The Invitation

The door clicked shut behind him with an ominous finality.

Caleb’s heart thudded in his chest as he stepped into Damien Laurent’s office. The world outside faded—college classes, textbooks, shitty roommates, ramen dinners. None of it existed here.

The room smelled like leather, wood polish, and faint smoke. Low jazz hummed from unseen speakers, curling in the air like incense. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the office, offering a panoramic view of the glowing city. It felt like a lair.

And Damien stood in the middle of it, drink in hand, watching him like he was something rare and breakable.

Caleb swallowed. “Nice place.”

“It serves its purpose.” Damien’s voice was velvet—low, steady, with that dangerous edge underneath. “Come in. Sit.”

There was only one chair—directly across from Damien’s desk. Caleb crossed the rug, acutely aware of the sound of his own footsteps, and sat.

Damien didn’t sit. He walked behind the desk, placed his drink down, and leaned back against the edge.

“I assume you’re wondering why you’re here.”

Caleb hesitated. “You said it was a… meeting.”

“A very specific one.” Damien’s eyes flicked down his body—slow, deliberate. “I don’t extend this kind of invitation often.”

“To college students?”

“To anyone.”

Caleb shifted in his seat. “Why me?”

“Because you’re sharp. Curious. You don’t fawn, but you pay attention. You ask the kind of questions people are too scared to ask.”

“…Okay.”

“And,” Damien added, voice lower now, “because you looked at me like you wanted something you didn’t understand yet.”

Caleb’s face burned. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t need to explain.” Damien straightened. “Instincts aren’t always conscious. But they don’t lie.”

He circled the desk slowly, like a predator closing in.

“I offer mentorship,” he said. “But not in the traditional sense. I’m not going to help you get an internship. I’m not going to give you a resume review.”

Caleb frowned. “Then what—”

“I’ll show you the parts of the world no one teaches. Real power. Influence. Control.”

Damien paused behind him, fingers brushing the back of the chair.

“And in return, you’ll give me something back.”

Caleb froze.

Damien leaned down, voice hot against his ear. “Your submission.”

---

The word detonated in the room.

Caleb’s fingers clenched in his lap.

“I—I don’t…”

“You will,” Damien said smoothly. “If you accept.”

He walked around and sat finally, hands folded on the desk.

“This isn’t just about sex, Caleb. It’s about trust. Discipline. Ownership. I want to shape you. Guide you. Teach you control by taking it.”

Caleb’s lips parted, breath shaky. “You want to… own me?”

Damien’s eyes darkened. “In every way that matters.”

The words shouldn’t have made Caleb’s cock twitch—but they did. Shame and heat coiled together in his stomach.

“And if I say no?”

Damien shrugged. “Then we part ways. You walk out, and I don’t chase you. No pressure. No punishment. Just…” He smiled thinly. “Disappointment.”

Caleb’s throat tightened.

“And if I say yes?”

Damien’s smile changed. Slow. Dangerous. Triumphant.

“Then you’ll start training. You’ll learn my rules. My expectations. You’ll be corrected when you disobey. Rewarded when you perform.”

Caleb’s heart thumped. His body was already betraying him—sensitive, hot, aching.

Damien leaned forward, his voice like silk. “Tell me something, Caleb.”

“…Yeah?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Caleb’s breath caught.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Damien sat back. “You’re not broken. You’re just waiting to be claimed.”

---

Caleb left the building dazed, the black card now joined by a small envelope in his jacket pocket. Inside was a typed note:

> Report to the penthouse Friday, 7 PM.

Clean. Sober. No underwear.

Door will be open. Do not knock.

---

The rest of the week was hell.

Classes blurred. People talked, laughed, moved around him—and all Caleb could think about was Friday. About Damien. About what would happen in that penthouse. What it would feel like to give in completely.

He hadn’t even kissed the man, and yet…

He’d never felt so owned.

---

Friday – 6:55 PM

Caleb stood in front of the elevator, heart hammering.

He wore black slacks, slim but not tight. A pale blue dress shirt buttoned to his collarbone. And beneath it all, nothing. No underwear. No socks. Bare skin beneath every layer, just as instructed.

He’d showered twice. Brushed his teeth until his gums ached. His skin was still tingling.

The elevator dinged.

The penthouse level.

He stepped in.

The ride up was silent.

When the doors opened, the hallway was quiet. No lights. Just the soft hum of the city beyond the windows.

And the door—slightly ajar.

His chest tightened. One step. Then another.

He didn’t knock.

He pushed it open and stepped inside.

---

The lights were low, golden. Candles flickered on the marble counter. The living room opened wide, clean lines, tall windows.