This is the draft first chapter of my book in development, Locked Sub in the Locker Room.
It's a novella about a chastity sub hitting the gym and cruising (and getting cruised by) the various guys he comes across there. Each chapter tells the story of a different locker room encounter as the main character gets fitter and more confident about being a locked submissive, all the while hoping that maybe he'll meet someone who can become his long-term keyholder.
This first chapter is before we get into the real action. It's all about the feeling of being locked and the thrill of wondering if you'll be discovered - something you might be familiar with if you're a locked sub yourself.
If you like Part one subscribe for updates so you can find out when more of the story is available.
You wouldn’t know it from looking at me, but there’s a secret I’m hiding underneath my clothes.
On the outside I look unremarkable. Normal, if there’s such a thing as normal. Definitely not the kind of guy who’d be into kinky sex stuff that would make the straights — and some of the gays, probably — confused and amused and maybe a little squeamish. I’ve got an innocent face, this wholesome, clean-cut manner, and a wardrobe to match. But underneath two layers of fabric I’m hiding a secret that’s on my mind constantly. It’s this ever-present thrill, lurking underneath everything I do as I go about my day.
Thinking about it would be enough to get me hard. If I could even get hard. But not being able to get hard is the whole point.
I love knowing that underneath my clothes I’m not the man they think I am. Hell, if some people knew they’d probably think that I’m barely a man at all. Because can you really call yourself a man if your dick’s locked a way in a cage where it’s effectively useless?
Not that I’m upset about that. I chose this, I do it to myself. I mean, I wish I didn’t have to do it myself, and that I had someone who’d force me to lock it away no matter whether I wanted to or not. But I haven’t met Mister Right yet, so I do the next best thing: I lock my own dick up, my secret act of service to the man — or men — who’ll one day undress me and find it under there and realise that they can own me if they want to.
It’s kind of crazy just how much I think about my caged dick. It’s funny: the whole point is that you can’t be stimulated when you’re caged. But actually it feels like I’m constantly stimulated, like it’s being held firmly but gently. It’s this strange feeling of being completely untouched but constantly touched at the same time. I barely go five minutes at a time without remembering it’s there. Sometimes I think about how all these guys other guys — nine-hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand I come across, I bet — go about their lives with their cock and balls cradled in fabric, with room to shift, adjust, react to stimulus the way they were designed to.
Not me though. No fabric against the skin of my cock. Only rigid plastic. My cock enclosed, trapped. Locked tight.
You might see signs of it, depending on the clothes I’m wearing, if you know what you’re looking for. Who knows to look for signs of a cock cage though? Most of the people that I don’t want looking will avoid looking anyway. Like, everybody knows that you don’t ogle your work colleague’s package, or gaze at strangers’ bulges on the bus.
But occasionally they look, mainly just the men who clock me as gay instantly and who size me up to try work out whether I’m a potential fuck. And if they know what to look for they might see that telltale shape through the fabric, too irregular and angular to just be cock and balls. The sign that there’s some hardware in there. And it’s likely that a guy who knows enough to recognise that shape will be exactly the kind of guy I’m after.
Most people would think it’s depraved. They’d think I was disgusting. Others wouldn’t judge but would still be totally incapable of understanding the appeal of locking away the most fun part of your anatomy where you can’t use it. Some guys would get it though: the guys like me who understand what it’s like to experience the frustrating rush of being locked, denied your main source of pleasure and forced to find other sources. And the guys who’d understand what to do with someone like me. The ones that would call me a good boy and use me for their pleasure.
Those are the guys I’m always hoping to encounter.
So far I haven’t had that much luck though. Chastity is a pretty rare fetish, even if it seems to have taken off online in the last couple of years. And I’m a little shy when it comes to meeting people.
And I’ve only just started this. It’s only been three weeks. It’s not like I’ve had long to meet anyone yet.
That is, I’ve only been wearing the cage for three weeks. I’ve been thinking about it for a lot longer, I can’t even remember how long. I can’t even remember when I first heard about it or what it was that first caught my interest. All I remember is that for what seems like the longest time, I’ve fantasised about having my dick locked away.
You know how you have a version of yourself in your mind? The main character in your imagination, the person you visualise yourself as, who’s usually a bit better looking than real life. In my case, for the longest time whenever I’ve pictured myself naked, being fucked, there’s just a cock cage where my dick should be. It’s like my mind had fully accepted the fact that I’m meant to be caged before I’d even tried a cage on in real life.
I got my first cage about a month and a half ago now, but I had a few problems with it because I’d gotten a ring that was a little bit too big. Just big enough to give my balls room to slip back through, but just small enough to make it hurt like hell when they did. So a few times it just fell off with an uncomfortable squeeze as my balls passed through the gap. And a couple of times I was caught doubled over, running for the key on my bedside table, balls in such agony it felt like they were being ripped out. It was unpleasant. Really unpleasant.
But three weeks ago the smaller ring I ordered arrived, and that one fits better. So since then it’s been fine.
No, better than fine. When I’m wearing my cage it feels correct.
At first I only managed to wear it for a couple of hours at a time before I got too uncontrollably horny and lost all my willpower, and took it off to knock out a load. I know that’s the complete opposite of the point of having a cock cage. Don’t judge me though, having my dick locked just got me so turned on I couldn’t cope. If you haven’t tried it you won’t understand: having it locked away is so incredibly arousing it’s almost unbearable.
I’ve gotten better at it since then though. Developed some willpower. After my first few trial runs I wore it for a full day around the house when I was working from home. Then I wore it out of the house a couple of times. Then to bed, which was the real test — a full eight hours of involuntary night-time erections thwarted — but I came through it fine, and hornier than ever. After that I tried a whole work day.
Today’s the first day wearing it to the gym though. I have to be honest: I’ve been thinking about this moment for such a long time, and the thought of it is so arousing that when I’m on my way there I feel the same rush of adrenaline I’ve felt in the past when I’ve been about to walk into a stranger’s home to get my ass bred. There’s something about the idea of being surrounded by so many muscled guys, all that masculinity. All while beneath my clothes any masculinity I might have had is trapped tight and locked away.
It’s not just my first day locked at the gym, it’s also my first day at the gym full stop. At least for about three years or so. I used to have a membership at a different one across town but I barely ever used it. I could never motivate myself to go, and when I did go I could never motivate myself to stay. These days I go running occasionally, around the neighbourhood and through the parks near my house, but in general I do very little exercise and I’m severely out of shape now. I’m still slim, but I’m a runt. There’s not a hint of muscle anywhere on my body.
I’m hoping the cage might help with that. I know I can’t pin all my hopes on a cock cage magically making me enjoy exercising, that would be ridiculous. But I’m hoping the frustration of being locked and horny will help focus me into pushing myself harder. Through being obsessed with following gay chastity accounts on social media I’ve seen countless guys online turn into muscle himbos from working out locked. So I I’m hopeful there’s some small chance that will help me.
I tell myself it’s about getting fit, but if I’m totally honest, it’s more about getting laid.
Hooking up in a gym locker room has been a fantasy of mine for about as far back as I can remember. Again, it’s something about the masculinity of the place, the sweat, the testosterone. The big, beefy guys peeling off layers of sweat-soaked gear to reveal muscle and hair. The guys soaping up their ripe pits in the showers.
I heard this particular gym has a reputation for being kind of cruisey, which is what finally tipped the scales in favour of signing up for membership. My friend Toby told me about it; he’d had a couple of friends who’d had both separately told him about stuff happening in the sauna here. Toby had found it salacious but had never really understood why people would do that kind of thing, because he’s full vanilla. But when he’d told me about it I’d feigned shock but actually decided on the spot that I was going to check it out for myself.
It might be all urban legend. And even if it’s not, gym bros probably like to hook up with other gym bros who are just as toned and muscled and perfect as them. I have to remind myself that probably nothing will ever happen. But even if nothing ever happens, just being around all those guys, all that testosterone, in a place where men are being men… fuck, it makes my dick pulse in my cage just thinking about it.
I’m fully aware of the sensation of the cage around my dick as I walk in the door of the gym. I pick up my new access card at reception. The guy at the desk offers to show me around because it’s my first time, and he’s hot so I take him up on the offer even though I think I can probably find my own way just fine. His name’s Kevin; he introduces himself with a firm handshake. He’s wearing a uniform singlet that fits kind of tight on his body. He’s not super muscular but he’s got smooth, golden-bronze shoulders and arms that have every muscle perfectly defined. He’s wearing shorts that are mid-thigh, not too tight but fitted enough to show the shape of his ass. This guy must get hit on like a hundred times a day in a place like this. As I follow him around I speculate about whether I might end up looking anything like him if I stick around long enough and do enough actual exercise.
Kevin shows me the machines, the free weights, the stretching area. He takes me to the locker room last. As soon as we step in there the atmosphere of the place hits my dopamine receptors like a drug. The air is laden with moisture from the showers, and the room smells of cleaning products, which takes me back to the familiar smell of the bathhouse I used to go to before I moved here, where I used to spend a quiet Friday night having half a dozen guys run a train on me.
On my left is a dead-end aisle of lockers with wooden benches running down the centre and a couple of sinks and mirrors at the end closest to me. There are a couple of guys getting changed. It has a slightly run-down vibe to it, with a couple of cracked tiles here and there, and the style of the tapwear on the sink indicating the place hadn’t been renovated since the nineties. That kind of added to the grimy fantasy I was hoping for though.
“You need your own padlock for your locker,” Kevin tells me. “You got one already?”
“Yep,” I tell him, nodding. “All sorted.” One padlock for my locker, and one for my cock.
“Cool. Showers over there.” He points right, and I see a short aisle of cubicle doors.
There’s a second aisle of lockers further in on the left, parallel to and exactly the same as the first one, except this one has toilets opposite it instead of showers.
At the end of the room there’s a passage leading left and a passage leading right. Kevin gestures to the right-hand corridor. “That’s the sauna,” he says. “And then if you go left here,” he gestures to the left, “is the pool.”
“There’s a pool?” I ask. I hadn’t realised that. It’s a bonus, because I’ve always liked swimming but I haven’t done it in ages.
“Sure is,” Kevin says. “Make sure you read the rules on the wall. Main thing to know is that we prefer it if you’ve been working out you shower before you get in the pool. Anything else you want to know?”
If I was better at flirting maybe I’d come up with a question that’s smart and cute and subtly, tastefully got across the message that what I really want to know is what his dick tastes like. But I don’t want to be a creep to a guy in his workplace, and besides, flirting’s never been a strong suit of mine.
I shrug. “No, I think I should be all good from here, thanks.”
“Cool. Any questions, let me know.”
He leaves me to it, and for a moment I’m just standing there surveying the scene and taking in the atmosphere. I notice that of the two aisles of lockers, the first aisle is much more visible from the door, which you’re guessing means any cruising most likely happens in the second aisle. Right now there’s no one in there though. I find an empty locker and set my bag down in front of it. I’m already wearing the clothes I intend to work out in, so I pull off my sweater, grab my headphones, lock my bag in the locker, and I’m ready to go work out.
I go find a spare spot on the mats and do some stretches. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, so I just do every stretch I can remember from back when I last used to go to the gym several years ago. Stretching is a little uncomfortable, and for a while I’m wondering if trying to do this locked was actually such a good idea. Some of the moves — like when I bend over, or when I put my legs back together after spreading them — crush my tender balls in an uncomfortable way. The cage shifts and tugs a bit as I move around too. I’m too exposed out here on the mats to reach into my underwear and adjust it, so I just have to deal with it.
Once I’m done stretching I head over to the water fountain to fill my drink, and take the opportunity to surreptitiously adjust my cage while I’m standing facing away from everyone.
After that I get on a treadmill. I may not be used to working out but I’m used to running, so after a minute or so of getting re-accustomed to the feeling of running on a treadmill I’m set and I’m in my flow. Running in a cage is fine. No, better than fine. With every step I take on the treadmill I can feel my caged dick and balls swing back and forth, feeling the weight of the cage bouncing which is a constant reminder of being locked.
I run for twenty minutes. I don’t want to stop, I’m loving the feeling of doing it caged so much. But I’m out of breath and I need a break.
I hit the weights next. This is the bit where I really don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing. I go through the motions for a bit: some dumbbell curls, presses, the ones where you lift the weights from your side and put your arms out like a bird spreading its wings. I get on a few of the machines, but I’m quickly discouraged by how weak my arms are. I make sure I put in a decent effort on the leg press and the GHD though, because even if I’m never going to become more muscular I want to at least make sure my ass looks good.
It’s about forty minutes into the workout when my motivation gives out. I tell myself I’ve done okay. And besides, I know that the real reason I’m here is more about the turn-on of a caged workout than to actually get proper exercise in. So I reassure myself I’ve made an acceptable effort and I head back to the changing room.
There’s a couple of people in my section when I get in there, in various stages of dressing or undressing. Two of the guys are across from me, and one is on my side about five lockers down from mine. The room is silent; everyone’s on their own and doing their own thing. I unlock my locker, put my towel down on the bench beside me, and brace myself. Am I going to do it? Am I going to take off my clothes, strip down to just my cage in the presence of these other guys?
My heart had already picked up its pace from the moment I decided to call it quits on the workout and head in here, anticipating this moment. By now it is absolutely pounding in my chest. I think of all the things that could go wrong: if someone saw they might think I’m some kind of messed up pervert. I mean, I am, but usually in the privacy of my own home. It occurs to me that they might call security if they think I’m practicing some kind of fucked up kink right there in the locker room. Okay, that is probably a stretch. But still, they might think it’s disgusting, might think I’m depraved. They might make fun of my emasculation.
Now that one’s just wishful thinking. It even makes my dick throb in my cage just a little bit.
I’m going to do it, here goes. I pull my shirt off first, then my shorts. I’m facing towards the locker, away from the other people, which means that no one is going to be able to see the outline of the cage in my underwear. I know that as soon as I strip my underwear off though, the guy who’s just a few lockers away could easily catch sight of the cage if he happens to look in my direction.
I remind myself that no one’s trying to catch a look at my dick in the changing rooms. I’ve got nothing to worry about.
Deep breath. I pull my boxer briefs off in a quick motion. For a second my caged cock is out, visible to anyone who might have a line of sight. I look at it, the black frame against the purple-pink of my cock-head and the red of my tortured balls. Then I quickly wrap a towel around myself, and it’s all hidden again.
I look around carefully, trying to judge if anyone has had any kind of reaction. But no one is looking in my direction and no one seems to be reacting out of the ordinary.
I had nothing to worry about. I’m almost disappointed about it.
I walk into the shower area and got my first proper look at it. There’s two stalls on the left and two on the right, facing each other, each with their own lockable door. From the changing area I’d been able to see the closest of the stalls so I’d just assumed the whole area was like that. So I’m surprised to find that past the fourth stall the space opens out into a large open shower area with three walls of shower-heads spaced about a metre and a half away from each other.
“Fuck.” The awestruck exclamation comes out unprompted in a whisper as I think about what it would be like to see this whole area full of men, washing the sweat off their bodies in full view of each other. For a second or two I think about stripping off my towel in the communal space and showering right there. The thought that someone could come in and catch me in nothing but my cage makes my cock tingle with excitement.
I know I can’t go through with it though. The idea of being caught is a thrill but it’s not something I’m ready for in reality. So I step into one of the cubicles and shut the door behind me.
Once the water’s warm enough — not too hot, just lukewarm because I’m still overheated from the workout I just had — I strip off my towel and step under the jets. Fuck, the water feels good on my body. I suddenly realise how worn out I am just from that pretty mild workout, and I lean my arms against the wall to steady myself while I let the water run through my hair.
When I’m done showering and return to the locker area I find I’m the only one there. By the time I cross the floor to my locker, unlock it, pull my bag out and find my clothes I’m still the only one in the room.
I feel my heart rate pick up a bit. I wonder if this is my opportunity.
Slowly, carefully, my heart thumping in my chest, I peel the towel off me and let it drop to the floor. I’m standing there fully naked except for the cage on my cock, feeling the thrill of being exposed in a public place.
I look over at the mirror. I think about all those guys I see online posting selfies of them naked and locked in gym locker rooms, and I think about all the times I’ve gotten hard thinking about doing the same thing myself. It’s a risk, a real risk: the mirror is right by the door so if anyone comes in there’d be no hiding the cage. I know I don’t want that to happen, even if the thought of it turns me on even more than I already was.
Fuck it. I’m going for it.
I pull my phone out of my bag and open the camera. I take tentative steps towards the mirror, my front — and my caged cock — now totally visible in the mirror from the doorway. When I get close enough I pause to examine the sight in front of me. I may not be in great shape, but I think I look okay. Lean, almost skinny, a dusting of hair on my chest. But what really turns me on about the reflection in front of me is seeing myself, my full body, naked and caged in the unforgiving light of the locker room. Pale skin punctuated by the black latticework of the cage’s construction.
I point my photo at the mirror and snap a few shots, shifting my weight this way and that to get a few slightly different poses.
I’m so focused on it that when I hear the footsteps it takes me a second or two to react. Fuck. I fumble my phone and almost drop it, and by the time I’ve got it securely in my grasp again I just have time to see look over at the doorway and see the shadow and the first movement of the figure entering the door. I spin around and run back to my locker, and behind me I hear whoever it was walk past.
I’m facing away from the door now. I turn my head and look behind me, and see a guy walk past. I don’t know how much he saw, and I watch him to see if he’s going to react in any way. He seems to ignore me, but then just before he disappears he glances in my direction, just for a fraction of a second. And maybe I’m imagining it, but I think there’s some kind of recognition in his eyes. Not that he’s recognised who I am, but that he’s recognised what I am.
I’m such a fucking idiot. I wonder if he saw the cage. I think I was fast enough, just. But I can’t be sure. And whether he did or not, he definitely saw me get completely spooked and give away the fact that I was doing something shameful.
I pull my underwear on fast, and then I sit down on the bench in front of my locker until my heart rate starts to go back to normal. I feel like I’ve made a fool of myself, maybe even gotten myself into trouble. Trying to take a photo had been a stupid thing to do. It’s kind of funny how you can think with your dick just as much — or maybe even more — when it can’t even get hard.
I throw my clothes on as fast as I can, desperate to get the fuck out of the gym without running into that guy again. I don’t quite manage to though; as I’m fumbling to put on my shoes the guy walks past, this time with just a towel around his waist, headed for the showers. Out of the corner of my eye I think I catch him glance over at me, but I can’t be sure because I’m avoiding any possibility of making eye contact. I wonder what the guy must think of me.
I finish putting on my shoes, grab my stuff and bolt.
For the rest of the evening I keep thinking about that moment. I feel absolutely fucking mortified about what I let happen. Still, the more I think about it the more I want to think about it, and by the time I go to bed that night I’m reliving the moment in my head again, hoping that the guy did actually see the cage after all. It’s almost enough to make me want to cum. But instead I’m a good boy and I leave the cage on when I go to sleep.
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