The room is dim, the air still, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. The soundscape is an intricate composition—low, pulsing rhythms interspersed with melodic echoes that fill every corner, drawing focus inward.
He stands before me, stripped bare, his breathing measured but deep. His eyes flicker briefly, catching mine before lowering again in quiet acknowledgment. The session has reached its next stage, and he knows what’s to come. The three items lie on the table beside us, their steel surfaces gleaming in the soft candlelight. Each one holds its own significance, its own weight.
The chastity cage comes first. I lift it deliberately, letting the cold metal catch the light as I turn it in my hands. He shifts slightly, the tension in his body palpable, his breathing steady but purposeful. The cage is more than a restraint; it is a symbol—a surrender of control, a shift in focus from himself to the moment, to me. This session will, like all others with him before and since, be entirely non-sexual in content.
I step closer, the sound of my movements muffled against the floor. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, his body still as I guide him into the cage. The steel encases him perfectly, its weight grounding, its fit deliberate. The lock clicks into place, a sound that seems to echo louder than it should, filling the room with its finality. He exhales slowly, the tension in his posture softening slightly as he absorbs the significance of the act.
The second item waits, its design both intricate and imposing. The expanding lockable plug sits in its polished steel form, its mechanism designed to test limits, to hold presence. I lift it carefully, the weight of it substantial in my hand. The room seems to shift as I prepare it, the soundscape intensifying subtly, the music wrapping around us, pulling him deeper into the DRK state.
His body adjusts, his breathing slower now, his mind focused entirely on the sensation, the process, the experience. The plug locks into place with nearly eighty turns of its screw, the wings opening inside him like a blooming flower. Its presence within him is undeniable, a quiet, constant reminder of the surrender he has chosen. He is still, his body taut, his focus unbroken, the ritual binding him to the moment.
Finally, the mouth gag. The centrepiece of the locking ceremony, its design is striking—a vibrant red mouthpiece attached to a U-shaped steel bar that secures around the head. Its beauty lies in its functionality, its precision, its ability to silence without losing the intimacy of presence. I lift it, the steel cool against my hand, its weight a promise of what’s to come.
I guide it into place, the mouthpiece fitting perfectly, the steel bar wrapping around his head. The screws tighten, slow and deliberate, the sensation pulling him further into himself, into the state of complete surrender. The final adjustment pushes the mouthpiece slightly deeper, the fit precise, unyielding.
The ritual is complete.
The room feels almost silent now, save for the sound of his breathing, slow and steady. The music has shifted, the melody softer, more resonant, wrapping around him like a cocoon yet quiet. He stands there, bound not just by the physical locks but by the weight of the experience, the trust, the surrender.
I circle him slowly, my presence deliberate, letting him feel the shift in the air, the quiet authority that fills the space. Each step is measured, each movement purposeful, drawing him deeper, holding him in the moment. The locks are not just restraints; they are symbols of his choice, his submission, his trust.
As the session continues, the locks become part of the rhythm, part of the state. They are no longer just items—they are extensions of the experience, tools that amplify, that immerse.
This is the locking ceremony—a ritual of surrender, of trust, of transformation. And as the room settles, as the music fades into a low hum, he stands there, fully present, fully held, fully immersed in the DRK state and I continue to take him deeper.
