Chapter 9

Michael stared at himself in the mirror the next morning. He held his razor in one hand and the can of shaving cream in the other. He wasn't sure how to do this. Sure, he'd been shaving his face since his late teenage years, but he'd never even attempted shaving his groin before.

He pulled off his briefs and studied his matted pubic hair in the mirror. He contemplated using the sink like normal, but decided on the tub since that's where Kate shaves her legs. 

He ran the water in the garden tub and stepped in. With his can of Edge in hand, ready to depress the top and squeeze a dab into his palm, his eyes caught the lavender-colored Skinmate gel perched on the corner of the tub. It was Kate's—meant for women shaving their legs. For a moment, he hesitated, then decided to use it instead.

He worked the gel into his hands. Its floral scent made him feel ridiculous, but he lathered it into the crook of his thighs anyway. He started cautiously, dragging the razor up as if he were shaving his face. The blade clogged instantly, jammed with a heavy mix of gel and hair.

He frowned and tried again with the same result. The dense mat was too much for a simple stroke.

He attempted several techniques before finding that dragging the razor back and forth in small, quick strokes seemed to work best. The forward drag cut the hair, and the backward drag dislodged the hair from the blades, allowing him to continue without needing constant rinsing.

Finding success, he pressed forward. He placed his heel awkwardly on the top of the edge of the tub and pushed his knee high to allow access. The pose resembled a clumsy mix of yoga and Twister. He'd only made his way up a few inches on his left side before his foot knocked the soap dish onto the floor, and his body slipped down, slamming his shoulder hard into the edge of the tub. 

He stayed there for a moment, flustered and sore, waiting for the sting to settle before attempting to get up. Then, with determination, he fought gravity and his pretzeled position to untangle himself and stand. He stepped out of the tub and moved to the shower. The hot water poured over him in streaming lines, softening the remaining pubic hair. He took a long breath to reset himself, then reapplied the purple gel and pressed on.

He finished removing the hair from the crook between his thigh and groin and continued. Pulling on the folds to tighten the skin of his scrotum, he carefully shaved his balls. Soon his balls and the patch above his penis were bare and pale, but he couldn't stop. The thick tufts of hair on his thighs looked like Mohair socks stretching up his legs, so he shaved them too. 

While not visible, but feeling like it needed to be done to complete the job, Michael crouched over and, with one hand bracing himself, he dragged the razor between his ass cheeks. He carefully applied the same back-and-forth technique that had worked everywhere else until his asshole was smooth.

When he finished rinsing off, he ran his hands over his thighs, his scrotum, and along his penis. From the waist down, he was smooth. His skin was pale and felt new under his fingertips.

As he stared at his naked, hairless body in the mirror, he told himself, this wasn't for Victor, this was him wanting to feel a bit younger, cleaner. But the more he sat with the lie, the hollower it felt. This wasn't compulsion. It was obedience, and with that thought, his penis began to stiffen.

He only meant to tug on it once, maybe twice, just enough to calm himself and get on with his day, but the two tugs turned into many, and before he knew it, his hips were fucking his blurred hand until he ejaculated into the sink.

During his entire workday, Michael was painfully aware of the bareness beneath his clothing. He had trouble focusing in meetings. He kept making simple mistakes in his programming that caused him to redo large swaths of code. He was excited and apprehensive, eager for the evening to arrive. 

After work, he sat at the dinner table with Kate. Michael didn't ask about her day or her session with Victor. He could only focus on one thing at a time, and right now, the meal in front of him was his priority. 

He'd worn sweatpants to hide his shaved legs from Kate. He wasn't prepared to answer any questions she may have. After dinner, he moved to the recliner, feigning to watch the news, but his attention was on the clock on the wall. At 6:30 sharp, he sat up abruptly and headed to the garage.

Michael stood outside the door of Echelon, watching his watch. At 7:00 PM, the door clicked, signaling its unlocking, and he pushed through with a stiff arm. Ava was waiting inside and escorted him to the Locker Suite.

Inside changing room Twenty-three, Michael pulled on the black Echelon logoed leotard. He felt the leg holes drag into place on his freshly bared skin. The fabric slid higher this time. Without the resistance, it sealed onto his legs like a second skin. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt a mix of humiliation and pride. 

Opening the door, he met Ava's gaze and saw her eyes flick down to his legs and back up again. She struggled to suppress a smile and was only partially successful. She turned and led the way onto the gym floor without a word.

Victor waited by the semi-private suite, his arms folded and his legs wide in a solid A-frame. His eyes scanned Michael's body, taking in his shaved legs. 

Michael paused, anxiously awaiting Victor's assessment.  

With a single nod, Victor said, "Better," sealing Michael's obedience as recognized and cataloged.

Victor began the session with warm-up stretches. These mimicked the first session, but were more deliberate. He'd correct Michael's form with light touches or firm words. With each correction, Michael complied without hesitation. 

From there, Victor introduced resistance bands. He instructed Michael to sit and handed the end of one to him, saying, "Hold." Then he pulled the other end. The tension caused Michael to plant his shaved legs wide to brace himself. The leg holes of the leotard rode high on his hips, making him hyper aware of the bareness beneath.

Next, Victor grabbed a heavy black medicine ball and held it away from his chest.

Explaining the next exercise, he said, "Sit-ups. Simple enough. Pass the ball to me on the way up and catch it on the way down."

Michael lay back and raised his knees. Victor stepped forward and placed each of his feet onto Michael's, pinning them down so they were anchored for the exercise.

"Ready?" Victor asked rhetorically, dropping the ball.

Michael caught it against his chest, pulled himself upward, throwing the medicine ball to Victor's hands as his chest met his thighs. Then he descended back to the floor, catching the ball on the way down. Each rise brought his face level with Victor's groin. Each descent forced him to drop away only to rise again in the same position.

After the first few reps, Michael established a rhythm. Catch, sit-up, throw, collapse, catch, sit-up, throw, collapse. Repeat. The drill was mechanical, but Michael's proximity to Victor's groin was inescapable. With every rep, he found himself facing the bulge outlined in Victor's shorts. The motion was suggestive. His head bobbed forward to Victor's groin and pulled back again.

Victor gave no sign that he'd noticed. His voice maintained its usual cadence, "Good. Again. All the way up. Better."

Michael obeyed. He pushed harder. His abs trembled, and his ball throws grew weaker and less accurate. He tried to rest with his back to the mat, but Victor snapped at him, "Up!" Jumping up and doing another rep, he attempted to rest by pausing in the upright position and found it was allowed. He held there, staring right at Victor's shorts. The only thing separating Victor's bulging penis and Michael's face was a few inches and a thin piece of black fabric.

Out of the corner of this eye, he saw Ava lean forward in her chair, taking notice. 

The strain of the upward position beat out the rest it provided, and Michael collapsed again onto the mat, catching the ball one more time.

"Stop," Victor commanded. "Nice job." He stepped off Michael's feet and took the ball.

Extending his hand, he helped Michael to his feet. "That's enough for today," he said, turning to put the ball in its place. "Tomorrow. Same time."

It wasn't a question.

Ava escorted him back to the Locker Suite. She waited outside his changing room until he emerged in the provided black terrycloth robe with the Echelon logo embroidered on the chest.

"The showers are through there," she began. "You'll find soap, shampoo, and towels in each shower stall. I'll wait here." Then she sat in the chair positioned facing his changing room and watched him as he exited through the doorway.

When Michael entered the shower area, he heard the unmistakable sound of a shower running. This place was so different than anything he'd expected, he thought that maybe they'd already started the water for him—maybe to warm it up.

He stepped into the open shower area. The white tiled floor was cool beneath his feet. In the center of the room was a series of sinks, all facing outward, forming a small island. Lining the walls were open shower stalls. There were four large showers per wall. Each with a black towel neatly draped over the curtain rod. 

In the first stall, Michael saw the source of the running water. Victor was showering with his back to him. His shoulders and broad back were muscular. Michael's eyes drifted down, following the stream of white suds down Victor's spine to the thickness of his ass. He told himself to turn away, but before he could, Victor turned, and Michael's glance became a stare. The cock that swung into view was large, dark, and heavy. It was easily twice as big flaccid as Michael's was when erect.

Victor's turn didn't stop until he faced Michael. Transfixed, Michael didn't react right away, but then broke his stare and followed Victor's body up until their eyes met. Victor smiled slightly and made no attempt to cover himself. He didn't speak, but his silence spoke volumes. Michael's jaw slackened, and only when he felt his penis rise beneath the robe did he panic and dart to the nearest stall. He fumbled with the faucet, desperately trying to appear normal.

Feeling subconscious and uneasy, Michael quickly showered, dried off, and rushed out of the shower area, purposefully holding his eyes straight ahead so he couldn't see Victor's shower stall.

When he entered the Locker Suite, Ava, wearing a knowing smile, was already holding the door to the changing room for him.

Michael tucked himself inside and closed the door. This was a lot for Michael to take in. The raw dominance of the situation was overwhelming. 

He didn't move. He didn't attempt to dress. He just stood and stared at the empty bench, trying to calm himself as his mind replayed the sight of Victor's cock swinging under the running water.

After a few minutes, he heard a knock on the door.

"Mr. Delaney, are you alright?"

It was Ava. He didn't respond.

"It's okay, you know. It's completely natural to have these feelings," she said in almost a maternal tone.

Michael's panic spiked. "Umm. I'll be done—errr—out in a minute," he blurted as he rushed to dress with shaky hands.

He burst out of the changing room, down the hall, and through the front door.

Once in his car, he didn't linger or pause for a moment of reflection. He started the engine and tore out of the parking lot.

Chapter 10

Kate sat at the kitchen table long after she'd finished cleaning up after dinner. She told herself she would let Michael come home and finish his day without confrontation. She'd almost convinced herself to do it, but she couldn't. Not after his trembling body, teary eyes, and erection she'd witnessed the night before.

So she waited at the table and stared at her half-empty, now too-warm glass of Chablis. The house had been still except for the faint buzz of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock until the sharp pop and low mechanical hum of the garage door opening broke the silence. 

Kate straightened in her chair. Her stomach turned, but she braced her arms on the table to steady her resolve.

Michael stepped in wearing the same t-shirt and sweatpants, but his hair was damp. He glanced at her but quickly looked away. "Hey. I'm beat. I'm going to head up."

"Wait!" The word came out a little too loudly. She continued, softer this time, "I mean... come here first."

She rose and walked over to him, draped her arm around his neck, and the other around his waist. He wasn't tall, so she could look him straight in the eye. She held his gaze for a moment, tilted her head, and pushed her lips to his, closing her eyes.

Michael hesitated at first, but then leaned into the kiss. His arms slid around her waist, and he grabbed his wrist behind her. 

She pressed closer, driving her tongue deep. She slipped her hand down the front of his sweatpants, expecting the taut erection that pushed against her thigh the night before.

Instead, her fingers found not just a flaccid penis, but a bare one. 

Michael jerked his hips away, but he was too late. She'd discovered it.

She felt around, exploring. There was no hair. None at all.

She broke her kiss, pulling back just enough to look at him and asked, "What is this?"

Michael stared at her blankly.

Then, with her hand still down his front, Kate pushed against his shoulder with the other, straightening her arm. Her eyes drilled into his. "Michael, what is this?" she repeated sternly.

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

She pulled him back to her, shifted her hand, and cupped his balls. She felt their smoothness as she squeezed slightly—not enough to hurt him, but enough to show him she had them in her grasp. The intimacy of her touch mixed with his helplessness sent a shiver up her spine.

Then she leaned in to his ear, her breath warm against his cheek, and spoke low, "You didn't do this for me, did you?"

Michael froze at the implication.

She gave another squeeze, harder this time, enough to make him gasp. "Did you?" she whispered sharply.

He shook his head in small, desperate jerks.

A rush of heat rose from Kate's stomach into her chest. She'd already known the answer, but his admission excited her. She curled her fingers and dragged her nails up from the base of his perineum, over his sack, and up the smooth length of his growing penis. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled up on it slightly. His body shuddered as she plied it to her will.

Pressing, she continued, "Do I know the person you did this for?"

Kate felt the slightest nod against her shoulder. The confirmation made her mouth go dry. She tightened her grip. Not to please, but to acknowledge his compliance.

Her suspicion was all but confirmed. Butterflies stirred in her stomach as she pushed a little harder, seeking the ultimate confession.

She leaned closer until her lips brushed against his ear. "Then say it." Her grip on his shaft tightened even more. "Say his name."

Michael's chest heaved. He was fighting the instinct to pull away, to run, or to collapse and confess everything. He swallowed hard and managed to stammer, "Vi—Victor."

Although she expected it, hearing Michael verbalize his name still surprised her. And yet she understood. She, too, had obeyed Victor, and the memory returned to her with stunning clarity.

Kate closed her eyes and felt the heat gather between her legs. "Mmm," she hummed in his ear, savoring both the truth and his submission. Part of her was delighted by his obedience, but part of her worried. If he were Victor's now, what did that mean for her?

Pushing the thought aside, she squeezed hard once more and whispered so softly that it was barely audible, "Good boy." 

Michael's cock twitched involuntarily in her hand as she said it. Kate released him and slipped her hand free from his sweats. The power she felt over Michael in that moment was so natural that it scared her.

Stepping back just enough to face him, she cupped his cheeks with her palms. "It's okay," she said, her eyes locked on his. "You did what you had to do."

As Michael returned her gaze. The humiliation he felt mixed with the relief of his confession caused the tears that had welled up to give way and streak down his cheeks onto his lips. 

Kate was seeing her husband in a whole new light—fragile in a way he'd never seemed before. A little broken, and, yes, a little less of a man. But what did that mean for him—for them? The questions weighed on her, but she sensed now wasn't the time to seek answers. Right now, Michael needed her to be steadfast. Right now, she would be his anchor.

"I love you," Kate said, pressing her lips to his and tasting the salt of his shame. She took him in a full embrace and stroked his damp hair as he wept into her shoulder.

She could not deny that Victor was becoming part of their marriage. This should have terrified her, but instead it sparked excitement, and her pulse quickened. However, there was a part of this that disquieted her. It was the apparent level of Victor's power over Michael, and she wondered if she was ready to surrender as much as he.

Chapter 11

Kate sat in her car, parked in the Echelon lot, where she stared blankly at the dew-covered grass in front of the space. She had arrived fifteen minutes early. She'd come to confront Victor, but she had not settled on what she'd say or how she would say it.

She pushed through the glass door and found the lobby to be brighter and more cheerful than she expected at this hour. The familiar scent of eucalyptus filled her nostrils. She could hear the clinks of weights coming from deeper within.

"Good morning," a voice called out from behind the concrete-sculpted counter. 

Kate gave a quick nod to acknowledge the greeting and kept moving across the lobby toward the hallway leading to the Locker Suite when she almost ran into an older woman. She was walking arm-in-arm with a trainer wearing the standard black polo. Her cheeks were flushed, and she wore a giddy smile. They paused near the front door. 

Kate walked on, but curiosity pulled at her. She glanced back just in time to catch their faces pulling away from each other, and the trainer's hand was still on the small of the woman's back. 

Kate looked over to the receptionist, expecting to see surprise on her face. Instead, she was smiling at the woman, saying, "Have a great day," as though nothing unusual had happened.

Maybe Kate had imagined it. After all, she did not see them kiss. Unsettled, but still driven, she moved quickly to the Locker Suite.

In changing room Twenty-three, she changed into the Echelon leotard with quick efficiency. She put her necklace, watch, and wedding ring in the small safe, pushed her purse and clothes into the cabinet below it. 

She pulled the spandex straps over her shoulders and tied her hair up in a bun atop her head. She shut the changing room door and went looking. 

Suite One, the only one she'd be in, was empty. The mats were shiny black, and the medicine balls were all lined up by size, but no Victor.

She hesitated in the aisle leading to the other suites and then, decidedly cautiously, but trying to look casual, she walked down the walkway, glancing into each semi-private suite as she passed. What she saw unnerved her. 

In the first suite, the woman was bent over, reaching low to the floor in a hamstring stretch. Her trainer stood behind her, his chest to her back, his hips flush against her backside as he bent over with her. Kate hesitated mid-step as the intimacy of the act caught her off guard.

She wanted to look away, but her eyes lingered. She felt guilty for watching, but she couldn't help it. In unison, both the woman and trainer turned their heads and looked over at her. They did not attempt to separate or to change their position. Their lack of shame settled heavily in Kate's chest, and to her own dismay, she felt a tingle deep in her loins.

Kate took one big step to hasten her exit. She moved onto the next suite, and then the next. Not everything she saw was inappropriate, but there were plenty of hands touching places you would never expect to see in a typical gym. 

As she neared the end of the aisle, she heard sounds that could only be interpreted as two people having sex. Not loud porn-worthy sounds, but soft moans and a measured but rhythmic skin slapping skin. She slowed as she approached the suite and leaned forward to peek in.

"Mrs. Delaney."

Ava's voice behind her surprised Kate, and she snapped around to face her. The woman's charcoal suit and dark, shiny hair, styled in a pixie cut, framed the stature of the Echelon gatekeeper. 

"I'm looking for Victor," Kate said defensively.

"He's in his office. Come with me."

She guided Kate past the suites to a hallway she'd not noticed before. "Have a seat." Ava gestured to the row of chairs that lined the wall alongside the office door, turned, and disappeared down the hall.

Sitting there, Kate felt like a school student in trouble waiting outside the principal's office. 

Kate stretched to see the suites, but from her vantage point, she could only see Suite One. She stared at the empty suite, half expecting Victor to walk into view.

Instead, a woman in her forties emerged from behind the divider. Kate assumed she must be from the furthest suite, the source of the sex sounds, as she wasn't any of the clients Kate had passed earlier.

The woman's loose bun sat askew, and stray wisps of hair clung to her sweaty forehead. The uneven straps of her leotard looked hastily pulled on. Her face wore the look of someone spent but content and satisfied. 

Behind her followed her trainer. He was tall, lean, and carried himself with confidence. His uniform polo was neatly tucked into the black nylon shorts. Every part of him was clean and composed except for the telltale outline of his half-hard cock underneath the thin fabric bouncing in time with his stride.

Kate instinctively stood without realizing it.

"He'll see you now," Ava's voice came from behind her. 

Victor's office surprised her—not just because it existed, but because of its refinement. The heavy desk, made of cherry, was paired with a matching credenza to its left. There was no clutter anywhere. His desk had only a leather mat with a single sheet of paper neatly centered on it, and a pen. 

Victor was already standing as she entered. She launched into her rehearsed questions, but he raised a single finger, held it prominently in front of her, and she stopped talking. He gestured to the chair behind her, and she took a seat.

"Good morning," he said with an easy smile, as though she hadn't just tried to confront him. "How's Michael?"

"Shaved," she said, a bit sharper than she intended. "Completely."

"Of course, he is," he nodded. "His pubic hair was unseemly and broke the lines of his leotard."

"His leotard?" she asked indignantly. "You put him in the same uniform you give the women?"

"I don't put anyone in anything," Victor responded with a calm, measured tone. "I only open doors; people choose whether to walk through them."

His response disarmed her. Her mind scrambled to the first thing she could grab. 

"I am pretty sure one of your trainers was fucking his client in Suite Ten," she blurted.

"Hmm." Victor tilted his head in thought. "That must be James and Mrs. Tifton. She gets a little randy sometimes. They shouldn't be so obvious. I'll talk to him about boundaries."

"You have boundaries?" she retorted with a dry laugh.

"Yes, we do," Victor said with emphasis on the we. "We also have outcomes."

Flustered, she clambered to redirect. "Michael has come home both nights..." She faltered, searching for a description that didn't reveal too much. "...Different. I mean, he cried.  Both times."

"Michael is realizing his true self," Victor said. "What he has been is giving way to what he's becoming, and that transition can take an emotional toll."

"And what is he becoming?" she asked so quickly that she almost wished she could take it back and make it sound better.

Victor's gaze bore into her. He let the silence fill the room until Kate felt uncomfortable in her chair. Then he pivoted, "Did he tell you he watched me shower?"

Kate's jaw went slack. Her throat tightened, and all she could manage was to shake her head slowly.

Victor didn't rush. His voice was steady. "He stood in the middle of the shower room and watched me wash myself." 

He paused just long enough for the words to sink in. "He stared right at it." Victor didn't need to explain what it was. "I believe he was aroused," he continued. "It is difficult to be certain. He looked rather small, but yes, I'm confident of what I saw."

Kate's face burned. Her mind went back to the night before, when she held Michael in her arms, when she had his balls in her palm. Now Victor laid out this new fact that she had never gotten from Michael.

She jumped from her seat to head to the door.

"Sit."

He didn't shout it. It was not even loud. It didn't need to be. His command viscerally resonated with Kate, and she sat before her conscious self knew what she was doing. 

Victor studied Kate's face with interest. He enjoyed watching her marinate on the truth he dropped.

Kate's mind raced. Pieces started clicking into place. The older woman kissing the trainer as she left. The woman with the disheveled hair getting fucked in the suite. Michael shaving himself bare. The image of him watching Victor shower.

He saw the realization register in her eyes and whispered, "That's it. You're getting it."

"What exactly is Echelon?" she finally asked.

"A sanctuary," Victor said, "for women who do not accept the status quo or societal norms. For those who value transformation."

"And Michael—my husband..." she asked, swallowing hard, "how does he fit in to all of this?"

"Michael loves you," he answered, "and I'm sure you two will figure out what it means for him."

"What happens now?"

"Now you gather yourself and go to your husband," he said, "and consider my proposal," he added as he stood and walked her to the door.

She blinked. Proposal? He hadn't offered one, at least, not directly. But she didn't ask, and he didn't explain.

He held the door open with one hand and gestured for her to exit with the other.

Kate lowered her head, passed through the door, and made her way to the Locker Suite. Whatever he had meant, she could not figure.

She dressed quickly and opened the changing room door. Her mind was still circling the conversation when she saw Ava sitting in a chair she'd not noticed before. Standing smoothly, she handed Kate an ivory envelope sealed with red wax pressed with the Echelon crest, and said simply, "From Victor."

Chapter 12

Kate set the envelope on the kitchen table. She propped it up on the centerpiece—a vase—with the elegantly handwritten The Delaneys facing the door to the garage on full display.

Michael, who usually worked from home, had gone to the office that morning for some important meetings. Anxious for his return, she poured herself a glass of Zinfandel, but had only taken a sip. 

She stood, sat, and stood again. She paced, stopped, sat down, stood up, and then paced again. She picked up the wine glass, considered it, then placed it back on the table. She put her palms on the table and leaned hard on them to still her nerves, and jumped when she heard the pop and low hum of the garage door opening. 

Michael came in wearing his "I'm a professional software developer" uniform: a t-shirt and jeans. He saw the envelope before he saw her. 

He stared as if the thing might move on its own, and without looking at her. "Is that from him?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Kate nodded. "Ava handed it to me after my session." She called it a session despite spending the time in Victor's office confronting him; she didn't want to get into that just yet.

He took a step toward the table. "Did you open it?"

"No. I thought we should open it together," she replied earnestly.

They both sat. Michael picked up the shiny white linen envelope that matched the one Kate had pushed in front of him only days before. He turned it over and saw the same red wax seal on the back, embossed with the Echelon crest.

He glanced at Kate—an unspoken request for permission. She nodded, and he slid his finger behind the flap, breaking open the seal.

"Mr. Victor Marston requests the pleasure of your company for an evening at the Echelon House."

After reading the first line aloud, he paused, flicked his eyes to Kate, and then back again. He continued, "Saturday, seven-thirty in the evening." Then he paused and read the next line to himself. He looked at Kate and said, "It's Black Tie."

She blinked back a little surprise.

Michael returned her look before continuing, "A car will collect you at six-thirty. Kindly refrain from bringing personal devices." He paused, then finished, "Discretion is assumed."

Then he read further and added, "Oh, and Victor signed it: I look forward to meeting you together. -V"

Michael took in a deep breath and exhaled it loudly. "Black Tie."

"And a car will collect you," Kate said. "Not if you can make it or RSVP. We're just expected to go."

He set the card down on the table and thumbed the flakes of red wax there into a neat pile. "We don't have to go," he offered.

"You really think not going is an option?" she retorted and then continued in a gentler tone, "He invites and he expects."

They let that sit for a bit.

Breaking out of it, Michael said, "I don't own a tux."

"Then rent one," she said, almost automatically. Kate was no longer considering whether to go; she was already working out the logistics in her head.

They sat for a while. The hum of the refrigerator and the tick of the clock grew louder in the quiet. 

"Echelon House," he said, breaking the silence. "Who names their house?"

"Victor does," Kate replied matter-of-factly.

Again, they wondered to themselves in silence.

"What do you suppose goes on there?" Michael shuddered at the image of being paraded in the leotard in front of a crowd of women that flashed through his mind. It was unsettling.

Kate picked up the card and turned it over to inspect the back, saying, "He said he had a proposal." Finding it empty, she looked over at Michael.

"Proposal?" He looked up sharply, "What kind of—?"

"He didn't say," she answered, recalling the meeting. Her thoughts went to the "Sit" command Victor had given her, and the way her legs just obeyed before she could think. "He just said to consider it and to go to you."

He sat with this for a second and brightened up. "We could say no. We could just tell them we—"

"Tell who?" she demanded. "Ava? One of the many receptionists at the front desk?" And then she scoffed, "Or do you mean tell Victor directly?" Adding, with a little laugh, "Let me know when you do that—I would looove to see how that goes."

Michael looked away, exasperated. "I don't want you there," he said, shaking his head. "I don't want you seeing—" He stopped himself and his head dropped to look down at the table.

"What I will or won't see isn't the point," Kate said with a steady tone. "We'll see whatever he wants us to see."

Michael's face began to turn red, and Kate thought of how feeble he looked the night before. How he cried in her arms and how small he felt. She wanted to hurt for him, but part of her warmed at the authority of it all.

"Last night," she began carefully, "you were shaking."

"I know," he said quickly, a little afraid of where this was going. "I know."

"I met with Victor today. He told me everything."

Michael snapped his head up with a look of shock mixed with worry.

"It's okay," she said soothingly, and she reached over and placed her hand on his. "But, whatever this is, it's not going away if we ignore it," she assured him.

Michael pulled his hand back and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

Dragging his finger across his forehead, he pulled his hair out of his eyes and looked at her, saying, "Aren't you afraid?" hoping someone else would share in his fear.

"I don't know what I am," she said coolly. It was true. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. It had all happened so fast. But a nervous curiosity thrummed up in her gut, and she admitted, "I am... interested."

"In him?" he blurted.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly, to him and to herself. "I mean, I don't know what all of this means for me, but I think I want to find out."

"What about what it means for me?" he asked, almost pleading for relief.

"I don't know that either," she said. "He seems to have plans for you—for us."

They sat with it for several minutes.

Michael picked up the card again, rolled it back over to the front, and read, "Discretion is assumed," and then looked up at her. "No phones. Like the gym."

"Like the gym," she agreed. "Black Tie—humph—and a car." She laughed a little at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"You think it's a party?" he mused.

"Not sure. Maybe." She thought. "Whatever it is, from what I've seen at the gym, I'm sure it will be something we've never done before."

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "What do I even say to him? Thanks for inviting us?"

"Why do you have to say anything?" she responded. "We show up. We watch. We listen."

"And if he expects me—us—to do something? Right there?" He glanced at her, directing the question with fear in his eyes.

"Then we decide together," she said, holding him in a steady gaze. "Together. That's the point."

They sat quietly again until Kate got up, poured her overly warmed full glass of wine in the sink, and began to straighten up the rest of the kitchen.

"What will you wear?" Michael asked.

"I've got that sleek black dress I bought a few years ago." She thought. "I could wear that. You'll need to get measured for a tux."

"I can go tomorrow on my break."

"We'll probably have to rush the rental. You'll need it in less than a week," she added.

He nodded in agreement. 

She carefully slid the invitation back in the envelope and propped it against the vase, out in the open—not hidden away in a drawer. It was there, prominent and centered.

He watched her close down the kitchen, start the dishwasher, turn out the lights, and make her way to the stairs. He sat in the dark for a second and asked before she was too far, "What if he asks me to do something I can't do?"

She stopped, turning just her head, and said, "Then you look at me and I'll answer for you."

Then he asked, "What if he asks something of you?"

She thought of Victor's command to convince Michael, his raised finger, his Sit command, and the way she automatically obeyed each time. She felt a flutter of warmth in her belly, and she said, "Then I'll look at you," and with a little smirk, she finished, "and I'll answer that, too."

Michael followed her upstairs, and they began their nighttime rituals.

By the time they slipped under the covers, the question of attending had been answered—less directly, but by mutually acknowledging there was no other choice.

Kate lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, the fan slowly spinning. She thought of Victor's words, He stared right at it. She rolled toward Michael and studied how the slope of his neck flowed into his shoulder.

She could tell by his breathing that he was not asleep.

She wrapped her arm around his waist and flattened her palm to his chest, and pulled her body up against his.

Her mind went back to Victor's office. I believe he was aroused.

"Relax," she whispered and slid her hand down his front and into his briefs. At first, he was soft. Flaccid. But then he began to harden in her grasp.

She tugged his shorts down and took him in her mouth. She'd never considered his size before, but Victor's comment popped into her head, He looked rather small. As she pressed down, taking in his entire length, the truth of it struck her—maybe her husband was small.

Michael hadn't received this much attention from Kate since before their marriage. He was growing anxious, and if it was not for her spectacular performance, he might have had trouble staying erect. He placed his hand on her head, not so much to guide her, but to calm himself and mask his unease.

Kate was focused. She hollowed out her cheeks as she bobbed her head, pushing Michael closer to the edge. But before he could reach it, she stopped and pulled off of him.

She steadied herself with one hand and pulled her panties off with the other. Then she crawled up his body, placing a knee on each side of his head. Michael gripped her thighs instinctively as she lowered onto his mouth.

They'd not done this before, but Kate's newly found dominance fueled her. Her breath caught when his mouth made contact, and she pressed down and began rocking gently, dragging her clit across his mouth.

She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it by the bed. She looked down between her breasts and saw only his nose protruding from her pubic hair. 

"Did you—" she began, then rocked again. Pausing just long enough to look him directly in the eye, she asked, "Did you really watch him shower?"

Michael's eyes lit up. She had said that Victor told her everything, but he didn't really think he told her everything.

She didn't lift for him to answer, so he hesitated. She stared down at him, awaiting an answer, so he did the only thing he could do—nod.

Satisfied, she continued to rock back and forth on his tongue. "Was it big?"

He didn't hesitate this time and nodded quickly. His quick response caused a surge through her loins. She felt her pussy tighten. Michael's mouth started filling with her fluids. He swallowed hard, trying to keep up.

"Bigger than you?"

Michael nodded again, and again she felt a jolt and a twinge in her clit. She grabbed the headboard with both hands to steady herself and then looked back down at Michael.

She contemplated the next question. 

Would it be too much? 

Push him too far? 

But she had to know, so she threw caution to the wind.

"Did you like what you saw?"

She stopped all motion and froze on his face. 

Michael's mind flashed back to seeing Victor's cock, to the erection it gave him, and then his jerk off session in the bathroom after shaving for Victor. He panicked. He didn't want to admit he liked it to himself, much less to Kate. 

His eyes refocused, and he saw Kate's gaze boring down on him, and he let go.

She saw the resolve in his eyes and lifted off, giving him room.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes," he breathed, and the surrender hit him like a climax. A shudder rolled through his body from the single word.

Tears streaked into his ears just before Kate pressed back down onto his mouth. The admission sent a shiver up her spine that came back down in a wave of heat flushing low into her groin. She gripped the headboard hard as she rode his mouth, bringing herself to the precipice, and then it hit.

She squeezed his cheeks hard with her thighs as she felt the orgasm rip through her. Several seconds later, her whole body slumped. She weakly raised her leg over his head and off his face and collapsed onto the bed beside him.

Michael lay in confusion, his analytical mind racing. He couldn't fathom why his admission sent Kate over the edge like that. Its meaning scared him and exhilarated him at the same time. 

His cock was still fully erect, but he didn't want to masturbate in front of Kate. He was worried it could send the wrong message. Still, it ached, so he contemplated whether he could do it quietly without her noticing.

He slowly grabbed his penis and began to pull. After only two strokes, he sputtered cum onto his stomach. But even spent, his cock remained hard, refusing to soften.

Kate lay beside him. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her breath was hard and heavy. She was too focused on what had just happened to notice him masturbating. She couldn't remember the last time she came so intensely. Michael's confession hit harder than anything he had ever done to her physically.

Kate settled deeper into the bed and drifted off to sleep, her body still humming with release. Her thoughts circled Victor's world, and she dreamt about what might happen at the Echelon House. 

Michael lay awake beside her, the word "Yes," echoing in his mind, and his persistent erection, a reminder of how something inside him had shifted irrevocably.