The Making of Meaghan Ch. 05

Anyway, back to my story. Dave was right about one thing. I do have a helluva a nice ass; lifetime of being a runner I guess. Sad truth is, if most athletic guys waxed their legs, tucked their package, and wore tights, they'd look way hotter than many chics. But then there's the other guys: don't even think about it.

I was checking out my ass in the full length mirror in Dave's bedroom when I noticed it: a slight roll at the top of the waist band on the tights. I played with hitching up the waist a bit, but there was a distinct little bulge I couldn't get rid of. Must be because I'm just not running as much as I used to, freaked out that one of our mutual friends will spot me and somehow know right away that I spend my days sucking Dave's dick.

Anyway, I did start to watch my weight a bit more after that. When I moved in with him, I probably weighed 160 or so. Since then, I've been mostly eating salads and smoothies, and have dropped to 140, which is a lot for my frame. Rebecca's clothes do look a lot better on me; my waist is smaller, the fit is just way cuter, and anything black makes me look very petite and feminine. He really likes it, not that I care of course, but I have to keep him happy. I've also discovered that Rebecca had some size 2 dresses and other clothes, which fit me now. That's opened up a whole new spate of clothes in her wardrobe, and he is really happy to see me wearing the fitted dresses, and skinny jeans, especially with heels. Lululemon tights look especially good on me now, and Rebecca has a variety in various floral patterns.

Dave grabs my ass a lot more now when we are in the kitchen and I am cooking dinner. I know I shouldn't play into his sick game, but I can't help getting little tingles in my spine when he cups his hand on my butt cheek and compliments me on how nice I look. I know it's a ridiculous thing to say, but he can be pretty sweet although I don't even want to think about where this is all headed.

Dave came home with a little boxed gift me tonight, which I thought was super sweet, at least at first. I should know better than to assume anything is what it appears to be with him. We had a few glasses of wine, and he asked me to open it, the warm glow of the alcohol flushing my face.

I started to unwrap the box a shiny steel object revealing itself among the white tissue paper. I thought at first it might be some kind of kitchen appliance, but as I opened it more, my heart sank. It was obviously some kind of cage.

"What is this?"

"Well, I've been thinking. Everything is good and all. You're a better dresser now, and the morning hummers are awesome."

I sighed.

"But I feel like your enthusiasm is waning and we need to shake it up a bit."

"So you going to put my cock in a cage?"

"Right. It's a male chastity device. I didn't buy crap, either. This thing was expensive. Solid stainless steel and will last forever."

Great, I thought. Always the practical guy buying quality when it comes to tools. Probably made by DeWalt. Fuck me.

"I don't know what you do during the day, and don't really care," he continued, "but I am a bit concerned you might be jacking off too much, which, ya know, takes the edge off your enthusiasm. All couples start to lose the edge in their sex lives after a while and need to keep things interesting, to mix it up a bit right."

Who the fuck are you to be giving couples therapy, you sick fuck, I thought, and since when did you ever care about my sex life. Why don't you put YOUR overactive dick in a cage?

We sat silently looking at each other awkwardly.

"Anyway, try it on." He got up and pulled a bag of ice from the freezer and tossed it to me. "You'll need to put that next to your junk to get this on, I expect. I got you a small. Seemed like the right size for you."

Fuck you.

"You can fit it on you in your room, I don't want to watch, but I'll need to see it on you after. I'm going to catch the end the game," he said heading to the TV room.

He never liked to see my junk; really, he just wanted it out of the way, gone, which was a frightening thought. I looked at the box, the cold bag of ice starting to feel uncomfortable in my hand as I went upstairs.

I sat on the edge of my bed, and pulled out the device and read the instructions. I had to slip a metal ring over my nutsack, which sure enough, I had to get some shrinkage happening if it was going to fit. An excruciating minute of the ice cubes on my nuts did the trick, and I slipped one nutsack and then the other through the tight metal ring, which nestled up against my pubic bone, three short steel pins sticking forward. I had to ease my flacid cock into the fitted metal sheath and over the pins. The sheath was small, and my tip pushed up against the shaped end. The pink tip of my cock was just visible behind the small slit in the stainless steel contoured tip. It was all very compact, perfect for holding my small cock, I'll admit. A central third pin was slightly thicker and extended slightly through the base of the sheath at the top. I could see a hole in the end of the metal pin. I wasn't sure how the whole thing stayed together.

"Come on down and let me see," Dave said, and I jumped.

I walked downstairs and into the living room, standing behind him awkwardly holding my package in this metal contraption through my sweats.

He turned to face me. "Pull your pants down." I did. "Ok, great stuff, I thought the small would fit you."

"Here," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small brass key. He reached over, careful not to touch my junk or the cage, and inserted the key into the upper rink which locked it in place.

"No messing around now," he smirked, putting the key back in his pocket casually, and turning back to the TV.

"Head upstairs and get dressed. I'm not sure how you're going to tuck that all in, but you'll find a way. What's for dinner anyway?"

I looked at my cock, helplessly encased in a stainless steel cage.

"I suspect you don't want to be having any dirty thoughts except when you are servicing me. That could get real uncomfortable," he added, not taking his eyes off the TV.

I pulled my sweats back up and went upstairs, the small cage between my legs causing me some mental discomfort, my manhood seeming to shrink even more. What a dastardly device. Dave probably invented the fucking thing.

After considering different options, I had to use the wide masking tape to tape the small chastity cage between my legs, which meant I had no obvious bulge at the front, at least in looser fitting clothes. The whole feeling of it was uncomfortable and ominous, like my masculinity was being put in a meat grinder and would soon be gone.

I chose a loose fitting skirt, a tan colored bra, and a cream colored knit sweater that draped off my shoulders, revealing the bra straps. Dave insists I wear nylons, so I pulled out a new C size tan colored pair with control support, which helped to keep everything tucked away. A pair of open toed, solid cork shoes with two inch heels and brown ankle straps finished the look. I headed back downstairs to make dinner, not sure what this all meant.

We had dinner and a couple more glasses of wine. Dave headed off to bed, and I settled in to watch some TV, shifting uncomfortably to ease the pinching in my groin, fumbling with my skirt imagining what was underneath. After a while, I needed to go pee, and made my way to bathroom.

I suddenly realized I could not stand up to pee. I had to squat. I put the toilet seat back down and sat, my skirt hitched up around my waist, my panties and nylons in a loose pile at my ankles and waited to pee, staring at my pink painted toenails through the open toe of the sandals. Eventually, pee started to trickle through the slit in the cage into the toilet with a familiar sound. I realized I was peeing like a girl, the sound of it splashing into the toilet much like when Heather lived with me.

Fuck, I sit and pee like a girl now, and that is how it was going to be from now on. Dave, Dave, always a plan, you bastard.

______

The following Thursday, Dave surprised me by saying we were going to meet some of the boys from work at the CrowBar on Friday night. He said I could go in normal clothes, as long as I was tucked and wearing a bra, panties and nylons on underneath my jeans. When I protested about the tuck job, he just replied: "Don't flatter yourself, nobody will notice a difference."

I tried to talk him out of the bra too, afraid it would show through my clothes, but he wasn't having anything of it. "Just wear a loose sweatshirt."

As I walked out to the garage, Dave backed out an immaculate 1978 Plymouth Barrucuda convertible in fire engine red with white upholstery.

"Holy shit, where did you get that?"

"It was my dad's. I got it when he passed away."

"Wow, it looks mint."

"It is. He hardly drove it. Has less than 5k on it."

We rode to the CrowBar Tavern with the top down, admiring the mint upholstery, conjuring up images of what we assumed was a simpler, easier life back then. It was great to be outside, and we eventually got to talking smack about classic car rebuilds and projects we'd want to do. Shit, it was almost normal, I thought, my arm over the door, taking in the sun, headed to the bar to have a few beers.

I am so in need of some normal. Then I remembered what I had on under these Levis and a sweatshirt.

We got to the CrowBar Tavern around 7, me following behind Dave by a few feet, feeling nervous to see the boys. I figured they would just somehow know right away that I was blowing Dave.

"Hey Brian!" my friend Johnny from the factory jumped up to shake hands.

"How the hell are you man? Shit, we haven't seen you in a long time like you disappeared off the side of the earth."

"Yeah, well I did...sort of Johnny...it's been a tough few months."

"I bet man, that was a tough break getting laid off. Business is struggling. Could be me next, I can tell ya. All the manufacturing jobs are going overseas. So what are you doing with yourself now? I hear you are staying at Dave's for a bit."

"Yeah, for a bit." Dave was out of earshot, "but I'm hoping to get back on my feet soon."

"That's sure nice of Dave to help you out."

"Yeah...he's a real pal. Really knows how to take care of his friends..." I deadpanned.

"Hey Brian!" It was Peter, the shop forklift driver, "Wow, what's with the longer hair? And you're all skinny too. Planning on a second career covering Jon Bon Jovi around town?"

"Sure Pete, anything to make a dime...good to see you."

We joined the rest of the crew and Dave piped in.

"Brian's reinventing himself Johnny, like a lot of guys have to do now. Those old blue collar jobs are disappearing. Besides, chicks are staying in school and getting all the good professional jobs now while the boys waste their lives on Call of Duty and other useless crap. Guys are going to have rethink their roles, right?" he said, tipping his glass and giving me a look. "Cheers boys!"

"Let's face it, we've been evolving since the dawn of time and we have keep doing it or we'll be obsolete. We became bipeds on the plains of Africa so our breathing was no longer dependent on the cadence of our running like four legged animals, and we could run longer, outrunning those pesky African animals we wanted to eat that had bursts of speed but would tire eventually and we could over-run them."

Everyone looked at him blankly.

"You've been watching way too much National Geographic Dave." Ed piped in. I could see him turn to Bill to ask what cadence meant.

"No doubt, no doubt, but I think Brian is smart to be re-inventing himself. If you're not going to stay in school and get a modern skill lads, you better get ready to work in some kind of service job. Think about what you can do that will still make you relevant and people will want you around." He looked straight at me.

"Hell, if y'all didn't drink so much beer and kept yourself in shape, maybe you could land one of those professional women and be a house husband, taking care of kids, going to crossfit classes to keep yourselves buff, waxing your slim bod every couple of weeks, and living an easy life instead of ruining your back and scrambling to make a go of those jobs that are going down the toilet."

Dave smirked at me. I squirmed uncomfortably, feeling the lingerie under my jeans all of sudden.

"There are big changes coming guys, you just haven't noticed it yet here it hicksville. I'll give you an example: how many of you guys wax to get rid of all your body hair and wear make up?"

There were blank stares all around the table. I started to get very nervous.

"Ok, so none that are willing to admit it," Dave laughed.

"But next time you're watching a movie or a sporting event, take note. Most movie stars and professional athletes have no body hair on their chest or arms or legs. You think that's natural? Did men all of sudden stop growing hair? Hell no, they are all going to the salon and spending a fortune getting themselves ripped on the daily just like chicks. Wearing makeup is becoming normal too. Cosmetics is a multi-billion dollar industry boys; they are salivating at the thought of getting guys like you to spend all your money on daily moisturizers and concealers instead of beer, maybe even a bit of eyeliner. It'll be your turn soon. It sure ain't manly to have body hair anymore, is it Brian."

"Sure Dave," I said, trying not to draw attention to myself.

"I'm telling you boys, it won't be long before your spouse or girlfriend is dropping some heavy hints that you should do something about those man boobs and love handles, and wouldn't it be great if you looked like Mark Wahlberg with a six pack and smooth skin. What's a little liposuction and waxing behind the scenes right, to keep that professional wife happy?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Who knows, with the way things are going, when women have all the money and power, maybe they won't want to be with dudes at all. Let's face it, chicks are way better looking, actually listen when you talk to them, and are neat and tidy and can cook to boot. If men didn't have money, power and a dick, why would women be with them? Maybe they would rather be with other women, and there are always dildos, right?"

This was all getting way out of line. I had to do something.

"Shit boys, look at that hit!" I pointed at the TV.

All the guys turned to watch the mid ice collision on the big screen, the Boston forward laying out the Ranger D man with a huge mid ice collision. Fortunately, Dave's rant went way over their heads and soon the whole of this conversation went back to sports, trucks and girls, at least two topics the boys knew something about.

Dave was just looking at me with a giant smirk on his face.

I gave him the finger.

I took a break to have a piss, realizing at the last second that I couldn't stand at the pisser with the lingerie and cock cage I had on underneath, and had to use the stall and squat like a girl.

When I got back, my seat was taken and I squeezed in next to Becky.

I didn't know at the time that Becky would become a central figure in my life. She seemed super sweet, maybe late 30s. She'd known Dave for a long time. Married, two kids, a 14 yr old girl and an 8 year old boy. Her husband Pete worked in operations for the City of Corville and she had a part time job as a hairdresser. She was cute, for 35ish, probably a 7 or 8 in high school. But like most chicks, the two kids left a little gift on her hips that just kept on giving.

We started to have an interesting conversation about small town life and the challenges of raising good kids these days. Just like the good old days I thought - 20 minutes more of this, and we'll be best of friends and it will never occur to her to introduce me to any of her single girlfriends.

I noticed Dave get up and make his way towards the bar. There were two heavy set dudes who didn't look like locals having some drinks, and a girl between them who looked way too young to be in a bar.

We all heard the sound of a bar stool scraping on the floor and falling backwards and everyone looked toward the bar. Something was up. The place went quiet, and the guys playing pool stopped. Country music played in the background.

Dave slowly reached for the girl's arm and pulled her out of the way of the dude he was talking to; the other huge guy towering behind Dave took a step closer to him. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jeff, the bouncer, moving in behind the big guy at Dave's back.

They were talking in low tones, but we could all tell they weren't updating each other on Yankees stats.

It felt like you could cut the tension with a knife.

All of sudden, all hell broke loose. I don't know how Dave threw a punch that fast, but the dude in front of him went flying backwards over a bar stool into the wall. It wasn't even a hook, more like a straight, short punch to the face like a exploding jack hammer. We all winced I'm sure, thinking about what that must have felt like. In the same second, the hulking dude behind him took a swing at Dave's head with his right fist. Dave seemed to know it was coming, tilting his head just enough for the blow to miss and pass over his shoulder. In one flowing motion, he grabbed the guy's arm pulled the heavy dude over him, using the guy's own strength to flip him over. There was a horrendous cracking sound and the worst scream I have ever heard. A chic by the bar threw up, as she saw the guy's arm, twisted 90 degrees at the elbow, and not the way it's supposed to. With one more blow to the head, the guy was out cold on the floor.

Dave looked totally nonplussed, like he had just gone to the bar to get some pretzels. For some reason, Jeff never intervened, like he knew exactly how this was going to go down, and he was only there to pick up the pieces.

We all watched as Dave, Jeff and Cal, the bar owner, have a conversation with the girl. I saw Dave reach into his pocket and pull out some bills and give them to her. I saw Cal turn to one of the regular waitresses, who put on her coat and took the girl with her.

Dave came back to the table.

"Holy fuck, that went downhill fast! What the hell happened?" Mike said.

'Yeah, well, I recognized those guys. Not good. That girl is 15 and a runaway, hitchhiking to get to a relative in Corby. They picked her up on 48 and I didn't like their story. I wasn't going to wait for him to pull that knife. I gave the girl some money to get by and paid Carol, one of Cal's older waitresses, to drive her to Corby and make sure she gets to her relatives safely tonight."

"Jesus Dave, what are you, Robin Hood?!"

"I don't like it when women and children get abused. Won't stand for it. It's not rocket science guys."

But it's Ok to abuse guys I thought.

He looked more serious than I had ever seen him. "There's a lot of bad shit going down these days boys, and I don't like it." He took a deep breath.

"You can measure the worth of a civilization by the way it treats its women and children guys, it's that simple. We gotta stand up for them. When I turn on the TV these days, I feel like I'm watching the Fall of Rome in real time, in my own backyard, and it makes me sick. Sometimes ya gotta do something about it."

Everyone sat in silence, not sure what to say...if they even knew what he said.

I expect none of the guys knew what he meant.

I did.

"Anyway, the rest of the night is on me boys. Gail will be bringing jugs of beers, wings and steaks for everybody so have at 'er."

There was big cheer and clinking of glasses.

"But nobody's driving home drunk, so put your keys in Gail's cowboy hat here and she'll scrape you off the floor later. No booze or food till your keys are in the hat."