Debts of Desire (5/12)

Brad’s front door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing Ethan inside his new reality. The leash in Brad’s hand gave a gentle tug, guiding him further into the sleek, dimly lit home. “From now on,” Brad said calmly, “you’ll call me sir. You’ll follow my instructions. And you’ll be a good girl, Eva.”

Ethan flinched at the name again. “Isn’t this a bit much? I mean, maybe I could still pay you guys back some other way?”

Brad stopped walking. Silence hung in the air a beat too long. Then he turned around, one brow raised. “Apparently,” he murmured, walking calmly back toward him, “we still need to teach Eva when to speak.” The leash was tugged again—not harshly, but firmly enough to make Ethan stumble forward.

Without another word, Brad led him down the hall and into a bedroom. Ethan’s eyes darted across the plush sheets, the full-length mirror on the closet door, and the soft lighting that made everything feel far too deliberate. Brad opened a drawer and pulled out a ball gag—just the sight of it made Ethan’s stomach knot.

Brad stepped closer, one hand reaching out to press his thumb slowly against Ethan’s glossy lips. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The pressure was firm, patient, and deliberate—until Ethan’s mouth parted instinctively, shame blooming on his cheeks.

The ball slid in smoothly.

Brad buckled it in place with practiced ease, then leaned in just enough for Ethan to feel the weight of his words.

“You speak out of turn,” he murmured, “you wear the gag. That’s the rule now.”

The next few days blurred together. Brad preferred Eva not wear heels around the house—he liked seeing Ethan mince on his tiptoes, every step soft, deliberate, and silent. The sheer black thigh-highs he was kept in only heightened the effect, slick fabric whispering with each movement, hugging his legs as he padded from room to room. Ethan spent most of his time fetching snacks and drinks, moving carefully, hips swaying unconsciously.

Couch time became a ritual. Ethan would curl beside Brad, head resting on his chest, still too embarrassed by how natural it was starting to feel. Sometimes he’d try to protest—murmured excuses, hesitant little questions—but it always ended the same way. The gag would return. Silencing him. Humbling him. And afterward, Brad would stroke his hair and whisper, “Good girl,” like nothing had ever been out of place.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Ethan snapped.

He was lying in Brad’s arms, the gag strapped tightly in place after a soft, mumbled question. Brad hadn’t replied—just secured it back in calmly, like always. A while later, he gave Ethan’s ass a light smack. “Go get me a snack, princess.”

Ethan hesitated, then yanked the gag off with shaking hands, the strap snapping loose as it hit the floor. “This is insane,” he said, breath catching. “You can’t make me do this. I’m not some sissy.”

The air turned cold. Brad bent Ethan over his lap in one smooth, practiced motion. “If you can’t pay us back,” Brad said, voice calm but low, “then you’ll be whatever we want you to be.”

The first smack landed hard on Ethan’s ass. The sting made his eyes go wide, and a little whimper escaped before he could stop it. Another smack. And another. Crisp, echoing in the room, each one stripping away another layer of pride. By the fourth, his legs kicked slightly in protest. By the fifth, his shoulders were shaking, and his cheeks burned hot with shame.

“Are you going to be a good girl from now on, Eva?”

Ethan didn’t answer at first. But when Brad’s hand paused, hovering just above his aching flesh, he whispered, “Yes, sir.”

Brad let him up, wordlessly fitting the gag back in place. After that, Ethan didn’t resist.

He obeyed. He pranced silently through the house on his toes, thighs swishing. He curled up against Brad without prompting. He handed him drinks without protest. When Brad ordered him to “sit pretty,” he did so with folded hands and downcast eyes.

For the rest of the week, Ethan was the perfect obedient princess Brad expected him to be. No complaints. No slip-ups.

When Saturday evening finally arrived, Brad laid out something new for him to wear. Stockings, of course. A soft top, cropped just enough to tease. Lip gloss, light perfume... and a quiet look that said exactly how he was expected to behave.

The other guys would be arriving soon for game night.