The Offering
After several months, Daniel and Nick had created a rhythm: strategy meetings by day, obedience drills by night, grueling workouts at dawn, and weekends that blurred discipline with desire. But beneath the polished routine, their once‑seamless power exchange was beginning to fray.
Daniel sensed the first fault line before Nick did. It wasn’t a missed command or a broken rule, but the tiny pause that crept into Nick’s movements: the half‑second delay before lowering his eyes, the way his breath hitched as though weighing alternate responses, the speculative flicker he couldn’t quite hide. Nick was still impeccably respectful—but there was a living pulse inside him now, a private storm gathering force.
In truth, Nick had become magnetic. The junior strategist who once hovered on the edge of conversations had transformed into the person everyone wanted in the room. Clients asked for him by name; colleagues aligned their calendars to his availability; Nathan, the charismatic team lead, loitered in Nick’s doorway with questions that felt more personal than professional. None of it went unnoticed by Daniel, whose pride tangled uncomfortably with possessiveness.
Outside the office, Antonio’s punishing training regimen had carved Nick into an erotic weapon. His shoulders looked sculpted out of marble, his waist narrow enough to make his workout clothes cling indecently, and his thighs had reached a powerlifter’s density. Daniel’s wardrobe rules—mesh tank tops, obscenely short shorts, jockstraps instead of underwear—turned each workout into an erotic ballet. Every set drew hungry stares.
At first, Nick told himself the attention meant nothing; his body existed for Daniel’s pleasure, not a stranger’s. But attention is its own drug. On leg‑day Friday, when three men tracked him from squat rack to fountain, Nick felt an unfamiliar thrill: I could pick any one of you and break the rule right now. He didn’t—but the very thought curled hot in his stomach.
Inside the steam room the following week, haze hid nothing. Two muscle‑daddy types stroked themselves openly, making no effort to disguise their invitation. Nick practically vibrated with denied lust. One step, he thought, and I could fall to my knees. His hand even twitched forward—but then the rule roared through him like a siren. He stumbled out to the showers, turned the water ice‑cold, and shivered until his hard‑on retreated just enough to breathe. Shame coated him thicker than the steam.
House Rule #3—no orgasms without permission—had once thrilled Nick. The ache reminded him he was owned. But after months of enforced chastity, it became a constant, grinding itch. Sleep came in ragged, two‑hour segments punctuated by explicit dreams he couldn’t resolve.
Each near‑miss eroded his confidence. He started to fear not just punishment, but the loss of Daniel’s belief in him. And that fear, paradoxically, edged him closer to breaking.
Daniel, for his part, was facing his own turmoil. Observing Nick’s ascent should have filled him with nothing but pride—Nick was, after all, Daniel’s creation. Yet every accolade felt like a tug toward independence. Worse, Daniel could taste his own softening emotions: wanting to cook Nick breakfast, wanting to fall asleep with their fingers linked, wanting to press a kiss to his damp temple after a workout. Softness, he reminded himself, was a liability. But love, once named, is hard to exorcise.
One Friday night, after a slow, almost reverent fuck in the playroom—nothing theatrical, just the raw, grinding kind of sex that left Nick trembling and Daniel breathless—they lay tangled in bed, sweat drying between their bodies. And once again, Nick had not been given permission to finish. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Nick rested his head on Daniel’s chest, listening to the steady, dominant rhythm of his heartbeat. That sound alone calmed him. Anchored him. Made him feel owned.
But he had reached a breaking point. He was getting dangerously close to violating House Rule #3. It couldn’t continue unabated. He’d given this endless thought and was tortured over what he was about to do, but it had to be done. He had no other solution.
“Sir, can I ask you a question?” Nick whispered.
Daniel’s fingers moved gently through his hair, as if sensing the weight of what was coming. “Anything.”
Nick paused, eyes closed. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. You’ve given me everything. My career, my purpose. This”—he swallowed, gesturing faintly to the space between them, their bodies still half-entwined—“this life. Respect. Desire. Discipline. And I want it to go on. I want you to keep doing it to me.”
Daniel tensed, the smallest shift beneath Nick’s cheek. He said nothing.
“But,” Nick continued, voice cracking just enough to betray the storm inside him, “there’s something I’m afraid is going to ruin it all.”
Daniel’s stomach twisted. He assumed the worst—Nick pulling away, questioning the dynamic, wanting to reclaim some version of independence that he had relinquished to Daniel.
“Tell me,” Daniel whispered, bracing.
Nick inhaled through his nose, a deep, tremulous breath. Then the truth spilled from him, raw and breaking. “Sir, you’ve molded me into a different person, a person I love being, and I think you love owning. But it’s opened me up to other…possibilities. The attention I get, the flirtations at the gym, the envious looks I get from guys I encounter.”
Daniel naturally assumed this was the end, that Nick was telling him it was over. He braced himself for the inevitable, pausing to continue the conversation, because they only thing left for Nick to say was that it was, indeed, over. At least for the next few seconds, they were still together. But he had no choice but to ask. “Little man, are you telling me you’ve had enough? You want to move on?”
Nick practically sat straight up with shock. “Are you asking me if I want to end it? All this? Oh my god, god no! I just told you I’m happier than I’ve ever been”. Completely confused, Daniel asked, “So what is it then?” still bracing for bad news.
Nick paused, looked down with a mixture of shame and regret and finally let loose like a broken dam. “It’s House Rule #3. I can’t keep it anymore. I’m trying. God, I’m trying. But the denial—it’s tearing me apart. Not just physically, but up here—” he tapped his temple “—and in here.” He pressed a hand against his chest. “I crave you more than I’ve ever craved anything in my life. But the control it takes to stay faithful to that rule… it’s becoming too much. And I’m scared, Daniel. Scared I’ll slip. Scared I’ll ruin us.”
He continued quickly, “It’s not only the denial, it’s my commitment, my desire to honor it. I’m just not strong enough.”
Daniel pulled Nick back into his arms. But for one of the first times in his life, didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now. And yet, this wasn’t about discipline—it was about the soul of what they were building together.
This was so unexpected, and Nick was so genuinely earnest, Daniel didn’t know how to respond.
Nick continued, almost in a whisper, looking down at his feet, “But I may have a solution”. Without waiting for a response, he slid out of the bed, fearing he’d lose his nerve. With a strange mix of shame and resolve, he retrieved a small black box from his backpack and returned to Daniel’s side. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes down on his lap, too embarrassed to look up.
Haltingly, he whispered, as if rehearsed, “I thought about this…a lot. It’s not what I want. But” he paused to find the right words “…it’s what I need. To give you what you deserve. To keep me close to you. To keep me from losing this. Losing us.”
He handed the box to Daniel without another word.
Daniel opened it cautiously. Tissue paper folded with precision. He peeled it back and stared.
A gleam of silver.
A chastity cage. Sleek. Imposing. Unforgiving.
He looked at Nick. Still avoiding eye contact, Nick continued, as if talking to himself, “I’ll wear it for you,” he said quietly. “because I love you. Because I belong to you. And because I want to be reminded—every second—whose I am.”
Daniel exhaled slowly. The man in him, the sadist, the lover… all collided at once. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.
Daniel’s arms closed around Nick so tightly Nick thought Daniel was furious. Instead, beneath the crushing weight, Nick felt Daniel’s soft, heaving sobs against his chest. Daniel pressed him closer, as if bracing against some internal quake—quakes that Nick realized must be born of fear: fear that Nick’s growing independence might one day eclipse him. Nick’s unexpected offer—to surrender himself completely—had struck deeper than any blow.
Daniel pulled back, his wet eyes searching Nick’s. “Little man…are you absolutely certain? I never asked for this,” he murmured, voice trembling with something like awe.
Nick squared his shoulders against Daniel’s. “Sir, I need it. I want you. I’ll submit to anything you demand—even if it means enduring denial beyond my control.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “But why? You’re irresistible to everyone who sees you—strangers in the gym, at the office…even Nathan.”
Nick’s lips curved in a small, rueful smile. “That’s exactly why. The thought of them forces self-control I don’t possess. I can’t risk what we have.”
Daniel exhaled, relief and longing mingling in his gaze. He drew Nick even tighter. “Very well, little man. Do this, but only if you promise that every time you feel the weight between your legs, you’ll think of me—the pleasure I bring you, not the punishment I can deliver.”
Nick buried his face in Daniel’s neck. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it, Sir.”
There was no hesitation after that. They needed to make good on the promise before one of them changed their mind. Nick was already half-hard…no chastity device could fit. “I’ve been aroused since the day I met you,” he laughed breathlessly.
Daniel smiled, gentle but firm. “Then take a long, cold shower,” he instructed, “and I’ll fetch ice—you’re going to need it.”
Nick obeyed. When he emerged soft enough, Daniel’s careful hands and the cooling ice did the rest, and the slender metal cage slid into place. They stared at it—a silent acknowledgment of the discomfort and thrill it would bring. Ceremonially, Daniel clicked the lock shut.
The small key was attached to a thin neckpiece, like a locket, presumably for the Dom to wear. “I’ll keep this,” Daniel said, voice low.
Nick swallowed, chest heaving. “Yes, Sir. You own me now.”
***
Nick woke before dawn Saturday, Daniel already gone to meet Patrick for the weekend. Patrick was the unmet consultant Daniel had been working closely with on a highly confidential project. The bed smelled of Daniel but felt cavernous. The cage—cool, merciless—was the first sensation he registered. He sat on the edge, legs apart, breathing through the pressure. The unforgiving metal mocking every urge.
Breakfast was a non-starter. He tried reading, but couldn’t focus. By noon, he paced the block just to burn energy. A shirtless runner passed, and Nick nearly whimpered, the cage pulsing like a second heartbeat. He gripped a railing on the Trinity River bridge until the dizziness receded.
The afternoon brought no relief. He pressed an ice pack to his groin while scrolling through agency emails, but each ding of the inbox echoed like a distant laugh. He texted Daniel an update—Still faithful—and turned the phone face‑down, too embarrassed by how badly he needed a crumb of praise.
When Daniel’s call finally came, Nick’s voice broke. “It hurts,” he confessed.
Daniel’s tone wrapped around him like leather. “Every pang is mine, beautiful boy. Endure.”
Nick squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, Sir.”
By Monday morning the device had become an extension of his body—heavy, constant, intimate. Dressing was strategic: black jockstrap to cradle the cage, strategic pleats in navy trousers, and the loosest belt he owned. Even so, each step across the marble lobby felt amplified.
Morning stand‑up demanded superhuman focus. Nick braced his thighs together, forced his voice steady, and delivered a flawless campaign update that had the client grinning.
In the break room, Nathan brushed a hand across Nick’s shoulder, complimenting a data set. The innocent touch sent a shockwave through steel and flesh; Nick spilled coffee, laughed it off, then fled to the restroom to breathe into a paper towel until the trembling subsided.
But the pain crystallized his brilliance. He outlined an entire rebrand in two hours, harnessing the ache as fuel. Every pang is loyalty, every throbbing second is his, he repeated like a mantra.
Daniel returned late Monday night, but deliberately avoided Nick until Tuesday afternoon. Anticipation was its own torment. When the text finally appeared—Coffee. 3 p.m, our usual place.
He found Daniel seated, charcoal suit immaculate, key glinting like a secret vow. Under the table, Nick’s cage responded instantly, pressing hard against unforgiving rings.
“How does it feel?” Daniel asked.
Nick inhaled shakily. “Like you’re touching me all the time.”
A subtle smile curved Daniel’s mouth. He grazed Nick’s knuckles; pleasure slammed through Nick so hard he bit his lip.
“Dinner tonight,” Daniel said. “We celebrate your sacrifice—and plan what comes next.”
***
The restaurant was dim, lined with velvet drapes. Daniel ordered wagyu, oysters, and an aged Syrah that tasted like dark cherries and surrender.
“You know what that cage means to me?” Daniel asked, early in the evening.
Nick met his gaze, cheeks flushed. “That I belong to you.”
Daniel leaned in. “It means I owe you visibility and depth.” He ticked them off on two fingers.
“One: visibility. I’ve protected you too much at the agency. Soon you’ll be promoted to the agency’s executive leadership team. I’ll work with the HR team to figure out the timing and logistics. This recognition is long overdue.”
Nick’s heart pounded. He hadn’t dared dream that big.
“Two: depth,” Daniel continued, voice dropping. “You handed me absolute control. I intend to use it. You don’t shy away from kink. You love it. And I promise you more. I don’t know what yet, but, together, we’ll find your limit. Public scenes. Exhibition. Threesomes. Perhaps cuckolding.” He paused, letting the word linger. “You will stretch. You will break—beautifully—and I will hold you there.”
Nick’s cage pulsed so hard he gripped the table edge. “Yes, Sir.”
They toasted to sacrifice. Nick tasted salt and oak and inevitability.
Driving home, Daniel felt wired. The first step formed quick as lightning: Charlotte Prescott’s society wedding, that Daniel was planning on attending, was a couple weeks away. The guest list sparkled with Dallas royalty, but only one name mattered—Logan Shields, ex‑Cowboys quarterback, public darling, and… once, Daniel’s discreetly obedient boy.
Logan had it all: square‑jawed beauty, a championship ring, rumors about his sexuality that refused to die—and a history with Daniel that included storybook servitude as well as remarkable versatility when Daniel demanded it. More than once he and Daniel double-teamed some arrogant stud from the gym who needed to be put in his place. Daniel and Logan parted amicably when Logan's public persona eclipsed Logan’s need for privacy, but Logan still texted on birthdays, each message ending with Sir.
Nick, during a drunken confession weeks ago, admitted Logan had been his teenage fantasy. Daniel kept the information like a polished dagger.
Now he wielded it. He called the bride’s mother, secured seats at Logan’s table, and upgraded to a penthouse suite at the wedding hotel.
When he invited Nick, he framed it authentically: Nick would be his “plus one” and if anyone had an issue with that, ”They can go fuck themself", Daniel announced. Nick accepted on the spot, thrilled by the public alignment. Only later, with deliberate casualness, did Daniel add, “Logan Shields will be there.”
Daniel smiled into the darkness. “We’ll all get acquainted.”
Daniel was about to make good on both promises…public recognition for Nick's stellar performance and sexual experiences beyond Nick’s wildest dreams.
