Chapter One
Gage sat at his cubicle with the afternoon light cutting a hard strip across his monitor and felt the same hollow pull he felt every week. Spreadsheets. Status updates. Soft voices in the break room arguing about who had taken the last yogurt. His body wanted something heavier than all of it.
He typed without reading the numbers. Under the desk his thighs pressed together until the seam of his jeans bit.
He had jerked off that morning in the shower to a video of a woman with a cock, long and thick, holding a man open while he thanked her for every inch.
The thank-you still sat under his ribs like a bruise he kept pressing on purpose.
A calendar reminder pinged. Team sync in ten. He muted it. The man two desks over laughed at something on a call. Gage stared at a cell that already held the right formula and felt nothing about being good at his job.
He wanted someone to take the map away from him. He wanted to stop choosing what kind of man he was allowed to be between nine and five.
His phone buzzed once against the mousepad.
A message from a friend he still trusted enough to regularly text after midnight.
Gage locked his screen and walked to the bathroom with his phone in his pocket.
In the stall he opened the link.
DOMINION CAMP.
Structured power exchange.
Full-body claim.
Male applicants only for the intake cycle listed.
He scrolled the week overview once. Arrival.
Selection. Escalation ladder. Final ritual for those who stayed through.
Health forms. Consent packet. Travel. No phones on the grounds after check-in.
A short FAQ that did not dress anything up: men who completed the ladder could be offered permanent claim; men who left early left clean and did not return that cycle.
His thumb hovered. The fluorescent light hummed. Someone washed their hands at the sink and left. Another stall door banged.
He filled the fields like a man stealing time from a life that never asked enough of him.
Full name.
Age.
Experience: solo play, porn, one weekend with a couple who had stopped too early for what he needed.
Limits. He checked boxes that felt honest: group play, restraint, impact light to moderate, public use if claimed, breeding play, cum play, spit-roast, suspension if supervised.
He left the hard nos sparse and real. No blood play. No permanent marks…at least not without a second conversation.
At the bottom the form asked him to type his understanding in plain language.
I understand this is consensual adult power exchange and I can end participation through camp channels. I want to be taken as far as my body will go within that frame.
He typed yes in the confirmation field. He signed with his finger on the screen. Send.
The reply came before he got back to his desk. Intake approved. Shuttle Friday 6 p.m. Pack light. Arrive hungry.
He sat through the rest of the workday tasting metal.
On the train home he watched his reflection in the window and practiced saying nothing out loud.
At his apartment he packed a duffel with socks, a toothbrush, plain shirts, and the cheap cologne he almost left behind.
He set an alarm. He lay in bed hard and sleepless and touched himself once without finishing, then forced his hands to the mattress. He wanted to arrive wanting.
Friday the shuttle was a black van with tinted glass and no company logo. Three other men sat inside already. No one introduced themselves. A woman with a headset drove. She handed out sealed water bottles and said nothing else.
“Long ride,” one man muttered.
“Yeah,” Gage said.
That was the whole conversation.
Pines closed over the highway. The city fell away in pieces: big-box lots, then fields, then trees thick enough to blot the sky.
Gage watched his own face in the dark window and tried to breathe slow.
The man across from him kept adjusting his watch.
The man by the door stared at his knees.
Condensation beaded on the water bottles.
The headset woman took a turn too fast and nobody complained.
The gate was iron and high. A woman with a tablet checked names and snapped soft wristbands on. Beyond the gate the grounds opened into gravel paths, low cabins with porch lights, a central hall with wide doors, and a training yard where posts stood in a ring under string lights not yet lit.
“Wristband stays on,” the tablet woman said. “Follow the path to the hall. Orientation first. Bags go in the rack. Phones in the bin. You get them back when you leave.”
Gage dropped his phone in the bin. He set his duffel with the others and walked. The air smelled like pine resin and cut grass. Somewhere a whistle cut once and stopped.
His cock had been half hard since the highway.
Someone pointed them to benches inside the hall.
The space was high-ceilinged, warm, already thick with body heat.
On the raised platform a woman in leather straps and boots stood with a man already on his knees.
She had a thick cock standing hard from her own flesh, flushed dark, the head wet.
The man on his knees wore a collar and kept his mouth open.
His eyes looked finished and grateful at the same time.
The woman on the platform pushed into the man’s throat in one long stroke.
He choked and took it. She held him there until his eyes watered, then fucked his face in a steady rhythm while the hall watched.
Boots creaked. Someone in the back sucked a breath through their teeth.
When she came she did it down his throat with her hand locked in his hair.
She pulled free. Cum and spit ran his chin.
She wiped his mouth with two fingers and put those fingers on his tongue until he cleaned them.
“Next,” she said.
Another pair replaced them. A different woman, taller, with a crop tucked under one arm.
She bent her man over a padded block and took his ass with oil and force while he counted strokes out loud for the room.
When he lost count she slapped his thigh hard enough to bloom pink and made him start over at one.
Oil shone on his skin. His cock swung untouched and leaking.
When she finished she left him plugged and shaking on the block for a full minute before staff led him off by a leash clipped to his collar.
Gage’s cock strained against his jeans. Heat crawled up his neck. He wanted that place on the platform so badly his hands shook in his lap.
A third demonstration put a man on his back with his knees to his chest while two dommes used his mouth and ass at the same time.
The hall went quieter for that one. The man’s sounds came broken and wet.
When both women finished they left him on the pad with cum on his tongue and dripping from his hole while a woman timed two minutes on a watch.
Nobody moved to clean him until the time was up.
Gage tasted…excitement. He swallowed and kept watching. His wristband felt tight even though it was not.
Selection came after. Applicants stood in a line under the lights.
Dommes walked the row the way people walk a market when they already know what they want.
Some paused. Some did not. A short blonde pinched a man’s chin open and looked at his teeth.
A redhead cupped another’s balls through cloth and smiled when he jumped.
One man got passed twice and still held his shoulders square.
The man from the van who had adjusted his watch got claimed with a snap of fingers and a “walk” that made his face go blank with relief.
Tessa stopped in front of Gage.
She was tall and toned, long brown hair pulled back from a face that looked calm and certain. A fitted black tank showed the cut of her shoulders and the line of her stomach. Between her legs her cock made a heavy shape against soft training pants, already half hard from the show.
She tipped his chin up with two fingers. Her skin was warm. She smelled like soap and leather oil.
“Tell me your name.”
“Gage.”
“Do you want total?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth curved once. Brief. Interested. She looked at his mouth the way someone looks at a tool they already plan to use well.
“You look like you mean it.” She tapped the edge of his wristband. “Cabin three. Follow me.”
He walked. His pulse hammered so hard he felt it in his tongue. Behind him someone else got claimed. He did not turn around. Gravel, then porch boards, then a heavy door with the number three burned into the wood.
Cabin three sat at the edge of the pines with a porch light.
Inside: a wide bed with dark sheets, a low altar table with leather straps coiled neat on its surface, a rack of cuffs and plugs and a short flogger, a bowl of water, clean cloths stacked beside it, a collar on a hook.
A small clock. A chair for clothes. The air was cooler than the hall.
Tessa shut the door. The latch sounded final without being loud.
“Strip. Fold your clothes on the chair. When you’re finished, kneel on the mat.”
Gage undressed with clumsy fingers. Shirt.
Jeans. Socks. Underwear last. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip.
He folded everything and set it on the chair the way a person does when they want to be good at something new.
He knelt. The mat bit lightly into his knees.
He kept his eyes down until she said otherwise.
“Look up at me.”
He looked up.
She walked a slow circle. Looked at his mouth.
His chest. The line of his stomach. She lifted his cock with two fingers and let it drop.
She cupped his balls and rolled them once, testing weight and flinch.
She turned him with a hand on his shoulder and parted his ass with her thumbs, checking him with cool practical interest. One dry fingertip pressed his hole without entering.
“You’re tight,” she said. “We’ll open you properly.”
She took the collar from the hook. Black leather. Solid ring. She buckled it at his throat and checked the fit with a finger under the edge, then another at the side of his neck where his pulse jumped. She tugged the ring once. His breath snagged.
“On the altar. On your back. Legs open for me.”
He climbed onto the low table. Leather was cool under his shoulders.
She cuffed his wrists above his head to the ring mounts and buckled soft straps around his thighs, drawing his knees up and out until he was exposed and fixed.
The position left him nowhere to put his pride. He did not want anywhere to put it.
She stood at the foot of the altar and looked at him laid out.
Then she stripped without hurry. The tank.
The pants. Her cock hung thick and long, darker than the rest of her, the head already wet.
She stroked herself once while she looked at him, and the size of her filled the room the way heat fills a closed car.
She stepped between his open thighs. The heat of her cock brushed his hole without pressing in. He jerked against the straps. She did not smile at that. She moved up his body, knees either side of his ribs, and brought the wet head to his mouth.
“Open your mouth.”
Gage opened his mouth. Her cock hovered a breath from his lips, thick and wet, salt and heat close enough to taste without contact. He held still, eyes up, collar tight at his throat, waiting.