Last Night on Poundr 

Zane and Micah lay tangled in the rumpled sheets of their Boystown loft, still sweat slicked and buzzing from the night before. The haze of cigarettes and cologne lingered in the air, commingling with the faint trace of poppers. A third body had once been part of the heap, some perfectly forgettable twunk named… Kyle? Keegan? Kian. Definitely Kian. But Kian had stumbled out sometime before dawn, leaving only a cock ring and a half-empty can of IPA on the windowsill. 

Zane yawned, stretching his lean, tattooed arms. “Check your phone yet?” 

Micah, still buried under a pillow, mumbled, “Nah. Too hungover.” 

Face up on the nightstand, their phones lit up in perfect sync. 

You’ve got 117 new messages! Welcome to ChastiDate! Your profile has been optimized for maximum compatibility. 

They both sat up. 

“What the fuck is ChastiDate?” Zane frowned. He tapped open the app. Poundr was gone, and in its place was a cheerful blue icon, a lock encircled by a cartoon heart. 

Micah groaned. “Another app bites the dust. First Nuttr, then Fappr. Guess Poundr was fun while it lasted.” 

Zane’s jaw tightened. “They’ve messed with our profiles.” 

Micah scrolled through his own. Gone were the suggestive pics: no more jockstraps, no more bathroom thirst traps with misted abs. His profile photo was now a modest selfie in a flannel shirt, sitting on a log next to a thermos. 

Just a sweet guy looking for buddies to play Settlers of Catan and go on 5k hikes with. Into board games, crochet, and accountability friendships. Life is better locked and chaste. 

“What the fuck,” Micah whispered. “This would be hilarious if it weren’t so weird.” 

Zane’s profile was somehow worse. 

Genuine introvert. Proud member of the permanent chastity community. Just looking for dudes who value mental intimacy, warm beverages, and shared journaling sessions. 

“What is this?!” he barked. 

They both tried to edit the text. The buttons were grayed out. A pop-up message blinked: 

Your profile has been optimized by ChastiDate AI. Editing has been restricted to protect your PQ. 

“PQ?” Micah wondered aloud. 

Zane scrolled through the settings before the answer became clear. “Purity Quotient.” 

“This app is garbage,” Micah said. “No hookups, no app. I’m deleting it.” 

“Hang on a sec,” Zane said. “My inbox is blowing up. I’ve already got 341 followers.” 

Zane held up his phone, showing Micah comment after comment: 

You guys are ADORABLE. 

Chaste bros unite! Wanna do a puzzle tonight? 

Gotta get those same matching cardigans you’re wearing in your profile pic. Where’d you get them??? 

Zane blinked. “They… they changed our photos?” 

Micah nodded and tapped the media tab of his profile. “Holy shit. Look at all of them.” 

There they were—versions of themselves they neither remembered posing for, smiling widely, clean shaven, in matching beige turtlenecks. One photo showed them kneeling on a picnic blanket, holding hands across a Tupperware container filled with quinoa salad. Another showed them grinning with board games in the background, chastity cages faintly visible under gray sweatpants. 

The worst part was that each image looked… real. No uncanny valley. The backgrounds matched their apartment. Their smiles weren’t just wide, they were earnest. Loving. Content. 

Side effects may include… 

Zane stood by the bathroom mirror, trying to reinsert the septum ring he swore he had been wearing just yesterday, but the hole was gone, as if he’d never been pierced. He lifted his shirt, revealing a blank chest where a sprawling snake tattoo had been the night before. 

Micah stumbled in from the living room. “I just tried to jerk off and nothing happened,” he hissed. 

“You mean… you couldn’t cum?” 

“No,” he said, eyes wide with disbelief. “I couldn’t even try. I just sat there. I started typing ‘bareback gangbang’ and somehow ended up on a video called ’10 Reasons to Choose Life Without Orgasm.’ I watched the whole thing. I even liked it.” 

They sat at the kitchen table, cold with dread. Notifications pinged in rapid succession: 

You’ve unlocked a ChastiBadge! Level 1: Suppressed Desires. Keep going, bud! Only three more days without lust and you’ll hit Level 2: Platonic Regularity. 

More pings. 

New message from BeanieBro99: Hey man, wanna swap muffin recipes? 

New message from KnitKnight: Game night at my place! Bring your cage key for verification. 

Zane’s hands trembled as he set down his phone. “Micah, this is fudged up.” He didn’t even realize he’d self censored. 

Micah looked at him, his blue eyes bright and clear. “Would it be so bad? I mean, we used to always say we wanted a simpler life.” 

“Did we?” 

“I remember saying that. No drama. No going to the clinic every three months for tests. Just each other. Forever.” 

Zane recoiled. “That’s not you. You hate commitment. Don’t you?” 

Micah blinked. For a split second, his expression was blank. Then it softened into a sweet, distant grin. 

“I don’t remember hating it,” he said. “Actually, I… I think I’d love to make us matching thermos cozies. Maybe even take up square dancing.” 

Zane backed away, eyes darting to the door. But even as he reached for the knob, his wrist trembled—and then stopped, held in place. 

Another ping. 

Congratulations! You’ve earned a new bio update! 

Zane: Proudly six months chaste and counting. 

Six months? But he’d been blowing a stranger twelve hours ago. Right? 

… right? 

Bros Before O’s 

The elevator dinged at the 12th floor. Zane and Micah stepped out into a hallway that smelled faintly of dryer sheets and herbal tea. Apartment 1205 loomed at the end, a knit wreath on the door in the shape of a lock and key, stitched in the blue and white of the ChastiDate app. “Welcome, ChastiBros!” was written in glitter-glue lettering in the center. 

Zane ran a hand through his hair—freshly coiffed, thick and artfully tousled—and glanced down at himself. He’d chosen one of his tighter black crop tops, the one with the tiny silver zipper he could toy with during flirty conversations. His pants clung to him like they were painted on, tailored perfectly to showcase the curve of his ass. He’d even spritzed his pelvis with the cologne he used only when he was in a “take me now” mood. 

Micah, by contrast, looked like someone had stuffed a golden retriever into an IT recruiter’s wardrobe. His khakis puffed around his waist in soft, sexless folds. His tucked-in polo stretched politely over a slight paunch. Zane didn’t even remember him having it last week. His big, blocky, non-prescription eyeglasses fogged up as he beamed. 

“Thanks again for stopping at the mall on the way over here,” Micah chirped, lifting a canvas tote bag. “It would have been rude to show up without bringing our own dice. And I found a three-hour playlist of non-lyrical medieval lute music. That way we don’t get distracted during Settlers.” 

Zane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Maybe you and the other monks can light some fudging beeswax candles, too.” 

Micah didn’t even hear him. He was already ringing the doorbell with a little bounce in his knees. 

The door opened. “KnitNight” was not what Zane expected. Tall, broad shouldered, with a ginger beard braided into two neat plaits, KnitKnight had the soft eyes of someone who’d once known lust intimately, then left it like an ex he still occasionally dreamed about but never called. He wore a chunky homemade sweater, baby blue with little padlocks knitted into the sleeves. The neckline was modest. The smile was not. 

“Zane. Micah.” He spread his arms. “Brothers.” 

They followed KnitNight into the apartment. It was… cozy. So many blankets, folded in pristine stacks. Thick-scented candles glowed in Mason jars. On a central table, a Settlers of Catan: Chaste Edition box sat flanked by bowls of trail mix, gluten-free mini-muffins, and a labeled kombucha tasting flight. 

“Hey!” called out another ChastiBro from the couch, waving a hand. “Come join the cuddle circle before we start! We’ve got four slots open, and they’re platonic as fudge.” 

Zane blinked. “Cuddle… circle?” 

Micah’s eyes sparkled. “I love platonic physical affirmation.” 

Zane hissed under his breath. “Do not leave me, Micah. If so much as one guy tries to tell me his purity quotient, I’m going to light myself on fire.” 

But Micah was already kneeling into the cuddle circle, snuggling into a thick bear of a man named ChasteDaddy73, giggling as someone massaged his shoulders. 

Zane took a muffin and bit into it. It was flavorless. He scanned the room. There were six men in total, all wearing soft sweaters and sporting some variation of eyeglasses, with chastity cages visible under their khakis. One of them, a lean Asian guy named ModestBen, had a clipboard and was meticulously noting everyone’s “intentions” for the evening: 

  • YES: Cuddles 
  • YES: Board Games 
  • YES: Affirmations 
  • NO: Sexual tension 
  • NO: Making out 
  • NO: Lingering looks 

“Zane,” KnitKnight said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re among brothers now. You don’t have to perform.” 

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m not performing. I’m still trying to figure out which one of you is pretending this isn’t a front for some weird bondage cult.” 

KnitKnight’s smile only widened. “We’ve all been there, brother. The longing. The resistance. The idea that chastity is something imposed instead of chosen. It’s okay. The first game always helps.” 

He guided Zane to a chair at the table. Micah was already seated beside ModestBen, comparing spreadsheet templates for “emotional growth tracking.” 

Zane exhaled, muttered, “Fine. One round.” 

As the game unfolded, Zane found himself forgetting to leer. The conversation was weirdly sincere. They debated the ethics of using “Free Parking” as a house rule in Monopoly. ChasteDaddy73 read an excerpt from his Celibate Stoic Daily Journal. Micah offered up one of Zane’s favorite anecdotes—about the time they got kicked out of a bathhouse in Berlin—but stripped of sex, it became a story about poor towel etiquette and spiritual growth. 

Zane wanted to be annoyed. He tried to scream. But halfway through the game, something shifted. He reached down to adjust himself—reflex—but felt only cold metal. The cage. 

He hadn’t put it on. Had he? 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. 

ChastiBadge Unlocked: Voluntary Bondage – You wore your cage without prompting. +2 Purity Points! 

He looked around. The other men smiled warmly. ModestBen leaned in. “That’s how it begins. First, the cage. Then the joy.” 

Zane looked down at his hands. They were smooth. No more rings. No chipped black nail polish. His voice cracked when he spoke: 

“Do you ever… miss it?” 

KnitKnight nodded solemnly. “Every day. But that longing? That ache? It’s proof we’ve transcended. Desire doesn’t rule us. We are the monks of the modern age. We’re not denying pleasure. We’re elevating it.” 

Micah leaned against him now, arms wrapped around Zane’s. His eyes were dreamy. “We still have each other, babe. We still have love. Just no more mess.” 

Zane should have screamed. Should have stormed out. Instead, he reached for another muffin. Bit it again. This time, it tasted like something. Vanilla. Familiar. Comforting. KnitKnight clinked a Mason jar of kombucha against his. 

“To the Brotherhood.” 

And Zane, mouth dry and heart thudding, whispered: “To the Brotherhood.” 

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