The Flesh Cartel - Episode #7: Homecoming

away from, what he might be able to go back to . . .
    No. Surely they were in the middle of nowhere. Surely Nikolai wouldn’t take him out if he thought there was any chance an escape attempt might succeed. But now that the seed had been planted and would soon be getting sunlight, he couldn’t let it go. And he knew, with sick certainty, how much it would cost him. How far he’d backslide. How angry Nikolai would be when he inevitably dragged Dougie back. How he’d have to start all over again, the fear and the pain and the torture and the rape, because it’d only take one single taste of his old life to sour and spoil the fragility of the new one.
    He glanced at Nikolai again, who was watching him, silent, patient, and said, voice trembling, “Please cuff me, sir.” He didn’t want a collar and leash, never wanted to be dragged around like on the stage at Madame’s again. But cuffs, those would be okay. He’d almost never had his hands bound since he’d been taken. Maybe that sensation would still be safe.
    Nikolai smiled, not angry at all at the unspoken admission that Dougie needed the cuffs because he couldn’t be obedient without them. “Thank you for your honesty, Douglas.” He kissed Dougie on the temple and went to a side table near the door, which had a drawer that in the normal world might contain gloves or sunglasses or mail. From this one, though, Nikolai withdrew two leather cuffs, linked together by bright metal rings.
    When he returned to Dougie’s side, Dougie put his hands behind his back without being asked.
    “I could cuff you in the front, if you like.”
    Dougie shook his head. “No, sir.” If he had his hands, he’d have his balance. He’d be faster than Nikolai. He’d be able to catch himself if he stumbled. Too dangerous, too dangerous. With his hands behind him, he’d never forget for one second . . . A potent reminder, like the pink lace panties.
    Nikolai nodded like he understood every last bit of Dougie’s logic. He probably did. “I know it’s hard,” he said as he buckled Dougie’s left wrist into its cuff. The leather was soft. Padded. Something about the snugness against his skin was almost soothing. Sensual. “I’m not taking you outside to push you, or test you, or challenge you. This is a reward for good behavior. To help you . . . acclimate.” He finished securing Dougie’s left wrist, started in on the right. The chain between the cuffs was long enough; Dougie felt no strain on his shoulders at all. “I’ll do everything in my power to make it easy for you. Whatever you need—just ask.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Dougie said, less because he knew he should and more because he meant it. The reassurance of that left him breathless; he’d been so afraid, for a moment, contemplating the possibility of freedom, that he’d broken something far too tenuous inside him, some delicate spun-glass construction he needed to live. But no. A few cracks, maybe, but the structure was still sound. “Touch me, sir,” he blurted as Nikolai’s hands, done securing Dougie’s wrists, left his skin. Heat flooded his cheeks as Nikolai’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean,” Dougie added, “I mean outside. Sir. I mean . . . Please don’t let go of me. I might . . .” Run anyway.
    Nikolai nodded once and looped an arm through Dougie’s, then opened the front door before any new doubt could crowd Dougie’s mind.
    Brisk cold air, and white-hot light that burned his eyes. Dougie flinched. Fell against Nikolai for support.
    “It’s a lovely day,” Nikolai said, ignoring the enormity of this moment, or maybe saving Dougie from feeling like he had to express it. “Autumn is my favorite season. I love how bracing the air is.”
    “I always liked it too, sir,” Dougie said, blinking hard as he tried to get his eyes to adjust. Blue blobs were swimming in his vision, like someone had set off a camera flash right in front of his face. “Though the seasons didn’t change nearly so much in Vegas as they did back in West Virginia. Still, our morning run was much more tolerable in fall than in summer. Plus, fall was when school started.”
    A tug on his elbow, and they were walking, the plug shifting inside him with every step as they descended the curving stairs that led from the front door to the long gravel driveway. Dougie didn’t remember the outside of Nikolai’s house. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever come this way. Maybe he’d gone through a garage. The