By Cuffed Locked

It must have been late Sunday night or maybe it was Monday morning already. I could not be sure because I had no clock, nothing to track time. I had been chained by my neck to a solid ring bolted to the floor of my hot neighbor Caleb’s basement since Thursday night after work, and I was starting to get scared because I definitely had to be at work again Tuesday morning! I was trying to free myself from his “escape room,” which, thanks to his friend Derek and a pair of police handcuffs, was really turning into more of a bondage torture room.

Yes I was bound, securely, and I as more physically sore and mentally frustrated than ever. But something in the ache reminded me that no matter the punishment, I was here by choice. Not by mistake. No hint. Just a very secure chain. A heavy collar. And a combination padlock I was still trying to jail break. I was still fighting.

When the door cracked open and light streamed in, accompanied by familiar boots on the stairs, something in me tensed with anticipation. Caleb appeared first, looking calm and sun-kissed, followed by his friend standing tall and smirking. I looked at Derek. Then at Caleb. They were both calm, confident.

“You still chained up,” Caleb observed with that smug grin. “Good to know the guest’s still enjoying the stay.”

Derek chuckled. “Yeah, man. Still breathing.”

I didn’t respond. Words felt like energy I couldn’t spare.

“Looks like you’re not even halfway through the lock yet,” Derek remarked, looking at the numbers. “At this pace, it will take you at least three more days before you escape.”

They crossed the floor, fresh and smug. Caleb knelt again in front of me, his eyes trailing over the solid chain. As they might have noticed, my dick was rock hard.

Derek tossed me a wrapped granola bar. “Breakfast in bed. Premium service.”

Caleb stretched. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk terms.”

“Terms?” I asked.

He grinned. “You wanna leave, don’t you?”

They turned toward the stairs.

“Finish strong, man,” Derek called over his shoulder. “We’re proud of you.”

The door creaked shut.

***

When they came down again, they looked like they had enjoyed a relaxing morning. Caleb had changed clothes again — clean jeans, dark tee, leather watch tight on his wrist. Derek was behind him, sunglasses on top of his head, still grinning from whatever story they’d just shared. Me? I was still sore, sleep-deprived, still sitting on the concrete floor with a steel collar locked around my neck, chained. I was sitting upright, the collar still snug around my neck. The lights were on — for now — and I could see the difference in their posture. Something had shifted. Caleb wasn’t laughing this time. He looked calm. Certain. Confident in a way that made my stomach drop.

I felt the contrast like a punch. They were fresh, energized, standing tall. I was tired, stiff, sore from the collar, dirty, and half-dreaming. And turned on, if I was being honest with myself. There was something about the way Caleb looked down at me — not with cruelty, but with ownership. He had me. I knew it. And he knew I liked it.

Derek was carrying a small folding chair. He popped it open and sat down across from me like a judge taking his seat.

Caleb remained standing.

“Alright,” Caleb said. “Let’s talk about your release.”

I straightened.

“Today is Monday. Holiday weekend is almost over. I’ll be unlocking that collar tonight—if you agree to the terms.”

“What terms?” I asked slowly.

Caleb’s expression didn’t change.

“No tap-outs, right? That’s what we agreed to. So technically, you don’t get to leave unless I let you. That was the dare. No escape, no exit, no mercy.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Well,” Caleb continued, “if you want to get out tonight, there’s gonna be a cost.”

Derek crossed one ankle over the other, watching me with the relaxed, smug patience of a man waiting for a show to begin.

Caleb knelt in front of me, holding a sheet of paper.

“Here’s the deal: before I unlock that collar, I want a signed agreement from you. A physical contract.”

I blinked. “What kind of contract?”

He showed me the paper. Handwritten. Clean. Precise.

At the top, bold lettering read:

FORFEITURE CONTRACT – DEBT OF HONOR

Below were four brutal lines — each one hitting harder than the last:

1. I, Mark, acknowledge that I failed to escape Caleb’s challenge.
2. I agree to serve Caleb in any and all capacities of his choosing for three non-consecutive weekends over the next twelve months. This includes but is not limited to manual labor, errands, event work, service, or participation in future challenges.
3. I agree to fully reimburse Caleb and Derek for all expenses incurred during my captivity and entertainment, including food, fuel, bar tabs, gear, and any future materials required. This is to be paid in full within 30 days of release.
4. I agree to take one full week of vacation from my job, at a date of Caleb’s choosing, and return to Caleb’s basement in the same condition as now — willingly collared, chained, and locked — to resume the escape challenge from the current position, and I will continue until successful escape or further forfeiture.

There was a blank line beneath it. My name, waiting to be signed.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Derek smiled, silent.

“You want me to sign a contract admitting I lost and then—what? Run errands for you like some kind of… servant?”

“Three weekends,” Caleb said. “Could be working on my house. Could be helping me move something. Could be nothing. Could be something.”

“And pay for everything?” I said.

Caleb nodded. “Every dollar we spent. We itemized it.”

Derek held up his phone. “Got receipts.”

“This is bullshit,” I muttered.

“No,” Caleb replied calmly. “This is me letting you out early. You don’t have to sign. I can leave you in that collar until you crack the lock.” He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You’ve got about 6,500 combinations left.”

I swallowed hard.

Derek finally spoke. “Or, you admit defeat. Show some humility. Pay the price like a man.”

I looked between them. The contract. The chain. The collar. My body ached. My pride screamed. My mind raced. Caleb set the contract on the floor beside me and stood.

Derek grinned. “Dude… you didn’t escape. You lost. And this? This is the price.”

“You’re not just getting out of this with a pat on the back,” Caleb added. “I built this whole setup for you. We’ve fed you, entertained you, even gave you a shot to win. You came in cocky. Now it’s time to pay the piper.”

“And let’s be honest,” Derek added. “You kind of like it down here.”

The truth was too obvious. Somewhere between the physical frustration, the pressure, the taunts, and the late-night silences — I’d crossed over from resisting the experience to craving it. The chain around my neck wasn’t just a restraint anymore. It was a line. One I had willingly stepped across.

Caleb leaned in before they turned to go. “Yeah, you kinda like being ours, don’t you?”

My dick twitched again. The collar was tight against my throat, and I was staring at my captors and a contract that was part punishment, part surrender…and somehow I knew it was exactly what I’d been asking for. My eyes were glued to that fourth line. A full week. In chains. Again. Like this.

“I have to take vacation time—just to come back?”

“Yup,” Caleb said, rising. “That’s part of it. You willingly return, on my terms. It’s Round Two. You sign this contract, and I’ll unlock that padlock today. You get to sleep in your bed tonight.”

“And if I don’t?”

Derek leaned forward. “Then you stay locked.”

Caleb nodded. “Until you crack the combo. Could be days. Could be never.”

“And just to be clear,” Derek added, “this contract gets witnessed by me. That way we all know.”

I stared at the paper.

Three weekends. All expenses. A second lockup.

This wasn’t just a dare anymore.

This was ownership.

They turned to leave.

“Take your time,” Caleb said. “We’ll be back after lunch.”

Derek winked. “Think about how much worse this could get if you say no.”

They turned and walked back up the stairs, and I stared at the contract. Three weekends. A debt of honor.

Derek gave me a two-finger salute. “Make the smart choice, man.”

The door shut behind them.

The paper sat quietly at my feet, heavy as iron. I looked down at the contract and felt the collar around my neck, and I thought: This is what losing to Caleb really looks like.

***

I stared at the contract for over an hour. Four lines. Each one a gut punch. I’d read them over and over. The money I could handle, but three full weekends in service to Caleb was another matter. And a whole week off work for another lock-in. It was severe. Borderline insane.

And still, part of me liked it. Not the money part, not the labor, but the way Caleb had me cornered. Chained. Owned. He was good at this. Ruthless, smart, unapologetic. The kind of man who makes rules and enforces them. And Derek? He was just as bad, maybe worse. All smirks and one-liners, egging Caleb on like he was watching the world’s best live show. But even so, I couldn’t just roll over. When they finally came back down — coffee cups in hand, clean and casual, still joking about something that had happened at the bar — I tried.

I took a breath and said, “Hey. Can we talk about the contract?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, and Derek instantly grinned like I’d walked into a trap. Caleb set down his cup and crouched again, same casual confidence as before.

“Talk about it how?”

I swallowed. “It’s… a lot. I mean, I failed the challenge, sure. But three weekends? That’s harsh.”

Caleb tilted his head. “Is it?”

Derek pulled the folding chair closer, sat down, and steepled his fingers like a smug lawyer. “Tell us what you think would be fair, Mark.”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe one weekend instead of three.

“Interesting,” Caleb said, standing. “So you want to counter-offer.”

Derek laughed. “Oh no, man. You don’t negotiate after you lose. That’s not how this works.”

“I’m just saying—”

Caleb cut me off with a raised hand. Calm, measured. “Alright. You want to renegotiate? Sure. Let’s revisit the terms.”

He reached down, plucked the contract off the ground.

I blinked. “Wait—”

Derek clapped his hands like a game show host. “New contract time!”

Caleb pulled a pen from behind his ear and “revised” the terms on the paper, speaking aloud as he went:

1. I, Mark, acknowledge that I failed to escape and attempted to renegotiate my release, thereby forfeiting the original offer.
2. I agree to serve Caleb in any capacity for SIX non-consecutive weekends over the next twelve months. Derek may assign duties as well.
3. I agree to pay Caleb and Derek $1,000, representing full compensation for their meals, drinks, materials, services, and labor.
4. I will take one full week of vacation at Caleb’s discretion, and I will return willingly to resume the challenge in full restraints. A second failure will result in permanent forfeiture of negotiation rights.

Caleb capped the pen and handed it to Derek to initial as a witness.

Then he looked at me.

“No one forced you to come over that night, Mark. You asked for this. You locked the collar on yourself.”

I looked down at the chain. My wrists. My worn-down pride.

Derek leaned forward with a grin. “Next time? Don’t try to outdeal the dealer.”

Caleb took the paper and set it in front of me again.

“Sign it. Or keep guessing that combo. And yes — we CAN keep you locked past Tuesday.”

I stared at the new version. They were serious. They’d always been serious. This wasn’t just some prank. It wasn’t a game anymore. It was a contract. A real one. And it was going to cost me. I didn’t sign right away. I don’t know why I hesitated. Maybe it was the number — a thousand bucks. Maybe it was the six weekends. Maybe it was just the creeping realization that I’d lost every ounce of control. But the pen sat in my hand. And I hesitated. For just a second. Maybe two. And that was too long.

Derek leaned in, grinning like he’d just spotted weakness in the wild. “Whoa,” he said. “Is that a pause?”

Caleb didn’t even look at him. He was already reaching for the contract again, calmly pulling the pen back from my fingers. “Alright,” he said, with a faint smirk. “If you’re not ready…”

“No, wait,” I started, panic rising. “I’m not saying no—”

“But you didn’t say yes,” Derek cut in, smug as hell. “And around here, hesitation has consequences.”

Caleb clicked the pen again. “Let’s update the terms.”

This time he added a fifth line. His handwriting was neat. Calm. Like he was jotting down a grocery list. Then he read it aloud.

5. Due to failure to promptly accept release terms, Mark will not be released Monday night. Instead, his release will occur Tuesday morning at or after 6:00 a.m. sharp.

He slid the paper back across the floor.

“Now you can sign,” Caleb said.

I looked down at the page. I could feel the pressure closing in — the weight of the chain, the fatigue in my body, the knowledge that they weren’t bluffing. Not even a little. And still, underneath it all… A strange satisfaction. A dark, wired thrill. This was exactly what I’d asked for. No mercy. Real stakes. Men who didn’t bend.

Caleb didn’t speak again. He just stood there, arms folded across his chest, waiting.

I picked up the pen.

And I signed.

My name looked smaller than I remembered it being.

Derek clapped once. “Hell yeah.”

Caleb nodded, folding the paper. “You’re ours until tomorrow morning.”

They turned to leave. The door shut behind them, and I was left alone again.

Collared. Bound.

Owned.

But now… not by accident. Now it was by contract.

***

A while later, it was still sinking in. The air in the basement was cool and still. By now, the collar felt natural. The drag of the chain across the floor, the way it tightened slightly if I moved too far — all of it had settled into something like second nature. The padlock was a pulse at my throat. A dull, constant reminder of who had put it there.

Caleb and Derek had returned around 9:30 p.m., both of them looking maddeningly fresh. Caleb had changed yet again — fitted joggers, loose black hoodie, hair still damp from a late shower. Derek was in gym shorts and a sleeveless tee, sipping from a bottle of electrolyte water like he’d just come from a casual late workout.

They were clearly in no rush.

“Final night,” Derek announced, cracking his knuckles like a man about to deal cards. “You’ve almost made it.”

Caleb was holding something in one hand that I recognized immediately. Something that gave me intense excitement but also a sense of dread. My pulse quickened. What he was holding caught the basement light — a faint, metallic glint.

Derek’s handcuffs.

I stared at them longer than I should have. They didn’t say anything about the cuffs at first. Caleb just clicked them in his hands as he sat down across from me. “So here’s the deal,” he said, voice smooth and slow. “You’ve signed the debt of honor, and you will be released tomorrow. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enhance your last few hours.”

Derek grinned. “You’ve been a good sport, Mark. Tough. Persistent. A little whiny, but you made it.”

“I don’t whine,” I said, before I could stop myself.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “You just did.”

They both laughed.

“Looks like he remembers those,” Derek said, nudging Caleb.

And then Caleb held up the handcuffs. “One last side bet,” he said. “No penalties this time. Just a choice.”

“What kind of choice?”

Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees. “If you want to spend the rest of the night in these —” he said, clicking the cuffs, menacingly — “all you have to do is ask.”

I swallowed. The weight of the collar suddenly felt heavier.

“If I do?” I asked.

“If you do, we’ll leave you a little parting gift. Nothing huge. Just a taste of what Round Two could be,” Caleb said.

Derek leaned in behind him. “A reward for giving up control completely. No guessing games. No tricks. Just a straight-up submission.”

I swallowed hard.

They weren’t being mean, not exactly. There was no mocking in Caleb’s voice. Only calm challenge. They knew me now. And I knew what they were doing.

The handcuffs were an invitation from Caleb and Derek. Not a punishment. Not this time. A choice. I was free to say no. But I didn’t want to.

I waited a few seconds, because it felt like I was supposed to. I could’ve said no. Could’ve said I needed to sleep. But something inside me — something wired deeper than reason — made me nod. Then I said it. “Do it,” I said quietly. “Cuff me. Behind my back. I want them.”

Derek grinned like he’d won a private bet. “Tell him again.”

I looked up at Caleb, my voice quieter now. “Cuff me. Please.”

Caleb stood. “If that’s what you want.”

Derek whistled low. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Caleb stepped behind me without another word. He pulled my arms gently behind my back — not rough, not kind, just business — and locked the first cuff, then the second. The steel was cold against my skin. My shoulders stretched. My chest shifted forward. I was now more vulnerable. More helpless. More theirs.

“Enjoy the handcuffs,” Caleb said flatly. “You’ve earned them.”

It was impossible for me to sleep that night. I shifted. Turned. Lay on my side. The chain from my neck pulled just slightly when I rolled too far. With my hands behind me, there was no comfort. No adjusting. No rest. I must’ve dozed off a few times, but the cuffs made sure I never really fell deep. And somewhere in the early morning hours, lying twisted and half-asleep on the cold floor, my thoughts drifted. Not to freedom.

But to coming back.

Wanting to.

Wanting more.

To be continued…