Chapter 13

The next morning, Kate passed through the Echelon lobby, greeted the receptionist, and made her way down the hall to the Locker Suite. The steps felt almost ceremonial—changing in room Twenty-three, slipping her wedding ring into the safe, pulling on the black leotard. Then it was off to meet Victor.

In Suite One, Victor did not waste any time with pleasantries. He immediately took out the measuring device with the black tape and moved to Kate's side, bending on one knee. His palms enclosed firmly around her ankle. Kate braced herself as she felt the warmth of his hands slowly slide up the curve of her calf and over the bend of her knee. Goosebumps prickled across her skin as he continued up the smooth line of her bare thigh.

Kate reeled, and images of each inappropriate act she'd witnessed flashed in her mind. The woman kissing her trainer goodbye in the lobby, the too-intimate hamstring stretch in Suite Two, and Mrs. Tifton's flushed face and disheveled leotard, followed by her trainer, James, after what they'd clearly just done in Suite Ten.

Victor reached high, with one hand settling just below the curve of Kate's ass. Her breath caught when she felt the back of his other hand press against her mound. He seemed to have forgotten the tape and just held his hands there, extending the moment.

Kate should have recoiled. She should have felt shame, after all, she'd always been a faithful wife. But every guilty thought that tried to rise up was brushed back by a stronger image: Michael, trembling while looking up from between her legs, as he confessed he liked watching Victor's huge cock while he showered. That memory didn't just excuse her—it fueled her.

Victor released his grip and pulled the tape across her inner thigh until the device beeped, capturing the measurement. Then, in a voice as smooth and unhurried as if he were savoring a glass of fine wine, he said, "Twenty-four inches. Great progress."

He released the tape and stood behind her, and placed his hands on her hips, moving to measure her waist. Now realizing today's measurements would be more intimate than before, Kate was somewhat prepared when she felt Victor push into her backside. She could feel the swell of his cock pushing against her ass. It felt larger than any she'd ever felt before. A trickle of sweat beaded down her brow as she held her breath. He pulled the tape taut across her belly. "Thirty-three and one-quarter inches. Good." His tone was slow and easy, as though he were savoring the moment along with the numbers.

Victor held his hips to hers and pressed both hands on her stomach. He traced his hands up her torso and whispered, "You okay?" 

With more of a reaction than a thought, Kate nodded just before his hands reached her breasts.

She lifted her arms high, reaching back until they looped around Victor's neck. His hands slid hard up her front and closed firmly over leotard-covered breasts. He squeezed until the fabric filled his palms, her nipples stiffening and pressing through against them.

Victor leaned in close to her ear, then in a loud whisper, he said, "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

Kate had braced for this, but her mind screamed no—this wasn't her, this wasn't who she was. Yet her body betrayed her. Heat welled between her thighs. Her clit throbbed in sharp pulses, and her pussy slickened with need.

His warm breath pulsed across her neck as he awaited her answer. 

Her lips parted, but no words came out. A hot shiver rolled through her body, and she gave the slightest nod—a wordless plea for him to take her.

Victor smiled and rolled his hips, grinding his cock into her.

"And if I want to fuck you, right now. Here, where anyone waking by could see us... You'd want that too?" His sultry voice was dripping with seduction.

Kate's thoughts flicked to Mrs. Tifton's flushed, satisfied face. Then to Michael in the shower room, his small cock stiff as he watched Victor.

She nodded again. This time, without hesitation.

Victor leaned closer, his breath grazing her ear. "What?" Victor whispered in a breathy rasp, "I didn't hear you."

Her nods had given her deniability, but were no longer enough. This demanded words, and now she had to choose: pull away or submit. 

She shook as she drew in a deep breath, then let go. "Yeeesss," she purred.

Victor let that settle. He didn't say anything. He didn't move. He just held her there. His hands still cupped her breasts, and his thick cock pressed hard against her ass. His silence underscored the weight of her confession.

Kate's breath quickened. Her body was stretched, exposed. One would only need to glance to see she was on the edge of surrender.

And then he cut it clean, "I'm not going to fuck you today." His words washed over her like ice water, cruel and deliberate.

He felt her body squirm out of frustration.

"Do you know why?" he asked, gripping her tighter, his lips still close to her ear.

Kate shook her head, her breathing uneven.

"Because you have work to do," he said. "Michael will need you. He's weaker than you. He will want to falter, and you cannot allow it."

These words struck hard, but she knew them to be true. Michael had been a good husband, but hardly the decision maker, and now he seemed even softer, more amenable.

Victor clutched hard on her breasts, and she snapped back to the moment. Her body was still writhing from denial.

"You will prepare him," he continued, each phrase a command. "Keep him bare. Keep him pliant. Make him obey you."

Kate swallowed hard, picturing Michael crying on her shoulder, as she nodded.

"Michael wants to serve—needs to serve, but he's fighting it. Help him understand that's his purpose."

Victor held her hard for a moment longer, then released her and stepped back.

"Do you understand?" His question wasn't gentle. It wasn't even really a question. It was a demand for validation.

Kate nodded one last time. She felt her heart pounding in her chest.

"Good," Victor said simply, and picked up the measuring device, placing it back in the low cabinet at the back of the space.

He left her there. 

Kate stood, staring blankly as her body still burned with need. Her mind tried to steady itself as she attempted to reconcile what had just happened. In minutes, she'd been seduced, denied, redirected, and then given a task. 

She was no longer strictly a client of Echelon. She was now an agent of Victor's, commissioned into his service.

"Ahem."

The small sound at the doorway brought her back.

Ava stood waiting, composed as ever in her navy suit. 

Kate followed her to the Locker Suite. She stepped into the changing room and closed the door. Her hands shook as she pulled off the straps of the leotard. Ava's voice carried through the door.

"The way you're feeling now is natural. It's normal to question things that are new to us." She paused to let her words settle, "Trust Victor. He knows what he's doing."

Kate didn't respond. She finished changing in silence, letting Ava's reassurances sink in.

When she got home, the house was quiet. Michael was already up in his office, absorbed in his workday. He'd left a mess in the kitchen from where he'd apparently attempted breakfast on his own.

Kate needed her space. She decided to go shopping and take in a movie.

She showered, dressed, and primped her hair. Before she left, she texted Michael to tell him to clean his kitchen mess and that he was responsible for dinner. 

She didn't see him again until that evening, after his own session at Echelon.

Chapter 14

When Michael woke up that morning, Kate had already gone for her session with Victor. He stumbled down the stairs, still weak from the night before. 

He cracked three eggs into a bowl and whisked them. He poured the mix into a pan along with a swath of butter and made scrambled eggs. He ate them straight from the pan and left it, the bowl, and the wooden spoon abandoned by the sink.

He headed upstairs to shower and ready himself for work.

A few hours later, he received a text from Kate.

Going shopping for shoes for Saturday and then to the movies.

Clean your mess in the kitchen and order us something for dinner. I'm not cooking. 😉

Michael scrubbed the kitchen after work and ordered Chinese. He ate alone and told himself that take-out was better than what he would have cooked.

Pulling into the Echelon lot gave Michael a sense of dread that gnawed at him. He replayed his earlier visits, each session stacking a new humiliation on top of the last. 

If he could take it all back, he would have refused the leotard from the start. Maybe he could have convinced Kate to try a different gym. Instead, here he was sitting in the driver's seat with his thoughts spiraling. The dark building was so foreboding that he almost drove away. When he glanced at his watch, his stomach sank. He had sat there too long, and now he was late.

Michael jumped out of the car and sprinted to the door. Locked. He rechecked his watch: 7:03.

He knocked frantically, stopping only to cup his hands around his eyes to peer through the tinted window. He continued knocking, splitting his knuckles against the glass until the lock clicked. He tested the door and pushed through.

Ava stood in the lobby with her arms folded and a look of disapproval on her face. 

"That was your one time," she chastised. "Don't be late again." 

"Yes, ma'am."

He followed her to the Locker Suite, the throb from his red and now swollen knuckles impossible to ignore.

In changing room Twenty-three, he pulled off his shirt, shorts, and underwear and stuffed them in the cabinet below the room's small safe, where he'd placed his keys and wallet.

He turned to the bench, expecting the standard black leotard, but today, it was not black. It was lavender with thin spaghetti straps and a high hip line. Michael held it up to examine it. It read Echelon in big letters across the front, and the back plunged open past the shoulder blades. 

Michael stared at it and chuckled a little in disbelief. 

He stepped into it anyway. Michael pulled the sides up to his armpits and felt the fabric cling high and tight, its narrow seat slightly wider than a thong.

He looped his arms through the straps and turned to see himself in the mirror. He barely recognized the person staring back at him.

He sucked in a quick breath and blew it out.

"Ready," he told himself, and stepped out.

Ava had left, so Michael followed the familiar walkway to Studio One, expecting to find Victor waiting, but it was empty. 

Michael heard the squeaking of sneakers on polished wood and slowly peered around the corner to see a tall, young Black man wearing the familiar Echelon training attire approaching him. The trainer pointed directly at Michael, turned without a word, and walked back down the aisle to Suite Ten.

Michael hesitated, painfully aware of his tight-fitting lavender leotard. He cautiously stepped onto the wooden walkway, as if testing its sturdiness. He walked lightly to the suite and stepped in.

James stood waiting with folded arms. He was much younger than Victor. He was well over six feet tall and very lean. His head was shaved to a smooth, shadowed finish. The hairline was cut into sharp, clean edges as if drawn by a pencil. His close-trimmed beard traced his jawline in precise lines, giving his face a clean, disciplined definition.

"I'm James, but you should call me sir."

Michael nodded his head.

"Hubby—" James began.

"Michael," he corrected weakly.

"I don't care," James retorted and pointed. "Here. Stretch."

James' voice was commanding, and Michael obeyed, stepping onto the mat.

He grabbed Michael's hips and spun him around to face away. Then, pushing forward with his thumbs, he pressed Michael's lower back, encouraging him to bend over at the waist and reach for the floor.

"Touch the floor," James instructed.

Michael could not come close.

"Up,"

Michael straightened.

"Spread your legs," James said, kicking Michael's feet apart. "Shoulder width."

Michael danced his feet apart, trying to comply.

"Now bend."

Michael bent again, this time feeling his ass spread as he did. His breath caught when the seat of the leotard pulled taut, thinned, and slipped between his cheeks.

"Up." James directed.

James had inched forward, and before Michael could reach behind to adjust his leotard, James grabbed his wrists, pulling them over his head.

"Stretch." 

Michael's eyes fixed on the ceiling as he strained to straighten his body, reaching as high as he could.

Then James tilted forward, pushing Michael's back with his chest into another bending stretch, this time with his hips pressed so tightly that Michael could feel the bulge push against him.

Michael's face burned while James held him there. Sensing his internal struggle, James said, "Don't worry. In time, you'll get used to being bent over."

The implications of the words hit hard.

"Up," James said a final time and stepped back.

"Time to stretch your lats and shoulders." Then, pointing to the mat, he said, "Face me and get on your knees."

Michael's eyes widened. He didn't respond; he just stared into James' face.

James tipped his chin forward to silently emphasize his last command.

Michael fell to his knees.

"Arms out. Eyes up."

Michael obeyed.

James took the forearms in his hands and stepped closer, his shorts only inches from Michael's face.

"Take two slow breaths. While keeping your arms straight, soften your torso, and let the weight of your body stretch you."

Michael inhaled as deeply as his nerves would allow, then exhaled as James pushed his arms up. 

Michael fell forward, his face plunging into the front of James' shorts. He could feel it. It was warm and thick, pressing against Michael's nose.

"Hold," James ordered, keeping Michael a bit off balance.

Then, "Relax," he said, allowing Michael to fall back into the kneeling position.

After a short respite, James tugged Michael's arms back toward him, "Again."

And again, Michael felt the cock smash into his face.

"Hold it right there."

After thirty seconds or so, James said, "Relax," 

Michael fell back onto his heels, humiliated. He lifted his knees off the mat and wiped them with his hands. 

"That's hard on the knees," he murmured, attempting to brush aside what just happened.

"It gets easier," James said curtly. "In no time, you'll be able to be on your knees for as long as required."

After a few more emasculating stretches, James coached Michael through a set of calisthenics before signaling the session was over.

Michael walked gingerly down the aisle. As he passed each Training Suite, he wondered what went on during regular hours. As Kate was clearly under Victor's spell, he imagined her in one of these rooms, guided and commanded just as he had been, and the thought sent a shiver that rippled through him.

He stripped off the damp leotard and slipped on the robe that hung in the changing room. Stepping out, he half-expected to see Ava waiting for him, but he found himself alone and made his way to the showers.

Michael pushed through the door to the shower area and immediately heard the familiar sound of water against tile. His pulse quickened as he pictured James beneath the spray on full display, just as he found Victor a few nights before. 

But when he reached the stalls, he saw it wasn't James at all. Victor stood with his back to Michael in the same stall he'd been before, only this time the curtain was drawn. The thin sheet of fabric covered his torso, but the outline of his powerful frame could still be seen.

Michael stared in awe, a bit less ashamed than before, and his thoughts spiraled. While his eyes focused on Victor and his mind wandered, he felt his small penis begin to rise. He dug his hand into his robe to push it down, trying to prevent the inevitable.

The slam of a door snapped him out of the trance. 

Michael froze. With his robe open and fingers around his penis, he watched as James walked comfortably toward him, completely naked.

His torso was lean and chiseled. He had a chest that was squared rather than bulky, as if it had been carved from stone. As he walked, his abdomen flexed, causing the pillowed muscles, separated by deep ridges, to jump with each step. His dark skin glistened with sweat, and his thick cock swung heavily in time with his stride.

"I, umm," Michael stammered.

James let out a short laugh as he caught Michael's eye. He shook his head with a mixture of amusement and dismissal, then turned and stepped into the shower stall next to Victor. Reaching up, he yanked the curtain shut with a loud metallic snap.

Michael stood, transfixed. He watched the outlines of the two men showering for a few more seconds until the realization hit him—James had just caught him with his hand on his penis while watching Victor shower.

Fuck! It was happening again. 

Panic surged, and he bolted for the Locker Suite. He slipped into the changing room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

His hands shook as he fumbled with his pants. He stepped into the first leg, pulled, and faltered as the fabric clung to his sweaty skin, pitching his body back onto the bench behind him. He forced his leg the rest of the way through. Then, bending his other knee high, he slipped his foot into the opposite hole. Standing, he inched the pants up around his hips, though they remained awkwardly bunched and twisted.

Michael pulled his t-shirt over his sweaty hair and onto his shoulders. He stretched the front down to his waist, but the back folded under into a roll across his shoulder blades. He didn't bother fixing it.

He shoved his socks into his empty shoes, grabbed his keys and wallet, and headed to the door. Dropping the robe and lavender leotard into the hamper on the way out, he quickly padded barefoot to his car.

Chapter 15

Saturday had come, and Michael sat on the edge of his bed, next to the tuxedo lying beside him, still wrapped in a cellophane garment bag. He stared at it hard, but he wasn't focused on it—his mind was elsewhere, riddled with wonder: Where were they going? What would they do? What would he make them do?

He rubbed his damp hands on his thighs. His palms dried from the friction for an instant, but the sweat returned as soon as the air hit them. Tonight wasn't going to be your typical black-tie event, he thought. It was certain to be the private humiliation he'd endured paraded around for everyone to see—even Kate. His stomach dropped a notch when he thought about it more. If Kate saw him like that, what would she think? Could she ever look at him the same again?

The thought plagued his mind. Instead of dressing, he busied himself with little chores. He made the bed. Then he cleaned the bathroom. After that, the hall bathroom. And when he finally finished and combed his hair into place, he realized he had broken a sweat from all the cleaning, so he showered again. 

Fresh from his shower, he polished the already shiny cuff links. After that, he tried to polish the preshined patent leather shoes. Anything—absolutely anything—to delay putting on the tuxedo, which represented the one place he didn't want to be.

Kate's dress swished as she stepped into the room. She was ready. Her long, black gown hugged her figure, showcasing the progress she'd made from her trips to Echelon. Her hair was pinned up neatly, exposing her long neck that supported a beautiful set of pearls she'd inherited from her grandmother. She looked regal, as though she belonged at any private formal gathering. 

But her expression didn't match her elegance. Kate took one look at Michael sitting on the bed with damp hair, wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, and she nearly lost her composure.

"Why aren't you dressed?" She said, exasperated. "The car will be here in ten minutes."

"I was thinking maybe I shouldn't go," he answered.

"Well, I'm not going alone, and I'm going," she said angrily, then added, "so you're going." Then she turned and stomped down the stairs.

Michael began to sweat again, and his stomach twisted into knots. He told himself he would get up and dress, but before he moved, he heard Kate yell from the kitchen.

"If you're not ready when the car gets here, I am going without you," she threatened,  "And you better not be here when I get home."

Michael looked at his watch: 6:23. He had seven minutes. He tore open the cellophane and dragged on the trousers. He rushed, shakily pushing each onyx stud through a hole, and then pulled on the shirt, quickly buttoning it. While stepping into the shiny black shoes, he looped the tie around his neck with one hand and grabbed the jacket with the other. He made his way downstairs to see Kate opening the front door to leave.

"Wait!" he cried, and followed her out.

The car that waited for them stopped him in his tracks. 

Its black finish gleamed as it caught the final rays of the setting sun. A Bentley. Its tinted windows and chrome grill underscored its opulence. This was no rented stretch car for prom; it was exclusive and unmistakably private, meant to impress.

The driver held the door for Kate and she stepped in. Michael ran around to the other side, opened the door, tossed in his jacket, and quickly tucked in his shirt before getting in. Once inside, he shoved his arms through the coat, knotted his tie, and checked himself before he sank into the leather seat.

He looked over at Kate with a smile that begged approval.

"Mmhmm," she hummed at him with a side-eyed look.

He exhaled with relief, thankful he didn't ruin the evening before it began.

The drive was smooth and quiet, except for the steady drumming of Michael's fingers on the armrest as he stared at the blur of passing trees. His thoughts raced, circling all the humiliating possibilities that lay ahead.

Kate sat perfectly straight, her green eyes fixed forward. She hadn't said another word since they left the house. She didn't need to. Her mind was already on Victor—whether he would want to fuck her tonight, and whether she would let him. The questions circled with a dangerous pull. Michael's anxiety was obvious in the twitch of his fingers, but she hardly noticed. She was too busy wondering how different their marriage might look by the time they came home.

The limousine slowed as it turned into a long driveway, approaching a guard shack. The driver lowered his window and nodded, and the guard opened the large iron gate, waving him through. No conversation or list of names checked. Their arrival had been expected.

The car rolled forward, and the tires began to crunch against the gravel drive. Trees lined the narrow road, their branches leaning over the passageway, creating the illusion of a tunnel piercing through a forest. 

Ahead, the trees gave way to a clearing, wide and greened with grasses. Kate gasped when she saw the giant house perched on a distant hill.

Michael leaned to see out Kate's window as they got closer. She looked at Michael with raised eyebrows. He looked back and said, "Echelon House? More like Echelong Mansion," hoping he was back in her good graces enough to joke.

Kate flashed him a half-smile.

The crunch of the gravel gave way to the softer grind of stone as the Bentley drove into the circular courtyard. At its center, a small fountain shot water in the air in uneven spurts. They followed the ring of gray pavers that encircled it in a perfect mosaic.

When the limousine came to a stop beneath the portico, an usher opened Kate's door for her. He wore a dark suit and offered his gloved hand to her and then to Michael.

They stepped out and took in the view.

The front entrance was framed by four massive columns that supported a small balcony above the doorway. A low, wide staircase led from the courtyard to the main doors, which were taller than any two humans and ensconced in an ornate archway. On either side of the columns were meticulously trimmed hedges deliberately clipped into domes, cubes, or spirals.

They followed the usher up the steps. At the top, two men pushed the massive doors inward, in perfect unison, revealing the glow of the foyer inside.

Just before entering, the usher reached into his inner jacket pocket and produced a small wooden box. From it, he drew out two squares of folded fabric. Without explanation, he handed one to Kate and the other to Michael, then closed the box and stepped back.

Kate looked at Michael inquisitively. He pulled on one corner of his and let the folds tumble open into a royal blue sash made of rich satin. He looked hard at it, then up at Kate. 

"Here," Michael said, and he carefully lifted it high and held it out so she could dip her head through and drape it across her shoulder without disturbing her hair. 

Kate thanked him, straightened, and smoothed the sash into place with her palms; its blue popped brightly against her black gown.

Michael took the other from her hand, snapped it open with a jerk, and looped it over his head with less care. 

"How's mine?" he asked his wife, standing a little straighter.

She stepped to him, pulled on the bottom corner, stroked the shoulder into place, and said, "There."

They both looked at the usher, signalling they were ready. He nodded, turned, and escorted them inside.

The foyer was more ornate than the entrance. Its off-white marble floors were patterned with geometric squares and triangles that formed intricate designs. A grand staircase spiraled upward to the left and right, each side featuring rounded marble steps framed with wrought-iron railings that looped up to the balcony on the second-floor landing. 

Kate and Michael followed the usher, their footsteps echoing against the polished stone. They teetered slightly as they walked, their heads turning, looking all around, trying to take in everything at once.

As they entered the dining hall, they saw a half-dozen large, round dinner tables, each draped with a white cloth, adorned with flowers and a candle, and accompanied by six place settings. Beyond the tables was a stage complete with a curtain and a piano offset to the right.

Kate and Michael were the first to arrive. The usher led them to the farthest table on the left and pulled out the chair for Kate. After seating them, he lingered for a moment. Michael wasn't sure if he was expecting a tip, but before he could decide, the usher bid them a good evening and was on his way.

A waiter bringing water appeared almost at once. The handoff was so seamless, it felt as if he and the usher had rehearsed. He filled their glasses with precision and placed a crystal carafe near them. Then, with a polite nod, he turned and departed as quickly as he arrived, leaving them alone in the vast, echoing hall.

"Do you think this place is his?" she whispered.

Michael could only shrug in response as his nerves had resurfaced.

"What do you think's going to happen?" she asked.

"Dinner?" he choked out with a trace of hope in his voice.

"I mean, what else is going to happen?" she clarified, her eyes narrowing.

Michael did not answer. He shifted in his chair, staring down at the glass in front of him. He tried to stay calm, but the images of him in compromising positions, exposed and diminished, all in front of Kate, came flooding in. He felt a trickle of sweat roll down the small of his back.

Just then, they heard chatter and laughter as an usher escorted two couples into the room. They clearly knew each other and were seated together at a table across the room.

The room slowly filled, each arrival led in by an usher, each in their forties or older. Their formal wear varied in class. Some tuxedos were made from fine cloth and expertly tailored, while others appeared well-worn and hung a little looser. The gowns ranged from top designer creations to modest off-the-rack purchases, but each was worn with the same confidence and enthusiasm.

Their voices were warm, friendly, and had the tones of people familiar with this type of gathering. Laughs and hugs between guests rang of reunions of long-time friendships. Kate and Michael sat in eager anticipation and in wonder about the couples who would sit with them. Kate would flick her eyes at Michael after each couple was seated at a table that wasn't theirs. He would return her look with nervous acknowledgment. They watched as each table around them filled until theirs was the only one still empty.

Finally, the last two couples swept in, the first walking ahead of their usher with a boldness that could only be gained from experience, while the second, in tow, was less cocky but still comfortable, pausing to greet the couple at the next table before taking a seat at Kate and Michael's. 

"Well, good evening, fine folks," the first woman greeted as the usher hurried to catch up and pull her chair. Her husband tipped his head and sat down beside her.

She was a tall, stocky woman. Her gown was bright green and hugged her a little too tightly. Her hair sat tall on her head, pulled up and twisted. She was not conventionally pretty, but was not unattractive. Her husband was tall and very thin. His long face portrayed a mild demeanor.

"First time, is it?" she asked almost rhetorically, her smile conveying a knowing look. 

"Y-Yes," Kate answered. "How—"

The woman flicked her eyes at Kate's sash and drew her hand across her front, simulating a sash of her own.

Kate sat back, and she and Michael gave each other a look. They'd been so caught up in the moment that they had not noticed they were the only ones wearing the royal blue sashes.

"It's been a while since we've had first timers," the woman continued. "I'm Katherine," she said, extending her hand.

Kate said, "Me too, but I go by Kate," standing slightly to reach her.

They both chuckled at the coincidence.

"This is my husband, Michael," she continued, motioning to him. Michael mimed tipping an imaginary hat, but said nothing.

"This is Roger," Katherine responded, in turn. "Say Hello, Roger."

"Hello, Ma'am," Roger obeyed.

Just then, the second couple found their seats next to Katherine and Roger.

"This is Rachel and John—" Katherine began.

Rachel grinned and nodded.

"—Reed," Katherine finished.

Rachel's expression faltered, her eyes flashing a quick scowl upon hearing her last name before smoothing it back into a polite smile. Then she turned in her chair and resumed her discussion with the woman from the next table that had begun before she sat. John settled quietly next to her.

Katherine laughed it off, "Pay her no mind. She can be a bitch."

Rachel ignored the insult and continued her private conversation with her back to them.

"Oh," Katherine exclaimed when the waiter arrived at the table to take their order. "I haven't even looked at the menu and leaned in to read it.

Kate and Michael looked at each other, then down at the table. In front of them was a small card listing three choices of entrees.

"I'll have the Cordon Bleu," Katherine announced. Then added, "He'll have the Risotto," ordering for Roger. He smiled meekly.

Nodding as he committed the order to memory, he looked over to Kate and asked, "For you, Ma'am?"

Kate said, "I'll also have the Risotto," and then paused and swallowed hard before saying, "and he'll have the Filet."

Michael froze. He couldn't believe what had just happened, but before he could react, the waiter asked, "And how would he like that cooked?"

"Medium," Kate answered decisively and with a little more confidence this time.

"And to drink?" asked the waiter.

"Can I have the Chablis?"

"Of course," he answered.

"And he'll have a Merlot."

"Very good," the waiter complimented.

Michael was beside himself. He wanted to protest, but didn't want to make a scene. 

"Oh, right," Katherine chimed in. "I'll have the Pinot Grigio and bring Roger here some more water. He'll need to stay hydrated."

The waiter nodded and moved on to Rachel and John.

The food arrived shortly thereafter, and the table ate in silence. 

After dinner, and the plates had been cleared, Katherine looked over at Kate and asked, "Have you been at Echelon long? I don't think I've ever seen you there."

"Only two weeks," Kate answered.

"Wow," Katherine said in mild surprise, "I guess when Victor sees one he likes, he moves quickly."

Michael turned red with embarrassment. He clinched his fists under the table and started bouncing his knee.

Noticing this, Katherine groaned, "Oh no! Did I upset your cuck?"

Kate blinked. A little miffed, she responded with indignation, "He's not a cuck," only vaguely familiar with the term. 

Michael, though, knew exactly what it meant. His chest tightened, his heart hammering as the realization of what this night truly was about hit him.

"Of course," Katherine said in mock concession, "My mistake," and took a long draw from her wine glass. 

Kate grabbed Michael's leg just above the knee and squeezed, stilling it.

Suddenly, the room went dark, and a spotlight appeared on the stage. 

The room quieted as everyone's attention shifted.

The long velvety blue curtain shifted.

Victor emerged and stepped onto the stage.

Everyone began to clap—everyone except for Kate and Michael. 

Chapter 16

Victor bowed slightly, letting the applause continue before raising his hands to quiet the room. When he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly and with a natural command.

"Welcome, my friends," he began.

Applause erupted again. This time, even Kate and Michael clapped, but mostly because they didn't want to be singled out.

Raising his hands again until they quieted, he said, "Okay. Okay. If you clap at everything I say, we will never get to the fun stuff," to scattered laughter

He continued, "It's good to see so many familiar faces, and a few new ones as well."

Michael's stomach lurched as the idea hit him that Victor might invite the "first timers" on the stage and initiate them in some embarrassing way.

Kate also reacted to Victor's comment about new faces, but hers was one of excitement rather than anxiety.

"Each of you knows why you've come and each of you knows the promise of this house," he said. There were low murmurs and nods of recognition.

"This is a place where we can shed our masks and embrace who we truly are."

They applauded again.

"It's the things that bind us," Victor said, slipping into a cadence resembling that of a preacher.

"It is not the food that binds us, though it was good," he said and paused for effect.

"And it is not the company that binds us, though it was friendly," continuing the tempo.

Then he raised his voice, almost yelling, "And it is not even the sex that binds us. Though... It. Will. Be. Satisfying."

Loud clapping erupted, accompanied by whistles and cheers.

Kate's eyes went wide, and she turned her whole head and looked at Michael, wearing a surprised smile. His throat tightened, and his mouth went dry.

"What binds us is trust!" He said, emphasizing trust, "Trust in each other. Trust in this house, and trust in me."

"Tonight, like every night here, discretion is absolute," Victor lectured. "That is why you are free tonight. You are free to indulge. Free to discover. Free to surrender."

"There are only two things I require," he said, raising a finger. "Respect for one another," he, raising a second finger, "and honesty with yourselves."

There was scattered applause and a few glasses raised.

Victor smiled widely. "Now... enough talk."

He spread his arms wide and motioned with his fingers, "Let us begin."

The spotlight that had been aimed at Victor snapped off, and the overhead lights of the dining hall flipped on in a glowing, soft amber. 

There were broad smiles on the faces of most of the women and some of the men as every head turned toward the shadowy corner of the room.

Kate and Michael looked too, and could only make out the outline of a doorway in the distance, until they saw movement. Something—someone was walking. Then, with a long, steady stride, a man emerged from the darkness.

He was tall, with broad shoulders, a chiseled chest, and very dark skin. He wore only a tuxedo jacket, its tails brushing the backs of his thighs, a crisp white collar, a black bow tie, and sleek black gloves—nothing else.

The room gawked as his cock swung heavily with each step. It was long and thick with a bulbous head, and its swing kept time with the rhythm of his gait.

Behind him came another man, and then another. Each Black. Each dressed the same. And each with an impressively large, swinging cock. 

They fanned across the dining hall in silence, each taking his position behind a couple.

As they spread across the room, the regulars began to smile. Some wives leaned forward, their expressions brightening, and their excitement—undeniable. Others exchanged glances with their neighbors, silently acknowledging the moment had come.

The men reacted differently. Some were as eager as the wives, sitting up straighter and unabashedly cheery. Others grew quieter, sinking into their chairs, trying to disappear. One man leaned far back in his chair, framing his hands in a square like a movie director capturing his wife hugging the legs of their man, as she smiled broadly, resting her head beside the large black cock that hung there.

There were no looks of surprise or jealousy. Every couple seemed to know the routine. Everyone, apart from Kate and Michael. 

The room was charged, and Kate felt it. Michael's knee began to bounce again next to her. He stared down at the table, refusing to turn or look up. Kate did not try to calm him. She had her own stomach flutters to contend with.

Every couple had a half-naked man standing behind them—some had two—every couple but them.

The empty space behind their chairs felt larger and their blue sashes more noticeable, as if the spotlight was now on them, and everyone in the hall took note, but said nothing.

Michael snapped out of his trance long enough to lean into Kate. As he was about to whisper that maybe they should leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Kate stiffened at the same moment as she felt a hand, too.

Michael was paralyzed, and Kate's eyes closed in preparation. They'd been chosen, and all they needed to do was turn to see the man who'd done it.

They turned slowly and saw Ava standing behind them, her expression unreadable and her gloved hands still on their shoulders.

"Come," she said quietly. 

Michael's whole body slackened as his tension released.

Kate had to stifile her disappointment in finding Ava in place of the Adonis she had pictured there.

They scooted their chairs back to stand, still half in shock, half curious. Ava stepped back to give them room, then slipped in between them, looping her arms into theirs as they walked. 

Michael tried to turn his head to see behind them, but Ava pulled, tightening his arm with hers, and said, "Ta ta ta'a," forcing him forward again.

She led them to a passage, hidden behind velvet drapes, just outside the hall. She gave a quick sweep to ensure no one was looking and shoved them through.

The narrow tunnel seemed right out of a movie. The velvet curtain fell closed behind them, cutting off the light and distant sounds from the dining hall. 

Ava pushed past them and walked up the tunnel as it turned to the left. Her shadows bounced off the stone walls as she passed a sconce that glowed there. 

Kate looked at Michael quizically. He shrugged and said, "What else can we do?"

Cautiously, they followed along the tunnel and caught up with Ava. The passage bent to the right, and back to the left before opening into a small landing with a gray metal door. 

"Wait here," Ava said. She turned, without waiting for confirmation, and pushed through the door, closing it behind her.

They waited. 

After two minutes, Michael whispered, "Should we knock?"

Kate immediately shook her head hard.

Then, five minutes had passed.

Just as Michael was about to suggest they go back, the handle of the door turned with a click and opened.

Victor stood in the doorway and said with a grin, "Hello, Kate. Won't you both come in?"

He swung the metal door wide and stepped back, gesturing them inside.

The scene seemed straight out of a torture movie, making them a little reluctant to enter. They were not prepared for what they saw when they did.

The room was alive with the sounds of keyboard clacking, shifting screens, and a low hum from radio chatter. 

In swivel chairs, sat four people wearing headsets in front of walls lined with monitors. Each monitor was divided into quadrants featuring live feeds. On the large monitor in the center, Michael could see the dining hall where they'd just been. Some couples were still there with their tuxedoed bulls, but most had already left. 

The smaller monitors showed feeds from the many other rooms in the mansion, including bedrooms. Each quadrant would show a room for about thirty seconds, then flip to the next one.

Victor stepped aside so they could see the monitors more clearly.

"Every lie you have told yourselves out there," he started from behind them, "disolves in here." 

He continued, his voice low and steady, "Masks fall away. Husbands learn what their wives crave. Wives learn what their husbands fear. And in this house, there is no shame. Only truth."

As they listened, they continued to watch the monitors. Victor would pause, allowing them to take in the images.

In one room, Kate saw a woman giggle as her bull stepped to her, pushing the straps of her gown off her shoulders as she let it slip down.

Michael saw a man sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as their bull undressed his wife. 

His eyes flicked to another screen where a husband sat in the corner on a chair and masturbated, his wife bent over the bed with her head hanging as a tall, muscular man, still wearing his jacket and tie, pushed into her from behind.

"It's not cruelty," he said, looking down at Michael, seeming taller than before, "Though it may feel like it at times."

Michael recalled his initial embarrassment of wearing a women's leotard and how it began to feel normal once Victor began directing him during the workout.

"It's not indulgence," he locked eyes with Kate, "though your bodies will call it that."

She pictured herself sprawled in Victor's arms as she surrendered herself to him, ready to allow him whatever indulgences he had.

"It's revelation," he said, drawing his hands wide. "Here, you will see your true selves, perhaps for the first time."

He pulled his hands together and clasped them, pausing and watching the couple as they scanned the monitors.

Michael looked back at the monitors and his stomach dropped when he saw a wife, still in her gown, in a deep kiss with her bull next to the bed. Her husband, completely naked, was on his knees. The bull's hand was on the back of his head, guiding him as he bobbed on the massive cock in front of him.

Kate felt heat building between her legs as she watched a woman on her knees, braced on one hand, stroking a bull with the other while she sucked him as another took her from behind.

Then Victor finished, almost to himself, "And once you see, you cannot unsee."

He turned and exited the control room through a different door, leaving the couple to ogle the screens until Ava placed her gloved hands on each of their shoulders, the same way she'd done in the dining hall, saying, "Come."

Ava escorted them back through the tunnel, out of the foyer, and onto the front steps. The Bentley was waiting for them under the portico, its black surface gleaming beneath the lights. 

"Echelon is a very select club," she explained as the driver opened the door. "Victor has extended an invitation for you to join." 

She let the words settle.

Kate asked, "How long until we need to answer?"

"Not long," she said with a slight tilt of her head, then turned and went back inside.

Michael slid into the backseat, followed by Kate. The driver shut the door with a thump and took his place behind the wheel.

Before the car had really begun, Kate said, "Wait!" 

The driver stomped on the brakes, lurching the car forward before stopping.

Kate lowered her window. The cool of the night air brushed her face as her eyes locked on the mansion—the way it glowed against the night sky.

For a long moment, she didn't move. She just stared without blinking.

Michael sat beside her, tense with anticipation, watching her profile in the dim light.

Kate's lips curled into a faint smile as she sank back into her seat. With a calm flick of her wrist, she signaled the driver that she was ready to go. 

She let her hand fall on Michael's thigh, resting it idly at first, but then squeezing firmly, possessively. She didn't look at him, her thoughts still fixed on the mansion and all it represented.

Kate had already made her decision. Now, she needed only to make his.