control. ( ot4 . )

19.04.2023.

The woman with her perfectly scraped back blonde hair, pristine grey suit and dark mocha skin is beautiful, Michael notes. Intimidating, but beautiful, like every other woman who works in the building. She sits behind her desk and pretends to not notice Michael standing there, he waits patiently with his coat slung over his arm as he taps his boot clad foot on the marble flooring, chewing on his bottom lip until the skin splits.

The woman eventually looks up, a forced half smile on her plump, maroon coloured lips, "Michael Clifford, I presume?" She asks, voice like silk. Michael nods, and she hands him a stack of papers, "Please collect your things and report to floor two, room seventeen. Mr.Hemmings is waiting for you."

"Thank you," Michael nods at the woman, a genuine smile playing on his features as he collects the papers and steps into the elevator. He shouldn't be so calm about all of this, the situation is scary and new and he should be frightened but instead he's cool and collected.

The elevator doors open to reveal a beautiful redhead girl, no older than twenty, who must have been awaiting his arrival. Her skin is freckled and white as snow, her face bare of makeup and hair scraped back in a similar manner as the woman Michael encountered in the waiting foyer.

"Follow me, Mr.Clifford," the woman walks on ahead of Michael, and the blonde boy struggles to keep up with her long strides, as they make their way towards the sleek, charcoal doors at the end of the hallway.

"You may enter whenever you're ready," the redhead smiles at him as she turns her back and walks away, black Louboutin's with the red sole clicking obnoxiously loud on the tiled floors.

Michael sucks in a sharp breath. This is it.

The boy reaches out with his dainty hand and pushes the door open, to reveal a tall, broad, blonde man in a graphite coloured suit. His back is facing Michael as his fingers run over a rack full of vinyl records. Michael clears his throat to catch the man's attention, and his head whips around so fast it could probably have caused him a crick in his neck.

Which, okay wow. This man is beautiful. Beautiful blue eyes, perfectly styled hair, rough stubble and a defined jawline. He looks even better than in pictures in the magazines that write bullshit stories about him.

"Mr.Hemmings." Michael speaks, and it sounds almost like a squawk. His cheeks flush red immediately, his skin heating up.

He can feel the older man's eyes wandering over his body and he suddenly is very self concious. He tugs at his blue skirt, pulling it down a bit so that a little less of his thigh is showing, just a sliver of skin showing between the material of the skirt and his black knee high socks.

"Call me Luke, Michael. Mr.Hemmings makes me feel old." Though it's his idea of a laugh, Luke's voice is stern and domineering, and takes away the intended playfulness, "Take a seat."

"Right of course," Michael mumbles, taking a seat on the other side of the desk, placing the papers on it. He keeps his hands in his lap, draping his coat over his thighs.

"I assume that you know why you're here, Michael?" Luke asks as he sits in his own seat, moving carefully as not to crease his Armani suit. Michael fights the urge to roll his eyes, because the man has more money than sense.

"Yes, sir. You asked for me out of the selection of five submissives, and your co-workers, Mr.Irwin and Mr.Hood, invited me here to discuss matters with you." Michael's soft spoken with a thick accent. He doesn't look at Luke, he instead looks at his hands.

"Michael, look at me when you speak." Luke orders, and Michael's head snaps up immediately, the flush deeper on his skin than before, "Good. Were you told why you were selected?"

Michael shakes his head, biting into his bottom lip again, "No, sir."

Luke doesn't correct Michael when the boy calls him 'sir', "You were selected because my co-workers saw something in you that they didn't see in the others, Michael. They saw someone who acts out and is difficult to discipline. Someone who needs discipline, do you understand?"

Michael feels his temper flare a little, but he schools his face and nods.

"You're a beautiful boy, also," Luke comments, "so pretty, I'm surprised nobody snatched you up long before now."

"Like you said, sir, I'm a very difficult person to handle." Michael admits, running a hand through his hair, "And some dominants don't like that. They're also not fond of my liking to women's clothing."

"Mr.Hood said you wore a pretty pink skirt the day he met you." Luke notes, grinning like the cat that got the cream, "He said he wanted to bend you over the table and spank you until your bum was the same shade as that skirt."

Michael chokes on his own breath, struggling to remain calm as he squirms in his seat, "I'll take that as a compliment, sir."

Luke laughs sharply, a silence filling the room before he begins to talk once again, "Are you prepared to have three dominants, Michael? You have the right to back out of this before anything is talked about and signed for. Just tell me now and you're free to go."

Michael swallows, "Honestly, sir? I'm not quite sure yet if I'll be able to handle this, but I'm willing to try, if you're all willing to share me."

The blonde man grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, "Brilliant. There will be a car waiting outside for you to bring you to the house, where we will go over the contract together."

Michael isn't quite sure what he's gotten himself into, and a strange feeling lies in the pit of his stomach.