Poor Greg

Greg woke up abruptly with a loud knocking on the door. His body jumped and a faint moan left his mouth. He raised his head and looked at the clock on the wall. It was six in the morning on a Sunday.

He quickly sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes. The floor was cold under his feet, as he practically crawled like a zombie to the front door. There was only one asshole who could possibly bother him at such an inconvenient moment: his landlord.

That week had been tough. He had worked his ass off from Monday to Friday at the crowded downtown restaurant, cooking and cleaning, carrying food and supplies, and being bossed around by bigger men. Then he had asked to work overtime to pay the rent. His abusive boss chuckled and agreed, but under the condition that Greg would serve as a waiter on Saturday. And so he stayed and took all kinds of demands and verbal abuse from manly drunk locals.

Greg was a handsome type, five foot ten and athletic, but his back ached, his feet were sore, and all the anxiety had turned his face into a grin of pain. His bank account was still empty, as payment would come next week. It was time to face the reality of his situation: he was basically a slave, working all the time to afford a small apartment, and to feed himself, and having little left to invest in his future. College was not an option, and he could not even dream of buying a new car.

Alone at twenty-seven, it was safe to say he was broke, and also heartbroken. It had been six months since his girlfriend had left him to sleep with some rich jock from the privileged hills. He missed her curvy body and fragrant blonde hair, and the lovely nights they spent together for two years.

She was living with a guy who had more money (and muscle) than he could ever have. In a way, Greg was happy for her future. On the other hand, anger and regret consumed him. Anger for trusting her for so long, and regret for letting her go so easily. He was exhausted.

When he opened the door, Harold's cold smirk was enough to affect his emotional state. His landlord was a serious man, masculine and monotone, and quick to judge and make him feel worse every time they talked. He was around fifty years old, six feet tall, balding and overweight with a beer gut, big hands and a short beard, always wearing a dress shirt, smelling of coffee and gasoline.

Greg cringed internally. Harold reminded him of a pastor, or some dirty lawyer. In reality, the man ran the grocery store across the street, which meant he was always around to intimidate.

Greg blinked with the bright lights against his tired eyes. Harold stared down at him.

"Wakey-wakey."

"Is there a..." Greg tried to mumble, but stopped as the landlord walked forward, into the living room. The man had a relaxed, masculine walk, his buttocks moving left and right, as if they kept a golden asshole.

"Is everything alright, buddy?" Harold looked around, noticing the pizza boxes, beer cans and dirty socks on the floor.

"Yes, I'm... fine. Don't mind the mess, I didn't have time to clean the place," Greg said as he closed the door. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Harold stared at him with piercing eyes and that permanent smirk on his face, as if he thought Greg was funny. "Been working hard lately?"

"You bet. I'm working twice as much. Don't worry, I'll be able to pay you next week."

Harold slowly sat on the couch, spread his legs, and rested his arms on each side, and kept staring for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Look, I know you're a nice guy and all..." he started.

"I swear I have the money. I promise," Greg let out.

"I believe you," Harold stopped him with a hand gesture. "But you owe me two months, remember? And you said the same thing last time. The thing is... I have a wife and kids to feed, and your situation is starting to worry me."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked.

"Sit down," Harold commanded.

Greg obeyed faster than he wished. He wanted to keep some of his dignity, to act cold and objective so Harold would trust him, but there was something about that man that always made him uncomfortable, self-aware, and feeling slightly inferior.

Sitting on the chair right in front of Harold, Greg noticed his broad shoulders, the thick hair on his chest, the veins on his right hand... familiar details that reminded him of his father.

"Can I be blunt?" Harold took a deep breath and spread his legs wider.

"Sure..." Greg said meekly.

"Can you take it?" Harold insisted.

"Take what? What's on your mind?" Greg asked.

"You've been drinking a lot, and I've heard your girlfriend left you."

Greg felt his face blush against his will.

"How is that related to the rent?"

"The thing is... I'm your landlord, and you are my tenant. Whether you like it or not, I'm above you. I have the responsibility to take care of this place, to fix whatever needs to be fixed, to provide a decent and safe place for you to live. You pay me for all that. But I need to trust you. I can't let a drunk, or an antisocial type stay here, next to my business."

Harold smiled casually, his voice mellow, and then he scratched his balls.

"I'm not saying you're a drunk or antisocial, but you're starting to worry me. Can I trust you, Greg?"

Greg felt his stomach turn all of a sudden. The wine he had drunk the previous night was somehow still taking effect. Seeing Harold scratch his balls triggered a feeling of disgust - it reminded him of locker rooms and barber shops, places he did not enjoy frequenting.

"I'm not a bad person, alright?" he replied. "I'm just going through a tough time. Jane and I were very close, and I lost control of my money for a while... but I'm going back to normal."

"I know, I know..." Harold said. "It must be tough for you. She's a gorgeous chick. But I recommend you move on. Find someone new, go out, breathe new air. Don't be a cuck!" Harold chuckled.

Greg opened his mouth but no words came out. His face was burning with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, and this dominant type of man sitting on his couch was not helping his mental state.

"Thanks for the tip," he said in a dry tone. "I'll have the money next week, don't worry."

"It's not that simple," said Harold.

"What?"

Harold scratched his stubble and shook his head.

"To put it bluntly, I can't really trust you, because you've said that before. I need my money, buddy."

"So what... you're gonna throw me out?" Greg asked, baffled.

"Uh-uh, not so fast. Your ass is mine for now," Harold grinned. "Relax. We just need to think of something."

"Like what? Another fee?"

"Nah, too predictable. I was thinking of something more direct. A type of exchange."

"Okay, tell me. I'll do anything."

"Really?" Harold seemed surprised.

Greg took a deep, tired breath.

"Tell me what I have to do. Look, I need this place, I really need it. I can't afford to move out now... financially, emotionally... I have two jobs in the area, and everywhere else is expensive and hard to find," Greg spoke in a begging tone. He suddenly felt like he was about to cry.

"I understand, and I'm sorry you're going through this," Harold replied. "I believe in you, buddy. But... I just need to make sure, y'know. Like I said, I have mouths to feed," Harold explained slowly. His big hand moved to his pocket, and he held a small package. He placed it on the coffee table and stared at Greg.

"What's that?"

Harold grinned again, an evil glint in his eyes. He pointed his finger at the plastic package.

"This is what you need to do if you want to stay here. You either do it, or you pack your things tomorrow, and I'll have to find another handsome young man to live here."

"What is it?" Greg grabbed the package with his shaking left hand.

"No-no..." Harold stopped him. "Don't open it now. Wait until I leave, otherwise things will get awkward for both of us."

"Look, if this is some kind of sexual blackmail, the answer is no. You know I'm straight," Greg let out.

"Don't worry. I'm very straight too," Harold winked. "It's nothing sexual, no physical contact, I promise. It's just something to make sure you will pay me."

"Then what is it?"

"I'll leave you to it. You've probably seen one of these before, on the internet," Harold stood up and walked toward the front door. "Just stay calm and consider it. Wear it, or find a new place. It's your choice." He opened the door, turned around and nodded casually, and then left, his heavy footsteps echoing in the distance.

Greg stared at the package in his hand, his mouth open, his ears ringing with the anxiety and confusion Harold caused him. What the hell was all that about? He felt something sinister, a confirmation that there was something wrong with Harold after all, something insidious that made his blood boil.

"What the fuck..." he heard himself say as he unveiled the content.

The landlord was right: Greg had seen that before, a few times actually, while browsing some dirty porn pages online. His face burned harder, and he felt a sense of impending doom. The chastity device was made of black plastic, with a small hole on the tip, a tight black ring, and a small little lock with a novel key.

He stared at it for about ten minutes, his brain blown away by the realization that Harold was some kind of twisted fuck. His heart beat uncontrollably. He grabbed his phone and called his landlord.

"Is this a joke?"

Harold chuckled casually.

"I'm dead serious. Don't worry, I expect nothing else from you."

Greg was infuriated.

"Do you really expect me to wear this?"

Harold took a moment to answer.

"You will give me the key, and I will return it when you pay me. Simple, right? Wear it, or pack your things."

"Is that all?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, buddy, don't worry," Harold replied.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Think of it as a bet."

"But why are you doing this to me? Did I say something to upset you?"

"It's not that deep. Now let me work. Your next word should be yes or no."

"NO!"

"Alright. You leave tomorrow morning."

"Proudly! Fuck you, asshole!"

Harold hung up without a reply. Greg threw the chastity device against the wall. Tears came out of his tired eyes uncontrollably.

"You fucking asshole..." he mumbled to the empty room.

Thirty minutes later, he opened the fridge and grabbed the bottle of wine from the restaurant, and started drinking like a desperate person. He lay on his bed, his head spinning with anger, murderous thoughts, and his entire body became warmer and warmer.

He concluded that was a new low in his life, something he feared the most. Being homeless, it would be impossible to keep things going. Going back to his abusive father's house, the man who had belittled him his entire life, was out of the question. Friends were mostly unavailable. His brain worked hard to find a way out, but things were becoming blurry...

Two empty bottles later, he crawled back to the living room and stared at the funny device on the floor. His head spinning and his tears dry, he started laughing. The sunset ended outside, and he could hear the confusing urban echoes in the distance.

"Y-you... f-fucking prick..." he mumbled as he leaned forward and grabbed the object. His legs were shaking so he sat on the rug. "You're a total asshole, Harold... a big, big asshole..." he kept saying repeatedly to nobody. "I'd rather die..."

"I... wonder if it fits..." His drunken hands moved to his waistband, and he was dropping his pants, and then his underwear. His soft, average penis lay there between his weakened legs, his smooth testicles hung sad and wrinkled in the cold breeze.

He tried several times, until he could find the right angle. He had to squeeze it inside, and it hurt a little, and then he realized he had to wear the ring first.

He pushed his dick and balls through the ring, until the grip was tight and stable against his shaved crotch - Jane liked it that way - and then he was able to squeeze it back in again, and attach the two parts.

His fingers were shaking as he tried to fit the strange lock in the right place, and he realized he was afraid of breaking it, and he laughed again. It finally locked in and a little click echoed in the room.

"There, there... y-you asshole... you sick fuck... no more erections then..." he mumbled and kept laughing to himself.

He struggled to stand up again, and then observed his locked member. It was a sad and embarrassing sight: a soft thing squeezed uncomfortably inside a small piece of plastic. He could probably break it without a key. He pulled up his pants and walked into the bathroom.

Looking at his own image in the mirror, he was not able to spot a difference. He could walk outside and nobody would ever know. A strange thrill consumed him, turning his chest into flames. His heart beat fast again, some sort of sickening excitement. He grabbed his phone in his pocket and called Harold once more.

"Yes..." Greg mumbled.

"Wait a second..." Harold said, and walked away from the phone for a while.

Greg made turns inside the apartment, experiencing the strange feeling of being locked, the potential of his manhood taken away for the first time, unable to get hard, unable to feel completely comfortable again, he wondered how strange it would be to take a piss now. The dark realization he would have to sit down sent a shiver down his spine. This was a twisted game.

Then Harold finally answered.

"Changed your mind?"

"I'm wearing it," Greg said.

"Really?"

"I'm also drunk. You want the key?"

"I see. Stay locked then, and I'll talk to you later."

"Damn right I will!"

"Haha. Good buddy."

Greg was not sure how he walked back to the bedroom, but in a brief moment he was falling into a deep sleep. His heart pounding with a strange and sickening delirium he could not explain, except for the wine.

An even louder knocking woke him up the next morning. His head was heavy with confusing, circular thoughts and dark dreams, until he realized the sound was real. He stood up and walked slowly, an odd discomfort between his legs, but he could not remember what it was.

Harold grinned from ear to ear when he opened the door. This time it was a more sinister grin, maybe a mean-spirited one, he was not sure.

"I can tell you've been drinking a lot," he said in a confident tone, as he walked into the apartment without being invited.

"It was just a bottle of wine..." said Greg, trying to sound reasonable.

"Sure..." Harold looked around and found something on the ground.

He held the little key between his thick fingers, and suddenly the memory came back to Greg's mind. He realized he was still wearing the device, and remembered the discomfort he felt at night, as he dreamed and mumbled, twisting and turning, and a terrible force that stopped every sudden erection.

"Do you have it on?" asked Harold.

"This is a misunderstanding..."

"Come on, let me see it."

"What?"

"Haha, I'm kidding," Harold shoved the small key inside his pocket. "But come on, I need to know you're wearing it. Show me the tip."

"I was very drunk, alright?" Greg whispered.

"Show me. Now." Harold's deep, manly voice echoed in the living room.

"I have it on! Look!" Greg whined, and lowered his waistband slightly.

"Wow, you really do. I can't believe you actually..." Harold burst out laughing. "That's priceless..."

"What's priceless?"

Harold approached him and put his right hand on his shoulder. It made Greg feel strangely emasculated, looking up, in front of a man old enough to be his father.

"We have a deal. No erections until you pay me," Harold raised his eyebrows to provoke. "Don't get too excited now." He slapped Greg's cheek lightly and left through the door.

Greg stood there for a while, trying to imagine the possible outcomes. He panicked the moment he remembered he had to work in thirty minutes, walking around the living room, and then going into the bathroom and looking at his pants in the mirror.

It was imperceptible, but still... The thought of someone seeing it would haunt him for the entire day. The fear of his pants somehow dropping in front of his boss, and then everyone laughing at him, his coworkers, the entire bar... he would die of shame.

The day was very strange and stressful. Being bossed around, feeling like a zombie inside, having to deal with rude men and their boring girlfriends - all of it was intensified by this new insecurity. In the back of his head, he asked himself, "Is this really happening?"

He came back from work at night, sore and exhausted, now with a new kind of pain. The device was becoming really uncomfortable, especially when he had involuntary erections. Squeezed and locked tight, it was completely impossible to become even slightly hard. His testicles were small and shriveled with the anxiety.

In order to cope, he told himself nobody would ever know. He told himself that was the price to pay for not being homeless...

Memories flashed through his mind, and the shame consumed him again. Memories of gambling, and wasting too much money on alcohol... It was all his fault somehow. He had put himself in that hole. He had trusted her too much, and now things were escalating like some kind of universal punishment. He would never have the courage to tell anyone... to admit he had lost his savings to some stupid gambling... She would be revolted.

When he opened the door to his apartment, his heart skipped a beat. There she was, sitting on the couch of his living room. But she was not alone. Harold sat next to her, his arm on the couch, almost touching her shoulders. He had a cocky smirk on his dirty stubbed face. Jane looked back at the man with a stiffness.

Greg felt a mixture of excitement and anger, but Jane suddenly stood up and ran toward him. She embraced him in a warm hug, and the air was filled with the perfume of her body lotion and the natural scent of her dark blonde hair.

"What are you doing here?" Greg asked calmly.

She took a minute to release him, and then backed off and gazed at him with a sad smile.

"I came back for my scarf... and to see if you were okay," Jane said, then looked back at Harold. "I knew he had a key somewhere, so I asked him to let me in."

"Uh... okay. Did you find it?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, it's right there." Jane pointed at the pink scarf over the fridge.

"So how are you?" Greg asked anxiously.

Harold let out a deep chuckle, then walked toward them, and squeezed Greg's shoulder with his heavy hand.

"You're a lucky guy..." He looked at Jane's breasts briefly, and then stared at Greg knowingly. "You too have fun." He winked and left.

"I'm doing fine," Jane replied. "What's up with him? He makes me uncomfortable..."

"I know, me too," Greg said. "He's probably upset I didn't pay the rent. Don't worry! I have the money now..."

"Great! I'm glad you're getting back on track," Jane said and smiled.

She looked prettier than ever, in a casual blue dress that exposed her shoulders and legs. He tried very hard not to look at her plump natural breasts. Seeing her in person again was causing an awkward reaction all over his body. He realized how much he really missed her.

He asked if she wanted something to eat. They sat on the couch and talked about their lives, recent events and complained about the weather. He felt a dark excitement when she told him the muscle jock had dumped her. Then he comforted her.

"Oh, Greg, I'm sorry for leaving you..." she said in a heartbreaking tone.

They watched TV for a while, and then he ordered her favorite pizza. She started crying out of nowhere, and begged for his forgiveness. She told him she was a fool, and that it would never happen again. Internally, he did not blame her.

She asked if they still had a chance to reconcile. He hugged her, and said he would consider it. In reality, he was trying very hard not to kiss her. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he caressed her hair for a while.