I was sitting naked in a toilet cubicle. In front of me was a carrier bag, pushed under the door ten minutes earlier by my Master - a man I had had the pleasure of calling Sir for the last three months. Hopefully in this carrier bag were some clothes which I could put on before going outside and finding him. He had already taken the clothes I was wearing when I came in, so I had no choice at all about what to wear. I knew he would have picked out something from our collection of respectable, skimpy, daring and downright rude clothes, but had no idea what. And it looked like a very small carrier bag!
To be more precise, I was as naked as I could get. I still had the neck-chain on which he had locked onto me over two months ago, the padlock dangling down for all to see. And I had a thick metal cock ring on, secured by a ball weight - two halves of a metal doughnut bolted together around the top of my scrotum, the bolt head holes having been filled in with wax. As I looked down, my cock was staring up at me, firmly erect, but I had been ordered not to touch it. This morning I had been freed from a week secured inisde a chastity belt, only to have the cock ring and ball weights secured on. I was desperate to get some stimulation from my hard cock, but I knew that my Master would ask me if I had broken any orders, and I could not possibly lie to him.
So I sat, horny and frustrated, staring at the carrier bag. Inside it was an electronic egg-timer, which my Master had set before pushing it under the door, but I didn't know how long it was set for, nor how long was left to go.
I listened as men came in and out of the toilet, constantly paranoid that one would be a cleaner and would open up the cubicle I was in and find me naked except for my hardware, or that Sir had not put the timer in, or set it for several hours, or worse that there would me no clothes at all in the bag.
Suddenly I heard what seemed like a deafening fire-alarm sound, until I realised it was only the timer that I had so long waited for, sounding in the quiet of the cubicle. I hurriedly opened the bag and bashed the button on the timer before anyone asked what I was doing with an egg-timer in a toilet.
And then the moment of truth - I took out of the bag a small handful of shiny black Lycra. I shook it out, and saw it was a pair of cycle shorts with a small amount of material going up to the chest, over the shoulder and down the back. As I put it on I remembered when my Master and I bought it - it was the 'Teen' section of a workout shop, designed for young boys to show off their muscles. It was several sizes too small for me (by design), and so was very tight. The very narrow shoulder straps and huge arm holes explicitly showed off the bungling physique I didn't have.
I could feel the tightness of the material over my arse and up my crack - that felt great. But I got quite a shock when I looked down to see the perfect outline of my still hard cock in the shorts - they were so tight, no detail of my anatomy was left to the imagination. I tried hard to think of something non-sexual to make my cock a little less 'pronounced', but with all the hardware in there, it would never reach decency.
If I had been on my own doing this, and had a bag of clothes with me, I would then have decided to give up and put my jeans on. But in this case I had no choice but to go out into the world and find the rest of my clothes. After all, I looked very unusual, but I was not going to be arrested for indecency (I hoped).
I clipped the egg-timer to my shorts, took a deep breath, and opened the cubicle door. I was in luck - there was no-one else in the toilet, so I dashed outside. We were in a park, and I knew that my Master would be waiting somewhere for me, so I just had to look around for him. I had not even been allowed shoes, so I had to walk on the grass.
After a while of looking around (avoiding the busy areas) I got quite used to what I was wearing, and began to forget about it - I expect people started at me from a distance, but I took no notice. I decided that he was probably not in this section of the park, so I would have to go through to another section, which involved going along a busy path. I took another deep breath, and walked over, as casually as possible, in towards the line of people ambling through. I was relieved to see a few other people in tight Lycra - joggers at the end of their run, I expect - so perhaps I did not look so unusual after all.
As I walked along the line of people, two girls, each in their early 20s, walked towards me. One was clearly looking down at my crotch, and had a broad grin, while the other smiled and winked at me. As soon as they passed, I heard them burst out laughing. Did they enjoy seeing a guy so explicit in a public place, or was I just an object of ridicule for them? I decided not to think too hard about it.
Many people looked at me in that crowd - many just glanced and then turned away, but some smiled. I walked passed a shop, and in the window caught a reflection of myself walking along - and I smiled myself! In all the rest of the park, I'd not seen anyone else dressed so daring and - in my opinion - sexy. That gave my quite a sense of pride, so I marched on through the crowds not caring what they thought.
Not far on, sitting on the grass a short way from the line of people, I found my Master, bunch of keys dangling from his leather shorts. He also grinned when he saw me, thought probably for a different reason from the previous people.
"You look every bit appropriate to the slaveboy you are," he said. "The metalwork does a good job of showing off your equipment." I looked down, and sure enough my cock was still bulging out just as prominently as it had in the toilet.
I sat and we talked about what had happened, what worked and what didn't. He told me that we would do it again soon, but he would think of a different type of embarrassment to put me through, possibly involving rubber or PVC. Then he got up and said, "Come, boy. If you are lucky, you may get your reward."
He took me over to a sculptured garden within the park. There were several people about admiring the flowers and plants. We went over to a path which was separated from the garden by a wall at about chest height, where he stopped to look over the wall at the garden. He said to me, "Put your arms on the wall, and keep looking forward whatever happens." Mystified as to what that might mean, I tried to look relaxed by leaning on the top of the wall as ordered, and he did the same.
He called over to a man who was tending a flower bed, and started up a conversation with him about something which seemed quite uninteresting to me, but he occasionally asked me some simple questions about, "Don't the roses look nice," or, "Should I get some of those for my garden", to which I dutifully answered a 'yes' or 'no'.
I was suddenly shocked by something cool hitting my groin. Complying with instructions, I didn't look down, but I could tell that my Master had shifted his hand over, and was now rubbing my shorts while talking to the gardener. He massaged whatever cool lube he was using into my cock and balls through the fabric of the shorts, while still asking me about his garden.
My cock had been imprisoned in a chastity belt for the past week and had been hard all day, and my strangled balls so full of cum they were fit to burst, but as was receiving the ecstacy of my Master's hand on my cock, I still had to answer, "Yes, they'd look lovely over by the pond."
For the last two months I had been ordered never to cum unless explicitly told to, and I knew that's what my Master expected of me now, so, as much as I was on the edge of explosion, I forced back the yearning orgasm caused by the gyration of his hand on my cock.
Thought I could hardly pay attention to anything, I heard my Master speaking to me. "They have a floral display on here next week, do you think we should CUM?"
I shouted, "Yes! Yes!" as I felt the pent-up cum rushing through my cock and spurt out into my shorts. I had to resist the urge to thrust upwards as I kept shooting my load. I had no idea what the expression was on my face or that of the gardener.
I was soon depleted and exhausted. I clutched onto the wall, now to keep me from collapsing, and tried to continue with the gardening conversation, my interest not being in it but now for a different reason.
Soon my Master finished the conversation, and turned to leave. "Come with me, boy," he said. I looked down at the soggy cum-stains on my shorts, but I no longer cared. I walked away from the cover of the wall, into the view of the public, and out of the park.
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