Bathroom confessions

The bathroom door locks with a barely audible *click*. Outside, Jordy’s boyfriend hums along to some podcast playing through wireless earbuds, oblivious. Inside? The air is thick with stolen desire. Jordy doesn’t hesitate—his hands move fast, shaky but determined. The necklace slips from around his throat, warm from his skin, and suddenly it has a new purpose: coiled tight around the base of his cock like a claim even tighter than mine.

He bites his lip to stay quiet as pre-cum beads at the tip, smearing over the silver pendant resting heavy against his shaft. His reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror shows everything:

Jordy’s cock twitches violently in its makeshift leash—because yes, he is. Pathetic for me. Hungry for me. Willing to press his forehead against the mirror and whimper *“Yours”* while his boyfriend laughs at something in another room entirely.

The necklace leaves marks when he finally takes it off.

Good. Let them linger. Let them remind him. Every step, every breath, every lie whispered to keep our secrets sharp between his teeth.

He belongs elsewhere.

To someone else.

To ME