The Flesh Cartel - Episode #7: Homecoming

their short time together.
    “How do you feel, Douglas?” Nikolai asked, mostly just to drive the point home.
    “It’s a little strange. But thank you, sir. Really. Thank you.” He came forward, then, and at Nikolai’s inviting nod and opened arms, straddled Nikolai’s lap. Leaned in close, and when Nikolai simply waited, expression gentle and open, kissed him chastely on the mouth. Half real gratitude, half fake-it-’til-you-make-it. Nikolai, pleased as punch with both halves, ruffled the boy’s hair and kissed him back on the tip of the nose.
    “These clothes are yours to keep, my gift to you, but you must only wear them with my permission. Now, I bet you’d like some sunshine, fresh air, and exercise, yes?”
    Douglas’s smile of gratitude practically exploded into a grin of hope and excitement, lighting up his whole face. He bounced off Nikolai’s lap, onto the balls of his feet. “Outside, you mean?”
    How utterly adorable. Nikolai couldn’t help his chuckle. “Everyone in this house may orbit around me, but I cannot help you make vitamin D. Yes, outside. Now come.”

Dougie wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d last seen the world beyond his own bedroom door. He followed Nikolai now, quick and quiet down the narrow, sumptuous hall in shoes that felt strangely too heavy for his feet.
    All of the clothes felt off. They fit him perfectly—of course they did, they’d taken his measurements at Madame’s—but it was like his body was seeking to find fault with them. The sleeves of his sweater were too long. The fabric of his socks bunched. His jeans were too tight around his thighs. The lace of the panties scratched his sensitive, freshly waxed skin.
    Really, the only things that felt normal and familiar were the plug and cage, a fact that initially filled him with disgust in himself and anger at the world, and then, conversely, hope. Hope that it meant he was truly changing into the pet Nikolai wanted him to be. The slave he needed to be to survive, to have any kind of hope of a life worth living.
    Except that’s not a life worth living, some part of him said. That voice he’d slammed the door on before, locked away in some dark closet. He pushed it back again. It was quieter now. Weaker. He could ignore it. He could .
    Nikolai led him up a staircase, into a richly appointed foyer, pausing only to unlock and relock the doors at the bottom and top of the stairs. So many doors. So many locks. Dougie might as well have been living in the middle of an underground maze, waiting to get eaten by the Minotaur.
    Nikolai didn’t give Dougie any extra time to look around, though his scenery-starved eyes took it all in with ravenous abandon: the marble tiles, the paneled walls, the rich leather and hardwood furniture. Such a beautiful place. So different from his room downstairs. Maybe, if he was very, very good, Nikolai would let him come back here. Spend time here. He refused to let it bother him, how easily he could picture himself curled at Nikolai’s feet, anticipating his every need as he read on the couch or watched TV or did paperwork at his desk. So many opportunities to please. So many opportunities to prove himself. So many opportunities to get lost in the simple, fear-free, pain-free mindlessness of obedience.
    The thought was almost . . . tempting. Soothing. Only a little panicky.
    Nikolai paused, and Dougie realized they’d come to the front door. “Would you like me to cuff you, Douglas? Leash you to me?”
    That felt like an honest question, not a test. Dougie wasn’t sure how to answer.
    “You’re about to venture outside for the first time in weeks, Douglas. No guards. No gates. No locks. Just you and me. So I’m giving you the choice to ask for my help, if you think there’s any risk of you doing something . . . impulsive.”
    Impulsive, like trying to run. And when Nikolai put it that way . . .
    “I . . .” He glanced down at his warm clothes, his sneakered feet. They’d take him far. Far enough? Maybe not, but far. He glanced back to Nikolai—his captor, his torturer, his rapist. How easy it seemed these days, locked down in that basement bedroom, to forget those things. To forget what Nikolai had done, was doing. How he was changing Dougie. Breaking Dougie. But in the light of day, in the fresh air of the wide-open outdoors, well dressed and well fed and well aware of just how fast a runner he could be, of where he might go, of what he might be able to get