The message came in just before midnight. No warning. No buildup. Just a single line:
"Check the app I installed for you."
Nick's heart dropped. There hadn't been any new apps. But when he checked his home screen, Grindr was there—black and yellow. Installed remotely. Mistress had that access now. His hands shook as he opened it. The profile was already set up. Photos of him—shaved, flushed, locked, kneeling in front of the mirror. One with the pink dildo barely peeking from behind. And the bio: Sissy slut. Caged. Owned. Looking to serve discreetly. Oral only. Location: live. The inbox was already full. Dozens of messages. Men nearby. Interested. Some polite. Some filthy. Mistress had written back to three of them. She'd set up a meet. "He'll be waiting in the parking garage near 8th and J. You're going to get in his car. Suck his cock. Swallow. Then send me two things: a photo with his cum on your face, and a video of you serving like the toy you are." Nick's body seized. His clit throbbed. He wanted to throw the phone. He wanted to scream. But instead… he packed the man bag. Wiped his face. Drove. The garage was almost empty. One car, lights on, parked in the far corner. His phone buzzed. "He's waiting. You're late." Nick pulled up next to it. Killed the engine. Sat in silence. He was caged. His hole still sore from the week. His face flushed. His hands trembling. His throat dry. And still, he unzipped the bag. Took out his phone. Turned on the camera. Hit record. Looked into the lens. "I'm here, Mistress," he whispered. "I'll do it. Just tell me when." His cage leaked. His breath shook. His whole body buzzed like electricity. But the screen stayed black. No message. No green light. Then—finally—it pinged. One line.
"Not yet. I just needed to see if you'd show up."
He broke. Moaned. Cried out. A dry sob from his throat and a hard jerk from his clit. She wasn't going to make him do it. Not tonight. But she could have. She still could. And now she knew:
he was ready.