Nothing, Truly Yours

Chapter 1 -- The Challenge

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon, casting a lazy golden hue over the city. The windows of Sophie's apartment glowed with warm light, laughter spilling out into the early evening air. Inside, the music hummed low, drinks clinked, and six friends lounged in varying degrees of comfort -- legs stretched, shoes off, cheeks already warm from alcohol.

Gina sat cross-legged on the floor, a half-empty glass of rosé dangling from her fingers. Her long black hair shimmered in the dim light, falling like silk over the curve of her back. She was dressed casually -- shorts, a fitted tank -- but she wore confidence like a second skin. Her eyes, dark and alert, kept flicking across the room toward Max.

He was sunk into the couch across from her, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. Max didn't need to try -- with his broad shoulders, tight t-shirt, and messy brown curls, he drew glances without realizing it. Or maybe he did. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in the way his jaw clenched every time Gina smirked at him.

"You two going at it again?" Sophie grinned, tilting her wine glass toward them. "It's like sexual tension meets a boxing match."

Gina raised an eyebrow but didn't deny it. "Max just likes to think he's better than me at everything."

"Am I wrong?" Max teased, leaning forward just enough to let the muscles in his arm flex. "I mean, I've never seen you win."

Gina chuckled softly, swirling the wine in her glass. "That's cute. You wish you could beat me."

Max's lips curled into a grin. "Wanna put your money where that smart little mouth is?"

"Oh?" Gina's eyes lit up, amused and dangerous. "Is that a challenge?"

The room hushed slightly -- not completely quiet, but charged. Their friends knew this rhythm. Gina and Max had danced this line before: teasing, daring, baiting. But something about tonight felt... sharper.

"I say we settle this," Max said, sitting up. "Right now. One-on-one. Winner takes all."

"Define 'all,'" Gina said, crossing one leg over the other slowly, her voice syrupy-sweet. "Because you know I won't settle for anything boring."

He smirked. "Fine. Loser has to clean the winner's room."

"In underwear," she added instantly, eyes locked on his.

A beat. Then--

"Deal," he said, without blinking.

Sophie let out a whistle. "Okay, damn."

"Shake on it," Gina said, holding out her hand.

Max took it. Her grip was firm, her fingers cool -- or maybe it was just the electric way his skin reacted to hers.

"We need a challenge," Nienke said, already halfway to the kitchen. "Let's keep it physical. Ice water, maybe? Classic pain endurance."

Five minutes later, a large bowl sat between them, filled with ice cubes and water cold enough to sting on contact. Max and Gina sat face to face, sleeves rolled, arms bare, knees nearly touching beneath the table.

"First to pull out loses," said Sophie, phone in hand, ready to time them. "On my count. Three, two, one--go!"

Two splashes. Both hands disappeared into the freezing water.

Max flinched slightly, more out of surprise than pain. Gina didn't move at all. Her eyes stayed fixed on his face, watching him closely.

"Feeling the heat?" she asked, voice low and teasing.

He laughed through clenched teeth. "I'm not the one squirming."

"Oh, baby," she purred, "you'll know when I start to squirm."

He bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. Around them, the others watched like they were witnessing the beginning of a storm -- a slow-brewing clash of ego and tension neither of them would back down from.

One minute passed. Then two.

Max's biceps twitched. Gina noticed, of course.

"You can quit," she said softly. "I won't judge you. Much."

He raised an eyebrow. "Tempting. You cleaning my room in a thong? Might be worth the loss."

"You assume I wear thongs."

His breath caught slightly -- just for a second -- and Gina saw it.

"Still in?" he asked, deflecting.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," she said, licking a drop of wine from her bottom lip.

At two minutes and fifteen seconds, Max lifted his hand out of the bowl. Slowly. Deliberately. Almost like it didn't matter.

"I'm bored," he said with a grin. "Let's save my hands for something better."

Laughter erupted around them. But Gina didn't laugh. She just slowly pulled her hand from the icy water and dried it on a towel.

"So," she said, locking eyes with him. "That's 1--0."

Max leaned back, tilting his head. "First round. You haven't won the war yet."

"I only need one good victory," she said with a smile that was more promise than threat. "And don't worry -- I'll give you something fun to clean up."

He laughed, but there was heat behind it now. Interest. Maybe even curiosity.

The room moved on -- drinks refilled, music turned up -- but between Gina and Max, the energy lingered. Something had started. Something dangerous, thrilling, and just slightly wicked.

And they both knew it wasn't going to stop here.

Chapter 2 -- Raising the Stakes

The air in Sophie's apartment had shifted. It wasn't just the alcohol or the music that made everything feel heavier, more charged -- it was the unspoken current between Gina and Max, a steady hum just below the surface. Their friends felt it too. Glances were exchanged. Smirks passed across faces. No one said anything directly... yet.

The game resumed. Cards Against Humanity, loud laughter, innuendos flying around like sparks. But Gina and Max were circling each other like opposing magnets -- neither able to pull away.

Gina lounged on the couch now, one leg draped over the armrest, her tank top riding just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach. She sipped her drink slowly, lazily, her eyes occasionally drifting toward Max.

Max was by the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a beer in hand. His posture was calm, but he hadn't stopped watching her since the ice water bet.

"Okay, wait," said Sophie, holding up her hands dramatically. "I'm sorry, but we can't just pretend that didn't happen."

Gina arched a brow. "Pretend what didn't happen?"

Sophie pointed between her and Max. "That. The intense eye contact. The tension. The whole power play over a bowl of ice. You guys are basically dry-humping each other with your eyes."

Gina didn't deny it. She smiled slowly, like she'd been waiting for someone to say it. "Maybe we just like to keep things interesting."

Max raised his beer in mock toast. "It's more fun when the stakes are real."

"Oh?" Sophie grinned. "Then raise them."

A hush fell over the group.

Gina turned her head toward Max. "You game?"

Max took a slow sip from his bottle. "Always."

Gina sat up straighter, her eyes glittering now. "Alright. You lost round one. Still time to make it even. But let's make it... worth it."

Max tilted his head. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Gina leaned forward slightly, voice lower, slower. "Loser of the next challenge... has to clean the other's room. Still in underwear. Still humiliated."

He grinned. "Not exactly terrifying."

She shrugged. "Then maybe we go further."

Sophie gasped with mock drama. "Further? How further?"

Gina let the silence sit for a moment. "Loser... becomes the winner's personal servant. For one day."

"Ohhh shit," said Nienke, leaning in.

"Like... bringing drinks? Doing chores?" someone else asked.

Gina's smile widened. "No. Like anything. No limits. One full day. The winner picks when. The loser obeys."

There was a moment of shocked silence.

Then Max laughed. But not mockingly -- more like a low, surprised exhale. "You're insane."

"I'm confident," she replied.

His grin was slower now, more deliberate. "Alright. You want to play dirty? Fine. I accept."

"Of course you do."

"Wait--" Sophie interrupted. "Are there rules to this? No limits sounds... like someone's going to end up in jail."

"No physical harm, no permanent damage," Gina said smoothly. "Other than that... full creative control."

Max held out his hand again. "Let's make it official."

Their hands met, firmer this time. Longer.

Gina's fingers didn't let go right away. "Hope you're comfortable being naked, Max."

He leaned in just slightly. "Hope you're comfortable being owned."

The group was buzzing now -- amused, shocked, definitely curious. But under it all was something real, something tangible.

This wasn't just a bet anymore. This was something else.

Something electric.

Chapter 3 -- Mind Games

The morning after was quiet. The kind of quiet that followed a night that went just far enough to linger in people's heads, but not far enough to be called out loud.

Messages buzzed in the group chat. Memes. A blurry photo of Max and Gina shaking hands with dramatic captions. No one mentioned the bet directly, but everyone remembered it.

Especially them.

A Week Later

Gina showed up to movie night wearing his hoodie.

It wasn't even subtle. Oversized, dark grey, the sleeves covering her hands completely. She didn't say a word about it. She just sank into the couch, tugged the hood up, and smirked every time Max looked at her. Which was often.

"I think that's Max's," Sophie whispered.

"Oh, I know it is," Nienke replied. "She's playing with him."

Max didn't ask. He just sat opposite her, arms folded across his chest, jaw tight. The hoodie had once hung loose on him. On Gina, it swallowed her entirely. She looked comfortable in it. Too comfortable.

Psychological warfare: activated.

The Challenge

The idea came from Max, two days later. He showed up to Sophie's with a smirk and a backpack.

"Since it's tied 1--0," he said, "I figured we do something objective this time. No endurance. No tricks. Just skill."

"What's the challenge?" Gina asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

He pulled out a stack of blank cards, markers, and a stopwatch.

"Dirty Charades," he said. "You and me. Ten rounds each. Team with the most guesses wins. You act, I guess. Then we switch. Your friends will time and judge. Loser... becomes the other's slave. You know the drill."

Gina raised an eyebrow. "So I have to act out things like... 'Reverse Cowgirl' in front of our friends?"

"Yup."

She laughed. "You're on."

The others, now fully invested, jumped in eagerly. Teams were made. The markers came out. Words like 'Handcuffs', 'Dirty Talk', 'Threesome', and 'Butt Plug' were scribbled down with giddy laughter.

Gina went first. The moment she stood in the center of the room and dropped into a full squat to mime 'Riding', Max lost focus.

She didn't just act. She performed.

She made eye contact. She bit her lip. She mimicked motion with just enough subtlety to blur the line between tease and torment.

Max guessed wrong.

Again.

And again.

By the end of her turn, she'd gotten 8 out of 10.

His turn? 5.

"I'm just saying," Nienke said, as Max flopped onto the couch in defeat. "You might have gotten distracted."

Gina leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes glittering.

Max looked up at her.

"So... that's it," he said slowly. "I lost."

"You did," she said. "And you agreed. One full day. No rules. No clothes. My slave."

Max exhaled through his nose. "Fuck."

Gina smiled sweetly. "You should be flattered. I have plans."

Chapter 4 -- The Day

Saturday -- 9:58 AM

Max stood outside Gina's door, breathing slowly, trying to slow the pounding in his chest. His hoodie was zipped up, his legs bare beneath a pair of loose shorts. But everything underneath?

Gone.

She had made it very clear in her message:

"No clothes. The moment you walk in, you're mine. No hesitation. No complaints."

He didn't know what was worse -- the not knowing who might be there... or knowing exactly what she was capable of when she was given control.

He knocked.

The door opened with practiced slowness.

Gina leaned against the frame, sipping from a mug, looking utterly at ease. Her oversized shirt slid off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"You're late," she said.

Max tried to play it off. "Clock says 10:00."

"My rules," she said smoothly. "That means you're late."

Her tone was light, but her presence was absolute.

"Come in."

Max stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him with the quiet finality of a trap springing closed.

"Strip," she said.

He hesitated.

"Now."

Her voice didn't rise, but the shift in it was unmistakable -- not playful anymore. Commanding. Inevitable.

He reached for the zipper of his hoodie and pulled it down slowly. His hands trembled slightly. She watched him like a predator waiting for a deer to step into the clearing.

When the hoodie hit the floor, Gina's smile deepened.

"No boxers?"

"You said no clothes."

"I did," she said, pleased. "And you listened. Good boy."

He flinched slightly at the phrase. She noticed.

"Hands behind your back. Stand up straight. You don't slouch in front of your superior."

Max obeyed -- not because he wanted to, but because some part of him had to.

She circled him slowly, her bare feet silent on the floor. She made no effort to hide the way her eyes moved across his body -- inspecting, judging, owning.

"You look nervous," she murmured.

"I'm not."

She laughed. "You will be."

10:04 AM.

The doorbell rang.

Max's blood turned cold.

"Gina--"

She held up a finger without looking at him. "Shhh."

She opened the door. Three voices.

Sophie. Nienke. Zoë.

They stepped in, chatting casually -- until they saw Max.

Naked.

Still. Hands behind his back. Shoulders rigid with the tension of someone trapped in a nightmare.

The room froze for two beats of a heart.

Then laughter -- sharp, surprised, delighted.

"Oh. My. God," said Sophie.

"This is real?" asked Zoë, eyes wide with wicked glee.

"Gina, you bitch," Nienke laughed. "This is evil. I love it."

Max felt the heat climb up his neck, into his face, burning behind his ears. He glanced away instinctively, but Gina stepped forward and placed a hand under his chin.

"Look at them," she said softly, but firmly. "Let them see what you are today."

He obeyed.

Sophie leaned into Nienke, whispering something that made them both snort. Zoë just kept staring at him, eyes dragging slowly downward in open appraisal.

Gina turned to the group. "He belongs to me for the day. No clothes, no will, no pride. Just obedience."

Max wanted the floor to swallow him whole. But he didn't move. Didn't speak.

Because she hadn't told him to.

"On your knees," she said, like it was the most natural command in the world.

He dropped.

Gina stepped behind him and slowly rested her fingers on his shoulders. "Look at that posture. Still tense. Still fighting it."

Her tone was calm -- not angry, not mocking -- but the control behind it was unshakable.

Then, to the girls: "Let's begin. I made a list of tasks. You're all welcome to add to it."

Nienke clapped. "He does everything, right?"

"Oh, absolutely," Gina said. "With good manners. And gratitude."

She turned to Max. "Repeat after me."

He clenched his jaw.

"Say: 'Yes, Miss Gina. I will obey. Thank you for the privilege.'"

Max's face twisted, but he spoke.

"... Yes, Miss Gina. I will obey. Thank you for the privilege."

The girls howled with laughter.

"Oh my god, he means it!" Zoë gasped.

"Say it again," Gina said. "With eye contact this time."

He did.

"Louder."

He obeyed again -- louder, clearer, humiliated to the bone.

Gina leaned down and whispered, just for him:

"You don't hate this as much as you pretend to."

And she was right. That's what made it worse.

Later That Morning

By 11:38 AM, Max had stopped tracking time. Time didn't belong to him anymore.

He wasn't allowed to ask questions. He wasn't allowed to speak unless spoken to. His thoughts, his comfort, his embarrassment -- none of it mattered. What mattered was obedience. And the echo of laughter from the couch reminded him of it constantly.

He knelt on the hardwood floor, his knees already sore. A toothbrush clutched in his hand, bristles worn down from scrubbing baseboards.

The girls lounged above him like queens.

Sophie was scrolling through her phone, occasionally glancing down at him with that smirk she used when someone spilled red wine on their shirt. Zoë had her feet up on the armrest, casually tossing popcorn into her mouth, one kernel at a time. Nienke? She was the worst. Every few minutes she "accidentally" dropped something -- a napkin, a cushion, her water bottle -- and would say, sweet as honey:

"Oops. Max, be a dear?"

Gina didn't stop them. She encouraged it.

She had taken the soft couch pillow and placed it on the floor in front of her. Then she'd tapped it with her toe.

"Kneel here," she had said, and he had obeyed without hesitation.

She'd rested her legs across his thighs. Not in a casual, lazy way -- but in the precise, calculated manner of someone who knew how to command with even the smallest movements.

"Perfect," she had said, using him like living furniture. "Now don't squirm. I like stability."

He sat stone-still beneath her, eyes on the floor.

Sophie had giggled. "He's literally a footrest."

"No," Gina said calmly. "He's my footrest."

Chapter 5 -- The Breaking Point

1:14 PM

The apartment had quieted.

Not silent -- the occasional clink of a glass, the soft shuffle of bare feet, the hum of the music still low in the background -- but the tone had shifted.

The girls had stopped giggling.

They were still there, of course -- Sophie lounging with her legs folded under her, Zoë halfway through a cocktail Gina had asked Max to mix (twice), and Nienke now scrolling through photos on her phone, clearly holding something back from the screen.

But no one was laughing anymore.

They were watching.

Because Max had stopped faking composure.

He was back on his knees.

The sticky note had fallen off earlier. Gina had replaced it with something worse.

A choker. Thin, black, velvet. Something she had pulled casually from a drawer and buckled around his neck like it belonged there.

No explanation.

No announcement.

She had simply walked over, reached behind his neck, fastened it, and whispered:

"Now you look how you feel."

He hadn't argued.

He hadn't spoken at all.

Gina had told him that speaking out of turn now required permission.

One mistake, and the punishment wouldn't be just embarrassment.

She hadn't said what it would be. She didn't need to.

Max was learning the rules by feeling them.

1:19 PM -- The Command

"Crawl," Gina said, barely above a whisper.

Max turned his head slightly. "To where?"

She looked down at him. "To me. But not like a person. Like a pet."

Something in him tightened.

And then gave way.

He dropped to his hands. Then his elbows.

Lower.

The floor was cool against his skin as he dragged himself across the hardwood on his forearms and knees. He didn't look up. He didn't have permission.

He heard one of the girls shift -- Nienke, probably. She exhaled, almost in awe.

When he reached her, Gina placed her foot gently beneath his chin and lifted it until his eyes met hers.

There was no mockery in her face.

No grin.

Just stillness. Power.

"You're very quiet," she said.

He swallowed.

"Do you know why?"

Max's throat was dry. "Because I'm yours."

The words came out softer than he expected. Almost... calm.

Almost true.

Gina tilted her head. "Louder."

"Because I'm yours," he repeated.

"You are," she said, removing her foot. "And today, you're not pretending."

1:32 PM -- The Lesson

He was cleaning the floor with a cloth, one section at a time. Gina sat nearby, reading aloud from a list.

Her voice was crisp, casual.

"For every mistake, you lose the right to use a word. When you've lost five, you crawl. When you lose ten, you don't speak unless ordered."

She looked up. "How many words have you lost so far, Max?"

He stopped cleaning. Counted silently.

"Seven."

"That's three away from being mute."

He nodded.

She didn't say anything else.

He went back to scrubbing.

At one point, Sophie had whispered something to Zoë. They both looked at Max.

He'd heard it -- a barely contained "God, imagine if someone walked in right now."

That should've terrified him.

Instead, it made something deep in his chest twist in a way he couldn't quite name.

Shame?

Excitement?

Obedience?

He wasn't sure anymore where one ended and the other began.

1:50 PM -- The Line

It was a simple question.

Gina had asked it as she stood behind him, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the other holding the choker's soft edge between her fingers.

"Do you feel humiliated?"

Max didn't answer right away.

He couldn't.

Not because he was afraid to speak -- but because he wasn't sure what the answer was anymore.

"Yes," he said at last.

Gina crouched beside him, her voice low and close.

"Do you want me to stop?"

He turned to her.

His eyes weren't hard anymore. Weren't defiant.

They were uncertain. Honest.

"No," he said.

Gina smiled.

But this smile was different.

Not victorious.

Not smug.

It was soft. Almost affectionate.

She leaned in and whispered so only he could hear:

"Then I won't. You're mine. And now we both know you want to be."

Chapter 6 -- Public Property

2:10 PM

The choker stayed on.

No one mentioned it anymore.

No one needed to.

By now, Max wasn't just playing along. He wasn't performing. The resistance was gone. Every movement -- every obedient crawl, every whispered "Yes, Miss Gina" -- was real.

And Gina?

She thrived on it.

She didn't shout. She didn't raise her voice or act dramatic.

She just owned the room -- and everyone in it knew it.

Including Max.

Especially Max.

2:14 PM -- The Task

"We're going to do a little exercise," Gina said, rising from the couch with her usual, effortless grace. She looked refreshed, in control, like she'd just returned from a spa.

Max knelt on the rug, naked, the choker snug around his neck, hands resting on his thighs just like she'd taught him: palms up, shoulders open.

She looked down at him. "You're going to crawl to each girl in the room and ask them if they would like their feet massaged."

His stomach dropped. Just enough to feel it.

"I want you to make eye contact. Speak clearly. Say, 'Miss [Name], may I please massage your feet?' And thank them when they answer, no matter what."

He hesitated -- just a flicker.

Her gaze darkened, but she didn't move. "Was that unclear?"

"No, Miss Gina."

"Then begin."

2:16 PM -- The Circuit

He turned to Sophie first. She watched him approach with her chin resting on her palm.

He bowed his head slightly, looked up at her, and said -- just as instructed:

"Miss Sophie, may I please massage your feet?"

She blinked, amused. "Hmm... sure. Let's see what you've got."

Max crawled to the edge of the couch and sat cross-legged before her. She kicked off her slippers and propped her feet up on his thighs.

They were soft. Painted. Slightly cold.

She didn't speak. She just watched him. Closely. Like he was something being tested.

After a minute, she said, "You're good at this. Kinda scary how natural it looks."

He didn't respond.

Because Gina hadn't told him to.

"Say thank you," she added, smirking.

"Thank you, Miss Sophie."

He moved on.

Next: Zoë.

Same words. Same ritual. But Zoë didn't smile.

She stared.

Unblinking.

Then, without a word, she slowly slid her sock off and lifted her bare foot to his chest.

"Higher," she said.

He raised it, silently.

She rested her heel just under the edge of the choker.

Deliberate.

Symbolic.

He massaged her in silence while her foot pressed lightly against the base of his throat.

When she finally pulled away, she whispered:

"You were made for this."

Nienke was last.

She waited until he finished speaking.

Then burst out laughing.

"Oh my god, this is unreal."

Max held the position -- on his knees, hands resting on the carpet, face burning.

"I can't believe you're doing this," she said. "Like... actually doing this. Naked. Collared. Serving us."

Then she grinned and dropped her feet into his lap. "Fine. Impress me."

He didn't flinch.

He massaged. Slowly. Carefully. Just as Gina had taught him.

After a few moments, Nienke said: "Repeat what you said earlier. The whole thing."

He hesitated. Then obeyed.

"Miss Nienke, may I please massage your feet?"

"Louder. I want the neighbors to hear."

He repeated it, louder. Voice cracking at the edge.

"Now thank me."

"Thank you, Miss Nienke."

"Add: 'for allowing me to be beneath you.'"

He obeyed.

No one laughed this time.

Because this wasn't a joke anymore.

2:38 PM -- The Mark

Gina called him back to her.

He returned to his spot -- knees spread, spine straight, eyes lowered.

She looked pleased. Calm. Almost affectionate.

"You're doing so well," she said. "I think you're ready."

He didn't ask for what.

He didn't need to.

She walked to the table, picked up a black Sharpie, and returned to him.

"Forehead," she said, tapping it gently.

He leaned forward.

She wrote slowly, deliberately.

One bold word.

When she stepped back, the girls leaned in to read it.

"MINE."

All caps. Right across the center.

Zoë gasped.

Sophie whispered, "Gina... holy fuck."

Max didn't move.

He just closed his eyes.

The humiliation was complete.

The surrender, deeper than he'd imagined possible.

3:00 PM -- The Pause

The girls started talking again -- stories, gossip, casual laughter -- as if the room didn't have a kneeling, naked, marked man sitting silently in the middle of it.

Max became furniture again.

Invisible.

And somehow, that was the most humiliating part of all.

They weren't mocking him anymore.

They were using him.

They had accepted what he was.

And worst of all?

So had he.

Chapter 7 -- Nothing Remains

3:12 PM

The air in the room had stopped moving.

Max -- naked, trembling, and silent -- knelt before four women who no longer looked at him as a peer, or even a person.

Miss Sophie.

Miss Zoë.

Miss Nienke.

Miss Gina.

They weren't judging him anymore. That would imply he still had something to lose.

No -- they were finalizing him.

Polishing off the remains of his pride like the last smudge wiped from a mirror.

Gina's Voice: Cool. Certain.

"One task from each of us. No limits. No escape. This isn't punishment."

She stepped closer.

"This is transformation."

Max nodded, throat dry.

"Yes, Miss Gina."

Task 1 -- Miss Sophie: "Undo Yourself"

Sophie crossed her legs slowly, tilting her head.

"Sit. Legs crossed. Look at each of us. And explain why you're beneath us. Not with facts. With truth. Humble yourself, or we'll do it for you."

Max sat where she pointed, naked, small, exposed.

He looked up at them one by one, his voice low but steady.

"I'm not your equal. I never was. You're smarter. You're stronger. You're worth more. I've lived in the illusion of confidence. But it was fake. I'm not a man. I'm not even useful unless I'm beneath you."

"Keep going," Sophie said. "Say what you are."

"I'm not Max anymore," he said. "I'm nothing. I exist to serve. I feel shame, because I need this. And I need this... because it's the only time I'm honest."

The silence after was heavy. Satisfying.

Sophie gave a slow nod.

"Accepted."

Task 2 -- Miss Zoë: "Describe Your Worthlessness"

Zoë didn't move from her seat. She just looked Max up and down -- like a critic assessing something cheap and mass-produced.

"Stand. Hands at your sides. Speak loudly."

He stood.

Zoë pointed at his chest.

"Start there. Work your way down. List what makes it pathetic."

Max stared forward, voice cracking.

"My chest is soft. Weak. Not built. Barely shaped."

"Next."

"My stomach's not flat. Not firm. Just... awkward."

"Louder."

"My arms are average. Useless. I'm not strong. Just wide."

"Below," she said.

He flinched.

"My... my cock is small. Shrinks when I'm nervous. It's not impressive."

"Call it what it is."

He swallowed.

"My dick is... humiliating."

"Again."

"My dick is humiliating."

Zoë nodded.

"Now say what the rest of your body exists for."

Max's voice dropped to a whisper.

"To serve. To kneel. To be used."

"Exactly," she said, looking pleased. "Now kneel again. We're not done."

Task 3 -- Miss Nienke: "Fifty for the Fall"

Nienke stood.

No sarcasm this time. Just command.

She dragged a low chair to the middle of the room and sat down.

"Over my lap. Face down. Wheelbarrow."

Max crawled forward.

Gina helped lift his legs -- up and back -- so that his body stretched downward, supported only by Nienke's thighs and his own trembling arms.

His face hovered inches from the floor.

His ass, exposed, flushed, waiting.

"You'll count all 50. If you flinch or beg or cry out?" Nienke smiled coldly. "We start again."

CRACK.

"One, Miss Nienke."

CRACK.

"Two..."

By ten, the pain burned.

By twenty, tears blurred his vision.

At thirty, he was shaking, hands slipping on the floor from sweat.

Nienke paused, tracing the outline of a bruise with her finger.

"Still breathing?"

"... Yes, Miss Nienke."

"Good."

CRACK.

"Thirty-one..."

By forty, he was sobbing silently.

By fifty, his voice was hoarse.

But he said it:

"Fifty, Miss Nienke."

She dropped his legs. Let him fall forward.

Gina knelt next to him. Whispered:

"Your body belongs to our hands now."

Task 4 -- Miss Gina: "The Final Seal"

The room was still.

Max remained collapsed on the floor -- red, raw, wordless.

Gina stood and walked to her bag.

She returned with a small black buttplug -- elegant, smooth, unmistakable in its purpose.

The room felt heavier.

"This isn't a toy," she said. "This is a seal."

She held it in both hands.

"When this enters you, there's no going back. You are not Max. You are not a man. You are a collared, plug-filled, broken thing owned by four superior women."

Max didn't speak.

Gina turned to the others.

"Say his name."

One by one:

"Nothing," Sophie said.

"Nothing," Zoë followed.

"Nothing,," Nienke confirmed.

Gina knelt.

"You will kneel, legs apart. Hands behind your head. Stay still. Say only one word if it hurts -- but say it like it excites you."

He moved into position.

Shaking.

Exposed in the worst way.

She knelt behind him. Pressed one hand gently on his lower back, the other guiding the plug.

And pushed.

It slid in slowly.

Max's breath caught.

He didn't cry out -- not in pain, not in fear.

Just one word, soft:

"Please...."

And it was in.

His whole body stiffened.

And then... released.

Gina fastened a leather strap around his thigh, connecting the plug in place with a silver chain to his collar.

Complete.

She stood.

"He is sealed."

Then turned to him.

"Kneel. Speak."

Max lowered his head.

"... Thank you, Miss Gina.

Thank you, Miss Sophie.

Thank you, Miss Zoë.

Thank you, Miss Nienke.

I am Nothing."

And this time...

Everyone believed it.

Chapter 8 -- The 25th Hour

Where Power Becomes Love

The sun had risen fully now, casting pale light across the hardwood floor. Max sat curled in the corner of Gina's bedroom, still collared, still dressed in the black bodysuit she'd chosen for him. He looked like a shadow of the man he used to be -- but it wasn't shame holding him there.

It was choice.

The clock read 10:01 AM.

Exactly twenty-four hours.

The deal was complete.

Gina stood quietly in the doorway, watching him. Barefoot, unarmored, her eyes didn't carry the same icy command as the night before. She looked... almost uncertain. Not like a woman who had broken someone.

But like a woman who didn't want to let someone go.

She stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence stretched between them, thick but unthreatening. She glanced toward the digital numbers glowing on the nightstand.

"It's been twenty-four hours," she said, her voice steady but thin.

Max nodded but didn't speak.

"You're free to go."

She didn't say it like a dismissal.

She said it like a dare.

He didn't move. He couldn't.

Because something inside him knew -- going now would hurt more than staying ever did.

Slowly, he crawled across the floor. Not like a submissive this time. Just a man stripped down to something raw and real. When he reached her, he rested his head against her knee and exhaled, deep and shaky.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "Not unless you tell me to."

For a moment, she didn't move.

Then, her hand drifted into his hair, brushing it gently back from his forehead. Her fingers paused there. Her breath caught.

And for the first time since all this began, her voice cracked.

"I didn't think I'd care what happened after," she murmured. "I thought I just wanted control. Ownership. Something to bend. Break. Shape."

Max leaned into her touch. Her hand was warm, grounding. He closed his eyes.

"You got that," he said quietly. "But you got me too."

She laughed, just once -- dry and soft. "You idiot."

He looked up at her, slowly rising to his knees in front of her. And when their eyes met, something shifted. Not a surrender. Not a command.

An invitation.

"I love you," he said.

She blinked. No smile. No surprise. Just a breath, caught in her throat like a secret finally spoken aloud.

And then she nodded.

"I love you too."

He leaned forward.

And she didn't stop him.

Didn't guide him.

She met him halfway.

Their lips touched -- slow, warm, trembling. Not a kiss of lust or victory or dominance. But of relief. Of forgiveness. Of recognition.

When they broke, her hands slid from his face to the collar still locked around his throat.

She didn't remove it.

He didn't ask her to.

They lay down together on the bed -- tangled, quiet, wrapped in skin and breath and something neither of them had dared imagine at the beginning of this.

It wasn't submission anymore.

And it wasn't power.

It was belonging.

And when Max -- no, when he whispered, "Thank you for keeping me," she kissed him again, this time without hesitation.

Because Nothing had become hers.

And she had finally chosen to become his too.

Chapter 9 -- More Than Hers

Where Nothing Becomes Someone Again

The collar was still around his neck.

But she hadn't touched it in hours.

It was late afternoon now. The sun cast golden streaks across Gina's apartment, and everything was still. Calm. The world outside moved like it always had, but inside her walls, something new was being born.

Gina sat curled on the edge of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, cradling a warm mug in both hands. She wore an oversized hoodie -- Max's, ironically -- and looked every bit like someone who hadn't planned to fall in love.

Across from her, Max knelt.

But not in position.

He was just... on the floor. A pillow beneath him. Blanket over his shoulders. Still collared. Still quiet.

But the silence wasn't heavy anymore.

It was warm.

Familiar.

He looked up at her slowly.

"I feel different today," he said, voice low.

Gina tilted her head, sipping. "Different how?"

"Like I'm still yours... but also not broken. Like... something grew in the wreckage."

She smiled faintly. "It wasn't wreckage. You just let go."

He laughed softly. "Of what?"

"Pride. Fear. The story you used to tell yourself about what made you valuable."

He crawled forward and rested his head in her lap. She ran her fingers gently through his hair.

"I like this version of you," she whispered. "He doesn't hide."

He looked up at her. "Do you still want him to call you Miss?"

She considered that.

"No," she said after a moment. "Not right now."

And then, after a beat: "Call me Gina."

He smiled. "Hi, Gina."

She laughed.

"Hi, Max."

The word hit harder than either of them expected.

Max.

His name.

It had felt foreign yesterday -- a relic of a person who deserved to be stripped down.

But today? Today, it felt earned.

He sat up slowly, still close to her, and held her hand with both of his.

"I want to stay," he said. "Not just in this room. I mean, with you."

Gina looked at him -- really looked. No walls. No distance.

And then she leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time. Less afraid.

When she pulled back, she pressed her forehead to his and whispered:

"Stay. Be mine. Not just as Nothing. But as my boyfriend."

He nodded.

He didn't even think.

"I want that more than anything," he said. "To be yours. Not just when you control me. But when you love me."

She smiled softly, resting her hand over the collar.

"Then keep this on. But not because I command it. Because you want to."

He kissed her fingers.

"I want to. Gina. I want to be yours in every way."

She laughed again, and this time there was joy in it. Something young. Something real.

"God, we're such a weird couple."

"Yeah," Max grinned. "We're completely fucked up."

"Perfect."

That night, they curled into each other on her bed.

Not as Miss and slave.

Not as predator and prey.

Just Gina and Max.

Two people who had stripped each other bare -- and then, against all odds, decided to build something back up.

Together.

Chapter 10 -- All In the Open

The End Is the Beginning

The door to Sophie's apartment looked the same.

Same hallway. Same peeling paint near the buzzer. Same scuff marks from too many shoes on too many nights.

But for Max, it may as well have been the edge of a cliff.

He stood in front of it with his fingers laced through Gina's, his other hand fidgeting in his coat pocket. The collar was gone today -- physically, at least. What remained was invisible but unshakable: the choice to stay hers. To love her. To be seen.

She glanced at him sideways and squeezed his hand. "Last chance to turn around."

He met her eyes.

"I'm not hiding from them. Not anymore."

She nodded, proud. Then raised her hand and knocked.

Inside, voices. Laughter. Then the door swung open, and there was Zoë -- barefoot, drink in hand, eyes flicking between them.

Her brows rose.

"Well well. Look who's... still alive."

Gina stepped in first. Max followed, heartbeat loud in his ears.

Sophie spotted them from the couch and stood. Nienke froze mid-pour in the kitchen. For a second, no one spoke.

Max cleared his throat. "Hey."

Sophie tilted her head. "You okay?"

"Better than okay," he said. He reached for Gina's hand again -- held it openly, plainly. "We're... together. Not just... that day. I mean really."

Gina gave a small nod. "Boyfriend and girlfriend. Not play. Not pretend."

The silence was thick. Not judgment -- just surprise.

Zoë let out a breath first. "Shit."

Then laughed softly. "That's kind of hot."

Sophie blinked, then grinned. "And... kind of sweet?"

Nienke smirked and raised her glass. "I mean, I pegged it from day one."

Max laughed -- really laughed -- and Gina pressed her shoulder into his.

Sophie motioned for them to sit. "Okay, but like... tell us everything."

He looked to Gina. She gave him the tiniest nod.

So he sat down. Took a breath.

And told them the truth.

About the challenge.

The surrender.

The aftermath.

And the love that had risen from it like a hand reaching through fire.

Later, as the evening wore on, Max stepped out onto the balcony alone. The city was quiet. Breezy. He breathed it in -- the fresh air, the memory of cold tile beneath his knees, the echo of his own voice whispering "Nothing."

He smiled.

He wasn't nothing anymore.

He was hers.

And she was his.

The door creaked behind him. Gina's arms slid around his waist from behind.

"You did good," she said softly.

He leaned back into her. "We did."

Then he turned, and kissed her -- not out of obedience.

But out of love.

Real. Messy. Fierce.

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other beneath the city sky, Max knew:

The story didn't end with surrender.

It began with it.