CHAPTER 1
Fiona came back from her Summer hols in the US of A with the latest gadget. It was a beginning of year meet at our college.
"It's a cage for a willy!" she announced. "They're quite the thing over there. Keeps it small and pointing down, out of trouble!"
We laughed, of course.
Yes, it looked like a cage pointing down, with some bits behind and a padlock.
"You're kidding," said Amelia.
"No, sincerely. They actually use them. It's a sort of game. Girls put them on their chaps, and keep the key. It's perfectly safe, but the boyfriend can't have a fuck with anyone else!"
"One of the dares is to see how long he can stand it until he's absolutely begging to be released!
"Count me out!" said Algy, looking towards Jocasta, who gave a mock frown and pout.
"I'd like to see you two begging!" said Cynthia, looking towards Beaky and me. She'd had both of us.
"I wonder which one would be first?"
"Beaky of course," I said, "no willpower!"
"You can talk, Percy," he replied. "I'd outlast you any day!"
"That looks like a challenge," said Fiona. "Lucky I brought two!"
"Are you up for it, boys?" said Jocasta.
"It wouldn't bother me," said Beaky languidly.
I snorted.
"Nor me."
"Bet you a hundred, it does," he said.
"That's hardly a bet," I replied, "but OK, it's something you can afford to lose, so fine."
Egged on by the others it ended up as my car against his. (Which was not really equal: mine's so much better.)
The girls said we had better have a toss-off to get an equal standing start (or rather not standing) so we went to our rooms and discharged the old todgers. Then Fiona and Cynthia came round and locked me in.
It was a bit mechanically complicated, but they worked it out. I hadn't a clue, but then I was doing
Literae Humaniores
, what the plebs call Classics, and we call Greats. Beaky has some ambition to go into politics so does PPE (that's Politics, Philosophy and Economics, not personal protective equipment!) I was locked in, and the girls recorded the time in case it came down to minutes and did the same for Beaky.
An hour later, I was definitely regretting it, but held out till dinner, which was Formal Hall, so gowns were worn, so I was able to drape mine around me a bit.
"How are you?" the girls asked.
"No problem," I said casually.
"Forgot I was wearing it," said Beaky."
"Well, night-time might be a bit hard for you," said Fiona, and nudged Cynthia. They sniggered together.
Bloody hell, she was right!
Of course when you have a full bladder John Thomas stands to attention. Morning wood is quite pleasant, but not when you're firmly pointed down. Peeing was terrible, but helped.
It says much for my fortitude, that I survived the night, put on my baggiest trousers and got to the first lecture, trying not to crouch. Now I am all for equality, but I don't think it is fair to have professors with large breasts and short skirts first thing.
With cold showers, trying to concentrate on my studies, and applying a little olive oil (but just a bit, as I did not wish to wake the beast) I got through the next day and night, cleverly avoiding a bedtime drink.
After three days, the girls said we had to be checked to make sure there was soreness if the ball ring was too tight or nipping the flesh.
"Oh, it might be," I said. "So we'll probably have to stop."
"Of course not," laughed Fiona, while Cynthia gave an evil grin.
"We'd just give you both a week to recover, then start again!"
'For this relief, much thanks,' said Hamlet in another context, but that was what sprang to mind as my poor organ sprang free, to be inspected closely by two attractive young women, who pronounced it fit to continue the fight. Naturally it expanded, though not quite as impressively as I'd hoped.
I was then allowed 30 minutes to return it to a flaccid state without the obvious method. Supervised, of course. In other words, under the gaze of two amused young women. Cold water did the trick.
We were inspected again, at the end of the week, and our guards said that a weekly inspection would suffice, unless either of us wished to admit defeat.
I later learned that Beaky had been a bit sore, but they replaced one of the bits with a larger size and he insisted on continuing, and was OK at the second inspection. He never said anything, but Cynthia told me.
To my regret, one of my courses now focussed on Catullus, the Roman poet noted for his explicit sexual imagery, and his obvious admiration for the Greek poet Sappho of Lesbos (from whom we get the word lesbian). There was much to consider in tutorials, which I would rather not have done.
I somewhat envied Beaky. I think you'd have to be a born banker to get a hard-on from Economics.
After a couple of weeks I found out what a wet dream was. I suppose I might have had one when I was young, but I didn't remember it, having been an enthusiastic onanist for a long time. It wasn't at all pleasant.
It was a term of no actual bonking, wanking or sucking, of course, which would have been a strain at the best of times, but what would have been perfectly normal semis were unpleasant.
Moreover, everybody knew about it, so we were cause for amusement. We had given up trying to hide it. To be honest, it hardly showed under normal trousers. Unless you were looking, which too many people now did.
The gang was amused when Beaky told them we could no longer use urinals, but had to sit down to pee, and it was a bit messy.
"Welcome to the club, girls!" said Fiona, and Jocasta whispered something into her ear, I don't know what. She's a horsewoman and quite outdoorsy, so maybe she can pee standing. I thought I'd get her to demonstrate if I got off with her, though thinking the thought had painful consequences.
Oxford has shorter terms and longer vacations than all but one of the lesser universities; but it still seemed an eternity until the end was in sight.
To give Beaky his due, I thought we had both done rather well and told him so.
"We have, and I rather say I admire us, Percy, old chap," he replied.
"But all we have to do is hold on to the end of term," I said.
"I bet no-one expected us to manage eight weeks. The girls won't be able to check us over the Christmas hols, and for safety that has to be done every few days. We'll shake hands and call it a draw."
He frowned, but didn't say anything.
As our crowd got together for Christmas drinks, I said to the girls "Well, I've got to hand it to Beaky, but it's worked out as a draw, hasn't it?"
Beaky shook his head.
"Oh no!" Cynthia said. "We go on till one of you gives up!"
"But what about the inspection?" Beaky said.
"You have to check it's not chafing. It'll be six weeks!"
"Don't worry," said Fiona
"I'll tootle down the motorway every so often, and sort you out, Beaky. I'm sure I can spend a night with you when I do to make sure you sleep tight."
"You can't do me," I protested.
"We'll be in our villa in France!"
"No problem, I've found someone to do the honours and already sent her the key," Cynthia informed me.
There was a moment of hope. She must have a friend in France. Probably someone she was at school with. Maybe I could use my charm to get some release? So long as I was imprisoned when we returned in January, and she swore she had simply done the half hour checks, then I would be fine.
Was there a plot with Fiona and Beaky? Considering their history, I doubted it. She would never consent to spend a night with him unless he was caged, cruel though it would be for him.
"Is it anyone I know?" I said, and Cynthia gave a delighted grin, then what they call a pregnant pause.
"Yes, it's your Mum!" Her Mum's thick as thieves with my Mum, because they were at Roedean together.
"She thought it was a super idea, and promises to keep strictly to the rules."
Shit, shit, shit, double fucking shit!
CHAPTER 2
Mum greeted me with very happy smile.
She kissed me and said "Welcome home, darling. Now why don't you show me your little treasure?"
It was no good. I had to go to the bathroom with her, and drop my bags. She was trying not to laugh as she inspected it closely.
"Ooh, it's rather cute, isn't it? I think all men should wear one. Just a moment, I'll check the key."
She unlocked the padlock and my hopes rose until she snapped it shut again.
"Right, I'll make a formal check this Saturday before we go to France. Unless you want me to take it off now?"
She looked quizzically at me; one eyebrow raised.
"Look Mum, you don't have to tell. It's really uncomfortable. Just let me out and put it on again before I go up to college. Just our secret?" I wheedled.
Her expression changed to one of her more dangerous ones. A flash of anger followed by an insincere smile.
"I'm going to help you, darling. You're going to win that bet fair and square. I'm not having the Ponsonby-Thwales thinking Beaky is better than my son!" (That's Cynthia Ponsonby-Thwales, not Beaky.)
"Little shit, though you are," she added, all smiles gone.
"The best school, the best tutors so you could go to your father's old college. And given a sports car for your eighteenth birthday! You ungrateful little sod! You gamble it away over a stupid dare!"
"Now listen. You're either going to win honestly, or lose honourably. If you win, you say it was only a joke, and let him keep his car. But if you lose, you definitely lose your car, and you're not getting another until you earn it by the sweat of your brow."
"I hope it is uncomfortable, because you're staying in it with me unless it looks like you're dying."
Saturday came and we were locked in the bathroom.
Oh, the relief when the cage came off!
Oh, the embarrassment as she handled it, looking into every crease, the applying some baby oil where the ring had been. I tried not to think "It's your mother!" as it started to expand.
