Sharon beats Johhny.

Epilogue….. 6 months later. 

 Another day, thought John Smyth, striding into the Maidstone branch of Dunstan and Sons Insurance Brokers. He was a changed man these days after his break—though "break" was a generous word for the three weeks he'd spent in the Sisterhood's training facility, learning what happened to men who thought they were masters of their own lives.

He gave everybody a heartfelt greeting as he passed them, his voice humble, his eyes downcast. He was exceptionally polite to the ladies who worked there, addressing them as "Miss" or "Ma'am," holding doors, and offering to fetch coffee. They watched him with knowing smiles. They all knew.

He took the ancient lift up to his office, the small space making his heart race. The last time he'd been in an enclosed space like this, he'd been in a trunk. The memory made his cock twitch in its cage.

He walked through the double doors leading to the alcove that led to his office. His P.A. looked up at him when he passed—June, 63 years old, iron-gray hair in a severe bun, eyes like flint behind her glasses. She followed him in, closing the door behind her with a soft click that sounded like a gunshot.

He turned to face her, and he fell to his knees. The carpet was rough against his skin through his suit trousers. The usual greeting. He bent forward and kissed each toe of her sensible black pump, his lips brushing the leather with reverent humiliation.

"Good morning," June said, her voice crisp and professional, as if this were perfectly normal. "Your leash, please."

He lifted his head slightly. She reached down and clipped a thin silver leash to the steel collar he wore under his shirt and tie. The collar was locked, of course. Only June had the key. She was his keyholder in every sense—his chastity cage, his collar, his life.

Dunstan and Sons was owned by Lady Katherine Dunstan, his aunt, who was a high-ranking member of the Sisterhood of Nyx. After they'd discovered how John had been behaving—embezzling, harassing female staff, living like a king on company money—they'd been ready to send him to auction. He'd seen the facility. He'd met the buyers. He'd knelt in a cage while rich women inspected his teeth.

But his biggest clients had threatened to leave. "We only stay because of John," they'd said. "He's the face we trust." And so the Sisterhood had rethought. Why kill the golden goose when you could just clip its wings?

Now, John was the face of the company. He attended meetings, shook hands, and gave presentations. But all major decisions were made via Zoom calls where he was on his knees, naked except for his cage and collar, the leash in June's hand. She'd give a little tug when he spoke out of turn. A harder tug when he forgot his place.

"Stand," June commanded. He did. She gave the leash a sharp pull, making him stumble forward. "Your 9 AM is with the Henderson account. You'll be on your knees for that one. Mrs. Henderson specifically requested it. She likes to see you suffer."

John's face burned. Mrs. Henderson was his mother's bridge partner. She'd been at his tenth birthday party. Now she watched him kneel and leak in his cage while discussing premium adjustments.

"Yes, Miss June," he whispered.

"And after lunch, you have a disciplinary session. You looked at Miss Davies's tits yesterday. Lady Katherine was most displeased."

John's blood ran cold. Disciplinary sessions meant the cane. The cage meant he couldn't even get hard for it anymore—just the pain, pure and simple.

June smiled, her eyes cold. "Now, fetch my coffee. Two sugars. And if you spill a drop, I'll have you licking it off the floor while the whole office watches."

He scurried out, the leash trailing behind him, the weight of his collar a constant reminder. The ladies in the outer office watched him pass, their smiles knowing, their eyes bright with the pleasure of seeing a man brought low.

He was still John Smyth, CEO in name. But he was also Number 47, property of the Sisterhood of Nyx, keyholder June Davies.

And his cock throbbed uselessly in its cage, proving them right.

John's cock wasn't the only one throbbing in its cage.

In a lovely property just off Ashford Road, Maidstone—the house formerly owned by John Smyth—two people were waking from a night of perverse pleasure. Sharon stretched languidly in the new four-poster bed they'd purchased, her hand already playing with her large breasts, flicking and pinching her nipples into hardness. The vibrator beside her still glistened with her juices.

She reached for the fob on the bedside table and pressed a button. At the foot of the bed, a metallic click, a quiet motor, and a cage door opened slowly. Movement. A groan. Her brother James emerged, naked except for the stainless steel cage locked around his cock and the heavy collar at his throat. He was still sore from the beating she'd given him last night and the hours spent in confinement.

She crooked a finger. He crawled to her, wincing with each movement. She hooked her finger through the ring in his collar and pulled him close, kissing him hard.

"Come get your breakfast," she purred.

He kissed his way down her body, his tongue finding her swollen cunt with practiced devotion. His eight-inch cock strained painfully against its prison, trying to grow, denied by the steel.

Ms. Sharon, his queen, took her pleasure whenever she wanted. 

She'd made a deal with the Sisterhood after meeting with Katherine—instead of payment for John, she'd taken this house. They'd thrown in his vintage Jag as a bonus. She kept her property on the Parkwood Estate, too, though she'd never lived there. It helped give the wrong impression. John Smyth was a case in point.

They lay arm in arm after, Sharon's hand idly playing with James's cage while he held her. She was browsing her phone when it beeped—a private messaging app, encrypted, untraceable. She smiled.

"You might be in luck, my little bitch," she said to her brother.

"Why's that, Ms?"

"We've got another job from the Sisters. You know what that means?"

"What, Ms?"

She tapped the cage with her fingernail. The sound was sharp. "If you do your job well, this comes off. For a while."

His eyes lit up with desperate hope. "What's the job?"

"There's an exec in the energy sector. Let's see..." She scanned the message. "Sally. Apparently, she's got an interesting way of controlling her husband. He's now her slave. They want us to do a deep dive. Think she might be useful to them."

She pressed accept.

"Get dressed, baby. We've got work to do."