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Jeongin’s been moody all day.
He’s quieter than usual, short and snappish when he does speak, and it’s obvious enough that your classmates are worried about it before lunch even rolls around.
“What’s going on with Jeongin?”
“Did something happen?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug, fiddling with the lanyard around your neck. “He probably just had a rough morning.” Judging from the texts you’d gotten, ‘rough’ wasn’t the most inaccurate guess you could toss out.
It’s a little fun, playing along as run your thumb across the rough edges of the key he’d passed you just a few hours ago. No one notices the addition to your lanyard—why would they?—but you certainly notice the way Jeongin’s gaze slides down when you catch his eye from across the room. You give the noisy little bundle a shake, just to hear the cheerful rattle of metal against metal, and he turns away with a sneer.
He’s not very good at this, you think idly. But maybe that’s part of the appeal.
When Jeongin slips off to go to the bathroom, you excuse yourself as well. Silly boy doesn’t even notice you trailing behind him; he’s more distracted than you’d realized.
A quick glance around to make sure the coast is clear, then you’re darting in after him and twisting the deadbolt on the door. When you turn around to lean against it, grin overtaking your face like a Cheshire cat, he’s standing there with hands on his belt and eyes the size of dinner plates.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, as though anyone’s going to overhear you in a locked empty, bathroom, and you suppress a giggle. Flustered and indignant, he looks so dear—color high in his cheeks and eyes filled with panic. You could just eat him right up, you think.
“I just wanted to check on my baby.” Your steps are leisurely as you savor the darkness of his blown out pupils and the flash of teeth as his mouth twists into a grimace, then something less… disagreeable as you press your hand between his legs. The shape of the cage you gave him is unmistakable, the outline clear and obscene through his pants as you feel him up. “You’re still wearing it. Good.”
“Y-yeah, it’s not like I can just take it off.” His cheeks are flushed and splotchy, but his voice is sharp, defiant even as he refuses to meet your eyes. Well.
“Hmmmm, is that how you talk to your mommy?”
His breath catches at your tone, before he puffs up stubbornly and snaps, “well, it’s true!”
Your expression sours, and you feel around for his balls then squeeze until his faces scrunches up with pain. It’s just your luck, always picking out the bull-headed ones.
“Watch your mouth, or I'm going to put a padlock on your belt and make you hold it all day. Do you want that?” When he doesn’t answer right away, you squeeze again and he yelps. “Do you?”
“No, please—please, mommy—don’t—” Jeongin hates the word (or maybe he likes it a little too much), but the way his expression breaks when ‘mommy’ slips from his mouth is so sweet that you’re almost inclined to forgive him instantly.
Almost.
“Hmm, maybe we won’t do that then.” You let go of him to tap at your lower thoughtfully, though it’s mostly an act. Now that you’ve said the words, the thought of taking your control up a notch is a little too enticing to resist. An actual padlock would be too obvious, but you’re sure you can think of something…
He gasps as you loosen your grip, and you can’t help but laugh at the sulky tone of his, “thank you, mommy.”
“Don’t thank me yet, I might still do it.” The stubborn set of his mouth goads you into spelling out your warning: “I will if you don’t learn how to behave.”
When you turn on your heel, you hear the rustle and clink of his belt being undone behind you, but he freezes again as you stop to lean back against the door.
“What—why?”
“‘Why’ what?” you ask, arching a brow as you settle into your slouch. The weight of your expectation slowly sinks in, but Jeongin plays dumb.
As if that’s ever saved him from your efforts to debase him.
“Why—I need to—why are you staying?” You’ve never asked him to do anything like this before and he’s positively writhing with embarrassment—face flushed so hard that it’s spreading down his neck, under his shirt. Head cocked to the side, you watch him try to sort himself out. Not exerting any pressure, but not backing off just yet. If Jeongin really wants you to go, you’ll go.
You don’t actually think that he does.
A moment passes, then another. Then he’s taking a deep breath, and your own freezes in your lungs.
But the only sound in the bathroom is the soft zip of his fly being undone. His eyes are scrunched shut, shoulders stiff and hands trembling. It’s all you can do not to swoop upon him and smother him with adoration immediately.
You really are going to have to make him wet himself now. Not today, but—soon.
When he finally pulls his cock out, you can’t help but lean forward, so excited you think you might melt. Jeongin had taken a picture for you when he’d put it on this morning, and you’ve been a mess thinking about it all day, sneaking peeks at your phone whenever you could—but seeing it properly, here in front of you, you’re suddenly ravenous. He looks so small and vulnerable, cock trapped in clear plastic like a specimen in a display case. In contrast, his balls look swollen and heavy, far too big trapped between the cage and the ring that holds it in place.
It takes a moment, nerves a dam that keeps him from relaxing into his body’s need, but then he’s letting go for you. He makes for such a lovely sight like this—brow furrowed, the lines of his body taut, as if he could simply block out what he’s doing if he tried hard enough. The sound of his piss hitting the porcelain is so loud, he doesn’t even notice you walk up to him until you’re wrapping your arms around him from behind.
He jolts, cock jerking in his hold, and you shush him sweetly with your chin hooked over his shoulder.
“Careful, baby,” you chide playfully. “You’ll make a mess.”
But there’s no danger of that with the way his body locks up under your touch, the steady stream cut off abruptly as soon as you’d put your hands on him. Your breath ghosts over his ear and he shivers, a pathetic little animal mewl escaping from his throat.
Poor, precious thing, getting so twisted up over just a little piss. It would be so easy, you think, to break him. You skim your hands up his sides teasingly, before moving a hand low on his belly and pressing down cruelly, and he shudders in your embrace.
“Hmmm, I think that might be fun, though…” you muse out loud. “What do you think about that?”
“Huh?”
“What do you think, sweetheart?” You prompt him coyly. “About making a mess for mommy?”
“W-what do you mean?” The tremulous uncertainty in his voice makes it clear that he’s not thinking at all anymore.
“I mean,” and you press down on his bladder again, harder. “I think maybe I will make you wet yourself.”
Jeongin whines at your words, lips wobbling before he presses them together, as if to trap something behind them. The thought that he might start crying here, now, simply fans the flames of your depravity.
“I think I’d like that,” you continue casually, sliding your hand just under his shirt and rubbing fond little circles into the warm, tense muscle of his abdomen. “I think maybe this little cage isn’t enough. Maybe I will lock up your belt, make it so you can’t even pull your little cock out without my permission. Maybe you’ll have to beg me just to take a piss. What do you think of that, baby?”
“No, please… I won’t—I’m sorry…”
“Shhhh…” You stroke his hair soothingly, not bothering to reassure him that he doesn’t have anything to worry about if he’s just good. You both know he won’t be.
“Mommy, please…” Not even he knows what he’s begging for anymore, and your heart swells with adoration.
“It’s okay, baby, just let go.” You wrap a hand around the long fingers gripping his cock, while your other curls at his chest to hold him close. “Mommy’s got you, sweetheart, you just need to go like a big boy. You can do that, can’t you?”
His broad back shakes against you, and you wonder what’s harder for him right now—holding it in or letting go. When the last thread of shame finally snaps, the sound is deafening—the hiss and rush of flowing piss as the dam breaks, the ragged gasps as his chest heaves under your touch, until his bladder is empty and Jeongin is limp in your arms.
When he’s drained dry, you card your fingers through his hair gently, kiss away the few tears he lets escape when he tips his head back onto your shoulder. The smell of ammonia already dissipating from the air, but the taste of salt on his skin is enough to satisfy you for now.
“You did so good for me, baby.” He’s never been so soft for you, so yielding, and you reward him with soft words broken up by quick kisses. You want him to remember how good it can be to fall apart for you.
Finally, Jeongin catches his breath and straightens up, flushed and unable to look you in the eye. Before he can tuck his cock away and gather himself, you drag him in for a proper kiss. He melts into your touch, his usually sharp tongue turned pliant and inviting under your mouth.
When you pull away, you’re already reaching up under your skirt to shimmy out of your underwear. It’s a mess, sticky and fragrant with your arousal, and there’s something hot bubbling up in your chest that you tamp down ruthlessly as you press it into his hands.
There’s not much he can do with it right now, but the way his long, clever fingers twitch as his mouth goes slack lets you know that your reward is appreciated. You’re ready to leave him standing there, staring at his present dumbly, when a thought occurs to you at the door:
“Oh yeah, next time, make sure to lock the door behind you—unless you want someone else seeing your poor little cock locked up?”
You picked today to try out your new game for a reason.
The room is a mess after today’s project, an explosion of brightly colored paper, glitter and glue and paint everywhere. No one questions it when you volunteer the both of you to clean up, too eager to leave behind the scene of their crimes to worry about Jeongin’s stormy expression or your unusually altruistic offer.
Jeongin still seems to think you’re actually cleaning up, rolling up his sleeves and crunching down poster board to cram into a garbage bag. He doesn’t seem to notice as the lock clicks shut, as you tape a sheet of construction paper over the narrow window. Not even a glance your way as you hop up onto the professor’s desk. He’s focused entirely on the task in front of him, eyes narrowed and shoulders stiff, and you wonder how hard he’s trying to not think of the tension that’s been mounting all day.
The video you sent earlier probably didn’t help: your skirt flipped up in a bathroom stall, your fingers catching the light before they’d disappeared between your lips. It was hard to feel bad about your little ploy, through, not when his reaction had been so delicious.
You’d watched as he slid his phone into his lap, known your video had started playing as soon as he’d flipped the screen over, eyes darting around with panic. He hadn’t looked at you, but when he left for the bathroom again, you let him go without a fuss. After all, you still had the key.
You squirm a little on your perch as you watch him work, thighs sticky with want as your gaze traces his sharp, sullen features, the breadth of his shoulders and the flex of exposed forearms. To be honest, you’ve been antsy all day, too. Maybe that’s why you’d texted him ‘look over’ in the middle of the dullest, longest lecture of the day, why once he’d obeyed, you’d lifted your skirt and spread your legs for just a second, just for him.
It’s funny, you think, how he’s been caged up all day like an animal and driven crazy by the confinement, while leaving yourself so naked and exposed has made you feel almost as wild.
“Baby...” He looks up at your bid for attention, his unaffected mask only betrayed by the speed of his response. “Come to mommy?”
Once he’s close enough, you reach out and catch his tie, use it like a leash to drag him in the rest of the way. You spread your legs to make room for him, and the motion has his gaze dipping down, lips parted and hungry.
“Pull out your little cock for me, sweetheart.”
Jeongin doesn’t even bristle at your words, just tugs at his belt with an eagerness that contrasts so sweetly against your memory of him faltering earlier.
“So cute…” you coo, cupping it your hand. Your new toy has been keeping him getting fully hard, but you can see him straining at the plastic prison, the head red and pitiful where it’s pressed against the hole at the end. You pass your thumb over it and he bucks into the fleeting contact, shuddering and groaning as though you’ve taken him all the way down your throat. “Poor baby, does it hurt?”
He whines again, nodding eagerly, and you press your thumb back against the hole and stroke tiny little circles into it as a reward for his honesty. The look of betrayal when you pull away is painfully sweet, but it smooths out as you push him gently to his knees in front of you.
Jeongin is sloppy and eager with his head buried between your legs—he had been so clumsy when you’d first pushed him down to his knees, but he gets better every time he does this, technique refining under your direction. His wide mouth seals over your cunt, tongue swiping into and up your folds as his nose nudges your clit. You’d never expected him to take to this so well when you’d started, but now he hums happily when you reach down to tangle a hand in his hair, to hold him in place as you grind up into him.
He’ll probably always be a messy eater, you think, but that’s hard to mind when he’s such a lovely mess—the sound and sight of him is almost as good as the feeling of his mouth on you. Dark lashes shuttered as he loses himself in you, shamelessly loud and wet as he delves his tongue into your entrance and groans at the feeling of your muscles clenching around him.
When he makes you cum, it’s with his mouth alone—that wicked tongue out for you to use as you please, both your hands buried his dark locks as you fuck his pretty face. You’re wound so tight after teasing him all day, it feels like it takes almost nothing at all to get you to your peak. Your orgasm drags you under so quickly it knocks the breath from your lungs, the only thing keeping you anchored are the hands gripping your ass.
As the fingers you’ve twined through his hair relax, Jeongin takes over to diligently work you through the aftershocks. His mouth makes its way up to focus on your clit, tongue circling gently as long, clever fingers skim up your thigh to dip between your folds, to curl inside of you. He’s trying to bring you off again when you nudge him off of you, eyes hazy and mouth disgruntled as you break his focus—he’s never taken kindly to being interrupted when he’s eating.
Your words go a long way to dissipate the displeasure in his eyes, though:
“You’ve been so good for me, baby, I think maybe you deserve to cum.” You cup his face in your hand as you speak, swipe your thumb across his lower lip and hum approvingly as he sucks it into his mouth. He looks so sweetly ruined, hair sticking out every which way, cheeks and chin shiny with your cum. “How do you want to cum, sweetheart?”
“Let me fuck you, please?” His voice is low and hoarse as he looks up at you pleadingly, lips parted and eyes wide. Even if you hadn’t been thinking about fucking him all day, it would have been hard to say no to that face.
Your baby is unusually well-behaved, waiting patiently when you tug him up to stand up straight, fumble to pull the key off its ring. You chalk it up to the prospect of being rewarded that keeps him so still and mindful, though, as you carefully take him into your hands. Jeongin groans when you cup his balls in his hands, rolling the warm weight of them in your palms, before moving up to the tiny heart-shaped lock resting above his cock. With the click of a lock comes a bone-deep, rattling sigh—freedom so close you can practically feel the anticipation rolling off him now.
You drop the lock and key on the desk beside you, but before you get back to dismantling his prison, you give in to the urge to run your nails gently up the smooth skin inside his thighs. Firm muscle twitches under your touch, and you lean in to press a little kiss to the jut of his hipbone when a whine slips past his lips.
His cock is already stiffening as you tug the cage carefully off the pins holding it in place, the sight of it so tempting that you dip forward to wrap your lips around the head and give it a quick suck, tongue curling along the underside as you drag off teasingly. His hips jerk forward, but his hands stay balled at his sides, determined not to touch without permission.
“Such a good boy for me…” you coo, pressing a kiss to his belly button before pulling back to start working the pins out of the spacer and carefully separating the ring resting behind his balls.
As soon as the last of the pieces tumble from your palm onto the desk, you’re caught in a vice-like grip. Plastic and metal clatter to the floor and you yelp as your ‘good boy’ cages both your wrists to the desk above you with just one hand, the other pinning down one of your hips in a bruising grip.
Jeongin shoves himself between your thighs to rub his cock along your puffy, sensitive lips—you can feel it filling out with blood as he slides between your folds, his precum adding to the mess of your own arousal, the sound of it sticky and obscene as he groans shamelessly. The whole room is filled with the sound and smell of sex, and there’s a distant voice in the back of your mind telling you that anyone passing by would surely know what’s happening.
His head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, as he basks in how hot and wet you are against his neglected cock, and all you can do is squirm helplessly under him. Pleasure rattles up your spine sharp as pain as he grinds against your oversensitive cunt, the head of his cock sliding across your clit in a tortuous tease.
You almost think that he might cum just like this, the thought of him spilling without even fucking you both intoxicating and amusing in equal measure—you were just talking about forcing him to make a mess of himself for you. But then the head of his cock catches at your entrance and he keens, scrabbling at your waist and snapping his hips hard into you.
The sudden motion, the sweet ache of being filled, knocks the breath from your lungs as he slides in to the hilt roughly.
You don’t think you’ll get off again—you’re still too tender and Jeongin’s too eager and clumsy right now, his thrusts quick and uneven. But then he’s straightening up, dragging you to the edge of the desk with your legs over his arms, and the shift in angle has something inside of you lighting up. The head of his cock dragging against a spot inside of you that makes you suddenly throb with need again. You rock up helplessly up into him, nails digging frantically into the wiry muscle of his forearms as you try to meet his thrusts, but it’s impossible to match his erratic rhythm.
When his hips stutter suddenly to a halt, you can’t hold back a disappointed little whimper.
“You were close, weren’t you?” The question is strained, very nearly distraught, but before you can reassure him, he’s rocking into you again.
“It’s okay, sweet—” You’re ready to let him off the hook, but then his thumb starts circling your clit clumsily as he presses sloppy, tender kisses to your neck, nuzzles into the hollow behind your ear.
“Please, mommy, please come for me.” His request is so earnest, you might just forgive him for being so impatient and rough. He’s still hard inside of you, the weight of him on top of you comfortable and warm as his soft, low voice works you back up again. “Just one more, mommy, please.”
Your second orgasm rolls over you with the laziness of heat wave, the gentle, relentless pressure of his cock against your g-spot and his voice in your ear dragging you over the edge with a shudder and a sigh.
His cum spills out of you as soon as he pulls out, smearing across your thighs and dripping onto the desk beneath you in obscene, sticky ribbons. Jeongin’s entranced by the sight of it, but you’re too tender to let him try to finger it back into you, the muscles of your thighs twitchy and aching as squirm under his touch.
“Not right now, baby.” You slap his hands away, sigh when he pouts. There’s no heat to it, though, so you drag him in to press a kiss to his furrowed brow, his nose, his lips. “C’mon, help me clean up so we can go home and cuddle.”
You can practically see the wheels turning behind those sharp, dark eyes of his, but that’s trouble for a later-you to deal with. The only thing that matters right now is his answer:
“Yes, mommy.”