Yes, but you hesitate for a moment!

Taylor’s question hung in the warm, humid air, gentle but probing. You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the label on the water bottle thats still slightly cold. The **** had loosened your tongue, but the words still felt heavy and foreign.

“I feel… I don't know... incredibly strange,” you finally admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “Back home, in Germany... I got bullied. A lot. Because of...” You gestured vaguely towards your own lower body. “Because of my ass. It’s always been... so big. Too big. I felt so self-conscious about it, like everyone was staring and laughing all the time. I tried to hide it with baggy clothes and other methods, but nothing helped and it never stopped.”

You took a shaky breath. “But here... it’s the opposite. Jamal, Trent the others... they all look at it like it’s a prize. They tell me it’s more then perfect this way, that I should show it off at every possibility. Wearing this tiny damn thing...” You plucked at the very high cut leg of your own swim trunks. “It feels so insanely revealing. But in a way... it also feels... sexy? I honestly never thought I’d say that about my own body.” You risked a glance at Taylor, who was listening with rapt, sympathetic attention.

“And the attention... from these guys. I honestly always thought I was straight. Though I never had a girlfriend or actually any sexual experiences or anyone that was interested in me. But here... with Jamal and Trent... I don’t know. In a way, I like it. I like the way they look at me, the way they talk to me, touch me... It feels... right. And that genuinely scares the hell out of me.”

Taylor reached out and put a comforting hand on your bare knee. “Hey, don’t be scared Emile. Embrace it, that’s honestly the best advice I can give you,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “What you’re feeling is beautiful. It’s you realizing who you are. And trust me, there is nothing, nothing, more wonderful than giving yourself over to it. Letting these strong, powerful Black men take the lead... it’s not just about sex. It’s about feeling safe, and cherished, and... right. It feels like you’re finally in the place you’re supposed to be, you're meant to be.”

His words were a balm, calming the frantic buzzing in your head. You looked at him, at the easy confidence he wore on his beautiful soft face, that was framed by his shaggy brown hair.

“The cage... and the plug,” you eventually said, your curiosity overriding your hesitation. “Isn’t it, like... uncomfortable? That cage... it looks so tight. What happens when you... you know... get hard and all that? Doesn’t it, you know... hurt?”

Taylor laughed, a bright, genuine sound. “Oh, it’s tight, for sure. It especially was at first and everytime we downgrade in size. But it has to be. It’s meant to be a constant reminder that you’re not in control of that part of yourself anymore. And yeah, when you get hard... it’s intense. It’s not a sharp pain, not really. It’s more like a... a deep, insistent pressure. Your dick tries to get hard, but it can’t. It pushes against the metal, and all that energy has nowhere to go. So it just... builds. It makes you squirm. It makes you ****. And honestly? It feels fucking amazing. It turns your whole body into an erogenous zone. Every touch feels better, every look from Dior feels more intense. You learn to looove the ache. It’s the ache of submission, and it’s the best feeling in the world. But honestly, since I constantly wear that thing, my dick stopped getting hard most of the time.”

He shifted, getting more comfortable. “And the plug... oh, dude. At first, yeah, it definetly feels very weird. You’re super aware of it every time you move, every time you sit down, you push it deeper. But after a few days, it becomes just like a part of you. You stop noticing it... until you sometimes forget that its even in there. And then it’s just this warm, full feeling that’s constantly there, a secret that only you and your man know. It’s not about stretching it so it gets ‘too loose’ or anything like that, it’s about training it. Your hole is a muscle, and you’re training it to do its job, to take big, beautiful Black cock. You’re making it stronger, more pliable, more eager. It’s not getting loose, it’s getting skilled in a way. My hole is learning to hug every inch of Dior’s fat cock, to milk him, to make him feel incredible. It’s the most important muscle you have.”

As he spoke, a heat bloomed in your own groin again, a traitorous response to his graphic, confident explanation. Your dick, the small, pathetic thing Abigail had so easily dismissed, began to stir against the tight fabric of your trunks. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide it, but Taylor’s sharp, friendly eyes noticed immediately.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “See? Your body gets it, it knows what’s hot.” He didn’t taunt you. There was no malice in his voice, only understanding. “It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed. How big are you, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking of course.”

Your face burned with shame. “It’s.. not, well... big,” you mumbled, looking at the ground. “It’s pretty small, at least Abigail told me so...”

“Hey,” Taylor said softly, leaning closer. “Mine wasn’t exactly a monster either, remember? And I never felt right with it, you know? It never felt like... me. It was just this awkward thing hanging between my legs that never did what I wanted it to or what I thought it was meant for, before I met Dior. Locking it up was a relief. It was like I was finally putting a useless tool away so I could focus on the one that actually matters.” He tapped his own ass. “This right here? This is my primary sex organ. This is what brings me and Dior pleasure. This is what makes me a good partner for him. My dick was just always... in the way.”

Your eyes were drawn to his body again, to the art inked onto his skin. You saw the spade on his forearm, the raised black fist on his thigh. “Your tattoos...” you asked, needing to change the subject. “What do they mean?”

Taylor beamed, clearly proud to explain. “Oh, these are my story. The spade,” he said, holding up his forearm, “is the classic symbol. It tells everyone who needs to know that I’m a snow bunny, that I’m for Black men, and Black men only” He then pointed to the powerful black fist on his thigh. “This one is for power, strength and for the movement. It’s a reminder of the power I’m choosing to serve, the power that protects and cherishes me and that I'm learning to worship.”

He turned slightly, lifting the hem of his tight speedo just enough to reveal the words on his lower back, right above the cleft of his round ass. “And this one... "Black Owned", well, that’s just a simple statement of fact, isn’t it?” He grinned, then hooked his thumb into the waistband of his speedos again. “And I got one more, my favorite one.” He pulled the fabric down over his right cheek, revealing his smooth, pale skin and the bold letters tattooed there, “BBC ONLY” it said with a spade below it.

But as he pulled the small swimsuit aside, it revealed more than just ink. You could clearly see the thick base of his butt plug nestled between his meaty cheeks, it looked like his asshole was stretched and accommodating around it. He held the pose for a moment, completely unashamed, as if showing a friend a new car.

“It’s my promise,” he said softly, letting the waistband snap back into place. “A promise to myself, and a promise to any Black man who sees it. There’s only one thing for this ass, and it’s not a little white dick.”

The conversation was a whirlwind. Your head was spinning, a chaotic mix of lust, fear, and a terrifying, exhilarating sense of possibility. Just then, you saw Dior approaching, a fresh drink in each hand. His presence was a sudden, grounding ****, and the intensity of the one-on-one conversation felt like it was popping like a soap bubble.

“Yo, you two look like you’re having a deep one,” Dior said laughing, but his voice was a low rumble as he handed Taylor his drink.

“Just getting our new friend here up to speed,” Taylor said, his arm wrapping around Dior’s waist, casually stroking the clearly visible big bulge in Diors trunks, his demeanor instantly shifting to that of a devoted partner.

You felt a sudden need for air, for space. This was definitely too much, way too fast. You stood up, a bit unsteadily. “I’m.. I’m just gonna go get another water,” you mumbled, already backing away.

“Alright, man. Catch you later!” Taylor called out cheerfully.

You turned and walked away, not toward the cooler, but just toward the edge of the patio, needing a moment to breathe. You could feel their eyes on you for a second before they turned back to each other, lost in their own world. You were left alone again, but this time, you weren’t just confused. You were carrying a new, heavy, and undeniably arousing set of blueprints for a life you never knew existed.

Side note: I hope you liked the last few chapters! I’m in a really good writing mood right now, and that’s also thanks to the comments you’ve been leaving. Since there’s no option to reply directly in the comment section, here are some answers to a few of them:

I’m currently working on a side chapter with Trent and Sarah that takes place while the others are at the mall and shows him training her. I’m not working on any additional side chapters right now, though, I first need to figure out where to place them, but there will definitely be more later!

I haven’t really thought about doing flashbacks yet. I’m not sure how to incorporate them, but if I come up with any ideas, I’ll try to make something work.

Emile gets his cage later on; over the next few chapters, I’m trying to plant the first seed in his mind that maybe it’s not such a bad idea to wear one, and that maybe he’d even like it.

Overall, I’m incredibly thankful for every single comment and like this story gets. It really motivates me to put out more chapters and shows me that people enjoy this kind of content.

Another side note: I hope I don’t overdo it with the tattoos, I just really like the concept of showing ownership and all that stuff.