Fiction: Ethan’s Trials (FFFFFM/M, paddling, milking, anal)

A reader, seth, sent me a captioned image as inspiration! Hers a matching story courtesy of Grok3 and your’s truly. Trigger warning: some reluctant girl on guy and guy on guy penetration ahead.

Ethan’s freshman year of college had already been a rocky adjustment, but nothing prepared him for the nightmare that unfolded at his Aunt Margaret’s house. At nineteen, he’d reluctantly agreed to stay with her and her twenty-year-old daughter, Lily, to save money while attending a nearby state university. Aunt Margaret was a strict, imposing figure, and Lily, a junior at the same school, had a knack for making Ethan feel small with her smirks and sly comments. The arrangement had been tense but tolerable—until that rainy October afternoon when everything unraveled.

Lily had caught him in the bathroom, clutching a pair of her soiled panties, his face flushed with guilt. Her laughter still echoed in his ears as she dragged him downstairs to face Aunt Margaret. “He’s a pervert!” Lily crowed, embellishing the tale with glee. Ethan tried to explain, but Margaret’s icy glare silenced him. “Enough,” she snapped. “You clearly need to be controlled.”

The result was worse than he could’ve imagined. Margaret produced a small metal chastity cage from a drawer, its cold gleam making Ethan’s stomach drop. “Strip,” she ordered. “Now.”

“What? No—no way!” Ethan’s voice cracked, his hands trembling as he backed away. “You can’t make me do this! This is insane!”

“Keep talking, and it’ll be worse,” Margaret said, her tone flat but unyielding. “Clothes off, or I’ll call your parents and let them deal with you.”

Tears stung Ethan’s eyes as he fumbled with his shirt, his protests growing louder. “This isn’t fair! I’m not some kid—I’m nineteen! You can’t treat me like this!” His shirt hit the floor, followed by his socks, jeans, and boxers. He stood there, naked and shivering, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Please, don’t do this,” he begged, voice breaking.

Margaret ignored him, kneeling to fit the cage. But as her hands brushed him, Ethan’s body betrayed him—a humiliating erection sprang up despite his terror. He sobbed harder, covering his face. “Stop it! I can’t help it—please, just stop!”

Margaret clicked her tongue in disgust. “Lily, go get some ice cubes from the kitchen. We’ll fix this.”

Lily snickered and darted off, returning with a bowlful of ice. “Here you go, perv,” she said, pressing the ice against Ethan’s groin without hesitation. He yelped, jerking back as the cold bit into his skin, shrinking him down to fit the cage. “Ow! That hurts—stop, please!” he cried, tears streaming freely now. Margaret wrestled the device into place, locking it with a sharp click. The weight of it pulled at him, a constant, humiliating reminder.

But she wasn’t done. “You’re still whining,” Margaret said, dragging him to the couch. “Lie on your back. Now.”

“No, no, no—please, I’m sorry!” Ethan wailed, but she shoved him down, stark naked, his small, caged frame exposed. With one hand, she grabbed his ankles and yanked his legs up, folding him into a vulnerable, diaper-change-like position. His complaints turned to choked sobs as she sent Lily to fetch a ping-pong paddle from the basement. Lily did so, then perched on the armrest, grinning wide, her eyes glinting with delight.

The first crack of the paddle against his bare skin drew a scream from Ethan. “Ow! Stop—it hurts!” he bawled, tears soaking his face as Margaret held his ankles high with one iron grip, swinging the paddle with the other. Each smack landed with a loud, stinging report, the cage jostling helplessly between his legs. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again—please!” he pleaded, his voice raw.

Lily leaned closer, her grin unwavering. “Aw, look at him cry. Guess you’ll think twice next time, huh, cuz?”

Margaret delivered fifty swats, ignoring his cries, until Ethan’s backside glowed crimson. When she finally released him, he curled into a ball on the couch, sobbing, his hands hovering uselessly near the cage. Lily dangled the key she’d been given, twirling it on her finger. “End of term’s a long way off,” she teased. “Better get used to it.”

——

The weeks that followed were a haze of shame—weekly paddlings in that same bare, humiliating position, always with Lily watching, always with the cage on display. By March, Ethan had learned to choke back his complaints, but the tears still came, silent and bitter, every time the paddle swung.

By late February, Ethan’s life at Aunt Margaret’s had become a relentless grind of humiliation. The chastity cage was an ever-present torment, its metal bite a constant reminder of his fall from grace, and the weekly paddlings had carved out a hollow space in his spirit. Every Sunday evening, Margaret would summon him to the living room, paddle in hand, and Lily would revel in his misery. He’d learned to choke back the worst of his tears, to endure in silence. But one Sunday, the ordeal escalated beyond anything he’d imagined.

Lily had invited three friends—Sara, Chloe, and Mia—to the house, calling it a study session though their scattered textbooks lay untouched. They lounged across the living room, laughing over some petty gossip, when Margaret’s voice sliced through the noise. “Ethan! Downstairs. Discipline time.”

He halted on the stairs, dread pooling in his gut as the girls’ heads swiveled toward him. “No—not now,” he croaked, voice quivering. “They’re here—please, not with them watching!”

“No exceptions,” Margaret said, her tone implacable. “Come down and strip.”

Lily clapped, her grin wicked. “Oh, you guys are in for something special.”

“No—please, no!” Ethan’s voice broke as he trudged down, tears already brimming. “Don’t make me—not in front of them!” His hands shook as took off his socks, then his shirt, then his jeans, pausing at his boxers. “Aunt Margaret, I’m begging—I can’t do this!”

“Everything off,” she barked. “You know how this works.”

Sara whispered to Chloe, who giggled. Mia leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. Ethan’s tears spilled over as he dropped his boxers, standing naked except for the chastity cage, its small, gleaming frame a beacon of his shame. “What’s that thing?” Chloe asked, pointing with a smirk.

“His punishment,” Lily said, practically bouncing with glee. “Locked up ‘til the term’s over. Caught him being creepy with my laundry.”

Ethan sobbed, covering his face. “Stop it—please, just stop!” But Margaret seized his arm, hauling him to the couch. “On your back,” she commanded, forcing him down when he balked. Naked and vulnerable, he sprawled across the cushions as she grabbed his ankles with one hand, yanking his legs up into the diaper position. The cage dangled prominently, sparking gasps and muffled laughs from the girls.

“Oh my God,” Sara said, half-laughing. “This is unreal.”

Margaret gripped the paddle and swung—hard. The first crack was a gunshot of pain, ripping a scream from Ethan’s throat. “Ow! No—stop!” he cried, tears streaming as the second blow landed, fiercer still. The girls’ laughter swelled, but Margaret’s resolve was iron. She delivered each swat with punishing force, slow and deliberate, letting the sting build. By the tenth, Ethan’s pleas turned frantic. “Please—I’m sorry! Stop it!” he wailed, thrashing as the cage bounced with every hit.

“Look at that thing jiggle!” Lily crowed, arms crossed beside her mother. “He’s already cracking.”

The paddle kept coming—twenty, thirty, forty swats—each one a blazing torment, his bottom shifting from pink to a raw, angry red. Ethan’s cries morphed into a toddler-like breakdown, his dignity dissolving. “No more! Aunty—please!” he sobbed, the childish plea slipping out as tears and snot streaked his face. The girls gaped, their giggles turning to wide-eyed amazement at his unraveling.

“Aw, he’s totally gone,” Chloe said, clapping a hand over her mouth. Mia snapped photos, smirking. “This is gold.”

Fifty, sixty, seventy—the swats pounded on, relentless. Ethan’s voice broke into a high-pitched, incoherent wail. “I can’t—I can’t take it! Stop—please, I’ll do anything!” he begged, his body shuddering with each brutal strike. His bottom blazed crimson, the skin swollen and tender, but Margaret’s arm never faltered. The cage jostled wildly, a pitiful centerpiece to his collapse.

“Listen to him!” Sara squealed, laughing. “He’s like a baby now!”

By eighty, Ethan was a sobbing, babbling wreck, reduced to primal desperation. “Waaah—please, no more! I’m good—I’ll be good!” he howled, hands clawing at the air, legs trembling in Margaret’s grip. The girls leaned in, enthralled by his total disintegration—tears pooling beneath him, face a mess of snot and anguish, voice a pitiful whine.

Ninety, ninety-five, and finally, the hundredth swat landed—a thunderous blow that left him shrieking, his crimson bottom a fiery testament to his punishment. Margaret dropped his ankles, and he crumpled into a fetal heap, naked and broken, sobbing like a toddler who’d lost everything. “Waaah—please… no more…” he whimpered, barely coherent, hands hovering near his scorched skin.

Margaret stepped back, paddle still in hand. “That’s enough. Get dressed.”

The girls erupted into cheers, Mia whistling. “That was insane,” she said, pocketing her phone. “A hundred swats? He’s toast.”

“Every week,” Lily said, twirling the cage key. “But this was next-level.”

Ethan curled up, hiding his face, his sobs muffled but relentless. “Please… just go away,” he whispered, barely audible over their laughter. Mia smirked, tucking her phone away. “This is going on the group chat—no names or faces, though. Don’t worry, Ethan.”

“Get dressed,” Margaret said, setting the paddle aside. “And clean yourself up. You’re a mess.”

As he stumbled to his feet, clutching his clothes, Lily leaned close, her voice a mocking whisper. “Hope you enjoyed the audience, cuz. They sure did.” The girls’ laughter followed him up the stairs, a sound that would haunt him long after the sting of the paddle faded.

——

By early March, Ethan had grudgingly conformed to the oppressive regime of Aunt Margaret’s house. The chastity cage, the weekly paddlings, and Lily’s unending taunts had forged him into a quiet, high-achieving student, his straight A’s a thin defense against further punishment. One Sunday evening, with Lily’s friends—Sara, Chloe, and Mia—sprawled across the living room amid snacks and gossip, Aunt Margaret granted a rare reprieve.

“Your grades are stellar,” she said, setting the ping-pong paddle down. “And you’ve kept in line. Lily, he’s earned a release. Unlock him tonight. I’m going upstairs—you girls deal with it.” She departed without a glance, her footsteps fading, leaving Ethan exposed to a chorus of smirks.

“A release?” Mia said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. “This’ll be a riot.”

Lily dangled the key, grinning wickedly. “On the couch, cuz. Pants and shirt off.”

Ethan’s face burned, tears welling. “No—not in front of them!” he pleaded, voice cracking. “Please, Lily, don’t make me!”

“Mom’s orders,” she snapped. “Strip, or I’ll snitch. You know the consequences.”

Their giggles pierced him as he broke. Sobbing, he shed his clothes, climbing onto the couch, the cage glinting under the lamplight. Lily knelt, unlocking it with a quick click, and it fell away, revealing his pale, shrunken flesh. His penis hung soft at first, the tip faintly pink, his testicles tight and compacted from months of confinement.

“So small,” Sara teased, but freedom sparked a reaction. His penis twitched, reddening as it lengthened, the shaft thickening against his will. Ethan’s tears flowed as Lily tossed him a tissue. “Get going,” she said. “Keep it off the upholstery.”

He gripped himself, sobbing, and rubbed furiously, his hand a frantic blur. The girls watched, enthralled, as his penis transformed. It swelled to full size, the head flushing a deep, glossy purple, veins pulsing along the shaft. His testicles dropped, swaying with each stroke, the skin darkening as blood rushed in. “He’s pumping like crazy,” Chloe laughed. “Those balls are dancing!”

Mia smirked. “Yeah, swinging low—months of pressure in there.” His thighs quaked, his penis throbbing visibly, the tip slick and engorged. Sara leaned closer, grinning. “Look at that head—practically glowing.”

Ethan’s breath came in ragged sobs, his body tensing as he neared the brink. His testicles tightened, pulling up, the scrotum wrinkling as he teetered on the edge. But just as his hips jerked, the girls struck. Sara and Chloe seized his wrists, pinning them to his sides against the couch, while Lily grabbed his ankles, yanking his legs up and back, folding him in half. “No—no, stop!” he wailed, thrashing in distress as his orgasm hit—uncontrolled.

With his hands restrained and his legs forced high, his penis aimed straight at his face. The first spurt erupted, a thick, white arc splashing across his cheeks and lips, followed by a massive, relentless barrage. Months of denial unleashed a torrent—spurt after heavy spurt coated his face, dripping into his open, sobbing mouth, streaking his chin and forehead. “Holy crap, it’s a fountain!” Mia howled, doubling over as the girls roared with laughter. Ethan writhed, his cries muffled by the mess, the volume staggering as it tapered to a final, dribbling ooze, his penis shrinking to a flushed, spent stub.

Lily dropped his legs, smirking. “Don’t waste it.” She swiped a finger through the mess on his cheek, shoving it into his mouth as he gagged, tears streaming. Sara and Chloe followed, scooping globs from his face and feeding it to him, their giggles relentless. “Eat up, perv,” Chloe teased, smearing it across his lips as he choked and sputtered, the salty taste overwhelming.

“Done,” Lily said, grabbing the cage. Still whimpering, Ethan barely resisted as she clamped it back on, the cold metal biting his tender skin. “Ow—please, it’s raw!” he gasped, but she locked it tight with a sharp click.

“Back in the slammer,” Sara teased, wiping her hands, still laughing. Ethan curled into the couch, sobbing, his face sticky and streaked. Lily pocketed the key, grinning. “Good show, huh?”

“Best yet,” Mia agreed, fanning herself. “He’s a mess.”

His tears slowed, but the humiliation burned, the girls’ laughter echoing as they resumed their chatter, leaving him locked, defiled, and broken.

——

The following week passed in a haze of dread for Ethan. The humiliating release on the couch, orchestrated by Lily and her friends—Sara, Chloe, and Mia—had left him raw, both physically and emotionally. Word of the incident trickled upstairs, though, and by midweek, Aunt Margaret had cornered Lily for details. Still buzzing with amusement, she eagerly recounted the sheer volume of Ethan’s release—exaggerating it into a near-mythical tale. Margaret’s brow furrowed, not with shock, but with a calculating frown. “That much, hmm?” she muttered. “He’s too pent-up. Needs regular draining.”

By Sunday, Ethan’s stomach knotted as the usual paddling hour approached. Lily’s friends were back, lounging in the kitchen this time, their presence a now-familiar torment. Margaret summoned him after dinner, her ping-pong paddle in hand. “Downstairs,” she barked. Ethan trudged in, tears already pricking his eyes as the girls smirked from their seats at the table.

“Strip,” Margaret ordered, and he complied, sobbing quietly as his clothes hit the floor, the cage glinting under the harsh kitchen lights. She positioned him on the couch first, hoisting his legs into the diaper position as Lily watched, grinning. The paddle cracked against his bare skin ten times, each smack drawing a yelp and fresh tears, the cage jostling with every hit. His backside glowed red when she finished, but instead of dismissing him, Margaret gestured to the kitchen table. “Up there. Hands and knees.”

“What—no, please!” Ethan wailed, his voice breaking. “Not more—haven’t I had enough?”

“You’re a health risk,” Margaret said flatly, ignoring his pleas. “All that buildup’s unnatural. We’re milking you from now on—weekly, after your paddling. Girls, pay attention.”

The girls leaned in, wide-eyed, as Ethan climbed onto the table, trembling and sobbing. His hands and knees pressed into the cold wood, the cage dangling between his legs, his red, stinging backside exposed. Margaret pulled a small glass cup from a cabinet and set it beneath him, then snapped on a pair of disposable gloves with a clinical air. “This is how you do it,” she said, lubing a finger with a dab of petroleum jelly from a jar.

“No—no, stop!” Ethan cried, tears streaming as she parted his cheeks and pressed her finger inside. He jolted, his body clenching, but she held him steady with her free hand, working with practiced precision. The girls gasped, then giggled, as she found his prostate and began massaging it firmly.

“Oh my God, look at him squirm,” Sara said, pointing as Ethan’s hips twitched involuntarily, his sobs turning to choked gasps. His penis, trapped in the cage, couldn’t harden, but a slow, steady ooze began—thick, white droplets seeping from the tip, dripping into the cup below. “It’s working!” Chloe exclaimed, clapping her hands. The flow increased, a sluggish stream pooling in the glass, the volume impressive despite the lack of stimulation.

“He’s leaking like a faucet,” Mia observed, smirking as Ethan’s face burned, tears dripping onto the table. His testicles, visible beneath the cage, tightened slightly, then relaxed, the milking coaxing out every bit of pent-up fluid. “Please—make it stop!” he begged, his voice raw, but Margaret kept going, her finger relentless until the stream slowed to a dribble, then ceased.

She pulled back, peeling off the glove and holding up the cup—half-full of milky fluid. “See? Much healthier,” she said, setting it aside. “Lily, you’re in charge of this next week. Learn it.”

Lily grinned, nodding. “Got it, Mom. This’ll be fun.”

Ethan collapsed onto his elbows, sobbing into the table, his body trembling from the violation. The girls crowded around, still laughing. “That was insane,” Sara said, peering at the cup. “He’s like a cow or something.”

“More like a faucet,” Chloe teased, nudging Mia, who snapped a quick, blurry photo of the scene.

Ethan slumped on the kitchen table, his hands and knees quaking, tears streaking his face as the ordeal of the milking lingered. The glass cup set to the side held a thick, milky pool of fluid, a humiliating byproduct of Aunt Margaret’s “health” solution.

Mia picked up the cup with a sly grin, swirling it playfully. “So, what do we do with this?” she asked, her voice laced with mischief as she glanced at the group.

Aunt Margaret, peeling off her second glove, tossed it into the bin and turned to leave. “Figure it out yourselves,” she said, her tone edged with something knowing. She paused at the doorway, casting a quick wink at the girls before disappearing upstairs, her footsteps fading into silence, leaving Ethan at the mercy of them.

“Spreadable, right?” Chloe said, tilting her head as she eyed the cup, her laugh bubbling up.

Sara’s grin widened. “Totally—like some messed-up jam.”

Lily darted to the counter, snagging a slice of white bread from the dinner loaf. “Let’s see,” she said, dipping a butter knife into the cup and slathering the fluid onto the bread, spreading it thick and glossy. “Perfect,” she declared, holding it up as it gleamed under the kitchen lights.

Ethan, still trembling on the table, choked out a sob. “No—don’t do that!” he begged, his voice raw. “That’s sick—please stop!”

“Quit whining,” Lily snapped, turning to him. “Off the table. Sit.” She gestured to a chair, and the girls moved in. Mia and Chloe grabbed his arms, dragging him down from his hands-and-knees perch despite his flailing protests. “No—no, let me go!” he wailed, tears streaming, but they shoved him into the seat, pinning his shoulders as he squirmed, the cage clinking faintly against the chair.

Lily waved the bread in front of him, smirking. “You’re eating this, cuz. All of it.” She tore off a piece, the thick coating dripping slightly, and pressed it to his lips. He clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head, tears soaking his chin. “I won’t—please, I can’t!” he sobbed, but Sara leaned in, prying his jaw open with surprising strength.

“Open wide,” she teased, and Lily shoved the first chunk in. Ethan gagged instantly, the bitter, salty taste flooding his senses, his throat convulsing as he tried to spit it out. The girls laughed harder, Chloe clapping her hands. “Look at him choke—priceless!”

“Swallow it,” Mia ordered, holding his head still as Lily ripped off another piece, forcing it past his lips. He retched, tears spilling faster, but they kept going, relentless. Each bite was a struggle—his face contorted, his gags loud and pitiful as the bread’s sticky load coated his tongue. “It’s like feeding a toddler,” Sara said, snapping a blurry photo as he coughed, a smear of it streaking his cheek.

“Please—stop!” he choked out between bites, but Lily shoved the last piece in, the thickest yet, and clamped his mouth shut with her hand. “Down it goes,” she said, grinning as he writhed, his sobs muffled. His throat worked painfully, and with a final, anguished gulp, he swallowed it all, collapsing forward, sobbing into his arms on the table.

The girls erupted, Mia doubling over. “He ate the whole thing—gross!” Chloe fanned herself, laughing. “That was brutal.”

Lily wiped her hands, smirking. “Good boy, cuz. Maybe we’ll make more next week.”

Ethan’s tears pooled on the tabletop, his body shaking, the cage a cruel anchor to his shame. The girls lingered, their laughter a relentless echo, the empty cup and crumbs a mocking reminder of his defeat.

——

The following Sunday rolled around with a suffocating inevitability that Ethan couldn’t escape. The memory of the previous week—the milking, the bread, the relentless laughter—clung to him like a second skin, and he’d barely slept, dreading what fresh torment awaited. Lily’s friends—Sara, Chloe, and Mia—arrived right on cue, their eager chatter filling the kitchen as they sprawled around the table. They wouldn’t miss it for the world, their presence a guarantee of his misery.

Aunt Margaret greeted them with a nod, the ping-pong paddle already in hand. Ethan shuffled in, tears already pricking his eyes, knowing resistance was futile. “You girls did fine last week,” Margaret said, her tone clipped but approving. “Tonight, you handle it all—paddling and milking. I’ll watch.” She handed the paddle to Lily, who twirled it with a grin, and stepped back, arms crossed.

“Strip,” Lily barked, and Ethan’s hands shook as he obeyed, shedding his clothes until he stood naked, the cage glinting under the kitchen lights. “Please—not again,” he whimpered, tears spilling, but the girls just laughed. “On the couch,” Sara ordered, and they dragged him over, bending him into the diaper position—legs up, everything exposed.

Lily went first, swinging the paddle with a loud crack against his bare skin. Ethan yelped, tears streaming as the sting bloomed. “Ow—please!” he sobbed, but she passed the paddle to Chloe, who landed two clumsy, stinging swats, giggling as his caged frame jostled. Mia took her turn next, her strikes uneven but sharp, drawing fresh cries. Sara finished it off, delivering three haphazard smacks, her laughter mixing with his wails as his backside turned a mottled red.

“Table time,” Lily said, and they hauled him up, still sobbing, positioning him on hands and knees on the kitchen table. The glass cup was back, placed beneath him, and Margaret leaned against the counter, watching silently. “You’re milking him,” she said. “Each take a turn—fingers first.”

Sara snapped on a glove, lubing her finger with a dollop of jelly. “Here goes,” she said, smirking as she pressed it into him. Ethan gasped, “No—stop!” his voice breaking, but her unskilled prodding was rough, missing the mark, making him squirm in discomfort. “I can’t find it,” she laughed, pulling out after a minute as a few drops oozed into the cup.

Chloe went next, her finger jabbing too hard, too fast. “Ow—it hurts!” he wailed, tears dripping onto the table, but she fumbled around, coaxing a sluggish trickle. “This is tricky,” she giggled, withdrawing as Mia took over. Her attempt was sloppy, poking aimlessly, and Ethan’s sobs grew louder, though more fluid dribbled out, pooling in the cup.

Lily smirked, unlocking the cage with a click and tossing it aside. “My turn,” she said, but handed the milking to Sara. “You do it—like a cow.” Sara grabbed his freed penis, still soft from confinement, and tugged it downward with both hands, mimicking a farmer at work. “Moo, moo!” she teased, stroking roughly as Chloe slid her finger back in, still clumsy but hitting the prostate by chance. Ethan’s body jerked, a choked sob escaping as his penis twitched, flushing pink and lengthening slightly under Sara’s grip.

“Look at it leak!” Mia crowed, pointing as a steady stream poured into the cup—thicker, faster than before, the dual assault overwhelming him. His testicles swayed, loosening with the pressure, the skin darkening as Sara milked him harder, her hands relentless. “Please—make it stop!” he begged, tears soaking his face, but the flow kept coming, filling the cup nearly to the brim.

When it finally slowed to a drip, Sara let go, his penis shrinking back, tender and spent. Lily clapped, grinning. “Team effort!” The girls laughed, pointing to the brimming cup as Ethan collapsed onto his elbows, sobbing, his body trembling from the ordeal.

Margaret nodded. “Not bad. You’ll get better with practice.” She turned to leave, leaving Ethan broken on the table, the girls already plotting what to do with their haul, their laughter a cruel promise of next week’s encore.

——

Ethan lingered on the kitchen table, his hands and knees trembling, tears streaming down his face as the sting of the paddling and the clumsy milking throbbed through him. The glass cup beneath him brimmed with the thick, milky fluid the girls had coaxed out, a humiliating prize of their inept efforts. Lily, Sara, Chloe, and Mia stood around him, their laughter sharp and unyielding, the unlocked cage still resting on the counter.

“Back in the cage,” Lily said, snatching the metal device and kneeling beside him. Ethan whimpered, “No—please, not yet!” but she ignored him, clamping it around his tender, shrunken flesh with a swift click. The cold bite drew a fresh sob, the cage locking tight as Sara smirked. “All secure now.”

“Up,” Chloe ordered, and they hauled him off the table, dragging his naked, trembling body to a chair at the kitchen table. Mia set a knife and fork beside him with mock formality, while Lily grabbed the leftover chicken breast from dinner—dry and tough—and sliced it into uneven strips. She poured a generous helping of the warm, milky contents from the cup over it, letting it soak in until the meat glistened. “Chicken à la cum,” she announced, placing the plate in front of him.

Ethan’s tears fell faster. “Please—don’t make me!” he choked out, but Mia slipped away, returning moments later with a wine glass filled with a pale, yellowish liquid. “Chateau Mia, 2025,” she said, setting it beside the plate with a flourish, the girls erupting in giggles as the sharp scent hit the air.

“Eat,” Lily commanded, tapping the table. “Proper manners—knife and fork. And sip the wine between bites. All of it.”

“No—I can’t!” he sobbed, shaking his head, but Sara grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands to the utensils. “Do it right, or we’ll start over,” she warned, and Chloe leaned in, smirking. “Nice and polite, like a gentleman.”

Trembling, Ethan cut a small piece, the knife scraping as the slimy coating dripped. He speared it, bringing it to his lips, and gagged as the bitter, salty taste flooded his mouth, the chicken’s dryness barely masking it. “Swallow,” Mia said, and he forced it down, retching slightly, tears streaking his cheeks. “Now sip,” Lily added, nudging the glass.

He lifted the wine glass, the acrid “Chateau Mia” sloshing, and took a shaky sip, choking as the warm, sharp bitterness hit his throat. The girls laughed, Chloe clapping. “Look at him—trying so hard!” Bite after bite, sip after sip, they watched, insisting on perfect posture—back straight, elbows off the table. Each mouthful was torture, the chicken’s slick texture and the wine’s pungent tang twisting his stomach, but they wouldn’t let him stop.

“Another bite,” Sara said, grinning as he cut a larger piece, his hands shaking so badly the fork clinked against the plate. He chewed, gagging audibly, and followed it with a gulp of the yellow liquid, his face contorting as tears dripped onto the table. “Good boy,” Mia teased, mimicking a toast with an invisible glass.

By the last piece, his sobs were constant, his throat raw. He swallowed the final bite, the plate empty, and drained the glass, the dregs sliding down as he coughed and sputtered, tears pooling beneath him. “All gone!” Chloe cheered, while Lily patted his head mockingly. “Perfect manners, cuz.”

Ethan slumped forward, the cage a cruel weight, his dignity shredded as the girls laughed, the empty plate and glass a testament to his forced compliance. “Next Sunday’s gonna top this,” Sara said, and their cackling followed him as he sat, broken, staring at the tabletop.

——

The next Sunday arrived with an unusual twist—Aunt Margaret was gone, called away for an overnight trip, leaving the house in the hands of Lily and her friends. Ethan had spent the week in a fog of dread, the taste of “Chicken à la cum” and “Chateau Mia, 2025” still haunting him, the cage a constant torment. When the doorbell rang and Lily ushered Sara, Chloe, and Mia into the kitchen, their familiar giggles set his nerves on edge, but something felt different.

They gathered around him as he stood, trembling, naked, in the living room, expecting the usual ritual. Lily twirled the key to his cage, her grin softer than usual. “Mom’s not here,” she said, “so we’re in charge. And, well… we kinda feel sorry for you, cuz. You’ve been through a lot.”

Ethan blinked, tears pricking his eyes, unsure if this was a trick. “What… what do you mean?” he stammered, his voice hoarse.

“We’re letting you out for the night,” Chloe said, crossing her arms with a playful smirk. “No cage, no paddling, no milking. A little break.”

Sara nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah, we’ve decided on a treat. You get to choose one of us to… have fun with.” She winked, and the girls exchanged glances, barely stifling their amusement.

Ethan’s jaw dropped, his mind reeling. “You’re serious?” he whispered, tears of disbelief mixing with relief. “I… I can’t believe it.” For the first time in months, a flicker of hope sparked—freedom, even if just for a night, and a chance at something he’d only dreamed of amid his humiliation.

“Go on, pick,” Lily urged, dangling the key. “Who’s it gonna be?”

His gaze darted between them, his face flushing as he weighed his choice. Lily was familiar but cruel, Sara sharp-tongued, Chloe relentless in her teasing. But Mia—petite, with dark hair and a sly, pretty smile—stood out, the one he’d secretly found the most attractive, even through his torment. “Uh… Mia,” he mumbled, barely audible, his cheeks burning.

The girls erupted in laughter, Lily doubling over. “Mia? Oh, cuz, you’ve got a type!” she crowed, tossing the key to Mia, who caught it with a mock-curtsy.

“Aw, he thinks I’m the prettiest,” Mia teased, twirling a strand of hair as she stepped forward. “Guess I’ve got that sad-puppy appeal, huh?” Sara nudged Chloe, grinning. “He’s blushing so hard—look at him, picking the hot one!”

“Shut up,” Ethan muttered, tears of embarrassment joining the mix, but Mia knelt beside him, unlocking the cage with a gentle click. The metal fell away, and he gasped at the sudden freedom, his skin tender but unburdened for the first time in months. “There you go,” she said, her voice softer now, though her smirk remained. “One night off, loverboy.”

Lily clapped her hands. “Okay, you two—living room’s yours. We’ll be in the kitchen, pretending we don’t hear anything.” The girls retreated, their laughter trailing behind, leaving Ethan and Mia alone. He sat on the couch, still naked, trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation, unable to believe his luck.

Mia sat beside him, her grin playful but unreadable. “So, what’s your idea of ‘fun,’ huh?” she asked, leaning closer, her tone teasing but curious. Ethan’s tears slowed, his mind racing—could this really be a reprieve, or just another layer of their game?

Still grappling with the sudden shift, his voice a shaky whisper, he said. “I… I can’t believe this is real.”

Mia tilted her head, her grin widening. “It’s real for tonight. You picked me—so, what’s your play? What do you want to do with your one free night? I’m up for anything. Anything at all. You choose.”

His face flushed, a tangle of shame and longing knotting his chest. He’d never spoken such desires aloud, but her expectant stare dragged them out. “Uh… maybe… anal?” he mumbled, barely audible, tears of embarrassment pooling as he stared at his hands. “If… that’s okay?”

Mia’s eyes sparkled, her laugh quick and eager. “Anal? Oh, I love it—you’re on! Let’s go.” She jumped up, tugging him to his feet with a decisive nod. “No haggling needed—I’m down. Upstairs, now. More room.” She flashed a wink at the giggling trio watching from the kitchen table. “Catch you later,” she called, leading him to Lily’s room and closing the door.

Ethan stood awkwardly by the bed, still naked, his heart racing as Mia paced the room, her energy almost too casual. “So, how do you want to start?” she asked, opening one of Lily’s drawers, pulling out a tube of lube, and turning to him with a playful smirk. “You’re the one with the big idea.”

He swallowed hard, tears of nerves slipping free. “I… I don’t know… maybe… you undress?” he stammered, his voice breaking as he wiped his face, hope flickering despite his fear.

But the door swung open, cutting through the moment. Lily, Sara, and Chloe burst in, their laughter erupting as Ethan froze, tears streaming anew. “Told you he’d ask for it!” Lily crowed, tossing a black harness with a sleek, rubber strap-on to Mia, who caught it with a triumphant grin. The girls had seen it coming, and their trap was set.

“Wait—what?” Ethan choked out, stumbling back, his voice raw with panic. “No—no, this isn’t what I meant!”

“Gotcha!” Chloe sang, doubling over as Sara clapped her hands. “You really thought she’d let you call the shots? Adorable.”

Mia strapped the harness around her hips, the strap-on jutting out mockingly, and pointed to the bed. “Face down, now,” she said, her tone shifting to gleeful command. “You wanted anal—you’re getting it, just not your way.”

“Hold tight,” she teased, as the girls locked him in place. She nudged the tip against him, slick and cold, circling briefly before pressing forward. Ethan gasped, his body clenching as the blunt head breached him, stretching him with a slow, searing burn. “Ow—ow, it’s too much!” he cried, tears drenching Lily’s sheets, but Mia pushed deeper, sliding the shaft in inch by inch, the lube easing the way as his muscles gripped it tight.

“There you go,” she said, her voice mocking as she hilted, the full length buried inside him. His sobs hitched, his hips twitching as she paused, the overwhelming fullness pressing hard against his week of pent-up tension. “Feel it?” she asked, rocking her hips, the toy shifting, grazing his prostate with a jolt that made him shudder.

Lily smirked, pinning his shoulders. “Give it to him!” Sara and Chloe cheered—“Harder!”—as Mia drew back, the shaft glistening as it slid halfway out, then thrust in again, firm and deep. Ethan yelped, his body rocking with each pump, her rhythm building—slow, then faster, the strap-on plunging in and out with a slick, relentless pace. The thick girth stretched him wide, the curve hammering his prostate, sending shocks of pressure through him he couldn’t resist. His cries synced with her thrusts, tears pooling beneath him, his caged week amplifying every sensation.

Mia leaned in, hands braced on his back, driving harder, the harness slapping his still-tender skin. “Take it,” she taunted, her breaths sharp as she fucked him thoroughly, the toy pistoning with punishing force. His legs quaked under Chloe’s grip, his arms useless against Lily and Sara, each deep thrust building a maddening tension. After a week locked up, his body betrayed him—his freed penis, untouched, pulsed beneath him, and with a choked sob, he erupted, spurting thick ropes of cum onto Lily’s sheets, the release involuntary and intense, soaking the fabric as he writhed.

Mia slowed, delivering a final, deep thrust, then pulled out, the sudden emptiness jarring. She unstrapped the harness, tossing it aside with a laugh as Ethan curled up, sobbing, his mess streaking the bed. “Well, damn,” she said, stepping back. The girls released him, their laughter turning sharp.

“Look at that!” Chloe gasped, pointing at the wet stains. “He came from it—he’s totally gay!”

Sara nodded, smirking. “Only a gay guy would shoot like that from a strap-on.”

“No—no, I’m not!” Ethan wailed, tears streaming as he clutched the sheets, shame burning through him. “It just… happened!”

Lily crossed her arms, glaring at the mess. “Gross, cuz—you ruined my bed. Get up, strip the sheets, and do the laundry. Now.” She said, her smirk cold.

Still sobbing, Ethan stumbled off the bed, gathering the sticky sheets in his arms, the girls’ accusations—“Gay boy!”—ringing in his ears as they sauntered out, laughing. He trudged to the laundry room, tears dripping onto the load, the cage still off but his brief hope crushed under their cruel twist.

——

Ethan stumbled into the laundry room, the sticky, cum-stained sheets clutched in his arms, his naked body trembling as tears streamed down his face. The girls’ laughter and accusations—“He’s totally gay!”—echoed in his ears, each word a fresh stab of shame. He couldn’t face them, couldn’t bear their taunts after his involuntary release on Lily’s bed, so he stayed there, hiding in the dim, humming space. The washing machine rumbled to life as he shoved the sheets in, his sobs mingling with the slosh of water, the cage still off but his spirit utterly broken.

He stood there, still naked, too humiliated to move, watching the cycle through blurry eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop, dripping onto the tile floor as he replayed the night—his fleeting hope, Mia’s strap-on, the uncontrollable ejaculation that had sealed his disgrace. “I’m not gay,” he whispered to himself, voice cracking, but the girls’ words drowned out his protest, their laughter a relentless haunt. He waited out the wash, then the dryer, folding the damp sheets with shaky hands, prolonging his exile as long as he could.

When the dryer buzzed, he had no choice. Lily needed fresh sheets, and he couldn’t hide forever. Clutching the warm, clean linens like a shield, he crept upstairs, still naked, his steps slow and hesitant, a little housemaid in his own humiliation. He hoped to slip into Lily’s room unnoticed, to remake the bed and retreat, but as he reached the hallway, the girls pounced.

“There he is!” Chloe sang, blocking his path as Lily, Sara, and Mia emerged from the living room, their grins sharp and predatory. Ethan froze, tears welling anew, the sheets slipping slightly in his grip. “Please… just let me—” he started, but Lily snatched the key from her pocket, dangling it with a smirk.

“Back in the cage, gay boy,” she said, stepping forward. Sara and Chloe grabbed his arms, pinning him against the wall as he sobbed, “No—no, I’m not!” Mia knelt, snapping the cold metal back around his tender, shrunken flesh with a swift click, the familiar weight crushing his brief freedom.

“Look at him, all teary like a little maid,” Sara teased, ruffling his hair as he clutched the sheets tighter, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Did your laundry duty nice and proper, huh?”

Lily crossed her arms, smirking. “Yeah, gay boy’s got skills. Next time, we’re bringing our friend Jake over—he’s gay too. You two can bond.” She winked, and the girls erupted in laughter, Chloe mimicking a kissy face as Mia added, “Bet you’d love that, huh? Coming all over the sheets again?”

“I’m not gay!” Ethan wailed, his voice breaking, but they ignored him, shoving him toward Lily’s room. “Go make my bed, housemaid,” Lily ordered, kicking the door open. “And no crying on the clean sheets this time.”

Sobbing, he shuffled in, unfolding the linens with trembling hands, smoothing them over the mattress as their taunts—“Gay boy! Little maid!”—followed him. The cage chafed, a cruel reminder of his fall, and as he tucked the corners, the threat of “Jake” loomed, their teasing promise tightening the knot of dread in his chest. The girls lingered in the hall, their laughter a relentless echo, leaving him to his task, locked and humiliated once more.

——

The next Sunday loomed over Ethan like a storm cloud, Aunt Margaret still away and the house once again surrendered to Lily and her friends. The week had been a blur of shame, the cage a constant torment, the girls’ taunts—“gay boy,” “little maid”—ringing in his ears as he scrubbed Lily’s sheets and avoided their smirks. He’d barely slept, dreading their promise of “Jake,” and when the doorbell rang that evening, his stomach dropped.

Lily flung the door open, ushering in Sara, Chloe, Mia—and a new face. Jake was tall, broad-shouldered, with a easy grin and a mop of dark curls, his presence radiating a casual confidence that made Ethan shrink. The girls giggled, crowding the living room as Jake’s eyes landed on him, still clothed but visibly trembling. “So, this is the guy?” Jake asked, his voice warm but edged with amusement as Lily nodded.

“Yep, our little gay boy,” she said, smirking. “We told him you’d show him a good time.”

“I’m not gay!” Ethan protested, tears pricking his eyes, but the girls laughed, shoving him forward. “Strip,” Mia ordered, twirling the cage key Lily had handed her. “Jake’s here to play.”

Sobbing, Ethan shed his clothes, the cage glinting under the living room lights as he stood naked, tears streaming down his face. Jake stepped closer, his grin softening slightly. “Relax, kid,” he said, sitting on the couch and patting his lap. “Let’s start easy—over my knee.”

“No—please, don’t!” Ethan wailed, but Sara and Chloe grabbed his arms, dragging him toward Jake. “You’ll love it,” Chloe teased, forcing him down across Jake’s lap, his caged frame dangling helplessly, his bare backside exposed. The girls settled around, watching with glee as Jake rested a hand on Ethan’s lower back.

“Been a naughty boy, huh?” Jake said, his tone playful but firm, raising his hand. The first smack landed with a sharp crack, Ethan’s yelp echoing as the sting bloomed across his skin. Tears spilled faster, his sobs hitching with each subsequent blow—Jake’s hand was broad and heavy, delivering a steady, unrelenting rhythm. “Ow—ow, stop!” Ethan cried, his legs kicking uselessly, the cage jostling with every spank, his cheeks turning a bright, angry red under Jake’s firm palm.

“Aw, he’s crying already,” Sara laughed, as Jake kept going, each smack a loud, deliberate report—ten, fifteen, twenty—until Ethan’s backside glowed, the heat radiating as his tears soaked the couch. “Good warm-up,” Jake said, pausing to rub the tender skin, drawing a fresh sob from Ethan before landing one last, hard swat that made him buck.

“Bedroom time,” Lily declared, clapping her hands. Jake hoisted Ethan up, still sniffling, and slung him over his shoulder like a sack, the girls cheering as he carried him upstairs to Lily’s room. “No—no, please!” Ethan begged, tears dripping onto Jake’s back, but the door shut behind them, muffling the girls’ laughter.

“Don’t freak out,” Jake said, shedding his jacket as Ethan curled up, sobbing, the cage a cruel anchor. “They said you’re into this—let’s see what you can handle.”

Ethan sat on the side of Lily’s bed, his naked body quaking, tears streaming down his face as the sting of Jake’s hand-spanking still throbbed across his reddened backside. The cage hung between his legs, a humiliating anchor, and the closed door barely dulled the faint giggles of Lily, Sara, Chloe, and Mia downstairs. Jake towered over him, his broad frame imposing, his grin firm as he unbuckled his belt with a slow, deliberate tug, doubling the leather strap in his hand, the thick loop swaying menacingly.

“Alright, kid,” Jake said, stepping closer and tapping the belt against his palm with a soft thwack. “On your knees—straight up. You’re learning how to give good head tonight.” Ethan flinched, fresh tears spilling as he adjusted, kneeling upright, his hands gripping the sheets. “Please… I don’t want this,” he sobbed, voice cracking, but Jake shook his head, the belt glinting in the low light.

“You’re doing it,” Jake said, unzipping his jeans, his tone calm but unyielding. “Start slow—lips soft, no teeth. Hand first—guide it.” He raised the belt slightly, emphasizing the point as Ethan’s shaky hands obeyed, wrapping around Jake’s length, the warmth and weight overwhelming as tears dripped onto his fingers.

“Good,” Jake nodded, stepping closer, the tip brushing Ethan’s trembling lips. “Open up—tongue flat, slide it in slow. Breathe through your nose.” Ethan gagged as he complied, his mouth stretching awkwardly, the salty taste flooding in as he followed, tears streaming with each faltering move. Jake’s free hand rested on his head, guiding him. “Suck a little, keep it wet—watch the teeth.”

Ethan tried, his sobs muffled, but in his nervous fumbling, his teeth grazed Jake’s cock—a sharp, accidental scrape. Jake’s hand tightened in his hair, and before Ethan could react, the belt cracked down across his backside with a loud snap. “Ow!” he yelped, lurching forward, tears bursting anew as the sting flared hot and fierce across his already tender skin. “No teeth!” Jake barked, the leather leaving a bright red welt, his tone sharp but controlled. “Try again—focus.”

Sobbing harder, Ethan nodded, his lips trembling as he resumed, more careful now, sucking gently as Jake set a slow rhythm, hips rocking. “Relax your throat,” Jake instructed, the belt brushing Ethan’s back as a reminder, its threat lingering. Ethan choked, tears and spit mingling on his chin, but he kept going, the belt’s earlier sting spurring him on. “Deeper—breathe,” Jake coached, pushing further, Ethan’s throat constricting as he fought to please, the taste and pressure overwhelming.

After endless minutes, Jake pulled back. “Decent for a beginner,” he said, as Ethan slumped forward, sobbing into the sheets, his face a mess. “But we’re not done,” Jake added, his grin returning. “Time for anal—flip over, ass up,” he commanded as he began undressing.

“No—no, please!” Ethan wailed, tears soaking the bed, but Jake grabbed his hips, flipping him onto his knees with ease, his caged frame helpless. “Girls said you’d take it,” Jake said, snagging the lube from the bedside drawer and slicking his fingers. “Relax, or it’ll hurt more.” He pressed a finger in first, stretching him roughly as Ethan gasped, tears streaming, the intrusion sharp after the oral ordeal.

Jake worked quickly, adding a second finger, then pulled back, lubing himself as Ethan sobbed, “I can’t—please stop!” But Jake positioned himself, gripping Ethan’s hips and pushing in slow but firm, the thick head breaching him with a burning stretch. Ethan cried out, his body clenching, but Jake kept going, sliding deep, filling him as tears dripped onto the sheets. “Take it,” Jake grunted, thrusting steadily, each pump a deep, relentless claim as Ethan’s sobs turned to broken gasps, the cage jostling uselessly beneath him. Ethan’s cries softened to broken gasps, the burning stretch overwhelming after a week caged, his body helpless under Jake’s control.

“Almost there,” Jake grunted, his hands tightening as he picked up the pace, each thrust slamming harder, deeper, the friction building. Ethan’s tears soaked the sheets, his pleas—“Please… stop…”—fading into whimpers as Jake’s breath quickened. With a final, forceful push, Jake groaned, finishing inside him, the warmth flooding Ethan as he shuddered, sobbing anew at the violation. Jake held still for a moment, then pulled out, the sudden emptiness jarring, leaving Ethan trembling and leaking as he collapsed forward, tears pooling beneath him.

“Solid effort, kid,” Jake said,  standing to dress. He zipped up his jeans, rebuckled his belt with a casual flick, and tugged his shirt back on, his grin returning as if nothing had happened. “Up you go,” he added, grabbing Ethan’s arm and hauling him off the bed. Ethan stumbled, still naked, tears streaming, his legs weak as Jake steered him toward the door. “Downstairs—girls’ll want to see you.”

“No—no, please, I can’t!” Ethan wailed, but Jake’s grip was firm, dragging him down the stairs, the cage clinking faintly with each step. The living room came into view, Lily, Sara, Chloe, and Mia sprawled across the couches, their laughter erupting as Jake marched him in. “Look at him—wrecked!” Mia crowed, clapping her hands as Ethan’s tears fell faster, his face burning with shame.

“Against the wall,” Jake ordered, pointing to a bare stretch near the TV. Ethan sobbed, shaking his head, but Jake shoved him forward, his tone sharpening. “Now—face it, bend over, legs spread. Hold those ass cheeks wide.” Ethan complied, tears dripping onto the floor as he pressed his forehead to the wall, bending at the waist, his trembling hands reaching back to pull his own cheeks apart, exposing the red, welted skin and the glistening aftermath of Jake’s work. His legs parted wide, the cage dangling prominently, his vulnerability laid bare.

“Perfect,” Lily said, smirking as she leaned forward. “Stay there, gay boy—give us a good view.” The girls laughed, Sara snapping a quick photo as Chloe teased, “Bet he loved every second—look how he’s shaking!”

“I’m not gay!” Ethan choked out, his voice raw, tears streaming down the wall, but Jake stepped back, crossing his arms with a satisfied nod. “He took it like a champ,” he said, winking at Lily. “Trained him up nice—oral and anal. Your call what’s next.”

Ethan stood there, bent and spread, sobs wracking him as the girls’ taunts filled the room—“Little maid’s got a new master!”—his hands trembling against his own flesh, the cage a cruel punctuation to his degradation, Jake’s presence a lingering threat as they debated his fate.

Lily, ever the ringleader, smirked and grabbed a small, folded dark blue towel from the kitchen. “Let’s keep it clean,” she’d said, sliding it under Ethan’s feet. Now, as he stood exposed, the girls’ eyes locked onto the towel, their giggles sharpening into gasps.

“Oh my God—look!” Chloe exclaimed, pointing as a slow, thick trickle of Jake’s ejaculate began seeping out of Ethan, glistening as it dripped from him onto the dark blue towel. The white fluid pooled in a small, wet stain, stark against the fabric, undeniable evidence of what had happened upstairs. Ethan’s tears fell faster, his sobs hitching as he felt the warm leakage, his humiliation deepening with every second.

“He’s leaking!” Sara laughed, clapping her hands as Mia leaned forward, smirking. “Jake really filled him up—check that out!”

“No—no, please!” Ethan wailed, his voice raw, his hands trembling as he gripped his cheeks harder, unable to hide the seepage. The blue towel whitened beneath him, the stain spreading as more dribbled out, his body betraying him under their scrutiny.

Lily stood, circling him like a predator, her grin wicked. “Aw, gay boy’s got a souvenir,” she teased, nudging the pad with her foot. “Jake’s mark—all over my towel now. You’re such a mess, cuz.”

“I’m not gay!” Ethan choked out, tears dripping onto the floor, but the girls ignored him, their laughter swelling. Jake shrugged, his tone nonchalant. “Guess I left a little something behind—he took it well.”

“Stay there,” Chloe ordered, snapping a photo of the scene—the bent-over boy, the cage, the stained blue towel. “This is gold—look at that drip!”

Ethan’s legs shook, the cage clinking faintly as he sobbed, the seepage slowing but the evidence undeniable, soaking into the towel beneath him. “Clean-up duty’s on you, maid,” Lily added, kicking the pad closer. “But first—hold that pose. We’re not done looking.” The girls cackled, their taunts—“Leaky gay boy!”—ringing as Jake watched, amused, Ethan’s tears and the dripping mess a twin testament to his utter defeat.

Jake, propped against the couch, grinned wider. “Hold up—Lily, you caught him with your panties way back, right? That’s how this all kicked off?”

Lily’s smirk sharpened, her eyes glinting. “Yep—months ago. Little freak was sniffing them. That’s why he’s caged.”

Jake chuckled, arms crossed. “Well, hell—if he’s that into them, he should wear them from now on. Add a bra too—full set.” He nodded at Ethan, still bent and leaking, as if it were a done deal.

Ethan’s head snapped up, tears soaking his cheeks. “No—no, please don’t!” he wailed, voice cracking, but the girls erupted, cheering the idea. “Brilliant!” Chloe shouted, clapping as Mia bolted upstairs. “I’ll get some!” she called, returning with a lacy black bra and matching panties from Lily’s stash, waving them like a prize.

“Get him up,” Lily said, and Sara and Chloe grabbed his arms, yanking him away from the wall. Ethan stumbled upright, sobbing, his hands dropping as tears streamed faster. “Please—I’m not gay—stop!” he begged, but Jake stepped in, taking the panties and crouching. “Leg up,” he ordered, and when Ethan hesitated, Jake forced one foot through, then the other, tugging the lace up over his hips. The fabric stretched tight, hugging the cage, and Ethan peeked down, tears blurring his view of the black lace now clinging to him, the seepage staining the back slightly as it met the material.

“Bra time,” Mia chirped, circling behind him with Sara’s help. They wrestled it onto his chest, hooking it snugly, the straps digging into his shoulders as he sobbed harder. “No—take it off!” he pleaded, but Chloe adjusted the cups, smirking. “Flat as hell, but it works.”

Lily eyed him—standing there in the black lingerie, tears streaking his face, the panties peeking out with the cage and a faint wet spot—and grinned. “Needs one more touch,” she said, darting to her closet and returning with a short, floral sundress. She tossed it over his head, pulling it down until it settled just above his knees, the hem flaring slightly. “There—perfect little housemaid. Now it’s laundry time, maid,” she ordered, pointing to the stairs. “Sheets and that nasty pad—wash them good. Don’t come back ‘til it’s done. And you better hurry up, maid!” Lily called after him, her tone sharp with glee. “You’ve got five minutes—sheets and that nasty pad better be in the wash, or else.”

“Yeah,” Jake added, his voice carrying a playful threat as he leaned into the doorway. “If you’re too slow, it’s dress up, panties down, right across my knee. Belt’s still handy.” He tapped the leather at his waist.

“No—please, I’ll be quick!” Ethan sobbed, his voice breaking, but Chloe’s cackle followed him. “Better run, gay boy—I’m sure Jake’s got a mean swing!” Sara chimed in, “Can’t wait to see that dress hiked up—panties around your ankles!”

Ethan huddled in the laundry room, the floral sundress clinging to his trembling frame, the black lace panties and bra chafing beneath as the washing machine churned Lily’s cum-stained sheets and the soaked pad. Tears streaked his face, the cage a constant burden between his thighs, his sobs barely audible over the cycle’s hum. The girls’ warning—five minutes or Jake’s belt across his lap—kept him on edge.

In the living room, Lily, Sara, Chloe, Mia, and Jake lounged—Jake on the couch, the girls scattered with drinks, laughing over Jake’s tales. Ethan hovered in the doorway, clutching the dress’s hem, until Lily snapped her fingers. “Dishes, sweep the floor—go,” she ordered, pointing to the kitchen. “Move it.”

“Please… can’t I—” Ethan started, voice breaking, but Chloe smirked. “Nope—maid’s got work. Hop to!” Jake grinned, eyeing him. “Looks good hustling in that dress.”

Ethan stumbled to the kitchen, tears dripping as he washed dishes, the clink of plates masking his sobs, then swept, the broom shaky in his hands, the dress catching, the soiled panties faintly sticky from earlier seepage. The group chatted on—Jake spinning a story, Sara teasing Mia—their laughter a distant jab as he toiled, wiping counters, hauling trash, a tearful figure in lingerie and dress.

Later, as the night wound down, Jake stretched, ready to leave. “Gotta roll,” he said, but Lily smirked, glancing at Ethan, now near the couch with a rag, tears glistening. “One last thing, Jake,” she said, slyly. “Bedtime belting—over the couch. Send him off right.”

Ethan’s eyes widened, tears spilling. “No—no, please, Lily!” he wailed, dropping the rag, but Jake grinned, unbuckling his belt with a slow tug, doubling it as he nodded. “Happy to oblige—over you go.”

The girls cheered, Sara clapping as Chloe shoved Ethan forward. “Please—I’ve done it all!” he sobbed, but Mia pushed him over the couch’s back, the dress riding up, exposing the black panties. Jake stepped up, then paused, his grin widening. “Hold on—let’s make this fun,” he said, hooking his fingers into the panty’s waistband.

Ethan gasped, “No—don’t!” but Jake yanked them down, slow and deliberate, peeling the cum-soiled lace—still damp from earlier—inside out, the sticky inner lining exposed as he slid them to Ethan’s knees, forming a tight band that hobbled him. “Look at that mess,” Jake chuckled, the faint stain of his own ejaculate and Ethan’s earlier release glistening in the light, drawing gasps and laughs from the girls. “Cum-soiled panties down—perfect for a belting.”

Ethan sobbed harder, tears soaking the couch as he bent further, hands gripping the cushions, the dress hiked, his welted backside and cage fully bared, the inverted panties a humiliating shackle. “Please—no!” he wailed, but Jake swung the belt, the first crack landing sharp across his naked skin, a fiery stripe blooming as he yelped, “Ow—stop!” Ten, fifteen lashes followed—each a loud, stinging blow, the leather biting into his unprotected flesh, red welts crisscrossing as his cries rose, the panty band trembling at his knees.

“Bedtime for the maid!” Chloe teased, as Jake landed a final, hard whack, leaving Ethan slumped, weeping over the couch, the dress bunched, the soiled panties a twisted ring. “Sleep well,” Jake said, looping his belt back on, tossing Lily a wink as he grabbed his jacket. “Catch you later.” The girls waved him out, leaving Ethan bent and broken, tears pooling, the humiliating show a lingering echo as their laughter faded into the night.

——

Weeks had passed since that degrading Sunday with Jake and the girls, the memory of the cum-soiled panties, the belting, and the relentless taunts etched deep into Ethan’s psyche. Aunt Margaret had returned, restoring a stricter but less chaotic order, and the visits from Lily’s friends tapered off as the school term wound down. Ethan had slipped back into his boy clothes—jeans and a plain hoodie—a fragile reclaiming of normalcy, though the cage remained, a silent shackle beneath the fabric. His grades stayed high, his behavior impeccable, driven by a desperate hope to escape further torment.

It was early May, the last day of the term, when Aunt Margaret called him downstairs. He descended, nerves tight, to find her in the living room with only Lily present, lounging on the couch with a faint smirk. The ping-pong paddle rested on the coffee table, its presence a quiet threat. “Term’s over,” Margaret said, her voice flat but firm. “You’ve done well—grades are up, no trouble. Time to wrap this up.”

Ethan’s heart leapt, tears of relief pricking his eyes. “I… I can go home?” he asked, voice trembling, clutching the bus ticket he’d kept like a lifeline.

Margaret nodded. “After one last thing. Strip—full paddling, then we’re done.” She picked up the paddle, tapping it against her palm as Lily’s smirk widened.

“No—please, not again!” Ethan sobbed, tears spilling, but Margaret’s glare silenced him. “Clothes off, now,” she ordered, and he complied, hands shaking as he shed his hoodie, jeans, and boxers, the cage glinting under the lights once more. Naked, he stood trembling, tears streaking his face as Margaret pointed to the couch. “Diaper position—legs up.”

Sobbing harder, he lay back, lifting his legs as Lily grabbed his ankles, pulling them high and back, folding him into the humiliating pose, the cage bobbing prominently. “Aw, last hurrah,” she teased, holding tight as Margaret stepped up, paddle raised. “Ten swats—final lesson,” she said, and swung.

The first crack landed sharp across his bare backside, Ethan’s yelp echoing as the sting flared, tears streaming. “Ow—ow, please!” he cried, but the blows kept coming—two, three, four—each a loud, stinging report, his skin reddening fast, the cage jostling with every hit. Lily grinned, her grip iron as Margaret delivered five more, precise and hard, the tenth a brutal finale that left him wailing, his backside a glowing red, tears pooling on the cushion.

“Done,” Margaret said, setting the paddle down as Lily released his legs. Ethan curled up, sobbing, but she knelt beside him, key in hand. “Time to uncage,” she announced, her tone ceremonial. She unlocked the device, the cold metal falling away, and Ethan gasped, tears of relief mixing with pain as his tender skin felt air for the first time in months.

“Get dressed,” she said, tossing him his clothes. “Your bus leaves in an hour—ticket’s there. You’re free to go home.” Lily smirked, waving mockingly. “Bye, cuz—don’t miss us too much.”

Ethan scrambled into his jeans and hoodie, still sniffling, the absence of the cage a strange, liberating void. He grabbed his bag and ticket, tears slowing as he stumbled to the door, Margaret’s stern “Good luck” and Lily’s faint giggle trailing him. The bus station loomed ahead, a promise of escape, his ordeal finally ending as he boarded, the weight of the term—and the cage—left behind in that suffocating house.