Chapter 20 - Friday

He didn't sleep. Not really. His hole throbbed all night. Not from desire—from use. He woke up to the ache. The soreness. The emptiness. And the pressure in his cage made everything worse. He didn't even have to think it. The name just floated up—Mistress—and his body moved before his brain could resist. He was already lubing the toy before he opened his eyes. Friday's dildo was a beast. Eight inches long. Two inches wide. Dark brown with exaggerated texture—thick veins, a massive head, and a subtle upward curve that made it feel like it was searching for something inside him. Mistress had said it was a test, and Nick knew why. Just looking at it made his hole clench and his face burn. He was scared. But his clit? His locked, desperate little clit? It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. It wanted this. Mistress wanted this. That was all that mattered. He pressed the base to the mirror. Got on his knees. And lowered himself onto it with shaking thighs and shallow breaths. The stretch was immediate. Brutal. The flared head forced him open wide, and his body almost rejected it. Almost. But the moment it popped inside, he screamed. Loud. Raw. Owned. His muscles tried to fight the girth, but his hips kept moving. The curve pressed into places he didn't even know existed. His hole spasmed. His clit tried to swell. And he came—no hands, no friction, just the weight of the cage grinding into the floor while the toy filled him like he was meant to be used this way. He didn't take it out. Not for thirty minutes. He sat there, leaking, full, broken open for Mistress. And it still wasn't enough. He left the house that afternoon like a puppet. Man bag packed. Cage locked. Hole twitching. He walked for the sake of it—maybe to feel normal. But normal didn't exist anymore. In the dressing room of a department store, he stripped down to nothing. No reason. No shopping. Just stood in front of the mirror, read the words across his skin—SISSY SLUT, CUMDUMP, Tiny Clit – No Cock Here—and whispered, "Mistress…" He had to cover his mouth with a sleeve to stop the moan. He pulled out Friday's dildo, suctioned it to the bench, bent over, and took it deep. Gagging. Groaning. His thighs trembled. The tip punched into him again and again. He could barely sit afterward. That night, he used the toy on the kitchen counter, bent over like a whore, legs wide, ass red from the pounding. He didn't film it for the app. He filmed it because he wanted her to see it. His hole stayed stretched long after the toy was gone. He didn't even wipe off the lube. He just laid in bed, sore, exposed, dripping, the cage soaked with need. The app buzzed. Friday: Complete. You're almost ready for Saturday. If you survive it, you'll be mine forever. Nick didn't respond. He just rolled onto his side, whimpering. Tomorrow was black. Nine inches. Two and a quarter inches thick. Ribbed. Designed to destroy. And Nick? Nick wasn't sure he'd survive it.