Escape into the legend

The dull clatter of my mechanical keyboard and the steady hum of the cooling fan filled the dimness of my room. Lights from the game flickered across both monitors, but my focus had unraveled long ago.

Every time I shifted on the desk chair, the rigid resin ring bit deep into my groin. The confinement pressed down so hard it nearly cut my wind off. Between the morning's petty cruelties and the endless friction, my skin beneath the plastic burned raw.

Through Discord, the familiar chime rang out as the other two guys logged off for the night.

“Heading out, got an eight a.m. lecture tomorrow.”

“Yeah, take it easy.”

A sharp ping, and silence settled over the call. Just two green circles remained lit on the voice channel: mine and Timo’s.

I exhaled, getting ready to say I was dropping off too, when Timo’s voice cut in, bone-dry.

“Alright, John. Just us now. You pulling this same routine all night, or what?”

I flinched without meaning to. “What routine?”

“Cut the crap,” Timo grunted, the crack of an aluminum soda can echoing through his mic. “You’ve been dead weight in every match for a week. Your K/D is trashed, you’ve got rings under your eyes, and every time that phone buzzes on your desk, you jump like you hit an electric fence. Best part: you only managed to show up tonight because her highness is out of the house. What’s the deal between you and Loona? You never have time for anything anymore.”

My stomach knotted tight. My eyes flicked toward the shut bedroom door, half expecting it to burst open.

“It’s nothing,” I murmured, dodging. “Just… busy. Classes, helping around the place—”

“Don’t feed me garbage, John. You’ve never had to crack a book open to pull top marks, so don’t give me that.” His voice pressed harder, giving no quarter. “You drop off the map, blow off plans, and run like a dog the second she calls. Why are you putting up with it?”

The constriction caught in my throat. His questions hit too close to the bone, sending heat crawling up my neck in pure embarrassment. I couldn't stand being seen as some burned-out freak who had lost his grip on his life.

Then a reckless, dangerous thought took hold: wasn't that the exact cover Loona wanted projected outside these walls? No one could know about the cage. No one could know about the kneeling, the discipline, the silent pet-cam footage. An affair explained everything cleanly. It accounted for why I was never around, why I sprinted the second she walked in, and why I looked physically wrecked.

A surge of forbidden, reckless ego kicked through the fog.

I dragged in a breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, and pitched my voice down to an intimate whisper.

“Fine. Just shut up, Timo. I’ll… I’ll tell you. But if you breathe a single syllable to anyone, I’ll kill you.”

Dead silence hit the line. “Swear to god, man. What is it?”

“I’m sleeping with her,” I whispered into the mic.

“HA! I knew it!” Timo roared into his headset, rattling the mic drivers, followed by the crack of his palm slamming down on his desk. “A goddamn prophet! What did I tell you? Those photos, the way she looks at you, all that ‘chores’ bullshit—like you’d pick up a mop for fun! Man, I knew you were holding out on me!”

A dark, intoxicating rush of pride hit my chest for half a heartbeat. For the first time in weeks, I wasn't an exhausted victim in his eyes; I was the guy pulling it off, finally coming clean. But right on its heels came a greasy, cold dread: I was feeding my best friend a bald-faced lie, blowing up an illusion that could ruin me.

“Man, I cannot believe it,” Timo laughed, leaning back so hard his chair creaked. “You’re actually with Loona. The hottest girl within twenty miles. Now you gotta spill, John. Come on, details! What’s she like? How do you fuck her? Is she loud? How does it feel?”

My mouth dried to paper. The words started spilling out, spinning brazen, filthy stories about our nights, piecing together a crude fantasy about taking her, making her moan, having her beg for more beneath me.

And right then, my own body lashed out with vicious irony.

The images I laid out for Timo—Loona’s skin, the curve of her hips, her perfume—sent a searing bolt of heat straight down into my pelvis. Blood rushed south in a sudden, violent swell, straining to burst through the seams.

*Snap.*

My cock slammed head-on against the rigid dome of the resin cage. The base ring bit deep into the root.

A blinding, breathtaking spike of pain ripped through my groin. Tears stung my eyelids, and a ragged gasp caught in my throat mid-sentence. My dick hammered uselessly inside the vise, punished by the very arousal I was fabricating. Here I was, bragging about dominating her, while in reality I was locked up tight like an animal, marinating in my own heat, entirely at her mercy.

“…and then… she just won’t stop,” I forced through gritted teeth, knuckles turning white as I clawed the edge of the desk.

“Man, you’re living the absolute dream,” Timo marveled through the headset, completely blind to the truth. “I take back every word. You’re a legend.”

I stared at the glowing monitor, pulse thumping in my ears while my groin burned like an open wound. If Loona ever caught wind of what I’d just spoken aloud, punishment wouldn't begin to cover it.

She’d strip the hide off me.