Chapter 1 – The Night the Rain Stopped Mattering
October 17, 2025.
A cold, relentless rain hammered the city.GearShift sat on the edge of the warehouse district like a black brick wrapped in neon.
Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke, boot leather, and the low throb of industrial music.
The men were a uniform of black and steel (harnesses, vests, chaps, tall boots polished to mirrors).
Conversation was quiet, predatory, and always punctuated by the clink of chains.Ethan Thompson stood just inside the door, dripping on the rubber mat.
Twenty-four years old.
Five-foot-eight in scuffed black Vans, soaked skinny jeans, a white T-shirt clinging to narrow ribs, and a thin, cheap leather collar he’d bought on Etsy six months ago and never worn outside his apartment until tonight.He was shaking (not from cold).
He had rehearsed this moment for years in his head: the first step into a real leather bar, the first time letting men see the collar, the first time admitting out loud what he jerked off to every night (pup play, total ownership, being hollowed out and used until there was nothing left of the anxious, overthinking boy who paid rent and filed taxes).
He ordered a rum and coke he didn’t want, clutched it like a shield, and tried to look anywhere except at the men who were already looking at him.
That was when the air changed.
Mark R. stepped through the side door (the one that led to the alley where the smokers went).
Six-three, broad-shouldered, silver-shot beard, arms covered in faded biker ink disappearing under a tight black leather vest. Heavy chain from belt to back pocket. Leather pants tucked into mirror-shine Wesco boss boots. Muir cap tilted just enough to shadow hazel eyes that had seen everything and still wanted more.
He smelled like engine oil, tobacco, and raw, unfiltered dominance.
Every head in the place turned a fraction (not out of fear, but out of respect).
Mark’s gaze swept the room and stopped on Ethan.
Locked.
Held.
Dissected.
Ethan’s knees went weak.
The rum and coke sloshed in his trembling hand.
Mark crossed the floor in no hurry (boots deliberate, chain swinging).
He stopped a foot away, close enough that Ethan could feel the heat coming off him.
“First time, boy?”
The voice was low, warm gravel dragged over steel.Ethan swallowed.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
Mark’s eyes flicked to the cheap collar, then back up.
“Name.”
“Ethan, Sir.”
A slow nod.
“I’m Mark.”
A massive gloved hand extended.
Ethan took it (his own swallowed completely, Mark’s thumb pressing hard into the back of his hand, testing, claiming space).
Mark didn’t let go.
“You’re shaking.”
“Scared and excited, Sir.”
Mark’s mouth curved (not quite a smile, more like a predator deciding whether prey was worth the chase).
“Good answer.”
He released Ethan’s hand, but the weight of it lingered.
Mark leaned in until his beard brushed Ethan’s ear.
“Tell me why you’re here, Ethan. No pretty words. I want the truth crawling out of that throat.”
Ethan’s breath hitched.
“I… I’ve known I was submissive for years. I watch porn (pup play, bondage, total power exchange, men using boys until they’re nothing but holes and gratitude). I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to stop thinking. I want someone to take the decisions away. Train me. Own me. Turn me into… theirs. Their dog. Their toilet. Their—”
His voice cracked.
“I don’t even know all the words, Sir. I just know I need it so bad it hurts.”
Mark studied him for a long, silent minute (eyes stripping away every layer Ethan had spent twenty-four years building).
One thick finger traced the edge of the cheap collar.
“You ever been fisted?”
“No, Sir.”
“Sounded?”
“No.”
“Drank piss straight from the tap?
”Ethan’s face flamed.
“No… but I’ve thought about it. Every day.”
“Eaten a man’s load out of his ass after he’s used it?”
Ethan whimpered.
“No, Sir… but I’d do anything you told me to.”
Mark’s eyes darkened (something ancient and hungry waking up).
“Scat?”
Ethan hesitated only a heartbeat.
“If it pleased you, Sir… yes.”
A low growl rumbled in Mark’s chest.
“Good pup.”
The words went straight to Ethan’s cock like a brand.
Mark’s hand slid to the back of Ethan’s neck (thumb stroking the spot where cheap leather met skin).
“You want a Master who’ll break you down and rebuild you exactly how he wants. No safeword every five minutes. No ‘I’m a submissive but I still run the show’ bullshit. You want to kneel, crawl, bark, piss yourself if I say, and thank me for the privilege. That about right?”
Ethan’s entire body trembled.
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
Mark leaned back, sizing him up one last time.
“Finish your drink. Then you’re leaving with me. If you get in my truck, that collar comes off and mine goes on. You’ll call me Master from that second forward. You’ll speak when spoken to. You’ll piss and shit only when I allow it. You’ll be my pup, my slave, my boyfriend one day (if you earn it), and eventually my husband. But first you’ll be my project. I will hollow you out and pour myself inside until there’s nothing left of the boy who walked in here tonight.”
He paused, letting the weight settle.
“Still want it?”Ethan’s cock leaked so hard the denim was damp.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Yes, Master.”
Mark’s grin was all wolf.
“Then let’s go home, pup.”
He turned and walked toward the door (expecting obedience).
Ethan followed (rum and coke abandoned, heart hammering, every step into the rain feeling like the first step into the rest of his life).
Behind him, the bar watched in respectful silence.
Some recognized the look on Mark’s face (the same one he’d worn the night he claimed Ryan twenty years ago, the same one that had built the Chain one broken boy at a time).
A new pup had just been chosen.
And the rain outside didn’t matter anymore.
To be continued…
This is my very first story and I hope you enjoyed it. I did use AI to help with grammar and spelling but welcome any and all feedback and possible suggestions for the second and ongoing chapters.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
