Peak of Power and Lust: The Cuckold Training Manual

The boardroom was silent except for the rhythmic tap of a pen against mahogany. I sat at the head of the table, the leather chair still warm from my father’s departure. At twenty-two, I had inherited an empire—shipping routes, real estate, a dozen subsidiary companies. And, as promised, the keys to my father’s most secret possession.

Gao Ya stood by the window, backlit by the afternoon sun that painted her silhouette through her tight pencil skirt. She was thirty-five, but her body moved like a woman ten years younger—curves sharp enough to cut glass, breasts straining against the fabric of her white blouse, waist nipped in by a belt that seemed designed to emphasize every generous swell. She turned, a file folder pressed against her chest, and smiled. It was a professional smile, but her eyes held something darker.

“Welcome, Lin Yi,” she said, her voice a low alto that seemed to hum in the air between us. “Your father spoke highly of you. He said you’d be… capable.”

I leaned back, letting my gaze travel over her with deliberate slowness. “And what do you think?”

She stepped closer, heels clicking on the polished floor. When she stopped beside my chair, she didn’t sit. Instead, she leaned down, the neckline of her blouse gaping just enough to reveal the top of black lace. “I think you have your father’s eyes,” she murmured. “And his ambition. But I’ll reserve judgment until I see what you can do with it.”

My hand reached out, brushing the back of her thigh. She didn’t flinch, but she also didn’t lean into it. A careful distance.

“Not yet, young master,” she said, straightening with a smile that was all teeth. “We have work to do. And I have a gift for you.”

She placed the file on the table. I opened it. A man’s face stared back—late thirties, bland features, soft jaw. Below his photo: Zhao Qiang, department head, operations. Below that: personal details, salary, performance reviews. All mediocre.

“A worthy man,” Gao Ya said, settling into the chair beside me, crossing her legs. The skirt rode up, exposing a flash of thigh. “Weak. Insecure. The kind of man who spends his whole life feeling like he’s one step away from being discovered as a fraud.”

“And why would I be interested in him?”

She tapped a fingernail on the file. “Turn the page.”

I did. A woman’s face filled the second page—beautiful, with gentle eyes and a soft smile. Wang Xue. Age thirty-three. Occupation: head nurse at the city’s largest hospital. Married to Zhao Qiang. Five years. No children.

“His wife,” Gao Ya said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Perfect. Devoted. The kind of woman who would sacrifice everything for her family. Your father always said the best training starts with someone who has something to lose.”

I studied the photo longer than I needed to. Wang Xue’s beauty was not the flashy kind—it was the kind that grew on you, that made you want to discover more. Her uniform in the picture was crisp, but her eyes held a warmth that seemed out of place in my sterile office.

“And you think he can be trained?” I asked.

Gao Ya’s smile widened. “I know he can. He has all the signs—anxiety around authority, desperation to please, a wife he worships but can’t satisfy. Give him a little power, then threaten to take it away. Give him a little money, then dangle more. He’ll crawl.”

I closed the file. “Let’s start.”

---

The next morning, I summoned Zhao Qiang to my office. He arrived five minutes early, nervous hands smoothing his tie, eyes darting around the room as if expecting a trap. I let him stand while I finished reading a document.

“Mr. Lin,” he said finally, voice cracking. “You wanted to see me?”

I looked up, letting the silence stretch. “Sit.”

He dropped into the chair across from me like a puppet with cut strings. I studied him—the receding hairline, the slight paunch, the way he couldn’t meet my eyes. Perfect.

“I’ve been reviewing the department structure,” I said, leaning forward. “Your section has been underperforming. But I think it’s a leadership issue, not a personnel one.”

His face paled. “I—I’ve been doing my best, sir. The market has been—“

“I’m not blaming you,” I interrupted, letting a smile touch my lips. “I’m promoting you. Interim director across all operational departments. Your salary doubles starting next month. Full authority to restructure as you see fit.”

The color rushed back to his face, then reddened with gratitude. “Mr. Lin, I don’t know what to say. This is—this is incredible. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” I tilted my head. “How is your wife, by the way? Wang Xue, isn’t it?”

He blinked, surprised by the personal question. “She’s… she’s good. She works at the hospital, night shifts mostly. They’re hard on her.”

I made a note on my pad. “Night shifts are brutal. I have some connections at the hospital—the director owes me a favor. I’ll have a word. Get her transferred to something more… manageable.”

Zhao Qiang’s eyes widened. “You would do that?”

“Consider it a gesture of goodwill.” I stood, and he scrambled to his feet. “You’re a valuable employee now, Zhao. I take care of my people.”

He was still stammering thanks as he backed out of the room. I watched him go, then picked up my phone. Two minutes later, I had the hospital director on the line. One minute after that, Wang Xue’s transfer was arranged.

---

Gao Ya moved like smoke through Wang Xue’s life. A chance meeting at a coffee shop. An invitation to lunch. Compliments on her shoes, her hair, her smile. Within two weeks, they were best friends.

I watched from a distance as Gao Ya worked her magic. They had dinner together, went shopping, shared secrets over wine. Gao Ya told me Wang Xue cried once, talking about how hard her husband worked, how she wished he could relax more.

“I mentioned you,” Gao Ya said, lounging on the couch in my office. “The young, handsome CEO who took a personal interest in her husband’s career. How you arranged her transfer without being asked.”

“And?”

“And she blushed. Said you must be a wonderful person.” Gao Ya grinned. “She’s curious. I can tell.”

I let a week pass. Then I called Zhao Qiang to my office again. He came with a spring in his step, confidence building. I praised his work, gave him a bonus. Then, casually:

“I’m hosting a small dinner at my villa this weekend. A few key employees and their spouses. I’d like you and Wang Xue to attend.”

His face lit up. “We would be honored, Mr. Lin.”

When he left, Gao Ya appeared in the doorway. “Interesting choice,” she said. “Bringing her into the den so soon.”

“The wolf doesn’t wait for the lamb to wander in,” I said. “Sometimes, he invites it.”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound. “You really are your father’s son.”

She walked over, hips swaying, and perched on the edge of my desk. This time, when my hand reached out, she didn’t pull away. I traced the curve of her knee, the smooth skin above it.

“Patience,” she breathed, but she didn’t stop me. “The game is just beginning.”

“I know,” I said, my fingers sliding higher. “But I like to savor the preparation as much as the feast.”

She let me touch for a moment longer, then slipped away with a wink. “Saturday night. I’ll make sure Wang Xue wears something unforgettable.”

I turned back to the window, watching the city lights flicker on as dusk fell. Somewhere out there, Zhao Qiang was telling his wife about the dinner, his voice full of pride and hope. Somewhere out there, Wang Xue was smiling, grateful for the kindness of a stranger.

They had no idea what was coming.

And I smiled, because that was exactly how I wanted it.

The evening settled over their modest apartment like a heavy blanket, the dim light from the kitchen casting long shadows across the living room. Zhao Qiang sat at the dining table, his fingers drumming nervously against the wood as he stared at the plate of untouched food before him. Across from him, Wang Xue moved quietly, clearing the remnants of their meal, her movements efficient but her mind clearly elsewhere.

“You’ve barely touched your dinner,” she said, her voice carrying a note of tired patience. “Is it the hospital again?”

Zhao Qiang shook his head, but the motion was hesitant, uncertain. “It’s… it’s Lin Yi.”

Wang Xue paused, her hands stilling on the edge of the table. She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What about him?”

“I don’t trust him, Xue.” The words came out in a rush, as if he’d been holding them in for too long. “He’s been too generous. The job promotion, the bonus, the way he looks at you when he thinks I’m not watching…”

“He’s been kind to us,” Wang Xue interrupted, her tone defensive. “Your mother’s hospital bills, the school fees for our son, the new car—he made all of that possible. Don’t you think you’re being paranoid?”

Zhao Qiang’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “That’s exactly what I mean. Why would he do all this for a department head? He barely knew me a month ago.”

Wang Xue sighed, moving to sit beside him. She placed a hand over his, her touch soft but firm. “Maybe he sees potential in you. Maybe he’s just a good person.”

“Good people don’t buy their employees’ wives designer handbags,” Zhao Qiang muttered, his voice barely audible.

Wang Xue’s eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and something else—something that looked almost like guilt. “He gave that to me through Gao Ya. It was a gift for the whole family, not just me. And I’ve already thanked him properly.”

“Properly?” Zhao Qiang looked up, his gaze searching hers. “What does that mean?”

Wang Xue pulled her hand away, standing abruptly. “It means I was polite and grateful. Now finish your food before it gets cold.”

She walked toward the kitchen, but Zhao Qiang called after her, his voice cracking. “Xue, I’m scared. Scared that I’m losing you to him.”

Wang Xue stopped at the doorway, her back to him. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, quietly, she replied, “You’re not losing me, Qiang. But we can’t afford to push away someone who’s been this generous. We owe him.”

“Owe him what?” Zhao Qiang demanded, rising from his chair.

Wang Xue turned, her expression hard now, a mask of resolve. “Everything. And I intend to repay that debt. Whatever it takes.”

She left the room, leaving Zhao Qiang alone with his cold dinner and the bitter taste of his own inadequacy.

---

The next afternoon, Gao Ya’s red sports car pulled up outside Wang Xue’s hospital. Wang Xue rushed out, her nurse’s uniform still under her coat, her hair slightly disheveled from a long shift. Gao Ya leaned out the window, her sunglasses perched on her head, a knowing smile on her crimson lips.

“Right on time,” Gao Ya purred. “Hop in. I’m taking you to that boutique I mentioned.”

Wang Xue climbed in, the leather seat cool and luxurious against her legs. The car smelled of expensive perfume and something else—power. As they drove through the city streets, Gao Ya chatted idly about new collections and exclusive discounts, her words weaving a web of temptation.

“This bag,” Gao Ya said, pulling into a parking spot near a high-end store, “it’s limited edition. Only five in the city. I reserved one for you.”

Wang Xue’s heart raced as she followed Gao Ya inside. The store was a temple of opulence—marble floors, soft lighting, and silk-draped mannequins. Gao Ya glided through the aisles like she owned the place, her heels clicking a rhythm of authority. She picked up a sleek handbag, its leather soft as butter, and handed it to Wang Xue.

“Try it,” Gao Ya urged.

Wang Xue hesitated. “This must cost a fortune.”

“It’s a gift from Lin Yi,” Gao Ya said, her voice dropping just slightly. “He wanted you to have it. He says you deserve nice things.”

Wang Xue’s fingers trembled as she touched the bag. It was beautiful, more beautiful than anything she’d ever owned. She thought of Zhao Qiang’s worried face, the mounting bills, the endless struggle. And then she thought of Lin Yi’s calm smile, his easy confidence, the way he made her feel seen.

“I don’t know how to thank him,” Wang Xue murmured.

Gao Ya stepped closer, her hand lightly brushing Wang Xue’s arm. “You thank him by letting him take care of you. By trusting him. He only wants what’s best for your family.”

Wang Xue looked up, her eyes meeting Gao Ya’s. There was a challenge in Gao Ya’s gaze, a test. And Wang Xue knew, with a sinking certainty, that this was a threshold she was crossing. The bag in her hands felt like a contract.

“Sometimes,” Gao Ya said, her voice soft and conspiratorial, “a woman has to decide what she’s willing to sacrifice. A man who can’t provide is just a burden. But a man who can lift you up… well, that’s something worth holding onto.”

Wang Xue’s throat tightened. She thought of Zhao Qiang’s quiet desperation, his constant anxiety. She loved him, but love didn’t pay the bills. Love didn’t buy her this bag. Love didn’t make her feel like she mattered.

“I’m tired of struggling,” Wang Xue admitted, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “Qiang tries, but it’s never enough. He’s always so afraid, so weak. And Lin Yi… he’s different. He’s strong. He knows what he wants.”

Gao Ya smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Lin Yi has a way of bringing out the best in people. He’ll bring out the best in you, too.”

Wang Xue clutched the bag to her chest, her heart pounding with a mixture of shame and exhilaration. She had made her choice, even if she hadn’t fully admitted it to herself.

---

Meanwhile, in the fluorescent-lit corridors of Lin Yi’s company, Zhao Qiang hunched over his desk, his eyes burning from hours of staring at spreadsheets. The office was empty now, the cleaning crew long gone. He rubbed his temples, trying to focus, but his mind kept drifting to Wang Xue, to the look in her eyes last night.

“Still here?”

Zhao Qiang jerked his head up. Li Xiaoya stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, a faint smirk on her face. She was dressed impeccably, her skirt hugging her thighs, her blouse buttoned just low enough to hint at what lay beneath.

“Just finishing up,” Zhao Qiang muttered, turning back to his screen.

“Working late won’t make you better at your job,” Li Xiaoya said, stepping into the room. She walked past his desk, her heels click-click-clicking on the linoleum. “Some people just don’t have what it takes.”

Zhao Qiang’s jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Li Xiaoya stopped at the window, her reflection staring back at him with cold amusement. “It means you’re in over your head. You think a promotion and a few bonuses change anything? You’re still the same insecure man who couldn’t take care of his own family.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Zhao Qiang snapped.

“I know enough.” She turned, her eyes raking over him. “I knew you in college, remember? Always second-guessing yourself, always afraid to take what you wanted. You haven’t changed.”

Zhao Qiang’s hands shook as he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. “Why are you being so harsh? I’ve never done anything to you.”

Li Xiaoya laughed, a short, brittle sound. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s just who you are. A weak man clinging to his wife’s coattails, hoping someone stronger will save him.”

The words hit him like a slap. He opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Instead, his gaze drifted downward, catching the curve of her thigh where her skirt rode up. For a split second, he felt a surge of something—desire, jealousy, anger—all tangled together. He quickly looked away, his face burning.

Li Xiaoya caught the glance. Her smirk widened. “See? Even now, you can’t help but look. You’re pathetic.”

She turned and walked out, leaving Zhao Qiang alone with his shame and the lingering image of her legs. He slumped back into his chair, his heart racing. She was right, and he hated her for it. He hated himself for it. He thought of Wang Xue, of her warmth, her loyalty. But then he thought of Lin Yi, of the bags and the bonuses, and the way his wife’s eyes lit up when she spoke of him.

The debt was growing, and Zhao Qiang didn’t know how he would ever pay it back.

The night shift at the hospital had always been quiet, but for Wang Xue, it had become a different kind of battlefield. The head nurse's office was her sanctuary, but lately, it felt more like a cage. The senior doctors and administrators would call her into their gatherings, citing "team building" or "networking opportunities." She knew what they really wanted—a pretty face to brighten their whiskey-stained tables, a woman to laugh at their crude jokes and pour their drinks. At first, she had resisted, citing her duties, but the threats were subtle: a hint about budget cuts for her ward, a mention of performance reviews. So she went.

The parties were lavish affairs, held in private rooms of five-star hotels. Wang Xue watched as the hospital dean, a man in his fifties with a paunch and a wandering hand, pawed at the young nurses. She saw the chief of surgery, a cold-eyed woman with a taste for power, humiliate a junior resident in front of everyone. Wang Xue smiled and nodded, but inside, something shifted. She saw how power flowed—how those who submitted were rewarded with promotions, with favors, with safety. And those who resisted? They were crushed. She thought of her husband Zhao Qiang, his weak shoulders and anxious eyes. He couldn't protect her. No one could. Except perhaps the man who had already given her so much.

The next evening, Zhao Qiang sat in his office, staring at his phone. His wife had texted him three times—"Dinner with the dean again," "Will be late," "Don't wait up." He clenched his jaw. The same thing had happened four times in the last week. He knew what those dinners meant. He had heard the rumors from his own colleagues, the whispers about Wang Xue being "the dean's favorite." His stomach twisted. He needed help. He needed Lin Yi.

He drove to the Lin Corporation headquarters, his hands trembling on the steering wheel. The security guard recognized him and waved him through. He took the elevator to the top floor, where Gao Ya sat behind her desk, filing her nails.

"Mr. Zhao, what a surprise." Her voice was honey laced with vinegar. "The young master is in his office. I'll announce you."

Zhao Qiang waited, his palms sweating. The door opened, and Lin Yi beckoned him in. The office was dark, lit only by the city lights outside. Lin Yi sat in a leather chair, a glass of brandy in his hand.

"Sit," Lin Yi said, not looking up.

Zhao Qiang obeyed. "Master Lin, it's about Wang Xue. She's been going to these... parties. With the hospital leaders. I'm worried something might happen."

Lin Yi took a slow sip. "Worried? Or jealous?"

"No, I—I just want to protect her."

"Protect her." Lin Yi set down the glass and leaned forward. "Zhao Qiang, your wife is a beautiful, capable woman. She is climbing the ladder of her career. These parties are part of the game. Do you think the dean cares about her? He wants a trophy. But I can solve that with one phone call."

Zhao Qiang's eyes widened. "You... you would do that?"

"I would." Lin Yi pulled out his phone. "But first, I want you to understand something. Hookups are normal. Your wife flirting with powerful men is normal. It's the way of the world. You need to accept it, or you will always be weak."

He dialed a number. "Dean Li? Yes, it's Lin Yi. I understand you've been inviting Nurse Wang Xue to your gatherings. I'd appreciate it if you stopped. She's under my protection now." A pause. "Good. Thank you."

He hung up. "Done. She won't be bothered again."

Zhao Qiang felt a wave of relief, then a deeper shame. He had traded his wife's safety for his own powerlessness. Lin Yi watched him, a faint smile on his lips.

"Go home," Lin Yi said. "Comfort your wife. Tell her the good news."

Meanwhile, Wang Xue sat in the hospital lounge, her head spinning. The dean had just called her, apologizing profusely, saying he had "overstepped" and that she was "free to focus on her work." She knew it was Lin Yi. No one else had that kind of power. She thought of his handsome face, his commanding voice, the way his hands had touched her during their last "meeting." She felt a warmth spread through her chest. He could give her everything—security, luxury, respect. All she had to do was give herself. And she was ready.

That night, Zhao Qiang and Wang Xue lay in bed, holding each other. The room was dark, the only sound the hum of the air conditioner.

"Xue, I talked to Master Lin. He fixed everything," Zhao Qiang whispered.

"I know," she said, nuzzling into his neck. "He's so powerful. We're lucky to have him."

"Yes," Zhao Qiang agreed, though his voice was hollow. "We should be loyal to him. Completely loyal."

Wang Xue nodded, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "I will do anything for our future. For our family."

They held each other, their bodies warm, their intentions pure. But beneath the surface, a trap was closing. Lin Yi had already taught Zhao Qiang to accept infidelity as normal. Wang Xue's worship of the strong had been ignited. And soon, they would both be ready for the next step—the training that would strip away their pride, their love, their very selves.

Outside the window, a car pulled up. Gao Ya stepped out, her heels clicking on the pavement. She looked up at the dimly lit bedroom window and smiled. The game was just beginning.

Gao Ya closed the door to Lin Yi’s private office and stood before his desk with a hint of pride in her posture. “Young Master Lin, there’s something I think you should know about Li Xiaoya.”

Lin Yi leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled. “Go on.”

“She was the old chairman’s lover,” Gao Ya said, her voice smooth as honey laced with vinegar. “I trained her myself, back when your father was still running things. She’s completely broken in—loyal, obedient, and she knows her place.”

A thin smile touched Lin Yi’s lips. “Interesting. My father had good taste, but he never finished the job with Zhao Qiang, did he? Li Xiaoya might be exactly what we need.”

Gao Ya tilted her head, waiting.

“Use her to subdue Zhao Qiang,” Lin Yi said. “He’s weak, but he still clings to some shred of dignity. Let’s see how long that lasts when he realizes his college crush is already on a leash.”

Gao Ya’s eyes gleamed. “Leave it to me.”

Later that afternoon, in the open-plan office on the third floor, Zhao Qiang sat at his desk, pretending to review a spreadsheet. His eyes, however, kept drifting toward the glass-walled conference room where Li Xiaoya stood discussing a project timeline with two junior staff. She had always been cool and aloof, even back in university—untouchable, almost ethereal. Now she was deputy director, sharp and capable, and Zhao Qiang couldn’t help the flutter of old longing in his chest.

He didn’t notice Gao Ya standing by the water cooler, phone angled discreetly in her hand. The click of the shutter was lost in the ambient hum of the office.

That evening, Gao Ya sent the photo to Lin Yi with a single message: *Hook set.*

The next morning, Zhao Qiang’s desk phone rang. It was Gao Ya’s voice, calm and professional: “Zhao Qiang, please come to the CEO’s office. We need to discuss the Qingshan project budget. Mr. Lin wants your input.”

He straightened his tie, grabbed a notepad, and walked to the executive floor with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. Maybe this was his chance to prove himself.

The door to Lin Yi’s office was slightly ajar. He knocked.

“Come in,” Lin Yi’s voice called.

Zhao Qiang entered. The room was spacious, dominated by a mahogany desk and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Lin Yi sat in his chair, expression unreadable. Gao Ya stood beside him, arms crossed, a thin smirk on her lips.

“Close the door,” Lin Yi said.

Zhao Qiang obeyed, swallowing. “You wanted to discuss the Qingshan project?”

“Sit down.”

He sat in the visitor’s chair, clutching his notepad. Gao Ya walked around the desk, picked up a glossy photograph, and tossed it onto the polished wood surface. It skidded to a stop in front of Zhao Qiang.

His breath caught. The photo showed him staring at Li Xiaoya in the conference room—his gaze hungry, pathetic, obvious.

“Care to explain?” Lin Yi asked, his tone deceptively light.

Zhao Qiang’s face drained of color. “I… I was just looking. She’s a colleague, I—”

“You were just looking,” Gao Ya repeated, savoring each word. “At a woman who is not your wife. At a woman who works under this company’s protection. Do you think we don’t know what goes on in your head, Zhao Qiang?”

He shook his head, hands trembling. “No, I swear, it was nothing. I wasn’t thinking anything inappropriate.”

Lin Yi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Let me tell you what I see. I see a department head who can’t control his eyes. A man who claims to love his wife but spends his workdays ogling other women. That’s disloyalty, Zhao Qiang. And disloyalty has consequences.”

“Please,” Zhao Qiang whispered, his voice cracking. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t—don’t tell the board. Or HR. I have a family.”

“A family,” Lin Yi echoed, tasting the word. “You have a wife who works hard, a daughter who looks up to you. And you can’t even keep your eyes in your head.”

Tears welled in Zhao Qiang’s eyes. He slid from his chair, knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. “I beg you. I’ll do whatever you want. Just give me another chance.”

Gao Ya circled behind him, her heels clicking against the floor. “You say you’ll do anything?” she purred. “Are you sure about that, Zhao Qiang?”

He nodded frantically, looking up at Lin Yi with desperate eyes. “Anything. I swear.”

Lin Yi exchanged a glance with Gao Ya, then let a slow smile spread across his face. “Good. Then we have a lot to talk about.”

Lin Yi’s hand was firm on Zhao Qiang’s shoulder, steering him down the corridor past the main office. Zhao Qiang’s heart hammered against his ribs. The night had already broken him in ways he hadn’t thought possible—Wang Xue’s complicit surrender in his own home, the hidden cameras, the contract he had signed with trembling fingers. Now Lin Yi led him deeper into the company’s private wing, a part of the building Zhao Qiang had never entered. The walls were soundproofed, ceiling lights dimmed to a low amber.

“You think you understand what’s at stake,” Lin Yi said, his voice calm, almost bored. “But you don’t. Not yet.”

They stopped before a plain steel door. Lin Yi pressed a code into a keypad, and a soft click unlocked it. He pushed it open and gestured for Zhao Qiang to enter.

The room was small, windowless, and dominated by a single queen-sized bed in the center. The sheets were dark silk. A woman lay on her back, naked, her wrists cuffed above her head to a chrome rail fixed to the headboard. A black blindfold covered her eyes. Her skin gleamed under the soft light, every curve visible, her legs spread and tied to rings at the corners of the bed. She did not struggle. She was breathing evenly, as if she had been waiting.

Zhao Qiang froze. He recognized the body, the fall of her brown hair, the small mole above her hip. “Li… Li Xiaoya?”

Lin Yi stepped past him and stood beside the bed. He ran a finger slowly down her thigh. She shivered, but did not speak. “Deputy Director Li,” Lin Yi said, savoring the title. “A fine woman. Ambitious. Talented. And completely mine. She has been a slave for three years now. She knows her place.” He looked at Zhao Qiang. “You admired her in college, didn’t you? Dreamed of her. Never had the courage.”

Zhao Qiang’s throat was dry. He had indeed admired Li Xiaoya—smart, cool, untouchable. She had been a senior when he was a freshman, and he had nursed a hopeless crush for two years. Now she lay bound and blindfolded, utterly exposed. He wanted to look away, but his eyes refused.

“Untie her,” Lin Yi said softly. “I want her to greet our guest properly.”

Li Xiaoya’s hands moved instantly, unbuckling the cuffs, then pulling the blindfold off. Her eyes were glassy, focused only on Lin Yi. She sat up slowly, her breasts swaying, and waited.

Lin Yi pointed at Zhao Qiang. “On your knees. Show him what a well-trained woman does.”

Li Xiaoya slid off the bed and knelt on the carpet in front of Zhao Qiang. She looked up at him with a strange mix of recognition and vacancy. “Hello, Zhao Qiang. It’s been a long time.”

Her voice was calm, almost gentle. She did not seem ashamed. She reached for his belt with practiced fingers.

Zhao Qiang stumbled backward, hitting the wall. “What are you doing? Stop!”

“I suggest you let her,” Lin Yi said. He had pulled out his phone and was already texting. “Every second you resist makes things harder for Wang Xue. And for yourself. She’s doing this because she wants to please me. Don’t waste her effort.”

The door opened behind them. Gao Ya entered, carrying a professional video camera on a shoulder mount. She smiled at Zhao Qiang—a cold, predatory smile. “Time for a souvenir,” she said. She adjusted the lens, focusing on the scene.

Li Xiaoya had undid Zhao Qiang’s belt without resistance. He was frozen, a man caught between horror and a sickening excitement he could not deny. His hands hung at his sides, useless. She pulled his trousers and boxers down to his ankles. His erection sprang free, already hard.

“Look at that,” Gao Ya murmured, still filming. “Not so reluctant, are we?”

Li Xiaoya took him into her mouth without hesitation. Her lips were warm, her tongue practiced. Zhao Qiang’s head fell back against the wall. A groan escaped him, shameful and loud. He had fantasized about this woman for years, and now she was servicing him while her master watched, while Gao Ya recorded every twitch of his face. The humiliation was a hot weight in his gut, but it only made his arousal sharper.

He did not last long. Within a minute, he was gasping, his hips bucking forward against his will. He came with a strangled cry, spilling into Li Xiaoya’s mouth. She swallowed cleanly, then sat back on her heels, looking up at Lin Yi for approval.

Lin Yi nodded. “Good girl.” He turned to Zhao Qiang, whose legs were trembling. “Get dressed.”

Zhao Qiang fumbled with his trousers, hands shaking. Gao Ya lowered the camera, smirking. “Perfect material for your personal file,” she said. “The CEO likes to keep records.”

Lin Yi walked to a small cabinet in the corner and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He did not offer any to Zhao Qiang. Instead, he leaned against the wall, swirling the amber liquid, and spoke with the patience of a man who had already won.

“You see what I can give you, Zhao Qiang. That woman—your dream girl—she worships me. She does anything I ask. She feels privileged. You felt that too, just now, didn’t you? That rush of power, of being served, of having your deepest fantasy handed to you on a plate. And you want more. I know you do.”

Zhao Qiang’s mouth worked, but no words came.

“I’m offering you a deal,” Lin Yi continued. “You accept your position. You become my property—body, mind, spirit. You obey me without question. And in return, you will never want for anything. Money, status, women. Wang Xue will be taken care of, better than you could ever provide. She will be happy. You will be happy. All you have to do is surrender.”

The silence stretched. Zhao Qiang looked at Li Xiaoya, still kneeling, her eyes fixed on Lin Yi like a devotee. He looked at Gao Ya, who was already reviewing the footage on the camera’s screen. He thought of Wang Xue’s face, her warm hands, her whispered words of gratitude for what Lin Yi had done for their family. And he thought of his own pathetic existence—the small office, the constant fear, the secret shame of being a man who could not protect his wife.

“I… I understand,” Zhao Qiang said. His voice was barely a whisper. He dropped to his knees. “Master.”

Lin Yi took a slow sip of whiskey. “Say it again. Louder.”

“Master,” Zhao Qiang repeated, and the word burned his throat, but it also tasted like relief.

Lin Yi smiled, a thin, pleased curve of his lips. “Good. Now you’re learning. Stand up. We have much more to do tonight.”

The private room at the Imperial Garden Restaurant was a study in opulence—carved mahogany walls, a crystal chandelier casting warm light over a round table set for ten, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the neon-lit skyline of the city. Lin Yi sat at the head of the table, a faint smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the gathering. To his left and right were six old shareholders of the company, men in their fifties and sixties, each accompanied by a young woman—mistresses, secretaries, or paid companions, their dresses cut low and smiles painted on.

Zhao Qiang entered last, his hand clammy on Wang Xue's elbow. Gao Ya had spent an hour preparing her: a black off-the-shoulder top that plunged dangerously, revealing the swell of her breasts, paired with a short leather skirt and sheer black stockings that caught the light. Her hair was pinned up, a few loose strands framing her face, and her makeup was heavier than she ever wore at the hospital—smoky eyes and glossy red lips. She looked like a different woman, one Zhao Qiang barely recognized.

"Ah, here comes our department head," one shareholder, Old Wu, said with a greasy smile, raising his wine glass. "And with such a beautiful wife. Zhao, you're a lucky man."

Zhao Qiang forced a nod, guiding Wang Xue to the empty seats near Lin Yi. "Thank you, Mr. Wu."

Lin Yi gestured with a lazy hand. "Sit, sit. Don't be shy, Auntie Wang. Tonight is about old friends catching up." His eyes lingered on Wang Xue's chest as she settled into the chair beside him. She felt the weight of his gaze, her skin prickling with a mixture of shame and a strange thrill she couldn't name.

The dinner began with toasts and chatter, but the focus soon narrowed. Old Wu leaned forward, his eyes crinkling. "Zhao, your wife is stunning. You must treat her well. Or does she need a man who can?" He laughed, and the others joined in.

Zhao Qiang's jaw tightened. "I do my best."

"Your best?" another shareholder, Mr. Chen, snorted. "Then why are you still a department head after ten years? Best isn't good enough in this world." He tapped his glass. "Pour me some tea, Zhao. Let's see if you're at least good at that."

The table fell silent, all eyes on Zhao Qiang. He hesitated, his pride screaming in his chest. But Lin Yi's gaze was calm, expectant, reminding him of the debts, the favors, the promises made in a quiet office weeks ago. Zhao Qiang stood, picked up the teapot, and filled Mr. Chen's cup with trembling hands.

"Not bad," Mr. Chen said, not looking at him. "Now the wine."

For the next hour, Zhao Qiang served. He poured baijiu, refilled teacups, passed dishes, and fetched napkins. Each shareholder had a request, a joke at his expense, a command delivered with casual cruelty. "Zhao, this fish bone is stuck in my teeth. Get me a toothpick." "Zhao, my companion's glass is empty." "Zhao, tell us—does your wife always dress like that, or is she trying to catch a richer man?"

Zhao Qiang's face burned, but he obeyed. He could feel Wang Xue's eyes on him, a mixture of pity and something else—embarrassment? Disappointment? He didn't know. He only knew that every time he looked at her, she was closer to Lin Yi.

Wang Xue, for her part, sat stiffly at first. Lin Yi's hand rested on the back of her chair, his fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder. "Auntie Wang, you must be hungry," he said, picking up a piece of abalone with his chopsticks. "Open up."

She glanced at Zhao Qiang, who was pouring wine for Old Wu. He didn't meet her eyes. She parted her lips, and Lin Yi slid the morsel into her mouth. His fingers lingered near her chin, a faint touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Good?" he asked.

She swallowed, her voice small. "Yes."

"Then have another." He fed her again, this time a slice of roasted duck dipped in sauce. The other shareholders watched with knowing smiles, their mistresses whispering behind manicured hands.

Zhao Qiang saw it all. He saw Lin Yi's hand move from the chair to Wang Xue's waist, saw her lean into the touch instead of pulling away. He saw her take the cup Lin Yi offered, her lips meeting the same rim he had just used, and drink deeply. Cross-cupped wine—a game of intimacy, of shared breath. The shareholders clapped, hooting encouragement.

"To Lin Yi's health!" Old Wu shouted, raising his glass. "And to Zhao's generous hospitality!"

Zhao Qiang laughed along, a hollow sound. He watched his wife's cheeks flush, not from shame but from the wine and the attention. She was smiling now, relaxed, her hand resting on Lin Yi's arm as he whispered something in her ear. She nodded, her eyes bright.

Lin Yi turned to Zhao Qiang, his grin wide and predatory. "Zhao, your wife is delightful. You should bring her to more of these gatherings."

Zhao Qiang nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Mr. Lin."

Under the table, Lin Yi's hand found Wang Xue's. He traced circles on her palm, their fingers intertwining. She squeezed back—a small, unconscious gesture that Zhao Qiang caught when he bent to pick up a fallen napkin. The sight stayed with him, a brand on his mind.

The dinner wore on. More toasts, more laughter, more tasks for Zhao Qiang. He fetched cigars, lit them for the shareholders, and stood when they stood. Wang Xue no longer looked at him. She was absorbed in Lin Yi's world, in the flattery and the fine wine, in the powerful man who treated her like a queen while her husband served like a servant.

By the time the meal ended, Zhao Qiang's back ached from bowing, and his throat was raw from forced laughter. He helped Wang Xue into her coat, his hands brushing her shoulders. She didn't meet his eyes.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, Auntie Wang," Lin Yi said, taking her hand and kissing it. "I'll have my driver take you home. Zhao, you can take a taxi."

Zhao Qiang watched them leave, Wang Xue walking arm in arm with Lin Yi, her heels clicking on the marble floor. The door swung shut, and he was alone with the empty glasses and the lingering smell of perfume and cigar smoke.

He sat down heavily in the chair Wang Xue had occupied, still warm from her body. He picked up the wine glass she had used, the rim smudged with her lipstick. He stared at it, then pressed it to his own lips, tasting the bitter dregs.

The first step was taken. There was no going back.

The KTV lounge was a private suite on the top floor of the Imperial Palace Club, all crimson velvet and gold trim. The scent of expensive perfume and whiskey hung in the air, mixing with the faint musk of anticipation. Lin Yi sat at the center of the curved leather sofa, one arm draped across the backrest, legs crossed, the very picture of relaxed authority.

Wang Xue sat beside him, close enough that her thigh brushed his when she shifted. Across the low coffee table, Zhao Qiang perched on the edge of a single seat, his hands clasped between his knees, shoulders hunched like a man waiting for a verdict. Gao Ya stood by the elaborate sound system, scrolling through the song list on the tablet, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

"Mr. Lin," she said without turning around, "shall I start with something romantic?"

"Whatever Wang Xue likes," Lin Yi said, his voice smooth as the whiskey in his hand. He turned his head, letting his gaze linger on her profile—the delicate line of her jaw, the soft curve of her neck. "What do you like to sing, Nurse Wang?"

She blushed, a pretty pink that spread from her cheeks to her ears. "I... I don't sing much. I'm not very good."

"Nonsense," Gao Ya said, finally turning. She held the tablet like a trophy. "A beautiful woman always has a beautiful voice. Here—" She selected a song, and the screen flickered to life with a slow, sultry ballad. "This one. It's perfect for two."

Lin Yi stood, took Wang Xue's hand, and pulled her gently to her feet. "Come on. Just one song."

She hesitated, glancing at Zhao Qiang, who offered a weak, encouraging nod. That was all the permission she needed. Lin Yi led her to the pair of microphones resting in their stands, and the music began—a slow, aching melody about lovers meeting in the rain.

Lin Yi sang first, his voice surprisingly good, controlled and deep. Wang Xue watched him, eyes wide, and when her part came, she joined in, her voice trembling at first, then steadying. As the chorus swelled, Lin Yi reached over and intertwined his fingers with hers. He felt her jerk slightly, then relax, her palm warm against his.

They finished the song with their faces close, breath mingling. "Beautiful," Lin Yi murmured, loud enough for Zhao Qiang to hear. He didn't let go of her hand.

Gao Ya clapped slowly. "Wonderful. Now, to really set the mood—Zhao Qiang, get up."

Zhao Qiang blinked. "What?"

"I said get up." Gao Ya's tone brooked no argument. She strode over to him, grabbed his arm, and hauled him to his feet. "It's time you earned your keep. Dance for us. Something slutty."

"Gao Ya, I—I can't dance."

"Of course you can't. That's what makes it fun." She shoved him toward the open space in front of the big screen. "Bend your knees. Wiggle your hips. Show us what you've got."

Zhao Qiang stood frozen, his face a mask of shame. The music had changed to something upbeat and trashy, a pop song with a driving beat. Lin Yi watched, savoring the sight of the older man's humiliation. Wang Xue watched too, her expression unreadable.

"Now," Gao Ya snapped.

Zhao Qiang began to move—stiffly, awkwardly, his arms flapping at his sides. He tried to gyrate his hips and nearly stumbled. Gao Ya laughed, a sharp, delighted sound. "Oh, that's pathetic. Lower. Get lower. Like you're grinding on a pole."

He sank into a squat, still moving, his face bright red. Lin Yi took the opportunity to pull Wang Xue closer. He dipped his head and kissed her—not a peck, but a real kiss, his tongue tracing her lower lip. She gasped, then yielded, her hands coming up to rest on his chest.

Lin Yi deepened the kiss, one hand sliding down her back to cup her ass through the thin fabric of her dress. She was soft, yielding, her body molding against his. He squeezed, feeling her tense, then relax. The music pounded on. Zhao Qiang's movements grew more frantic, more desperate, as if he could dance away what he was seeing.

Lin Yi broke the kiss and turned to sit back on the sofa, pulling Wang Xue onto his lap. She came willingly, straddling one of his thighs, her skirt riding up to reveal the tops of her stockings. His hand found her breast, cupping it through the dress, thumb circling the nipple. It hardened instantly.

"Good girl," he breathed against her ear. "You're being so good."

Her eyes were glazed, her breath coming in short pants. She pressed into his touch, silently begging for more.

Zhao Qiang had stopped dancing. He stood in the middle of the room, staring at his wife on another man's lap, his mouth open, his eyes hollow. And then Lin Yi saw it—the bulge in his pants. The traitorous erection that spoke of arousal mixed with humiliation.

Gao Ya saw it too. She sauntered over, a wicked grin on her face. "Well, well. Look at that. The cuckold's cock is paying attention."

Zhao Qiang tried to turn away, but Gao Ya grabbed his belt, yanking him back. "Don't hide it. Show us."

"Please—"

"Shut up." She reached down and slapped his crotch—not hard, but with a sharp, stinging precision that made him gasp. Then she did it again, harder, and his erection visibly deflated. She laughed. "Pathetic. It's not even big enough to be worth my time. What's the point of a cock like that, Zhao Qiang? Tell me."

He shook his head, tears beginning to leak from his eyes.

Lin Yi watched it all while his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Wang Xue's underwear. She was wet, soaking wet, her thighs trembling. He slid one finger inside her, then two, moving slowly, deliberately, watching her face contort with pleasure and shame and surrender. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.

"Answer her," Lin Yi said, his voice calm, conversational. "What's the point of your cock, Zhao Qiang?"

Zhao Qiang looked at his wife, at the way she arched into Lin Yi's hand, at the slick sounds that began to fill the room. His voice cracked. "There's... no point."

"Louder," Gao Ya demanded, and slapped his balls again.

"THERE'S NO POINT!"

Wang Xue cried out, climaxing against Lin Yi's hand, her body shuddering, her face buried in his shoulder. Lin Yi held her through it, his fingers still inside her, feeling her contract around them. He looked over her head at Zhao Qiang, who had collapsed to his knees, sobbing quietly.

Gao Ya stood over him, hands on her hips. "That's right. Remember that. Your cock has no point. But hers—" she nodded toward Wang Xue—"hers has a very important purpose. To serve Mr. Lin."

Lin Yi withdrew his hand, smooth and unhurried. He lifted his fingers to his lips and tasted them, making sure Zhao Qiang saw. "Thank you for the entertainment, Zhao Qiang. You can sit now."

Zhao Qiang crawled back to his seat, not meeting anyone's eyes. Wang Xue straightened her dress, still trembling, and settled beside Lin Yi, leaning into him as if he were the only safe harbor in a storm.

Gao Ya picked up the tablet again. "Shall we sing another song?"

The morning sun cast long shadows across the manicured greens of the Royal Pines Golf Course. I stood at the entrance of the private clubhouse, watching Gao Ya and Wang Xue step out of the black Maybach. Wang Xue wore a white tennis skirt that hugged her hips, a modest polo shirt, and pristine sneakers. Gao Ya, as always, had dressed her to perfection—classy enough to pass for a respectable wife, but tight enough that every curve was visible under the morning light.

“Master Lin.” Gao Ya’s voice was honey and steel as she walked toward me, her heels clicking on the marble tiles. She leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear. “The guests are already on the back nine. About fifteen of them. All under twenty-five, all with their… companions.”

I nodded, letting my gaze drift over Wang Xue. She stood a few steps back, her hands clasped nervously, her eyes wide as she took in the luxury around her. The golf carts lined up like polished beetles, the waiters in white gloves, the distant laughter of young men carrying across the fairway.

“Wang Xue,” I said, my voice flat, “you’re about to see what real power looks like. Stay close to Gao Ya. Do exactly what she says. If you embarrass me, I will make sure Zhao Qiang loses his job before lunch.”

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. “Yes, Master Lin.”

We took a golf cart down a winding path lined with flowering shrubs. The air smelled of cut grass and expensive cologne. As we rounded a bend, the scene opened up before us.

The back nine had been transformed. A dozen golf carts were parked haphazardly near a large pavilion draped in white silk. On the green itself, young men in polo shirts and tailored shorts lounged on folding chairs, drinks in hand. Each had a woman beside them. Some women knelt on the grass. Others stood at attention, their collars glinting in the sun. All of them were older—thirty-five, forty, even fifty—dressed in various states of undress.

Wang Xue’s breath caught.

One woman, her platinum hair swept up in a chignon, wore nothing but a black leather collar and a cropped t-shirt that left her belly bare. The word “TRAINED” was embroidered across the front in gold thread. Another woman, clearly a bank executive by the way she carried herself, knelt beside her young master, her silk blouse unbuttoned to reveal her bra—a simple white cotton thing that looked almost matronly. She held a leash in her teeth, the other end clipped to the collar of a third woman who crawled on all fours behind her.

“That’s Director Chen from the investment bank,” Gao Ya murmured, nodding toward a young man who couldn’t have been older than twenty-three. “He brought his boss’s wife. She used to sign his expense reports. Now she signs his cock.”

Wang Xue’s face went pale. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

I parked the cart near the pavilion and stepped out. Several young masters raised their glasses in greeting.

“Lin Yi! About time you showed up!” A boyish-faced heir named Sun Wei waved me over. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, but his eyes held the cold confidence of a predator. Beside him stood a tall woman in her late forties, her hair streaked with gray, her body still trim in a golf skirt and sleeveless top. A silver collar circled her neck, and a small tag dangled from it: “STEPMOTHER – SUN.”

“Who’d you bring?” Sun Wei asked, his gaze sliding past me to Wang Xue. “New acquisition?”

“Her name is Wang Xue,” I said, reaching back to pull her forward. She stumbled slightly, her hand gripping mine. “Head nurse at the city hospital. Wife of my department head.”

Sun Wei let out a low whistle. “A wife? Nice. Classy. I’ve been wanting one of those, but they’re harder to break. How’s the husband taking it?”

“He’s getting trained,” I said. “Slowly. But he’ll come around.”

Sun Wei laughed and gestured to his stepmother. “This one took six months. She was all ‘I raised you’ and ‘this is inappropriate’ at first. Now she can’t go a day without my cock in her mouth. Right, Mother?” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

The woman—his stepmother—blushed deeply, but she nodded. “Yes, Master Sun.”

Around us, the other young masters were similarly engaged. One had his companion—a plump, motherly woman with glasses who looked like she should be baking cookies—bent over a golf cart, her skirt flipped up to expose her bare ass. He was spanking her methodically, counting each slap aloud. The woman whimpered but didn’t resist.

Another young man, barely old enough to shave, had a woman in a business suit kneeling between his legs. Her head bobbed up and down, her lips stretched around his cock. He sipped his drink casually, chatting with the man beside him about stock options.

“This is… this is…” Wang Xue’s voice was barely a whisper.

“This is what you were born for,” Gao Ya said, her hand settling on Wang Xue’s lower back. “Look around you. Look at these women. Some of them are doctors. Some are lawyers. Some are wives of men who think they’re powerful. But here, they’re just holes. Just toys. And they know it.”

Wang Xue’s eyes were fixed on the woman being spanked. Her ass was bright red now, the skin glistening with sweat. The young master had stopped counting and was simply slapping her harder, his palm cracking against her flesh with a wet sound.

“She’s a classmate’s mother,” Sun Wei said, following my gaze. “He brought her last month. She was a school principal. Now she’s a cum dumpster.” He laughed again and turned back to his stepmother. “Show Lin Yi how well you’ve learned to undress for me.”

Without hesitation, the stepmother unbuttoned her golf skirt and let it fall to the grass. She stepped out of it, then peeled off her top. Underneath, she wore nothing but the collar and a thin chain that connected to a small copper bell at her navel. Her breasts hung heavy and full, her nipples dark and erect from the morning air.

“Beautiful,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You’ve trained her well.”

“Took work,” Sun Wei said. “But it’s worth it. Come, let me introduce you to the others.”

He led me around the pavilion, Wang Xue and Gao Ya trailing behind. I met a young man who’d brought his father’s secretary, a woman of forty-five with silver-streaked hair and a PhD in economics. She knelt at his feet, a red leather leash clipped to her collar, and recited stock prices from memory while he stroked her hair.

I met another who’d brought a bank branch manager, a stern-faced woman in her late thirties who looked like she could deny a loan application with a single glance. Now she licked his shoes clean, her tongue flicking over the leather, her eyes glassy with submission.

And I met a quiet young man—barely nineteen—who had brought a woman who could have been his grandmother. She was at least sixty, her hair white and thin, her body wrinkled and frail. She wore a faded floral dress and a simple dog collar. She sat on the grass beside his cart, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes vacant.

“She’s my neighbor,” he said, his voice soft. “She used to babysit me. When I turned eighteen, I told her I wanted to try something. She didn’t fight it. She just… accepted.”

Wang Xue stared at the old woman, her face unreadable.

“All women submit eventually,” Sun Wei said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Some just need more time than others. But the ones who fight hardest are the sweetest when they break.”

We stopped at a small table where drinks were set out. A waiter poured champagne into crystal flutes. I took one and handed it to Wang Xue.

“Drink,” I said. “You look like you need it.”

She took the glass with trembling fingers and drained it in one gulp.

“Easy,” Gao Ya said, smirking. “You’ll need a clear head for what comes next.”

A young master nearby—I recognized him as the son of a real estate mogul—had pulled his companion into the center of the green. She was a tall woman with sharp features, wearing a tight dress and a diamond necklace. Her name was Liu Fang, and she was a vice president at a major corporation. He had her on her hands and knees, her dress hiked up, her panties around her ankles.

“Watch this,” he called out to the group. “She’s been practicing.”

The woman—Liu Fang—lifted her head and locked eyes with Wang Xue. There was no shame in her gaze. Only a strange, fierce pride. Then she lowered her face to the grass and began to crawl in a slow circle, her hips swaying, her pussy glistening wet in the morning light.

“She’s showing off her cunt,” Gao Ya whispered to Wang Xue. “That’s a trained slut’s walk. She’s telling everyone she’s ready to be fucked.”

The young master laughed and unzipped his pants. His cock sprung out, hard and thick. He stroked it once, twice, then grabbed Liu Fang by the hair and guided her mouth onto it.

“Oh, fuck,” Wang Xue breathed. Her hand went to her chest, pressing against her racing heart.

I could smell her arousal now—that faint, sweet musk that always betrayed her. She was wet. I knew it without touching her. The sight of these women, these powerful, accomplished women, reduced to cocksleeves and cumrags, was doing something to her. Something she couldn’t control.

“See?” I said, leaning close to her ear. “This is where you belong. On your knees with the rest of them. Your only value is how well you serve.”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull away either.

The morning wore on. The young masters took turns showing off their companions. One woman—a forty-year-old architect—was made to fuck herself with a dildo while her master filmed her. Another—a university professor—was tied to a golf cart and whipped until her back was striped with red lines. She came three times before she was untied.

And through it all, Wang Xue watched. Her eyes grew wider, her breathing more ragged. By noon, her skirt was damp with her own arousal.

Gao Ya noticed too. She nudged me and whispered, “She’s ready. Tonight, we’ll see just how ready.”

I smiled and sipped my champagne.

When the gathering ended, the young masters exchanged business cards and promises to meet again. Sun Wei’s stepmother was still on her knees, her collar jingling as she crawled beside his cart. The bank executive was being led on her leash, her blouse still open, her bra still exposed. The old woman in the floral dress was being helped into her neighbor’s car, her movements slow and obedient.

We drove back to the hotel in silence. Wang Xue sat in the back seat, her hands in her lap, her eyes fixed on the window. But I could see her reflection in the glass. Her lips were parted. Her pupils were dilated.

“What did you think?” I asked, my voice casual.

She hesitated. Then, in a voice so soft I almost missed it, she said, “I think I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

She turned to face me, her eyes shimmering with tears—or was it lust? “Why they submit. Why they choose it. It’s… it’s easier, isn’t it? To just let go. To be owned.”

Gao Ya smiled from the front seat. “That’s the first step, dear. Acceptance.”

Back in the hotel room, I had Wang Xue kneel on the floor while Gao Ya unbuttoned her polo shirt. She didn’t resist. Her body was pliant, her breath shallow.

Gao Ya removed her skirt next, then her panties. Wang Xue’s pussy was slick and swollen, her labia parted, her clit hard and prominent.

“Look at you,” Gao Ya murmured, spreading her open with two fingers. “Soaking wet. Did the gathering turn you on that much?”

Wang Xue’s face burned, but she didn’t deny it. “Yes, Mistress Gao Ya.”

“Tell me,” I said, stepping closer. “Did you like watching those women serve? Did you imagine yourself in their place?”

She nodded, her chin trembling. “Yes, Master Lin. I did. I imagined… I imagined my mouth on their cocks. I imagined being spanked. I imagined being used.”

“Good,” I said. “Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

I pulled out my cock, already hard, and guided it to her lips. She parted them willingly, her tongue darting out to lick the tip.

“Open wide,” I commanded.

She did. Her m

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