The scene at the casino's sports bar was pure chaos. Pat sat in the back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, whiskey still sharp on his tongue. Beside him, Mark groaned, shifting his bulk in the plastic chair. The thing creaked like it might surrender any second.

"Fuck me," Mark whispered, trying not to betray them as husbands. "That was… a lot."

Pat exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking toward the main screen. Still showing images of Sarah's ass in the air, Laura's face buried between her thighs, and the line of bulls waiting their turn. The audio had been obscene—wet, sloppy, the kind of sounds that made his cage feel two sizes too small. "Yeah. It was."

Pat's phone lit up with Laura's name.

"Hey, love. Going to shower upstairs—meet at our locker in 30? Ready to head home when you are. x"

The text sat there like a hand on his shoulder after a long night. He exhaled, tension in his chest loosening enough to let him breathe.

Mark clapped him on the back, jolting him to the present. "Dude, she's going to make me lick her clean after that train." His voice was thick with that mix of outrage and acceptance, which meant he was already halfway hard. His phone showed a message from Sarah, summoning her cuck-slave to the Safe Zone. "Like, actually clean her."

Pat blinked. "That's your wife's love language, Muffin. And your own, I might add."

Mark groaned, adjusting his cage with a wince, then smiled. "Damn it. I hate that you're right." But he was already lumbering toward the Safe Zone, phone clutched like a prize.

Pat pocketed his phone and turned back to the casino.

The place was a furnace now.

Screens flickered with live feeds—ass cheeks slapping against thighs, mouths stretched around cocks, and the occasional dungeon scene. The air smelled like sweat, spilled whiskey, and the sharp tang of leather cleaner from the booths. At the blackjack table, a cuck winced as he received a photo of his wife riding reverse cowgirl, tits bouncing, the bull's hands grabbing her hips. The bulls around him didn't even glance up.

Over by the slots, a bull in a rumpled suit leaned against the machine, tie loose, phone held out like a trophy. The cuck beside him stared at the screen, face raw and hungry as he was shown pictures of his wife.

Pat's fingers twitched.

He had thirty minutes.

Plenty of time for one last hand.

Bulldog didn't look up as Pat pulled out his chair, metal legs scraping against the floor like a challenge.

"Thought you'd slink away, Cucky," Bulldog grunted, flicking a chip between his fingers. "Heard your wife was the main event upstairs. Is that her?" His squinty eyes finally lifted, pinning Pat. "The one getting run like a fuckin' subway station?"

Pat dropped into the seat, leaning back like he was settling in for a nap. "Nope."

Bulldog's lips pinched. "Really?!"

"Nope," Pat repeated, slower this time, like he was explaining algebra to a goldfish. He reached for his chips and gave them a lazy shuffle. "You're thinking of the blonde? Legs for days? Cute little ass? Yeah—not my wife."

The bull's nostrils flared, but before he could retort, the air split with a laugh—loud, obnoxious, the kind that made Pat's molars ache.

John.

He swaggered up to the table like he'd just won the lottery, suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loose enough to suggest he'd been in a hurry. His face was flushed, his grin so wide it looked like it hurt. "Well, well," he slurred, slapping a hand on Pat's shoulder hard enough to jostle him. "If it isn't the lucky husband."

Pat didn't flinch. Just tilted his head, one eyebrow lifting.

"C'mon, Cucky. Don't tell me you missed the show. That tight little asshole? Stretched wide for me. Like a fucking Oreo—"

Pat blinked. Slow. Deliberate. "Oreo?"

John's grin faltered. Just for a second. "Yeah. You know. Black and—"

"I know what Oreos are, John." Pat tapped his fingers on the table, the green felt muffling the sound. "I'm just confused why you're describing cookies to me like I'm supposed to know what the fuck you're talking about."

The table went quiet.

Bulldog snorted—a sharp bark of laughter—before he caught himself and coughed into his fist.

John's face twisted. "You're telling me that wasn't your wife up there? The one with the—" He mimed grabbing a handful of ass, fingers curling like claws.

Pat tilted his head, humoring him. "Nah. My wife's got a birthmark on her left thigh. Little crescent moon. Cute as hell." He shrugged. "That chick? No birthmark."

John's jaw worked, trying to figure out if Pat was telling the truth. The pinky ring on his finger twitched as he flexed his hand. "Bullshit."

"Swear on my cage." Pat patted his crotch, metal cold under his palm, mimicking a scout's pledge with his other hand.

The other bulls started to chuckle as John turned red.

Lily's voice cut through the tension, smooth as a blade. "Gentlemen. Cards."

The deck hit the table with a sharp snap. John's eyes flicked to the dealer, then back to Pat, the smirk returning—uneasy now, like a dog that'd just realized the fence was electric. "Fine. Whatever. But you're full of shit, Cuck."

Pat just smiled. "Deal me in."

The first hand was a bloodbath.

John bet aggressively, like he was trying to fuck his luck. Bulldog folded early, muttering about "wasting time on children's tantrums." Pat stayed in, matching John's raises with the kind of calm that made the other man's eye twitch.

"Are you always this quiet, loser?" John slurred, tossing in another chip. "Or is it just because you're still picturing my cock up your wife's ass?"

Pat flicked a chip into the pot. "I'm savoring the moment."

"The moment?"

"Yeah." Pat leaned forward. "The moment you realize you're not as good at this as you think you are."

John called Pat's raise, his laugh wet and ugly. "Kid, I've been playing poker since before you knew what a cock was."

"Then you'd think you'd be better at it by now."

The table went still.

Lily's lips quirked—just a little—as John's face darkened.

"What kind of man do you think you are, huh?" His finger stabbed the air between them. "You sit there, all quiet, like you're above this. Like you're not just some—some beta who gets off on his wife getting railed by real men."

Pat sighed, like a teacher hearing the same wrong answer for the tenth time. He reached for his drink, took a slow sip, then set it down with deliberate care. "John," he said, voice low, almost conversational, "you somehow managed to spend an evening at an event like this and still don't understand anything."

John's face twisted. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

Pat leaned back, spreading his hands. "It means you're asking what kind of man I am, like there's only one way to be one." He tapped the felt twice, checking. "You think a man's got to be some snarling alpha, throwing his weight around, fucking everything that moves. But here's the thing—" He smirked. "I don't need to prove shit to you."

John's laugh was sharp and disbelieving. "Oh, you're really secure, huh? Letting your wife get passed around like a—"

"Like a what?" Pat cut in, voice still quiet, but there was an edge now that made John's words die in his throat. "Like a woman who knows what she wants? Who takes it? Who owns it?" Pat shook his head. "You're stuck in some sad little script, man. You think dominance is just grunting and grabbing. But real dominance?" He waved toward the rest of the casino. "Real dominance is knowing you don't have to throw a tantrum to get what you want."

John's hands curled into fists. "You're full of shit."

Pat just smiled. "Am I?" He reached down and adjusted his cage through the latex with a slow, deliberate tug. The metal glinted under the casino lights. "Tell me, John—how big's your dick?"

John's mouth opened. Closed. His face flushed dark red. "The fuck?"

Pat shrugged. "I'm just curious. Because I'm man enough to wear this"—he gave the cage another tap—"and still have a bigger dick than you." Pat turned over his cards. "And the better hand. I have quads."

A beat. Then Mr. Suit barked out a laugh, sharp and surprised, before slapping the table. The other bulls followed, their chuckles rolling around the table like a wave.

John saw red. He jumped up and rounded the table, eyes locked on Pat, blazing with rage.

He lunged. And missed.

His foot caught on the leg of his chair, sending him stumbling forward like a drunkard on a bender. His shoulder slammed into Lily, knocking her sideways. The dealer's hip hit the table edge with a sickening thud, and the entire poker setup erupted—chips skittered across the felt, cards fluttered to the floor, and John's flailing arm sent Pat's whiskey glass crashing down.

For a split second, the casino held its breath.

Then security moved in.

Two hulking figures in black polo shirts materialized from the shadows, radios squawking. One grabbed John by the collar, yanking him upright before he could even apologize. The other twisted his arm behind his back with practiced ease. John's protest died in a grunt as the handcuffs clicked shut.

"Get him out," the floor manager snapped, already striding over, heels sharp against the tile. She didn't even glance at John as he was hauled away, his face a mask of humiliated fury.

The table was declared dead before the next breath.

Pat was already on his feet, reaching for Lily. She waved him off, but her breath hitched as she straightened, one hand pressed to her hip. "I'm fine," she gritted out, but her voice wavered.

"Yeah, you look fine," Pat muttered, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. The casino noise rushed back in—the clatter of chips, the murmur of bets, the distant moans from the screens—but the poker area had gone eerily still, bulls and cucks alike staring at the aftermath.

The floor manager sighed, then looked at the mess, then the players. "Gentlemen, please don't touch anything on the table. We're rewinding the tape to assess your stacks. We'll be able to replace them within fifteen minutes. The table's frozen until further notice."

Pat was already sliding his phone from his pocket, checking the timestamp of Laura's last message. Thirty minutes. Twenty now. "Just cash me out."

Tina's sharp eyes flicked to him, then to the scattered chips. "Are you sure? We can sort this—"

"Positive." Pat tapped the table edge. "I was headed home anyway."

She nodded, already pulling a radio from her belt. "Fine. Lily, get his count. Then you are finished for the night—go ice your hip.

Lily stiffened, ponytail swinging as she limped toward the staff door without another word, shoulders rigid. Pat watched her go, guilt twisting in his gut. He should've caught John's chair. Should've—

"Sir?"

He turned.

The floor manager didn't wait for an answer. "Why don't you head over to the Safe Zone? We'll bring your check once we've tallied the mess." She pointed toward the velvet drapes, already turning to bark orders at the cleanup crew.

As he entered the changing rooms, the heavy doors swallowed the casino's chaos behind him. His fingers fumbled with the latex suit's zipper, material peeling away from his skin with a sticky schlick. He let it pool at his feet, stepping out of it like shedding a second skin. The chastity cage remained, cold and unyielding, but the rest of him could breathe again.

The shower stall was empty. Pat cranked the water to scalding and stepped under the spray before it even had time to warm up. Needle-like pricks of cold water turned to steam, running over his shoulders and chest; the ache in his muscles was unknotting under the heat. He scrubbed at his skin, washing off the sweat and smell of latex.

By the time he stepped out, toweling off with rough, efficient strokes, the Safe Zone's clock read twenty-eight minutes since Laura's text.

Right on time.

She was already at their locker when he turned the corner, back to him as she pulled a sweater over her head. The fabric slid down her body, hiding faint red marks somebody's fingers had left on her hips. Pat's towel hit the bench with a damp thud.

Laura didn't turn. But her lips curved. "Took you long enough."

He didn't answer. Just crossed the space between them in three strides, hands finding her waist, pulling her back against him. Her skin was warm through the thin fabric, the scent of her shampoo—something floral, something hers—wrapping around him.

She twisted in his grip, fingers tangling in his damp hair as their mouths crashed together. The kiss was all lips and heat, Laura's tongue sweeping in like she owned the place. Pat groaned into it, hands sliding up to cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. She tasted like mint, like the expensive lip balm she kept in her purse.

Laura broke first, breath coming fast, forehead resting against his. "Missed you."

Pat huffed a laugh, his pulse hammering. "Liar."

She grinned, sharp and unrepentant. "Okay, fine. Missed this." Her hips rolled against him, the cage between them a cold, infuriating barrier. Her fingers dropped to trace the metal through the towel, nails clicking against the lock. "How'd poker go?"

Pat exhaled and gave her a quick kiss, the story spilling out as they resumed getting dressed. "Your first bull? The fat guy? Sat at my table. Couldn't stop running his mouth."

Laura's eyebrows shot up as she pulled a leg into her jeans. "Oh? John?"

"The very same." Pat grabbed his shirt from the bench, shaking it out. "Decided to regale the table with vivid details of his time with you. Or more precisely: with whom he thought was you. Oreos were involved."

Laura paused mid-zip, head tilting. "Oreos?!"

"Don't ask." Pat yanked the shirt over his head, fabric snagging on his damp hair. "Then he tried to start a fight. Lunged at me. Tripped over his chair. Knocked the dealer into the table. "He mimed the chaos with his hands—chips flying, cards scattering, and the imaginary crash of a whiskey glass. "Security dragged him out in cuffs."

Laura burst out laughing, the sound bright and sharp against the Safe Zone's muted calm. She leaned against the locker, shoulders shaking. "Oh, fuck. That's—" She wheezed, wiping at her eyes. "That's perfect. The universe has a sense of humor."

Pat grinned, tugging on his shoes. "Karma's a bitch. Literally, in this case."

Laura snickered, straightening up to pull her sweater the rest of the way on. "Serves him right. Guy couldn't even fuck properly." She grabbed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder with a satisfied swing. "Ready to go home?"

Pat stood, rolling his shoulders. "More than ready."

The Safe Zone's velvet drapes parted with a whisper as they stepped back into the chateau's grand hall. It was quieter now; the initial frenzy of the night settled into a low, throbbing hum.

The chateau's front doors groaned open, spilling them into the crisp night air. A valet in a black uniform stepped forward, but Pat waved him off, arm still slung around Laura's waist. The gravel crunched under their shoes, sharp against the distant hum of the casino behind them.

A staff member in a chateau polo jogged up, breath puffing in the cold. "Sir? Your winnings." He held out a sealed envelope, crisp and white.

Pat took it, flipping it over. The chateau's embossed logo gleamed under the porch lights. He didn't open it. Just tucked it into his jacket pocket with a nod. "Thanks."

The staff member dipped his head and melted back into the shadows.

Laura's fingers curled into the fabric of Pat's shirt, breath warm against his neck. "Open it?"

"Not yet."

She huffed, but her lips quirked. "Tease."

A sleek black sedan idled at the curb, engine a low purr. Martin sat behind the wheel, profile sharp in the dim glow of the dashboard. He gave them a single nod—no wave, no smile, just a quiet acknowledgment.

Pat's arm tightened around Laura. "So. How do you want to play this?"

She tilted her head, considering. The wind tugged at her hair, pulling a few strands loose from her ponytail. "Honestly? I don't know yet."

Pat exhaled, breath fogging between them. "Fair."

Laura's fingers traced idle patterns on his chest. "Let's start easy. No roleplay—not unless it feels right." She glanced at Martin's car, then back at Pat. "Let's keep it a light conversation. Maybe with benefits."

Pat smirked. "Benefits being…?"

Her grin was slow and deliberate. "You'll see."

Pat's keys jingled as he unlocked their car, the beep loud in the stillness. He held the door for Laura, watching as she slid into the passenger seat, then climbed behind the wheel.

Pat's hand froze on the ignition.

A slim figure limped past the car, ponytail swinging with each uneven step. The light caught the green and gold of the casino's uniform before she disappeared into the shadows.

Pat's door was open before the dome light dimmed.

"Lily?"

She turned, face pale under the flickering streetlamp. One hand pressed to her hip, the other clutching a battered tote bag. "Oh. Hey."

Pat's jaw tightened. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

Lily shifted, her weight favoring her good leg. "Heading to the bus station. The casino sent me home after… you know." She gestured vaguely toward the chateau, lips pressing into a thin line. "Policy. Injured staff gets a cab voucher, but the buses run all night, so—"

"Bus?" Pat's voice cracked like a whip. "At one in the morning?"

Lily shrugged, but her fingers tightened around the tote strap. "It's fine. Really. I've done it before."

Pat's molars ground. "Bullshit." He turned, already waving Laura over. "Laura, this is Lily. Casino's got her limping to a bus station after that asshole John slammed her into the table."

Laura's eyebrows shot up. She turned to Lily, voice dropping into that warm, commanding purr Pat knew all too well. "Sweetheart, you are not taking a bus."

Lily opened her mouth—probably to protest—but Laura held up a hand, already pulling her phone from her purse. "We're giving you a ride."

Lily hesitated, gaze darting between them. The wind tugged at her hair, pulling strands loose from her ponytail. "I—I don't want to be a bother—"

"Lily," Laura said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Get in the car."

Lily blinked, then exhaled, shoulders slumping in relief. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks."

The car's engine hummed to life, headlights cutting through the dark. Pat adjusted the rearview mirror, catching Laura's eye as she settled into the backseat beside the young dealer.

Lily fidgeted with the hem of her polo, fingers picking at a loose thread. "So. Uh. Thanks for this. Really!"

Laura waved a hand, already unbuckling her seatbelt to twist sideways, one knee drawn up on the seat. "Please. After what that Neanderthal pulled? Least we could do." She tilted her head, studying Lily with a sharp, assessing gaze. "Besides, you dealt with Pat all night. You've earned hazard pay."

The car’s heater kicked in with a soft whoosh, warm air curling around them as Pat pulled onto the main road. Streetlights flickered past, casting shifting shadows over Laura’s smirk.

"So, tell me," Laura said, twisting further in her seat to face the dealer. "First time at one of these special events?"

Lily’s fingers stilled on her tote strap. "Uh. Yeah. First and last, probably."

Pat snorted. "Can’t blame you. Most people don’t have the stomach for it."

Laura shot him a look. "Oh, I don’t know. I think she handled herself pretty well tonight. Better than some people." She side-eyed Pat, lips quirking. "At least she didn’t get into a pissing contest with a bull who couldn’t tell his ass from his elbow."

Pat’s grip tightened on the wheel. "In my defense, he started it."

"Everything starts with you, darling," Laura purred. "That’s why I love you."

Lily let out a surprised laugh, then winced, pressing a hand to her side.

Laura’s smirk faded. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Lily said quickly, but her breath hitched as the car hit a bump.

Laura’s eyes narrowed. "Bullshit. Show me."

Lily hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric of her polo. "It’s really—"

"Lily."

The dealer exhaled, then lifted her shirt just enough to reveal a darkening bruise along her ribs, angry purple blooming against her skin.

Pat glanced in the rearview, jaw tightening. "That fucking asshole."

Laura ignored him, already unbuckling her seatbelt. "We’re taking you back to our place. I want to have a proper look at that."

Lily’s mouth opened—

"No." Laura cut her off, pointing a finger. "You’re hurt, you’re exhausted, and you’re not getting on a bus like this. End of discussion."

Lily blinked, then exhaled, shoulders slumping. "Fine. But only because I am exhausted."

Laura smirked. "Good girl."