"I've been meaning to ask you something, but it's kind of personal," my workout partner said to me as I was finishing the last of my bench presses.
"What's that, Mitch?" I grunted on my final push, guiding the barbell back onto its stand while Mitch's fingers hovered below the bar, spotting me. I sat up on the weight bench and turned towards him, honestly intrigued.
Mitch turned away from me, though, focusing his attention on his visage in the full-length wall mirror opposite the weight stations. "Damn, I'm swole," he said, preening. Apparently he enjoyed the suspense of drawing a thing out.
I turned to face the mirror as well, parroting Mitch's posture and movements, standing upright and pushing my chest out. I wasn't disappointed with what I saw, either. I may not have been as muscular as my roommate yet, but my torso was developing a noticeable "V" shape similar to his, and my biceps definitely looked bigger. I had to hand it to him, the idea that we work out three nights a week after classes had been a good one.
My eyes naturally drifted back to my roommate, though, as they often did. I noticed how his tight t-shirt, now damp with sweat, clung to his torso and accentuated his sculpted body. He was a bit of a stud, and he knew it. I didn't let my eyes linger too long on him, though. I wanted to maintain proper boundaries and not weird him out.
Mitch re-engaged with our conversation then. "Well, Petey, what I was wondering was..." He turned his attention back to me, drawing out his question for dramatic effect as his ice-blue eyes stared right into mine, a kind of challenge. "Who holds the key to your cock cage?"
If I'd been drinking a soda I'd have spit it up right then and there, I was so caught off guard. Mitch just stared at me with a shit-eating grin on his face, but of course I had broken eye contact by then. I scanned the gym to see who might have overheard us, but it was off-hours in the university gymnasium, and we were one of the only ones there.
I felt naked before my straight roommate, now; exposed. How had he known? I was careful about safeguarding my privacy and hadn't divulged any details about my sex life to him, especially any kinky predilections I had. He knew I was gay, but that's about it.
As if reading my mind, Mitch said, "Don't be shocked, my little cocksucker roommate. I haven't been spying on you or snooping or anything like that, but, well, you have to admit," Mitch looked pointedly down at my crotch as he finished his thought, "it's pretty obvious."
I looked down at my groin area and saw nothing amiss, but when I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, seeing myself from Mitch's perspective, there it was. My white gym shorts, now also damp with perspiration, had become fairly translucent, and whenever the material of my shorts fell a certain way, the dark impression of the lump of plastic around my penis was unmistakably obvious.
"Oh, shit," I said, placing both hands over my groin.
"I get why you didn't want to volunteer that kind of information to me, roomie, but fear not. I'm not all that vanilla myself, truth be told," Mitch said with a laugh.
My roommate's admission did little to negate my embarrassment. I was mortified and wanted to get out of there before anyone else discovered my dirty little secret, my hidden shame. "I think we should go," I said.
"But we still have biceps and triceps to do," Mitch said jovially. Then, seeing the distress on my face, he got serious. "Look, it's practically deserted in here, and I'm the only one who knows your dick is locked up. No one else has noticed or even cares. But, seriously, even if everyone in the gym did know, what do you think would happen? Everyone has weird sex stuff, and yours isn't even all that weird."
Mitch's pep talk worked wonders, surprisingly. I wondered how he could be so confident. Did he really care so little what people thought about him? I calmed down, sat, breathed, and thought about his words.
"Okay," I said.
"Now who holds the key to that thing, bitch boy?" Mitch asked again.
I leaned in to him and said in a low voice, "No one holds it, it's just me. I just like wearing it sometimes." I'm sure I must have sounded defensive.
Mitch finished adding weights to the bar, clamped them on, and pulled the bar off its stand. He stood in front of the mirror wall, arms extended, preparing to perform his curls. "But you have had one in the past, right?" His voice remained defiantly at normal volume, as if we were discussing the football game last night. He began pulling the bar up to his chest.
"A keyholder? Yeah, I guess my last boyfriend was one," I answered, my voice remaining low and discreet.
"Older guy?" Mitch asked, his face grimacing with effort as he continued his reps.
"Yes, Chris was older than me," I said. "By about ten years."
"Makes sense." He placed the bar back on the rack and said, "Your turn."
I took one 10-pound weight off each side of the bar, pulled it off the rack, and got into position. "Why do you ask, anyway?" I said, a little more comfortable, my normal volume returning. I began my reps.
There was silence between the both of us as I performed my curls. Each time the bar was at my chest, my core compensated for the change in weight distribution, and my hips jutted out to act as a counterweight. I turned red as I noticed how obvious the cock cage remained. As I finished up my set, Mitch answered my question, "Because, my fag roomie, I want it. Both copies, actually. I'm gonna be your new keyholder."
The offer -- or demand, rather -- hung in the air, electric. Mitch as my keyholder -- Mitch as my dominant -- was something I'd never even dared to imagine. The offer couldn't be real. Maybe he was fucking with me. "What are you talking about? You're straight!" I said and laughed. This was some sort of trick, apparently, but I wasn't born yesterday. "Nice try, but I'm not falling for whatever this is." I pushed down any excitement I was feeling and maintained my composure.
"This is no trick, I assure you. Yeah, I'm straight, but as I told you, I'm also pretty kinky, and I've been curious about chastity devices ever since I started watching those cuckold videos online."
"Uh-huh," I answered, not yet convinced.
"Anyway," Mitch said, "it's not like I just asked you to suck me off."
"No," I answered. Not yet, anyway, I thought. But it's not that far of a leap. I was unable to control the image that now played in my mind: me on my knees in front of Mitch, gazing up into those baby blues as my mouth engulfed his huge cock.
Mitch grabbed a Lysol disinfecting wipe from one of the dispensers scattered around the gym and began wiping down the weight bar and bench we'd been using. "I think you should think about my offer, and we'll talk about it more later tonight. How does that sound?"
"Okay, that's cool," I agreed, trying to ignore the fact that my dick was getting hard -- or rather trying to -- in its plastic confines. I didn't have the heart to tell him we'd forgotten to do triceps.
Mitch turned from me and began heading for the locker room, and it might have just been my imagination but it appeared the bulge in his shorts was also a bit more prominent.