It Took a Chastity Cage and Multiple Loads to Break My Tormentors’ Sex Curse

But now, at long last, I can bottom like a god.

This is a piece of non-fiction, but the BOYSLUT Substack is now accepting and publishing fiction erotica, too. For submission guidelines, please head here.

Original illustration by Eduardo

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A psychic once told me I was tortured in a past life. She saw me chained to the Wheel of Torture, my eyes held open Clockwork Orange-style while my tormentors stuck spears in them. I’m not sure what I did to deserve it. I assume I was the prince of a tiny European nation, and my subjects simply couldn’t handle how fabulous I was.

Now, in this life, I get off inflicting a similar torture fantasy onto my sexual partners.

I’d always considered myself a strict top. I’m just psychologically wired that way. When I’m attracted to a guy, my first instinct is to pin him down, spit in his face, and call him a faggot. I’m simply an active Dom by nature. On top of that—no pun intended—in a bottom-heavy city like New York, being a top is so much more economical. Even though I’d gotten to regularly live out my aggro, rough Daddy fantasy, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a bit of a desire to sub.

There was just one problem: I couldn’t take a dick to save my life.

Maybe those people who tortured me also placed a hex on me, prohibiting me from ever feeling the greatest, full-body pleasure. In addition to the spears in my eyes, I think they also shoved spears up my ass, because every time I'd ever tried to bottom, it ended catastrophically. I’m talking shrieking, pooping, bleeding, neighbors calling the cops. After several dramatic failed attempts, I accepted that being a community cumdump just wasn’t my calling.

But deep down, I desperately wanted to break that curse. Topping all the time was exhausting. I so badly wanted to give my dick a break and let my hole have some fun for a change. But what was a top to do? I was cursed, and that was that.

Or at least I was until one day last fall.

It was newly October, and my kink influencer friend Danny invited me to a Locktober party he was hosting. For the uninitiated, Locktober is when chastity enthusiasts lock their cocks in cages for the entire month of October. The party would be full of insatiable locked bottoms and loaded tops to fill them up.

I was intrigued, but I had a problem. In a sex party setting, my dick shrivels up and I can’t get hard. Turns out my performance anxiety extends from the classroom to the darkroom. Going as a top would be fruitless—but maybe, just maybe, if I locked myself in chastity, it would rewire my brain and finally open my hole up for business.

I didn’t have a cage, but luckily, my friend Bill hade an entire collection. I went to his house before the party, eager and anxious in equal parts.

"It’s not exactly easy to put on," Bill warned me as he gathered all the supplies. "I can do it in 11 seconds, but it takes a while at first."

He instructed me to lube up all over my balls and then shove my balls through the cock ring one at a time. Immediately, my body clenched. (I’m what the crunchy granola moms like Alanis Morissette would call a "highly sensitive person.”) Even the slightest unpleasant bodily sensation will make me start tweaking. I tried wearing a rubber suit once and started spasming because I didn’t like how it pinched the tiny hairs on my skin. So the thought of cramming my big droopy balls through an inflexible plastic ring immediately conjured up fears of permanent testicular torsion. But to my delight, the cock ring slid on like magic. Maybe there is a God after all!

The next step was to put the cage over my dick and attach it to the cock ring. “Be careful,” Bill warned me. “You might pinch your pubes or your scrotum skin.” He told me it can be hard to line up the clips, but the two little hooks on the cage clicked perfectly into the slots on the ring. No effort necessary. The final step was to insert the lock, a tiny piece of metal with a keyhole on the end. Bill attached the lock to the end of the key, stuck it through, and turned it, fastening the cage on top of the cock ring, my dick and balls squished like the inside of a tuna sandwich.

And just like that, I was officially in chastity. All in all, it took about 11 seconds.

Chastity had never really been on my radar, but I immediately understood the appeal once locked in that cage. It’s not that different from other forms of restraint, like handcuffs or bondage, except you can go about your day in it without anyone else knowing, which is honestly the hottest part. Plus, there’s something deeply arousing about denying myself pleasure. Perhaps that’s my inner lapsed Catholic talking.

I arrived at the party and saw Danny. He was schmoozing, as party hosts do. Danny is a great host because his biggest kink is kindness. His empathy is always on full display, and he wants to ensure everyone has a good time. I said “Hi,” and we chatted for a few seconds before his attention was diverted to another newly arrived guest.

As I turned around to survey the scene, I immediately saw someone I recognized. I didn’t remember his name, but we had met a few months back at Pheromone, a party for lovers of natural stank. We had sniffed each other’s armpits and then spent 15 minutes talking about the inefficiencies of NJ Transit. We had existing rapport. I trusted him.