#beta chivalry

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part VI — The Knight, His Sword, His Steed

The email arrives on a Tuesday afternoon.

Sweetie,

You did well. April hasn’t stopped smiling. A knight who serves his princess deserves a reward. A night in her presence. A sleepover.

Be at our room Friday at 10 p.m. Bring a toothbrush. Wear something comfortable.

We’ll see you then.

You read it three times. A sleepover. The words detonate in your brain, scattering shrapnel of fantasy.

A threesome. It has to be. Lily and April, both in pajamas, both in the same bed, you between them. Hands everywhere. Mouths. The cage coming off.

Finally, finally, inside April's pussy while Lily watches, guides, approves. Maybe Lily joins. Maybe they take turns. Your mind paints the scene in lurid, greedy strokes.

By Friday, you’re a live wire. You shower, brush your teeth twice, pack a toothbrush. You wear soft sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfortable. As instructed.

The cage is a familiar weight, a cold knot of reality amid the heat of your anticipation.

You knock on their door at exactly ten.

Lily opens it. She’s in silk pajama shorts and a thin tank top, no bra. Her nipples are visible through the fabric. She smiles, steps aside.

“Right on time,” she says. “Come in, knight.”

The room is lit by a single salt lamp, casting a warm, amber glow. The beds have been pushed together, creating one large surface, covered in a sprawl of blankets and pillows.

April is already there, sitting cross-legged in the center, wearing a long sleep shirt with cartoon cats on it. She’s blushing, but she smiles when she sees you.

“Hi,” she says, her voice soft.

“Hey,” you say, your own voice tight.

Lily closes the door, locks it. The click is final. She turns to you, her hands on her hips. “You’re thinking about a threesome,” she says, not as an accusation, but as a simple statement of fact.

Your face burns. “I—”

“It’s okay,” she says, her smile widening. “It’s what your penis thinks about. It’s his default setting. See a bed, see two girls, think: conquest. Orgy. Victory.”

She walks toward you, her gaze dropping to your groin. “But that’s not what tonight is, sweetie. Tonight isn’t about your penis getting what it wants. It’s about your training.”

She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell her—clean skin, vanilla lotion.

“You’ve proven you can be a devout knight. But your sword?” She shakes her head, a mock-sad expression on her face. “It’s locked away, but it’s still greedy. Still impulsive. It hears ‘sleepover’ and it starts planning its own party.”

She steps back, gestures to the bed. “So tonight, we continue your education. Your sword and your steed need to learn to work together. To serve the same mistress. To achieve the same goal.”

Steed. You register it but don't understand it. Before you can ask, Lily has moved on.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” Lily says, her tone turning instructional. “Pants and underwear off. Let your little guy say hello.”

April is watching, her eyes huge. She looks nervous, but there’s a flicker of excitement there too. She’s part of this. She’s in charge.

Your hands are trembling. You sit on the mattress, the blankets soft beneath you. You push your sweatpants and boxers down to your ankles, kick them off. The cool air hits your bare skin.

The cage gleams in the lamplight, a polished steel pod snug over your soft penis. The blue LED pulses slowly.

Lily kneels in front of you, her face level with your groin. She doesn’t touch you yet. She just looks.

“Hello, little sword,” she murmurs, her voice warm, intimate. “Miss me?”

Your cock, always listening, gives a soft twitch inside its confinement. A faint ache stirs.

Lily smiles. “He remembers. He’s a good listener.” She glances up at you. “Lie back. Get comfortable. April is going to get comfortable too.”

You lean back on your elbows. April scoots closer, lying back on the pillows, her legs slightly apart. Her sleep shirt rides up her thighs.

Lily moves to the side of the bed, reaches into a drawer, and pulls out the familiar velvet pouch. From it, she produces a single shortbread biscuit. She holds it up.

“The goal,” she says, placing the biscuit on the nightstand, in your line of sight. “The finish line. The painting.”

She then turns to April. “Princess, your knight’s mouth is yours tonight. His tongue is your servant. Get comfortable. Let him attend to you.”

April bites her lip, then nods. She pulls her sleep shirt up to her waist, revealing her plain cotton panties.

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband, pulls them down, kicks them aside. Her pussy is bare now, exposed, a soft shadow in the low light.

“Go on, sweetie,” Lily says to you, nodding toward April. “Assume your position. Your princess needs tending.”

You don’t need to be told twice. The sight of April spread out, waiting, sends a bolt of heat straight to your caged cock.

You roll onto your stomach, crawl between her legs, prop yourself up, the mattress dipping under your knees. The smell of her—musk, soap, arousal—fills your head.

You lower your face to her pussy.

The first touch of your tongue is a revelation, again. She’s already wet. She gasps, her hands coming to rest on your head. “Oh…”

You set to work. You’ve done this before. You know what she likes. You circle her clit, slow and steady, then dip lower to lap at her entrance.

She moans, her hips lifting off the mattress. You are a faithful knight. Your world narrows to the taste of her, the sound of her breathing, the softness of her thighs against your ears.

As you work, you hear movement beside you. Lily has settled on the bed next to your hip. You can feel her presence, warm and attentive.

“Good,” Lily murmurs, her voice a quiet commentary. “See how he serves? His tongue is devoted. It has learned its lesson. But his sword…”

She reaches out, her fingers tracing the cool steel of the cage. “His sword is distracted. It’s wondering why it’s locked up. It’s wondering when it gets to play.”

You feel her hand wrap gently around the caged pod, a loose, possessive hold. Your cock stirs inside, straining uselessly against the unyielding bars.

“Shhh,” Lily whispers, not to you, but to your penis. “I know. You see her. You smell her pussy. You want to be out. You want to be in her. That’s your nature. But tonight, you have a different job.”

You’re licking April steadily now, your fingers sliding inside her, curling. She’s panting, her hands fisting in your hair. “Right there… oh, yes…”

Lily’s voice continues, a soft, hypnotic stream beside you. “Your knight is busy, little sword. His mouth is occupied. His mind is on his princess. So I’m going to talk to you. And I’m going to show you what you’re working for.”

You hear the crinkle of cellophane. From the corner of your eye, you see Lily lift the biscuit from the nightstand. You feel her move below the cage.

“See this?” she whispers to your imprisoned cock. “This is your canvas. Your masterpiece. You remember how to paint it, don’t you? You remember the feeling. The pulse. The spurt. The pretty white streaks.”

Your cock throbs in response. A deep, frustrated ache. Pre-cum beads at your slit, slicking the inside of the pod.

“He remembers,” Lily coos. “He’s getting interested. But he’s confused, isn’t he? How can he paint the biscuit if he can’t get hard? If he can’t thrust? If he’s locked in his little house?”

April is bucking against your face now, her moans rising in pitch. You redouble your efforts, sucking her clit, fucking her with your fingers. She’s close.

Lily’s voice drops to a conspiratorial purr, aimed directly at your groin. “That’s where your steed comes in, little sword. Your knight’s other end. His faithful… hole.”

Her free hand—the one not holding the biscuit—drifts down your side, over your hip, to the curve of your ass. Her fingers are cool.

You gasp. Move to resist. But April holds you by the hair. Your face buried in her pussy.

“Your steed is strong. It carries your knight. But it has other muscles. Deep inside. It has a secret button. A pleasure center. When it’s trained… when it’s stimulated…”

Her fingers press against your pucker, a gentle, insistent pressure. “It can make your sword do tricks. Even from inside its cage.”

You freeze, your mouth still on April. Your whole body goes taut.

“Relax, sweetie,” Lily murmurs, her tone soothing. “This is part of your training. Your steed needs to learn its role. It needs to help your sword achieve its goal. They’re a team. Knight, sword, and steed. All working for the princess.”

Her finger presses harder. You’re tight. Unprepared.

“April,” Lily says, her voice calm. “Your knight is doing a wonderful job. But his little guy needs encouragement. Remember the app on your phone? The one I showed you?”

April, breathless, manages a “Y-yes…”

“Open it. See his arousal level? It’s rising. But it’s frustrated. It’s stuck. You can help. See the vibration control? Give him a little… taste. A low, steady pulse. Let him feel your attention.”

You hear the fumble of a phone. A moment later, a deep, low hum emanates from the cage. A vibration at the base of your shaft, right behind the ring. It’s not intense, but it’s constant. A reminder. A promise.

Your cock jumps inside its prison. The ache intensifies, sweet and maddening.

“Good,” Lily whispers. “Now, little sword, feel that? That’s April. That’s your mistress. She’s controlling your pleasure. She’s deciding how much you get. And she wants you to paint your biscuit. But you need help. You need your steed.”

Her finger, now slick with something—lotion, spit—pushes past your tight outer ring.

You gasp into April’s pussy.

The intrusion is strange, foreign, a burning stretch. But beneath the burn, something else… a deep, internal pressure.

“That’s it,” Lily coos, working her finger slowly deeper. “Your steed is opening up. Welcoming its training. Now, let’s find that button…”

She crooks her finger, presses upward, inward.

A shockwave of sensation bolts through you. It’s not pain. It’s… electric. A deep, prostate thrill that radiates straight to the root of your cock. You cry out, your hips jerking involuntarily.

Inside the cage, your penis swells as much as it can, straining against the steel. Pre-cum flows freely now, slicking the pod.

“There it is,” Lily says, her voice triumphant. “The knight’s seat of pleasure. His steed’s secret. Feel that, little sword? That’s your partner talking. That’s your steed, saying hello.”

She begins to move her finger, a slow, rhythmic massage on that incredible, vulnerable spot.

Each press sends jolts of pleasure through your pelvis. The cage vibrates steadily, a counterpoint to the internal stimulation.

You’re panting, your forehead resting against April’s thigh. Your tongue has gone still, but she doesn’t seem to care. She’s watching, mesmerized, her hand still on her phone, her other hand in your hair.

“See how they work together?” Lily narrates, her voice warm with approval. “The steed is massaged. The sword is vibrated. Both are being tended. Both are being trained. For the same purpose.”

She holds the biscuit closer, just inches from the tip of the cage.

“This is your goal, little sword. This is what you and your steed are going to achieve. Together. You’re going to paint it. Not with thrusts. Not with hardness. With partnership. With obedience.”

Her finger presses harder, curls just right. A bolt of white-hot pleasure sears up your spine. Your balls draw up tight. The vibration in the cage seems to intensify—or maybe it’s just your perception, every nerve ending screaming.

“He’s close, April,” Lily says softly. “Can you see? His little sword is throbbing in its cage. His steed is clenching around my finger. They’re syncing up. They’re learning. Turn the vibration up a notch, princess. Help him along.”

You hear a soft tap on the phone.

The vibration shifts, becomes a rapid, insistent pulse. It’s maddening. It’s ecstasy.

Lily’s finger works you relentlessly, stroking that deep, secret place with practiced precision.

The dual sensations—the internal massage and the external vibration—merge into one overwhelming feedback loop of pleasure. You’re not in control. You’re a conduit. A vessel for their training.

“That’s it,” Lily whispers, her lips close to your ear now. “Let them work. Let your steed carry your sword to the finish line. Let your sword spurt its paint, even from its little house. It can do it. I know it can. It’s a good boy. A good, messy boy.”

Her words are the final trigger. The coil in your balls snaps.

With a ragged, broken shout, you come.

It’s unlike any orgasm you’ve ever had. There’s no thrusting, no pumping. Just a deep, convulsive pulsing that originates in your prostate and erupts from your imprisoned cock.

Thick, hot jets of cum shoot through the small opening at the tip of the cage, splattering in frantic, helpless stripes across the shortbread biscuit Lily holds steady.

You keep coming, spurred by Lily’s relentless finger and the cage’s vibrating pulse.

Each spasm milks you dry, painting the biscuit with glistening white streaks. It’s a pathetic, humiliating, incredibly intense release. You’re a fountain with its spout clamped, spraying under pressure.

Finally, it subsides. You collapse forward, your face buried in April’s thigh, spent, shuddering. Lily slowly withdraws her finger. The vibration in the cage fades to a stop.

Silence, except for your ragged gasps and April’s soft, excited breathing.

Lily examines the biscuit, now thoroughly glazed. “Perfect,” she announces, her voice rich with satisfaction. “A masterpiece. The sword and the steed, working in harmony. A knight’s true discipline.”

She holds the biscuit out to you. “Appreciation, sweetie. Your sword performed its duty from confinement. Your steed carried it to victory. Now you taste their success. Their collaboration.”

You’re boneless, wrecked. But the command is clear. You lift your head, your mouth salty from April’s pussy and your own sweat. You take the biscuit from Lily’s hand. It’s damp, warm, heavy with your load.

You take a bite. The familiar bitter-salty taste floods your mouth, now layered with a deeper humiliation. You didn’t just eat your own failure. You ate the product of your own asshole’s training. You chew. You swallow.

Lily takes the remainder from your limp hand. “Good boy,” she says, patting your head. “Now you understand. Your sword doesn’t need freedom to serve. Your steed isn’t just for sitting. They are tools. To be trained. To be used. For her pleasure.”

She nods toward April, who is flushed, her eyes dark with arousal and wonder. “Clean your princess, knight. Your tongue has one more service to perform.”

Dazed, obedient, you turn back to April’s pussy. You lick her clean, gently, through her aftershocks. She moans softly, her hands stroking your hair.

When you’re done, Lily guides you to lie down between them. She pulls the blankets over you. April curls into one side of you, her head on your shoulder. Lily curls into the other, her hand resting possessively on the cage over your soft, spent cock.

“Sleep,” Lily whispers, her breath warm on your neck. “You’ve trained well tonight. Your sword knows its place. Your steed knows its function. You are April’s knight. Her faithful, caged, well-ridden knight.”

You drift off, surrounded by their warmth, their smell, their possession. The cage is a cool, permanent truth against your skin.

You came here dreaming of a threesome.

You leave having learned that your body is not your own. It is a collection of parts—tongue, sword, steed—to be disciplined, used, and combined in the service of your princess.

The game is no longer about serving April.

It’s about becoming the instrument she—and Lily—are building.

And you’ve never felt more complete.

This is the seventh in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one well-trained steed at a time.

Next: What happens when the knight’s training is put to the ultimate test.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II | Acts of Chivalry Part III | Acts of Chivalry Part IV | Acts of Chivalry Part V | Acts of Chivalry Part VI

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part V — the Sword and the Scabbard

Library. Study room. 4pm.

That’s her text. That's all. No greeting. No explanation. Just a time and a place.

You’re there at 3:55, your heart hammering against your ribs. You’ve rehearsed what you’ll say.

You’ll be firm. You’ll remind her of the deal. Challenges completed, humiliation endured, lines written, ice bath survived, biscuit frosted and eaten. You’ve done everything. You’ve been a good knight. You deserve your date.

You push open the door to the glass-walled cube.

Lily and April are already there. April is sitting at the table, a textbook open, but she’s not reading. She’s looking at her hands, her cheeks pink.

Lily is standing by the whiteboard, her arms crossed, a small, thoughtful smile on her lips.

She looks up as you enter. “Sweetie,” she says, her voice warm. “Right on time.”

You step inside, let the door click shut behind you. The seal of the room feels absolute.

“I got your text,” you say, your voice too tight.

“I know,” Lily says, nodding. “I sent it.” She gestures to the empty chair. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

You sit. April glances at you, then looks back at her hands. She’s nervous. Excited. You can’t tell which.

Lily stays standing, leaning against the whiteboard. She studies you for a long moment, her gaze calm, appraising.

“You’ve been patient,” she says finally. “I’ll give you that. Most guys would have given up by now. Or gotten angry.”

“I’m not most guys,” you say, the line sounding rehearsed even to you.

Lily smiles. “No,” she agrees. “You’re not. You’re… persistent. And you’ve completed every challenge we’ve set. The waxing. The confession. The lines. The ice bath. The biscuit.”

She ticks them off on her fingers, her tone conversational. “That’s five acts of chivalry. Five demonstrations of your willingness to… understand. To be vulnerable. To obey.”

She pauses. “So I think it’s time.”

Your breath catches. “Time for what?”

Lily’s smile widens. “For your date with April. You’ve earned it.”

Relief floods you, hot and sudden. You did it. You actually did it. You won.

April looks up, her eyes wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Lily says, nodding. “He’s proven he really wants to be with you. He deserves a chance.” She turns her gaze back to you. “But.”

The word hangs in the air, a single, soft period.

“But what?” you ask, your stomach tightening.

“But I’ll be chaperoning,” Lily says, her voice still warm, still reasonable. “April’s never been on a date before. And given your… history… I think it’s only prudent. For her comfort. For her safety.”

Your mind recoils. A chaperone? Lily? Sitting there, watching, while you try to work your magic on April? It’s impossible.

You can’t seduce a virgin with her best friend—her maid in waiting—sitting three feet away, smiling that knowing smile.

“That wasn’t the deal,” you say, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You said if I completed the challenges, I’d get a date with April. A date. Not a supervised playdate.”

Lily’s expression doesn’t change. “The deal was a date. I’m not changing the deal. I’m just… attending. As her friend. To make sure she’s comfortable.”

“She’ll be comfortable with me,” you say, leaning forward. “I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve been chivalrous. I’ve been… whatever you wanted me to be. I deserve a real date. Alone. Fair’s fair.”

April is watching you, her lips parted. She looks torn—between wanting the fairy tale and wanting Lily’s protection.

Lily considers you for a long moment. Then she sighs, a soft, almost regretful sound.

“You’re right,” she says, her voice gentle. “Fair is fair. You’ve earned the date. And I… I’ve been overprotective. April’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”

She uncrosses her arms, steps away from the whiteboard. “Okay. You win. I won't chaperone. You and April. A real date. Her choice of activity.”

The victory is so sudden, so complete, that it leaves you dizzy. You did it. You stood up to her. You won.

Your mind is already racing—where to take April, what to say, how to get her alone afterward.

The old script kicks in, the player’s calculus: quiet restaurant, soft lighting, a little wine, a lot of compliments, a walk somewhere private, a first kiss that feels like a promise.

You can already feel April’s mouth under yours, her body soft and yielding against you, the final conquest at hand.

You’re so lost in the fantasy that you almost miss Lily reaching into her bag.

She pulls out a small velvet pouch. Red. The color of warning, of stop, of something precious and dangerous.

She sets it on the table between you with a soft thump.

“But,” she says again, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “There is the matter of your… condition.”

You stare at the pouch. “What condition?”

Lily tilts her head, her expression one of warm concern. “Your penis, sweetie. It has a mind of its own. We established that in the lab. It listens to me, not to you. It’s greedy. Impulsive. Unfaithful.”

Your face burns. “I can control it.”

“We've been over this haven't we?” Lily asks, not as a challenge, but as a genuine inquiry.

“Remember? He frosted a biscuit on command because I told him to. You humped a vibrator like a dog in heat because I encouraged it. You ate your own cum because I said it was a sign of gratitude.” She pauses. “That’s not control. That’s… surrender.”

You open your mouth to protest, but no words come out. She’s right. She’s always right.

“April deserves a knight who can protect her,” Lily continues, her voice softening further. “Not just from other men, but from himself. From his own… failure. She deserves a man whose body is as faithful as his intentions.”

She picks up the velvet pouch, loosens the drawstring. “So. You can have your date with April. Alone. I won't chaperone. But your penis needs supervision. A little house for him to sleep in while you court April.”

She upends the pouch over the table.

A device slides out, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

It’s a cage. But not like any cage you’ve seen in porn, not the tubular steel shaft that look like medieval torture devices. This is different.

Sleek. Modern. Almost beautiful in its minimalist design.

Medical-grade stainless steel, mirror-polished to a high shine. The shape is a compressed dome—a pod, really.

Curved bars form a smooth half-sphere, barely an inch and a half long. A solid ring, thick and substantial, sits beside it. Tiny LED indicators dot the ring’s surface, dark now but promising light.

It looks like something from a sci-fi movie. Or a very expensive sex toy.

“This,” Lily says, her voice reverent, “is the Babysitter. Designed by Dr. Clarissa Anderson at the Westwood Wellness Center. It’s not a punishment, sweetie. It’s a… relief.”

You stare at it. Your cock, always listening, gives a soft, interested twitch.

“Relief from what?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

“From the burden of control,” Lily says, picking up the ring. “From the constant, exhausting effort of trying to manage something that doesn’t want to be managed. Your penis wants to misbehave. It wants to chase. It wants to hump and spurt and make messes. And you… you’re tired of fighting it. Aren’t you?”

The question lands in the center of your chest. You are tired. Tired of the constant arousal, the shame, the humiliating cycle of resistance and surrender. Tired of knowing that Lily can make you come with just her words. Tired of feeling like a passenger in your own body.

“This,” Lily says, holding up the pod, “takes that burden off your shoulders. It contains him. It keeps him safe. And it keeps April safe from him.” She smiles. “It’s the perfect babysitter. Silent. Unobtrusive. Always on duty.”

Your mind is screaming. No. No way. Not happening.

But your mouth says, “How does it work?”

Lily’s smile deepens. She knows she has you.

“The ring goes behind your testicles. The pod fits over your penis—when you’re soft, of course. It compresses him into the small space, keeps him snug and contained. The two pieces lock together digitally.” She points to a small, seamless seam on the ring. “The lock is keyless. Code-based. And it has sensors. It monitors… activity. Arousal levels. That sort of thing.”

She sets the pieces down, reaches into her bag again, and pulls out a sleek smartwatch. “This pairs with it. The keyholder watch. I’ll be able to see your… status. In real time. If you’re getting too excited, if your little guy is trying to misbehave, I’ll know. And I can… help.”

“Help how?” you ask, though you already know.

“The Babysitter has a vibration feature,” Lily says, her tone clinical. “Low-frequency pulses at the base of the cock, behind the ring. It’s designed to manage testicular congestion—to keep your balls from getting too full, too achy. But it can also be adjusted. For intensity. For pattern.” She meets your eyes. “Remotely. Via the app on my phone.”

The implication hangs in the air, thick and humid. She can make you aroused whenever she wants. She can make you leak. She can make you come, even while caged. Hands-free. Helpless.

Your cock is fully hard now, straining against your jeans. The thought of it—of being locked, of being monitored, of being stimulated by her command—is the most humiliating, the most arousing thing you’ve ever imagined.

“I’m not wearing that,” you say, but the words lack conviction.

Lily’s expression softens with pity. “Sweetie,” she murmurs. “You just argued with me for ten minutes about how badly you want this date. How much April means to you. How chivalrous you’ve been. How fair it is.”

She leans forward, her eyes holding yours. “Are you telling me now that you’re not willing to do this one last thing to protect her? To prove that your intentions are pure? That you’re not just another guy trying to get into her pants?”

The trap is perfect. You walked right into it. You made a passionate case for your own devotion. Now, to refuse the cage is to admit that your devotion is conditional. That you wanted the date for access, not for April.

You look at April. She’s watching the cage, her eyes wide with fascination and something else—something like hope. She wants this.

She wants you to be the knight who has the sword, even if the sword is in a scabbard. A chastity device. She wants to believe you’re that noble.

If you say no now, you lose your chance to fuck her. If you say yes, your cock will be restrained from trying to fuck her. It's a double bind. You know it. Lily knows it.

Your shoulders slump. “Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll wear it.”

Lily’s smile is radiant. “Good boy,” she says, the endearment flowing from her like honey. “I knew you’d see reason.”

She sets the velvet pouch aside and gestures for you to stand. “Come here. Let’s get you ready.”

You push back your chair and step around the table, your legs unsteady. Lily positions you facing April, who is still seated, her textbook forgotten. You’re standing close enough that your thighs brush the table’s edge.

“Pants and underwear down, sweetie,” Lily says, her voice calm. “To your knees.”

Your hands fumble with your button, your zipper. You push your jeans and boxers down in one awkward motion.

And there it is—your cock, already fully erect, flushed and curving up toward your stomach. A pre-cum glistening at the tip.

Lily steps behind you, her presence a warm pressure at your back. She looks over your shoulder, her cheek almost touching yours, and lets out a soft, knowing chuckle.

“Hello, little guy,” she murmurs, her breath warm on your ear. “Someone’s excited to see us.”

You close your eyes. Shame burns through you, but your cock doesn’t care. It throbs, eager.

“He’s too hard for the dome,” Lily says, her tone conversational. “The Babysitter needs him soft and sleepy. He won’t fit in his new house otherwise.” She pauses. “But he doesn’t want to be soft, does he? He wants to perform. He wants his treat.”

You don’t understand. “Treat?”

From her purse, Lily produces a single shortbread biscuit. She holds it in her open palm, just to the side of your hip.

“His trick, sweetie. Frosting the biscuit. He remembers. He’s been thinking about it ever since the lab. He wants to show off for April again. He wants to prove he’s still a good little fountain.”

Your stomach clenches. “I can’t… not like this.”

“You can,” Lily says, her voice softening with pity. “You just need to help him. He’s all worked up. He needs to finish so he can relax. So we can put him to bed.” She nods toward your erect cock. “Go ahead. Stroke him. Help him do his trick.”

You freeze. Your hand hangs at your side. You can’t move.

Lily sighs, a gentle, patient sound. “Would it be easier if I talked to him? Since I’m the boss of him.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Her voice drops to that intimate, coaxing purr you remember from the lab, aimed directly at your groin.

“Hey there, little performer. You see the biscuit? You know what to do, don’t you? You want to paint it. You want to make it all shiny and white for us. You want April to see how pretty you can make it.”

Her words are a physical touch. Your cock jumps in response, a thick droplet of pre-cum welling and falling onto your thigh.

“He’s listening,” Lily coos. “He likes that. He likes being the center of attention. Go on, sweetie. Help him out. Give him a little encouragement.”

Your hand moves as if pulled by strings. You wrap your fingers around your shaft. The skin is smooth, fever-hot. You stroke once, slowly. Pleasure sparks, sharp and shameful.

“That’s it,” Lily murmurs, her lips close to your ear. “He likes your hand. But he likes my voice more, doesn’t he? He’s getting harder. Fuller. Look at him, April. See how he swells when I talk to him? See how he leaks? He’s so eager to please.”

April is motionless in her chair, her eyes wide, locked on the movement of your hand. Her face is flushed, her lips slightly parted. She’s never seen this before. She’s mesmerized.

You stroke faster, your grip tightening. The sound is obscene in the quiet room. Your hips begin to rock in tiny, involuntary thrusts.

“He’s close,” Lily narrates, her tone warm with approval. “His balls are tightening up. He’s getting that needy little pulse. He knows his job. He wants to decorate. Go on, little guy. Show us what you’ve got. Frost that biscuit.”

With a choked gasp, you erupt. Thick, hot pulses of cum shoot through the air, splattering across Lily’s outstretched palm, coating the shortbread biscuit in glistening white streaks.

You keep stroking through the contractions, milking yourself dry, until you’re spent, shuddering, your mind blank.

You slump slightly, catching yourself on the table edge. Your cock, already softening, twitches in your hand, dripping the last few drops onto the floor.

Silence, except for your ragged breathing.

Lily examines her palm, the biscuit now glazed and dripping. “Perfect,” she says, her voice satisfied. “Excellent coverage. He really gave it his all.”

She holds her hand out to you. “Appreciation, sweetie. He performed beautifully. Now you show your gratitude.”

You stare at the mess in her palm. Nausea rises, but beneath it, that familiar dark current stirs. Your spent cock gives a feeble throb.

You lean forward and take the biscuit from her hand with your mouth. It’s damp, warm, salty. You chew. You swallow. The humiliation is absolute.

Lily wipes her hand on a your shirt, her expression serene. “Good boy,” she says, her voice warm. “Now he’s soft. Now he’s ready for his nap.”

She turns to April. “Ready, princess.”

April’s eyes widen. “Ready?”

“To help his little guy get cozy and snug in his new home,” Lily says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “He’s your knight. You should be the one to… show him.”

April blushes furiously, but she nods, her expression a mix of terror and excitement. She’s never touched a penis before. And now she’s going to handle yours, fit it into a steel pod, lock it away.

Lily hands her the ring. “This goes behind his testicles. Gently. Make sure both balls are through.”

April’s hands are trembling as she takes the ring. She kneels in front of you, her face level with your groin. Your cock is soft now, spent, lying limp against your thigh. It looks small. Vulnerable.

“Go ahead,” Lily encourages, her voice gentle. “Take him in your hand. Guide him through.”

April reaches out, her fingers brushing your shaft. The touch is feather-light, hesitant. You suck in a breath. Her skin is cool, soft. She wraps her hand around you, her grip tentative. She’s actually touching you. Holding you.

Her blush deepens, but she doesn’t let go. She lifts your penis, guides the ring behind your balls. The steel is cool against your skin. She pushes gently, until both testicles are through, the ring snug at the base of your shaft.

“Good,” Lily says, nodding. “Now the pod.”

April picks up the pod. It’s small. Shockingly small. She holds it over the tip of your penis, then slowly, carefully, covers it. Your soft cock fills the space, compressed into the curved bars, the head pressing against the rounded end. It’s a tight fit. Snug. Constricting.

April aligns the pod with the ring, presses them together. There’s a soft click, then a faint digital beep. The LED indicators on the ring glow to life—a soft blue pulse.

“It’s locked,” Lily says, her voice pleased. “The Babysitter is on duty.”

You look down at yourself. The steel gleams against your hairless skin. The pod is a smooth, seamless dome, containing your penis completely. You can feel the weight of it, the coolness, the unyielding pressure. You’re locked. Caged. Monitored.

April is still kneeling, staring at the device, her hand hovering near it. She looks… awed. And aroused. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted.

“How does it feel?” Lily asks you, her tone conversational.

“Strange,” you whisper.

“It’ll feel normal soon,” Lily says, nodding. “Like a part of you. Your little guy is going to be so comfortable in his new home.”

She taps the watch on her wrist. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Making sure your little guy behaves. If he gets too restless, I can… soothe him.”

The threat—or promise—is clear.

She has you pull up your jeans, fasten them over the cage. The bulge is minimal, almost invisible. No one would know. But you know. You feel it with every step, every shift of fabric.

Lily gathers her things, loops her arm through April’s. “Your date is Saturday,” she says, her voice warm.

“April will text you the details. Dress nice. Be chivalrous. And remember…” She taps her watch again. “The chaperone is always watching.”

They leave you there, in the study room, the taste of your own cum still on your tongue, the weight of the cage a constant reminder between your legs.

You came here today thinking you’d won. Thinking you’d argued your way to a victory.

Instead, you’ve been fitted with a digital monitor that reports your arousal to the girl who owns you. You’ve been locked away by the girl you want to fuck. You’ve jerked off on command and eaten your own failure, again.

And you’re harder than you’ve ever been in your life. The cage doesn’t stop arousal. It just contains it. Compresses it. Makes it a silent, humming ache.

You stand up, adjust your jeans. The cage shifts, a cool, foreign presence against your flesh.

You’ve never been more humiliated.

You’ve never been more aroused.

The game is no longer about winning April.

It’s about surviving the Babysitter.

This is the fifth in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one digital lock at a time.

Next: What happens when the caged knight takes the princess on her first date — and the chaperone in his pants reports every flutter of interest directly to the girl who holds the key.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II | Acts of Chivalry Part III | Acts of Chivalry Part IV

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part IV — The Frosted Biscuit

For a week, you hear nothing.

No texts. No library study rooms. No chance encounters in the common area.

April and Lily have vanished from your orbit as completely as if they’d graduated early. You check your phone until the screen feels warm. You walk past the gym at nine on Tuesday, but the pool deck is dark. You linger near the sociology section, but the glass-walled cube stays empty.

The silence is a vacuum, and in that vacuum, your mind spins.

You’ve done everything. You waxed. You confessed. You wrote lines. You endured the ice bath and the photo. You’ve been stripped, shriveled, and documented. You’ve been a good knight. A chivalrous knight.

So where is your date?

The question becomes an itch under your skin, a low-grade fever. You jerk off three times on Wednesday, each time imagining April’s shy smile, Lily’s knowing eyes, the feel of smooth skin—yours, hers—and the humiliating thrill of surrender. You come hard, every time, but it doesn’t scratch the itch. It deepens it.

By Friday, you’re desperate. You send a single, carefully casual text to April: Hey, hope you’re doing well. Wondering if you wanted to grab that coffee sometime?

You wait. An hour. Two. Six.

No reply.

The rejection is a cold stone in your gut. But beneath it, something else stirs—a hot, shameful anger. You’ve jumped through their hoops. You’ve been their pet. And now you’re being ignored.

It’s Saturday night when you finally track them down. You hear laughter from a booth in the back of the campus cafe—a light, musical sound you’d know anywhere.

You approach, your heart hammering. They’re there. April and Lily, heads together over two lattes, a textbook open between them.

They look up as you stop at their table. April’s smile falters, then returns, polite and distant. Lily’s expression doesn’t change. It’s warm. Patient. As if she’s been expecting you.

“Hey,” you say, your voice too tight.

“Sweetie,” Lily says, nodding. “Long time no see.”

“I texted,” you say, the words coming out before you can stop them.

“Did you?” Lily says, glancing at April. “We’ve been so busy. Midterms, you know.” She takes a sip of her latte. “What’s up?”

You stand there, feeling large and clumsy. “I just… I wanted to know about the next challenge. Or the date. You said…”

“We said a lot of things,” Lily says, her tone gentle. “But chivalry isn’t a checklist, sweetie. It’s a state of being. And honestly?” She sets her cup down. “You seem… eager. Restless. Like you’re chasing the finish line instead of enjoying the journey.”

“I’m not,” you say, but it sounds weak.

“Aren’t you?” Lily tilts her head. “An eager man is a wandering man. His eyes are always on the next thing. The next conquest. It’s a symptom. A condition.” She leans forward slightly. “You’ve proven you can suffer. You’ve proven you can obey. But have you proven you can be faithful? That you can control the one part of you that’s always looking for the next warm hole?”

Your face burns. Your cock, always listening, gives a soft twitch at her bluntness.

“I can be faithful,” you say, the words gritty.

Lily studies you for a long moment. Then she smiles. “Okay. Shall we test that and see?” She pulls out her phone, taps a note. “Meet us at the Engineering Annex. Lab 3B. Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. After hours.” She looks up. “If you are there we will put your words to the test. If you aren't, well, you aren't.”

---

The Engineering Annex smells of ozone and machine oil. Lab 3B is a long room lined with workbenches, oscilloscopes, and tangled coils of wire. The lights are low, except for a pool of bright halogen over a central table.

Lily and April are already there. So is a third girl.

She’s tall, with sharp features and dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail. She’s wearing a lab coat over jeans and a t-shirt, and she’s adjusting a device on the table with the focused intensity of a bomb technician.

“This is Reyna,” Lily says by way of introduction. “Fourth-year mechanical and electrical. She’s helping us with tonight’s… assessment.”

Reyna glances up, gives you a brief, appraising nod, then returns to her work. “Calibrating now. Give me sixty seconds.”

You look at the device.

It’s a sleek, white wand vibrator—the kind you’ve seen in porn, with a large, rounded head. It’s mounted upright on a small stand. A thin, elastic band is looped around its base, connected to a small circuit box with a single LED. A foot away, on the same table, sits a plain white plate. On the plate is a single shortbread biscuit.

Your stomach clenches.

“The test is simple,” Lily says, stepping closer. Her voice is calm, instructional.

“A man’s penis has a brain of its own. A primitive, greedy little brain. It sees, it wants, it takes. And most of the time, it wins. It controls the man.”

She gestures to the wand. “April needs a man who controls his penis. Not the other way around. So we’re going to see who’s in charge. You… or it.”

She picks up the elastic band. “This goes around the base of your shaft. It’s a sensor. When you’re soft, it’s loose. The circuit is open. The wand is off.”

She holds the band up to the light. “But when your penis swells? When it gets hard, eager, interested? The band stretches. It closes the circuit. The wand turns on.” She points to the rounded head. “The vibration starts here. Right on the tip of your penis.”

You swallow. Your mouth is dry.

“Once it starts,” Lily continues, her tone almost sympathetic, “it’s a feedback loop. The vibration feels good. Your penis gets more aroused. The band gets tighter. The vibration intensifies. Your penis chases that feeling like a dog chasing a rabbit around a track. It wants more. It wants the finish.”

She nods toward the biscuit. “The finish is that. You ejaculate. You frost the biscuit. If you do that, you lose. Your penis controlled you.”

April is standing a few feet back, her arms wrapped around herself. She’s blushing, but she’s watching, her eyes wide.

“All you have to do is stay limp,” Lily says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Keep your little guy calm. Disinterested. Master of his domain.” She smiles then, a slow, warm curve of her lips. “But here’s the thing. While you’re talking to your penis, trying to convince it to behave… I’ll be talking to it, too. Encouraging it. Tempting it. Because if a girl who isn’t even in charge of your penis can make it jump with just her words… how can April ever trust you? How can she know the first hussy who whispers in your ear won’t take control and make you break your faith?”

She steps closer, until you can smell her shampoo—something clean and floral. “So. You’ll stand here. You’ll place your soft, little penis on the head of the wand. Reyna will secure the band. And then we’ll begin. You talk to your penis. I’ll talk to your penis. We’ll see who it listens to.”

Reyna straightens up. “Calibration complete. It’s sensitive. A five percent increase in shaft diameter will trigger activation. Progressive intensity with increased diameter.” She looks at you. “Drop your pants and underwear to your knees. Stand here.”

Your hands are trembling. You undo your jeans, push them down, along with your boxers. The cool air of the lab hits your bare skin. You’re still smooth from the wax, every inch of you exposed. Your cock is soft, a small, vulnerable curl against your hairless pelvis.

“Step up,” Reyna says, impersonal as a nurse.

You move into position. The head of the wand is cool against the tip of your penis. Reyna loops the elastic band around the base of your shaft, snug but not tight. She checks the connection, then steps back.

“Circuit is live,” she says, turning to Lily. “He’s all yours.”

Lily moves to stand beside you, close enough that her arm brushes yours. She looks down at your penis, resting innocently on the white plastic.

“Okay, sweetie,” she murmurs, her voice a warm, intimate breath. “Start talking. Tell your little guy to be good. To stay soft. To ignore me.”

You close your eyes. Stay soft. Stay small. Don’t listen to her. It’s just a test. Stay soft.

“He’s not listening,” Lily whispers, her tone conversational. “Look at him. Just lying there. So passive. So… available. He’s waiting. He’s heard the game. He knows what’s coming.” She pauses. “He’s already a little warmer, isn’t he? A little fuller. I can see it. The blood is starting to pay attention.”

You snap your eyes open. She’s right. Your cock is stirring. A slow, inevitable swell. The band feels snugger.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “Let him show us what he really is. A show-off. A performer. He loves an audience. He wants April to see how hard he can get. How much he can spurt. He wants to prove to her—to me—that he’s a good little fountain. That he can decorate that biscuit all by himself, just because I asked him to. Don’t you, little guy? You want to put on a show. You want everyone to watch you lose control.”

No. Stop. Think of cold things. The ice bath. Math. Anything.

“Too late,” Lily singsongs softly. “He’s waking up. He’s curious. He likes my voice. He likes that I’m talking just to him. That I’m not talking to you at all. I’m talking to him. The real you. The greedy little animal in your pants.”

A low hum fills the quiet room.

The wand is on.

The vibration is a gentle buzz against the sensitive head of your cock. It’s not unpleasant. It’s… interesting. Your penis twitches, seeking more contact.

The band tightens a fraction.

The vibration intensifies. A steady, insistent thrum.

“There he goes,” Lily coos. “He likes that. He wants to feel it more. Go ahead, little guy. Press into it. Get what you need.”

You grit your teeth. Don’t. Don’t move.

But your body isn’t listening. Your hips give a tiny, involuntary thrust, grinding the tip of your cock more firmly against the vibrating surface. Pleasure sparks up your spine.

The band tightens again.

The vibration kicks up another notch. It’s a deep, rumbling massage now, concentrated on the most sensitive part of you. Pre-cum beads at your slit, slicking the plastic.

“Look at him leak,” Lily says, her voice full of warm admiration. “He’s so excited. He’s so ready to perform. He wants to show everyone what a good boy he is. How he can make a mess. How he can frost that biscuit.”

Her words are a direct line to your groin. Your cock is fully hard now, straining against the elastic band, which is stretched taut.

The vibration is intense, overwhelming, a continuous electric pleasure that’s short-circuiting your thoughts. Your balls are drawing up tight. Your thighs are trembling.

“He’s close, isn’t he?” Lily whispers, leaning in. Her breath is hot on your ear. “He’s throbbing. I can see it. He’s going to lose. He’s going to shoot all over that cookie because I told him to. Because I own him. Not you. Me.”

It’s the truth. Humiliating, undeniable truth. Your penis is hers. It’s responding to her voice, her permission, her command. You’re just the vessel. The audience.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” she continues, her lips almost touching your ear. “That deep, needy pulse in your balls. That’s him begging. He’s saying, ‘Please, let me frost it. Let me cover it. Let me prove I’m your good, messy boy.’ And you know what? I think he deserves it. I think he’s earned his little treat. So go ahead. Let him hump that vibration. Let him chase his biscuit. Let him show me how perfectly he obeys when I’m the one giving the orders.”

The orgasm builds, a tidal wave of shame and ecstasy. You can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Your hips are moving now in short, frantic jerks, no longer under your command. Each tiny thrust grinds the swollen head of your cock against the buzzing plastic, seeking more pressure, more friction. The wand rocks on its stand with your desperate rhythm.

“There he is,” Lily coos, her voice rich with approval. “Look at him go. Look at those little humps. So eager. So needy. He’s not even thinking about the biscuit anymore, is he? He’s just chasing the buzz. Chasing the feeling I turned on for him. That’s it, sweetie. Give in. Let him have his fun.”

A low, helpless groan escapes your lips. Your entire world has narrowed to the electric pleasure vibrating up your shaft and the warm, commanding voice in your ear.

You’re humping the wand in earnest now, shallow, frantic pumps that slap your bare pelvis against the base of the stand. Pre-cum streams from you, slicking the path.

“See how he looks for it?” Lily whispers, her breath hot on your neck. “His little tip is searching, rubbing, begging for that finish line. He sees the biscuit, doesn’t he? He knows his job. He wants to paint it. He wants to make it pretty for me. Go on. A little faster. Chase it. Frost it.”

Your vision blurs. The tension in your balls is a white-hot coil, winding tighter with every slurred thrust. You’re a machine she switched on, a piston firing mindlessly toward its only purpose.

“That’s it,” Lily murmurs, her voice a velvet command. “Let him finish his assignment. Let him show you who he really listens to.”

With a choked gasp, you erupt.

Thick, hot pulses of cum stripe through the air, splattering across the white plate, coating the shortbread biscuit in glistening white streaks. The wand vibrates through your contractions, milking you dry. You sag against the table, spent, shuddering, your mind blank.

The vibration stops. The band goes slack.

Silence, except for your ragged breathing.

Lily steps forward, examines the plate. “Perfect,” she says, her voice satisfied. “Thorough coverage. A textbook frosting.” She looks at April. “See, princess? His penis listens to me. Not to him.”

April nods, her eyes huge. She looks… excited. Flushed. But not surprised.

Reyna begins disconnecting the device, her job done.

Lily picks up the plate. She holds it out to you. The biscuit sits in the center, glazed with your own semen.

“Appreciation, sweetie,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “Your little guy performed wonderfully. He listened, he swelled, he chased, he finished exactly as asked. He did his job perfectly. Now you show your gratitude. You consume his offering. You taste his success. It’s not his fault you lack the discipline to lead him. So go on. Gobble it all up. Every last drop of his… faithfulness.”

You stare at the plate. Nausea rises in your throat, but beneath it, a darker, deeper current of arousal stirs. Your cock, still semi-hard, gives a feeble twitch.

You take the plate. The biscuit is damp, warm from your cum. You pick it up. It smells of salt and sex.

You look at Lily. Her eyes are soft, expectant.

You take a bite.

The taste is bitter, salty, profoundly intimate. You chew. You swallow. The humiliation is absolute. You have eaten your own failure, on command, in front of the girl you want and the girl who owns you.

Lily watches you finish, then takes the empty plate from your trembling hand. “Good boy,” she says, her voice warm. “Now you understand. The battle isn’t out there. It’s in here.” She taps your bare pelvis, just above your spent cock. “And you’re losing. Every time.”

She turns to April, loops an arm through hers. “Let’s go, princess. He needs to clean up.”

They walk toward the door. Lily pauses, looks back. “We’ll be in touch, sweetie. Don’t jerk off until we say so. It’s part of the training.”

Then they’re gone.

You stand in the empty lab, the taste of your own cum still on your tongue, the ghost of vibration still tingling in your cock. You pull up your pants with clumsy hands.

You came here to prove your faithfulness. To earn your date.

Instead, you proved you’re a slave to your own anatomy. That Lily, with just her words, can make you erupt on command. That you’ll eat your own shame if she tells you to.

You’ve never been more humiliated.

You’ve never been more aroused.

The game is no longer about winning April.

It’s about surviving Lily.

This is the fourth in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one frosted biscuit at a time.

Next: What happens when the knight is tasked with guarding the princess’s purity from himself—and is given the tools to ensure he physically cannot fail.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II | Acts of Chivalry Part III

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part VI — The Faithful Knight

Saturday arrives wrapped in a low, buzzing anxiety.

You stand outside their dorm room at seven p.m., your fist hovering before the wood. You’re dressed in dark jeans and a button-down, the fabric crisp, unfamiliar.

You feel the cage with every shift of your thighs—a cool, constant pressure, a silent chaperone nestled against your flesh.

The LED on the ring pulses a soft, steady blue beneath your clothes, a heartbeat only you can feel.

You knock.

The door swings open. Lily stands there, already smiling. She’s in leggings and an oversized sweater, her hair piled in a messy bun. She looks like she’s settling in for a night alone.

“Right on time,” she says, stepping back to let you in. “She’s almost ready. Come in, sweetie.”

You step into the warm, cluttered space. The room smells of vanilla and fabric softener. Clothes are strewn across one bed, textbooks stacked on the other.

April is standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door, wearing a simple black dress that falls just above her knees. She’s fussing with her hair, her face pinched with nerves.

“Hey,” you say.

April turns, her smile tentative. “Hi. Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful,” you say, the line automatic, practiced. But this time, you mean it. The dress hugs her curves softly. Her hair is down, framing her face. She looks… innocent. Precious.

Lily moves to stand behind April, meeting your eyes in the mirror. Her hands come to rest on April’s shoulders, a gentle, possessive touch.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Lily says, her voice warm. “A princess on her first date. It’s a big night.”

April blushes, dropping her gaze.

Lily’s eyes hold yours. “A big night for you, too, sweetie. Your first test as a caged knight.”

She says it casually, as if discussing the weather. “Remember, the Babysitter is on duty. I’ll be watching.”

She taps the smartwatch on her wrist. The screen lights up briefly, showing a small, pulsing icon—a tiny lock. Your status. “If your little guy gets too excited, I’ll know. And I can… help him calm down.”

Your stomach tightens. The remote vibration. The humiliation of being stimulated—or punished—from across town.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice tight.

“I know you will,” Lily says, her smile widening. “Because you’re not just escorting her tonight. You’re attending to her.”

She leans closer to April’s ear, but her words are for you. “A knight doesn’t just walk beside his lady. He attends to her comfort. Her pleasure. Her happiness. That’s your only job tonight. Everything else is just… noise.”

The words land softly, but they carry weight. Attend to her pleasure. You file it away.

April turns from the mirror, smoothing her dress. “I’m ready.”

Lily steps back, giving you an appraising look. “You look handsome. Very chivalrous.” She reaches out and pats your cheek, her touch warm, almost maternal. “Have fun, you two. Be good.”

You lead April out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you. The silence feels immense.

---

Dinner is at a small Italian place off campus, all red-checkered tablecloths and dripping candles in Chianti bottles. You pull out her chair. You order for her when she hesitates. You keep the conversation light—classes, movies, safe topics. You are the picture of a gentleman.

And all the while, the cage is a quiet, insistent presence. You feel it when you cross your legs. You feel it when you lean forward, the cool metal pressing into your thigh. You are hyper-aware of your own containment.

April relaxes slowly. She laughs at your jokes. She tells you about a documentary she saw about meerkats. Her eyes sparkle in the candlelight. She’s having a nice time.

You are, too. In a strange, suspended way. The old script is running in your head—the player’s calculus—but the usual endpoint feels distant, impossible. Your cock is locked away. The usual finish line is bricked over.

As the waiter clears the plates, April excuses herself to the ladies’ room. You watch her walk away, the sway of her hips under the black dress. Your cage gives a faint, interested throb. Not an erection—the steel won’t allow that—but a deep, internal ache, a hum of awareness.

Your phone buzzes on the table.

A text from Lily.

Lily: She just texted me from the washroom. She says she’s having a nice time.

You stare at the screen. Of course April texted her. Of course Lily is monitoring.

Lily: “Nice” isn’t the goal, is it?

Your thumbs hover over the screen. You don’t know how to reply.

Lily: She’s a princess. She deserves a happy ending.

The phrase hangs in the air, ambiguous, heavy. Happy ending.

Your mind jumps to the obvious, the crude conclusion. Is Lily suggesting… that you fuck her? That the cage comes off? That tonight ends with you inside April?

But that can’t be right. Your dick is locked up. The Babysitter is on duty. Lily holds the key—the digital key. She wouldn’t…

You shake your head. You’re reading too much into it. She means a metaphorical happy ending. A good night. A perfect first date.

You text back: We’re having a good time.

Lily: I know. I’m watching.

The watch. The app. She can see your arousal levels. She knows your cage is humming with low-grade interest.

You put your phone away just as April returns, her cheeks flushed from the warm bathroom.

“Everything okay?” she asks, sliding back into her chair.

“Perfect,” you say, forcing a smile. “Ready for the next part?”

“What’s next?”

You lean forward, lowering your voice. “A movie. There’s an indie theater nearby. They’re showing an old French film. Subtitles. Very… atmospheric.”

The old script. The player’s calculus. Dinner, then a movie.

The back row. Dark, isolated. Hands under her dress, fingers inside her, her mouth on your cock before the credits roll. You’ve done it a dozen times. It’s your signature move. Get the girl in the back, make her wet, have her suck your cock. Their head bobbing. Your hand in their hair. The taste of their submission before the lights come up.

It’s crude. It’s effective. It’s who you used to be.

April’s eyes widen with interest. “A movie sounds fun.”

You pay the bill, help her with her coat. Your hand on the small of her back feels proprietary, practiced. She doesn’t pull away.

---

The theater is an old independent house, all faded velvet and dust motes dancing in the projector beam. The air smells of popcorn and mildew. There are maybe ten other people scattered in the seats, all older, couples keeping to themselves.

You lead April to the very back row. It’s vacant. Perfect.

The film begins—black and white, a man and a woman arguing in rapid French. You don’t read the subtitles. Your focus is on the girl beside you.

You start your approach, the old, familiar dance. You stretch your arm along the back of her seat, let it rest lightly on her shoulders. She tenses for a second, then relaxes, leaning into you slightly. Her hair smells like strawberries.

Your heart hammers. The cage feels like a lie against your skin.

You let your hand drift down, from her shoulder to the side of her breast. You squeeze gently, through the fabric of her dress. She inhales sharply, but she doesn’t stop you. Her nipple hardens under your palm.

Emboldened, you slide your hand lower, over the curve of her waist, to her thigh. The dress is short. Your fingers find bare skin. She’s warm. Soft.

You lean in, whisper in her ear, “You’re so beautiful.”

She turns her face toward you, her lips parted. You kiss her. It’s soft, tentative at first, then deeper. Her mouth opens under yours. She tastes like mint and wine.

Your hand slips from her thigh to the hem of her dress. You push it up slowly, revealing more skin. Your fingers trace the edge of her panties—simple cotton, innocent. You hook a finger under the elastic, slide it to the side.

She’s wet. Soaking. Your fingers find her folds, slick and hot. You press one inside her, just to the first knuckle. She gasps into your mouth, her hips lifting off the seat to meet your touch.

This is it. The moment. The old magic is working. She’s aroused, willing, pliant. Your cock, even caged, is screaming for release. The ache is a white-hot coal in your groin.

You add a second finger, curling them inside her. She moans, low and helpless. Her hands clutch at your shirt.

Your mind is racing ahead, mapping the next steps. You’ll unzip your jeans. You’ll guide her head down. She’ll take you in her mouth, eager, inexperienced but willing. You’ll come down her throat while the French couple on screen shouts about love and betrayal.

You start to pull your hand back, to reach for your zipper.

And then you realize.

With sudden, brutal clarity.

The Babysitter is on duty.

Your cock is not available. It’s locked in a steel pod. Snug in its home. You can’t take it out. You can’t have her suck it. You can’t fuck her. You can’t even jerk off.

The entire endpoint of your signature move—the culmination, the victory lap—is impossible.

Panic floods you, cold and sharp. Your fingers still inside her go slack. Your kiss falters.

April pulls back, breathing heavily. Her eyes are glazed with arousal, but confusion is creeping in. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.

“Nothing,” you say, but your voice is hollow. You withdraw your hand from under her dress, wipe your wet fingers on your jeans.

She sits up, smoothing her dress down. The rejection is palpable. You can feel her disappointment like a physical chill. She thought this was leading somewhere. She was ready. And you… you stopped.

You’ve lost the thread. The script is broken. The knight is frozen.

On screen, the French woman is crying. The subtitles blur.

Your mind races, desperate. What are you supposed to do? The date is crumbling. April’s happy ending is evaporating. Lily’s words echo: She’s a princess. She deserves a happy ending.

And then, like a key turning in a lock, you understand.

Attend to her pleasure.

A knight doesn’t just escort his lady.

Her comfort. Her pleasure.

The goal isn’t your orgasm. It never was. The cage made sure of that. The goal is hers.

Lily wasn’t being ambiguous. She was being literal. A happy ending for April. For the princess.

And you know how to give it to her.

Your heart is pounding, not with panic now, but with a strange, clear purpose. You look at April, her face shadowed in the flickering light. She looks hurt. Confused.

You slide off the seat, onto the sticky, gum-spotted floor of the theater.

April stares down at you, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer. You kneel between her legs, like a supplicant. Like a lapdog. You push her skirt up again, revealing her thighs, the white cotton panties now damp with her arousal.

“Trust me,” you whisper, your voice rough.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties, pull them to one side, exposing her completely. In the dim light, she’s glistening.

You lean forward and press your mouth to her pussy.

The taste is musky, sweet, profoundly intimate. She gasps, her hands flying to your hair.

You don’t know what you’re doing—you’ve never done this before, not like this, not without the expectation of reciprocation. But your body seems to know. Your tongue finds her clit, circles it, flicks it. You listen to her breathing, to the tiny hitches and moans.

A sharp gasp. “Ah!”

She’s never had a man eat her out. You can feel it in her tension, her shock, her rapid surrender. Within seconds, she’s melting. Her thighs fall open. Her hips lift off the seat, pressing into your face. She’s moaning, low and continuous, a sound of pure, unraveling pleasure.

You are a faithful knight. Your sword is sheathed, locked away. So you use your tongue. You attend to her. You serve her.

You lap at her, slow and steady, then faster as her breathing quickens. You slide a finger inside her again, curling it, finding a rhythm with your mouth. She’s so wet you’re drowning in her. Her hands are fists in your hair, pulling, guiding.

Her whole body jolts. Your tongue drags a slow, flat stroke from the damp skin above her asshole all the way up through her slit to her clit.

“Ohhhh.” Her hands tighten in your hair. Her hips lift further off the seat. “Oh god,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Please.”

You don’t. You worship her with your mouth. The cage between your legs is a distant ache, a irrelevant detail. Your own arousal is a background hum, unimportant. All that matters is the girl coming apart above you.

You push your tongue into her hole.

“Ohgod.” Her thighs clamp around your ears. Her fingers pull your hair. “Yesss.”

You tongue-fuck her, slow then faster. She’s panting. “Hnngh… Ohmyyyygod. Mmmhh.”

You slide a finger in alongside your tongue. Then another. She’s so wet, so tight. You pump them.

“Ohmyyyygod… Ohmyyyygod—!” she moans, the word breaking into a gasp.

You find her clit with the tip of your tongue. Circle it. Flick it.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Her hips buck, thrusting her pussy into your face. She’s grinding against your mouth, seeking pressure, friction. You suck the little bud into your mouth, flicking it with your tongue while your fingers pump in and out.

Her breathing goes ragged. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

Her orgasm erupts. Not a wave. A quake. Suddenly. Violently.

Her whole body stiffens. She pulses around your finger, her hips bucking against your mouth. Her back arches off the seat. A raw, choked scream tears out of her— “Hnnnnnnggggghhh!”—swallowed by the movie’s drone.

Her pussy clenches, a rapid, milking pulse. A gush of hot liquid floods over your hand, your chin. She jerks, spasming, her whole body shaking. “Ah! Ah! Ahhhh!”

You keep licking, gentler now, through the aftershocks. She collapses back into the seat, trembling, breath coming in ragged sobs.

You stay there for a moment, your face wet with her, your knees aching on the hard floor. Then you slowly pull her panties back into place, smooth her skirt down.

You climb back into the seat beside her. She’s staring at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

You take her hand. It’s limp, then her fingers tighten around yours.

“Wow,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

You say nothing. You just hold her hand while the movie plays to its incomprehensible end.

---

You walk her home in a comfortable silence. Her arm is linked through yours, her body leaning into yours.

She smells of sex and sweat and your saliva. You feel… peaceful. Empty of agenda. The cage is still there, a quiet companion.

Lily is waiting on the dorm steps, wrapped in a blanket. She stands as you approach, her eyes scanning April’s face, then yours.

April lets go of your arm, throws her arms around Lily. “It was perfect,” she murmurs into Lily’s shoulder.

Lily meets your eyes over April’s head. Her smile is slow, deep, approving.

April pulls back, yawns. “I’m going to go brush my teeth. Thank you,” she says to you, standing on her toes to kiss your cheek. Then she disappears inside.

Lily steps closer to you. She reaches up and pats your head, like you’re a good dog. Her touch is warm, possessive.

“You did good, sweetie,” she says, her voice soft. “You attended to her. You gave her a happy ending.”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Go home,” she says, giving your cheek a final pat. “Get some rest. We’ll talk soon.”

You turn and walk away, toward your own dorm. The night air is cool on your skin. Your mind is quiet, strangely clear.

It’s only when you’re halfway across the quad, the door to their building long closed behind you, that you remember.

The cage.

It’s still on.

You’re still locked.

You didn’t ask her to remove it. She didn’t offer. It didn’t even occur to you during the date. It was just… part of you.

You stop walking, your hand drifting to your groin. You can feel the solid shape through the denim.

It will have to stay on until Lily decides otherwise. Until she unlocks it remotely. Or until she gives you permission to remove it.

You’re her knight. Caged. Faithful.

And for the first time, the thought doesn’t bring humiliation. It brings a strange, quiet pride.

You did your job. You pleased your princess.

You start walking again, the cage a familiar weight, a promise, a vow.

The game is no longer about surviving Lily.

It’s about serving April.

And you’re just beginning to learn how.

This is the sixth in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one faithful tongue at a time.

Next: What happens when the caged knight is invited to a sleepover — and the Babysitter’s remote settings are turned over to the princess for the night.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II | Acts of Chivalry Part III | Acts of Chivalry Part IV | Acts of Chivalry Part V

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part VIII — The Steeplechase

You wake to the smell of vanilla and clean skin, the warm weight of bodies on either side of you.

April is curled against your left shoulder, her breath soft on your neck. Lily is pressed against your right, her hand still resting possessively on the cage over your soft, spent cock.

The memory of last night—the vibration, her finger inside your ass, the biscuit, the taste—floods back, hot and shameful.

You stir, and Lily’s eyes open immediately. She smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips.

“Good morning, sweetie,” she murmurs, her voice sleep-rough and warm. “Sleep well?”

You nod, unable to speak. Your body feels used, hollowed out, strangely peaceful.

April stirs, blinking up at you. “Hi,” she whispers, her cheeks pink.

You manage a “Hi” back.

Lily stretches, then sits up, the blanket pooling around her waist. She looks at you, her gaze thoughtful. “You did very well last night. Your steed learned its lesson. Your sword performed from its little house. You’re coming along nicely.”

The words are praise, but they tighten something in your chest. Coming along. For what?

You clear your throat. “Lily… the cage. Can you… unlock it now?”

The question hangs in the quiet room. April watches, her expression unreadable.

Lily’s smile doesn’t falter. She reaches out, pats your cheek. “Soon, sweetie. I promise. But first… there’s one last thing. Your final knightly challenge.”

Your stomach drops. “Another challenge?”

“The last one,” Lily says, her voice reassuring. “The Steeplechase.”

You stare at her. “The what?”

“The Steeplechase,” she repeats, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s a tradition. A rite of passage. For knights who have completed their training.” She stands, pulling on a robe. “Get dressed. We’ll explain on the way.”

There’s no room for refusal. Her tone is calm, certain. She assumes you will comply. And you do.

You pull on your sweatpants and t-shirt, the cage a familiar, cool weight beneath the fabric. The LED pulses a soft, steady blue. You are still locked. Still monitored.

April dresses quickly in leggings, a white shirt, and a hoodie, her movements nervous but excited. She keeps glancing at you, her eyes bright.

Lily leads you out of the dorm, into the crisp morning air. The campus is quiet, Sunday-empty. She walks with purpose, April falling into step beside her, you trailing behind like a well-trained dog.

You want to ask where you’re going, what the Steeplechase is, but the words stick in your throat. Lily’s certainty is a wall. She will tell you when she’s ready.

She leads you off campus, down a side street, to a nondescript gray building with no signage.

It looks like a warehouse, or a low-rent office space. She produces a keycard, swipes it at a sleek black reader beside an unmarked door. A green light blinks. The door clicks open.

“In you go, sweetie,” Lily says, holding it open for you.

You step inside.

The interior is nothing like the exterior. The hallway is wide, clean, lit by recessed LED strips. The walls are soundproofed, covered in a dark gray acoustic fabric. Doors line both sides, each identical, each marked with a small, discreet number.

It feels clinical. Private. Expensive.

Lily leads you to door number seven. She swipes her keycard again. The lock disengages with a soft hum.

“After you,” she says.

You step inside, and your breath catches.

The room is a studio. A specially equipped, custom-designed space. The centerpiece is a chaise lounge upholstered in rich, dark leather. It’s placed in front of a massive widescreen TV mounted on the far wall. The setup looks like a private screening room for one.

But your eyes are drawn to the machinery.

In front of the chaise, mounted on a motorized tripod, is a high-definition camera. It’s aimed directly at the end of the chaise—the part with no seatback. The lens is large, professional.

Beside the chaise, on the side with the seatback, is a console. A sleek black panel with a joystick, several buttons, and a small touchscreen.

Your mind scrambles to make sense of it. A camera. A console. A chaise.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice thin.

Lily closes the door behind you. The seal is absolute. She walks to the console, taps the touchscreen.

The room lights up—soft, adjustable LEDs in the ceiling. The widescreen TV flickers to life, displaying a simple logo: a stylized knight’s helmet crossed with a riding crop.

“This,” Lily says, turning to face you, “is the Steeplechase. The final test of a knight’s training.”

April stands beside her, her hands clasped in front of her. She looks nervous, but there’s a gleam in her eyes. Anticipation.

“I don’t understand,” you say.

Lily’s expression softens with patience. “Sweetie, all this time, you thought you were hunting April. You thought you were the alpha, the conqueror, the knight seeking a virgin princess to claim.”

She pauses, letting the words settle. “But you were the game. April and I… we were hunting you.”

The floor tilts. Your ears ring. “What?”

“It’s a tradition,” Lily explains, her voice calm, instructional. “Every year, my sorority selects a group of men from the fraternities. Men who display certain… patterns. The player mentality. The conquest script. The belief that women are targets to be won.” She smiles. “We find them. We befriend them. And we train them.”

Your mind reels. The lab. The waxing. The confession. The lines. The ice bath. The biscuit. The cage. The sleepover. All of it—a coordinated hunt. A training program.

“You… you targeted me?” you whisper.

“We selected you,” Lily corrects gently. “We saw potential. A willingness to be shaped. A responsiveness.”

She gestures to the room. “And now, you’re ready for the finale. The Steeplechase is a race. You, and the other knights selected by other princesses, will compete.”

“Compete how?” you ask, though a cold dread is already coiling in your gut.

Lily nods to the chaise. “You will be the steed. April will be your jockey. The race is simple: the first knight to frost his biscuit wins.”

Your eyes dart to the camera, to the console, to the screen. The pieces click into place with horrifying clarity.

The camera will broadcast you. The screen will show the other “steeds.” The console controls… something.

“It’s a live stream,” Lily says, confirming your fear. “Thousands of women will be watching. Members of my sorority. Alumni. Friends. It’s our annual event. A celebration of reclamation.”

Her voice is warm, proud. “You should feel honored, sweetie. You’ve been chosen to participate.”

Honored. The word tastes bitter.

You take a step back. “No. I’m not doing this. Unlock me. I want to leave.”

Lily’s expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t get angry. She doesn’t raise her voice. She simply looks at you with gentle pity.

“Sweetie, you’re still caged. The Babysitter is on duty. I hold the key. And more importantly…”

She steps closer, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “You want to do this. You’re terrified, yes. But you’re also… aroused. Look.”

She gestures to your groin.

You glance down. Beneath your sweatpants, the cage is pressing against the fabric. You’re not hard—the steel won’t allow it—but a deep, humiliating ache has begun to pulse. Your cock is interested. It’s listening.

“Your little guy knows his role,” Lily says, her tone approving. “He’s been trained for this. He wants to perform. He wants to win his race.”

She places a hand on your chest, over your hammering heart. “And you… you want to be a good knight for April, don’t you? You want to prove your devotion. After all she’s given you. After all the training.”

It’s a trap. A perfect, gentle trap. To refuse is to reject April, to reject your own training, to admit that you’re not the knight you pretended to be.

To say yes is to surrender to a public humiliation you can’t yet fully comprehend.

You look at April. She’s watching you, her eyes wide, hopeful. “Please?” she whispers. “I want to race with you.”

That does it. The final thread of resistance snaps.

Your shoulders slump. “Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

Lily’s smile is radiant. “Good boy,” she says, patting your cheek. “Now, clothes off. Everything. Assume your position.”

You undress with trembling hands, peeling off your sweatpants, your t-shirt, your boxers. The cool air hits your skin.

You stand naked before them, the cage gleaming under the studio lights, a polished steel pod over your soft penis. The blue LED pulses like a calm, monitoring heartbeat.

Lily guides you to the chaise. “On all fours, sweetie. Here, at this end.” She points to the spot directly in front of the camera. “Your head and chest will face the screen. Your… other end will face April.”

You climb onto the leather, the material cool and smooth under your knees and palms.

You position yourself as directed, your ass raised, your head lowered. The pose is instantly, brutally familiar.

You’ve seen it a hundred times—on your phone screen, in dim dorm rooms, in the shaky footage you filmed yourself.

All those girls you convinced to get on all fours, their backs arched, their faces turned to face the camera as you fucked them from behind.

The virgins you claimed, their shyness turned into a performance for your private collection. You were always behind the camera, always the director, always the one in control.

Now you are the one on all fours. The camera lens is inches from your face. You can see your own reflection in the glass—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, a trapped animal. You are the virgin now.

April will be behind you, will mount you, ride you, stretch your asshole, stuff you full. The humiliation doesn’t just burn; it radiates from your core, a silent scream that echoes every conquest you ever filmed, every gasp you ever recorded, every girl you ever reduced to this same vulnerable pose.

Lily moves to the console. She taps the screen, and the widescreen TV changes. It splits into a grid of twelve squares. Each square shows a similar scene: a man on all fours on a chaise, a camera pointed at his face, a woman standing behind him, preparing.

Your breath hitches. The other knights. They look like you—young, athletic, faces tight with fear and arousal. Some are already caged. Some are being fitted with cages by the women behind them.

All are naked. All are positioned on all fours. Their asses in the air. All of them waiting to be fucked. To be ridden by their princess.

In the bottom corner of the screen, a live chat scrolls rapidly. Usernames, mostly feminine, with emojis and comments.

#7 looks nervous lol Can’t wait to see them run! My money’s on #3, he’s got a competitive ass. This is my favorite day of the year.

Your stomach clenches. Thousands of women. Watching.

Lily speaks softly to April. “Princess, it’s time to suit up.”

April nods, her face serious. She moves to a small cabinet against the wall, opens it, and pulls out a harness. It’s made of black leather, sleek and minimalist. Attached to it is a dildo—long, thick, realistically shaped, with a pronounced head and veined shaft.

Your asshole clenches instinctively. You remember last night—the intrusion, the shock, the pleasure. This is bigger.

April steps into the harness, adjusts the straps around her hips and thighs. The dildo juts out from her pelvis, a stark, artificial cock. She looks… powerful. A jockey with her riding crop.

Lily helps her apply lube to the silicone shaft, coating it thoroughly. The smell of silicone and lubricant fills the air.

“Okay, sweetie,” Lily says, turning back to you. “This is how it will work. April is going to mount you. She’ll penetrate you. And she’s going to fuck you. The goal is to make you cum. The first knight to frost his biscuit wins the race for his princess.”

She holds up a shortbread biscuit, placing it just below your cock, in full view of the camera. “This is your target. Your little guy already knows what to do with it.”

You stare at the biscuit. Your cock gives a weak, interested throb inside its cage.

“The camera will broadcast your face and your… performance,” Lily continues. “I will adjust it to make sure the audience can see your whole performance.

She taps the console. The screen changes slightly.

"The console also lets me control the vibration settings on your cage. I can adjust intensity, pattern, everything. I’ll be your trainer. Your coach. Helping you along.” She smiles. “And the live audience will be cheering you on.”

She taps again. The screen changes slightly. A countdown timer appears at the top: 5:00. Below it, the twelve video feeds. The chat scrolls faster.

Almost time! I love the pre-race jitters. Look at #9, he’s already leaking in his cage!

You close your eyes. This is really happening.

You feel April move behind you. Her hands settle on your hips, warm and sure. She positions the tip of the dildo at your asshole. The silicone is cool, slick.

“Ready, sweetie?” Lily asks, her voice calm beside you.

You can’t speak. You nod, a tiny, desperate motion.

“Good boy.”

The countdown hits 0:00.

A bell rings, clear and digital, through the room’s speakers.

April pushes forward.

The head of the dildo breaches you, a slow, inexorable stretch. You gasp, your fingers digging into the leather. It’s bigger than Lily’s finger. Much bigger. The burn is intense, but beneath it, that deep, electric pressure begins to stir.

April doesn’t hesitate. She rocks her hips, sliding the dildo deeper, until it’s fully sheathed inside you. You’re stuffed, stretched, impaled. The sensation is overwhelming—pain, fullness, and a terrifying, burgeoning pleasure.

On the screen, you see the other knights. Their women are moving behind them, riding them, faces focused. Some of the men are already panting, eyes squeezed shut.

The chat explodes.

And they’re off! #5 is taking it like a champ! Look at #12’s face omg

Lily’s hand rests on your back, a steadying presence. “Easy, sweetie,” she murmurs. “Breathe. Let your steed open up. Let April in. Let her ride you.”

April begins to move. Short, testing thrusts at first, then longer, smoother strokes. The dildo slides in and out of you, a relentless rhythm.

Each inward push brushes that secret, sensitive spot inside you. Bolts of pleasure shoot up your spine, radiating to your caged cock.

You moan, low and helpless.

“That’s it,” Lily coos. “He’s finding his stride. Your steed is warming up.” She taps the console. “Let’s give your little sword some encouragement.”

A vibration starts in the cage—a low, steady hum at the base of your shaft. It’s not intense, but it’s constant, a buzzing counterpoint to the deep, internal stimulation.

Your cock swells against its confines, pre-cum beading at the slit, slicking the inside of the pod.

The dual sensations—the fucking from behind, the vibration from the front—merge into a feedback loop of mounting pleasure. You’re not in control. You’re a vehicle. A steed being ridden to a finish line you didn’t choose.

“Look at the screen, sweetie,” Lily instructs, her voice calm. “See your competition. See the other knights. They’re feeling the same thing. They’re being ridden. They’re being trained. But you… you have an advantage. You’ve had extra tutoring. Your steed knows its job. Your sword knows its target.”

Her words are a physical touch. Your arousal spikes. On the screen, you see one of the men—number 2—throw his head back, his mouth open in a silent cry. His woman is pounding into him, her expression fierce.

The chat cheers.

#2 is making a move! He’s close, I can tell! Don’t let him win, #7! Come on!

April’s thrusts become harder, faster. She’s breathing heavily behind you, her hands tight on your hips. “You can do it,” she whispers, her voice strained with effort. “Come for me. Win for me.”

The plea goes straight to your core. You want to win for her. You want to be her champion, even here, even like this.

Lily increases the vibration. It shifts to a rapid, insistent pulse. The stimulation is maddening. Your prostate is being hammered by the dildo, your cock is being vibrated into submission. Pleasure coils tight in your balls, a spring wound to breaking.

“He’s close, April,” Lily narrates, her voice warm with excitement. “His little sword is throbbing. His steed is clenching. They’re syncing up. They’re ready to run.”

She leans closer to you, her lips near your ear. “Look at your biscuit, sweetie. That’s your finish line. That’s your victory. Paint it. Show everyone what a well-trained knight can do.”

You fix your eyes on the screen, the shortbread biscuit under your cock, gleaming under the lights. Your target. Your canvas.

The pressure builds, unbearable, exquisite. Your whole body is taut, trembling. The sounds of the room fade—April’s grunts, the hum of electronics, the chatter from the screen. There’s only the sensation of being fucked, being vibrated, being owned.

“Now, sweetie,” Lily whispers, her voice a command. “Now.”

The coil snaps.

With a raw, shattered cry, you come.

It’s a violent, helpless eruption. Your caged cock convulses, and thick jets of cum shoot through the small opening at the tip of the pod, splattering across the shortbread biscuit in frantic, white stripes. You keep coming, spurred by April’s relentless thrusts and the cage’s vibrating pulse. Each spasm milks you dry, painting the biscuit with glistening streaks.

On the screen, a notification flashes over your video feed: #7 – WINNER.

The chat erupts in a frenzy.

#7 WINS! Oh my god that was hot! Look at his face! He’s wrecked! Congratulations to Princess #7!

April slows, then stills, the dildo buried deep inside you. She’s panting, her hands gentle on your hips now. “You did it,” she breathes, her voice full of awe. “You won.”

You collapse forward, your forehead resting on the cool leather of the chaise. You’re spent, shuddering, utterly hollow. The vibration in the cage fades to a stop. The studio lights seem too bright.

Lily’s hand strokes your back. “Good boy,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You ran a perfect race. Your steed was magnificent. Your sword delivered.” She holds up the biscuit, now thoroughly glazed. “A masterpiece. The champion’ trophy.”

She brings it to your lips. “Appreciation, sweetie. Taste your victory.”

You’re too broken to resist. You open your mouth. She feeds you the biscuit. It’s damp, warm, heavy with your load. The familiar bitter-salty taste floods your mouth, now layered with the humiliation of public victory. You chew. You swallow.

Lily takes the remainder away. “Well done,” she says softly.

On the screen, the other knights are finishing, one by one, their own biscuits being frosted, their own faces showing similar ruin. The live stream is winding down, congratulations flowing in the chat.

Lily taps the console. The screen goes black. The studio lights dim.

She helps April dismount, unstrap the harness. April comes around to face you, her expression soft, glowing. She kneels beside the chaise, strokes your hair. “Thank you,” she whispers. “That was… amazing.”

You can only look at her, your mind blank.

Lily produces a small device from her pocket—a key fob. She taps it against the ring of your cage. A soft beep. The LED turns from blue to green. She reaches down, presses a hidden release. The pod detaches from the ring with a quiet click.

She removes the cage, sets it aside on the console. The sudden absence of pressure is shocking. Your penis is free, soft, spent, lying limp against your thigh. It feels small. Exposed. Naked.

You expect relief. Instead, you feel… empty. Unmoored.

Lily helps you sit up, then stand on shaky legs. She hands you your clothes. “Get dressed, sweetie. It’s over.”

You dress mechanically. The fabric feels strange against your bare skin. The cage is gone, but the ghost of it remains—a cool memory, a phantom weight.

Lily gathers her things, loops her arm through April’s. They lead you out of the studio, back down the silent hallway, out into the morning light.

The sun is higher now, the campus beginning to stir. You stand on the sidewalk, blinking, like a prisoner released into a world he no longer understands.

Lily turns to you. Her expression is gentle, final. “The training is complete, sweetie. The challenges are over. You’ve proven yourself. You’re free to go.”

Free. The word should be a liberation. It feels like a sentence.

You look at April. She’s smiling at you, but there’s a distance in her eyes now. The game is over. The hunt is concluded. You are no longer her knight in training. You are just… a guy.

A panic, cold and sharp, rises in your chest. You don’t want this to be over. You don’t want to go back to being the person you were before—the player, the conqueror, the lonely, hungry ghost. That person feels like a stranger now.

The humiliation, the surrender, the service—it has become your truth. Your purpose.

You drop to your knees on the concrete sidewalk, right there in front of them. You don’t care who sees.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Don’t let me go.”

Lily looks down at you, her head tilted. “What are you asking, sweetie?”

“Let me stay,” you beg, the words tumbling out. “Let me be April’s knight. For real. Not as a game. Not as a hunt. Let me serve her. Let me wear the cage. Let me attend to her. Please.”

You’re crying now, hot tears streaking your face. You’ve never begged for anything in your life. It feels like the most honest thing you’ve ever done.

April’s eyes widen. She looks at Lily, uncertain.

Lily studies you for a long moment. Then a slow, deep smile spreads across her face. It’s not triumphant. It’s… satisfied. Like a gardener seeing a stubborn plant finally bloom in the direction she always knew it would.

“Oh, sweetie,” she murmurs, her voice warm as honey. “You don’t have to beg. You were always going to stay.”

She reaches into her bag, pulls out the velvet pouch. From it, she produces the Babysitter—the polished steel pod, the ring. The LED indicators dark, waiting.

“A knight doesn’t abandon his sword and scabbard just because the battle is won,” she says softly. “He wears them as a vow. A promise.”

She hands the cage to April. “Princess? Your knight is asking to pledge himself to you. Will you accept his service?”

April takes the cage, her fingers curling around the cool steel. She looks at you, kneeling at her feet, tears on your face, your heart laid bare. Her expression softens into something tender, possessive, sure.

“Yes,” she says, her voice clear. “I accept.”

She kneels in front of you, right there on the sidewalk. She takes your soft penis in her hand, guides the ring behind your balls, snaps the pod into place. The familiar click. The soft beep. The blue LED pulses to life.

The cage is back on. Snug. Secure. Home.

You let out a shuddering breath. The weight returns, a comfort, a certainty.

Lily helps you both to your feet. She pats your cheek. “Good boy,” she says, her eyes shining. “Now you understand. The hunt was never about catching you. It was about revealing you. Showing you who you really are.”

She loops her arm through April’s again, and April takes your hand. The three of you begin to walk back toward the dorm, a strange, peaceful procession.

You are caged. You are owned. You are a knight in truth now, your sword sheathed, your steed trained, your princess holding your leash.

The game is over.

The service has just begun.

This is the final chapter in the series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one reclaimed steed at a time.

The End.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II | Acts of Chivalry Part III | Acts of Chivalry Part IV | Acts of Chivalry Part V | Acts of Chivalry Part VI | Acts of Chivalry Part VII

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part III — the Ice Trial

You wrote the lines two hundred times.

It took three nights. You sat at your desk, the smooth skin of your forearms sliding against the notebook paper, and you wrote the same sentence over and over until your hand cramped and the words lost all meaning.

A true knight venerates women not pussy.

You wrote it neatly, in blue ink, on lined paper, just as Lily asked. Each repetition felt like a tiny, private humiliation—a whisper in your own handwriting confirming everything she already knew about you.

By the end, you were hard. Every time. The sheer obedience of it, the childish discipline, made your cock swell against the seam of your jeans.

You came twice into a sock just thinking about handing the pages to her.

On Tuesday, you met them in the same glass-walled study room. Lily was typing. April was reading. You slid the stack of papers across the table.

Lily didn’t look up immediately. She finished her sentence, then set her laptop aside and picked up the pages. She flipped through them slowly, her expression thoughtful. April watched, her cheeks pink.

“Very good,” Lily said finally, her voice warm. “Your penmanship is lovely, sweetie. So consistent.” She set the pages down and looked at you. “Do you feel cleaner? Lighter?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad,” she said, smiling. “Confession and penance. It’s a powerful combination. Now you’re ready for the next step.”

April leaned forward. “What’s the next step?”

Lily’s eyes held yours. “Chivalry isn’t just about words. It’s about endurance. Sacrifice. A knight had to withstand physical trials—to prove his fortitude, his purity, his ability to suffer for his lady.”

She paused, letting the word suffer hang in the air. “So we’re going to test your endurance. Your ability to… withstand discomfort. To master your own body’s reactions.”

Your cock twitched, a soft, eager pulse against your thigh. You tried to keep your face neutral. “What kind of test?”

“A test of fortitude,” Lily said, as if she were suggesting a coffee date. “At the gym pool. Tonight. Nine o’clock.”

She tilted her head, her gaze steady. “Something physical. Endurance-based. A knight didn’t just write poetry—he had to prove his body was as disciplined as his intentions. That he could withstand… extremes.”

April’s eyes lit up. “Like a duel?”

“More like a trial,” Lily said, her voice softening. “A way to demonstrate control. Humility. The ability to push past discomfort for a higher purpose.”

She looked back at you, a faint smile on her lips. “You’re an athlete. This should be right in your wheelhouse. What do you think? Still want to be April’s knight?”

You almost smiled. A physical test. At the gym. Your domain. This was where you shined—where you could outlast, out-suffer, out-perform.

The tension in your shoulders eased. Your cock gave a soft, eager throb, not from fear now, but from anticipation. You could handle anything they threw at you. You’d show them what a real knight was made of.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice rough. “I’ll be there.”

Lily’s smile widened. “Good. Bring a towel.” She stood, gathering her things. “We’ll see you tonight, sweetie. Don’t be late.”

They left you there, the stack of your handwritten lines still on the table. You sat for a long time, staring at the top sheet, at your own obedient script.

A true knight venerates women not pussy.

You didn’t know what it meant. But you were going to find out.

---

The gym is empty at nine o’clock, the halls echoing with the sound of your footsteps. You’re wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt, a towel slung over your shoulder. You feel confident. Strong. This is where you excel.

You push open the door to the pool area. The air is thick with chlorine, the water glowing blue under the fluorescent lights.

Lily and April are standing on the deck, near the deep end. Lily is in a simple bikini, the triangles of the top taut over full, high breasts, the bottom riding low on her hips. A whistle hangs around her neck.

April is beside her in a pale pink two-piece, her slender frame almost glowing under the fluorescent lights, small perfect breasts and a flat stomach exposed.

They look like they belong on a beach poster—lithe, beautiful, utterly at ease in their skin.

You stare, your mouth going dry, the contrast between their confident, curated beauty and your own hairless, vulnerable body hitting you like a punch.

And then you see him.

A man is standing next to Lily, his back to you. He’s tall—maybe six-two—with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and legs that look like they’re carved from marble.

He turns as you approach, and you see his face: sharp jawline, clear eyes, a smile that’s easy and confident.

He’s an Adonis. The whole package.

“Hey,” Lily says, waving you over. “Glad you could make it. This is Titus—everyone calls him Ty. He’s a friend from the swim team.”

Ty extends a hand. His grip is firm, his palm dry. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice deep and relaxed.

You shake his hand, feeling suddenly smaller. “Yeah. You too.”

“Ty heard about our little Acts of Chivalry project,” Lily explains, her tone casual. “He thought it sounded like fun. Wanted to see if he could participate.”

You stare at her. “Participate? It’s not a contest—it’s for a date with April.”

“I know,” Lily says, nodding. “But an act of chivalry without opposition is just a beauty pageant. Where’s the test? Where’s the proof?”

She smiles. “A knight didn’t prove himself against an empty field. He proved himself against other knights. That’s what made it meaningful.”

Ty nods, his expression earnest. “She’s got a point. And honestly, it sounds like a good challenge. I’m always up for testing my limits.”

You look between them. Lily’s gaze is warm, expectant. April is watching you, her expression hopeful. Ty is just… standing there, comfortable in his own skin, looking like a Greek statue come to life.

You can’t back out. Not now. Not after you’ve come this far.

“Okay,” you say, the word feeling heavy. “So what’s the contest?”

Lily gestures toward the edge of the pool. There’s a large plastic tub set up on the deck, filled with water. A bag of ice sits next to it, half-empty. You can see the steam rising from the surface—except it’s not steam, it’s cold mist. The water is already icy.

“Simple,” Lily says. “Both of you strip naked, get in the ice bath, and see how long you can last. We’ll time it. The one who stays in the longest wins the round.”

She pauses. “Of course, you’re free to go if you’re not comfortable. No hard feelings.”

Her tone is so gentle, so understanding, that the offer feels like a trap. If you leave, you’re admitting you’re not chivalrous, not brave, not worthy.

If you stay, you have to get naked in front of Ty, Lily, and April—and your recently waxed, completely bare body will be on full display.

Your cock gives a weak, involuntary twitch at the thought.

“I’m in,” you say, your voice tighter than you intended.

Ty nods. “Cool. Let’s do it.”

Lily claps her hands softly. “Great. Whenever you’re ready.”

Ty doesn’t hesitate. He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a chest that’s all defined muscle and smooth skin.

He unbuckles his shorts, lets them drop, and steps out of them. He’s wearing black boxer briefs. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pushes them down.

And there he is.

His cock is… impressive. Thick, long, resting against a heavy set of balls. It’s not erect, but even soft it’s substantial.

He’s completely hairless too—you can see the smooth skin of his pelvis, his thighs—but on him, it looks intentional. Athletic. Like a swimmer’s body.

He catches you looking and smiles, not smug, just friendly. “Cold water’s a hell of a shrinker,” he says, nodding toward the tub. “But it’s good for recovery.”

You swallow. Your hands feel clumsy as you pull your own shirt off. You undo your shorts, let them fall. You’re standing there in your boxers, aware of every inch of your own body—the smoothness of your legs, the vulnerability of your groin.

You take a breath and push your boxers down.

The air feels cool against your bare skin. You’re suddenly, acutely aware of your own cock—smaller than Ty’s, softer, pinker against the hairless landscape of your pelvis. Your balls are drawn up tight, partly from the cool air, partly from nerves.

April makes a soft sound—a little gasp, or maybe a sigh. You look at her. She’s blushing, her eyes wide, fixed on you. She’s never seen a naked man before, you realize. This is her first time.

And she’s seeing you. And Ty.

Lily is smiling, her gaze warm. “Look at you two,” she says, her voice soft. “So brave.”

The word brave feels like a hand on your back, pushing you toward the tub.

Ty steps into the ice bath first. He doesn’t flinch. He settles into the water, his muscles tensing for a second before he relaxes. “Oh yeah,” he says, blowing out a breath. “That’s cold.”

You step forward, put one foot in. The water is like needles. You grit your teeth and lower yourself in, sitting opposite Ty.

The cold hits you like a wall—sharp, shocking, stealing your breath. You gasp, your body shuddering.

Lily sets a timer on her phone. “And… go.”

The first minute is agony. The cold seeps into your bones, your muscles clenching, your skin prickling.

You look at Ty. He’s breathing steadily, his eyes closed, a calm expression on his face. He looks like he’s meditating.

You try to match his breathing. In. Out. Focus.

April is sitting on a bench a few feet away, her knees pulled up to her chest, watching. Her eyes keep flicking between you and Ty, her blush deepening.

Lily is standing near the edge of the tub, her arms crossed, a faint smile on her lips. “Doing great,” she murmurs. “Five minutes in.”

Five minutes feels like an hour. Your teeth are chattering. Your fingers are numb.

Your cock and balls have retreated, pulling tight against your body, trying to conserve heat.

You glance down at yourself in the clear water—your shrunken penis looks tiny, insignificant, a little pink nub against your smooth thighs.

Ty’s cock has shrunk too, but even shrunk, it’s still substantial. A thick, soft curve against his muscular thigh.

Ten minutes. You’re shaking uncontrollably now. Your lips are blue. You can’t feel your toes.

Ty is still breathing steadily, but you can see goosebumps on his arms, a slight tremor in his shoulders. He’s feeling it too.

“Twelve minutes,” Lily announces, her voice calm. “Impressive.”

You don’t feel impressive. You feel frozen. Broken. You want to get out, but you can’t be the first to quit. You won’t.

Fifteen minutes. You’re lightheaded. The cold has moved beyond pain into a strange, numb haze. Ty opens his eyes, looks at you. “You okay?” he asks, his voice steady.

You nod, your jaw clenched too tight to speak.

Lily looks at April. “What do you think, princess? Should we call it a draw? They’ve both proven their endurance.”

April bites her lip, her eyes shining. “Yes,” she says softly. “They’re both so brave. They should both win.”

Lily smiles. “Okay. Time.”

She stops the timer. “Fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds. A tie.”

You don’t wait for permission. You push yourself up, your limbs stiff, and stumble out of the tub. Water cascades off you, pooling on the deck. You’re shivering violently, your skin mottled red and white.

Ty stands up more gracefully, stepping out of the tub with a controlled motion. He shakes his head, sending droplets flying.

And then you see it.

Ty’s cock, still shrunken from the cold, is nonetheless a solid, thick presence between his legs. His balls hang heavy, already beginning to relax in the warmer air.

You look down at yourself.

Your penis has turtled. Completely. It’s shriveled, retracted, barely visible—a little pink button nestled in the smooth skin of your groin. Your balls have drawn up so tight they’ve almost disappeared. You look… like a girl. Inadequate. Exposed.

April sees it. Her eyes go wide, her hand flying to her mouth. She’s not laughing—she looks surprised, maybe a little confused.

Lily sees it too. She steps closer, her gaze dropping to your groin. Her expression is one of warm, fond amusement.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, her voice soft. “Look at your little guy. He’s all starved of ego. He just… deflated.”

The word deflated lands like a kiss on a bruise. You feel a hot rush of shame—and beneath it, a thin pulse of arousal. Your cock tries to stir, but it’s too cold, too shriveled. It just twitches pathetically.

Ty glances over, his expression neutral. “Cold water’ll do that,” he says, reaching for his towel. “Happens to everyone.”

But it doesn’t happen to everyone like this. Not like this.

Lily is still smiling. “It’s kind of cute, honestly. So honest. The penis doesn’t lie.”

She turns to April. “What do you think? Should we commemorate the moment?”

April blushes. “Commemorate?”

Ty grins, “a picture. For the princess to remember her knights.”

April’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Why not?” Lily says, pulling out her phone. “Come on. Group photo.”

You stand there, frozen in more ways than one, as Ty steps over to April, putting an arm around her shoulders. He’s still naked. April's nipples harden, she's blushing furiously, but she’s smiling—a real, delighted smile.

Lily gestures for you to join them. “Come on, sweetie. Don’t be shy.”

You move mechanically, stepping into the frame beside Ty. You’re still naked, dripping wet, your shriveled cock on full display. You try to angle your body, but there’s no hiding it.

Lily holds up her phone. “Say chivalry!”

April giggles. Ty smiles. You force a grimace that might pass for a smile.

The flash goes off.

“Perfect,” Lily says, looking at the screen. She turns it to show April. In the photo, Ty looks like a hero—muscular, confident, his arm around the princess.

You look like a drowned rat—shivering, pale, your body language closed off, your groin a smooth, empty landscape.

April’s smile falters for a second as she looks at the photo. Then she looks up at you, her expression softening.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice sincere. “For doing this. It was… really brave.”

Her kindness is worse than mockery. You nod, unable to speak.

Ty claps you on the shoulder. “Good effort, man. That was tough.” He turns to Lily. “Let me know when the next one is. This was fun.”

Lily nods. “I will. Thanks for coming, Ty.”

He grabs his clothes, gives April a little wave, and heads toward the locker room, whistling.

And then it’s just you, Lily, and April on the pool deck. The silence stretches.

Lily picks up her bag, slings it over her shoulder. “Well,” she says, her voice warm.

“That was a successful second act. You proved your endurance. Your willingness to be vulnerable. April’s impressed, aren’t you, April?”

April nods, her eyes still on you. “Yeah. Very.”

“Good,” Lily says. She steps closer to you, her voice dropping. “You’re doing great, sweetie. Two challenges down. Only… however many more to go.” She smiles. “We’ll be in touch about the next one.”

She loops her arm through April’s. “Come on, princess. Let’s get you home.”

April lets herself be led away. At the door, she looks back at you, gives you a small, shy wave.

Then they’re gone.

You stand on the pool deck, alone, dripping wet, naked.

The cold is seeping into your bones again, but you barely feel it. You look down at your body—smooth, hairless, vulnerable. Your cock is still shriveled, a tiny, pink reminder of your inadequacy.

You think about the photo now stored on Lily’s phone. On April’s phone, maybe. A permanent record of this moment—of you standing next to an Adonis, your penis betraying you, your pride deflated.

You think about the first challenge—the waxing, the humiliation, the arousal. You think about this challenge—the ice bath, the comparison, the photo.

You think about Lily’s warm, certain smile. Her gentle voice. Her unshakable confidence.

You’ve been playing a game, but you’re starting to realize the game has rules you don’t understand. That Lily is always three steps ahead. That every move you make is a move she’s already anticipated.

You pick up your towel, wrap it around your waist. Your fingers are still numb.

You came here tonight thinking you could win. Thinking you could outlast some endurance test and earn your date with April.

Now, as you walk toward the locker room, your body shivering, your mind racing, you’re not so sure.

You’re not sure about anything anymore.

Except one thing: Lily is good. Scary good.

And you’re still hard for her. Even now. Especially now.

This is the third in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one humiliating challenge at a time.

Next: What happens when the knight is asked to demonstrate his sexual control.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I | Acts of Chivalry Part II

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part I — the Knight Errant

April is sitting on the common room couch, a textbook open on her lap, but she’s not reading.

She’s looking out the window, her expression soft, far away. The late afternoon light catches the gold in her hair, and for a moment she looks like a painting—something from a different century, something untouched.

You’ve seen her around campus for weeks.

April. Freshman. Quiet. Pretty in a way that doesn’t seem to know it’s pretty. She wears sweaters that are too big, jeans that aren’t tight. She smiles at everyone but doesn’t linger.

You’ve asked around. Virgin, probably. Sheltered. The kind of girl who still believes in knights and fairy tales.

She’s exactly your type.

Not because you want a relationship. Because she’s a challenge. A conquest. One more notch on a belt that’s getting crowded—a belt your frat brothers keep score on.

It’s an unspoken game you all play: find a virgin, bag a virgin, win prestige in the house.

The quieter she is, the more sheltered, the bigger the bragging rights. You’ve made a private game of it too—see how long it takes to get her alone, get her flustered, get her wet, get her into bed.

You give it two weeks, tops. You’ve already told the guys you’ve got a live one. They’ve started a pool. The money’s on eleven days.

The only problem is the friend.

Lily.

She’s sitting next to April on the couch, legs tucked under her, scrolling through her phone. She’s a psychology major. You know this because you overheard her talking about Freud in the dining hall last week.

She’s also hot, but in a different way—sharp where April is soft, aware where April is naive.

She wears a fitted black top and jeans, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun. She glances up as you enter the common room, her eyes meeting yours for just a second before she looks back at her phone.

She knows why you’re here. You can feel it.

You take a breath, put on your easiest smile, and walk over.

“Hey,” you say, stopping in front of their couch. “April, right?”

April looks up, blinks. Her cheeks pinken just a little. “Yeah. Hi.”

“I’m—” you start, but Lily cuts in without looking up from her phone.

“He’s in your bio class, April. Sits three rows back. He’s also on the intramural soccer team. He’s got a thing for blondes, apparently.”

Lily’s voice is calm, matter-of-fact. She finally looks up, gives you a small, polite smile. “Right?”

You freeze for a second. How does she know that?

“I… yeah,” you say, recovering. “I’m impressed. You a stalker or something?”

Lily laughs, a light, musical sound. “Just observant, sweetie.” She sets her phone down. “I’m Lily. April’s best friend.”

Sweetie. The endearment throws you. It feels maternal, condescending, warm all at once. You can’t quite place it.

“Right,” you say. “Well, I was just coming over to say hi. See if April wanted to grab a coffee sometime.”

April’s eyes widen slightly. She looks at Lily, then back at you. “Oh. Um…”

“She’d love to,” Lily says, still smiling. “But she’s pretty busy this week. Aren’t you, April?”

April nods quickly. “Yeah. Super busy.”

“Maybe next week, then,” you press, keeping your tone easy. “No rush.”

Lily tilts her head, studying you. Her gaze is steady, unembarrassed.

“You know, I’ve seen you around,” she says. “You’re always with a different girl. It’s kind of impressive, in a way.”

It’s not a compliment. You can feel the edge beneath the words.

“I like to socialize,” you say, shrugging.

“I bet you do,” Lily says, her voice softening. “It must be exhausting, though. Always having to perform. Always having to be… on.”

You shift your weight. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do,” she says, her tone still gentle. “The smiles, the lines, the whole… player routine. It’s a lot of work. I’m in psych—I notice these things. The effort it takes to maintain that image.”

She leans forward slightly. “You ever just want to take a night off? Be yourself?”

April is watching you now, curious. You feel exposed, like Lily is peeling back a layer you didn’t know was there.

“I am myself,” you say, but it comes out defensive.

“Of course you are, sweetie,” Lily says, nodding. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. It’s just… I’ve noticed something about guys who are always chasing. They’re usually trying to prove something. To themselves, mostly.”

She says it like she’s sharing a fascinating observation, not an attack. Her warmth makes it impossible to get angry.

“Prove what?” you ask, against your better judgment.

“Oh, you know,” she says, waving a hand. “That they’re desirable. That they’re good in bed. That they’re… enough.” She lets the word hang for a second. “It’s sad, really. All that energy spent on validation.”

Your face feels warm. You’re not used to being read this easily, this accurately. Especially not by a girl you just met.

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” you say, your voice tighter than you intended.

“Of course not,” Lily says, her smile widening just a fraction. “I believe you.” She turns to April. “Don’t you believe him, April?”

April nods, her expression earnest. “Yeah. He seems nice.”

Nice. The word feels like a demotion.

Lily looks back at you. “So, you want to take April out. That’s sweet. But here’s the thing—April’s special. She’s not like the other girls you’ve been with. She deserves something… more.”

“More what?” you ask.

“More effort,” Lily says simply. “More sincerity. More… chivalry.”

April’s eyes light up at the word. “Chivalry?”

“Yeah,” Lily says, turning to her friend. “You’re always talking about knights and princesses, right? How a guy should prove his worth before he gets the girl.”

April blushes. “That’s just silly stuff from books.”

“It’s not silly,” Lily says, her voice firm but kind. “It’s romantic. And it makes sense. If a guy really wants you, he should be willing to do something to show it. Not just buy you a coffee.” She looks back at you. “What do you think?”

You’re trapped. If you say no, you look like a coward. If you say yes, you’re walking into whatever game Lily is setting up.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask carefully.

Lily’s smile turns thoughtful. “Well, since you’re so interested in April, and since April loves the idea of a knight proving himself… why not a series of challenges? Little tasks. Each one shows a different quality she values. And if you complete them all, you get a date with her. A real date. Her choice of activity.”

April is staring at Lily, her mouth slightly open. “Lily, that’s… that’s actually really cute.”

“Right?” Lily says, grinning. “It’s like a modern-day quest.”

You look between them. April is clearly into the idea. Her shyness is replaced by a bright, hopeful excitement. You can’t back out now.

“What kind of challenges?” you ask.

“Nothing crazy,” Lily says, her tone reassuring. “Just things that demonstrate you’re serious. That you’re willing to… understand her world.”

She pauses, her eyes scanning you. “For example, April and I were just talking about how much work it is to be a girl. The grooming, the shaving, all that. It’s a whole thing.”

You nod, not sure where this is going.

“So, for your first challenge,” Lily continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I think you should go to a salon and get all your hair removed. Below the eyebrows, I mean. Everywhere.”

Your cock gives a single, heavy throb against the inside of your jeans.

The word everywhere lands like a warm hand cupping your balls. You picture yourself lying naked on a table, every inch of skin exposed, while a stranger methodically strips you smooth.

The thought should horrify you. Instead heat pools low in your stomach and your shaft twitches again, already half-hard at the casual way Lily has decided your body will be altered for April.

You force a laugh that comes out too tight. “You’re joking, right? That’s… why would I do that?”

“It’s symbolic,” she explains, her expression serious. “If you really want to understand what girls go through, if you really want to prove you’re dedicated to making April feel comfortable and cherished, you should experience it yourself. Just once. So you get it.”

Lily’s eyes stay on yours, soft and certain, as if she is offering you a gift instead of the most public humiliation you’ve ever agreed to. Your face burns.

So does your groin. You think of all the girls you’ve bagged — the quiet virgins, the sheltered ones you’ve coaxed into shaving their pussies completely bare for you.

You remember how smooth and exposed their pussies look once the hair is gone, every soft, vulnerable inch on display like a present just for you.

Now the image flips without warning: you see yourself on that salon table, every last hair stripped away until you are just as naked, just as smooth, just as ornamental.

Your cock will look smaller, pinker, more obviously inadequate against all that bare skin — exactly the way you’ve made those girls look.

The humiliating reversal makes your balls draw up tight and your shaft pulse hard once, visibly, against your thigh.

Lily notices. The corner of her mouth curves in the tiniest, knowing smile, but she doesn't call you on it. She just lets you feel it.

April covers her mouth with her hand, but you can see she’s trying not to laugh. “Lily, that’s… mean.”

“It’s not mean,” Lily says, turning to her.

“It’s educational. And think about it—if he’s willing to do that for you, it shows he’s not just another guy trying to get into your pants. He’s willing to be vulnerable. To step outside his comfort zone.”

She looks back at you. “Isn’t that what chivalry is about? Putting the lady’s comfort above your own pride?”

Her logic is airtight. You can’t find a hole in it. And the way she’s framing it—as a noble sacrifice, as proof of dedication—makes it hard to refuse.

“All my hair?” you say, your voice weak.

“Everywhere,” Lily confirms, nodding. “Legs, chest, arms, back… everywhere.”

She leans forward, her eyes holding yours. “It’s just hair, sweetie. It grows back. But the gesture? That’s permanent. April will always remember that you did this for her.”

April is watching you, her expression a mix of amusement and anticipation. “You don’t have to,” she says softly. “It’s kind of a weird thing to ask.”

“But he wants to,” Lily says, answering for you. “Don’t you?”

She doesn’t ask it as a question. She says it as a statement. As if she already knows the answer.

And the thing is, she’s right. You do want to.

Not because you want to be hairless, but because you want April. Because you want to win. Because backing down now would mean losing face in front of both of them.

Because some part of you is already curious what it would feel like. What they would feel like, looking at you afterward.

“Yeah,” you say, the word coming out before you can stop it. “I’ll do it.”

Lily’s smile widens. It’s a warm, approving smile. “Good,” she says. “I knew you would.”

She reaches into her bag, pulls out a pen and a scrap of paper, and writes something down. “Here’s the address of a place I know. They’re discreet. They do a lot of male waxing. Tell them Lily sent you. They’ll take good care of you.”

Your fingers close around the paper and your cock gives another helpless twitch.

Lily sent you. The phrase feels intimate, almost possessive. You imagine walking in, saying her name, and the esthetician nodding like she already knows exactly what kind of boy you are.

The thought of being stripped, oiled, and methodically denuded while a professional woman works between your legs makes your breath catch.

You're fully hard now, the front of your jeans suddenly too tight, and you have to shift your weight to hide it.

Lily’s gaze flicks down for half a second and her smile deepens, warm and approving.

You take the paper. The address is for a salon called “Silken.” It sounds expensive.

“When should I go?” you ask.

“As soon as possible,” Lily says. “The sooner you complete the challenge, the sooner we can move on to the next one.” She stands, stretches. “We should get going, April. Study group.”

April stands too, gathering her textbook. She looks at you, her cheeks still pink. “Good luck,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

April’s innocent little smile hits you like a second punch. She has no idea what Lily has just talked you into—and the contrast makes your cock throb painfully.

You are going to let strangers rip every hair from your body, become completely smooth and vulnerable, all so this sheltered girl will think you are chivalrous. The humiliation is so sharp it feels like pleasure.

“Thanks,” you say.

Lily loops her arm through April’s and leads her toward the door. She pauses at the threshold, looks back at you.

“Oh, and sweetie?” she says, her voice soft. “Don’t worry about being nervous and naked in front of them. Everyone is, the first time. It’s perfectly normal.”

Then they’re gone.

You stand in the empty common room, the scrap of paper in your hand. Your heart is beating faster than it should be. You think about the salon, about wax, about being completely hairless.

You think about April’s smile, about the way Lily looked at you—like she knew exactly what you were thinking, like she was already three steps ahead.

You’ve just agreed to let a stranger strip you of every hair on your body because a girl you barely know suggested it as a test of chivalry. And the worst part is, you’re already planning when to go.

You leave the common room, heading back to your dorm. The paper feels heavy in your pocket.

You keep replaying the conversation in your head—the way Lily dismantled your confidence without ever raising her voice, the way she made humiliation sound like a gift, the way she made you want to say yes.

She’s good. Scary good.

But you’re good too. You’ve never failed at a conquest before. You’re not about to start now.

Even if it means walking into a salon and asking them to wax everything.

Even if it means letting Lily win this round.

Because there will be other rounds. And eventually, you’ll get to April. Eventually, you’ll get what you want. You'll bag that pussy.

You hope.

This is the first in a new series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one humiliating challenge at a time.

Next: What happens when a salon waxes a jock down to nothing, and the girl he’s trying to impress can’t stop giggling.

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.

[theresponsivemale]

Acts of Chivalry: Part II — The Confessional

The study room in the library is quiet in a way that feels expensive.

It’s a small, glass-walled cube on the third floor, with a single rectangular table, three chairs, and a whiteboard still smudged with last week’s calculus. The door clicks shut behind you with a sound like a seal.

April is sitting on one side of the table, a sociology textbook open in front of her. She’s highlighting a passage, her brow furrowed in concentration. The late afternoon sun slants through the window and turns the fine hairs on her forearm to gold.

Lily is sitting next to her, typing on a laptop. She doesn’t look up when you enter.

You’ve spent a week rebuilding your psychological defenses.

The waxing was… an experience. You went to Silken, gave them Lily’s name, and spent ninety minutes on a table while a woman named Anya worked you over with hot wax and cold efficiency.

She didn’t comment on your erection, which came and went in waves of humiliation and something else you still haven’t named.

She just worked, peeling away hair from your legs, your chest, your arms, your back, and finally—with a clinical detachment that made your face burn—every last hair from your groin and ass.

You left feeling like a peeled fruit. Smooth. Exposed. Vulnerable in a way you’d never been.

For three days you avoided mirrors. For four you avoided everyone. You told the guys you had a family thing. You stayed in your dorm, feeling the strange slide of sheets against skin that had never been bare, the weird draft on your balls when you walked, the constant, low-grade awareness that you were now hairless everywhere.

But you’ve rebuilt. You’ve rationalized. It was a challenge. You completed it. You proved your chivalry. Now you get the prize.

You’re ready for Lily.

You take a breath, put on your easiest smile, and step into the room.

“Hey,” you say.

April looks up. Her eyes widen, then drop to your arms—your smooth, hairless forearms, visible because you rolled your sleeves up deliberately on the walk over. A faint pink blush colors her cheeks. She looks back at her textbook quickly.

“Hi,” she says, her voice soft.

Lily finishes typing a sentence, then looks up. Her eyes meet yours. They’re calm, brown, intelligent. They scan you from head to toe, taking in the rolled sleeves, the lack of stubble on your jaw—you’ve been shaving twice a day to keep the smoothness consistent—and something in her expression shifts.

It’s not surprise. It’s confirmation.

She already knows.

“Sweetie,” she says, her voice warm. “You found us.”

She says it like you’ve accomplished something clever. Like a child who managed to locate the cookie jar.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling out the empty chair and sitting. The chair is cold through your jeans. “I figured you’d be here.”

“We’re always here on Tuesdays,” Lily says, closing her laptop. “It’s our study spot. Right, April?”

April nods, still not looking at you. “Mm-hmm.”

There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the hum of the library’s HVAC, the distant tap of someone’s keyboard.

“So,” you say, leaning forward. “I did the thing.”

Lily tilts her head. “What thing?”

You blink. “The… waxing. The challenge. I went to Silken.”

“Oh,” Lily says, as if she’d forgotten. Then she smiles, a slow, warm smile. “Right. Of course you did. How was it?”

Her tone is genuinely curious. Like she’s asking about a movie you saw.

“It was… fine,” you say, shrugging. “A little uncomfortable.”

“I bet,” Lily says, nodding. “Especially the… sensitive areas. Anya is very thorough.”

Your face heats. She knows the esthetician’s name. Of course she does. She sent you there.

“Yeah,” you say. “She was.”

“She texted me after,” Lily says, picking up her phone and scrolling idly. “Said you were very brave. A lot of guys tense up, but you just… lay there.”

The image flashes: you on the table, naked, erect, trying to stay still while Anya spread hot wax between your ass cheeks. Your cock gives a single, heavy throb against your thigh.

You shift in your seat.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” you say.

“Of course not,” Lily says, setting her phone down. “It’s just hair. It grows back.” She leans forward, her elbows on the table. “But the experience… that doesn’t grow back. You understand something now you didn’t understand before.”

You nod, eager to move past this. “Yeah. It’s… vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable,” Lily repeats, tasting the word. “Yes. That’s exactly right. To be completely bare like that. To have someone else in control of your… grooming. It’s intimate. And a little scary.”

She’s describing exactly what you felt, but she’s doing it with a warmth that makes it sound noble instead of humiliating.

“I guess,” you say.

“You don’t have to guess, sweetie,” Lily says, her voice softening. “You know. Because you’ve done it.” She pauses. “Of course, you’ve asked girls to do it for you before, haven’t you?”

The question lands like a soft punch. It’s not accusatory. It’s observational.

“What?” you say.

“You’ve persuaded girls to go completely bare for you,” Lily says, her tone still mild. “Shaved. Waxed. However they do it. You like pussy that way, don’t you?”

Your mouth is dry. “I… some girls prefer it.”

“I’m sure they do,” Lily says, nodding. “But you’re the one who suggests it. You’re the one who says, ‘It would be so hot if your pussy were smooth.’ Or, ‘I love it when a girl's pussy is completely bare.’ You’ve said that, haven’t you?”

You have. Dozens of times. It’s part of the script. A way to make them feel like they’re doing something special for you, something dirty and adult. A way to claim their pussies as your territory.

You’ve never once considered what it actually feels like to be on the other side of that request.

“Maybe,” you say.

“Not maybe,” Lily says, her eyes holding yours. “You have. I know you have. You've sent them to someone like Anya. They’re always nervous. Always embarrassed. They ask if it’s going to hurt. They ask if they’ll look… childish.” She lets the word hang. “It’s a whole thing. And you’ve been the reason for that thing. Multiple times.”

April is watching you now, her highlighters forgotten. Her expression is unreadable.

“I didn’t force anyone,” you say, your voice tight.

“Of course you didn’t,” Lily says, her tone soothing. “They wanted to please you. They wanted their pussies to look pretty for you. Smooth. Bare. Like a present just for you. That’s why they did it. Because you asked.”

She leans back, her gaze drifting down to your lap for a moment, then back to your eyes.

Her smile is warm, approving. “And now you’ve done the same thing for April. You’ve made yourself pretty for her. Everywhere. You’re smooth. You’re bare. Your… penis looks so pink and vulnerable now, doesn’t it? Just like theirs did for you. Because she asked.”

Your cock is hard. Fully, unmistakably hard. You can feel it pressing against the zipper of your jeans, a stupid, treasonous pulse of heat that has nothing to do with pride and everything to do with the way Lily is narrating your life back to you with the calm certainty of a historian.

You try to cross your legs, but the table is in the way. You settle for shifting again, hoping the loose fabric of your jeans hides the tent.

Lily’s eyes flick down for a fraction of a second. Her smile deepens.

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice a warm whisper. “You did a sweet thing. You made yourself pretty for April. You made your penis pretty for her.” She tilts her head, her eyes holding yours. “Is your penis pretty now like a pussy? All bare and pink?”

She says pretty like it’s a sacrament.

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Lily says, nodding. “That’s progress. Real chivalric progress. A knight should understand the sacrifices his lady makes for him.” She turns to April. “Don’t you think, April?”

April giggles, a soft, nervous sound. “Yeah.”

You see your opening. “So,” you say, forcing your voice to sound casual. “Since I completed the challenge… do I get my reward?”

Lily looks back at you. “Reward?”

“The date,” you say. “With April. You said if I completed the challenges, I’d get a date.”

“Oh,” Lily says, as if she’s just remembering. “Right. The date.” She looks at April. “He wants a date with you, April. What do you think?”

April bites her lip. “I… I don’t know. I mean, he did do the waxing thing…”

“He did,” Lily agrees. “And it was very brave. But… chivalry isn’t just about the body. It’s about the soul, too. A knight had to be pure in heart. In intention.”

She turns her gaze back to you. “You want a time alone with April. I get it. But before you get that… shouldn’t you demonstrate that your intentions are pure? That you… venerate her?”

The word venerate hangs in the air. It’s old-fashioned. Churchy. You have no idea what it means in this context.

“Venerate?” you say.

“Yes,” Lily says, her eyes bright. “To honor. To hold in high esteem. To treat as… sacred.” She leans forward. “Can you do that? Can you demonstrate that you venerate April?”

You look at April. She’s watching you, her expression hopeful. She wants this. She wants you to prove you’re different.

“Sure,” you say. “How?”

Lily thinks for a moment, tapping a finger against her chin. “Well… poetry. Knights wrote poetry for their ladies, didn’t they? Sonnets. Odes. Little verses about their beauty, their virtue.” She smiles. “Make up a poem for April. Right now. Something from the heart.”

Your mind goes blank. Poetry? You don’t do poetry. You don’t even read poetry. The last poem you encountered was in high school English, and you SparkNoted it.

“I… I’m not really a poet,” you say.

“Try,” Lily says, her tone encouraging. “Just a couple of lines. Something sincere.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. You glance at April. Her hopeful expression is starting to fade, replaced by disappointment.

“Um,” you say. “April is… pretty. And nice.”

Lily waits, her eyebrows raised.

“That’s it?” she says after a moment.

“I told you, I don’t do poetry,” you say, frustration creeping into your voice.

April looks down at her textbook. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “It’s a silly idea.”

“It’s not silly,” Lily says, her voice firm but kind. “It’s romantic. But if poetry isn’t his thing…” She turns back to you, her expression thoughtful.

“Maybe something simpler. A vow. Knights took vows, didn’t they? They swore fealty to their ladies. They promised to protect them, honor them, serve them.” She pauses. “You could swear fealty to April.”

That sounds easier. A vow. You can do a vow.

“Okay,” you say. “I swear fealty to April.”

Lily shakes her head. “Not like that, sweetie. It’s a ceremony. There’s a process. First, you have to seek absolution.”

“Absolution?”

“For your past sins,” Lily says, as if it’s obvious. “You can’t swear a pure vow if you’re carrying guilt. You have to confess. Be cleansed. Then you can swear.”

Your heart is beating faster. This feels like a trap, but you can’t see the edges of it.

“Confess what?” you ask.

“Everything,” Lily says, her voice dropping to a warm, confidential tone. “All the things that make you unworthy. All the… impurities. The thoughts. The actions. The habits.”

She folds her hands on the table. “I’ll help you. I’ll be the… Devil’s Advocate. That’s a thing in the church, you know. Someone who argues against sainthood, to make sure all the sins are accounted for. I’ll ask the questions. You answer honestly. And when it’s all out, you’ll be clean. Then you can swear.”

April is watching, fascinated. “Like confession,” she says.

“Exactly,” Lily says, smiling. “Like confession. But for knights.”

You hesitate. This is not what you wanted. You wanted five minutes alone with April, maybe a quick feel in the stacks, not a fucking confession.

But April’s eyes are on you, wide and expectant. And Lily is looking at you with that warm, certain expression that says she already knows how this ends.

If you say no, you look guilty. If you say yes… well, how bad can it be? You can lie. You can minimize. It’s just words.

“Fine,” you say. “Ask.”

Lily’s smile widens. “Good. Let’s start simple.” She leans forward slightly. “You masturbate, don’t you?”

The question is so blunt, so casual, that it takes you a second to process. Your face floods with heat.

“What?” you say.

“You masturbate,” Lily repeats, her tone still mild. “Almost every day, I’d guess. Sometimes more than once. It’s how you fall asleep. It’s how you wake up. It’s how you relieve stress. It’s a habit. A daily habit.”

She’s stating it as fact. Because it is fact.

“I… yeah,” you mutter, looking down at the table. “Sometimes.”

“How many times this week?” Lily asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

You think. Since the waxing, you’ve been… agitated. You’ve jerked off twice a day, easy. Sometimes three times. The smooth skin feels strange under your hand, sensitive in a new way, and the humiliation of being hairless has been a constant undercurrent in your fantasies.

“A few,” you say.

“Seven?” Lily asks.

That’s close. Too close.

“Maybe,” you say.

Lily nods, as if filing the answer. “And when you masturbate, you watch porn, don’t you?”

Your throat is tight. “Sometimes.”

“What kind?” she asks, her voice curious. “Teen? Amateur? Bare? You like it when the girls are shaved, don’t you? You search for that.”

You do. You always search for “shaved” or “bare.” It’s your preference.

“I guess,” you say.

Your cock is still hard, a dull ache of shame and arousal. You can feel pre-cum dampening the front of your boxers.

Lily’s eyes drop to your lap again. She doesn’t comment. She just notes it.

“Now,” she says, her voice softening further. “The girls. How many girls have you had sex with?”

This is territory you’re used to bragging about. With the guys, you inflate the number. With girls, you deflate it. But here, under Lily’s gentle gaze, the number feels like an indictment.

“I don’t know,” you say.

“Guess,” she says again.

“Maybe… ten?” you lie. It’s closer to twenty.

Lily’s expression doesn’t change. “And how many of them were virgins?”

The question lands like a stone in your stomach.

April’s breath hitches. She’s staring at you now, her eyes wide.

“What?” you say.

“Virgins?” Lily repeats, her tone still warm, still curious. “You’ve made a… hobby of it, haven’t you? Finding girls who haven’t been with anyone else. Girls who are quiet. Sheltered. Innocent. Like April.”

Your heart is pounding. “That’s not—”

“How many?” Lily asks, cutting you off gently.

You think of Sarah, the pastor’s daughter from freshman year. Melissa, the homeschooled girl who cried afterward. Chloe, who asked if it was supposed to hurt. The list unspools in your head, a trophy case you’ve never examined in this light.

“A few,” you whisper.

“Three?” Lily asks. “Four?”

“Four,” you say, the word escaping before you can stop it.

April makes a small sound. You look at her. Her face is pale, her lips parted. She looks… hurt. Not angry. Hurt.

“April,” you say. “It’s not… it was before…”

“It’s okay,” Lily says, her voice soothing. “He’s confessing. That’s the point.” She turns back to you. “And after you took their virginity… how many of them did you see again?”

You don’t answer. You stopped returning their calls. You ghosted them. It was part of the game—bag the virgin, check the box, move on.

“None,” Lily says, answering for you. “You got what you wanted and you moved on. Because it wasn’t about them. It was about the conquest. The notch. The bragging rights with your frat brothers.”

She says it without judgment. As simple fact.

Your entire sexual history—the porn, the masturbation, the virgins, the shaved pussies, the waxing you just endured—is a single, coherent pattern.

A pattern of using women as objects for your validation. A pattern Lily has seen from the beginning.

Your erection hasn’t flagged. If anything, it’s harder. The shame is a live wire in your gut, connected directly to your cock. You’re leaking into your boxers. You can feel it.

Lily sees it. She always sees it.

“Now you understand,” she says softly. “Why absolution is necessary. You can’t swear a pure vow to April while you’re carrying all that. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

You look at April. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she’s not crying. She’s just… looking at you. Seeing you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words raw.

April nods slowly. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice quiet. “Guys… do that. I know they do. It’s… it’s what guys do.”

Her forgiveness is worse than her anger. It’s a blanket acceptance. A gentle acknowledgment that you are exactly what she expected, and she’s not even surprised.

Lily reaches over and takes April’s hand. “He’s confessed,” she says. “That’s the first step. Now he needs penance. To make amends.”

April looks at Lily. “Penance?”

“Yes,” Lily says. “A task. Something to help him internalize the lesson. To atone for not venerating women.”

She thinks for a moment. “Writing lines. That’s traditional, isn’t it? You write the same thing over and over until it sinks in.”

April’s expression brightens slightly. “Like in school.”

“Exactly,” Lily says, smiling. “But meaningful lines. Something pithy. Something that encapsulates what he needs to learn.”

She turns to you. “You’ll write, ‘A true knight venerates women not pussy.’ Two hundred times. Neatly. In ink. On lined paper. And you’ll bring it to us next Tuesday.”

You stare at her. “Write lines?”

“Yes,” Lily says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s a discipline. It helps reform the mind. And it’s a tangible proof of your commitment to change.”

She stands, gathering her laptop and textbook. “We should go, April. Dinner.”

April stands too, slipping her textbook into her bag. She looks at you one more time. “Thank you for being honest,” she says softly.

Then she follows Lily to the door.

Lily pauses at the threshold, looks back at you. Her expression is warm, composed, faintly amused.

“Don’t forget the lines, sweetie,” she says. “Two hundred times. And next time… we’ll see about that vow.”

She winks.

Then they’re gone.

You sit in the empty study room, the door clicking shut behind them. Your cock is still hard, aching against your zipper. Your boxers are damp with pre-cum. Your face is on fire.

You’ve just confessed your entire sexual history to two girls you were trying to impress. You’ve been assigned lines like a child. You’ve been seen—truly seen—by a girl who knew what you were before you sat down.

And the worst part, the humiliating, undeniable truth throbbing in your pants, is that you’ve never been more aroused in your life.

You lean forward, resting your forehead on the cool table. The smooth skin of your arms slides against the laminate.

You think of the lines you have to write. A true knight venerates women not pussy.

You don’t even know what that means. But Lily does. April does. And they’ll be waiting.

You stay there for a long time, listening to the hum of the HVAC, feeling the slow, inevitable accumulation of your own surrender.

This is the second in a series about a knight, a princess, and the best friend who rewrites the rules of chivalry — one humiliating confession at a time.

Next: What happens when a player brings his handwritten lines to the library, and the girl he’s trying to fuck asks him to compete for her hand.

Previously: Acts of Chivalry Part I

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.