Good Reads

I protested a bit and he slapped me across the face. "You are a faggot," he said. "Accept it. The hierarchy is real. Whenever you’re wondering if it’s true or not, just grab your crotch and feel your caged boy cock. That should remind you that you’re a faggot and that you should to behave accordingly. Stop trying to be in charge. I don't want you to think you're wearing a cage like a good little faggot. I want you to think, I'm wearing MY cage because I AM a good little faggot. If you can make the leap, all will be well. Otherwise, I'll release you and you can go play house with someone else. I’ll give you a couple of days to think about it."

I thought a minute and said, "I'm sorry. You're right. When it's just us, it's easy. When we are out with other people, I revert to old behavior. I will work to fix it. As I'm working to fix it, please don't take any slip up as anything other than me calling out to you for a behavior modification protocol. I'm a faggot. You are my Sir/Master. I will put in the work Sir. Thank you for having this conversation with me. I know I don't deserve you. Is there anything I can do to show you how dedicated I am to being a good boy for you?"

"Now that is exactly the sort of response I expect from my fag. Perhaps there is hope for you faggot. You can show me how serious you are by wearing your brown suit today. You know the one I like. I think that will be a great outfit for the pool party we're invited too. You can tell everyone you had to go into the office for meeting, but no matter how many times they tell you they have an extra swim suit, you will keep your suit on, the top button on your shirt fastened, and your tie snug. Do you understand, boy?" I replied, "I understand. I'm looking forward to showing you what a dedicated faggot I am."

The heat hitting the asphalt as we pulled up to Brad and Marcus’s house was intense, making the heavy wool of my brown suit feel instantly restrictive. I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror—exactly as I looked in image.png, crisp, completely covered, and entirely out of place for a July afternoon by the pool.

"Remember the cover story," he murmured, adjusting his sunglasses as he cut the engine. "And remember what’s under those trousers."

I subtly shifted in the passenger seat, the rigid plastic of the chastity cage pressing uncomfortably against my thigh. It was a sharp, grounding reminder of our conversation that morning. "Yes, Sir," I said quietly.

When we walked through the back gate into the pool area, the contrast was immediate. A dozen guys were splashing in the water or lounging on deck chairs in nothing but swim briefs and board shorts. Heads turned almost instantly.

"Hey! You made it!" Brad called out, stepping out of the pool and wiping water from his eyes. He froze, looking me up and down. "Dude... what are you wearing? It’s ninety degrees."

"Had a last-minute emergency meeting at the office," I replied, forcing a polite, professional smile while my collar choked my neck. "I had to drop by directly from the city."

"Well, go change! Marcus has a drawer full of extra trunks in the cabana," Brad insisted, already gesturing toward the back of the yard.

Before I could answer, I felt a heavy hand settle firmly on the back of my neck. The grip was warm, authoritative, and completely public, though to anyone else, it just looked like an affectionate gesture.

"Oh, I already tried convincing him," Sir said smoothly to Brad, his thumb rubbing the base of my skull just hard enough to make me track his movement. "But he’s being stubborn today. Stubbornly professional."

"Seriously?" Marcus chimed in from a lounge chair, laughing. "You're going to sit out here in a full three-piece suit? Come on, take the jacket off at least. Undo the tie."

I looked over at Sir, maintaining the submissive silence we had agreed upon. He gave me a slight, expectant nod, letting me handle the test.

"No, thank you, Marcus," I said, my voice steady despite the sweat starting to bead along my hairline. "I really shouldn't. I need to keep the look intact in case I have to jump back on a video call later. I'll just find a spot in the shade."

"Suit yourself, man," Brad chuckled, shaking his head and diving back into the water. "But you're crazy."

Sir guided me toward a pair of chairs under a large canvas umbrella, away from the direct sun but in full view of the entire party. As I sat down, the fabric of the trousers tightened, making the presence of the cage impossible to ignore.

Sir leaned down close to my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "Good boy," he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Look at them. Look how free they are, and look at you—completely locked up, sweating in my favorite suit, playing the part perfectly. Are you remembering who you are?"

Yes I do Sir. Feels even better than you said it would. I’m a caged fag. Best feeling ever. Thank you, Sir.

You’re welcome boy. Just remember, don’t ever ask. I’ll let you know when it comes off.

Yes Sir. Of course Sir.

I learned many valuable lessons from my housemaster in the years after I left school. Firstly, it was necessary for me to live as a schoolboy. Secondly, that people generally found a boyish young man dressed like a prep schooler cute or funny or both, so I needn't worry what anyone thought. And thirdly, that I needed one or more real adults in my life to provide guidance and discipline.

But the single most important thing he taught me was that I needed the cane to feature prominently in my schoolboy life. And there was something particularly instructive about being caned in authentic school shorts by an authentic schoolmaster with an authentic rattan punishment cane.

He would lecture me before we went to dinner that I needed to replace my loafers because they were looking a bit run down or drop not so subtle hints that I should purchase the same trousers and shirts as he wore. Shockingly, this isn’t exaggerated and he often pushed for me to be more dressed up when we were together.

This new, aggressively preppy wardrobe was entirely the doing of his boyfriend, Sam, who was currently watching him from the shade of the patio. Last week, Colin had completely misbehaved at an important dinner party with Sam’s closest friends, drinking a bit too much, cracking inappropriate jokes, and accidentally knocking over a glass of red wine onto the host’s expensive rug.

Sam had been thoroughly unimpressed with the bratty behavior and decided it was time for a playful but firm lesson.

“Make sure you don’t burn those, Colin,” Sam scolded lightly, sipping an iced coffee while looking incredibly smug. “A good, obedient boyfriend knows exactly how to flip a burger without making a mess, especially after last week’s disaster.”

Colin flushed, looking down at his bright trousers. “I said I was sorry about the rug, Sam,” he mumbled, though a faint, excited smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Apologies are proven through actions, sweetheart,” Sam replied, his tone dripping with affection and teasing authority. “Which is why you’re spending your summer looking like a proper country-club gentleman and handling every single chore on my list.”

The playful power dynamic had been going on for four days now, and secretly, Colin was absolutely thrilled by how attentive and dominant Sam was being. Every morning, Sam would lay out a new outfit—yesterday it was pastel pink khakis and a white polo—and assign Colin his daily tasks.

“After you finish grilling lunch, you still need to vacuum the living room and fold the laundry,” Sam reminded him, walking over to stand directly behind Colin.

Sam wrapped his arms around Colin’s waist, leaning in close to press a warm, lingering kiss against his neck, making Colin shiver. “You look incredibly hot in these bright colors, by the way,” Sam whispered, his voice dropping an octave as his hands gripped Colin’s hips. “Much better than those baggy clothes you usually hide in.”

Colin leaned back into Sam’s chest, completely melting under the affection. “If I do a perfect job with the chores today, do I get a reward tonight?” Colin asked boldly, glancing back with a mischievous smirk.

When David arrived home, Teddy was sitting quietly on the sofa, looking at him with a mix of affection and profound sadness. David immediately stepped forward, trying to justify his lapse by gently reminding Teddy of how much he had already transformed his entire life. He pointed out his short, immaculately clean haircut and his perfectly smooth, freshly shaved face, both maintained precisely to Teddy’s liking. He softly pleaded that he already spent every single morning meticulously pressing and starching his button-downs, proving his devotion to this shared life. Teddy listened patiently, but he gently reached out, taking David’s hands and shaking his head with a wistful smile. *“A true gentleman doesn’t take recess from his promises just because his friends are watching, sweetheart,”* Teddy murmured softly.

Waking up two hours early, pressing his shirt and trousers, polishing his shoes, fixing his bow tie, and spending at least thirty minutes slicking his hair until it shines like glass.

Only for his coworkers to stare, whisper, and smirk.

No, he doesn’t.

He needed something that screamed groomed, clean, and good boy.

A high fade so that he has to go and sit on that chair every week combined with a sharp, slick side part that requires to be styled meticulously every morning.

His jeans and band shirts replaced with khakis and polos, even his flip flops are gone.

His hair short, so very short, and clean shaven each morning.

I love the mornings. I generally wake up from straining in my cage. Such a wonderful feeling. I do a little workout, shower and then put my suit and tie on over my caged cock.

Of course, boy. Why don’t you have a tie on? Did you have some silly thought that dress code I gave you was optional?

No Sir. Sorry Sir. I wasn’t expecting you until later.

So what’s your thought that the dress code only exists when I’m around?

No Sir. It’s just that….

Take off your clothes and go to the spanking bench. I’ll be there shortly.

Sir I…

Now boy.

We had met previously on a fetish site so it wasn’t like placing me in chastity came out of nowhere. I never thought he’d want to do it at the event, but he did and it was transformative. We went to the bathroom. I couldn’t believe he had a cage with him, but was so glad he did. After he did it, he said, “Now you are a proper faggot, boy. Don’t disappoint me.”

Easy for him to say he’s not the one wearing a cage and has to admit he’s not a man every day of his life. That he’s just a receptacle for a man’s cum. That he’s a submissive faggot.

We met at work. We both run different departments. We got together a few months ago. It was nice. I always thought he was hot. As our relationship progressed we fell into a very natural top/bottom and then D/s relationship. He caged me six weeks ago. Part of my training is dressing better. We have a very casual office.

We were at a wedding over the weekend and I mentioned how good my cage felt under my suit and tie. He said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I want you suited at work going forwarded. You're my boy. I want you looking good, not just doing what everyone else does." I told him I would look totally out of place. He said he'd send me some examples and that I should buy them within a week. "Ease yourself into in. First just slacks and a dress shirt. A week later, add the suit coat and then later the tie. I'll send you some options I want to see you in. You can rotate through them for me, like a good little faggot."

He just sent me this pic.

He wrote, "I understand this will be awkward in the beginning but your training isn't just about sex. It's about enabling you to become what you really are. It's all encompassing. 360 degrees. It's a complete breakdown of the faux façade society made you create. You're nature will take complete control. There will be some growing pains, but you will ultimately become a complete faggot. I can't tell you how happy I am to help you in this way."