Encased

Kevin never meant to fall for someone difficult. He’d had enough of men who texted “u up?” at midnight, only to disappear for a week and then come back horny and full of apologies. He wanted simple. He wanted stable. He wanted someone with a boring day job, a soft laugh, and maybe a houseplant that lived longer than a month. 

When Roger walked into the cafe and they first made eye contact, Kevin knew he wasn’t like the rest. Roger was remarkably composed, with sharp eyes, wearing dark jeans and a snug black shirt that hugged his chest but left everything else to the imagination. Roger moved through the space like he’d never second guessed himself or felt the need to prove anything in his life. When they sat across from each other with their coffees, talking about everything from bad first dates to favorite horror movies, Kevin felt the subtle, almost electric pull. 

That first date went well. Too well. 

By the time they were back at Roger’s house, easing onto the sofa with an uncorked bottle of wine between them, Kevin had already imagined a thousand times what kissing him would be like. How it would feel to touch him, to press up against him, and discover the limits of his self control. But when he finally leaned in, hands sliding down Roger’s sides, his fingers brushed something hard beneath the fabric of his jeans. It was rigid and smooth. 

It wasn’t a belt buckle or a phone. It was lower. 

Kevin pulled back slightly, brow furrowed. “Sorry,” he stammered. “What’s… that?” 

Roger looked down, calm as a still lake. “Ah,” he said. “You found it.” 

He didn’t seem embarrassed. If anything, his expression was amused. 

“That’s my cup,” he said simply. 

“Your… cup? Like a jockstrap cup?” 

“Exactly that.” 

Kevin blinked, laughter caught in his throat. “You going to softball practice after this?” 

Roger shook his head with a smirk. “I was planning to spend the rest of the night with you, actually. Hope that’s not too forward.” 

Kevin was too baffled to register the compliment. “Then why the hell are you wearing a cup on a first date?” 

“Because I always do,” Roger said without hesitation. “It’s part of my whole setup.” 

“Setup?” 

Roger shifted his weight on the sofa cushions. Then he reached down, slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down just enough to reveal what lay beneath. First, the plastic curve of a hard, black athletic cup. It was smooth and glossy but unmistakably sealed tight around his groin.  What lay beneath it, however, barely visible through the vents, really made Kevin’s heart skip. 

Roger wore a chastity cage. Matte metal, sleek, and minimal, it caged his well-endowed member. 

Kevin stared. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’ve never seen a guy so big… locked up in chastity like that.” 

Roger nodded. “Every day. Every hour.” 

“Locked and… encased?” 

“That’s the point,” Roger said. “Chastity is for denial. Delay the post-nut reset, and you keep your focus on achievement. But this—” he tapped the outside of the cup, the plastic clicking under his knuckle, “—this is for containment. Protection. Reassurance. No one touches me. Not even me.” 

Kevin was stunned, a little turned on, but mostly intensely curious. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask more questions or fall to his knees and worship this beautiful, untouchable man. 

“Do you ever take it off?” 

Roger grinned. “Only to clean. Never to feel.” 

“Don’t you get… I dunno… frustrated?” 

Roger leaned closer, like he was moving in for a kiss. He stopped an inch away from Kevin’s lips and locked eye contact. 

“I used to be. But now? I’m free.” 

Their first date led to a second. And a third. 

After seven dates, Kevin had stopped pretending he wasn’t obsessed. Not with Roger’s music playlists or his taste in architecture. Not even with the way his lips curved when he was deep in thought. No, Kevin was obsessed with what was inside Roger’s jeans and the fact that nothing had happened between them yet. 

Nor a single grinding kiss, not a subtle hard on. Just the faint, maddening outline, the smooth ridge of the cup under Roger’s pants. The way he shifted in his seat with complete composure, like that hard shell was just another part of him. 

Because it was. 

They’d been dating for a month when Kevin finally snapped. 

They sat on Roger’s balcony watching the sunset, drinks in hand, the city glowing amber below. Roger looked at ease, his legs splayed wide, one hand wrapped around a glass of red wine, the other idly running across the steel railing. Kevin, sitting across from him, practically buzzed with pent-up energy. 

“I don’t understand you,” Kevin said, voice rougher than he meant. 

Roger turned his head. “Hmm?” 

“You’re like this calm, in-control guy. And yet you’re caged. All the time. Sealed up like… like you’re protecting the world from your dick.” 

Roger snorted, amused. “Interesting metaphor.” 

“It doesn’t make any sense. Dominant types want power, right? They want access. You’re like… the opposite. But you feel more in control than anyone I’ve ever met.” 

Roger didn’t reply right away. He just took a sip of wine, then set the glass down. 

“Control isn’t about taking, Kevin. It’s about choosing what and what not to give.” 

Kevin swallowed. Hard. 

Roger continued. “I could get off. I have keys. Tools. Options. But I don’t. Because what I get from this—” his hand moved down, pressing lightly against the rigid shell of his cup, “—is more powerful than anything a quick, meaningless orgasm could give me.” 

Kevin realized he’d stopped breathing. He couldn’t look away. He wanted to understand it. His own arousal felt so desperate, so needy by comparison. Compared to Roger’s goddamn encased serenity, Kevin seemed messy, clumsy, and impatient. 

“So what are we doing here?” Kevin asked. “You want me to just… stop jerking off? Lock myself up and never feel anything again?” 

Roger tilted his head. “No. I’d like to initiate you, if you’re interested. I’ll lock you, keep you encased like me. Not just denied. Owned by your restraint.” 

“Owned?” 

“Not by me,” Roger clarified. “At least, not yet. Owned by the choice. And if you want to go deeper, if you want to be like me…” 

He let the silence hang before he continued. 

“Then I want you to be mine. Not just some guy I’m playing around with. Not some stupid hookup. We become a couple, exclusive and committed to each other. You stop seeing other guys, and I become the only one who sees you struggle.” 

Kevin’s pulse thundered in his ears. A couple. Just like that. 

No more hookups, awkward rejections, or inexplicable ghosting. No backup plans. No safety net. Just Roger and the cool, beautiful prison he lived inside. 

It terrified him. But it also thrilled him because somewhere beneath the fear, he wanted it. He wanted to be locked. Caged. Sealed in hard plastic and denial. Not to turn Roger on, but to become something worthy of this paragon of masculinity who’d for some reason taken an interest in him. He wanted Roger to control him. To discipline him. 

“Yes,” Kevin whispered. “Lock me.” 

“One more time,” Roger said, voice like silk. “Say it. Not just the cage. The cup, too. All of it. Say what you want.” 

Kevin felt his skin flush. His throat tightened. But he said it. 

“Lock me. Encased. Make me just like you. I want to be yours.” 

Roger smiled, as if he’d been waiting all along. 

Roger’s house was quieter than usual, with no music playing or appliances running. Just the hush of the city beyond the windows and the low hum of the air conditioning. The overhead lights were off, replaced by three standing lamps that cast a warm golden haze across the room. 

Kevin stood in the center of the living room, barefoot, wearing only a soft black undershirt and fitted boxer briefs. His heart pounded against his ribs. 

Roger entered the room holding a small, lacquered box. “You ready?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me you want this,” Roger said. 

“I want this,” Kevin repeated, voice low. “I want you to lock me. I want to be encased. Like you.” 

Roger gave a slight, approving nod and set the box on the table beside them. 

“Then understand something,” he said, stepping closer. “This isn’t for play. This isn’t a fetish we’ll indulge one weekend and let slide the next. This is a practice. It’s a discipline.” 

He opened the box. Inside was a cage identical to the one Roger wore—sleek and polished, but much smaller to suit Kevin’s modest size. Beside it rested the athletic cup, molded to fit over caged flesh like armor. A scabbard for Kevin’s sword. 

“Once I close this on you,” Roger said, “you will no longer belong to your urges. You will not touch. You will not tease. You will not want, unless I allow you to.” 

Kevin’s heart thundered. He broke a sweat across his chest. 

“You agree,” Roger continued, “to give up orgasm. To give up sex. To surrender the self indulgence you’ve always known. You agree to conform fully to my lifestyle. No opt outs. No exceptions.” 

Kevin nodded. But Roger raised a hand. 

“No. Out loud. Clearly. Or I don’t go further.” 

Kevin’s voice trembled, but he found it. “I agree. I surrender. I give up sex. I give up orgasm. I give up touching myself. I want to live like you. Encased. Disciplined.” 

“From this moment forward,” Roger said, “you’re mine. Not just for nights. Not just for fun. But as a partner, exclusive and bound to me.” 

“Yes,” Kevin breathed. “I’m yours.” 

“Say it all.” 

“I am yours. Exclusive and bound to you from now on.” 

Then Roger knelt, not to submit to Kevin, but to prepare him for what was to come. He peeled Kevin’s briefs down slowly, revealing his ungoverned flesh. He cradled the cage in both hands like a relic. Kevin’s cock was already half hard, trembling, eager. 

“This is the first time, and the last, that you’ll feel these hands on you,” Roger said. 

He began fitting the device, methodically and gently, but with absolute control. The ring came to a rest at the base of Kevin’s cock and balls, then Roger slid the cage over Kevin’s shaft, reducing it to an even smaller size. Kevin shivered when the lock clicked shut. 

But it wasn’t over. Roger retrieved the cup and pressed it into place over the cage, enclosing Kevin’s denial in hard, protective plastic. The warmth and sensation of Roger’s hands on Kevin’s body vanished beneath the double layer of protection. He felt nothing. 

“Now you’re encased,” Roger said. “Now you’re like me.” 

Kevin smiled. His cock was nothing but a memory, hidden away behind smooth, cool armor. And he was so hard inside that cage that it hurt. 

“Do you want to touch it?” Roger asked. 

Kevin nodded, nearly trembling. 

“Too bad,” Roger whispered. “You’re already mine. You already said yes.” 

“I’m yours,” Kevin whispered. 

“Louder.” 

“I’m yours. I’m sealed. I’m denied. I’m your boyfriend. Your partner. Your disciple. I’m encased just like you.” 

Roger smiled. “Good. Now kneel for me.”