The Acquisition: a Record of Compliance, Pleasure, and Ownership
Copyright© 2025 by Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Chapter 4: The Cage
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 4: The Cage - A long-arc story about a developing relationship of domination, submission and romance between a dominant junior lawyer and his submissive senior lawyer colleague. This is a slow-burn series that explores the dynamics of a D/s relationship in depth: the act of giving oneself to another; pushing one's limits out of submissive devotion; and many many kinks and fetishes. This is a story that doesn't lose pace as the chapters move on; it only gets better.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Romantic Gay Workplace DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Anal Sex Analingus Oral Sex Water Sports
Tuesday morning arrived with a hollow ache behind my ribs.
I barely slept the night before. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—Sean’s body, the heat of his mouth, the searing burn of his commands. I woke tangled in the sheets, hard and leaking, my cock throbbing uselessly against empty air. I’d denied myself release, half-afraid it would somehow cheapen what had happened between us, half-afraid of what it would mean if it didn’t.
I dressed for work in a daze, my mind thick with restless need. In the mirror, I barely recognized myself. There was a rawness to my reflection, a faint flush to my skin that no amount of cold water could hide. I was unravelling—and Sean hadn’t even touched me again.
At the office, he was nowhere to be found.
I checked my emails obsessively, watched the hallways, lingered by the kitchen longer than necessary. Nothing. Sean was a ghost—present only in the glances of others, the hollow thrum of passing footsteps, the phantom scent of cologne that wasn’t his.
By Tuesday afternoon, my nerves were strung tight enough to hum. Every interaction felt like a placeholder, every task mechanical. I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe properly. My body remembered him too well—remembered the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d told me to crawl, the effortless weight of his control.
I told myself it was foolish to hope he would seek me out so soon.
But when the knock came at my door—soft, deliberate, unmistakable—my heart stopped.
I looked up—and there he was.
Sean leaned casually against the frame, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a small black box.
For a moment, I simply stared at him, everything in me stuttering to a halt.He looked immaculate, as always—charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, tie loose at the throat like he’d already started shedding the constraints of the day. But it was the glint in his eye that made my mouth go dry. That quiet, knowing amusement, like he could see straight through me and liked what he found.
“You’re not running off yet, are you?” he asked, voice smooth, his metallic blue eyes glinting with something private.
“No,” I managed, straightening a little. “Just finishing up.”
He stepped inside without invitation and closed the door behind him.
The click of the latch sounded loud in the quiet room.
Sean held up the box between two fingers. It wasn’t large—sleek, discreet, the kind of thing you might mistake for cufflinks or expensive pens.
“This,” he said, walking toward me with measured steps, “is yours now.”
I stared at the box, then at him.
“What is it?” I asked, even though a sick, electric part of me already suspected.But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened the box.
Inside, nestled against black velvet, gleamed a small, stainless steel chastity cage—sleek, polished, unyielding. The sight of it stole my breath.
“I had it fitted to the measurements I took last night,” Sean said lightly, as though we were discussing a tailor’s work. “I thought you should have something ... more official.”
My face flushed hot.
I’d thought he was just toying with me when he made me stand there—naked, humiliated—while he measured me with his cool, steady hands. Measuring everything, not just my cock, but the thickness, the base, the curve. I thought it had been another way to mock the difference between us: Sean’s cock had been huge and heavy even half-hard, at least eight and a half inches thick, while mine, at full desperate arousal, barely stood at four and a half.
He’d teased me then, too. Commenting idly on the “cute little size” I had, laughing softly when I twitched in his hand, helplessly eager for touch even under the weight of his casual cruelty.
I hadn’t realized he’d been collecting data for this.
I couldn’t speak. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs.
“You’ll put it on tonight,” he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “When you get home. I expect a photo. Full body. Nude. Cage clearly visible.”
I swallowed hard, nodding automatically.
“And before you ask,” he added, reaching into his pocket again, “this—” he produced a small, clear acrylic tube sealed tightly at the top, inside of which was a single brass key “—is your emergency release.”
He handed it to me.
I turned the container over in my hand. It was seamless—no latch, no twist-cap. Only a solid cylinder, designed to be broken if opened.
“If you open it,” Sean said, his voice dropping lower, “I’ll know. There’s no way to get that key without destroying the seal.”
He stepped closer, and I felt the heat of him like a tangible thing.
“I hold the real keys,” he said. “All of them.”
I nodded again, throat too tight to form words.
Sean smiled, slow and dangerous. “Good boy.”
Those words. They hit harder than any touch. My knees almost buckled.
“We won’t see each other again until Friday,” Sean went on, his voice rich with promise. “Until then, I expect obedience. I expect updates. And I expect you to behave.”
He paused, letting the silence fill the space between us like heavy smoke.
“Be a good boy for me, Blake.”
Then he turned and walked to the door, pausing only to glance back once.
“Don’t disappoint me.”
The door clicked softly shut behind him.
I sank into my chair, the box still trembling in my hands, the emergency key glinting ominously on my desk.
I hadn’t even put the cage on yet, and already, I could feel it — the invisible weight of it, the cold metal of Sean’s expectations clamping shut around me, tighter than any lock.
A part of me was terrified.
The rest of me had never been harder in my life.
The box sat heavy in my bag the whole way home.
Every bump of the subway seemed to shift it slightly against the fabric, a constant reminder of what waited for me. I couldn’t stop touching the strap of the bag, as if somehow making sure it was still there, still real.
The train car was crowded, but it may as well have been empty. My mind played only one thought on repeat: Tonight, I would lock myself away. For him.
I replayed Sean’s voice over and over in my head:
“Put it on tonight. Full body photo. Nude. Cage clearly visible.”
I swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably on the plastic seat. My cock, traitorous as ever, gave a small, involuntary twitch at the memory of his command. I forced my legs tighter together, willing myself to stay still.
By the time I reached my apartment, I was trembling.
I locked the door behind me, dropped my bag by the couch, and just stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing.
The city buzzed outside my window—cars honking, people laughing, life carrying on as though I hadn’t just agreed to give up control over the most intimate part of myself.
I moved slowly, almost ritualistically, peeling off my work clothes one piece at a time. Jacket first, draped neatly over the chair. Tie next, unwound with shaking fingers. Shirt. Undershirt. Belt. Trousers. Socks.
Each layer felt like a confession.
When I was finally naked, I stood in front of the mirror, heart pounding.
My cock was half-hard already, straining up shyly from a thatch of neatly trimmed hair. Even now, after everything, it looked embarrassingly small to me. Thin. Soft-featured. I thought of Sean’s dismissive smirk as he measured me, the heavy weight of his own cock swinging just inches from my face.
“Cute little size.”
Humiliation crawled hot across my skin.
I opened the box carefully, almost reverently. Inside, the stainless steel cage gleamed under the soft light of my apartment. It was smaller than I expected—sleek, tight, unyielding. No room to grow. No room to hide.
There were instructions tucked inside, but I didn’t need them. I’d watched enough videos in secret late at night, aching to understand this feeling, to prepare myself for this moment without ever admitting that preparation out loud.
I sat on the edge of the bed, fumbling slightly as I slid the base ring behind my balls, lifting and arranging them carefully. Even that small pressure made my cock twitch, desperate for attention.
The cage itself was cool in my hand, its weight substantial for its size. I lined it up, pushed the head of my cock through the opening, and began to guide it down.
It was harder than I expected. My body fought me, confused by the strange mixture of arousal and fear. Every time I tried to fit myself inside, I swelled a little more, defiant.
I gritted my teeth, willing my arousal to subside.
Think of something else. Anything else.The subway. The meeting schedule. The taste of burnt coffee from the kitchen downstairs.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to push myself fully into the cage. The steel pressed against me from all sides, unforgiving and absolute. I reached for the small integrated lock Sean had provided and slid it into place.
The click was almost inaudible.
But it thundered through me like a closing vault door.
I sat there for a moment, breathing hard, the weight of the cage already beginning to register against my skin—heavy, foreign, unescapable.
I was locked.Owned.
A soft tremor went through me.
There was still one last command to fulfill.
Shame coiled tight in my gut as I set up my phone, propping it against a stack of books on my dresser. I stepped back, positioning myself fully in the frame. I felt ridiculous—standing there, bare, small, encased in gleaming steel, my body betraying every inch of my vulnerability to the camera lens.
I swallowed down the lump in my throat, squared my shoulders as best I could, and took the photo.
The image appeared on the screen a second later—stark, merciless.There was no hiding.
My chest was lean but soft around the edges, my hips narrow, my thighs defined but slim. And there, at the center of it all, was the cage—glinting under the lamp light, locked tight around my pathetic, subdued cock.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then I sent it to Sean.
The message delivered instantly.
No response.
The silence was worse than anything he could have said.
I crawled into bed without bothering to dress, the cage a constant, intrusive pressure against the sheets. Every tiny shift reminded me of its presence. Every flicker of arousal—which came like an unwanted tide whenever I thought about Sean—brought only frustration and tightness.
I lay there for hours, hard but helpless, staring at the ceiling while the cage held me firm in its merciless grip.
Sleep came fitfully, in ragged pieces. Every time I drifted, I would startle awake with a painful throb between my legs, my body trying desperately to swell past the limits Sean had set.
There was no escape. No relief. Only the endless, aching reminder:
I was his now. Even when he wasn’t there.
I woke to the feeling of pressure.
Not the usual morning wood, warm and restless against the sheets. This was sharper, confined, denied—my cock swollen uselessly against cold steel, throbbing for a release that wasn’t coming.
The cage held firm, unforgiving.
I rolled onto my back with a quiet groan, the metal biting slightly into tender skin. My balls felt tight, swollen, aching in a dull, constant pulse. I could already tell that movement would make everything worse. The thought of squeezing into a suit, sitting stiff-backed through meetings, pretending to be normal—it made my stomach clench with dread.
But there was no choice.
I showered carefully, my body hyper-aware of every slick brush of my own hands. Washing my cock and balls was an exercise in humiliation: soap sliding over the trapped, helpless length, no ability to touch, no ability to soothe. Every nerve ending was raw, exposed, hungry.
Getting dressed was worse.
The cage shifted under my boxer briefs, a hard, obvious presence. I could feel it with every step, every bend, every accidental brush of my thigh against the fabric. By the time I’d knotted my tie and buttoned my jacket, I was already sweating.
Sean had done this to me.Even when he wasn’t there, he owned every breath I took.
The office buzzed with its usual early-morning energy. Phones ringing, printers spitting out contracts, conversations murmuring from open doors. I moved through it like a ghost, half-present, my mind trapped somewhere deep inside my own skin.
Nobody could see the cage, of course.
But that didn’t stop me from imagining it. From imagining that everyone knew—that somehow, the bulge at my crotch was too obvious, that every glance was weighted, curious.
Especially Sean’s.
I felt him before I saw him: a shift in the air, a ripple across the surface of the day.
He passed by my desk mid-morning, coffee cup in hand, suit jacket slung casually over one shoulder. His eyes flicked to mine, cool and assessing, and for a terrifying second, I thought he might say something—might acknowledge the secret locked between my legs.
But he just smiled.
That same small, private curve of the lips.That same unspoken I know.
And then he was gone, leaving me burning in my seat.
I spent most of the day on autopilot. Responding to emails without really reading them. Attending meetings and nodding at the right moments, my mind elsewhere.