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Acts of Chivalry: Part VI — The Knight, His Sword, His Steed

The email arrives on a Tuesday afternoon.

Sweetie,

You did well. April hasn’t stopped smiling. A knight who serves his princess deserves a reward. A night in her presence. A sleepover.

Be at our room Friday at 10 p.m. Bring a toothbrush. Wear something comfortable.

We’ll see you then.

You read it three times. A sleepover. The words detonate in your brain, scattering shrapnel of fantasy.

A threesome. It has to be. Lily and April, both in pajamas, both in the same bed, you between them. Hands everywhere. Mouths. The cage coming off.

Finally, finally, inside April's pussy while Lily watches, guides, approves. Maybe Lily joins. Maybe they take turns. Your mind paints the scene in lurid, greedy strokes.

By Friday, you’re a live wire. You shower, brush your teeth twice, pack a toothbrush. You wear soft sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfortable. As instructed.

The cage is a familiar weight, a cold knot of reality amid the heat of your anticipation.

You knock on their door at exactly ten.

Lily opens it. She’s in silk pajama shorts and a thin tank top, no bra. Her nipples are visible through the fabric. She smiles, steps aside.

“Right on time,” she says. “Come in, knight.”

The room is lit by a single salt lamp, casting a warm, amber glow. The beds have been pushed together, creating one large surface, covered in a sprawl of blankets and pillows.

April is already there, sitting cross-legged in the center, wearing a long sleep shirt with cartoon cats on it. She’s blushing, but she smiles when she sees you.

“Hi,” she says, her voice soft.

“Hey,” you say, your own voice tight.

Lily closes the door, locks it. The click is final. She turns to you, her hands on her hips. “You’re thinking about a threesome,” she says, not as an accusation, but as a simple statement of fact.

Your face burns. “I—”

“It’s okay,” she says, her smile widening. “It’s what your penis thinks about. It’s his default setting. See a bed, see two girls, think: conquest. Orgy. Victory.”

She walks toward you, her gaze dropping to your groin. “But that’s not what tonight is, sweetie. Tonight isn’t about your penis getting what it wants. It’s about your training.”

She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell her—clean skin, vanilla lotion.

“You’ve proven you can be a devout knight. But your sword?” She shakes her head, a mock-sad expression on her face. “It’s locked away, but it’s still greedy. Still impulsive. It hears ‘sleepover’ and it starts planning its own party.”

She steps back, gestures to the bed. “So tonight, we continue your education. Your sword and your steed need to learn to work together. To serve the same mistress. To achieve the same goal.”

Steed. You register it but don't understand it. Before you can ask, Lily has moved on.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” Lily says, her tone turning instructional. “Pants and underwear off. Let your little guy say hello.”

April is watching, her eyes huge. She looks nervous, but there’s a flicker of excitement there too. She’s part of this. She’s in charge.

Your hands are trembling. You sit on the mattress, the blankets soft beneath you. You push your sweatpants and boxers down to your ankles, kick them off. The cool air hits your bare skin.

The cage gleams in the lamplight, a polished steel pod snug over your soft penis. The blue LED pulses slowly.

Lily kneels in front of you, her face level with your groin. She doesn’t touch you yet. She just looks.

“Hello, little sword,” she murmurs, her voice warm, intimate. “Miss me?”

Your cock, always listening, gives a soft twitch inside its confinement. A faint ache stirs.

Lily smiles. “He remembers. He’s a good listener.” She glances up at you. “Lie back. Get comfortable. April is going to get comfortable too.”

You lean back on your elbows. April scoots closer, lying back on the pillows, her legs slightly apart. Her sleep shirt rides up her thighs.

Lily moves to the side of the bed, reaches into a drawer, and pulls out the familiar velvet pouch. From it, she produces a single shortbread biscuit. She holds it up.

“The goal,” she says, placing the biscuit on the nightstand, in your line of sight. “The finish line. The painting.”

She then turns to April. “Princess, your knight’s mouth is yours tonight. His tongue is your servant. Get comfortable. Let him attend to you.”

April bites her lip, then nods. She pulls her sleep shirt up to her waist, revealing her plain cotton panties.

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband, pulls them down, kicks them aside. Her pussy is bare now, exposed, a soft shadow in the low light.

“Go on, sweetie,” Lily says to you, nodding toward April. “Assume your position. Your princess needs tending.”

You don’t need to be told twice. The sight of April spread out, waiting, sends a bolt of heat straight to your caged cock.

You roll onto your stomach, crawl between her legs, prop yourself up, the mattress dipping under your knees. The smell of her—musk, soap, arousal—fills your head.

You lower your face to her pussy.

The first touch of your tongue is a revelation, again. She’s already wet. She gasps, her hands coming to rest on your head. “Oh…”

You set to work. You’ve done this before. You know what she likes. You circle her clit, slow and steady, then dip lower to lap at her entrance.

She moans, her hips lifting off the mattress. You are a faithful knight. Your world narrows to the taste of her, the sound of her breathing, the softness of her thighs against your ears.

As you work, you hear movement beside you. Lily has settled on the bed next to your hip. You can feel her presence, warm and attentive.

“Good,” Lily murmurs, her voice a quiet commentary. “See how he serves? His tongue is devoted. It has learned its lesson. But his sword…”

She reaches out, her fingers tracing the cool steel of the cage. “His sword is distracted. It’s wondering why it’s locked up. It’s wondering when it gets to play.”

You feel her hand wrap gently around the caged pod, a loose, possessive hold. Your cock stirs inside, straining uselessly against the unyielding bars.

“Shhh,” Lily whispers, not to you, but to your penis. “I know. You see her. You smell her pussy. You want to be out. You want to be in her. That’s your nature. But tonight, you have a different job.”

You’re licking April steadily now, your fingers sliding inside her, curling. She’s panting, her hands fisting in your hair. “Right there… oh, yes…”

Lily’s voice continues, a soft, hypnotic stream beside you. “Your knight is busy, little sword. His mouth is occupied. His mind is on his princess. So I’m going to talk to you. And I’m going to show you what you’re working for.”

You hear the crinkle of cellophane. From the corner of your eye, you see Lily lift the biscuit from the nightstand. You feel her move below the cage.

“See this?” she whispers to your imprisoned cock. “This is your canvas. Your masterpiece. You remember how to paint it, don’t you? You remember the feeling. The pulse. The spurt. The pretty white streaks.”

Your cock throbs in response. A deep, frustrated ache. Pre-cum beads at your slit, slicking the inside of the pod.

“He remembers,” Lily coos. “He’s getting interested. But he’s confused, isn’t he? How can he paint the biscuit if he can’t get hard? If he can’t thrust? If he’s locked in his little house?”

April is bucking against your face now, her moans rising in pitch. You redouble your efforts, sucking her clit, fucking her with your fingers. She’s close.

Lily’s voice drops to a conspiratorial purr, aimed directly at your groin. “That’s where your steed comes in, little sword. Your knight’s other end. His faithful… hole.”

Her free hand—the one not holding the biscuit—drifts down your side, over your hip, to the curve of your ass. Her fingers are cool.

You gasp. Move to resist. But April holds you by the hair. Your face buried in her pussy.

“Your steed is strong. It carries your knight. But it has other muscles. Deep inside. It has a secret button. A pleasure center. When it’s trained… when it’s stimulated…”

Her fingers press against your pucker, a gentle, insistent pressure. “It can make your sword do tricks. Even from inside its cage.”

You freeze, your mouth still on April. Your whole body goes taut.

“Relax, sweetie,” Lily murmurs, her tone soothing. “This is part of your training. Your steed needs to learn its role. It needs to help your sword achieve its goal. They’re a team. Knight, sword, and steed. All working for the princess.”

Her finger presses harder. You’re tight. Unprepared.

“April,” Lily says, her voice calm. “Your knight is doing a wonderful job. But his little guy needs encouragement. Remember the app on your phone? The one I showed you?”

April, breathless, manages a “Y-yes…”

“Open it. See his arousal level? It’s rising. But it’s frustrated. It’s stuck. You can help. See the vibration control? Give him a little… taste. A low, steady pulse. Let him feel your attention.”

You hear the fumble of a phone. A moment later, a deep, low hum emanates from the cage. A vibration at the base of your shaft, right behind the ring. It’s not intense, but it’s constant. A reminder. A promise.

Your cock jumps inside its prison. The ache intensifies, sweet and maddening.

“Good,” Lily whispers. “Now, little sword, feel that? That’s April. That’s your mistress. She’s controlling your pleasure. She’s deciding how much you get. And she wants you to paint your biscuit. But you need help. You need your steed.”

Her finger, now slick with something—lotion, spit—pushes past your tight outer ring.

You gasp into April’s pussy.

The intrusion is strange, foreign, a burning stretch. But beneath the burn, something else… a deep, internal pressure.

“That’s it,” Lily coos, working her finger slowly deeper. “Your steed is opening up. Welcoming its training. Now, let’s find that button…”

She crooks her finger, presses upward, inward.

A shockwave of sensation bolts through you. It’s not pain. It’s… electric. A deep, prostate thrill that radiates straight to the root of your cock. You cry out, your hips jerking involuntarily.

Inside the cage, your penis swells as much as it can, straining against the steel. Pre-cum flows freely now, slicking the pod.

“There it is,” Lily says, her voice triumphant. “The knight’s seat of pleasure. His steed’s secret. Feel that, little sword? That’s your partner talking. That’s your steed, saying hello.”

She begins to move her finger, a slow, rhythmic massage on that incredible, vulnerable spot.

Each press sends jolts of pleasure through your pelvis. The cage vibrates steadily, a counterpoint to the internal stimulation.

You’re panting, your forehead resting against April’s thigh. Your tongue has gone still, but she doesn’t seem to care. She’s watching, mesmerized, her hand still on her phone, her other hand in your hair.

“See how they work together?” Lily narrates, her voice warm with approval. “The steed is massaged. The sword is vibrated. Both are being tended. Both are being trained. For the same purpose.”

She holds the biscuit closer, just inches from the tip of the cage.

“This is your goal, little sword. This is what you and your steed are going to achieve. Together. You’re going to paint it. Not with thrusts. Not with hardness. With partnership. With obedience.”

Her finger presses harder, curls just right. A bolt of white-hot pleasure sears up your spine. Your balls draw up tight. The vibration in the cage seems to intensify—or maybe it’s just your perception, every nerve ending screaming.

“He’s close, April,” Lily says softly. “Can you see? His little sword is throbbing in its cage. His steed is clenching around my finger. They’re syncing up. They’re learning. Turn the vibration up a notch, princess. Help him along.”

You hear a soft tap on the phone.

The vibration shifts, becomes a rapid, insistent pulse. It’s maddening. It’s ecstasy.

Lily’s finger works you relentlessly, stroking that deep, secret place with practiced precision.

The dual sensations—the internal massage and the external vibration—merge into one overwhelming feedback loop of pleasure. You’re not in control. You’re a conduit. A vessel for their training.

“That’s it,” Lily whispers, her lips close to your ear now. “Let them work. Let your steed carry your sword to the finish line. Let your sword spurt its paint, even from its little house. It can do it. I know it can. It’s a good boy. A good, messy boy.”

Her words are the final trigger. The coil in your balls snaps.

With a ragged, broken shout, you come.

It’s unlike any orgasm you’ve ever had. There’s no thrusting, no pumping. Just a deep, convulsive pulsing that originates in your prostate and erupts from your imprisoned cock.

Thick, hot jets of cum shoot through the small opening at the tip of the cage, splattering in frantic, helpless stripes across the shortbread biscuit Lily holds steady.

You keep coming, spurred by Lily’s relentless finger and the cage’s vibrating pulse.

Each spasm milks you dry, painting the biscuit with glistening white streaks. It’s a pathetic, humiliating, incredibly intense release. You’re a fountain with its spout clamped, spraying under pressure.

Finally, it subsides. You collapse forward, your face buried in April’s thigh, spent, shuddering. Lily slowly withdraws her finger. The vibration in the cage fades to a stop.

Silence, except for your ragged gasps and April’s soft, excited breathing.

Lily examines the biscuit, now thoroughly glazed. “Perfect,” she announces, her voice rich with satisfaction. “A masterpiece. The sword and the steed, working in harmony. A knight’s true discipline.”

She holds the biscuit out to you. “Appreciation, sweetie. Your sword performed its duty from confinement. Your steed carried it to victory. Now you taste their success. Their collaboration.”

You’re boneless, wrecked. But the command is clear. You lift your head, your mouth salty from April’s pussy and your own sweat. You take the biscuit from Lily’s hand. It’s damp, warm, heavy with your load.

You take a bite. The familiar bitter-salty taste floods your mouth, now layered with a deeper humiliation. You didn’t just eat your own failure. You ate the product of your own asshole’s training. You chew. You swallow.

Lily takes the remainder from your limp hand. “Good boy,” she says, patting your head. “Now you understand. Your sword doesn’t need freedom to serve. Your steed isn’t just for sitting. They are tools. To be trained. To be used. For her pleasure.”

She nods toward April, who is flushed, her eyes dark with arousal and wonder. “Clean your princess, knight. Your tongue has one more service to perform.”

Dazed, obedient, you turn back to April’s pussy. You lick her clean, gently, through her aftershocks. She moans softly, her hands stroking your hair.

When you’re done, Lily guides you to lie down between them. She pulls the blankets over you. April curls into one side of you, her head on your shoulder. Lily curls into the other, her hand resting possessively on the cage over your soft, spent cock.

“Sleep,” Lily whispers, her breath warm on your neck. “You’ve trained well tonight. Your sword knows its place. Your steed knows its function. You are April’s knight. Her faithful, caged, well-ridden knight.”

You drift off, surrounded by their warmth, their smell, their possession. The cage is a cool, permanent truth against your skin.

You came here dreaming of a threesome.

You leave having learned that your body is not your own. It is a collection of parts—tongue, sword, steed—to be disciplined, used, and combined in the service of your princess.

The game is no longer about serving April.

It’s about becoming the instrument she—and Lily—are building.

And you’ve never felt more complete.

This is the seventh in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one well-trained steed at a time.

Next: What happens when the knight’s training is put to the ultimate test.

Acts of Chivalry: Part IV — The Frosted Biscuit

For a week, you hear nothing.

No texts. No library study rooms. No chance encounters in the common area.

April and Lily have vanished from your orbit as completely as if they’d graduated early. You check your phone until the screen feels warm. You walk past the gym at nine on Tuesday, but the pool deck is dark. You linger near the sociology section, but the glass-walled cube stays empty.

The silence is a vacuum, and in that vacuum, your mind spins.

You’ve done everything. You waxed. You confessed. You wrote lines. You endured the ice bath and the photo. You’ve been stripped, shriveled, and documented. You’ve been a good knight. A chivalrous knight.

So where is your date?

The question becomes an itch under your skin, a low-grade fever. You jerk off three times on Wednesday, each time imagining April’s shy smile, Lily’s knowing eyes, the feel of smooth skin—yours, hers—and the humiliating thrill of surrender. You come hard, every time, but it doesn’t scratch the itch. It deepens it.

By Friday, you’re desperate. You send a single, carefully casual text to April: Hey, hope you’re doing well. Wondering if you wanted to grab that coffee sometime?

You wait. An hour. Two. Six.

No reply.

The rejection is a cold stone in your gut. But beneath it, something else stirs—a hot, shameful anger. You’ve jumped through their hoops. You’ve been their pet. And now you’re being ignored.

It’s Saturday night when you finally track them down. You hear laughter from a booth in the back of the campus cafe—a light, musical sound you’d know anywhere.

You approach, your heart hammering. They’re there. April and Lily, heads together over two lattes, a textbook open between them.

They look up as you stop at their table. April’s smile falters, then returns, polite and distant. Lily’s expression doesn’t change. It’s warm. Patient. As if she’s been expecting you.

“Hey,” you say, your voice too tight.

“Sweetie,” Lily says, nodding. “Long time no see.”

“I texted,” you say, the words coming out before you can stop them.

“Did you?” Lily says, glancing at April. “We’ve been so busy. Midterms, you know.” She takes a sip of her latte. “What’s up?”

You stand there, feeling large and clumsy. “I just… I wanted to know about the next challenge. Or the date. You said…”

“We said a lot of things,” Lily says, her tone gentle. “But chivalry isn’t a checklist, sweetie. It’s a state of being. And honestly?” She sets her cup down. “You seem… eager. Restless. Like you’re chasing the finish line instead of enjoying the journey.”

“I’m not,” you say, but it sounds weak.

“Aren’t you?” Lily tilts her head. “An eager man is a wandering man. His eyes are always on the next thing. The next conquest. It’s a symptom. A condition.” She leans forward slightly. “You’ve proven you can suffer. You’ve proven you can obey. But have you proven you can be faithful? That you can control the one part of you that’s always looking for the next warm hole?”

Your face burns. Your cock, always listening, gives a soft twitch at her bluntness.

“I can be faithful,” you say, the words gritty.

Lily studies you for a long moment. Then she smiles. “Okay. Shall we test that and see?” She pulls out her phone, taps a note. “Meet us at the Engineering Annex. Lab 3B. Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. After hours.” She looks up. “If you are there we will put your words to the test. If you aren't, well, you aren't.”

---

The Engineering Annex smells of ozone and machine oil. Lab 3B is a long room lined with workbenches, oscilloscopes, and tangled coils of wire. The lights are low, except for a pool of bright halogen over a central table.

Lily and April are already there. So is a third girl.

She’s tall, with sharp features and dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail. She’s wearing a lab coat over jeans and a t-shirt, and she’s adjusting a device on the table with the focused intensity of a bomb technician.

“This is Reyna,” Lily says by way of introduction. “Fourth-year mechanical and electrical. She’s helping us with tonight’s… assessment.”

Reyna glances up, gives you a brief, appraising nod, then returns to her work. “Calibrating now. Give me sixty seconds.”

You look at the device.

It’s a sleek, white wand vibrator—the kind you’ve seen in porn, with a large, rounded head. It’s mounted upright on a small stand. A thin, elastic band is looped around its base, connected to a small circuit box with a single LED. A foot away, on the same table, sits a plain white plate. On the plate is a single shortbread biscuit.

Your stomach clenches.

“The test is simple,” Lily says, stepping closer. Her voice is calm, instructional.

“A man’s penis has a brain of its own. A primitive, greedy little brain. It sees, it wants, it takes. And most of the time, it wins. It controls the man.”

She gestures to the wand. “April needs a man who controls his penis. Not the other way around. So we’re going to see who’s in charge. You… or it.”

She picks up the elastic band. “This goes around the base of your shaft. It’s a sensor. When you’re soft, it’s loose. The circuit is open. The wand is off.”

She holds the band up to the light. “But when your penis swells? When it gets hard, eager, interested? The band stretches. It closes the circuit. The wand turns on.” She points to the rounded head. “The vibration starts here. Right on the tip of your penis.”

You swallow. Your mouth is dry.

“Once it starts,” Lily continues, her tone almost sympathetic, “it’s a feedback loop. The vibration feels good. Your penis gets more aroused. The band gets tighter. The vibration intensifies. Your penis chases that feeling like a dog chasing a rabbit around a track. It wants more. It wants the finish.”

She nods toward the biscuit. “The finish is that. You ejaculate. You frost the biscuit. If you do that, you lose. Your penis controlled you.”

April is standing a few feet back, her arms wrapped around herself. She’s blushing, but she’s watching, her eyes wide.

“All you have to do is stay limp,” Lily says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Keep your little guy calm. Disinterested. Master of his domain.” She smiles then, a slow, warm curve of her lips. “But here’s the thing. While you’re talking to your penis, trying to convince it to behave… I’ll be talking to it, too. Encouraging it. Tempting it. Because if a girl who isn’t even in charge of your penis can make it jump with just her words… how can April ever trust you? How can she know the first hussy who whispers in your ear won’t take control and make you break your faith?”

She steps closer, until you can smell her shampoo—something clean and floral. “So. You’ll stand here. You’ll place your soft, little penis on the head of the wand. Reyna will secure the band. And then we’ll begin. You talk to your penis. I’ll talk to your penis. We’ll see who it listens to.”

Reyna straightens up. “Calibration complete. It’s sensitive. A five percent increase in shaft diameter will trigger activation. Progressive intensity with increased diameter.” She looks at you. “Drop your pants and underwear to your knees. Stand here.”

Your hands are trembling. You undo your jeans, push them down, along with your boxers. The cool air of the lab hits your bare skin. You’re still smooth from the wax, every inch of you exposed. Your cock is soft, a small, vulnerable curl against your hairless pelvis.

“Step up,” Reyna says, impersonal as a nurse.

You move into position. The head of the wand is cool against the tip of your penis. Reyna loops the elastic band around the base of your shaft, snug but not tight. She checks the connection, then steps back.

“Circuit is live,” she says, turning to Lily. “He’s all yours.”

Lily moves to stand beside you, close enough that her arm brushes yours. She looks down at your penis, resting innocently on the white plastic.

“Okay, sweetie,” she murmurs, her voice a warm, intimate breath. “Start talking. Tell your little guy to be good. To stay soft. To ignore me.”

You close your eyes. Stay soft. Stay small. Don’t listen to her. It’s just a test. Stay soft.

“He’s not listening,” Lily whispers, her tone conversational. “Look at him. Just lying there. So passive. So… available. He’s waiting. He’s heard the game. He knows what’s coming.” She pauses. “He’s already a little warmer, isn’t he? A little fuller. I can see it. The blood is starting to pay attention.”

You snap your eyes open. She’s right. Your cock is stirring. A slow, inevitable swell. The band feels snugger.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “Let him show us what he really is. A show-off. A performer. He loves an audience. He wants April to see how hard he can get. How much he can spurt. He wants to prove to her—to me—that he’s a good little fountain. That he can decorate that biscuit all by himself, just because I asked him to. Don’t you, little guy? You want to put on a show. You want everyone to watch you lose control.”

No. Stop. Think of cold things. The ice bath. Math. Anything.

“Too late,” Lily singsongs softly. “He’s waking up. He’s curious. He likes my voice. He likes that I’m talking just to him. That I’m not talking to you at all. I’m talking to him. The real you. The greedy little animal in your pants.”

A low hum fills the quiet room.

The wand is on.

The vibration is a gentle buzz against the sensitive head of your cock. It’s not unpleasant. It’s… interesting. Your penis twitches, seeking more contact.

The band tightens a fraction.

The vibration intensifies. A steady, insistent thrum.

“There he goes,” Lily coos. “He likes that. He wants to feel it more. Go ahead, little guy. Press into it. Get what you need.”

You grit your teeth. Don’t. Don’t move.

But your body isn’t listening. Your hips give a tiny, involuntary thrust, grinding the tip of your cock more firmly against the vibrating surface. Pleasure sparks up your spine.

The band tightens again.

The vibration kicks up another notch. It’s a deep, rumbling massage now, concentrated on the most sensitive part of you. Pre-cum beads at your slit, slicking the plastic.

“Look at him leak,” Lily says, her voice full of warm admiration. “He’s so excited. He’s so ready to perform. He wants to show everyone what a good boy he is. How he can make a mess. How he can frost that biscuit.”

Her words are a direct line to your groin. Your cock is fully hard now, straining against the elastic band, which is stretched taut.

The vibration is intense, overwhelming, a continuous electric pleasure that’s short-circuiting your thoughts. Your balls are drawing up tight. Your thighs are trembling.

“He’s close, isn’t he?” Lily whispers, leaning in. Her breath is hot on your ear. “He’s throbbing. I can see it. He’s going to lose. He’s going to shoot all over that cookie because I told him to. Because I own him. Not you. Me.”

It’s the truth. Humiliating, undeniable truth. Your penis is hers. It’s responding to her voice, her permission, her command. You’re just the vessel. The audience.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” she continues, her lips almost touching your ear. “That deep, needy pulse in your balls. That’s him begging. He’s saying, ‘Please, let me frost it. Let me cover it. Let me prove I’m your good, messy boy.’ And you know what? I think he deserves it. I think he’s earned his little treat. So go ahead. Let him hump that vibration. Let him chase his biscuit. Let him show me how perfectly he obeys when I’m the one giving the orders.”

The orgasm builds, a tidal wave of shame and ecstasy. You can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Your hips are moving now in short, frantic jerks, no longer under your command. Each tiny thrust grinds the swollen head of your cock against the buzzing plastic, seeking more pressure, more friction. The wand rocks on its stand with your desperate rhythm.

“There he is,” Lily coos, her voice rich with approval. “Look at him go. Look at those little humps. So eager. So needy. He’s not even thinking about the biscuit anymore, is he? He’s just chasing the buzz. Chasing the feeling I turned on for him. That’s it, sweetie. Give in. Let him have his fun.”

A low, helpless groan escapes your lips. Your entire world has narrowed to the electric pleasure vibrating up your shaft and the warm, commanding voice in your ear.

You’re humping the wand in earnest now, shallow, frantic pumps that slap your bare pelvis against the base of the stand. Pre-cum streams from you, slicking the path.

“See how he looks for it?” Lily whispers, her breath hot on your neck. “His little tip is searching, rubbing, begging for that finish line. He sees the biscuit, doesn’t he? He knows his job. He wants to paint it. He wants to make it pretty for me. Go on. A little faster. Chase it. Frost it.”

Your vision blurs. The tension in your balls is a white-hot coil, winding tighter with every slurred thrust. You’re a machine she switched on, a piston firing mindlessly toward its only purpose.

“That’s it,” Lily murmurs, her voice a velvet command. “Let him finish his assignment. Let him show you who he really listens to.”

With a choked gasp, you erupt.

Thick, hot pulses of cum stripe through the air, splattering across the white plate, coating the shortbread biscuit in glistening white streaks. The wand vibrates through your contractions, milking you dry. You sag against the table, spent, shuddering, your mind blank.

The vibration stops. The band goes slack.

Silence, except for your ragged breathing.

Lily steps forward, examines the plate. “Perfect,” she says, her voice satisfied. “Thorough coverage. A textbook frosting.” She looks at April. “See, princess? His penis listens to me. Not to him.”

April nods, her eyes huge. She looks… excited. Flushed. But not surprised.

Reyna begins disconnecting the device, her job done.

Lily picks up the plate. She holds it out to you. The biscuit sits in the center, glazed with your own semen.

“Appreciation, sweetie,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “Your little guy performed wonderfully. He listened, he swelled, he chased, he finished exactly as asked. He did his job perfectly. Now you show your gratitude. You consume his offering. You taste his success. It’s not his fault you lack the discipline to lead him. So go on. Gobble it all up. Every last drop of his… faithfulness.”

You stare at the plate. Nausea rises in your throat, but beneath it, a darker, deeper current of arousal stirs. Your cock, still semi-hard, gives a feeble twitch.

You take the plate. The biscuit is damp, warm from your cum. You pick it up. It smells of salt and sex.

You look at Lily. Her eyes are soft, expectant.

You take a bite.

The taste is bitter, salty, profoundly intimate. You chew. You swallow. The humiliation is absolute. You have eaten your own failure, on command, in front of the girl you want and the girl who owns you.

Lily watches you finish, then takes the empty plate from your trembling hand. “Good boy,” she says, her voice warm. “Now you understand. The battle isn’t out there. It’s in here.” She taps your bare pelvis, just above your spent cock. “And you’re losing. Every time.”

She turns to April, loops an arm through hers. “Let’s go, princess. He needs to clean up.”

They walk toward the door. Lily pauses, looks back. “We’ll be in touch, sweetie. Don’t jerk off until we say so. It’s part of the training.”

Then they’re gone.

You stand in the empty lab, the taste of your own cum still on your tongue, the ghost of vibration still tingling in your cock. You pull up your pants with clumsy hands.

You came here to prove your faithfulness. To earn your date.

Instead, you proved you’re a slave to your own anatomy. That Lily, with just her words, can make you erupt on command. That you’ll eat your own shame if she tells you to.

You’ve never been more humiliated.

You’ve never been more aroused.

The game is no longer about winning April.

It’s about surviving Lily.

This is the fourth in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one frosted biscuit at a time.

Next: What happens when the knight is tasked with guarding the princess’s purity from himself—and is given the tools to ensure he physically cannot fail.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II | Acts of Chivalry Part III

even just feeling a brush of my boyfriend’s hard penis against my body activates my female reproductive system for mating. i can feel my clitoris begin to stiffen and grow sensitive, my vagina begins to drip and relax to invite his cock inside, and i’m overwhelmed by the urge to lay back and spread my legs so he can’t resist penetrating my pink, wet, clenching pussy.

once he’s truly claiming my pussy, on top of me holding my body bent in half so he can slam his penis in and out of my babyhole at will, it feels so right to surrender all control of the situation and accept that being female means he can do whatever he wants to my body, and that my body now exists to lay there helpless and pleasure his cock. even if i tried to push him out, the contractions of my vagina would only further stimulate his penis and cause him to orgasm inside of me quicker.

when i feel his breathing get heavier and his penis start to harden and lengthen, preparing to inseminate me, i feel ecstatic. my pussy naturally clamps down around his cock, causing overwhelming pleasure for both of us as he loses control and thrusts fast and hard and so deep inside that it hurts. i can always feel him harden the last bit and shove himself as deep as he can inside me to cum, following the most basic male sexual urge to impregnate a female.

nothing turns me on like his masculine grunting and moaning as he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, and finally slams so deep he hits my cervix and pumps his semen right into it. each pump of sperm into my unprotected pussy is ecstasy. i feel whole, i feel womanly, i feel bred. he stays there with his still-hard penis inside me, making tiny little thrusts to keep pleasuring his penis with my pussy, and to make sure his sperm doesn’t leak out too much.

This is why everyone hates condoms. It's not simply because they're tight or they feel different--it's because everyone knows that they're not having real sex while using them. Our deep desire for real sex isn't satisfied.

The same is true for other forms of birth control. Deep down, our bodies know what's going on as our instincts are frustrated. People end up feeling unsatisfied, but they're often not quite sure why.

The solution to all of this dissatisfaction, naturally, is to have lots of real sex. No condoms, no birth control, no pulling out. Sperm has to flow into her uterus. That's the kind of sex that makes everyone happy.

Acts of Chivalry: Part V — the Sword and the Scabbard

Library. Study room. 4pm.

That’s her text. That's all. No greeting. No explanation. Just a time and a place.

You’re there at 3:55, your heart hammering against your ribs. You’ve rehearsed what you’ll say.

You’ll be firm. You’ll remind her of the deal. Challenges completed, humiliation endured, lines written, ice bath survived, biscuit frosted and eaten. You’ve done everything. You’ve been a good knight. You deserve your date.

You push open the door to the glass-walled cube.

Lily and April are already there. April is sitting at the table, a textbook open, but she’s not reading. She’s looking at her hands, her cheeks pink.

Lily is standing by the whiteboard, her arms crossed, a small, thoughtful smile on her lips.

She looks up as you enter. “Sweetie,” she says, her voice warm. “Right on time.”

You step inside, let the door click shut behind you. The seal of the room feels absolute.

“I got your text,” you say, your voice too tight.

“I know,” Lily says, nodding. “I sent it.” She gestures to the empty chair. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

You sit. April glances at you, then looks back at her hands. She’s nervous. Excited. You can’t tell which.

Lily stays standing, leaning against the whiteboard. She studies you for a long moment, her gaze calm, appraising.

“You’ve been patient,” she says finally. “I’ll give you that. Most guys would have given up by now. Or gotten angry.”

“I’m not most guys,” you say, the line sounding rehearsed even to you.

Lily smiles. “No,” she agrees. “You’re not. You’re… persistent. And you’ve completed every challenge we’ve set. The waxing. The confession. The lines. The ice bath. The biscuit.”

She ticks them off on her fingers, her tone conversational. “That’s five acts of chivalry. Five demonstrations of your willingness to… understand. To be vulnerable. To obey.”

She pauses. “So I think it’s time.”

Your breath catches. “Time for what?”

Lily’s smile widens. “For your date with April. You’ve earned it.”

Relief floods you, hot and sudden. You did it. You actually did it. You won.

April looks up, her eyes wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Lily says, nodding. “He’s proven he really wants to be with you. He deserves a chance.” She turns her gaze back to you. “But.”

The word hangs in the air, a single, soft period.

“But what?” you ask, your stomach tightening.

“But I’ll be chaperoning,” Lily says, her voice still warm, still reasonable. “April’s never been on a date before. And given your… history… I think it’s only prudent. For her comfort. For her safety.”

Your mind recoils. A chaperone? Lily? Sitting there, watching, while you try to work your magic on April? It’s impossible.

You can’t seduce a virgin with her best friend—her maid in waiting—sitting three feet away, smiling that knowing smile.

“That wasn’t the deal,” you say, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You said if I completed the challenges, I’d get a date with April. A date. Not a supervised playdate.”

Lily’s expression doesn’t change. “The deal was a date. I’m not changing the deal. I’m just… attending. As her friend. To make sure she’s comfortable.”

“She’ll be comfortable with me,” you say, leaning forward. “I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve been chivalrous. I’ve been… whatever you wanted me to be. I deserve a real date. Alone. Fair’s fair.”

April is watching you, her lips parted. She looks torn—between wanting the fairy tale and wanting Lily’s protection.

Lily considers you for a long moment. Then she sighs, a soft, almost regretful sound.

“You’re right,” she says, her voice gentle. “Fair is fair. You’ve earned the date. And I… I’ve been overprotective. April’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”

She uncrosses her arms, steps away from the whiteboard. “Okay. You win. I won't chaperone. You and April. A real date. Her choice of activity.”

The victory is so sudden, so complete, that it leaves you dizzy. You did it. You stood up to her. You won.

Your mind is already racing—where to take April, what to say, how to get her alone afterward.

The old script kicks in, the player’s calculus: quiet restaurant, soft lighting, a little wine, a lot of compliments, a walk somewhere private, a first kiss that feels like a promise.

You can already feel April’s mouth under yours, her body soft and yielding against you, the final conquest at hand.

You’re so lost in the fantasy that you almost miss Lily reaching into her bag.

She pulls out a small velvet pouch. Red. The color of warning, of stop, of something precious and dangerous.

She sets it on the table between you with a soft thump.

“But,” she says again, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “There is the matter of your… condition.”

You stare at the pouch. “What condition?”

Lily tilts her head, her expression one of warm concern. “Your penis, sweetie. It has a mind of its own. We established that in the lab. It listens to me, not to you. It’s greedy. Impulsive. Unfaithful.”

Your face burns. “I can control it.”

“We've been over this haven't we?” Lily asks, not as a challenge, but as a genuine inquiry.

“Remember? He frosted a biscuit on command because I told him to. You humped a vibrator like a dog in heat because I encouraged it. You ate your own cum because I said it was a sign of gratitude.” She pauses. “That’s not control. That’s… surrender.”

You open your mouth to protest, but no words come out. She’s right. She’s always right.

“April deserves a knight who can protect her,” Lily continues, her voice softening further. “Not just from other men, but from himself. From his own… failure. She deserves a man whose body is as faithful as his intentions.”

She picks up the velvet pouch, loosens the drawstring. “So. You can have your date with April. Alone. I won't chaperone. But your penis needs supervision. A little house for him to sleep in while you court April.”

She upends the pouch over the table.

A device slides out, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

It’s a cage. But not like any cage you’ve seen in porn, not the tubular steel shaft that look like medieval torture devices. This is different.

Sleek. Modern. Almost beautiful in its minimalist design.

Medical-grade stainless steel, mirror-polished to a high shine. The shape is a compressed dome—a pod, really.

Curved bars form a smooth half-sphere, barely an inch and a half long. A solid ring, thick and substantial, sits beside it. Tiny LED indicators dot the ring’s surface, dark now but promising light.

It looks like something from a sci-fi movie. Or a very expensive sex toy.

“This,” Lily says, her voice reverent, “is the Babysitter. Designed by Dr. Clarissa Anderson at the Westwood Wellness Center. It’s not a punishment, sweetie. It’s a… relief.”

You stare at it. Your cock, always listening, gives a soft, interested twitch.

“Relief from what?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

“From the burden of control,” Lily says, picking up the ring. “From the constant, exhausting effort of trying to manage something that doesn’t want to be managed. Your penis wants to misbehave. It wants to chase. It wants to hump and spurt and make messes. And you… you’re tired of fighting it. Aren’t you?”

The question lands in the center of your chest. You are tired. Tired of the constant arousal, the shame, the humiliating cycle of resistance and surrender. Tired of knowing that Lily can make you come with just her words. Tired of feeling like a passenger in your own body.

“This,” Lily says, holding up the pod, “takes that burden off your shoulders. It contains him. It keeps him safe. And it keeps April safe from him.” She smiles. “It’s the perfect babysitter. Silent. Unobtrusive. Always on duty.”

Your mind is screaming. No. No way. Not happening.

But your mouth says, “How does it work?”

Lily’s smile deepens. She knows she has you.

“The ring goes behind your testicles. The pod fits over your penis—when you’re soft, of course. It compresses him into the small space, keeps him snug and contained. The two pieces lock together digitally.” She points to a small, seamless seam on the ring. “The lock is keyless. Code-based. And it has sensors. It monitors… activity. Arousal levels. That sort of thing.”

She sets the pieces down, reaches into her bag again, and pulls out a sleek smartwatch. “This pairs with it. The keyholder watch. I’ll be able to see your… status. In real time. If you’re getting too excited, if your little guy is trying to misbehave, I’ll know. And I can… help.”

“Help how?” you ask, though you already know.

“The Babysitter has a vibration feature,” Lily says, her tone clinical. “Low-frequency pulses at the base of the cock, behind the ring. It’s designed to manage testicular congestion—to keep your balls from getting too full, too achy. But it can also be adjusted. For intensity. For pattern.” She meets your eyes. “Remotely. Via the app on my phone.”

The implication hangs in the air, thick and humid. She can make you aroused whenever she wants. She can make you leak. She can make you come, even while caged. Hands-free. Helpless.

Your cock is fully hard now, straining against your jeans. The thought of it—of being locked, of being monitored, of being stimulated by her command—is the most humiliating, the most arousing thing you’ve ever imagined.

“I’m not wearing that,” you say, but the words lack conviction.

Lily’s expression softens with pity. “Sweetie,” she murmurs. “You just argued with me for ten minutes about how badly you want this date. How much April means to you. How chivalrous you’ve been. How fair it is.”

She leans forward, her eyes holding yours. “Are you telling me now that you’re not willing to do this one last thing to protect her? To prove that your intentions are pure? That you’re not just another guy trying to get into her pants?”

The trap is perfect. You walked right into it. You made a passionate case for your own devotion. Now, to refuse the cage is to admit that your devotion is conditional. That you wanted the date for access, not for April.

You look at April. She’s watching the cage, her eyes wide with fascination and something else—something like hope. She wants this.

She wants you to be the knight who has the sword, even if the sword is in a scabbard. A chastity device. She wants to believe you’re that noble.

If you say no now, you lose your chance to fuck her. If you say yes, your cock will be restrained from trying to fuck her. It's a double bind. You know it. Lily knows it.

Your shoulders slump. “Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll wear it.”

Lily’s smile is radiant. “Good boy,” she says, the endearment flowing from her like honey. “I knew you’d see reason.”

She sets the velvet pouch aside and gestures for you to stand. “Come here. Let’s get you ready.”

You push back your chair and step around the table, your legs unsteady. Lily positions you facing April, who is still seated, her textbook forgotten. You’re standing close enough that your thighs brush the table’s edge.

“Pants and underwear down, sweetie,” Lily says, her voice calm. “To your knees.”

Your hands fumble with your button, your zipper. You push your jeans and boxers down in one awkward motion.

And there it is—your cock, already fully erect, flushed and curving up toward your stomach. A pre-cum glistening at the tip.

Lily steps behind you, her presence a warm pressure at your back. She looks over your shoulder, her cheek almost touching yours, and lets out a soft, knowing chuckle.

“Hello, little guy,” she murmurs, her breath warm on your ear. “Someone’s excited to see us.”

You close your eyes. Shame burns through you, but your cock doesn’t care. It throbs, eager.

“He’s too hard for the dome,” Lily says, her tone conversational. “The Babysitter needs him soft and sleepy. He won’t fit in his new house otherwise.” She pauses. “But he doesn’t want to be soft, does he? He wants to perform. He wants his treat.”

You don’t understand. “Treat?”

From her purse, Lily produces a single shortbread biscuit. She holds it in her open palm, just to the side of your hip.

“His trick, sweetie. Frosting the biscuit. He remembers. He’s been thinking about it ever since the lab. He wants to show off for April again. He wants to prove he’s still a good little fountain.”

Your stomach clenches. “I can’t… not like this.”

“You can,” Lily says, her voice softening with pity. “You just need to help him. He’s all worked up. He needs to finish so he can relax. So we can put him to bed.” She nods toward your erect cock. “Go ahead. Stroke him. Help him do his trick.”

You freeze. Your hand hangs at your side. You can’t move.

Lily sighs, a gentle, patient sound. “Would it be easier if I talked to him? Since I’m the boss of him.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Her voice drops to that intimate, coaxing purr you remember from the lab, aimed directly at your groin.

“Hey there, little performer. You see the biscuit? You know what to do, don’t you? You want to paint it. You want to make it all shiny and white for us. You want April to see how pretty you can make it.”

Her words are a physical touch. Your cock jumps in response, a thick droplet of pre-cum welling and falling onto your thigh.

“He’s listening,” Lily coos. “He likes that. He likes being the center of attention. Go on, sweetie. Help him out. Give him a little encouragement.”

Your hand moves as if pulled by strings. You wrap your fingers around your shaft. The skin is smooth, fever-hot. You stroke once, slowly. Pleasure sparks, sharp and shameful.

“That’s it,” Lily murmurs, her lips close to your ear. “He likes your hand. But he likes my voice more, doesn’t he? He’s getting harder. Fuller. Look at him, April. See how he swells when I talk to him? See how he leaks? He’s so eager to please.”

April is motionless in her chair, her eyes wide, locked on the movement of your hand. Her face is flushed, her lips slightly parted. She’s never seen this before. She’s mesmerized.

You stroke faster, your grip tightening. The sound is obscene in the quiet room. Your hips begin to rock in tiny, involuntary thrusts.

“He’s close,” Lily narrates, her tone warm with approval. “His balls are tightening up. He’s getting that needy little pulse. He knows his job. He wants to decorate. Go on, little guy. Show us what you’ve got. Frost that biscuit.”

With a choked gasp, you erupt. Thick, hot pulses of cum shoot through the air, splattering across Lily’s outstretched palm, coating the shortbread biscuit in glistening white streaks.

You keep stroking through the contractions, milking yourself dry, until you’re spent, shuddering, your mind blank.

You slump slightly, catching yourself on the table edge. Your cock, already softening, twitches in your hand, dripping the last few drops onto the floor.

Silence, except for your ragged breathing.

Lily examines her palm, the biscuit now glazed and dripping. “Perfect,” she says, her voice satisfied. “Excellent coverage. He really gave it his all.”

She holds her hand out to you. “Appreciation, sweetie. He performed beautifully. Now you show your gratitude.”

You stare at the mess in her palm. Nausea rises, but beneath it, that familiar dark current stirs. Your spent cock gives a feeble throb.

You lean forward and take the biscuit from her hand with your mouth. It’s damp, warm, salty. You chew. You swallow. The humiliation is absolute.

Lily wipes her hand on a your shirt, her expression serene. “Good boy,” she says, her voice warm. “Now he’s soft. Now he’s ready for his nap.”

She turns to April. “Ready, princess.”

April’s eyes widen. “Ready?”

“To help his little guy get cozy and snug in his new home,” Lily says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “He’s your knight. You should be the one to… show him.”

April blushes furiously, but she nods, her expression a mix of terror and excitement. She’s never touched a penis before. And now she’s going to handle yours, fit it into a steel pod, lock it away.

Lily hands her the ring. “This goes behind his testicles. Gently. Make sure both balls are through.”

April’s hands are trembling as she takes the ring. She kneels in front of you, her face level with your groin. Your cock is soft now, spent, lying limp against your thigh. It looks small. Vulnerable.

“Go ahead,” Lily encourages, her voice gentle. “Take him in your hand. Guide him through.”

April reaches out, her fingers brushing your shaft. The touch is feather-light, hesitant. You suck in a breath. Her skin is cool, soft. She wraps her hand around you, her grip tentative. She’s actually touching you. Holding you.

Her blush deepens, but she doesn’t let go. She lifts your penis, guides the ring behind your balls. The steel is cool against your skin. She pushes gently, until both testicles are through, the ring snug at the base of your shaft.

“Good,” Lily says, nodding. “Now the pod.”

April picks up the pod. It’s small. Shockingly small. She holds it over the tip of your penis, then slowly, carefully, covers it. Your soft cock fills the space, compressed into the curved bars, the head pressing against the rounded end. It’s a tight fit. Snug. Constricting.

April aligns the pod with the ring, presses them together. There’s a soft click, then a faint digital beep. The LED indicators on the ring glow to life—a soft blue pulse.

“It’s locked,” Lily says, her voice pleased. “The Babysitter is on duty.”

You look down at yourself. The steel gleams against your hairless skin. The pod is a smooth, seamless dome, containing your penis completely. You can feel the weight of it, the coolness, the unyielding pressure. You’re locked. Caged. Monitored.

April is still kneeling, staring at the device, her hand hovering near it. She looks… awed. And aroused. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted.

“How does it feel?” Lily asks you, her tone conversational.

“Strange,” you whisper.

“It’ll feel normal soon,” Lily says, nodding. “Like a part of you. Your little guy is going to be so comfortable in his new home.”

She taps the watch on her wrist. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Making sure your little guy behaves. If he gets too restless, I can… soothe him.”

The threat—or promise—is clear.

She has you pull up your jeans, fasten them over the cage. The bulge is minimal, almost invisible. No one would know. But you know. You feel it with every step, every shift of fabric.

Lily gathers her things, loops her arm through April’s. “Your date is Saturday,” she says, her voice warm.

“April will text you the details. Dress nice. Be chivalrous. And remember…” She taps her watch again. “The chaperone is always watching.”

They leave you there, in the study room, the taste of your own cum still on your tongue, the weight of the cage a constant reminder between your legs.

You came here today thinking you’d won. Thinking you’d argued your way to a victory.

Instead, you’ve been fitted with a digital monitor that reports your arousal to the girl who owns you. You’ve been locked away by the girl you want to fuck. You’ve jerked off on command and eaten your own failure, again.

And you’re harder than you’ve ever been in your life. The cage doesn’t stop arousal. It just contains it. Compresses it. Makes it a silent, humming ache.

You stand up, adjust your jeans. The cage shifts, a cool, foreign presence against your flesh.

You’ve never been more humiliated.

You’ve never been more aroused.

The game is no longer about winning April.

It’s about surviving the Babysitter.

This is the fifth in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one digital lock at a time.

Next: What happens when the caged knight takes the princess on her first date — and the chaperone in his pants reports every flutter of interest directly to the girl who holds the key.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II | Acts of Chivalry Part III | Acts of Chivalry Part IV