Kyle stood, stepped on the pedal of the bin and tipped the dustpan inside. A gray shower of assorted filth, dead skin and food crumbs and scraps of plastic packaging, tumbled into the dark depths of the black garbage bag inside. The apartment had never been so clean. Ashley had always been on the messy side, and Kyle’s desire for order had been part of what had gotten him into this subservient position in the first place. Ashley had been right about that. There were no more arguments about who did what chores around the house, now that he did all of them. The house was clean, the way he always wished it would be. It meant a lot more work for him, of course. But Ashley liked it that way, and Kyle didn’t argue.
Setting aside the broom, he reached under the kitchen sink and retrieved a spray bottle and a cloth to wipe down the counter tops. Housework wasn’t so bad, really. It gave him a chance to focus on something that wasn’t sex, and give his aching cock some relief from the constant pressure of the cage. Except when he remembered why he was doing all the housework, naked no less, and then that old pressure would come right back as he remembered that Ashley held the key to his freedom.
She had gone out. She didn’t say where, and he didn’t ask. It was none of his business. It wasn’t like they were married. They weren’t even dating. They were roommates. It was only this week that anything had changed, and Kyle wouldn’t call what he had with Ashley now a relationship. Or, if it was, it was the relationship of a boss with a lowly servant. Worse; it was more like the relationship a person has with a tool. Perhaps a favorite toy, one they really enjoy using. But an object, nonetheless. Kyle winced as that old tightness around his cock returned in full force.
She was out. An idea bloomed in Kyle’s fervid brain. Either she had the key that held him imprisoned on her person, which seemed unlikely. Or else it was in the house somewhere. She was out. He had no idea how long she’d be. If she caught him looking for they key, he knew, there’d be trouble. Just how much trouble, he was unable to say and unwilling to speculate. His cock throbbed. He had to find that key.
The laundry was done, and Kyle brought a bundle of Ashley’s clothes from the dryer and laid them in a loose heap on the bed. This would give him cover if she came home. He was allowed in her room, now that she had his cock under control, effectively neutering him. No man likes to be thought of by an attractive women as completely harmless. Bit he was, now. She had made him that way. He couldn’t so much as touch his cock, the cock she had claimed as her own, without her permission. And her permission had been denied until Monday at the earliest, contingent on his behavior. She could leave him here alone now, among her lingerie, in the certain knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
One after another, Kyle pulled open the groaning drawers of her dresser and rummaged through them. Piles of panties, bras, socks and T shirts were tossed into colorful disarray by his searching fingers. If she caught him now, he could easily claim to be putting her clothes away. Still his heart hammered in his chest as though trying to kick its way out of the prison of his ribs, a cold sweat of fear breaking out on his forehead. His fingers scrabbled at the bottom of the drawer, and found nothing. He ransacked every drawer from top to bottom, and found nothing but her clothes. Of course, he told himself. She’d hardly hide the key here, when she had instructed him to take care of her laundry from now on. Where else?
There was a wooden box on top of the dresser, half buried by piles of books. Kyle flipped aside the metal clasp that held it shut and pushed back the heavy hinged lid. Piles of rings and earrings and chains liked tiny coiled ropes glittered in the overhead light as he sifted quickly through the jewelry, the metal objects rattling against the wooden bottom of the box as he shifted it from side to side. Nothing. Where else?
Kyle grunted as he gripped the side of Ashley’s mattress and hoisted it up into the air. Nothing underneath there. A gust of air rolled past him as he let the mattress fall back into place, carefully adjusting it so that it looked as though it had never moved. The clean clothes he had brought with him had fallen to the floor, and Kyle kneeled to pick them up again and dump them back on top of the mattress before bending down to peer into the darkness beneath the bed. Dust bunnies, a couple of old bus tickets, a crumpled gossip magazine and a bottle cap. No key. Kyle brushed off the dust that clung to his bare skin as he rose back to his feet. It had to be somewhere.
The closet door screeched as he pushed it to one side. Frantically he rifled through the pockets of the shirts and jackets and coats that hung inside. Nothing. Shoe boxes clattered in a fashionable avalanche around him as he pulled one after another from a hulking pile in one corner of the cramped closet. Ashley had a lot of shoes. Kyle tipped each box out, scrabbling in the empty box and probing inside each shoe, only to come up empty-handed each time. He worked his way down the pile with increasing desperation, examining sneakers and high heels and sandals and tall boots to no avail. There was no way, he realized, to put everything back as he had found it. Throwing the shoes haphazardly back into their boxes, he restacked the pile and hoped that Ashley wasn’t observant enough to notice that things were out of place. There certainly didn’t seem to be any kind of organizing principle to the chaos of her room. Where else?
Sure that she would be back at any moment now, Kyle tore through the room like a tropical storm, flinging half-read books and magazines to the floor and pulling apart the contents of drawers and boxes like some poltergeist with a vendetta against tidiness. Ashley’s bedside, already a mess before Hurricane Kyle made landfall, was a scene of complete disaster once he had passed over it. Her laundry hamper was virtually empty, and yet he ransacked it anyway. Finally, he paused in the middle of destruction, the sound of his heated breath filling the air that swam with the dust he had raised. It wasn’t here. And wasn’t here, and he had trashed her room. Kyle lurched back into panicked life, setting things in order as frantically as he had torn them apart. By the time Ashley’s room was restored to what he hoped was a passable simulacrum of her usual organized chaos, Kyle was sweating profusely and panting with effort. Ashley still wasn’t home. Kyle turned towards the living room.
He had to be more careful here. The door could open at any moment, and he’d be exposed. Jogging to the kitchen with the lock clicking against the plastic of the chastity device, Kyle picked up he dustpan and brush to keep by his side in case Ashley came back. The coffee table was neat and tidy; he’d already seen to that today. The couch cushions gave up a tiny hoard of lost cons totaling one dollar and seventy six cents, but no key. In despair, Kyle lifted the couch. Underneath there was a small wooden box he had never seen before, its low sides making it resemble a tiny tray. Kicking it out from under the sofa, Kyle dropped to the floor and let out a small sob of gratitude as he gazed joyfully at its contents. Four small metal keys on a thin wire ring.
The keys shivered in his trembling hands as he lifted the ring from the box. As though handling a priceless work of art or some ancient and holy relic, he lifted the first key to the lock on his chastity device. His cock swelled as though it knew its freedom was at hand, and Kyle’s arousal surged as he thought of the orgasm he would enjoy the moment he was free. It would take seconds, he knew, in his aroused state, to bring himself to solitary pleasure. And then Ashley’s power over him would be broken.