The Lies and the Truth - Part 2

Read Part 1 of The Lies and the Truth here.
The walk home was a pilgrimage of shame. Each step sent a dull, throbbing ache from my abused hole, a physical reminder of my defilement. The rough denim of my jeans was a constant, chafing torment. I could still feel the phantom weight of Mark on my back, the searing stretch of Leo’s invasion, the taste of my own cum in my mouth. My body was a roadmap of their pleasure, a testament to my surrender.
I got home just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the living room. Sarah was on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand, watching some cooking show. She looked so normal, so wholesome. So alien.
“Hey, you,” she said, her smile genuine and warm. “You were gone a while. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat. “Just got caught up with… work stuff. You know how it is.” The lie felt like acid in my mouth.
She patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit. Relax.”
I couldn’t. If I sat, I’d have to shift my weight. If I shifted my weight, the pain would flare, and she’d see it in my face. “I’m… I’m actually pretty beat. I’m just gonna grab a shower.”
“Okay,” she said, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “Don’t be long. I miss you.”
I nearly broke right there. But I just nodded and retreated to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I looked at myself in the mirror. The man staring back was a stranger. My face was pale, my lips swollen. There was a faint redness on my cheek from Leo’s slap. I looked down at my body, at the marks on my shoulders where Mark had held me down. I was a used thing.
I turned on the water, as hot as I could stand it, and stepped into the shower. I scrubbed my skin raw, trying to wash away their scent, their spit, their cum. But it was no use. I could still smell them on me, a phantom musk that clung to my pores. As I soaped my ass, my fingers brushed my tender hole, and a jolt—not of pain, but of memory—shot through me. I remembered the fullness, the pressure, the mind-bending pleasure. My cock, which I thought was dead to the world, gave a pathetic twitch.
I got out, dried myself, and pulled on a pair of loose sweatpants, the soft fabric a small mercy. I went back into the living room. Sarah had paused the TV and was looking at me, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem… distant.”
“I’m just tired, honey. Really.” I forced a smile. “Long week.”
She let it go, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. We sat in silence for a while, the space between us filled with everything I couldn’t say. My phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart seized. I pulled it out, trying to be casual.
It was a text from an unknown number.
Did you enjoy your walk home? -M
I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. How did he get my number? When did he get my number? I must have looked pale, because Sarah asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing. Just… spam.” I quickly put the phone away, my hands trembling. He was in my house now. Not physically, but he was in my head, in my pocket. He was everywhere.
Another buzz.
I have your number because I took it from your phone while you were cleaning my cock, slut. Did you think I wouldn’t?
I felt sick. I remembered the moment, my mouth full, my mind blissed out on submission. He must have done it in seconds. A complete violation.
Another buzz.
Your ass is mine now. You will be at my apartment tomorrow. 7 PM. Don’t be late.
There was no question mark. It was a command. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I would go. I had no choice. The part of me that had fought was gone. All that was left was the part that craved it.
I excused myself, claiming a headache, and went to our bedroom. I didn’t sleep. I lay next to my wife, the woman I loved, and stared at the ceiling, my ass throbbing, my phone in my hand, re-reading the texts. The shame was still there, but it was being crowded out by something else. Anticipation.
The next day at work was a blur. I couldn’t focus. Every time I sat down, I was reminded of what awaited me. Every time my phone buzzed, I jumped. Around three in the afternoon, another text came through.
Wear something loose. And bring that pretty little wife of yours with you. -M
I read the message once, then again. The words didn’t make sense. Bring Sarah? No. That was impossible. That was a line. That was the one thing I could never, ever do. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore; this was a threat to my life.
My fingers shook as I typed back a reply.
No. Please. Not her. Anything but that.
The reply was almost instant.
Then you’ll have to entertain us both by yourself. And be more entertaining than last time. Much more. See you at 7.
The threat was clear. It was a Sophie’s Choice. My life, or my wife’s innocence. There was no choice. I had to go. I had to protect her from this.
I left work early, claiming I was sick. I drove home in a daze. I had to act normal. I had to pretend. When I walked in the door, Sarah was there, smiling, asking how my day was. I wanted to scream, to grab her and run, to drive until we ran out of gas and we were somewhere they could never find us. Instead, I kissed her on the cheek and said, “It was fine. Hey, I have to go out again tonight. Work thing. Dinner with a client.”
The lie was so easy now. It rolled off my tongue.
“Oh,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. “Again?”
“It’s a big account, honey. I have to.”
She nodded, accepting it. “Okay. Well, don’t be too late.”
“I won’t.”
At 6:30, I showered again, my movements robotic. I put on a pair of loose-fitting track pants and a t-shirt, just as he’d ordered. I looked at myself in the mirror. The shell of a man.
“Goodbye!” I called out, my voice cracking slightly.
“Bye! Love you!” she called back from the kitchen.
“Love you too,” I whispered to the closed front door.
The drive to Mark’s apartment was the longest of my life. My stomach was in knots. My hands were slick on the steering wheel. I didn’t know what they had planned, but I knew it was going to be worse. So much worse.
I buzzed the apartment at 6:59 PM.
“Enter,” the speaker crackled.
The door was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped inside. The apartment was dark, lit only by a few candles. And I wasn’t alone. Mark and Leo were there, sitting on the couch, naked, their cocks already hard and waiting. But they weren’t alone.
Sitting in a chair across from them, also naked, was a third man. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with a silver goatee and a lean, muscular body. He was stroking a long, thin cock, a slow, deliberate motion. He looked at me with cold, appraising eyes.
“You’re late,” Mark said, his voice flat.
“I’m sorry, sir. I came as fast as I could.”
“He’s here,” the older man said, his voice a dry rasp. “He looks nervous. Good.”
“Get on your knees, in the middle of the floor,” Mark commanded.
I did, my knees sinking into the familiar rug. The three of them stood up and formed a circle around me, a wall of muscle and naked flesh. I was surrounded.
“You met my friend Leo,” Mark said, gesturing to the bald man. “This is Mr. Sterling. He’s an… associate of mine. And he’s very particular about how his property is treated.”
Mr. Sterling stopped stroking his cock and walked toward me. He grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. “Mark tells me you have a tight little ass. He also tells me you have a wife at home who doesn’t know what a filthy faggot she married.”
Tears of shame and terror welled in my eyes.
“Please, sir…” I begged.
“Please what?” he sneered. “Please don’t tell you what a pathetic piece of shit you are? Please don’t use you like the cum-dumpster you were born to be? No. I’m going to do all of that. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
He let go of my chin and stepped back. “Mark tells me you have a talented mouth. Let’s see it. Leo, you first. I want to see if he’s improved.”
Leo stepped in front of me, his massive cock already leaking. “Open up, faggot.”
I opened my mouth, and he immediately began to fuck my face, just as brutally as he had the day before. I gagged and choked, my eyes streaming, but this time there was no thrill, only a cold, creeping dread. I was a performer now, putting on a show for this new, terrifying audience.
“Not bad,” Mr. Sterling commented from the sidelines. “But his technique is sloppy. Mark, you need to teach him to keep his lips sealed tighter. Less drool.”
Mark grabbed a handful of my hair. “You heard the man. Tighten those lips around that cock, bitch. Suck it like you mean it.”
I tried, I really did. I tightened my mouth, creating more suction, but it only made the gagging worse.
“Pathetic,” Mr. Sterling sighed. “Leo, finish up. It’s my turn.”
Leo didn’t need much encouragement. After a few more brutal thrusts, he buried himself in my throat and unloaded, another thick, copious load that I was forced to swallow. He pulled out, and before I could even catch my breath, Mark was there, shoving his thick cock into my cum-filled mouth.
He fucked me with his usual steady rhythm, while Mr. Sterling circled us like a shark. “His ass is what I’m interested in,” the older man said. “Leo, you broke him in. How was it?”
“Tightest thing I’ve ever fucked,” Leo grunted, watching Mark use my mouth. “Screamed like a bitch at first, then loved it. A natural-born bottom.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Sterling said. “Mark, after you’re done, bend him over the arm of the couch. I want to inspect the merchandise.”
Mark’s thrusts quickened, and with a final, deep groan, he added his load to the one already coating my throat. He pulled out, and I was left gasping, a string of drool and cum hanging from my chin.
“On your feet,” Mr. Sterling commanded. “Over the couch. Ass up.”
I stumbled to my feet, my legs weak, and bent over the arm of the couch, my face pressed into the leather cushions. I heard him move behind me, then the sound of a latex glove snapping onto his hand.
“Let’s see what we have here,” he said, his voice clinical. A single, cool, lubed finger pressed against my hole. It was still tender from yesterday. I flinched. “Still sensitive. Good.” He pushed the finger in, exploring me with detached precision. “Hmm. Slightly looser, but still nicely tight. Leo, you did a fine job.”
He added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching me. “He responds well to stimulation. His prostate is quite sensitive.” He pressed against that spot inside me, and I moaned, my hips bucking involuntarily.
“See? He wants it,” Mr. Sterling said. “This is fulfillment. He’s finally becoming what he was always meant to be.”
He pulled his fingers out. Then I felt the blunt, insistent pressure of his cock at my entrance. He was bigger than Leo, not as long, but much thicker.
“This will hurt,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “And you will not scream. You will take it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I whimpered into the couch cushion.
He pushed in, and the world dissolved into a sheet of white-hot agony. He was splitting me open. It was worse than yesterday, a thousand times worse. I bit down on the leather, a scream trapped in my throat, tears of pure pain streaming down my face.
He didn’t stop. He pushed relentlessly until he was fully sheathed inside me, his thick, latex-covered cock stretching me to my absolute limit. He held himself there, letting me writhe in pain, letting the fire consume me.
“Breathe,” he commanded. I tried, but I couldn’t catch my breath.
Then he began to move. His strokes were slow, powerful, grinding. He was grinding his hips against my ass, his thick cock churning my insides. The pain slowly began to recede, morphing into a deep, overwhelming pressure that was building into something else. Something immense.
He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, more demanding. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back to meet each punishing slam. The sounds of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a vulgar, rhythmic beat.
“Look at him,” Leo said. “He’s backing up into it. The fucking slut can’t get enough.”
It was true. My body was moving on its own, pushing back, craving the brutal invasion. The pain had transmuted into a pleasure so intense it was its own form of agony. My own cock was rock hard, trapped against the couch, leaking a steady stream of fluid.
Mr. Sterling reached around and wrapped his gloved hand around my shaft. “He’s leaking like a faucet. Such a responsive little toy.” He began to stroke me in time with his thrusts, his grip tight and unyielding. “You will not cum until I tell you to. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” I sobbed, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.
He fucked me harder, his grunts the only sign of his own exertion. The pressure inside me was immense, a coiling spring ready to snap. I was right on the edge, a whimpering, begging mess.
“Please, sir… please may I cum?” I begged, the words torn from my throat.
“No,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic. He was close. “Not yet.”
He slammed into me one last time, a deep, powerful thrust that felt like it would push me through the couch. I felt his cock pulse inside me as he filled the condom with his seed. He held himself there, grinding, milking every last drop.
Only then did he speak. “Now.”
The single word was a trigger. My entire body convulsed, and my cock exploded; a torrent of cum all over the leather couch and his gloved hand. It was a violent, shattering orgasm that left me trembling and weak, a puddle of sweat and shame.
Mr. Sterling slowly pulled his cock out of my ravaged hole. He looked down at me, at the mess I’d made on his couch.
“Clean it,” he said, his voice cold.
I pushed myself up, my muscles screaming in protest, and began to lick my own cum off the expensive leather. It was the final act. The ultimate humiliation. And as I tasted myself, I knew there was no coming back from this. I was theirs. Body and soul.
I was a hollowed-out thing. Licking my own cum from the leather couch wasn't an act of debasement anymore; it was a simple fact, like breathing. I was just cleaning up a mess. My mess. Their mess. When I was done, the leather was slick with my saliva, but clean. I stayed there, on my hands and knees, my forehead resting against the cool cushion, waiting for the next command.
Mr. Sterling broke the silence. “He’s trainable. That’s good.” He walked over to a small bar in the corner of the room and poured himself a glass of what looked like whiskey. He didn’t offer any to anyone else. He took a sip, his eyes on me the entire time. “But his loyalty is unproven.”
Mark, who had been watching with a lazy, satisfied smirk, spoke up. “What do you mean? He came back, didn’t he? He did whatever we wanted.”
“Wanting a thing and being loyal to it are two different things,” Mr. Sterling said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “He came back because his ass was hungry. Because he’s a degenerate. But he still thinks of that wife at home as his real life. This,” he said, gesturing around the room, at the three of them, at me on the floor, “is still his dirty little secret. And secrets can be used. Secrets can be a weakness.”
Leo snorted from where he was lounging in a chair, slowly stroking his semi-hard cock. “So what? We’re his weakness. Who cares?”
“I care,” Mr. Sterling said, his voice like ice. “I don’t invest time in weak assets. His devotion needs to be absolute. It needs to be transferred.”
He walked back over and stood in front of me. He nudged my chin up with the toe of his expensive leather shoe. “What’s her name?” he asked.
My blood ran cold. “Sir?”
“Your wife. The woman you’re betraying while you’re on your knees licking spunk off my furniture. What’s her name?”
“Sarah,” I whispered, the name feeling like a betrayal just speaking it aloud.
“Sarah,” Mr. Sterling repeated, tasting the word. “A pretty, normal name. I want you to think about Sarah right now. Think about her at home, probably worried about you. Think about her making your dinner. Think about her touching you, kissing you, thinking you’re a good man.”
Tears welled in my eyes again. The shame was a physical weight, crushing my chest.
“Now,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re going to show us where your true loyalty lies. Mark, hand me your phone.”
Mark tossed his phone over. Mr. Sterling caught it one-handed. He unlocked it and went to the contacts, finding my number. He called me. My phone, buzzing on the coffee table where I’d left it, lit up with Mark’s name.
“Answer it,” Mr. Sterling commanded. “Put it on speaker.”
My hand was shaking so badly I could barely pick up the phone. I swiped the screen and tapped the speaker icon. “Hello?” my voice was a hoarse, pathetic croak.
“Hey, cocksucker, it’s Mark,” Mark’s voice boomed from the phone, filling the room. “Just calling to check in. You miss my cock already?”
I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the dried cum on my cheek. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because Mr. Sterling has a task for you. He’s going to give you an instruction. You will follow it. You will not hesitate. You will not question it. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Sterling took the phone from Mark. “Now, faggot,” he said, his voice crisp and clear through the speaker. “I want you to text your ‘Sarah.’ I want you to tell her you love her. And I want you to tell her you won’t be home tonight. That you have to work late and you’re just going to get a hotel room to be fresh for an early meeting. Do it now.”
My mind rebelled. No. Not that. Not lying to her with them listening. I looked up at Mr. Sterling, my eyes pleading. He just stared back, his expression unyielding. He was enjoying this. My pain was his entertainment.
“Do it,” he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
My fingers felt like lead as I picked up my own phone. I opened my messages to Sarah. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. The three men watched me, their gazes heavy, predatory. I could feel their breath, their anticipation. I typed out the words, each one a fresh stab of betrayal.
Hey honey. Love you. Something big came up at work. Gonna be a long night. I’m just gonna grab a hotel nearby to get a few hours sleep. Don’t wait up. Talk to you in the morning.
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the send button. This was it. The point of no return. The final nail in the coffin of my old life.
“Send it,” Mr. Sterling commanded.
I pressed send. The message delivered. The little bubble with the checkmark appeared. It was done.
“Good boy,” Mr. Sterling said, a flicker of a smile on his lips. He took the phone from my hand. “Now, we’re going to play a little game. You’re going to call her. Right now. On video chat.”
My heart stopped. “No,” I breathed. “Please, no. I can’t.”
“You can, and you will,” he said, his voice losing all its warmth. “You will hold the phone so we can see her, but she can’t see us. You will tell her goodnight. You will tell her you love her. And while you are saying those words to the woman you supposedly love, you are going to be sucking Mark’s cock. If you stop, if you hesitate, if she sounds suspicious for even a second, I will end the call. And then I will send her every video and picture we took of you today. Do you understand me?”
I was hyperventilating. My vision was tunneling. This wasn’t just a game. This was psychological warfare. They weren’t just fucking my body; they were erasing my soul.
“Answer me,” he snarled, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back.
“Yes! Yes, sir! I understand!”
“Good.” He positioned me on my knees again. Mark stood in front of me, his thick cock already hard and glistening with precum. Leo and Mr. Sterling stood on either side, just out of frame. Mr. Sterling aimed my phone’s camera at my face, making sure my expression was visible.
“Call her,” he ordered.
With a trembling hand, I tapped the video call button next to Sarah’s name. It rang. Once. Twice. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. She answered.
Her face filled the small screen. She was in bed, her hair messy on the pillow, a book resting on her chest. She looked so beautiful, so safe. So far away.
“Hey!” she said, her voice full of warmth. “I was hoping you’d call. I was getting worried. Are you okay?”
Before I could answer, Mark stepped forward and slid his cock into my open mouth. I choked back a sob, my eyes wide with terror.
“I’m… I’m okay, honey,” I managed to say, my voice distorted, muffled by the thick shaft filling my mouth. “Just… really tired.”
Sarah frowned. “You sound strange. Are you sure you’re alright?”
Mark began to slowly thrust in and out, his hands on the back of my head, guiding me. The camera was shaking in my hand.
“I’m… ngh… fine,” I grunted, trying to keep my voice steady as he pushed deeper. “Just a long day. Really… long.”
“What was that noise?” Sarah asked, her concern growing. “It sounds like you’re in a tunnel.”
Mr. Sterling leaned in, his voice a low, threatening whisper in my ear. “Smile, you fucking whore. Look at her and smile while you suck that cock.”
I forced my lips into a grotesque parody of a smile around Mark’s cock, tears streaming freely down my face now.
“I’m just… in the bathroom, honey,” I lied, the words tasting like ash. “The ac is on.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said, though she didn’t look convinced. “Well, don’t work too hard. I miss you.”
Mark’s thrusts were getting faster, more insistent. He was enjoying this. They all were. I could hear Leo chuckling softly.
“I miss you too,” I choked out, the words barely intelligible. “So much.”
“Get some sleep,” she said, her voice soft. “Love you.”
Mark was fucking my face in earnest now, his balls slapping against my chin. I had to end it.
“Love you too,” I sobbed, and with my last shred of will, I hit the end call button.
The screen went black. I dropped the phone, and it clattered onto the floor. I collapsed forward, my forehead on the rug, and sobbed. Great, racking, body-wracking sobs of utter despair. I had just destroyed the last pure thing in my life.
I felt a hand on my head. It was Mark, stroking my hair almost gently. “There, there,” he said, his voice mockingly soft. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Mr. Sterling knelt down beside me, his face close to mine. “No,” he agreed. “It wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was perfect. You see? You can be loyal. You just needed to be shown who you truly belong to.”
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. My tear-streaked face, my swollen lips, my utter defeat. He smiled, a genuine, triumphant smile.
“Welcome to your new life, faggot,” he said. “You passed the test.”
The call ended. The screen went black. I was on all fours on the floor, my forehead pressed against the rough fibers of the rug, my body wracked with great, heaving sobs. The sound was guttural, animalistic, torn from a place so deep inside me I didn’t know it existed. I wasn’t crying because of what they had done to me. I was crying because of what I had just done to her. To us. I had willingly, consciously, used the love of my life as a prop in my own debasement.
I felt a hand on my head, stroking my hair with a soft, almost paternal gentleness. It was Mark. “There, there,” he murmured, his voice a mocking parody of comfort. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You did good.”
Mr. Sterling knelt down beside me, his expensive cologne cutting through the thick, musky air of the room. He grabbed my chin, his grip firm, and forced my tear-streaked face up to look at him. His eyes were not cruel, but they were cold. Analytical. Like a scientist examining a specimen.
“No,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “It wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was perfect. You see? You can be loyal. You just needed to be shown who you truly belong to.”
He let go of my chin, and my head fell forward again, limp and defeated. “That little performance, that lie you told her while your mouth was full of cock… that was your true wedding vow. You didn’t vow to love and cherish her. You vowed to love and cherish this. To protect this. To serve this. Welcome to your new life, faggot. You passed the test.”
The words didn’t fully register. My mind was a white noise static of shame and despair. But my body understood. My body knew the test was over, and a new phase had begun. I felt myself being pulled to my feet by two pairs of hands—Leo and Mark. They maneuvered me, not roughly, but with a firm, unshakeable purpose, toward the large bathroom off the master bedroom.

The bathroom was all black marble and chrome, stark and sterile under the bright lights. They guided me into the walk-in shower, a cavernous space with multiple showerheads embedded in the walls. Mr. Sterling followed us in, holding a remote. He pressed a button, and warm water began to spray from all directions, enveloping me in a warm, cleansing torrent.
“Clean him,” Mr. Sterling commanded, his voice echoing slightly off the tile. “I want him spotless. Inside and out.”
Mark and Leo began to wash me. They used expensive, mint-scented soap, their hands firm and efficient. They washed my hair, my back, my chest. They weren’t gentle lovers; they were keepers preparing their prize livestock for show. As Mark soaped my chest, Leo moved behind me. He told me to spread my legs and bend over. I felt a slick, soapy finger probe my tender, ravaged hole. He cleaned me thoroughly, his touch impersonal, clinical. The humiliation was absolute, but it was also strangely calming. There was no decision to make. There was only the instruction and the obedience.
Once I was rinsed, they handed me a thick, fluffy towel and led me back into the bedroom. Mr. Sterling was sitting on the edge of the bed, a black silk robe wrapped around his powerful frame. He patted the space beside him. I sat, my body still damp, the towel wrapped around my waist.
“From this moment on, things change,” he began, his tone that of a CEO outlining a new corporate strategy. “Your training is complete. You are no longer a project. You are an asset. A valuable one. And assets require maintenance and rules.”
He held up a finger. “Rule one: You belong to us. Your body is our property. Your mouth, your ass, your hands… they are for our use, or for the use of anyone we deem worthy. You will not refuse any command from me, Mark, or Leo. Ever.”
He held up a second finger. “Rule two: Your outside life is a facade. It is a necessary illusion that you will maintain with perfection. You will be the best husband, the best employee, the best neighbor anyone has ever seen. A happy, normal man is an invisible man. We will not tolerate mistakes. Any suspicion drawn to you is a threat to us, and you know how we deal with threats.”
My eyes flickered to my phone, lying discarded on the floor. He saw me look. A thin, cruel smile touched his lips.
“Which brings us to rule three,” he said, holding up a third finger. “Your phone is no longer just your phone. Mark will be installing some software on it. We will have access to everything. Your location, your messages, your call logs. This is for your own protection as much as ours. It ensures you don’t get any… foolish ideas about contacting the authorities or running away. And it allows us to monitor your ‘performance’ with your wife. We expect you to keep her happy. A happy wife is a distracted wife.”
Leo stepped forward with my phone. The screen was on, showing a progress bar for some kind of installation. My heart sank. They hadn’t just been in my head; they were literally in my phone.
“Rule four,” Mr. Sterling continued, oblivious to my spiraling despair. “You will be available to us. You will not make plans on a Tuesday or Thursday evening. Those are our nights. You will keep those nights clear. If we call, you will come. No excuses. Your ‘work emergencies’ will now be scheduled in advance.”
He stood up and walked over to a closet. He opened it and pulled out a small, black gym bag. He tossed it at my feet. “Rule five: This is your go-bag. It contains everything you’ll need for your visits. A change of clothes. Lubricant. Enemas. A toothbrush. You will keep this in your car at all times. When you get the call, you will find a suitable place to prepare yourself before you arrive here. I expect you to be clean and ready for use the moment you walk through that door. I will not tolerate a dirty asset.”
I stared at the bag. It was so practical, so thoughtful, and so utterly horrifying. They had thought of everything.
“Do you have any questions?” Mr. Sterling asked.
I shook my head, my throat too tight to speak.
“Good. Then your new life begins now. Get dressed.”
I stood up on shaky legs and opened the bag. Inside was a simple pair of grey sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. I dressed slowly, the movements of a man in a trance. When I was ready, I stood before them, awaiting my final instruction.
“Go home,” Mr. Sterling said, his voice dismissive. “Go home to your Sarah. Kiss her goodnight. Make love to her. And think about us. Think about this. Think about where you truly belong. You will find, I think, that the lie is much more convincing when you are living the truth.”
I walked to the door, my body moving on its own. I opened it and stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind me. The walk to the elevator, the ride down, the drive home—it was all a blur. I was a ghost, a passenger in my own body.
When I walked into my house, Sarah was asleep on the couch, the TV on low. She looked so peaceful, so trusting. I gently shook her awake.
“Hey,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “You’re back.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice soft. “Just like I said.”
I helped her up to bed. She kissed me, a soft, loving peck on the lips. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispered.
And in that moment, looking at her beautiful, sleeping face, I knew Mr. Sterling was right. The lie was easier now. Because as I lay down next to her, the ghost of Mark’s cock still in my throat, the phantom ache of Mr. Sterling’s possession still in my ass, I had never felt more certain of where I belonged. I was in her bed, but I was in their world. And I would do anything to keep it that way.