The Contract

Title: The contract.

By day, Quentera and Richard were the perfect office duo--whispers of "work husband and wife" floated around the cubicles like perfume. She was confident, sharp, always two steps ahead. He was composed, charming, and maddeningly unavailable. A wedding band glinted on his finger like a warning sign... one that Quentera chose to ignore. But behind the conference room doors and text messages hidden under the hum of printers, something darker simmered.

One night, after a late meeting turned into drinks, Richard handed her a single envelope. Inside was a contract.

"Terms of Submission."

"I, Quentera, consent to becoming the submissive property of Richard, for use, pleasure, and discipline, during the workweek and at his discretion. This relationship will remain secret. I surrender control, boundaries negotiated in person." Her hands trembled. Her pulse danced. This wasn't flirting anymore--this was a game with no safe edges. And she wanted it.

She signed.

Part 2: The Rules Beneath the Suit

Quentera arrived at the storage room after hours. It had once held office supplies--now it held secrets. Richard had transformed it subtly. A black folding chair. Rope. A leather crop laid carefully on the table beside a second contract--this one handwritten.

"Tonight, you are not Quentera. You are My Property."

She read it slowly, her breath hitching. He didn't speak as she signed. Words were for coworkers. Obedience was for her. "Strip butt naked," he said simply.

She obeyed, folding her clothes with trembling hands, leaving them on the filing cabinet like an offering. He took the Rope and bound her wrists behind the chair. Tight, but practiced. He had prepared for this. Fantasized about it. Dreamed about it.

"Good girl," he whispered, stepping close. "You know who owns you now."

She nodded, head lowered. "You do, Master." He circled her like a predator--slow, deliberate--trailing a single gloved finger along her shoulder as he lifted the leather crop. The first crack echoed in the stillness of the office. Not pain. Not yet. Just the sound. The sound of surrender.

In that moment, she wasn't his co-worker. She wasn't even his mistress.

She was his sex slave.

And he... was something darker than a husband. Part 3: The Guilt Between Sheets

At home, Richard scrubbed the smell of her pussy from his dock like a stain.

His wife, Mariexa, noticed the change in him--the long showers, the hollowed-out gaze. He touched her less. Kissed her less. When she asked if work was stressing him out, he nodded and told her yes.

He never lied directly.

He said the late meetings were about quarterly reports. He said the bruises on his wrist were from lifting copier paper boxes.

He said nothing about rope. Or contracts. Or the way Quentera whispered, "Please, Master," like it was a prayer.

At night, he laid in bed beside Mariexa while his mind replayed the scene from hours earlier--Quentera bound, gasping, obeying. He wanted her pussy again, but the guilt was beginning to rot the edges of the fantasy. And still, he couldn't stop. She had signed the contract.

But so had he--just not on paper. Part 4: The Session

The basement of the empty corporate annex had become their sanctum.

It was Friday. The end of a long week. The door clicked shut, and Richard turned the bolt. No cameras. No eyes. Just her--and the low hum of fluorescent lights above the concrete floor.

Quentera was already kneeling butt naked, just as she'd been told. She wore nothing but 10 inch heels and a blindfold. Her arms were behind her back, wrists tied with rope that looped around her torso and squeezed her chest in an intricate weave. Her breathing was steady, practiced.

"Speak," Richard commanded, voice low and dangerous.

"I'm yours, Master. Take what you own." That was the beginning.

He circled her like a lion, trailing his fingers across her bare skin, listening to her breath hitch with every step. He gave no warning when the flogger landed across her ass--not hard, not soft, just enough to pull a whimper from her throat. Again. Then again. The marks bloomed on her skin like red petals.

She moaned softly.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked coldly.

"No," she gasped. "Please, Master... more. I need more." Her words weren't just consent--they were hunger.

What followed was a storm. Rope tightened. Her cries echoed off the walls. She begged for release, then begged for more pain. Richard didn't hesitate. In this room, he didn't have to be a husband. He didn't have to lie or pretend. Here, he was only Master. Here, she was only his slave.

After, when her body trembled and her lips kissed the floor in obedience, he knelt beside her. He opened a black velvet box.

Inside was a polished steel collar, engraved with one word:

"Slave."

He placed it around her neck and locked it with a satisfying click.

"This," he whispered, "makes you mine." Then, from his coat pocket, he produced a second box. Smaller. White velvet. He opened it slowly.

A diamond ring--not simple like a wedding band. This one was bold, heavy, dominant.

He slipped it onto her left ring finger, just above the bruises on her wrists.

"You wear this," he said, "and it means I own more than your body. It means your soul belongs to me." Tears welled in her eyes. Not from pain. From something deeper. Surrender. Love. Desire.

Part 5: Cracks in the Mirror

Two weeks later, the mask began to slip. Mariexa--his wife--found the ring.

It was in the glovebox of his truck. Wrapped in tissue. Too feminine. Too new. Too damning.

She didn't confront him immediately. She waited. Watched. Tracked his late nights. Smelled his clothes.

The moment came on a Sunday morning.

"I found something," she said, holding up the velvet box like an accusation. "Tell me who she is." Richard froze. The breath in his lungs felt like broken glass. He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

He wanted to lie. But part of him wanted to be caught.

He said nothing.

That silence said everything.

Mariexa turned, walked upstairs, and didn't come back down.

Part 6: The Reckoning

Mariexa didn't speak to Richard for three days.

He thought she would leave. He even hoped for it, in a twisted way--clean endings were easier than unraveling truths. But on the fourth day, she came downstairs with the velvet box in her hand.

"Who is she?"

Richard hesitated, then: "Her name is Quentera."

Mariexa's eyes didn't narrow. They didn't widen. They just held him like a knife to the throat. "And what is she to you?"

He swallowed. "She's my sex slave."

A long silence passed. Then: "Invite her here."

He blinked. "What?"

"You said you own her," Mariexa said. "Let me see what you've done with your property." Part 7: The Hidden Wife

Quentera's heart pounded like a drum beneath her collar.

The invitation had been clear. Short. Terrifying.

"My wife wants to meet you. Wear the collar. Wear the ring. Obey her." She had imagined this moment--imagined being caught, punished, discarded. But she hadn't imagined being shared.

When she arrived at the house, she was taken to the parlor and told to kneel.

Mariexa entered minutes later in 10 inch heels and fish net thigh high stockings.

"Look at you," she said. "You think that ring makes you a wife? No. It makes you a fuck toy." Quentera lowered her head. "Yes, Mistress."

That one word changed the room.

Mariexa circled her, just like Richard had. But where Richard had worshiped her surrender, Mariexa challenged it--mocked it. Tested it.

"You've pleased him," Mariexa said, trailing a gloved finger down Quentera's ass cheek. "But now you'll please me." In whatever way I see fit. Part 8: Shared Fire

Richard sat in the corner, silent. Watching.

Emily held the crop in one hand, a flogger in the other. Her strikes were cruel--but they were deliberate. Each one a test. Each one a punishment Quentera accepted with tears and trembling thighs.

"You like this, don't you?" Mariexa whispered into her ear. "You want the pain. You want to prove you're better than a wife."

Quentera gasped, body trembling. "Yes, Mistress."

As the night went on, the power shifted. Mariexa's jealousy became something darker. Hungrier. She wasn't just punishing a rival--she was strap-on fucking her. And she was going to make her suffer. And Richard, silent in his chair, realized something terrifying and thrilling:

He was no longer in control. Part 9: Master in the Shadows

The air was thick the morning after.

Quentera lay on the silk-covered chaise in Richard and Mariexa's guest room. Her skin bore fresh marks--lines from the cane, circles from the crop, bruises she wore like tattoos of devotion. But deeper than the pain was the ache of disorientation. She had surrendered herself to him. But now there was her.

Mariexa's voice still echoed in her head. The sharp, delicious cruelty. The way she forced Quentera to her knees, then rewarded her with a brutal strap-on face fucking. It wasn't just pain. It was ownership. And worse--Quentera had liked it.

She traced her fingers along the steel collar still around her neck, then looked down at the diamond ring. His ring. Her Master's mark. But now, whose slave was she, really?

⸻

Downstairs, Richard watched Mariexa pour herself coffee.

"You enjoyed it," he said, not a question.

"I did," she replied fucking that slut with a strap-on, sipping slowly.

"I still own her," he said, not as firmly as he meant to. Mariexa smirked. "Do you?"

He didn't answer.

Because something had shifted. Mariexa wasn't just punishing his betrayal--she had stepped into the void he created. And she had filled it beautifully. Dangerously.

But he couldn't lose control.

He wouldn't. Part 10: The Proposition

Hours later, Quentera joined them in the study. She wore a black body conforming dress, with black fishnet thigh high stockings, and her 10 inch pump heels, the collar still visible against her throat. She knelt automatically at Richard's feet, but her eyes flicked briefly to Mariexa. It didn't go unnoticed.

Richard stood. The room was silent but charged.

"I have a proposition," he said, voice calm.

He circled the room slowly, hands behind his back like a king surveying his court. "What happened last night... changed things. But I am still your Master," he said to Quentera. "And you--" he turned to Mariexa, "are still my wife." Mariexa raised an eyebrow. "So what's your offer, King Richard?"

He smiled.

"You both belong to me. But I believe it's time we stop hiding." He leaned down to Quentera.

"You've proven your submission. But now, I want you to become more than my slave." He turned to Mariexa.

"And I want you to join me... not just as my wife, but as my co-Mistress. I want us to own her together."

The silence stretched.

Quentera's heart pounded. Was this devotion--or damnation? Mariexa set her cup down slowly.

"And if I say yes?" she asked.

"Then we rebuild the hierarchy," Richard said. "Together. I lead. You command. She serves." Part 11: Identity Fractured

Quentera's breath caught.

This was more than bondage. More than play. It was torture.

It was transformation, ownership. She had once been a woman with her own life, her own rules, her own name. Now, she was kneeling at the feet of a husband and wife discussing how best to own her--not just her body, but her soul, her identity, her future. Everything.

The collar around her neck felt heavier than ever. She wanted to say no.

She wanted to say yes.

She wanted to be free.

She wanted to be theirs.

To Be continued...

Part 12: The Choice

Quentera stood between them, the collar still snug around her neck. Her high heels pressed into the cold wood floor of Richard and Mariexa 's study. On the table before her sat a black velvet case.

Inside, resting on dark satin, were two polished steel wrist cuffs and two matching ankle cuffs. Engraved on each: "Slave -- Property of R''. Richard stepped behind her, voice a low growl.

"If you choose this, you'll never take them off. You'll wear them when you sleep. When you travel. Forever. You will be claimed--completely, visibly. Not just in private. Everywhere."

Quentera trembled in fear and hopelessness. Quentera trembled.

"Do you accept?" he asked.

She looked up at him. Then at Mariexa, who watched with unreadable eyes.

Quentera's answer was a whisper: "Yes, Master." Richard fastened the cuffs himself. One by one. Wrists, then ankles. The cold kiss of metal made her gasp--symbols of ownership that she would carry always. She felt something break inside her.

But also, something settle.

Part 13: The Real Revelation

Richard turned to Mariexa.

Another box. Inside: her own collar. Sleek. Thinner. Feminine. But engraved the same way.

"Slave -- Property of R''. And beneath it--cuffs for her wrists and ankles, identical to Quentera's.

Mariexa's narrowed her eyes. "You said I would be co-Mistress." Richard's smile was calm. "That was only to test you. I don't want a partner. I want two slaves."

He stepped forward, voice dark with conviction. "You're my wife--but not above her. Not anymore. You'll serve beside her. And when I want, I'll take you both. Or I'll make her watch while I fuck you. Or make you command her pleasure until you both break beneath me."

Mariexa didn't flinch. Instead, she walked toward the collar.

Picked it up.

And fastened it around her own neck.

"You always did have plans within plans," she murmured. "But I want to see how far you'll go." Richard smiled.

He had them both. Part 14: The Design

That night, he sat in his armchair as his two collared slaves knelt before him. Wife and secret lover.

Bound by steel.

He had crafted it all with precision--the secrecy, the seduction, the surrender. He didn't want chaos. He wanted order. Two bodies. One will. His. Forever. As Quentera leaned to kiss Mariexa's lips on command, and as Mariexa reached to place a leash on Quentera's collar at Richard's signal, the balance shifted again. This wasn't just about sex.

It was about power. And now, he had all of it.

Part 15: Two Women, One Chain

The days blurred. Mariexa and Quentera no longer saw themselves as individuals--but reflections, polished smooth by Richard's hand. Morning routines became rituals: kneeling. Waiting. Listening for the sound of boots on hardwood before moving. They wore little now--only the cold press of steel on wrists, ankles, and throat. Clothing was a privilege. One rarely given. The rivalry that once crackled between them had changed into something else. A strange bond. A silent sisterhood. Not quite friendship. Not quite trust. But shared survival. Mariexa would often glance at Quentera in the silence of punishment and see her own pain mirrored back. It was there--in the wince when the crop struck too harshly, in the bowed head when he spoke her name like a weapon. "Slave," he would say. And neither woman knew which of them he meant anymore.

Part 16: The New Order

Richard had always been dominant. But now his dominance was no longer a performance. It was law. His voice didn't ask. It commanded. His punishments no longer required disobedience--they were given because he could. He began experimenting with control for its own sake.

One evening, without warning, he removed the mirrors from the house.

"You don't need to see yourselves anymore," he said. "You only need to see me." Another night, he made them eat dinner at his feet, not speaking, not moving, until he allowed it. If one reached for her water without permission, excruciating punishment followed. If one flinched during a stroke of the cane, it only made the next one harder and harsher. His rules shifted daily. What was right one day was punished the next.

That was the point.

There was no safety.

Only obedience.

Part 17: Cracks Beneath the Surface

Late one night, while Richard slept, Mariexa and Quentera lay side by side on the floor of the study. Collared. Cuffed. Chained. Silent.

Mariexa w we whispered first. "Do you remember... your real name?"

Quentera stared at the ceiling for a long time before answering. "No."

They both knew what that meant. Not just that they had surrendered.

But that they had disappeared.

Quentera curled against Mariexa, not for warmth--but for proof. Proof that she still had the ability to choose something. Even if that choice was pain beside someone else. Part 18: The Game He Plays

Richard watched them closely now. He saw the growing bond and began to turn it against them.

"You lean on each other too much," he said. So he separated them--locked them in opposite ends of the house. For three days, neither spoke. Neither saw the other. They were made to fuck him alone. Silent, isolated, and aching. When he allowed them to see each other again, it was only to watch one to viciously punish the other at his command. Mariexa wept the first time. Quentera flinched. But they obeyed. Because now, it wasn't about earning his love.

It was about avoiding the silence.

Part 19: The Winter Master

The house no longer felt like home.

It was a museum of silence and order. Steel cuffs clinked against marble floors. Naked bodies knelt under dim lights. Richard no longer spoke with warmth. He didn't praise, or punish out of passion. Every command now came like law, carved in stone. He gave them only one item of "clothing": matching 10-inch black pump heels. Beautiful. Cruel. Impossible to run in. A symbol of poise--and helplessness. Mariexa used to find comfort in her submission. She had chosen it. Worn it like lace. But now, it felt more like ash. She watched Richard walk through the halls like a warden, not a lover. And she began to wonder: Had she broken him? Or had this man always been here, hidden under his softer masks?

Part 20: The Choice

On the seventh night of silence, Richard summoned them both. They crawled to him as required. Collared. Cuffed. Heeled. No words. No eye contact.

Then he placed a box between them on the floor.

Inside it: two chains. One gold. One blackened iron.

"This," he said, "is a test of loyalty. You will each choose one chain." Quentera glanced at Mariexa. Mariexa kept her eyes low.

Richard continued.

"The one who chooses the gold chain will be given a new privilege: her own room. Warmth. Privacy. She will still serve--but she will be trusted. Praised." He turned his gaze to the other chain.

"The one who chooses the black chain will remain in the basement. Alone. No contact. No comfort. She will be viciously punished and fucked randomly--for my pleasure. But she will be marked as my favorite." He stepped back.

"You have thirty seconds. If you both choose gold, you both fail. If you both choose black, I choose for you."

Silence.

Tension stretched like wire.

Part 21: The Fracture

Quentera hesitated.

She didn't trust the offer. Not from him. Not anymore. But the thought of warmth, of space, of hearing her own thoughts without chains, was like water to a dying woman. Mariexa closed her eyes. She had known this man once. Loved him. But what sat before her now was no longer her husband--it was something colder. Mechanical. Dangerous.

At the last second, both women reached--

--and both chose the black chain. Part 22: Consequence

Richard's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Wrong answer," he said.

He picked up the gold chain, snapped it in half, and dropped the pieces at their feet. Then he looked at Mariexa. "You still think you're above her."

He turned to Quentera. "And you... still think she'll protect you."

He walked away without another word.

That night, neither woman slept. And somewhere deep in the coldest part of the house, two cages waited.

Part 23: Silence and Steel

The cages were not cells. They were statements.

One sat beneath the basement stairwell, a space barely large enough to kneel in. The other, placed in the disused wine cellar, was shaped like a coffin--long, narrow, lined in cold iron. Mariexa and Quentera were kept apart. No voices. No touches. Just the sound of the house above them, muffled footsteps, the occasional hum of music--always chosen by Richard. He fed them on opposite schedules. When one was allowed water, the other went thirsty. When one was unlocked to bathe, the other was bound more tightly and whipped harshly. It was no longer submission.

It was Torture.

Part 24: Cracks in the Mirror

For Mariexa, the silence became a mirror.

She replayed every moment--how she went from mistress to wife to slave. How she let the collar tighten without ever questioning why. And for the first time in months, she felt something unexpected: anger. Not rage. Not heat. But a slow-burning ache.

What am I now? she asked herself.

A voice inside whispered: Not his. Not anymore. Part 25: The Whisper of Fire

Quentera, inside the coffin-cage, began to count.

At first, it was just to mark time. A way to cling to rhythm. But soon, the counting became more than numbers. It became memory. And memory became identity. "I had a name," she whispered one night, voice barely audible.

"I had dreams."

Her fingers, bound, clenched. She no longer wept when he viciously punished her. She stared straight through him. And Richard noticed.

He began to test her more. Longer hours in chains. Harsher and degrading punishments. But something in Quentera had shifted.

She obeyed. But something inside her refused.

Part 26: Flickers

After several days, Richard brought them together again.

Both women, chained and ball gagged, sat opposite each other in the old parlor room. The fire crackled. He watched them with cold interest--waiting. Mariexa looked at Quentera. Quentera met her gaze.

And in that moment, something passed between them.

Not love.

Not alliance.

But a shared thought:

We are not gone yet.

Part 27: Hidden Fire

They began small.

Quentera tapped once on her cuffs while being bathed--barely audible over the sound of water. Mariexa responded two nights later with a matching rhythm while scrubbing the floor. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. The pattern became language. Simple ideas. "Here." "Now." "Watching." "Alone."

Under Richard's cold gaze, the two women became ghosts of their former selves--silent, obedient, eyes down. But behind that stillness, something began to take root. Not revenge. Not escape.

Truth.

Truth that they were not empty.

Truth that he had not won them completely.

Part 28: The Final Test

One evening, Richard brought them into the parlor again. He sat in his leather chair, wine in hand, and watched the two of them kneeling side by side. "You've both been quiet," he said. "Obedient. I wonder if that's real... or simply an illusion."

He stood, slow and deliberate. "So I've decided. This arrangement ends."

Mariexa flinched.

Quentera stayed still. Richard set something small and metallic on the ground in front of Mariexa.

A key.

"To the collar. And the cuffs," he said, voice like ice. "You can leave tonight. I won't stop you. I won't find you. There's money in the envelope on the table. A new passport. A name. A way out." Mariexa's breath caught.

"But," Richard continued, "Quentera stays. Forever. She belongs to me."

He stepped back.

"You may unlock yourself. Or stay. The choice is yours. But you cannot take her with you."

Part 29: The Fire Between Them

That night, after Richard left the room, Mariexa stayed kneeling beside Quentera for hours.

No words. Just breath.

Then, finally, she whispered, "He gave me a way out."

Quentera turned her head slightly. "I heard."

"He won't let you go," Mariexa said. "Even if I try." "I know."

Silence again.

"I don't want to leave you," Mariexa whispered. "But I don't want to die in a cage."

Quentera closed her eyes. "Then don't."

Part 30: The Exit

Mariexa stood the next morning.

The key was cold in her fingers. She turned it in the collar, then each cuff. They clicked open, one by one. Her body trembled--not from fear, but from the weight of freedom.

She dressed in silence. She looked at Quentera one last time--still kneeling, still chained.

Quentera met her eyes, and in her gaze was no blame. Only understanding.

And something that looked very much like goodbye.

Part 31: Aftermath

Mariexa walked away.

Richard didn't follow.

Quentera remained in the house, silent, collared, and chained, untouched for three days. When Richard returned, he said nothing.

He simply locked the door behind him.

And unzipped his pants in front of her. Take my cock in your mouth slave Im going to Face Fuck you until you choke and gag. Once I am done you will take every drop of cum down your throat.

Epilogue

Mariexa never returned.

She built a life elsewhere--quiet, ordinary, free. But sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she would touch her wrist where the cuff once sat and wonder if Quentera still heard the same ghost tapping in the dark. And in the still house where nothing moved without permission, Quentera knelt.

Not because she was broken.

But because she remembered.

Because in the silence, she had found herself.

And in her own way... she waited.

Second Epilogue: The Choice of Names

It was spring when he asked her.

No chains. No cuffs. No orders. Just Richard, sitting quietly beside her on the edge of the sun-warmed stone steps outside the house. For once, the leash lay untouched beside them, coiled like a forgotten memory.

Quentera was still collared, still kneeling--but she no longer trembled when the silence stretched. stretched.

"I've come to realize," Richard said, voice low, "that you've never truly belonged to me--not the way I thought."

She looked at him, eyes unreadable.

"I've spent so long trying to own you," he continued. "Trying to torture you, bind you, break you. But I never wanted a sex slave." He paused. His voice softened. "I wanted you."

Quentera didn't speak.

"I'm offering you something different now," he said. "Not out of dominance. But out of truth."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out two things: A gold ring.

And her collar.

He placed them both on the step between them. "You choose," he said. "You can remain my sex slave. And I will honor that--forever. You will never have to make a decision again. No name, no past. Only purpose."

He touched the ring gently.

"Or... you become my wife. Your name returned. Your freedom yours. A partner. A mother, if you choose it. No cages, no chains, no collar or cuffs, Just a home."

He looked at her, and--for the first time in years--his voice cracked. "I love you, Quentera. I always have. But now... I want you to choose who you want to be."

⸻

She sat in silence.

The wind rustled the trees around them. The sun stretched over the house. And for the first time, everything was still. Then, slowly, she reached out.

And touched the ring.

Postscript

They were married in the garden behind the house.

No guests. No chains, no whips or cuffs, Just two people who had burned through control, survival, silence--and still found something unbroken underneath.

They had 2 children. Not out of duty. Out of desire.

Richard never used the word "Master" again. And Quentera?

She never wore the collar again?

But she kept it, locked in a drawer. Not as a shame--but as a reminder.

That the power she feared... was never truly his.

It was hers all along.

Final Passage: One Night Only

The children were asleep.

The house was quiet--no longer cold, no longer filled with echoes of obedience, but alive with warmth, laughter, and time.

Quentera stood in front of the mirror in their bedroom. Her body had changed with motherhood--fuller in places, stronger in others--but her beauty had only deepened. The dark richness of her skin still glowed, her curves more powerful, her presence more magnetic than ever. She ran her fingers over the old collar.

Then the cuffs.

Then the heels--black, towering, nearly impossible.

Ten inches tall. Just like before. Tonight, she wasn't doing this out of need.

She was doing it out of memory. Out of choice.

She fastened the collar around her neck.

The cuffs around her wrists and ankles. With chains connected them together. And 10 inch heels on her feet.

No clothes. No name.

And she walked slowly and sexually and silently--down the hallway to their bedroom, where Richard waited, unaware.

When he saw her, his breath caught. His eyes didn't fill with power--but awe.

She knelt before him, her voice a whisper from a time long past.

"Tonight, Master," she said, "I am yours. As I once was. As I choose to be. Just once more." He approached slowly.

Touched her face gently. Attaching a metal leash to her neck collar.

And for one night--just one--they fell back into the roles that once defined them. Not as captor and captive. Not as master and slave. But as husband and wife.

As lovers.

As equals--choosing to remember who they were... so they could fully embrace who they had become. He would whip her and chain her down to the bed as he fucked her beautiful sexy body. He would make her feel pain, pleasure and the ultimate desire to submit to him, at his command. He would blindfold her and he put a ball gag in her mouth tightly fastened the straps, so the children wouldn't hear her scream. She was truly happy to serve her master as his slave one last night. (Forever)

The End.