Adulthood isn’t easy
Riccardo, Marco, and Francesca kept their word. They helped Tommy create profiles on Gay Romeo, Grindr… presenting himself for what he was: a psychiatrist, an empathetic person full of interests… but also a depraved slut.
Tommy was afraid to show his slutty side to a romantic partner, fearing he wouldn’t be understood. But he knew it made no sense to hide such a huge part of himself.
Riccardo, Marco, and Francesca encouraged him to go to gay bars that weren’t just BDSM-focused, to try meeting more "chill" guys… to let himself be known not just as a submissive slut.
Tommy was… cute. The confidence he’d found as a BDSM performer now made way, once again, for a vulnerability he hadn’t felt since he first stood naked before Belial.
His Masters found him absolutely sexy in his candor.
Of course, Tommy didn’t wear his slave uniform on first dates. He feared it might scare someone off if things ended up in bed. He didn’t open up to just anyone. If he sensed judgment about his kink, he didn’t mention that part of himself.
The dates weren’t bad! Tommy knew how to flirt even without power dynamics. He was funny, intelligent, brilliant, sweet.
Sure, his submissive side, though he hid it, always found a way to emerge. It didn’t take a genius to realize he craved being put in his place. Even vanilla guys picked up on it.
But he was so much more than that. Some guys mistook his "dog energy" for weakness. In those cases, Tommy sensed it immediately and distanced himself.
Some flings lasted a few months, others didn’t. Every now and then, he’d meet someone open to his kinky side; other times, not.
But he was less scared now.
Vanilla sex wasn’t a problem for him. If he liked the person, if there was connection, if there was joy, he could play that way too. After all, even in BDSM, he played with joy. It wasn’t so different. And the constants he loved (understatement) were still the male body and pleasing others. So he’d learned to serve with sweet sex too—both active, for those who appreciated his 8 inches (still intact despite years of chastity), and passive. And honestly, he liked it when someone penetrated him gently and caressed him while looking into his eyes. It reminded him of his Masters’ aftercare. In the end, he loved sweetness just as much as sadism.
Fortunately, his Masters had cast a spell on his ass, giving him superpowers: if someone was intimidated by Tommy’s cavernous hole, he could tighten it at will to a less intimidating size, one that even the shyest tops could enjoy. In the end, he’d landed on his feet.
But when he wanted to have fun and was single, he’d go to his BDSM bars—both gay and straight—and return to his comfort zone.
By now, sex was an ocean to him, and he swam through it effortlessly, from shallow waters to the abyss.
He’d grown stronger. He wasn’t sex-addicted. Sure, he had his network of fuck buddies of all kinds, plus his Masters, but his work responsibilities were growing. He was no longer a resident. He was a full-fledged psychiatrist, and the workload was heavy. Outside of work, he was involved in extra-curricular mental health projects. He knew part of his duty and mission was to serve not just his Masters, but the greater good.
He didn’t have a compulsive need to humiliate or degrade himself every day. He knew his loving, service-oriented essence was always within him, no matter what he did. He didn’t need to do anything extreme to feel it. Even with his Masters, time to see them was scarce now, but a simple affectionate call where they greeted him with, "Hi, slut, see you soon," made him feel seen. The joy and depravity of all their shared years were etched inside him.
Tommy had many other interests too. He read, played music, sang, studied sociology, did political activism, went to the theater.
He’d adopted a little dog named Karma, whom he loved fiercely. His paternal side and loving nature emerged in all their purity with her. She was joyful, mischievous, full of unconditional love, but also fearful (she’d been abused). Tommy connected with her on a deep, soulful level. She healed his soul’s wounds as he had healed his Masters’ and his patients’. In return, he cared for her with absolute love. When he regressed into his puppy self, he was vulnerable by choice; she was simply vulnerable. He didn’t feel superior to her—just connected to her, responsible for her.
In short, Tommy had grown up.
His submissive side was still strong, but it didn’t explode compulsively because it was integrated with all his other parts. He was adaptable.
Riccardo and Francesca got married, and a few years later, so did Marco and Federica. Tommy was the best man at both weddings.
Both couples had children. Of course, their kids knew nothing of the details of their relationship with Tommy, but Riccardo, Marco, Francesca, and Federica wanted him in their lives. Tommy grew attached immediately. He felt no resentment or jealousy toward his Masters/friends for having children of their own. To him, Karma was practically his daughter. And his parental side manifested in many ways, especially in his care and responsibility toward his patients. But seeing his Masters’ children? The children of the people he loved most in the world, besides his parents? He loved them from the first moment. His Masters/friends were overjoyed. Tommy wasn’t someone looking in from outside at others’ families. Tommy was family. He was a soul uncle to their children, and for them, he was the beating heart that kept them all together, even if there was no longer time or space to play as before.
But the love remained. The bond between the four souls was as strong as ever. And now, Tommy stood on his own two feet.
One day, while at a contemporary art exhibition, Tommy met the artist organizing the show, Cristiano—a sunny, joyful, warm person about 20 years older than him. Cristiano saw Tommy was interested in his works and explained them to him. His sculptures were tactile, alive, like solidified emotions. Tommy was fascinated. But Cristiano was also fascinated by him. He slipped Tommy his number before the vernissage ended.
Tommy wasn’t used to such subtle flirting—no mention of his submissive side. But he liked it. He was intrigued.
They started seeing each other. They laughed a lot; their souls resonated. Cristiano was direct, unfiltered, joyful, and warm. He clearly had a protective, nurturing instinct toward Tommy, sensing his sweetness, candor, irony, and sharp intelligence.
They were good together. Tommy realized Cristiano was vanilla. He’d tried hinting at his kinks, but it was clear there was nothing there. Tommy didn’t want to force anything. He told Cristiano the broad strokes of his story—how his three best friends had helped him explore his sexuality, how they were still close—but not the details. Tommy was afraid of shocking him.
Tommy decided to adapt, as the good sub he was. There was romantic love. He felt like he was in a movie—it was an emotion he’d never experienced before. He’d truly fallen in love with Cristiano, not with his role in bed. And the feeling was mutual.
He didn’t want to lose him. So he adapted his vocation for loving service to vanilla sex, to affectionate domestic care, to sweetness—never resorting to the hard aesthetics of power play that terrified Cristiano.
Of course, Tommy missed being able to express that part of himself explicitly. But as long as there was love and joy, he could accept it. And then there was Karma, his treasure, who balanced everything out. They moved in together, and after a year of cohabitation, they got married. Tommy never would have thought this could happen—him, a faggot slave, marrying a man in a vanilla, equal relationship? Needless to say, Riccardo, Marco, and Francesca were his best men. They cried their eyes out, bursting with pride for Tommy and overjoyed for him.
Even his parents were happy for him. Everything seemed to be going well. Belial and Luciferiel watched over him from above, proud of their favorite little slut.
But they feared that if Tommy repressed his submissive side too much, it would explode in destructive ways.
As long as the relationship was going smoothly, Tommy managed to stay balanced. When he needed a little spice, he’d regress on his own, humiliate himself, read/write erotic stories, watch BDSM porn. Every now and then, he’d call his Masters, reminiscing about old times and exchanging fantasies. But Tommy didn’t feel comfortable playing with them anymore. As an uncle to their children, he felt out of place, and besides, he felt like he’d be betraying his husband, who was already quite jealous of the deep bond Tommy still had with his Masters.
Over time, though, the relationship began to crack.
Cristiano’s artistic career was failing while Tommy’s was taking off. Cristiano was an artist, a craftsman—instinctive but not as "studied" as Tommy. He was sometimes intimidated by Tommy’s intelligence.
Moreover, the economic disparity between them wounded his pride, making him irritable and occasionally cruel toward Tommy, who had never done anything to make him feel inferior.
Their love was fraying. Without joy and love, vanilla sex had become too mechanical for Tommy. He missed the connection. He didn’t even enjoy serving Cristiano anymore because he was building up resentment toward his husband, whose unresolved inferiority complex was making him unbearable. Tommy, for his part, had never been the lighthearted type and struggled to contain his philosophical, profound side to avoid making Cristiano feel inadequate.
And then there was his submissive side, begging to explode. Tommy had tried talking to Cristiano about it, but he was terrified.
Cristiano saw BDSM the way Tommy had before meeting his Masters—as a self-destructive escalation of degradation that led to the destruction of identity. He wanted to protect Tommy and was deathly afraid of losing him. But he wouldn’t let Tommy express himself or explain what BDSM had truly meant to him. He underestimated Tommy, thinking he was weak—a naïf, good boy with a probably trauma-induced masochistic side who would destroy himself if left alone.
But Tommy had been clear: The more you repress me, the more you risk losing me. I have needs, and I need to find a way to fulfill them. Either we do it together in a shared way, or you risk losing me.
This meant opening the relationship, but Cristiano was terrified.
Things weren’t going well for Cristiano’s career. He’d accumulated debts, and without Tommy, he wouldn’t have been able to live on his own. This deeply humiliated him. Cristiano was an orphan with no family to fall back on. Tommy, on the other hand, had a loving family and his Masters and their children. Cristiano was jealous of this too. If he lost Tommy, Tommy would land on his feet. But him? He only had Tommy.
Cristiano loved Tommy but had become a scared animal, cornered and lashing out in fear.
Tommy’s career, meanwhile, was soaring. He’d entered a competition for a chief physician position in a new city and had a good chance of winning. But Cristiano couldn’t move—the gallery and studio were fixed, and he worked there all day. He couldn’t commute. If Tommy won, he’d rent a place in the new city and they’d only see each other on weekends. And during the week? Cristiano imagined Tommy in the worst BDSM bars, getting used. He was panicking.
And he didn’t think Tommy had what it took to be a chief physician. He was too kind, too sweet, didn’t have the stomach for it. He was convinced that if Tommy won, it would be the end of their relationship, the end of his love… and that he’d be left alone, no longer self-sufficient. Tommy tried to reassure him, but Cristiano didn’t trust him.
Cristiano asked him to give up the position. But Tommy didn’t want to. He’d worked his whole life for it. Cristiano’s gallery and studio were failing, risking closure. Maybe soon he could move with Tommy to the new city, selling the old one. Tommy had enough money to support Cristiano and let him try to rebuild his career in a new city.
But this was deeply humiliating for him. He’d always thought of himself as the nurturing, paternal one in the relationship, and this role reversal made him feel like shit.
So Cristiano… desperate… did the unthinkable.
He was determined to keep Tommy from winning the competition, but he knew Tommy had excellent chances. Risk wasn’t an option.
He unlocked Tommy’s iPad while he slept, using his face for Face ID. He dug through the files. Tommy always used the same password for everything (goodboy4ever), so it was easy. Cristiano was shocked when he saw the contents of Tommy’s old OnlyFans profile—the pet play, the piss, the scat, the regression. He wanted to cry. He thought Tommy was sick. He couldn’t become a chief physician; he needed help. He searched for photos where Tommy degraded himself without the hood. He found a few. From a fake email, he sent them to the official addresses of the competition’s board members.
He felt guilty but justified it by saying it was for Tommy’s good and for their relationship. But he didn’t even believe himself.
The response didn’t take long. An email arrived from the competition committee stating that despite his excellent score, he’d been deemed unfit due to images showing conduct unbecoming of a chief physician—images that were frankly concerning. Tommy’s heart shattered.
He knew those were private images! It was revenge porn! He hadn’t been in public when those photos were taken. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He could appeal… but he couldn’t think. His heart was literally breaking. Who could have done this to him?
Cristiano saw him shocked at the kitchen table and spoke honestly. "It was me. I did it for you, for us, Tommy. You’re sick, Tommy. Until you get help, you can’t be a chief physician. Look at what the committee wrote back. If I’d let you go, our relationship would have ended, and you’d have ended up in some sadomasochistic bar where they’d take advantage of your weakness. I saved you…"
Tommy’s heart shattered even more. His soul was bleeding. "How… how could you?" he gasped, struggling to breathe.
Cristiano tried to caress his face. "You told me years ago your Masters showed you your place before you realized it—for your own good. And you accepted it. Look where they led you… Sure, they let you be an uncle, but meanwhile, for years they abused you, exploiting your sickness to satisfy their perversions and sadism. You like obeying, don’t you? You like someone putting you in your place and deciding for you? Well, I just did it for you. I’m sorry I hurt you, but it’s for your own good, for us…"
Tommy was about to faint. Hearing his loving relationship reduced to mere abuse just because their kinks were extreme… It didn’t matter how extreme the kink was; what mattered were the feelings and intentions behind it. His Masters had always loved and accepted him in his entirety, celebrating him even in his most extreme degradations—which he wanted. His husband had never degraded him physically, but now he’d degraded his soul. He’d used Tommy’s submission to call him weak, to infantilize him—not a playful, chosen regression, but a denial of his intelligence and free will.
Tommy struggled to form words. He was in a full-blown panic attack. After a while, he managed to calm himself and said to Cristiano: "You didn’t do it for us. You did it for you. Because you’re weak. Because you feel inferior to me and can’t handle it. I’m not sick. My Masters degraded my body because I liked it, but they took care of my soul… You’re confusing the aesthetics of degradation with the substance of degradation. You’re the real abuser… the person I loved, for whom I repressed a part of myself for years… YOU KILLED ME! Get out of my life! No, I’ll leave…"
Tommy ran out of the house.
Karma was barking alarmed, she was profoundly distressed, sensing that Tommy was hurting like never before. Cristiano tried to stop him, but Tommy threw a glass at his head, making him bleed, and fled in his car with only his phone, charger, and wallet.
Outside, there was a biblical storm. Something profoundly sinister was in the air.
