Amnesia in Vegas: Part 4 (Patreon)

Mervin stepped out into the bright Vegas afternoon, each stride sending a dull throb through his well-used hole. The thick load the muscular Black man had pumped into him still leaked steadily, soaking the seat of his underwear and making every step feel slick and messy.

His caged cock remained swollen and desperate, the steel rings biting tighter with every pulse of renewed arousal. The memory of Pam’s heavy cock stretching his throat and the Black bull’s relentless pounding in the back room kept replaying in his head, keeping him half-hard and leaking inside the unyielding cage.

He followed the directions down the block until a glowing neon sign reading “Ink Eternal – World Famous” came into view. The shop occupied a sleek two-story building with floor-to-ceiling windows displaying intricate tattoo art.

Mervin pushed through the heavy glass door, a small bell chiming above him. The interior smelled of antiseptic and fresh ink. Several artists worked at stations along the walls while clients sat in leather chairs, some already marked with fresh designs.

A faint, hazy recollection surfaced as he crossed the threshold: the click of the chastity lock snapping shut, a low male voice laughing, and the cold press of steel around his balls. The memory vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving only confusion and a fresh surge of helpless arousal.

A tall, broad-shouldered tattoo artist with sleeves of colorful ink looked up from his station. “Hey, man. First time here?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel. Mervin nodded, still shifting uncomfortably on his feet as another trickle of cum escaped his stretched hole. The artist’s eyes flicked down briefly, noticing the awkward gait, but he didn’t comment. “You looking to get some work done, or just browsing?”

Mervin swallowed, his voice coming out rough. “I… think I was supposed to come here. Something about last night.” The artist raised an eyebrow, waiting for more details while Mervin’s caged cock throbbed uselessly against its prison.

Mervin’s knees nearly buckled when the tall woman stepped out from behind the counter. Blood-red hair cascaded over her shoulders in thick waves, framing a face with full, glossy black lips that curved into a knowing smile.

Her enormous breasts strained against the tight black latex top, the fabric stretched so thin that the silver barbells piercing each nipple stood out in sharp relief. The outfit hugged every curve, dipping low between her cleavage and riding high on her hips before disappearing between the cheeks of her thick, tattoo-covered ass.

Intricate ink designs—dark roses, skulls, and swirling patterns—covered the pale skin of her buttocks, visible through the sheer cutouts in the latex.

"Hi, welcome back after last night," she purred, her voice low and smoky. Mervin’s stomach flipped. She knew him. She remembered. The realization sent a fresh pulse of blood straight to his trapped cock, making the steel cage bite harder.

She tilted her head, studying his unsteady stance. "You look a little shaky. Come with me. Let’s go to the private room and see how things are going." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked ahead, her massive tattooed ass swaying with every step.

Mervin followed like a man hypnotized, eyes glued to the way the latex clung to her cheeks and the way the ink shifted as she moved.

She led him through a curtain into a small, dimly lit back room furnished with a leather couch, a tattoo chair, and a tall mirror on one wall. The door clicked shut behind them. She faced him, one hand resting on her hip.

The goth woman’s glossy black lips curved into a slow, wicked smile as she gestured toward the leather-padded medical gurney in the center of the private room. “Strip,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “Everything off. Then sit on the gurney.”

Mervin’s hands moved before his brain caught up. He peeled away his shirt, kicked off his shoes and socks, then shoved his pants and underwear down his legs. The steel cage came into view, snug and gleaming around his trapped cock. He climbed onto the gurney, the cool leather pressing against his bare ass and back as he settled into a seated position, legs dangling over the edge.

She stepped closer, eyes roaming over his naked, caged body. Mervin swallowed hard. “Did… did you lock me in this?” he asked, voice unsteady. “Where’s the key?”

Her fingers reached out without hesitation. She cupped his balls, rolling them gently in her palm while the other hand traced the tight steel rings and tube encasing his cock. The touch sent a helpless throb through him, making the cage strain.

“I did,” she answered calmly, still fondling him. “You paid me for the cage and begged me to lock you in it. Said you wanted it permanent.”

Mervin’s breath came faster, his chest rising and falling. A strange, relaxed heat spread through him even as his cock tried to swell. “I… I don’t have the key,” he panted. “Can I get it from you?”

She paused, her smile widening. Her fingers gave his balls one last squeeze before she let go. “You destroyed the keys last night,” she said softly. “Told me you’d work in the gay bar down the street forever and focus on your new stripper girlfriend’s cock, not yours.”

The memories slammed into Mervin all at once, sharp and vivid. He saw himself the night before, heart pounding as he stared at Pam on the main stage. Her massive cock swung heavy between her thighs while she danced, and something inside him snapped. He wanted her completely. He wanted to prove it.

He remembered stumbling into the gay bar down the street, still hard in his pants from watching her. The muscular Black owner had watched him for a while, then offered him a job on the spot after Mervin jumped behind the bar and started pulling pints like he belonged there. Mervin had accepted without thinking twice.

Later, the same man led him to a back office where a steel chastity cage sat on the desk. Mervin had paid for it in cash, then dropped to his knees and begged the man to lock it on him.

He remembered the cold steel sliding over his cock, the click of the lock, and the rush of arousal that followed. The keys had been handed to him afterward. Without hesitation, he crushed them under his heel right there on the floor, grinding the metal into dust while the Black owner laughed.

All of it had been for Pam. Every desperate act, every destroyed key, every promise to work in the gay bar forever and serve only her cock. He wanted nothing else.

Mervin blinked hard on the gurney, his caged cock throbbing uselessly as the full weight of what he had done settled over him. The goth woman watched his face with a knowing smirk, her fingers still resting lightly on his balls.

The goth woman’s fingers worked slowly over Mervin’s balls, rolling and squeezing them with steady pressure. Each stroke made the steel cage twitch and drip, clear fluid leaking steadily from the tip and running down the metal bars.

“You were so sure last night,” she said, voice low and amused. “You kept saying your Asian stripper girlfriend and the Black owner of the gay bar would fuck you and milk your balls whenever they wanted. You said it was the only way you could prove you belonged to them.”

The words hit him like a slap. The memories rushed back in full color. He remembered standing in the private office of the gay bar, cock already half-hard, telling the muscular Black owner exactly that. He had begged for the cage, paid for it himself, then crushed the keys under his boot while both men watched.

He had promised to work there forever, serving drinks and serving their cocks, all while his own stayed locked and useless. Pam had been there too, leaning against the desk, stroking her own thick length while she listened to him swear his devotion. No one had forced him. Every step had been his idea.

Mervin swallowed hard, cock throbbing uselessly inside the cage. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For reminding me.”

The goth woman gave his balls one last firm squeeze, then stepped back. Mervin pulled his clothes on over his leaking, locked body and left the tattoo room without another word.

Outside, the Vegas night was loud and bright. He walked straight to the gay bar down the street. The muscular Black owner spotted him the moment he stepped inside and grinned. Pam was already there, perched on a stool in a tiny skirt that barely covered her heavy cock. Both of them looked at the wet spot forming at the front of Mervin’s pants and smiled.

Mervin took his place behind the bar, poured the first round, and felt the cage bite down as his cock tried to swell. He was exactly where he wanted to be—locked, owned, and happy to spend every night serving the two people he had chosen.