It Takes a Village

It Takes a Village Author: Conrad Tucker (thenewboy@tutanota.com)

It was not apparent just how much guidance and control fagboi needed when we first welcomed it as our roommate. Back then, it was known as Aiden and it appeared to be ambitious, capable, and attractive - albeit a shorter, brown-haired twink with a bit of shy energy, which made sense as it was an aspiring actor in the same genre of boy as Timothée Chalamet or Tom Holland. We thought it would fit right in our household of artists: a DJ, a director, and a comedian. What we did not know is that it was also a submissive kinkster with an overriding desire to be owned like valuable, useful property. It came to Los Angeles with an independence streak and big dreams that were at constant odds with its secret dirty mind - there are many such cases.

Whether or not it was sublimating its drive to perform for the big screen with hypersexuality or, vice versa, replacing his innate sluttiness and subservience with a more socially acceptable pursuit is not clear. Luckily for Aiden, there were people in its life around to show it that hierarchy is real and that its starring role was at the very bottom of it. Not only that, but when it accepts its place, it becomes even more beautiful and appreciated in the eyes of those who love it and are above it.

Yes, it took me, Marshall, Gabe and our circle of friends to get fagboi to where it is today. Although, I will take a lot of the credit, especially because I helped Marshall and Gabe come to terms with their own wants and needs too.

It all started, like this sort of thing often does, when I found the metal chastity cage lying on Aiden's bathroom counter and immediately smiled. I, an otter of sorts, had been a total top since coming out in high school and these devices have become so ubiquitous in my consumption of porn and pursuit of bottoms that I am, frankly, more surprised nowadays when a boi, especially the little twinks of Aiden's ilk, have not at least tried to wear one once. And the fact that he would so carelessly leave it out in the open completely tracked. These subs want so desperately to be found out.

What made the discovery all the more rich, though, was the recent trouble we had been having with "the boy," which was what we had had started calling him since we often felt like his impatient parents even though he was only slightly younger than our twenty-eight years. As we got to know Aiden more, we learned he was from a broken home and rarely spoke to his family. He had almost no support structure, which meant little money. Aiden arrived in designer clothes but became behind on the rent. His auditions went nowhere and he had apparently stopped trying to act, let alone attempt to get a more steady job.

It was hard to watch as Aiden expressed his obvious depression through moodiness and substance abuse. He had come to us seeming so sweet and funny and had become temperamental and no fun to be around. When we brought up his lack of cleanliness and how he was not pitching in on keeping our two-story North Hollywood house nice, he became defensive and argumentative. When we were thoughtfully discussing the news or a movie we had watched, he became highly-opinionated and petty in his disagreements.

The weekend before I found the cage, he had come home drunk, high, or both - vomiting in the hallway bathroom before passing out on the couch. Gabe, always the softy despite his muscular, compact physique, probably because of his own doting Latina mother, had brought out a blanket and draped it over him, shaking his head. "I'm worried about him," he had said.

Marshall, with his uncompromising upbringing as both a first-generation Asian American and an army brat, which lent to his own clean cut athleticism, was less sympathetic. "He needs to go," is all he said before going back to bed.

I too was frustrated with Aiden. But when I found the cage, I became nothing but sympathetic. Over the years, I had become more accepting of my dominant nature and I approached my BDSM education how I approached everything else: with passionate interest and thought. I wanted to know what made doms and subs tick but also why kinks even existed in humans in the first place. I read books, asked questions of subs I played with, and became somewhat of a student of psychology.

I had come to the conclusion that for some people kink can be at the very core of their identity. Asking a boy like Aiden, who, on some level, did not even want control of his own dick, to constantly make his own decisions and assume the identity of a typical guy was asking too much of him. Yes, Aiden was an actor, but no actor can be right for every part. Society puts too many expectations, especially on men, to be a certain way: assertive, decisive, and a master of all their domains. Aiden was a far cry from any of those things and his annoying tendencies were obviously the result of deep dissatisfaction and waywardness.

For most men, a state of flow is achieved through actualization whether it be a skill or penetrating someone in the bedroom. But for boys like Aiden, that bliss only comes from being receptive: letting go of ego or being penetrated. I did not know how far we would go then. But I knew I wanted to give Aiden what he needed. And the thought of doing it made me rock hard.

I decided to go at it alone at first. Gabe was straight with a girlfriend and would probably be ignorant of this sort of thing. Marshall was a fellow gay top, but seemingly straight-laced.

So, later that day, after Aiden got home, I knocked on his door with my original intention before I found the cage: to have a heart-to-heart with Aiden about changes the roommates expected to see. We would still be having that same conversation, but now I would know which buttons to press.

I knocked again. "It's Henry!"

"Yeah?" came Aiden's muffled reply. I opened the door to see him curled on his bed in his baggy, trendy clothes. Laying about and languishing was another form his recent melancholy took.

"Want to go get a burger?" I asked. Aiden perked up as I thought he would. He hated eating alone, rarely cooked, and would often skip meals. When they all ate together was when Aiden was at his happiest.

"Sure," he said, rising up, trying to tame his shaggy hair. "Just give me a second." I smiled to myself. His appearance and looking good was always his number one priority.

Minutes later, we were in my car on the way to In-N-Out when I executed the first part of my plan: I played "Put it in a Dick Cage" by Pussy Riot on Spotify, a recent song that highlighted the rising normality of the thirst for chastity that would maybe make Aiden feel less ashamed.

I watched his reaction closely as flickering blue eyes showed realization of the song's content. His feigned scoffed laughter. "What is this?" he asked.

"You've seen kinky guys wear dick cages right?" I mused.

"Um..yeah," he said, directing his glance out the window. "It's just crazy there's a song though."

"We love sex positivity, right?" I said, laying the groundwork for the safe space I wanted to create.

"Yeah," Aiden remarked, again with a bit of innocent laughter, which I knew was completely performative. I so wanted to pounce on him right then and there.

"I thought I saw your cage in your bathroom," I said.

It was hard to keep my eyes on the road and his reddening face at the same time. My dick twitched sensing his embarrassment.

"You were in my room?" he said with a hint of betrayal. He was always deflecting.

"Yeah, I have to go in there all the time to wake you up for your auditions and things. Remember? Make sure you don't puke over everything..."

Aiden knew this was somewhat true. Perhaps he did not deserve his privacy the way the rest of us did. He sat silently and kept starting out the window. I found I loved when he couldn't bear to meet my appraising gaze.

"I'm just playing, dude. It's fine," I said, trying to project chill. "I know lots of guys who wear them. Do you have a keyholder?"

The wheels were spinning in the boy's head. He knew the jig was up but also knew that in the grand scheme of gay LA culture, a sex toy was not that a big a deal. He could always claim he was a mostly-vanilla vers boy just experimenting or even that he had gotten the cage to lock up a sub of his own. But we both knew those explanations sounded ridiculous and what was so obvious: he was a little bitch who harbored fantasies of being permanently locked.

"Nah, I just put it on a few times because I thought I was watching too much porn. But it just made me hornier," he said, easing into his own false narrative. I slowly nodded and let the song and subject change.

At In-N-Out, I moved into the next topic I needed to cover. "Hey, so I know you don't want to talk about this, but we really have to: we need your rent, bro. We can't cover for you more than once. And next month will be here before you know it."

His eyes met the table as he nodded. "I promise, I'll pay you all back. I'm just getting some things sorted-"

"I'm serious. Marshall says we should just dump all your stuff on the sidewalk while you're out one day."

"What?" Aiden exclaimed, his learned helplessness on display. He was obviously used to people catering to his cuteness and immaturity.

"It's not just the rent. You don't keep the space clean. You're rude to us. I get that you're going through a hard time right now, but that is not our fault and it's just not acceptable," I said.

Aiden swallowed a fry he was working on and slowly nodded in agreement. "You're right. I've been all in my head lately. I'm sorry, Henry," he said. "I'll do better. I should have some funds by Friday. I swear."

"Okay," I said, throwing him a bone. "You gotta prove it to us though."

"I will," he said earnestly, dramatically pausing before he reached for another animal fry.

On the car ride home, I made my last play as I turned the volume down on the stereo. "I have a proposal for you," I ventured.

He tilted his head up. "A proposal?"

"When I was trying to produce tracks and Marshall was putting his film reel together, we were, like, accountability partners. We reported to each other and helped make sure we each got our shit done. It's how I got on a label and how he got his first commercial."

"Oh. That's a good friendship."

"Yeah... I thought I could do that for you. Help you get a job. Make sure you keep up with everything."

"What would I hold you accountable to?" he asked. I chuckled.

"This would be more of a one-way thing. But I thought we could make it fun." Aiden, always perceptive, looked anxious as I think he could tell where I was going.

"How?" he said, almost inaudibly with a dry throat. We came to a red light.

"You'd put on your cage. I'd be your keyholder. And you'd be my sub."

The look on his face was exactly as tortured as I had hoped.

"I-, n-," he stammered. "I don't think-" he turned his perspiring face toward the passenger window again and I grabbed his cheek with my hand. I felt him shiver at my touch as I moved his chin back toward me. I looked directly into his eyes and then glanced down to my crotch. He followed my direction and saw my full seven inch bulge through my pants. He bit his lip.

"Come on, boy. I'm into kinky stuff too. This could be like a dream come true for the both of us. And it could really help you."

Aiden took a deep breath. His primal urges were winning. "It could be fun," he quietly offered while swallowing hard.

"Good faggot," I said, testing his need for degradation. The look of wanton lust my words made on his face told me it was the right call. He kept staring, his eyes shifting from my face to my erection.

"You know what to say now, don't you?"

Aiden sheepishly nodded. "Yes, Sir Henry," he said with a slight smile.

"That's right, fag," I said. The light turned green and I pressed down on the gas.

The rest of the ride home we discussed kinks and limits as if embarking on a typical hookup, neither of us realizing just how much this dynamic would change our lives. Unsurprisingly, Aiden revealed he had more kink experience than he had let on at first. Still, I knew I was going to push him and make his deepest fag fantasies come to life in a way he had never felt.

We arrived back at the house and went to Aiden's room. We had a couple hours until the others would arrive home. "Strip, fagboi," I said as I sat down on the bed he had occupied as a regular boy just a few hours earlier.

"Yes, Sir," he said. I leaned back while he stripped off his button-up and undershirt, revealing his toned chest. Then, he removed his pants, revealing his narrow taper and strong legs. Finally, he removed his Versace briefs to reveal his dick, which was thin and slightly smaller than six inches at full mast - the perfect size for a fag clit. I hid how breathtaking he looked to me. His smooth milky body was always hidden with layers upon layers and horrible unshapely streetwear. When completely exposed he looked exactly as he should be.

"Fold your clothes," I said with admonishment.

"Yes, Sir," he said as he clumsily tidied each piece and placed the pile in the corner.

"We'll have to work on your folding skills, faggot."

"Yes Sir," Aiden said excitedly. He did not comprehend just then how serious I would be about his training. He probably thought that after some episodic play, he'd retreat back into his default way of life. That eventually I would be just like all the other guys he hooked up with. He was wrong.

"Get on your knees, hands behind your head," I said. Aiden deliciously complied, his toned arms flexing.

"Knees wider, faggot," as I rose from the bed and lightly kicked them farther apart.

"Yes, Sir," he said with a wince.

I wanted to whip out my phone and take a picture of Aiden in this position which was, to me, the perfect image of faggotry. But this was a stated limit to breakthrough on another day.

"Down on all fours," I said. "Keep your knees wide, arch that back. Tongue out." Aiden complied as I guided him. I had to readjust my throbbing cock as Aiden's hungry mouth, dick-sucking lips, and well-presenting ass had their appropriate effect.

"Now rotate in a circle, faggot. Keep spinning until I get back." Aiden appeared to harden at this novel instruction. I noted his need for active, constant debasement.

As he spun like a piece of cherry pie in a diner display case, I went to his attached bathroom and retrieved the ring and tube of his chastity cage. Upon return, I noticed his tongue was back in his mouth. I slapped his right ass cheek hard.

"Who said you could put your tongue back in?"

"No one, thir," he said with a lisp as he quickly stuck it back out. I laughed.

"Stupid fag can't get do two things at once can it?" He whimpered as he continued to spin despite his growing fatigue. I waited until his tiredness made his little clit more limp.

"Okay, fagboi. Time to get your cage on."

"Yes, Sir," he said as rose back to his knees. He put on the ring and fit his clit through the tube. It was a nice fit. "I need the lock," he said looking around the room.

"No, boi. I got it," I said, holding up a plastic numbered lock I retrieved from my pocket. I knew that most cages had standard keys, could slip off, or be forced off by disobedient fags. But it would be very hard for Aiden to get this cage off and on again without breaking the plastic numbered lock. If he got out, I would know.

This fact was not lost on Aiden who was coming to his first realization that I would be a different kind of dom. He allowed me to fit the plastic padlock through the keyhole and secure his nub. I gave it a flick with my fingers and the boi tried to harden.

"3398," I read. "It better say that number for the foreseeable future boi."

"Yes, Sir," he said - probably planning how he would backtrack from our discussion of 10 days locked.

"Stay there." I moved to Aiden's dresser drawers. I found a tight pair of denim short shorts that I remembered seeing Aiden wear to a Pride event on his Instagram. I threw them on the ground before him and told him to put them on. He did so and they looked even tighter than before.

Then, I opened the bottom drawer and found a gem of an item: a pink crop top with long open armholes that said the word "faggot" on it seven times in some sort of retro, kinetic typography. The crop top still had a tag, which I ripped off.

"What's this?" I asked Aiden, his eyes falling upon recognition.

"It was SWAG at some circuit party... I've never worn it. Please-"

I threw it to him. "Put it on." There was a hint of resentment but Aiden obeyed and I was pleased.

"Stand. Go to the kitchen." I followed him as he went barefoot down the hall and into the main room: his revealing, degrading costume was somehow more erotic than complete nudity. I pushed him toward the island in the center of the kitchen where I had left a list on our house memo pad. It was titled: "Faggot Chores" and had a checklist for dishes, vacuuming, mopping, wiping down all surfaces, floor scrubbing, and bathroom cleaning.

"Get to work, fagboi," I said casually as I went to the couch and turned on Netflix. I watched Aiden through my peripheral vision as he stood still and contemplated the list. He looked unsure. Finally, he went to the sink, which was mostly filled with his own dirty dishes, and started cleaning. About halfway through his efforts, he tip-toed over toward me, standing next to the television.

I waited longer than he wanted before paying him any attention. With a look of annoyance, I looked up as if reluctantly allowing him speech.

"Sir. I'm sorry, but I don't think chores are my kink. This is a limit," he said, trying to be forceful.

I sat silently and showed my extreme disappointment. I wanted him to feel bad. "Boi, what does it say on your shirt?"

He wrung his hands together and, like he so often did, moved his gaze toward the ground.

"Faggot," he said. "Sir," he added before forgetting.

"Don't faggots like to serve men?" I asked. He looked at me like he desperately didn't want to go down this road, but I knew if I could see beneath his tight shorts, I would see a twitching clit.

"Yes, Sir, bu-"

"Do you think Gabe or Marshall would ever let me put cages on their cocks? Dress them like a whore?"

"No,-- no Sir," he said, shaking his head.

"Be honest with me. Have you ever... ever fantasized about having to be a slave to guys? Be their maid? Do menial things for them? Be honest."

Aiden wrestled with the question we both already knew the answer to. His head hung low, just like it should. It is pathetic, if you think about it.

"Yes, Sir, I have."

"And your clit is getting hard in its cage right now isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then, what's the problem?" Aiden shifted the balance back and forth in his feet.

"Gabe and Marshall will be back soon. I don't want them to see me like this."

"You're clothed. And most of this is your mess anyway. We'll say you wanted to make it up to us and this is your way of saying you're sorry." Aiden meekly nodded.

"The clothes though?" he asked.

"You didn't want to get your nice things dirty," I provided. His nodding continued. "Faggot, come sit in front of me on your knees." He came over and slunk to his more natural position, looking up at me with his wide puppy eyes.

"You said you didn't want Gabe and Marshall to see you like this. But that's not completely true either is it?" I thought I saw tears in the corner of Aiden's eyes.

"No, Sir. It's not."

"Because you like being humiliated in front of superior men, don't you?" He nodded. "And you like being put on display too?" He continued to nod and added a slight frown that was almost a smile.

"Hands behind your back. Kiss my feet, left to right."

He moaned as shuffled back and bent forward. I loved the view of the denim fabric stretching across his ass as I felt his lips through my socks.

"Now thank me for turning you into a faggot maid."

He heaved desperately, as if he wanted me to relent. I did not. "Say it," I said again.

"Thank you, Sir, for turning me into a faggot maid."

"Good fagboi. Get back to work."

Marshall was the first to arrive from the gym and Aiden was mortified it happened to be just as he was on all fours scrubbing the floor with a bucket of water next to him, though his position did hide the front of his graphic crop top. I felt proud as he stayed in position and kept cleaning.

"Aiden?" Marshall inquired, going to the cabinet where he kept the protein powder. "Um?"

"Hey," Aiden said, looking up from his spot, sweaty and red. "Figured I owed you guys a deep clean." I could have burst out laughing, and from my pants too, at Aiden's pained attempt to act cool.

Marshall looked at me over at the couch with a raised eyebrow. "Okkaayy. The boy is finally doing his part then," he said - not realizing the aptness of our longstanding nickname. Marshall appraised Aiden down on his knees with apparent approval. "I appreciate it, but the trick is doing it regularly so it doesn't get this bad. Right?"

"Right, Si-," Aiden said almost on reflex before catching himself. "Right." Marshall nodded with satisfaction before disappearing up the stairs to shower.

Later, Aiden was mopping the main room while Marshall and I watched a movie with our feet up on the coffee table. Gabe entered, exhausted from a long night of open mics. He did a double take at Aiden and looked at me and Marshall.

"Aiden is trying to make up for his lack of contribution," Marshall said.

"Ah," he said. "Your shirt, man..." he directed at Aiden with a laugh. "I know you guys are all allowed to say the 'f' word, but it's weird to me! I'd so get canceled for saying that." He shook his head as he set his things down, his interest turning toward the action flick.

"I'm just wearing clothes I don't care about getting dirty," Aiden said, offering an excuse Gabe wasn't really looking for.

"Oh, you know what, you should clean out the fridge, you have a shit ton of leftovers in there," Gabe said as he settled in his seat. "How far are you guys into this?" he asked Marshall and me.

I had to hide my crotch with a pillow as I observed Aiden starting to clean out the fridge. He was already taking orders from the other guys. He was secretly caged and wearing clothes that completely exhibited his twink body. He was labeled as a faggot. And they didn't seem to think what Aiden was doing was inappropriate at all.

Gabe took a glance too at a loss for this change in demeanor. I could have sworn he was eyeing Aiden's ass. He turned toward me. "Henry, what did you say to him?"

"Just... talked some sense into him is all," I said to Gabe's satisfaction. "Hey, Aiden," I called out. "Can you bring us all some beers?"

"Sure!" he called back trying to play along. He gave me a tiny smile as he handed me my beer before proceeding to Marshall and Gabe.

"Thanks," they both offered without looking up from the screen.

I cracked open the beer and took a long sip. What was so hot was how natural it all felt.