Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 19

I stared down at the unforgiving steel cage that now encased my penis. My trousers were around my knees, and I stood staring in the full length mirror in the bedroom, my mouth hanging open.

“Oh my god!” I gasped. How the heck was I going to explain this to Mandy? She was expecting me to perform for her in just a few minutes. My compressed shaft was barely an inch long in the fiendish device. This wasn’t a good look for me. It wasn’t a good look for anyone, come to that.

I shuffled towards the kitchen to the cupboard where I kept a few household tools.

“This is madness,” I muttered, fumbling around with the cheap tools. Where the hell does someone get something like this? What warped mind thought it up. With a pair of pliers in my hands I tried to find something to tug at that might yield. Nothing did.

I stopped and stared at the device. It was shiny steel, and there was a keyhole, but otherwise the mechanism was entirely sealed. A strong ring encased my balls and a steel sleeve compressed and sealed the shaft of my penis. Again, I questioned what sort of lunatic would create such a device, and in what universe would it be a good idea to let something like this fall into the hands of a lunatic like Devina?

In just a few short minutes Mandy would be expecting me to show up at her place, and perform the manly duties of a devoted lover. Nothing was going to be happening with this thing in place. And worse, she’s going to ask how it got there.

Only a lunatic would put it on themselves. Wouldn’t they?

Perhaps I could say it’s part of a medical procedure. I thought about that for a moment. No, she’d never believe it. There was nothing for it, I’d have to come up with a credible lie.

In a state of panic I slowly drove toward Mandy’s apartment. It was only a few minutes away, and with each passing mile I tried to think of a story she might swallow. I played out a series of possibilities in my mind.

“I was mugged by an insane pervert who put this thing on me!” It didn’t sound very likely. I thought about all the options, and none came even remotely close to being credible. For a brief moment I thought of saying that I was into crossdressing, had been attacked by my sisters friend, and she’d put this hardened steel cage on my dick. Strangely that sounded even more unlikely than being mugged by a crazed pervert who went around caging innocent bystanders penises.

My mind racing, I called Steve.  My business partner might be able to help.

“Steve,” I said as he answered, “I’ve got a little problem.”

“What sort of problem,” he asked, in that jovial voice of his that increasingly made me want to punch him in the face. “Good job you called though, I just got off the phone with San Francisco. They’ve got something for us.”

“Don’t those guys ever sleep?”

“They want us to get over to New York and pitch for a new client. They were going to cover it, but their guy got sick at the last minute, so they want us to go. Sylvia said something about your experience in the fashion and clothing market might be of some use with this client. I had no idea you’d worked in women’s clothes before.”

“Oh, yes… It’s just a thing, you know,” I said trying to brush off Sylvia’s dig at me.

“So, what did you want to know?” he asked.

“Oh, I wondered the best way to cut chromium steel. Just if one had to do it.” I said, regretting the words almost the moment they left my lips.

“No problem. I have just what you need.”

“You have?” I said, suddenly excited.

“Sure, I can cut anything with the stuff in my workshop.”

“What? How come you have stuff like that?” I asked, wondering why an advertising exec would have tools, or the knowledge necessary to cut hardened steel.

“I majored in engineering, Andy. I love this shit! I can cut through anything. They don’t call me ‘Steve the Blade’ for nothing!”

“Who calls you that?”

There was a long silence.

“OK, but you’ll have to show me how to use it.  I just need to cut something.” I said, hoping he wouldn’t press for further details.

“Cool. I’ll show you how and leave you to it. Besides, you need to get over here, so we can talk about the New York pitch. It’s set for end of day tomorrow, so we’d better get things figured out.”

My mind was racing.  It sounded like madness, but perhaps I could make this work for me, after all. Maybe this was a good thing. Having to prepare a pitch for a new client was the perfect excuse not to see Mandy till late tonight, which, if Steve was as good as his word might work out ok. Some bolt cutters or something, snip snip, clank and the thing would be off. Rush over to Mandy, do my duty and slip home in the morning. It could work!

“So, we’re going to be flying tomorrow at 11 am, so we’d better get the basics of the pitch down tonight and we can work on the presentation on the plane,” said Steve.

“The plane… Of course,” I said. That meant airport security. This had better work. “No problem,” I said. I could rehash an old presentation for the new client, massage a few things into place. It would all work out.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I said turning the car toward his home, and kicking it into a high gear. It was just possible today might just work out.

+++

I waited impatiently at a red light, and listened to the local FM station. I think that advertising guys are the only ones still listening to local radio, and they’re only listening to hear who’s advertising.

As it happened there was an ad playing that was for a company we’d pitched for. We lost the pitch but weren’t unhappy about it. I mean, who is really going to pay for Ukranian chestnuts over good old Californian hazel nuts. I’m serious. They were trying to popularize the chestnut as a health food.

The ad played in the summer evening dusk.

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” went the song. “Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”

In August? I don’t think so! Some poor copyrighter probably came up with that just before being sent off to rehab.

I pulled into Steve’s driveway, increasingly aware of the weight of the cage so snuggly fitted to my now cramped groin. I had also begun thinking about practical issues such as the fact that I was desperate for a pee. I stepped from the car, aware of the extra weight within my trousers, and walked up to the front door. Before I got there, it swung open.

“You are going to love this!” Said Steve, bursting with excitement. He was practically hopping from foot to foot, he was so keen to show me his tools.

He hurried me through to the workshop at the side of his house. The door swung open revealing a spotless and well ordered machine shop, with racks of tools, and big red tool cabinets. He had thousands of dollars worth of gear here. Something was sure to work. I guessed Steve was one of those guys that polishes his Snap On spanners all weekend.

“So, what cuts hardened steel?” I asked, expecting to see him pull out a large pair of pliers.

“Yeah, now that’s a real interesting thing. I have exactly what you need.” He walked across to a large cabinet, opened it, and rolled a device out. It looked complex, and a heavy cable snaked back to a socket. A moment later he pulled a draw open.

“We just need a cutting rod…” he said absently, then fitted something that looked like a long sparkler to the pistol grip he held in his hand.

A moment later he flicked a switch, there was a dull humming sound, and he walked over to a bench, pulled out a piece of chain he had lying around and touched the end of the device to it. A magnesium bright light burned and seared my eyes, as he lifted a welding helmet from the bench to protect his face.

“Oh, mind your eyes,” he said happily. Then he looked at me for a moment, and then said, “You look sort of pale, Andy. You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I gasped, clutching at a chair in the middle of the room, and sitting down with an ominous clank.

It only took me a moment to know this wasn’t happening. Being caged was one thing but having my testicles roasted off with an arc welder was quite another. I told Steve I wasn’t feeling very well, and found my way to the bathroom. I had a brief moment of euphoric insight as I realised the prophetic nature of some radio advertising. As I sat on the toilet wondering what to do, I found myself increasingly aware of the need to pee. I realised I could just ‘let things go’, as it were. Sure enough, peeing with this awful thing wasn’t so bad. Humiliating, yes, but unimpeded.

I sat, head in my hands, and wondered what the hell to do. I was out of options.

In a state of dread I picked up my phone and dialed Devina’s number.