Submission Night

POV: Zuleika & Ji

They arrived within the same breath.

Ji. Zuleika. Both stepping up to the threshold of the Hale residence just as the other turned the corner. They froze.

"What are you doing here?" Ji asked, voice too high, too sudden.

Zuleika crossed her arms, mask cracking. "What are you doing here?"

Neither had expected to find the other. Both had thought their invitation was exclusive. Both were wrong.

Before either could say more, the door opened.

Farida stood there.

Hair tucked into a neat black hijab. Posture rigid. Outfit unmistakable: tight black French maid uniform, heels, velvet collar, flawless lipstick. And eyes without question.

"Master said the new slaves to be would be arriving tonight for evaluation," she said. "Come in."

"Farida?" Ji managed, stunned.

Farida didn’t blink. "I am Master's housemaid. You are not. Follow the rules, do what you're told. Get to the basement. Instructions will be waiting. Move."

Zuleika hesitated—she had known Farida was in deep, but this was more than she imagined. Ji seemed rattled, but obeyed first. Zuleika followed, heart pounding.

The basement was warm and dim, the walls padded in a way that made sound vanish. And at the center: Lexi.

Dominatrix boots. Corset. Whip coiled at her hip. Simone and Nia knelt flanking her, eyes lowered, chests rising with slow, synchronized breath.

"You're quiet now," Lexi said, stepping forward. "Good. You’ll stay that way."

She paced before them once, uncoiling the crop.

"You two keep getting in the way of me and my sweet girlfriend time," she said, tone cold. "So. Hop up. Devices are over there—headsets on. Kneel in position."

They hesitated.

Lexi sighed. "If you want what he gives, you’ll give what he requires. Devotion. Loyalty. No limits. Or walk."

Neither moved to leave.

Lexi smiled thinly. "I thought so."

They stripped down silently, exposing flesh without hesitation, and followed the instructions given.

Ji placed her headset on carefully, almost reverently. The hum started soft—then her lips moved, mantra forming:

"I will do anything for his praise. His praise is truth. He is brilliance. I exist to earn his pride."

Zuleika trembled, voice weaker, but no less sincere:

"I am his lesser thing. I do this for pain. For focus. For my next fix. I do anything. Anything."

They were blindfolded by the time the steps above creaked. A door opened. Someone descended.

Garrett.

He walked between them, wordless. The devices went silent with a flick. He removed the blindfolds, one by one.

Ji blinked up, dazed. Zuleika looked ruined. Both dropped their gazes instantly.

Garrett knelt between them himself, hands practiced, calm. He unfastened the wrist and ankle straps, one by one—slowly, deliberately—never saying a word.

Once freed, both women turned to him, kneeling, hands in supplication.

"Please," Ji breathed. "Let me serve. I want to belong."

"Please," Zuleika echoed, tears rising. "Let me be your ****. I'll do anything."

He said nothing yet.

The test had only begun.

“Open your mouth Pain Slut.”

Garrett’s voice cut through the room like a blade through silk — quiet, sharp, final. Zuleika obeyed at once, her lips parting as if the command had bypassed her mind and spoken directly to her spine.

He stepped closer, his fingers gripping her chin, tilting her head back with an indifferent sort of dominance. No tenderness. No encouragement. Just control. She didn’t resist — not because she wanted this, but because resisting no longer existed inside her.

He filled her mouth with himself, slow and brutal, no warning, no mercy. Her throat spasmed, her eyes watered, and still he didn’t stop. His free hand pinched her nose shut, sealing her helplessness.

Her body struggled. Her soul surrendered.

Then — without looking away — Garrett turned his attention to Ji.

“And you?” he said, his tone laced with disdain. “What are you willing to do for your master?”

Ji's breath caught, but she didn’t hesitate.

“Anything,” she whispered.

His finger pointed behind him. “Then start with worship.”

She dropped to her knees, not like a supplicant — but like something already owned. Her hands slid up his legs, her face disappearing between them, and Garrett’s breath deepened. He used Zuleika’s mouth while Ji’s tongue worked him from behind, creating a rhythm of service that drowned both women in silence and submission.

When he finally came, it was with a rough thrust and a grunt of release. Zuleika gagged, swallowing reflexively, her body trembling.

And then — as if she were nothing but an object to reset — Garrett’s leg swung out. Not in ****, but in calculated provocation.

It landed between Zuleika’s thighs.

She gasped — not in pain, but in stunned, raw pleasure. Her body convulsed, a strange, broken orgasm tearing through her, too sudden to resist, too deep to understand.

“Thank you,” she rasped. “Master…”

Garrett looked down at her with cold amusement. “You break too easily,” he muttered. “But you’ll learn.”

He pulled both women up by the hair, lips colliding, **** and messy, a tangle of breath and heat.

Then came the next order — cool, deliberate.

“On the floor. Both of you.”

Zuleika dropped first, flat on her back, legs open, eyes wide. Ji climbed atop her, bodies aligning, mouths and sexes reversed — a mirrored act of offering.

“Sixty-nine,” Garrett said. “Let her taste her own obedience.”

Ji lowered herself, thighs framing Zuleika’s face. Below her, Zuleika moaned softly, her tongue reaching, seeking, serving.

Garrett stepped behind Ji, a thick, veined dildo in his hand — cold, glistening, unrelenting. He pressed it against Ji’s entrance, inch by inch, forcing her open as her breath hitched.

“Hold position,” he warned. “This isn’t for you. This is for me.”

Ji obeyed, hands on Zuleika’s thighs, face trembling between need and pain. Garrett began to thrust the toy into her slowly, rhythmically — a motion of power, not pleasure.

“Now,” he said darkly, “make her break. Use your hand. Slap her where it matters.”

Ji hesitated.

“Do it,” Garrett growled. “Slap her pussy. Make her come from it. No mercy.”

The first slap was light — uncertain. Zuleika gasped.

“Again.”

Ji obeyed. A firmer slap. Zuleika’s hips bucked beneath her.

Garrett drove deeper into Ji, each thrust pushing her forward, her hand now moving on its own. Slap. Moan. Slap. Gasp.

“Good bitch,” Garrett snarled. “Slap her to the edge. Make her beg with her body.”

Ji’s palm came down harder, again and again, each impact like punctuation to Garrett’s thrusts. Zuleika writhed, mouth wet and ****, eyes fluttering. Her moans were muffled by Ji’s body — and then they weren’t.

She screamed. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, sudden and violent, shattering her into pieces.

Ji followed seconds later, her body convulsing under Garrett’s ****.

But Garrett didn’t smile.

He pulled back, watching both women collapse in a heap of tangled limbs and broken breath.

“You’re not finished,” he said, already reaching for another tool. “You’re just beginning.”

And they knew: this wasn’t sex.

This was transformation.

Moments later, both lay on the floor — marked, breathing hard, their bodies trembling, spent from the session.

Garrett circled them slowly, then grabbed a handful of hair from each, pulling them up in one sharp movement.

"Eyes on me," he said. Their gazes lifted, blurry but obedient.

"Welcome. You belong to me now."

Both nodded instantly, fear and awe flickering behind the exhaustion.

"If you can walk, get moving," he said coldly. "Cross over to Marisol’s old house. Farida will instruct you on your new living conditions."

Ji blinked. Zuleika swallowed hard.

"You will ask no questions," he continued. "You will follow orders. You will earn your place here."

They nodded again.

Garrett smiled darkly. "Good. Welcome to the family, sluts."