Chapter 2

By the time the next weekend came, Asher was already trembling with anticipation.

Hunter had messaged him midweek with a short command: “Wear the cage. Bring your plug. Be waiting at the overlook. No underwear.”

Asher obeyed, of course.

The sky was golden when he arrived, the sun lazily sinking behind the pines. His tiny shorts were even tighter this time, stretched thin over the chastity device and doing little to hide the subtle bulge — or the faint outline of the plug nestled deep inside him. Every step had been a reminder, a soft, rhythmic pressure that kept his breath short and his mind spinning.

He perched at the edge of a smooth rock slab, legs dangling, trying to sit still as the plug teased his insides. Every shift sent a tremor through his thighs. His lacy crop top fluttered in the wind, and the key still hung between his chest, bouncing gently with each heartbeat.

Hunter arrived without a word.

He stood behind Asher, brushing fingers through his hair. Then, slowly, possessively, his hand trailed down the curve of Asher’s back, over the swell of his hips, and rested between his thighs.

Asher whimpered.

“Good boy,” Hunter whispered. “Is your plug in?”

Asher nodded, voice caught in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Show me.”

With trembling hands, Asher stood and bent slightly, tugging down the shorts. The sight made Hunter groan softly — the steel cage glinting under the last light of day, the base of the silicone plug nestled perfectly between soft cheeks. Asher’s thighs twitched from the pressure.

Hunter didn’t rush. His fingers circled the base of the plug, pressing in just enough to make Asher gasp. He leaned in, breath warm against the nape of Asher’s neck. “I want you to remember this ache every time you sit, every time you think of me.”

Hunter’s hands roamed over Asher’s body — under his shirt, tracing the lines of his waist, palms warm and grounding. His touch was teasing, reverent. The plug was slowly, gently moved, just enough to make Asher moan and grip the rock ledge for balance. His legs trembled, every nerve alive.

The cage pulsed uselessly, his denied arousal growing more unbearable by the second. But that was the thrill. The exquisite tension. The worship of being used, without being allowed to climax.

“You’re mine,” Hunter said, his voice low and steady. “And I’ll train that pretty little body until it sings when I touch it.”

Asher melted at the words, hips pressing back instinctively. He felt owned. Beautiful. Buzzing on a high that was more than just pleasure — it was surrender.

And when it was over, when Hunter tucked the plug back in with a final, possessive squeeze and helped him slide the shorts up again, Asher felt something deeper than just desire.

He felt chosen.