The Shift
He didn’t always use the power. That was the trick. Days would go by with nothing more than a smirk or a wink that said, I could. That tension kept me constantly alert. Constantly ready.
But living with Damien changed.
The next day, he moved into the master bedroom suite. I helped him. Moved my things into the smaller room without the private bathroom.
We’d always cooked together. Now he just told me what to cook—and disappeared while I did it. I cooked, served him, then cleaned up. After, we’d play video games together, just like we always had.
On what used to be our cleaning day he made plans with friends. He looked me up and down as he headed for the door. I stood there in my underwear, dust mop in hand. I kept quiet. He left.
The changes were all like that at first. He’d tell me when to be home and when I was allowed to leave. It was strange how quickly we adapted to this new situation. It felt natural, at least to me. Our relationship had shifted. He didn’t bring up the woods, he didn’t need to.
About two weeks into this new arrangement, I was up early cleaning my room and the common areas. Damien’s door was shut. I wasn’t allowed into his room or his bathroom until after he got up.
Around noon I heard him stir and his shower come on. I checked; he’d cracked the door to his bedroom. I knocked lightly. “Do you mind if I start cleaning?” He didn’t answer, I assumed he was in the shower already and entered the room. One perk of the new arrangement was that he wasn’t shy about being naked in front of me.
“Sorry about the mess.” He said from the bathroom. He smiled as he stripped off his boxers and tossed them to me and stepped into the shower. “You can keep those.”
I almost laughed. The confidence. He knew I was addicted to his musk. I just nodded and said, “Thank you.” Then I pressed them to my nose before tucking them into my pocket.
“What time do you need me tonight? I was hoping to meet Lili and Stu for dinner.”
He didn’t answer. I began cleaning as he showered. I started to make his bed. As I straightened the sheets, a notebook fell out and hit the floor. I picked it up recognizing his precise script immediately.
September 26, 2015. That was the night. The date jolted me, and I wanted to keep reading. I heard him step out of the shower. I closed the notebook and set it on his nightstand. I felt his eyes on me.
I turned to find him standing there naked and dripping wet.
“Bring me a fresh towel.” I stood there. “Hurry up.”
I ran to the linen closet, then to him. I started to hand him the towel but he held his arms out. I began to dry him off. Tentative. Not sure what to expect.
“What were you saying? You want to go out tonight?”
“Um, yeah, I was going to meet my old co-worker and her husband for dinner.”
“You’ll never get me dry like that.” I stepped closer, pressed harder, made sure he was dry. I had to get on my knees to dry his legs and feet.
“I have a date tonight and want you here when we get back. Make sure you have the place clean and the bar stocked by 9.”
I looked up at him, “Thank you.”
He stepped away without another word and got dressed. When I heard the front door close, I looked to see if the notebook was still there. It wasn’t.
No other information about why I needed to be home. Even before, he’d never made a point of introducing me to his dates. Maybe he wanted me to bartend. Having a roommate that bartended, that wouldn’t be too strange. That was probably it.
I was home at 8:45.
At 10:15 they walked in. Both were a little boisterous from happy hour but clearly not wasted. I’d seen him with this guy before. Some friend from his gym—tall, broad, jock-ish. The kind of guy who intimidates me. The kind of guy I wanted to crawl for.
“Dylan, this is my roommate, Steve.” Damien said. I held out my hand. The boy looked at it, then at Damien, then smirked. I knew immediately. He’d told this guy what I was. He fist bumped my outstretched hand then walked to the couch and sat down next to Damien--in my seat.
“I want a whisky.” Damien said as he was starting up the gaming consol. “He wants a beer.” I didn’t know what to do so I went to the kitchen and made their drinks and brought them back, setting them on coasters on the coffee table. Neither said thanks.
I sat down on the arm of the couch, trying not to fidget too obviously, while they talked and laughed and traded stories. I wasn’t part of the conversation. I wasn’t supposed to be.
After about an hour, Damien paused the game. He looked over at me, then leaned toward his friend. “Wanna see something wild?”
Dylan laughed. “Sure. What, like a party trick?”
Damien’s eyes locked on mine. And my stomach dropped.
“Watch this,” he said.
I knew the tone. My mouth went dry.
Then he said it—casual, like he was asking someone to pass the salt:
“Present.”
I felt the air leave my lungs. My skin flushed with heat. The command hit like a trigger.
I stood slowly. My hands didn’t shake—yet—but my heart beat like a drum. I slid my shirt over my head, then undid the drawstring of my shorts. They hit the floor. I stepped out of them. Standing in my boxer briefs, I snuck a look at the two of them. Damien’s face didn’t change; he just waited. Dylan looked expectant, like watching a movie where you don’t know what comes next.
I moved to the open space on the rug and lowered my underwear. Then dropped to my knees. I heard Damien hush Dylan. Damien knew the show wasn’t over. I dropped to all fours then lowered my head until my forehead touched. I arched my back. My ass lifted. Exposed. Vulnerable. Owned.
Silence, for a moment. Then Damien’s voice, low and pleased:
“See? Told you.”
Dylan let out a stunned laugh. “Holy sh—are you serious?”
I stayed frozen, burning with humiliation and pride at the same time. Every nerve in my body sang.
Damien walked around me, brushing his fingers lightly across my lower back. “He’ll do it whenever I say. Any time. Anywhere.”
Dylan whistled. “Dude. That’s insane.”
Damien leaned down close to my ear and whispered, “You love this, don’t you?”
I nodded. Couldn’t help it.
He pressed a palm between my shoulder blades, holding me in place.
“I didn’t break him,” he said to his friend, “He just showed me what he was.”
I stayed perfectly still while Damien and Dylan exchanged looks. It felt like forever.
Finally, Dylan let out a breath, half stunned, half amused. “Okay… that’s unreal, man. I thought you meant he was into cleaning but this…” he let the sentence drift off. “What else will he do?”
Damien smirked. “Pretty much anything I tell him.”
That sentence lit a fire in my chest, a strange ache in the gut that made me want to whimper.
Damien turned back to me. “Crawl.”
I didn’t hesitate. I started moving slowly across the rug, knees and hands pressing into the fibers, every inch of my skin aware that they were watching. The sound of my own breath filled my ears.
“Slower,” Damien said. “Make him see it.”
I obeyed—hips swaying slightly with each movement.
Behind me, Dylan laughed, but it wasn’t mocking now. There was something darker in it. Curious. Aroused.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “He really does whatever you say.”
Damien chuckled. “Watch this.”
He raised his voice. “Beg.”
I froze for a second—just long enough to feel the weight of it—and then lowered my forehead to the floor again.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please let me serve. Please tell me what to do. I need it.”
My voice shook.
Dylan exhaled sharply. “Holy shit…”
There was a pause. The room felt hotter. Thicker.
Then he asked, “Can I... try?”
Damien didn’t even hesitate. “Sure.” He said turning to me, “Obey Dylan.” Then to Dylan. “Use him, for now.”
Something electric surged through me. For now. The words hit hard.
Dylan stood, walked around me slowly, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. Then his voice, rougher now:
“Stay like that.”
I did.
“Look at me.”
I lifted my head, staying low. My eyes locking with his for the first time since I stripped. He was flushed, wide-eyed.
He stepped closer, eyes dragging over me like he was trying to figure out if this was real. Then he said:
“Say it again. That you want to serve.”
“Please. Use me. However you want. I need it.”
He swallowed hard, gaze flicking to Damien, who just gave a slow nod of approval.
And in that moment, I wasn’t just a submissive, I was a gift. Given. Displayed. Shared.
“Really?” Dylan said, voice hushed, almost laughing. “You’re not kidding?”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m kidding?”
Dylan looked at me, then back at Damien. He lit up like someone who’d been handed the keys to a car they’d never thought they’d drive.
“But he’s…will he?” Dylan indicated the bulge in his pants.
“I haven’t used him to get off since the night I fucked him in the woods, but he wants it.” Damien said. He stepped forward, voice dipping into that firm tone that made my chest tighten. “He lives for it.”
Damien circled behind me. I stayed still, already warm from the tension in the room.
“Sit up,” he said.
I moved instantly, folding back onto my knees, spine straight, hands resting palms-up on my thighs.
“Open your mouth.”
My lips parted, jaw slackening, tongue resting heavy in my mouth. It wasn’t even a thought—just instinct.
Dylan let out a shaky laugh. “Holy shit…”
Damien moved in front of me, fingers brushing his waistband. He slowly unzipped, just enough to give the suggestion—his body close, looming. My mouth stayed open. My eyes stayed forward. I was ready. I was his.
But Damien stopped.
He looked at Dylan.
Damien stepped back so that Dylan could take his place.
When Dylan reached for his jeans, Damien shook his head and gave me a nod. I crawled to Dylan. I stood on my knees. I undid Dylan’s pants and pulled them down to his thighs. He wore Jockey-brand tighty whities. His dick peeked out of the waistband. I looked up into his eyes as I took his cock out of his underwear and placed it in my mouth.
Damien whispered something in Dylan’s ear. Dylan grabbed my head and started thrusting. I felt my eyes water as I was choked by his cut cock. He wasn’t as big as Damien, but he was still big. I felt my own dick swell as Dylan used me.
When he came, his cum shot directly down my throat and he held my mouth against him. My lips pressed into the trimmed hair above his shaft as his dick continued to pump. I gagged, tears streamed from my eyes. His body shook one last time. He pulled out. Damien handed him my shirt; he used it to wipe off his cock, dropped it on the ground. He tucked himself away then pulled up his pants.
They left me on my knees. Dylan’s cum still coated my tongue. The room was empty now—except for the echo of their laughter and the weight of what had changed.
I felt it. I was his property.
And I wanted more
