He’d left Lorraine in the bedroom while she finished preparing, per the instructions. He waited in the den, dressed and pacing while mentally rebelling and anticipating the night. Despite his anger and resentment over the last days he’d begun to admit to himself that he wanted to show Lorraine and the agents that he was good enough to earn the approval of The Guild. He still bristled at their involvement, and his ego was still bruised by what he saw as Lorraine’s betrayal in reporting him.

But he was more wounded by the things she’d said to him when they had finally talked. There had been two days of hostile silence and resentment interspersed with accusation and regret. But she’d opened up when he’d come home on Thursday with the bag from the adult store.

He’d been belligerent when she had said that he didn’t do it right. He’d protested, denied and defended. It had been her idea, and she was still into it, but not the way he’d done it.

And as he waited in the den he’d recalled their conversation.

"It just wasn't very good," she’d explained, then she’d shaken her head. "No, that's not true." She’d reached to his lap, taken his hands and held them. "You. You weren't very good." He’d felt the weight settle onto his chest at her words. "Oh, Lucas, I was so looking forward to it!" She’d explained how she had done so much research, described her anticipation, explained how it was supposed to be.

And her hurt and disappointment when he had fallen so short.

He’d been crude and rough and coarse instead of stylish and firm and demanding.

He’d defended himself, of course. He had done research of his own, did what he had learned. She’d gone on and on about what the Dom is supposed to feel for the sub, how the Dom is supposed to act. That he had treated her like a whore, as though she didn’t matter. “Worthless instead of priceless” was the phrase she used.

"The Dom understands the sub's desire,” she’d lectured him. “He allows the sub to express it, through submission to the Dom's will. That’s how the stories are, that's what they told me it should be like. That the Dom understands, makes the sub do things she wouldn't do on her own, out of devotion. It's not just restraint and suffering and shoving yourself into me."

He’d turned sarcastic and nasty, sniping that she was making this whole thing out to be something it was not, and that she didn’t know what she was talking about.

“You hurt me!” She’d told him then that her tits were so sore she couldn’t sleep. Then, when she’d complained about her ass, he’d lost his shit, going on and on about spanking and Doms and what websites he’d visited and the videos he had watched.

“And besides,” he’d smirked, “If you’re a sub, where do you get off telling your Dom how to act?”

And her lip had quivered. And the tears had welled up in her eyes.

"Honey, you beat me raw! I couldn't even sit the next day! And my asshole? Fuck! I actually cried when I went to the bathroom! You were so... careless." As she spoke his defiance withered and fell from him like an old worn-out bathrobe, discarded and useless. "You didn't Dom me, you just treated me like shit. You used me." She’d looked up at him, eyes brimming. “Instead of being your everything, you made me nothing.” And her face had told him, finally, how he had diminished himself in her eyes.

That was the moment he had realized that he would go through with the visit, that he would audition for these, these…bozos. For Lorraine. For her opinion of him.

The doorbell rang and he glanced at the clock. They were prompt, he had to give them that, at least. At the sound he stood, nervous and unsure, brushing himself off to answer the door and feeling slightly ridiculous in his dark suit. What was the point of getting all dressed up to have sex, he thought for the hundredth time. But their instructions had been explicit and Lorraine had been adamant about following them to the letter. He suffered another pang of guilt as he made his way through the living room to the door, remembering her confession, her tears, but as it had so often since then, his male pride welled up and rebelled.

Had it really been so bad? I did it the way it supposed to be done. I was fabulous! How could she have been so let down by my performance? They'd both wanted it, and to hear her tell it, she still did. His face tightened and his back stiffened as he felt the now-familiar belligerence swelling up again as it had so many times since that office visit, and he struggled to control it. His ego insisted he knew what he was about, and that this whole…charade was a bizarre inconvenience, or worse, a money grab by local ‘officials’. But his feelings for Lorraine warred with his indignation, and they merged into a twisted manifestation. For her, he thought, standing straight and squaring his shoulders, for her I will show these assholes what Luke Slater is all about, that Luke Slater has his shit together and can properly Dom a woman!

He stopped in the hallway, checking himself in the mirror. He had to admit he looked good in the suit. It was his best one, the grey so dark it was almost black. His hair was trimmed and styled, his white dress shirt opened at the collar. He glanced down for a last check of the polished black shoes and nodded with resignation.

For her he would do this. To make her happy. Not because some thugs pressured him. Fucking push me around in my own office, he thought, the rebellion rising again. And coming to my house! In my fucking house! he railed silently. To show her, to show them!

The doorbell rang several times rapidly, snapping him from his reflections.

"Okay, okay, cool your jets," he muttered as he closed the last few steps and reached for the door. Grabbing the knob he paused before turning it, taking a few deep breaths and stilling his inner protestation. Fucking impatient on top of pushy and nosy, he thought, and focused his thoughts on Lorraine, waiting patiently in the bedroom. He wondered what she was wearing and realized he had no idea. He shook his head in disbelief and turned the knob, forcing himself to smile.

The door opened to reveal a pair of men dressed in business suits, complete with smart, stylish ties. They were tall, well groomed and imposing, filling the doorway. The first was dark-haired with a sharp, strong jaw, the second slightly taller, six-three at least, and was sandy-haired with a square head and a small scar crossing his left eyebrow.

"Mr. Slater?" said the first of the two, stepping forward and extending a hand. Luke regarded it before easing his arm forward and shaking the offered grasp. The grip was powerful and soft at once, and he felt immediately intimidated. "I am Mr. Ratcliff, and this is my associate, Mr. Monroe," the man intoned. Luke looked at him and saw a mild irritation in his otherwise blank expression. "I believe you are expecting us?" He released Luke's hand and stood facing him. Luke realized he was waiting for an invitation inside, and felt suddenly embarrassed that they had had to ring more than once.

"Yes, yes," he mumbled, stepping aside and waving them in. The one named Monroe carried a small overnight bag, and from the look of it, a damned expensive one. He saw a look pass between them as they entered and felt... evaluated. Worse, he felt he'd been graded and had fallen short. He struggled to recover, closing the door behind the men. "Yes, of course, we were expecting you, sorry about the doorb--"

"Is Lorraine here?" Mr. Ratcliff cut him off as if he hadn't even spoke, not even turning in his direction. He instead scanned the room, seeming to take in the surroundings and making mental notes.

"Uh, yes, she's, uh-m, inside," Luke replied, and hearing the tentative sound of his own voice, coughed and repeated himself, adding his business tone to his voice. "Yes, she's in the bedroom, waiting.” In an attempt to regain his perceived control of the situation he used one of his business tricks. "And call me Luke," he added, smiling his office smile. "What shall I call you?" He addressed the man’s back, as he still hadn't turned, but the question got him a backwards glance.

"You may call me Mr. Ratcliff."

"Oh," he squeaked, feeling his effort backfire.

"Mr. Monroe, check him, please," Ratcliff instructed, and the taller gentleman placed the bag on the coffee table and turned to face him as Ratcliff continued. "Which way is the bedroom, Luke?"

Luke grimaced inwardly at losing the advantage. He pointed at the doorway. "Through the hall, uh, third door on the right. She's uh..."

"Thank you," Ratcliff cut him off again and turned to the hallway and disappeared from sight behind his large companion who stood with his palms outward as Luke moved to follow.

"One second, please," the man said, and his voice rolled softly through the room in a baritone so rich and melodious as to feel like thick fabric or liquid. Luke stopped in his tracks and the man stepped towards him, hands out, fingers splayed. The gesture did little to lessen the confident menace the man projected. Luke craned his neck trying to see down the hallway until Monroe filled his vision. He turned to face the man, feeling like he was in the guy’s shadow despite the well lit room.

Monroe held his face impassive and expressionless. "Arms out, please," he directed, and Luke felt himself obey. He received a thorough pat down as he wondered what the purpose was. Was he checking for weapons? Wires? Recording devices? The large gentleman patted down his legs, his pockets, his sides and arms, and Luke remembered the instructions. No watch, no wallet, no rings. Pockets empty. He was checking his compliance!

Monroe's face remained blank and he worked in silence until his hands rubbed up the outside of Luke’s suitjacket. Then he stopped, slipped a hand to the front and lifted the lapel, fingering the material with a gentle, studied caress. One corner of his mouth curled slightly as he opened the jacket and peered below the inside pocket. He released it with a nearly audible derisive snort and resumed his check. He examined his wrists and hands, he even checked his ears. Yeah, right, Luke thought, like I'd wear an earring!

Finally he motioned for Luke to put his arms down, and the big man returned to the leather bag, unzipping a compartment. Luke started for the hallway but was stopped by a giant, gentle but immovable hand at his waist.

"Not yet," he said, bending over the bag, "he'll call." He stood then and Luke saw he held an iPad. "Sit," he said, and Luke obediently dropped to the easy chair at his side. He watched as Mr. Monroe scrolled through several screens, poking the device deftly with a thick finger.

"You did okay, so far," he said, not looking up from the screen, "no sharps, no contraband, no prohibited materials. You should have worn a tie."

"The email said it was optional."

He glanced up from the screen to regard him and indulged him with a polite smile. "That was a test."

"But no one..."

"And you'll have to do something about the suit." Luke felt a protest start, but it was overridden by a sense of insulting inferiority that cowed him. "Regular guys wear department store suits."

"This suit cost over six hundred dollars!" he sputtered.

"Then you overpaid, Luke," the other man advised bluntly. "I'm emailing a list of places where you can buy proper dress clothes, befitting a man of the stature you aspire to be," he continued, then looked up and smiled that little half smile again. "Start setting some cash aside."

Luke began to protest but was cut off again. "Did you get everything on the list?"

"Yes, yes, of course," he defended, head spinning, still recovering from the criticism of his wardrobe. "Yes, I got everything I was supposed to get."

"And Lorraine?"

"I don't know, I guess. I think so." He shrugged and arched his brows. "I mean, she had her stuff to get, I had mine. I assume she got hers."

Monroe stopped tapping and looked at him with dismay.

"What? This was her idea, calling you spectacular folks!" he snapped resentfully. Mr. Monroe grimaced and held up a hand silently, signaling for calm. Luke sat back in his chair and petulantly sulked.

Mr. Monroe tapped a few times on the screen, scrolled a bit, tapped more and then flipped the lid closed and placed the iPad on top of the bag. He glanced around the room at the rest of the chairs and frowned, then moved the bag from the coffee table to the sofa, tucking the iPad into a pouch on the side. Then he came back to stand in front of Luke and lowered himself to sit on the table, facing Luke.

"Mr. Slater," he began patiently in his soothing voice, "you understand what's happening here tonight? I presume Terrence has explained the purpose of our visit?"

"He said a lot of things," Luke offered obstinately, "a lot of bullshit if you ask me." There was a long pause, then he added, "He said you guys would come here." He waited for the man to start talking but the damned hulk sat there like a statue. He blew out an exasperated sigh and continued. "Fine, he said there had been a violation, something about a Union Membership Card," he spilled, "said that there might be a way out, some training, or instruction or something like that." He turned his head, gazing at nothing in the far corner of the room, unable to look the other man in the face, feeling like a schoolboy who hadn't done his homework.

"That's correct, basically," Mr. Monroe soothed in his cultured baritone. "You were reported to our organization for mis-practicing a delicate art, apparently without training or concern, Luke. That's bad. You're lucky we caught up to you in time, before more serious violations occurred, or caused a serious injury. We're here tonight to make a proper evaluation, to see if there is something here to salvage, you see?" Fuck, Luke thought, he says it like he's doing me a favor! Fucking insolent nosy bastard! What a self-righteous overbearing prick!

"The instructions we sent were the first part of the evaluation, to see if you've got a feel for the Dom role, an innate sense of what's to be done, you understand? Like the tie thing," he added. "Not a serious issue, there, but it shows a lack of understanding of your role as Dom. You should look your best, be your best, for your sub. The sub relies on you for example as well as direction.”

Despite his anger Luke grudgingly saw the sense in that, and against his wishes, mumbled an agreement. Like I have a choice, with these fucking uppity bastards sticking their noses in my business.

"If you've followed our directions exactly, well then, that's in your favor, right? But I have to say," he intoned with a slight tone of warning, "that not making sure Lorraine did what she was supposed to do, that's a bit more serious." He inclined his head when Luke turned to him. "That could work against you."

Luke was suddenly taken by the thought that these men might not approve of him, and he grasped, to his great dismay, how much he wanted their approval, wanted a Union Card. And this hint of 'working against him' was more than a little troubling.

"Understand, Luke," Mr. Monroe continued, "being a true Dom, a licensed and approved Dom, that's not just about telling your sub what to do in the bedroom. It's not all tying her up and shoving your cock in her and beating her ass red. Those things, done correctly, are part of a much larger picture. You see," he explained, leaning forward, his voice taking on an earnest intensity, "the Dom is not just in charge of the sub, but is responsible for the sub, for whatever they do. Care for it, help it and guide it to be a good sub, the best sub they can be for their Master. You understand?"

Luke sat and blinked at him. "No," he had to admit.

Monroe cocked his head slightly "Look, you have a car?"

"Of course."

"You like it. It’s a good car? Fancy and expensive?"

"Sure. Mercedes C."

Monroe winced before continuing. "Good. Tell me, do you make it clean itself? Drive itself to the gas station and fill itself?"

"Of course not." He sneered the words.

"Of course not. You take care of it, make sure it runs right, keep it clean, make sure nobody fucks with it. Because it's yours, and you value it." He looked at Luke with an expression that said he was supposed to glean something from the analogy. Luke blinked at him.

"Yeah, so?"

Mr. Monroe's shoulders slumped slightly, then he sat up straight. "So, Mr. Slater, that's how a Master feels about a sub. Something to be cared for, appreciated for the value and status it brings him." He inclined his head, lifted an eyebrow, looking for the enlightenment. "Her obedience is your responsibility, not hers. You should have made sure that she was doing what she was supposed to do, guide her, direct her. Correct her if she requires it. Praise her when she does well. You understand?" Luke felt a concept forming in his head, but it sounded like responsibility to him, not fun.

"What? I have to do everything?"

Mr. Monroe rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "No. Not do everything. Decide everything. The sub’s role is to please the Master. In every way the Master wishes. For the sub to fulfill their role, the Master has to make his wishes known, until the sub is properly trained and conditioned to anticipate and obey without question. So," he said, standing and retrieving the iPad, "you should have made sure Lorraine was getting everything she was told, doing everything she was supposed to do. That was your role. It's expected," he added, flipping the cover. "It supposed to be as instinctive in you as the obedience and desire to please is in your sub." He looked at the screen, scrolled, and his thumbs worked furiously over the device for several long, silent minutes.

Finally he stopped and flipped the lid closed. "I'll be honest with you, Luke," he said, holding the iPad at his side. "You're on pretty thin ice. It's not looking good for you right now." Luke rose, began to protest, but Mr. Monroe cut him off. "Easy. It's not a lost cause, quite yet. But we’ll be looking for you to redeem yourself inside.

Redeem myself? He thought desperately. Monroe glanced at his watch.

"Should be any moment, now," he said. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

But before Mr. Monroe could answer they heard Mr. Ratcliff calling from down the hall.

"All right then, Luke. It's time, eh?" he motioned with his hand for Luke to lead the way before lifting the bag from its resting place. Bewildered, Luke began walking down the hall to the bedroom, wondering what was in store, barely paying attention to the whispered advice from behind him.

"Pay attention, concentrate, and do well," came the hushed tones, "and you might just pull this off, with some remedial study for your qualifying certificate."

Luke was hoping for clarity when he opened the door, but he froze two steps into the room, eyes wide and mouth agape. Mr. Monroe had to nudge him through the doorway in order to enter. He stared at Lorraine who was standing next to the bed, wearing, Christ, wearing almost nothing! She was wearing some kind of lingerie that was so thin as to be functionally transparent, he could see her skin through it, all of it. Not that it mattered much, as it was very short, ending just below her waist, leaving her pussy exposed! Fuck, she'd shaved it! And she was in this room with a stranger! With it just... showing! There were slits in the top and her nipples were sticking out! And she had jewelry on them? He looked again. No, clamps! She had clamps on her nipples, with a chain connecting them, and another one leading to a collar at her neck!

He stared, dumbfounded, as the two other men talked.

"How was it?" Ratcliff asked, his voice as stern and hard as highly polished wood, a glossy luxurious complement to the rich melodious baritone of Monroe.

"You were right, again," the sandy-haired giant answered, "no conceptual understanding, lack of innate aptitude." They spoke as if he weren't there, hearing it all as he gawked at his girlfriend. "Belligerent and argumentative, to boot. I went ahead and started the recommendations."

Ratcliff snorted. "Well, this part is likely a foregone conclusion then, but let's see it through, shall we?" Luke missed Ratcliff’s smile.

"She's okay, then?"

"Oh, she'll be fine, you'll see," Ratcliff said assuredly. "She's farther along than him, that’s for sure. Practically a natural. She'll need training, and practice, of course, but for a newbie, she takes to it like a fish to water."

While the Business Agents discussed them, Luke was still working his eyes up Lorraine's body and had reached her face. She wore a serene expression with a little fright in her eyes. He stared at her until she glanced his way. When their eyes met she smiled just a little and then lowered her head quickly. She stood there, quiet and demure.

"Okay, then, Luke," Mr. Monroe announced, and Luke saw Lorraine's breath catch at the sound of his voice. "Let's see what you've got."

Luke turned away from his girlfriend to face the two men. See what I've got? he thought. What, he wants me to take out my cock? Is that part of the test? Do you need to have a certain size to be a Dom?

"Go ahead then," Mr. Monroe urged with pained impatience. "Dom her."

"What, right now?"

"What's the matter," Ratcliff growled, "you need time to get in the mood?"

"Mr. Slater," Monroe explained, "you remember why we're here. Please, let's not delay, shall we?" He flipped open the iPad again and stepped away from the bedside. "Go ahead, please. And remember, this is important. Your chance at membership is on the line." He inclined his chin towards Lorraine, arching his eyebrows. "Now, please."

Behind Mr. Monroe, Ratcliff rolled his eyes skyward. "Holy fuck, seriously?" he muttered.

"We're waiting, Luke. Please."

Feeling not a little intimidated and on display, Luke stepped towards Lorraine.

"Jesus," he heard from Ratcliff, “he walked to her!"

"Give him a chance, Mr. Ratcliff," Monroe advised softly. "Go ahead, Luke."

Standing in front of Lorraine now, he thought back to all the stories he'd read, the videos he watched on the websites. He tried to think of what to do, what they wanted him to do, what he needed to do to get their approval.

"Lorraine," he said, using what he felt was a commanding tone.

"He used her name!" Ratcliff whispered none too softly.

Luke winced and cursed himself. He should have known better. "Get on the bed, sub, on your knees." The words sounded thin to his ears after the rich vibrancy and hardness of Ratcliff and Monroe, but to his delight Lorraine turned and climbed onto the bed onto all fours as he'd commanded. He instantly regretted it, as her ass and pussy were now completely exposed to the other men. Cursing himself silently he went to the side of the bed and opened the nightstand, withdrawing the riding crop he'd been instructed to buy. Well, not the exact one they'd said, that one was ridiculously expensive, but this one was just as good, wasn't it? And less than half the price.

He came back around and tried to position himself between Lorraine and the men, blocking their view of her sex. Fucking perverts, these assholes, he thought, and he raised the crop to shoulder height and brought it down too fast for the protests to stop him.

"What are you doing?" Ratcliff called as the crop made contact with Lorraine's bare ass flesh with a loud crack. Once, twice, he struck in rapid succession. Lorraine shrieked and her body flinched but she held her position. He hit her third time, harder. He had his hand halfway up for the fourth strike when he felt his wrist wrapped in a tight grip and he was pulled away indignantly. Turning his head he met Ratcliff’s grimace inches from his own face.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ratcliff snarled at him, and Luke felt a wave of insecurity and intimidation blossom inside him. The grip on his arm tightened and he felt strong fingers prying his own from the crop. "We said 'Dom' her, not beat her!" Luke's brain swirled as the riding crop was pulled from his grasp. He was unceremoniously shoved and found himself facing Mr. Monroe's chest. He looked up to see an expression of dismay and acute disappointment glaring at him and he felt again as though he were a small child being called out by the teacher.

Monroe's voice carried a sharp tone now. "Mr. Slater, seriously," he bit off. "You can't just set out wailing on her right off. It's just... not done. It's wrong."

"Look at this fucking thing," Ratcliff sneered at his side. Luke turned to see him waving the crop in front of him as though it were a child's toy. "Cheap piece of shit." He looked into Luke's face. "Is this what we told you to get?"

Luke never had time to answer. Mr. Monroe stepped between him and Ratcliff, filling the space with his body. He put his hands on Luke's shoulders and steered him to the corner of the room, turning him around when they reached the armchair against the wall.

"Sit," he clipped, and Luke did. "Do not move." He was really angry; Luke could hear it in his voice. He sat silently as Mr. Monroe returned to the leather overnight bag and rummaged inside. Over his shoulder he saw Ratcliff standing at the side of the bed, his hand caressing the reddened cheek of Lorraine’s ass where three impressions of the riding crop stood in pink relief. He was leaning to her ear, speaking so softly Luke couldn't hear his words and he was helping her off the bed when Mr. Monroe returned and his vision was blocked.

The tall man held out a spiral notebook and pen. "Here," he said without preamble, "take these." Luke took them, cowed and confused. "Clearly you don't understand," Mr. Monroe continued, looking down at him. "As such you will require further evaluation. You will be sent to the Assessment Center. Following their evaluation they will direct you to seminars which you will attend. You will go to those classes." The intolerance and command was thick in the taller man’s voice. "If you can be helped, they will help you," he told Luke dubiously. "For now, you will observe. Take notes. Bring your notes to Assessment Center. Understand?"

Luke nodded obediently, afraid to speak.

"Good," Monroe bit off, then leaned over to speak into his face, angry eyes staring directly into his. "You sit. You don't move. You don't say a word, understand?" Luke nodded fearfully, intimidated by the fury he'd stirred in this erudite giant and his own crushing failure at earning their respect and approval. "Pay attention.

Take notes," he added, standing upright again. "And not a peep from you!" he hissed.

Feeling thoroughly admonished, Luke looked down at the notebook, opened it and clicked the pen. He lifted his head, poised to write, wanting to show Mr. Monroe he could follow direction, terrified of further failure. Monroe glared at him a final time before turning away.

Luke watched the taller man close the gap to join Ratcliff and Lorraine in the center of the room. He took a position at Lorraine’s side, opposite Ratcliff, so they sandwiched her between them. He watched as Monroe closed his eyes, tilted his head back and took a deep breath, holding it a few seconds. When he reopened them the anger had vanished and his eyes were clear and intent. He made a slight nod to Ratcliff.

Between them stood Lorraine, still and beautiful, hands at her sides and still mostly naked. Luke noticed a flush on her downturned face. Her breasts rose and fell as she took short breaths.

"Who are you?" Ratcliff asked into her ear with a genteel tone that Luke hadn't heard before. It fairly dripped with confidence and assuredness.

"I am no one," Lorraine answered softly.

"I am no one, Sir," Ratcliff corrected. He reached to her chest and lifted the slim black chain between thick fingers. Luke watched as he pulled the chain, the clamps tugging her nipples into sharpened points. Lorraine's breath caught but she held her position. "Do not forget again, or you'll be punished." He released the links and her shoulders momentarily slumped.

"Yes, Sir."

"Who are you?" Ratcliff repeated. Luke sat, pen poised, missing the significance of the real Dom’s presence and authority, the set of his stance and the timbre of his voice.

"No one, Sir."

"Very good. What are you?"

"A pet, sir. A toy."

"Yes, toy, that's correct." He reached up a hand and petted the girl’s hair, stroking lovingly. Again, Luke missed the significance of the reward as Lorraine smiled, head still down, eyes lowered. "And tell me, who’s pet are you?"

"Yours, Sir." The words came out quiet and tiny, but without hesitation. "Your pet. Your toy to play with."

Ratcliff looked to Mr. Monroe and they traded confirming and appreciative glances. Luke saw this, wrote in his notebook.

What have they done to her?

Mr. Monroe reached behind Lorraine and his hand moved low on her back, out of Luke’s view. "This is my friend, Mr. Monroe," Ratcliff said quietly. "He is going to help me today, help me to test you, help me to see your potential, pet." Lorraine let out a gasp but didn't move. Luke wondered where Monroe’s hand was. Grabbing her ass, he scribbled. "Would you like that, my pet? Would you like to be our toy?"

Lorraine took a sudden deep breath and Luke saw her legs tremble and her hips shift slightly. He thought he saw something there, between her legs. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Luke looked again, saw Mr. Monroe lean down, saw fingers probing between Lorraine legs.

Playing with her pussy, he wrote, again missing the significance of the taunt, the tease, the questions.

"I didn't hear you, pet," Ratcliff said in a warning tone, and reached up to tug the chain. Lorraine closed her eyes and emitted a small mewling sound as her nipples were pulled again. "I asked, would you like to be our toy?"

"Yes, Sir, please, Sir," she finally managed, and Ratcliff released the chain. Monroe’s fingers between her legs were busy. Wetness glistened on her bare labia. "Please, Sirs, please make me your toy."

"What else, little one?" Mr. Monroe now said into her other ear, his rich voice defining the silence. Lorraine trembled. Monroe growled low in his throat. "Your pussy is wet, little dear. Tell us, tell us what you want to be."

Lorraine whimpered and Luke looked between her legs, saw Mr. Monroe's thick finger probe, parting her shaved lips, and disappear. Inside her.

Fingering her, he scribbled quickly, not wanting to look away, furious at her behavior, ashamed of his failure, and oddly enticed by what they were doing to his girlfriend and her obvious arousal. He heard her say something but couldn't quite make it out.

"What was that, pet?" Ratcliff asked. "I don't think we all heard you." He put two fingers to her chin, directing her head up. Her eyes were open and directed at Luke, who sat staring back at her, eyebrows raised inquisitively. "Say it again, please," Ratcliff intoned as Monroe leaned in closer. Lorraine's eyes opened wide and she rose up slightly on her toes, inhaling erratically.

"A slut, Sirs. Your slut, I want to be your slut, please, Sirs," she said out loud, looking directly at Luke. He felt his heart skip and blood rushed to his groin, filling his cock.

Scribble. Lorraine is a slut.

"Yes, very good, pet," Ratcliff praised. Mr. Monroe removed his hand and Lorraine dropped back to her heels, breathing heavily. "Your boyfriend is here, watching. Hearing you. Does that bother you, pet?"

"Yes," she stammered, her wide eyes trained on Luke's face. "Yes, Sirs," she corrected herself.

Mr. Ratcliff flashed a look to Mr. Monroe. "But you will be our slut anyway, won't you, pet?" Mr. Monroe stepped behind her. Luke waited for the answer with the other man.

His pen was poised.

"Yes, please Sirs, please," she pleaded, her lips curling slightly at the corners as she spoke. "Please, if you'll have me, Sirs, please make me your slut." As she finished speaking Monroe's hand came around her, at her face, two wet fingers playing at her lips. As Luke watched, her mouth opened and the wet digits slipped into her mouth, and she sucked them, closing her eyes and sighing.

Tasting her own pussy. Slut.

"You were right again," Mr. Monroe observed. Ratcliff smiled broadly.

"Like I said, very advanced." He grunted. "Further than him, for sure."

They talk about me? Like I'm not here?

"Since you ask so nicely, pet, yes, we will have you," Ratcliff said, stroking Luke's girlfriend’s hair gently. He let his hand trail down her neck and she angled her head. His fingertips traced down across her collarbone and she shuddered. The fingers continued down to her breast, circling the pinched nipple. Luke felt the strain in his pants. Why is this turning me on? They are fondling my girlfriend! He tried to muster up anger but failed. He held the pen, poised for the next note.

"On your knees, slut," Ratcliff ordered softly. "Suck Mr. Monroe's cock."

Luke's hand froze.

Lorraine lowered her eyes and Luke watched as she dropped to her knees, turning to face Monroe. Stunned, he watched her reach for his pants and work the zipper down. His mouth dropped open as he saw her slide her hand inside, saw the pants bulge a second as she worked his cock out of his briefs. Her hair danced across her shoulders as she studiously extracted his shaft, which emerged half hard and full, thick and bulky. Her hand wrapped delicately around the base of the shaft, angling it in front of her face. He couldn't see her expression from this angle, but he watched her head dip and slowly rise as she stroked her tongue up from his balls to the head.

He shifted the notebook off his bulge and wriggled in the chair, trying to undo the tension in his pants as her head slowly lowered and rose several times. Fuck, she was sucking Monroe's cock! Because Ratcliff told her to? He leaned to the side to see more, not thinking about why he wasn't angry. Jealous, yes. He wanted her to suck his cock, not Monroe's. But he stayed seated, wanting their approval, wanting to earn his right to a membership card, and he needed them to get it.

He leaned further, not writing, staring at his girlfriend as she sucked a stranger’s cock in front of him. He could just see the edge of her lips sliding up and down the wet shaft with loving devotion and worship.

His movement caught Monroe's eye and the big man glanced up from the oral attention at his crotch. He gave Luke a warning glare and shifted to the side a little. Lorraine turned with him and was now in full profile. Ratcliff saw the glare and looked at Luke.

"Getting good notes?" he asked with a sneer.

Panicked, he looked down at the notebook and scribbled sloppily, Lorraine loves sucking cock. He looked up again, his own swollen cock tenting his pants as his girlfriend sucked and teased the bulbous head of the business agent.

I should protest, he thought in a moment of clarity. This isn't right. They are supposed to be teaching me to Dom her, not Domming her themselves.

No, came the correcting voice. They are here to evaluate you both, and you failed. You're not a Dom, but she's a sub, and they are evaluating her. And she's doing really well, isn't she?

And he had to admit, it was true. Surely it bruised his ego to not make the grade, and to discover that Lorraine was better suited to her role. But that wound faded as he watched her sucking cock as though she loved this man she'd just met, or at least as though she loved his cock.

"Very good, pet," Ratcliff praised, and her eyes opened and beamed at the appreciation in his voice. "You're doing very well." He looked at her with an expression of adoration and approval and stroked her hair as you might an obedient puppy. Then his hands went to his belt and he opened his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He wore no briefs and his massive cock dangled from his hips below his shirt.

Giant cock on Ratcliff.

He looked up from the notebook just in time to see Ratcliff put his hand on Lorraine's head and pull her off Monroe's cock. A thin string of saliva elongated and stretched as he turned her head to his crotch. She shifted on her knees to face him, sideways to Luke again.

"Open," he said, and she dutifully stretched her mouth wide. The tip of her flattened tongue extended over her lower lip, eyes lowered. "Hold still," Ratcliff instructed her softly, "and don't pull back."

With his free hand Ratcliff lifted the long, fat cock and placed the head at her open mouth, resting it on her tongue. He watched her tongue tip flicker a little under the ridge and he thought it was the sexiest thing she had ever done. She rested her palms flat on his thighs, preparing herself.

"No, pet," Ratcliff warned, "sluts don't use their hands unless told to." She lowered them obediently to her lap, holding her head still. "Show us how much you want this, pet. Spread your legs and finger yourself while I enjoy our slut’s mouth."

Luke watched as she flushed with excitement, her eyes opening wide as her knees parted and her hands burrowed into her pussy. It's like she wanted him to tell her, like she wanted to do it but couldn't, and was relieved to receive his permission. She'd never masturbated herself for him.

Likes to masturbate, he wrote, missing the point again.

He looked back up to see her hands working furiously, one bent at a hard angle, finger buried deep inside her and the other stroking a fingertip around her clit. And still she held her head perfectly still, the cock resting on her tongue now fully hard and throbbing. It was huge.

"Wonderful, pet. Look at me." She lifted her eyes to meet Ratcliff's and he drilled his gaze down at her. "Now remember, hold your head still." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't turn away. And don't you dare cum until I say." Her eyes widened at the last words.

Slowly then, Ratcliff shifted his weight forward and the fat shaft began sliding into her mouth. Luke watched her jaw drop further, her lips stretch, her eyes widen. Her throat worked as the cock filled her mouth. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly and her fingers increased their pace. He saw her eyes open wide, saw her struggle as half the shaft entered her mouth and held there, watched her resist the urge to pull away. A small voice told him to protest, but the rest of him thought it might be the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, his cock throbbing painfully in his pants and he struggled to resist the urge to stroke himself.

Ratcliff's hand on her head stroked lovingly. "Take a deep breath, pet," he told her, and Luke watched her shoulders rise as she fulfilled his command, and he heard her gurgle as Ratcliff pushed deeper, slowly. She coughed strings of spittle out past her lips, but she held still, and he pushed deeper. He saw her neck swell, and bulge, her eyes staring fearful and wet up at Ratcliff until his balls were on her chin and her nose was pressed flat.

Fucking incredible! he scribbled. She loves big cocks. He underlined it.

Ratcliff held her still, her face impaled on his shaft, cockhead buried deep into her throat as her fingers fucked and teased her pussy. Luke's hips shifted up and down, creating friction on his cock inside his pants as he watched his girlfriend struggle for breath and finger herself, thinking he might cum just from the visual and mental stimulation. He watched her eyes as her fear rose to panic and she tried to breathe, but she still held her position.

Can hold her breath a long time, he jotted.

Finally Ratcliff released her head and pulled his cock from her. It seemed to take forever to emerge. Her throat relaxed and as her airway cleared she released the breath and gulped a huge lungful of air. Thick strands of drool hung from her lip to his ball sack in a slimy mess. He watched her heave for a few seconds, her arms going still while she recovered, hands resting on her thighs and leaving wet trails where she touched.

After a few moments she recovered sufficiently enough to lift her head and look at Ratcliff. The man’s stiff cock bobbed wetly in front of her face but she ignored it, looking up at the man with hopeful expectation.

He looked down at her and gave her a small smile, and she beamed at him, relief sagging her shoulders.

"Good girl," he told her, offering his hand. "Stand up, pet, you've done well, and shall be rewarded." Her face brightened like a fireworks display as she took his hand and struggled up from her knees. Behind her, Monroe had opened his pants and dropped them, stepping out of the garment to stand naked from the waist down. Ratcliff placed her hand on his own cock and she began to stroke the saliva-slicked shaft as he addressed her.

"What would you like as your reward, pet?" His hand reached for the chain, jangling it in his palm, the danger of imminent pain dark in his eyes. Luke watched as she lovingly stroked the heavy tool that had gagged her.

"Please sir," she implored, "please fuck your slut?" She wriggled in place, rubbing her thighs together. "Please, Sir? With your beautiful big cock?"

Luke wrote nothing. He just stared, not believing his ears. Ratcliff smiled broadly and motioned to Mr. Monroe, who reached around Lorraine and took the chain from him. Ratcliff lowered his hand and shoved it roughly between her legs and she gasped.

"Fuck you, pet? Here? You want my cock, here?" Lorraine’s head fell back as she nearly lost her balance, leaning back against Mr. Monroe's chest. He tugged the chain up and it pulled her nipples out, forming taut cones of her breasts as Ratcliff pushed fingers deep inside her. "What is this, pet?" he asked, leaning into her. "Tell me, and I will grant your request!"

"Your cunt!" Lorraine exclaimed. "Your slut's wet cunt! Please! Please, Sir, fuck your slut’s cunt, Sir, please, I need it!"

"Your needs do not interest me!" Ratcliff snarled at her. "I will fuck my cunt when I want, for my pleasure! Understand?" Mr. Monroe pulled harder and Lorraine howled.

Luke’s head swam. He had never seen anything so erotic in his entire life. The notebook slid off his lap and he dropped the pen, scrambling at his pants to pull his cock out. He gripped it tightly, stroking himself as he watched his girlfriend beg to be fucked, his hand gripping his shaft, stroking slowly, lost in the scene playing out in front of him.

"Yes! Sorry, Sir!" she wailed desperately, "your slut was wrong, please, Sir, have your pleasure with me, take your slut’s cunt!"

Ratcliff grinned and glanced at his associate. Mr. Monroe pulled the chain to the side and down and Lorraine's body followed, turning her to face him and bending her at the waist as he tugged the chain lower. Her legs adjusted and straightened as Ratcliff grabbed her hips, holding her lower body upright as her head lowered and her mouth enveloped Monroe's cock in one gulp. Her cheeks puffed out as he fucked into her mouth, releasing the chain and placing both hands on her head. Luke began panting, stroking his cock, watching one man fuck his girl’s face as the other stood behind her.

Ratcliff kicked her feet apart and stepped in, lined himself up. Luke stroked his cock, feeling his climax build closer to eruption as Ratcliff shoved the entire length deep into her pussy.

Lorraine's high pitched squeal was muffled by the cock fucking her mouth.

Ratcliff grunted as he filled and stretched her.

Monroe groaned as his cock pushed deep into her throat.

Luke whimpered as he came, spurting ropes of cum up onto his shirt, slumping down in the chair, stroking frantically. As his head cleared and his breathing returned to normal his eyes opened.

And he watched as the two men fucked Lorraine's cunt and face mercilessly, driving her back and forth between them, her body shaking, tits waggling, chain swinging. The men grunted as they thrust deeply at each end of her. The cock in her mouth pushed in, bulging her throat, to emerge slick and wet. The larger cock, Ratcliff's, stretched her cunt wide and buried deep, her butt cheeks rippling as he slammed fully into her. Drool hung from her face and muffled gags and moans mixed with the wet sounds of penetration.

But her eyes were wet and dark with desire and euphoria, and she took the punishing fuck as though all her dreams were coming true. Luke sat slumped and stained, watching the exotic display in silence, stroking his cum on his softening member.

Ratcliff shifted a hand from her hip and brought it to the center of her ass. On his next backstroke he pulled his cock clear and slipped his thumb into Lorraine's wet, open pussy, then pulled it out and shoved his cock back inside, resuming his steady pounding as he placed his thumb above his cock at Lorraine's last opening.

"Pet," he called to her. Luke saw her eyes display a flash of recognition and pride at the name. "You may cum." And as he spoke the three words he pushed his wet thumb into her ass, penetrating the tight ring. Lorraine's eyes opened wider and her limbs tensed and trembled. Her high-pitched keening was muffled and staccato’d by the relentless mouth fucking, but Luke recognized the reaction. As her orgasm exploded she lost control of her body, arms and legs shaking, trying to scream between oral plumbings, struggling not to collapse under the power of her climax. The men tightened their hold on her, steadied her and held her up, and fucked her through the pinnacle of her ecstasy.

Her climax ignited their own, and Monroe shoved his hips forward with a strained grunt, pressing Lorraine's face into his belly as he jerked his hips, hands tight in her hair, blasting his cum directly into her throat before pulling back and leaving just the head in her mouth, looking down at her upturned face as he filled her mouth with the remainder of his cum.

"Take it all, pet. There's a good slut," he said soothingly, staring down into the wet pools of her eyes. Luke saw the tear streaks on her face from the gagging as new tears welled in her eyes, but her expression, distorted by her distended jaw, was one of joy and fulfillment and gratitude. He watched her throat work as she swallowed Monroe's cum.

As if on cue, Ratcliff pushed his thumb deeper into her ass and slapped her bare cheek with the other hand as he began grunting. Monroe pulled out of her mouth and released her head. She seemed on the verge of falling over until he stepped back into her, allowing her to encircle his waist with her arms and press her cheek to his belly. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, holding herself up as Monroe stroked her hair, murmuring soothing sounds of appreciation and comfort. He braced himself, allowing Lorraine to hold him tightly as Ratcliff's grunts increased in intensity. The thrusts became frantic and more forceful.

Lorraine's mouth opened in a silent cry. Her fists tightened in Monroe's shirt where she gripped him. Ratcliff took several more hard pounding strokes into her with his giant tool, and she came again.

Ratcliff buried himself deep inside, his hips jerking at hers, but any grunts he made as he came inside her were drowned out by Lorraine, screaming as she climaxed, ass and cunt filled, cum painting her insides, her body vibrating and shaking. She panted and yipped and cried and shrieked her release as Ratcliff emptied himself inside her. Slowly his jerks diminished, her cries softened and mellowed to coos and sobs of delight. Luke stared in fascination as Ratcliff slipped his cock and thumb from her holes and the two men eased her to the carpet, laying her on her side, stroking her thighs and shoulders and hair as they settled her spent body to the floor. Mascara streaked down her flushed face. Her lipstick was smeared obscenely and her lips were puffy and wet. Her thighs glistened. And Luke thought that maybe she had never looked sexier than she did right now.

When her breathing had eased the men got to their feet. Monroe went for his pants, but Ratcliff moved to her head and knelt there, stroking her hair softly.

"Almost done, my pet," he whispered, and her eyes opened to regard him with what looked to Luke like worship. "A good pet cleans her mess."

She smiled up at him. "Thank you, Sir," she said, and lifted her head to take his sloppy semi-hard cock into her mouth and suckle him clean with tired and spent enthusiasm. He stroked her hair through her ministrations, soothing her with soft admiration.

Mr. Monroe, dressed now, walked over to Luke and stood in front of him. He took in the dropped notebook and pen. Ashamed at his exposure in front of this man he scurried to tuck himself away, zipping up his pants while remaining seated, ignoring the wet patches of semen on his shirt and suit jacket. Mr. Monroe shook his head disdainfully.

"Get your notebook and the pen," he said, "come with me."

Luke sheepishly bent for the fallen objects and followed the tall man out of the room.

Back in the living room Monroe motioned to a chair and Luke sat, holding the notebook in his lap and trying to ignore the scent of his own jizz. Mr. Monroe had brought the bag with him, and took out the iPad. He sat on the big easy chair and silently poked and stroked and typed, his quiet occasionally disrupted with muttered invective.

Luke became fidgety. Screwing up his courage and unable to wait, he popped the question while Monroe was still working.

"So, uh, did I do okay?"

"Okay?" came the harder voice from behind him. He turned to see Ratcliff there, striding purposefully into the room. Luke expected him to approach and shrank back in his seat but the man walked to his partner and looked over his shoulder. He watched Monroe scroll back through the notes, and the two conferred in muffled tones, Ratcliff uttering small sounds and pointing, Monroe making changes. When they finished, Monroe closed the iPad and slipped it into the bag. Ratcliff straightened and walked to stand in front of Luke.

With the man in front of him Luke was suddenly self-conscious of the cum stains on his clothes and crossed his arms over his stomach in a futile attempt to hide them. "So," he started, "you didn't say. Did I... uh... do all right?"

"No, Luke, you didn't," Ratcliff dismissed. "In fact, you were awful. I'm inclined to have you blacklisted, but Mr. Monroe wants to give you one more chance, send you to the Assessment Center anyway. He's going to give you a contact number." As if on cue, Monroe was there, taking the notebook and opening it to write something inside the cover. "You'll call this number. They’ll tell you what to do."

Monroe handed him back the notebook. "Bring your notes, they'll want to see them. They'll decide what classes you need to attend."

"Will Lorraine be coming with me?"

"No, Luke. You'll attend alone," Ratcliff interjected. "She's much further along than you are."

Luke twisted in his chair to look down the hallway."Wh- where's Lorraine?" he asked, looking up. "Is she all right? What's she...?"

"Inside," he answered, "getting dressed." He shot a glance to the hallway. "Packing a few things."

"Packing?"

"Yes," Ratcliff turned back to him.

"Should I..." he began to rise, but Ratcliff put a hand on his shoulder. He settled back down.

"No, Luke. She’s coming with us."

"With... with you?"

"Yes, Luke," he said, looking down at him, then suddenly lifting his head and smiling in the direction of the hallway. Lorraine was there, looking beautiful in her red party dress and smiling pleasantly. "She's coming with us."

Lorraine stepped into the room and slid into Ratcliff's side, snaking an arm around him and snuggling in, looking as though she belonged there. Ratcliff angled his head and leaned down and Lorraine kissed his cheek. As Luke sat silently, Mr. Monroe slid up next to her and she turned and kissed him as well. She had an overstuffed bag slung across one shoulder and Monroe took it from her.

"As I said, she's much further along," Ratcliff said to Luke. "We’re taking her to the Union Hall, to work with her.” Lorraine turned and beamed at Luke, proud and happy. "To polish her up, for her certification exam." The three of them turned for the door as Luke rose, following.

"With hard work, she'll be a certified sub in a week," Ratcliff said over his shoulder.

"Bu-- but what about me?" Luke trailed plaintively. "What about my Dom certification?"

The trio stopped and the two business agents shared a glance. Mr. Monroe turned back to him as Ratcliff exited the apartment with Lorraine.

"Call the number," he advised. "Go to the Assessment Center." He broke into a telling smirk. "They'll let you know."

"How to be a Dom?"

Monroe chuckled. "Luke," he said patiently. "You jerked off and came all over yourself watching us fuck both ends of your girlfriend. Go to the Center. Bring your notes." He shook his head with dismay. "But while I don't think they'll send you for Dom training," he smiled, "you do seem to have a natural inclination."

Luke felt his spirits rise. “Really?”

“Oh, definitely,” Mr. Monroe grinned as he turned for the door. “This time next month, I’m pretty sure you’ll be at the top of your class in Cuckold School!”

Luke stared silently as the door closed behind the Guild Business Agent, leaving him alone in his soiled shirt, his memories, and the scent of his own semen floating up to his nostrils.