, Fetishism and Erotic Humiliation, and Trapped in Her Nylon Web and Other Tales of Fetishism and Erotic Humiliation, are available in e-book and paperback at Amazon.
Follow Gray Fisher on Facebook at www.facebook.com/gray.fisher.376, and on Twitter, @fetishscribe.