Doris

The first hint of dawn was a cruel, grey sliver through the barred window when Arthur's training truly began. The lock clanked open, and the two nurses from the night before entered, their faces as blank and impassive as ever. They didn't speak. They pointed at the bowl and bottle on the floor. Arthur, his stomach cramping with hunger, understood. He crawled to them and consumed the bland gruel and lukewarm water like the animal he was becoming.

His first lesson was in posture. They forced him to stand, his back ramrod straight against the cold wall, his chin up, his hands clasped behind his back. "You will hold this position until we return," the first nurse said, her voice devoid of emotion. "If you slouch, you will be punished."

He didn't know what punishment meant, but the threat was enough. He stood, his muscles beginning to scream in protest within minutes. The minutes bled together. The only sounds were his own ragged breathing and the distant, indistinct echoes of the manor waking up. His mind, usually a whirlwind of business deals and strategies, was now a blank wall of pain and humiliation. When the nurses finally returned, his body was trembling, slick with sweat. They had him perform a series of humiliating exercises—squats, lunges, push-ups on the cold floor—until his limbs gave out and he collapsed in a heap of exhaustion.

While Doris was having her breakfast of fresh pastries and exotic fruit on a sun-drenched terrace, Arthur was being hosed down with a jet of cold water from a high-pressure nozzle, the nurse methodically cleansing his body as if he were livestock. He was then left to air-dry in the chill of his cell before being forced to kneel on the hard concrete floor.

While Doris was in the spa, lying naked on a heated table as two expert therapists kneaded the tension from her muscles with scented oils, Arthur was learning his first rule of obedience. A nurse stood before him, holding a simple riding crop. "When we enter the room, you will kneel and bow your head to the floor. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not look us in the eye. Nod if you understand."

Terrified, Arthur nodded.

"Good," she said. Then, without warning, she tapped the crop sharply against his thigh. He flinched but remained in position. "That was for hesitating last night. Now, we will practice." She made him kneel and rise, kneel and rise, for what felt like an eternity, each mistake corrected with a sharp, stinging tap of the crop that left his skin red and smarting.

While Doris was having her nails painted a deep, glossy red, sipping champagne and laughing with Leo as he recounted an amusing story about a mischievous monkey in Bali, Arthur was learning the futility of his own desires. One of the nurses entered and, without a word, unlocked the steel cage from his penis. His cock, starved of touch, immediately began to swell. She began to stroke him, her touch clinical and relentless, just as it had the night before. She brought him to the edge of sanity, his hips bucking, desperate moans escaping his lips. And then she stopped. He was left panting and aching, his erection throbbing with a painful, unfulfilled need. She simply stared at him until it subsided, then began again. It was a lesson in control.

By late afternoon, Doris was glowing. She felt lighter, freer than she ever had. She and Leo walked by the lake, his arm a comfortable weight around her shoulders. She felt no guilt, no remorse. She felt only a profound sense of justice. That evening, back in her suite, she took a long, leisurely bath, the water fragrant with rose petals. She didn't look at her tablet. She didn't need to. She knew he was suffering. And that knowledge was more relaxing than any massage.

Arthur, meanwhile, was fed his evening meal of gruel and then left alone in the dark. The chain was once again attached to the wall. He was exhausted, humiliated, and in a constant state of agonizing arousal from the day's 'training'. He lay on the hard cot, the collar a heavy weight on his neck, the taste of dirt in his mouth from a memory he couldn't quite place, and for the first time, he began to truly break. The man who was Arthur Collins, the titan of industry, started to dissolve, leaving behind only a frightened, obedient creature, waiting for his next command.