Locked In

The morning light filtered through the curtains, warm and golden, brushing the floor with stripes of pale amber. Dust motes floated in the still air, undisturbed by the silence that filled the room.

Kieran stood in the center, skin bare, posture tense. The room felt too quiet, too full of watching eyes. His own reflection stared back from the mirror—shoulders drawn, hands clenched slightly at his sides, his chest tight with the weight of what was about to happen.

He wasn’t hard. Not even close.

Which was good—necessary, even—because the cold metal ring that had just slipped around the base of him wouldn’t have allowed for much movement anyway. But still… the humiliation was thick. Raw. Radiating from his skin like a fever.

Kieran stood in his bedroom, entirely naked. Arms slightly tense at his sides. Shoulders drawn tight. He didn’t dare look at the mirror across from him. He didn’t want to see what he looked like—not like this. Not with them in the room.

His sister knelt calmly in front of him. His mom stood near the wall, watching silently.

He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe this was real. Naked in front of his mom. His sister. A cage locking on him now. Talking about how it would make him look smoother in panties—like this was just some practical upgrade. Like this was normal.

Every part of his body screamed that this wasn’t okay. That there was no way in hell he wanted this. Not the cage. Not the shame. Not the pathetic, plastic drawer full of panties Celeste was already digging through.

But he knew how that argument would go. He could already hear the words: You should’ve been tucking. You knew better.

Every instinct in his body screamed to resist—to knock her hands away, to step back, to tell her no. That this was too far. That there was no way he was letting her lock him in a cage like some pathetic toy. But the memory slammed into him like a punch to the chest. The bed. Her body on top of his. Celeste’s voice, low and mocking, whispering filth into his ear while she rolled her hips against him.

She had planned it. The way she straddled him. The way she ground down into his lap like she was offended by how hard he was getting. She baited him, and he fell for it instantly—helpless, horny, humiliated.

And in that moment—God help him—if she hadn’t been his sister, he would’ve kissed her. He would’ve grabbed her, shoved her down into the mattress, and fucked her right there.

He didn’t even have the right to argue now. Not after that. Not when she could throw that moment back in his face with a single glance.

Because he knew exactly what would happen if he pushed.

He hadn’t been taking the pills, but they didn’t know that—yet. But he wasn’t stupid. If he made a scene now, they’d start asking questions. They’d get suspicious. And if that happened? He’d be on a schedule. Monitored. Watched even more closely than he already was.

“This one’s perfect,” Celeste murmured, aligning the final piece of the cage. Her tone was soft, but her movements were sure. Mechanical. She didn’t look at his face. Only at the device. “Custom fit. Smoothed in the front. Once it’s locked, you’ll look flat. Finally.”

The cage clicked into place like it belonged there. And then came the lock—a small chrome padlock, glinting slightly in the afternoon light.

Click.

That was it. The moment.

Kieran flinched—not visibly, but inside. The sound was louder than it should’ve been. It echoed in his chest like a door closing. No, not a door. A vault. A sealed space where something was being locked away forever.

Celeste stood up slowly, brushing off her hands like she’d just finished setting a table.

Mom—Vivienne—watched it all without a word, arms folded, lips pressed into that perfectly neutral line she wore when she was most disappointed. She hadn’t spoken once since entering the room. But Kieran didn’t need words to know what she was thinking.

He’d failed again.

Failed to follow instructions. Failed to prove he could be trusted. Failed to keep himself under control.

He stood there, skin flushed, chest tight. The device pressed coolly against him. It wasn’t heavy—but it felt like it weighed everything. It hugged him closely, made him look… flat. Not just in shape. In identity.

Celeste stepped closer and tilted her head slightly, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” she said, tone too light to be kind. “You think this is punishment. It’s not. It’s correction.”

She circled him slowly, her fingertips dragging along his arm like she was re-centering a dress form on a mannequin.

“You didn’t tuck. You got hard. You think you’re subtle, but you’re not.”

Kieran’s jaw locked. His eyes stayed forward. He still didn’t speak.

She leaned in close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath behind his ear. “If we hadn’t stepped in, you’d be taking us into poverty with you. That’s not happening.”

He swallowed, hard. She was right—but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear it.

Mom finally spoke, her voice low and even. “We don't want to clean up your mess, Kieran.”

His name sounded out of place. Almost like a warning. One last tie to something he wasn’t allowed to be anymore.

“We're here because we believe in you to save us,” Mom said, turning toward the door. “Don’t make us regret that.”

Her heels clicked against the wood as she left, not looking back. The door closed softly behind her. Not slammed. Not angry. Just... closed.

Kieran was left standing there, cage locked, skin burning, heart pounding in a rhythm that didn’t feel like it belonged to him.

The cage. This damn cage.

Not heavy. Not even particularly uncomfortable, yet. Just... ever-present. A reminder, of what he had. What he still couldn’t fully accept was now under lock and key.

He ground his teeth.

She’d seduced him into it. Celeste. He could still hear her playful voice purring those teasing little nothings while straddling his lap, rubbing her thigh against him until he’d gotten hard — so hard it made his eyes flutter shut. And then bam. Instant evidence. Her trap, perfectly sprung. That damn smile on her face when she felt him pulse against her. Like she’d won something.

He hadn’t even been allowed to explain. One moment of weakness, as if she’d known it would happen. As if the whole thing had been a test.

Now it was locked. Permanently.

Punishment for not tucking. For letting his cock “jeopardize all the progress you’ve made.”

And yeah, maybe it stung because she was right. But it stung even more because she’d cornered him. Used his own body against him. Played him like a violin until he slipped. And now he had a sleek, designer cage locked onto his cock and no say in when — if — it would ever come off.

Still, the day wouldn’t wait.

He moved through his routine with almost mechanical grace. He started with the panties — powder blue satin today, with a lace butterfly pattern and high-cut sides. They slipped up easily, stretching to hug his hips, the cage perfectly cupped and concealed. Then came the matching bra, which he fastened behind his back in one motion. The silicone breast forms fit inside like puzzle pieces. His fingers adjusted them, lifted them slightly to sit just right in the molded cups. A quick check in the mirror. Bouncy, natural, flattering.

He didn’t hate how he looked.

That might’ve been the worst part.

The shaping camisole came next — smoothing, compressing, refining his torso down to a gentle curve. He had to admit the effect was... convincing. He’d learned how to walk in it, breathe in it, carry himself with that soft, feminine control. Next came black leggings, stretchy and soft, clinging to his thighs. No bulge. No signs. Just a smooth, feminine silhouette. The oversized sweatshirt draped off one shoulder, long enough to cover his hips but still stylish. Casual, cozy, curated.

He looked like someone who got complimented at brunch.

He sat at the vanity next, slipping into the ritual. His hands moved automatically now, blending primer across his cheeks, tapping foundation with practiced dabs. A touch of highlighter. Soft blush. Powder to seal. He filled in his brows with gentle strokes, lifted the arch just a little more, then curled his lashes and layered on mascara. A nude-pink gloss over his lips completed the look. Not too shiny. Just plump and feminine.

Celeste would approve. That annoyed him, too.

It was surreal how trained he was now. He moved like Kiara. Sat like Kiara. Smiled like Kiara. Spoke like Kiara when it mattered. The way he carried his hands, tilted his head, let out soft little hums of acknowledgment — it was all burned into him now, a product of weeks of observation and correction.

And under it all, tucked away behind satin and Lycra and polished makeup, was a locked cock.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and narrowed his eyes at it. Not angry. Just... fed up. Trapped. Stupidly, annoyingly pretty.

And worst of all, he knew exactly how much worse things could get.

The cage was bad, sure. But Celeste had done this just because he wasn’t tucking. What the hell would she do — or his mother, for that matter — if they found out he’d fucked someone?

Not just someone.

Seraphina.

His assistant.

Drunk out of her mind.

Bent over the counter of a washroom, lips parted in half-conscious bliss. He hadn’t even been thinking. He’d been buzzed, sure, but not drunk — not like she was. And when she moaned his name — Kiara, not Kieran — he didn’t stop. He didn’t correct her. He didn’t hesitate. She never even saw his cock. She just felt it.

It’d felt amazing.

But now? The guilt sat heavy behind his ribs. What would happen if anyone found out? If Celeste found out?

Would they take more than his cock?

Would they make him Kiara for real?

He swallowed hard, palms braced on the edge of the vanity.

The pill planner sat nearby, still untouched. A full week of skipped doses. He thought he could get away with it. Thought if he gave his body a chance to reset, maybe he could feel himself again. Even just a little.

But now, with the cage locked on and everyone watching him like a hawk, he knew the risk was too great.

He couldn’t throw them out. They’d notice.

They checked _everything. _Even Seraphina probably had orders to report back if he so much as looked suspicious.

Kieran stared at the rows of pastel pills.

Sighing, he swept them all into one hand. No hesitation. No ceremony. He tilted his head back and swallowed them all dry.

He didn’t wince.

He didn’t gag.

He just swallowed, jaw tight.

Because now, there was ****.

Now, he had to be perfect.

Now, he had to be Kiara — in body, in mind, in spirit — because if he slipped again, if they found out about Seraphina, if even a whisper of what really happened got out…

They’d take the rest of him.

And he wasn’t sure he’d get it back.