Go back to the party and talk with Taylor!

The air was different when you and Abigail stepped back out onto the patio. The sun had dipped lower, painting the sky orange and purple, and the party continued on. The low hum from before was now a vibrant energy, the music louder, the crowd thicker. Bodies glistened under the patio lights, a sea of toned dark muscles and confident curves, all packed into swimwear that left little to the imagination. The sheer, overwhelming presence of so many powerful and beautiful Black men was a physical ****, and you felt it press in on you immediately, a mix of intimidation and for some reason also a strange, magnetic pull.

Abigail gave your hand a final squeeze. “Go get that water, sweetie. I need to go show my man how good this new suit looks.” She released you, her confidence a wave that she floated on effortlessly as she walked toward the pool where Darnell was now sitting in, his deep laugh cutting through the noise. She squeezes her boobs with both hands, the soft flesh yielding slightly to her touch and the fabric threatening to fall and reveal her intimate parts. But you don't think that she would particularly mind showing of her body to all these people. Her thick butt is on full display, the string between her cheeks doing nothing to hide it and she confidently shows of all her tattoos, declaring that she's 'property of Darnell'. You watched her for a moment longer, her perfect, pale, curvy vision soon merging with another, before you felt utterly and painfully alone.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a friendly face in a sea of intimidating strangers. You saw Jamal and Trent talking animatedly near the bar, their eyes occasionally drifting your way, and you quickly looked away.

Then you saw Taylor, who you haven't really got to know yet, he was standing by a row of sun loungers, talking animatedly with Dior. He looked like a splash of bright, easy energy in the charged atmosphere. He looked... safe in a way.

You made a beeline for them, grabbing a bottle of water from a cooler on your way there. Dior saw you approaching first, his friendly, welcoming smile a stark contrast to the predatory grins you’d been receiving all night.

“Yo, Emile! Good to see you, man,” Dior said, his voice a low, steady rumble.

“Hey,” you managed, your own voice feeling small after all these interactions.

Taylor turned, his face lighting up. “Emile! Hey! I was wondering where you disappeared to.” He was even more striking up close. Tall and lean, with the defined, powerful build of a cheerleader. His tight, black speedos left absolutely nothing to the imagination, showcasing his thick, athletic thighs and a perfectly round, juicy ass that, while not as substantial as your own, was undeniably impressive. There was a distinct, angular shape pressing against the thin fabric of his crotch, but your drunken mind couldn't quite place it yet, though you should probably know by now what it is.

Dior wrapped an arm around Taylor’s pale waist, pulling him close against his dark body. “Alright, I’m gonna go grab another drink. You two catch up.” He leaned down and gave Taylor a deep, possessive tongue kiss, his large hand coming down to slap Taylor’s ass with a sharp, playful smack, that made you jump. The grab was firm, a clear claim of ownership. “Be a good boy,” Dior rumbled, before turning and heading toward the bar.

Taylor watched him go, a dreamy, lovesick smile on his face. He turned back to you, his energy shifting instantly back to its bubbly baseline. “So! You having a good time E?”

You took a long gulp of water, the cool liquid doing little to clear the thick fog in your head. “I... I don't know..., yeah. I think. It’s just... a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” Taylor laughed brightly, gesturing to the party. “These things can get wild. But I would say it’s a good kind of wild, you know?” He led you over to a pair of empty sun loungers, that were a bit away from most of the guests and you both sat down. The vinyl felt warm against your skin that was by now completely dry.

“It’s just... everyone is so...” you trailed off, not sure how to say it without sounding offensive in any way.

“Hot?” Taylor supplied with a grin. “Confident? Sexy? Yeah, that’s kinda the vibe around here.”

“Yeah. And... I don’t know. All the guys are so... big. And, you know... strong. And I feel... I don’t know how to explain it. Smaller?, I guess?” The words instantly felt clumsy and pathetic as they left your mouth. In moments like this, its very clear, that English wasn't your first language.

Taylor’s smile softened and he leaned in, his voice dropping to a more conspiratorial, friendly tone. “Dude, I totally get it. First time I really hung out with Dior’s football team, I felt like a complete twig. But over time, you get very used to it. And honestly? It’s kinda hot. Feeling so... protected by these men. It's like you’re with people who can actually handle things.” He stretched his long legs out, flexing them. “This body, the cheerleading stuff... it’s great for being tossed around, for being very flexible. It’s also built for a strong guy to hold on to, you know?”

Your gaze drifted down his body again, to those powerful legs and that perfect ass. And then it settled back on the angular shape in his speedos. It was the same shape you’d seen on Justin earlier or you later saw on Abigail. A thought, slow and dawning, began to form in your hazy mind. You saw the glint of metal around Darnells neck before you left to get drinks, a small, ornate key on a thin chain.

Your eyes must have lingered too long, because Taylor noticed. He followed your gaze down to his own crotch and then back up to your face. Instead of being embarrassed, he just let out a light, unconcerned laugh.

“Oh, this?” he said, casually tapping the bulge. “Yeah, I’m locked.” he let's out a small chuckle, “Dior has the key around his neck, you seen it?” He said it with the same casualness someone might say, ‘Oh, this is my phone.’

Your mouth went dry and your brain starts to put things together. “You’re... what? Why... why would you do that?”

“Why not?” Taylor laughs, shrugging casually and taking a sip of what looked like a rum and coke. “It’s not like I was using it much anyway, and it wasn’t exactly a monster to begin with either,” he admitted with a self-deprecating grin. “This way, I don’t get distracted. All my focus is on my man. His pleasure is what gets me off. It’s way more intense than just jerking off, you know? It’s... purer in a way. And honestly, it feels better. More... right...? Its hard for me to really put into words. ”

He stood up for a second, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his tiny speedos. “Wanna see? It’s genuinely no big deal man.” Before you could even have the chance to answer, he pulled the thin fabric down just enough to reveal the small, flat, metal cage encasing his penis. It looked different to the one Abigail wore. It was tiny, a delicate looking thing of interlocked bars that held him completely and utterly useless. His balls were also pulled tight beneath it.

“See?” he said, shaking his hips, jiggling the locked appendage around, before letting the waistband snap back into place. “Completely useless and out of the way. It’s honestly just better this way. For me, and especially also for him.”

Your mind was reeling from this display of casualness, like he didn't just show you his genitalia that was locked into a small and tight prison. This was the second time today and overall that you’d seen this, the second time you’d been confronted with this reality of someone locking their most private parts into a small cage. It finally clicked. The angular shape on Justin, on Taylor.. you would have never imagined what it could have actually been, because why would you even think that it was a cage?

“Justin... too?” you asked quietly.

“Yep, obviously. Trent’s got him on a much tighter leash though... I think. But it's the same idea,” Taylor confirmed, sitting back down. “It’s pretty common for the… well, for guys like us.”

“Like us...?” The phrase hung in the air, you recall that Abigail had said something similar earlyer.

“You know,” Taylor said, his voice gentle. “Snow bunnies. The ones who know their place.” He saw your confused, slightly panicked expression and quickly added, “Hey, hey, it’s okay! You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Just... maybe feel it out for a bit.”

He took another sip from his drink, his eyes getting a little glassy. “God, I was so nervous when I first met Dior. It was at one of his games. I was one of three guys on the cheer squad, and the other two were like super straight. But I’ve always had a thing for Black dudes, always wanted someone bigger, stronger, you know? And then I saw him. Dior. This fucking mountain of a man, running down the field. And I just... knew.”

A dreamy look came over his face. “He’s a perfect man. So dominant, but so sweet, at the same time, you know? He’s got these huge biceps that are just perfect for holding onto when he...” He trailed off, laughing and blushing slightly. “And the stamina is genuinely unreal. And his cock... fuck, Emile, it’s so fucking thick. Like, ridiculously thick. I haven't really took measurements but I think its definitely as thick as my wrist. I swear to god, my hole gets a little looser every single week. That’s why I have to wear a plug most days. Gotta stay ready for my bull, right?” He chuckled saying those words.

The word ‘bull’ sent another jolt through your body. It was the same word Abigail had used before. And the plug... made you remember Abigail’s plug. The image of her pulling that massive thing from her delicate body and the massive gap it left behind, flashed in your mind.

“Abigail... she wears one too,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Taylor’s face lit up with a grin. “See? It’s a thing! It’s, like, basic maintenance when you’re with a real man. You gotta keep the main entrance ready for business, you know?” He said it with a completely straight face, as if he were talking about flossing his teeth. “It’s just what you do and it feels good, anyway. Like a constant reminder of who you belong to.”

He finished his drink and set the cup down, turning his full, slightly drunk attention to you. His gaze was open and friendly, but his questions were piercing.

“So, with all that in mind... how are you actually feeling about all this stuff? About Jamal? About Trent? About, you know, all the... attention that you are getting?”