Debts of Desire (4/12)

Ethan woke up with a tight pit in his stomach and a heavier tightness lower down—locked inside the small, unrelenting cage. It throbbed slightly against its confines, but there was no relief, no escape, and no use pretending anymore. Tonight was another game night—and he was expected to be ready.

He padded barefoot to the mirror, tugging the black lace panties up his freshly shaved thighs. The delicate fabric molded perfectly around the cage, pressing it flat, teasingly feminine. His garter belt came next—thin straps clipped into his sheer black stockings with a satisfying snap. They clung high on his thighs, the faint floral lace dancing just beneath the hem of his robe.

Then came the dress. A little black number with a plunging neckline and a hem that barely covered anything. He slid it down slowly, tugging it past his hips with a practiced wiggle. The fabric clung to the curves created by his breast forms and cinched waist, completing the look just in time for the final touch: five inches of glossy black humiliation. The stilettos clicked sharply on the floor as he took a careful step, every inch designed to make him feel delicate.

Ethan leaned close to the mirror, lashes fluttering as he painted on a fresh coat of gloss. His lips parted slightly, pout practiced to perfection. A final tug on his straightened hair, and he headed out.

Trent opened the door and stepped aside to let him in, one hand sliding down to grope Ethan’s ass as he passed. The firm squeeze made him flinch, but he didn’t say a word—just clicked forward on trembling heels.

The others were already seated at the table, eyes following as Trent guided Ethan across the room by the waist. He took his seat, leaned back comfortably, and gave his thigh a light pat. “Be a good girl and take your seat.”

Ethan lowered himself onto Trent’s lap. His dress rode up as he settled, Trent’s thick cock familiarly pressing against him as his arm slid back around his waist.

The game resumed.

Between hands, they sent Eva to fetch drinks and snacks. He’d slip off whichever lap he was on, cheeks flushed, and mince awkwardly to the kitchen—hips swaying against his will, the tight black dress clinging to his every step. He could feel their eyes on him the whole way. When he returned, he’d pause just long enough to glance at the obvious bulges waiting in their laps, his face burning as he knelt to offer whatever they’d asked for. Then, red-faced and trembling, he’d climb back onto the lap that had claimed him, trying not to gasp when they squeezed his thigh.

Eventually, Ethan found himself once again on Darren’s lap, hips pinned in place. Only Brad and Darren remained at the table now. One final hand.

Brad won.

Darren let out a low grunt, then shifted and lifted Ethan up by the waist, setting him aside like a prop being moved. Before Ethan could adjust his dress, Brad was standing and reaching into his pocket—a red velvet collar, leash already clipped in place.

“Kneel,” Brad said flatly.

Ethan’s chest tightened. He didn’t move, until a beat later, Darren gave him a gentle shove between the shoulders. Ethan sank to his knees.

Brad stepped forward and wrapped the collar around his neck, locking it with a soft, decisive click.

“There we go,” he said with a grin. “Our trophy girl. And this week… she’s staying at my place.”

Ethan blinked. “W-What do you mean, staying—?”

Trent chuckled from his seat. “C’mon, Eva. You didn’t think this was just about sitting pretty on our laps, did you?”

“You’re the prize,” Darren added. “The winner takes you home. That’s how it works.”

Ethan’s mouth hung open. No words came. His painted lips trembled.

Brad gave the leash a tug. “Come along, sweetheart.”

Ethan stumbled forward, nearly tripping. He quickly minced after him, heels clicking, still trying to process what was happening as Brad led him to his car.