He manages his tasks well for now.

John begins working his way through the list, very distracted but very focused on not angering his mother while she still has his key. He has to get free, if nothing else. He has to.

He starts with the drinks. He pours the wine through the aerators into their decanters and takes a quick sip or two from each 'to make sure they're breathing sufficiently.' (read: to calm his intense horniness) The coffee takes little effort and is ready before the full effect of the drink is even felt. Then he grabs the bag of ice and pours it into the dispenser, though almost dropping it as one chip bounces off the rim and lands, against all probability, in the slot between his fupa and chastity cage. It melts almost instantly but seeps icy water into places he would rather it wasn't. He whimpers as his swollen chublette tries to escape into his abdomen, but there's not much he can do but let it warm back up. Even toweling it off is too distractingly stimulating.

Then comes the food. The sensation of warmth slowly flowing back into his nub is distracting, so it's almost pleasant when he leans near the oven and touches his cage against the heated shell. "Oh, my. I'm glad I'm wearing this cage." That could have been bad. I could have been burned. John stopped for a moment. Did I really just say that? Wow, I'm glad I'm alone. It'd be awful for someone to take that out of context.

He runs down the list in his head. The wine is starting to relax him a little. The only thing he hasn't done is check for any mess in the living room.

The doorbell rings as he walks into the living room but his mother is already walking toward the door. Uh oh, better make this quick. He stands in the middle of the room and passes his gaze over the room. Distracted by the sight of his own near-nude reflection in a picture frame for a moment, he barely catches sight of the one thing out of place in the room.