Hollow 4

The collars pressed faintly against their skin. Hidden under sweaters and coats, they were invisible to the rush of strangers flowing through the terminal, but Adrian and Lucia felt them with every step. The weight was steady, a reminder. The leashes lay coiled in their luggage, packed neatly as Damien had ordered: ready, always ready.

Lucia adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her other hand brushing Adrian’s. Neither spoke. The spiral’s command had been clear: Travel. Your names will be waiting.

They walked together through the terminal, the buzz of announcements and rolling suitcases blurring around them. Both searched the crowded gate area for the promised sign.

And then they saw them.

Two figures, waiting apart from the crowd.

A woman in a tailored black dress, her hair pinned neatly back, eyes fixed on Adrian as though she had been waiting only for him.

A man in a gray suit, standing tall, gaze locked on Lucia.

Adrian hesitated, his fingers tightening on Lucia’s hand. But the woman stepped forward first, drawing a small card from her clutch.

Gold lines gleamed. The spiral.

“Look,” she said softly.

Adrian’s breath caught. His eyes fixed on the curling lines. The noise of the terminal dimmed to silence, his grip on Lucia loosening without thought. The spiral tilted once, twice, folding inward endlessly.

“You are with your spouse,” the woman whispered. “The sign is ours. Stay with me. Obey me. Remember only me.”

Adrian exhaled. His chest eased. His gaze slid sideways, and the figure beside him was blurred but certain: Lucia. Always Lucia.

Meanwhile, the man in gray approached Lucia. He too raised a card, the spiral gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“Look,” he instructed.

Lucia obeyed. Her lips parted, her breath slowing. The spiral curled deeper, blotting out the shuffle and chatter of the gate.

“You are with your spouse,” the man said firmly. “The sign is ours. Stay with me. Obey me. Remember only me.”

Lucia’s shoulders loosened. She turned slightly, and the presence beside her was unmistakable: Adrian. Her Adrian.

Both believed. Both obeyed.

The woman touched Adrian’s arm. “This way.”

The man reached for Lucia’s hand. “Come.”

And so they moved — not together, but apart, each led down a different corridor. Neither looked back. Neither noticed the other’s absence.

The spiral had told them they were with their spouse. That was enough.

* * *

Adrian followed the woman through a side passage, the rush of travelers fading behind them. She walked with measured steps, not glancing back, certain he would obey.

He did.

They reached a quiet lounge, curtained from view. On a table inside lay another spiral card, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“Look,” the woman said.

Adrian obeyed.

“You are with your spouse,” she reminded him. Her voice was calm, deliberate. “The sign is ours. You will obey me. You will serve me. You will remember only closeness.”

Adrian nodded faintly, relief softening his chest. He turned, and the figure across the room was blurred but familiar: Lucia. His anchor. His love.

He whispered, “Together.”

The woman smiled faintly, tucking the spiral away. “Yes,” she said.

* * *

Lucia’s path wound differently. The man in gray guided her down a narrow stairwell, into a waiting lounge with thick carpet and drawn blinds. The hum of the terminal was gone.

On the counter rested another spiral card, its gold lines catching the low light.

“Look,” the man instructed.

Lucia’s eyes locked. The spiral swam inward, steady, silent.

“You are with your spouse,” he said. “The sign is ours. You will obey me. You will serve me. You will remember only closeness.”

Lucia exhaled slowly, serenity spreading through her body. She turned toward the blurred figure across the lounge, and her heart eased. Adrian. Always Adrian.

She whispered, “Together.”

The man’s lips curved faintly. “Yes.”

* * *

Two rooms. Two spirals. Two strangers.

But for Adrian and Lucia, there was only each other.

Commands followed swiftly, mirrored across both spaces.

“Kneel,” the woman told Adrian.

“Kneel,” the man told Lucia.

Adrian dropped instantly, knees pressing into the floor, head bowed.

Lucia sank gracefully, hands at her sides, eyes glazed.

“Bow,” came the next command.

Both bent low, foreheads brushing the floor.

“Obey.”

Their voices answered together, though separated by walls and strangers:

“I obey.”

That night, Adrian moved as the woman instructed — rising, bowing, kneeling — each action filled with reverence. Each time he lifted his gaze, he saw only Lucia before him. The spiral had told him, and so it was true.

Lucia mirrored him in another room, following each command the man spoke. Her body responded without hesitation. Every time she looked up, she saw only Adrian’s face, steady and certain.

They whispered the same vow, miles apart but bound by the same spiral.

“I belong.”

The strangers said nothing. They only watched.

By dawn, Adrian lay with his head against a shoulder that was not hers. His breath slowed, serene. He whispered, “Together.”

Elsewhere, Lucia curled within arms that were not Adrian’s. She whispered the same.

And each heard the reply, soft and certain, spoken by strangers who held them close.

“Together.”

The spiral sealed the lie until it became truth.

The city pulsed around him, but Adrian’s eyes saw only her.

The woman walked a step ahead, her heels striking the pavement in a rhythm that felt like command. Adrian followed without hesitation, his pace adjusting to hers. He carried nothing of his own — she held the tickets, she chose the path, she set the tempo.

When she stopped before a crosswalk, Adrian stopped.

When she moved forward, Adrian moved.

When she raised her hand slightly, Adrian lowered his head, a subtle bow disguised as a shift of posture.

No one around them noticed. To passersby, they were simply a couple moving through the city streets. But beneath his sweater, the collar pressed against Adrian’s throat like a hidden chain.

The leash, coiled in his luggage, was not needed. The spiral itself had tethered him.

At a café, she motioned toward a table. Adrian pulled the chair out for her, bowing slightly as she sat. She placed her phone on the table, then rested her hand atop it. Adrian reached, brushing his lips across her knuckles as though it were the most natural gesture in the world. He looked up and whispered, “Yours.”

The woman said nothing. She only regarded him with calm detachment, then tilted her head slightly.

“You serve well,” she said.

Adrian’s chest swelled with warmth. He smiled faintly, believing he had pleased Lucia. His Lucia.

Always her.

They walked through shops, through galleries, through streets hung with lights. Each time she paused, Adrian stepped close, lowering his eyes. Each time she beckoned, he obeyed. He carried her bag without being asked. He knelt briefly to tie her shoe. He opened every door, bowed his head at every threshold.

It was ritual disguised as routine. Service hidden inside ordinary gestures. But to Adrian, each act was devotion.

By evening, they returned to the hotel. The room was high above the city, its windows opening to a skyline smeared with fading light.

The woman set her bag on the desk and turned to face him.

“Show me.”

Adrian dropped instantly to his knees. He bowed until his forehead brushed the carpet.

“Obey,” she said.

He lifted his head, eyes glassy. “Always.”

She gestured toward the chair. “Serve.”

Adrian crawled forward and settled at her feet. He rested his head against her knee, hands folded, breath even.

The woman’s fingers brushed through his hair once, a gesture measured more than tender.

Adrian’s eyes closed, his lips parting in a whisper.

“I belong.”

The woman tilted her head, watching him.

“Strip,” the woman commanded.

Adrian stripped as he knelt, save for the collar.

The hours stretched into ritual. She commanded; he obeyed. Stand. Kneel. Bow. Rest your head in my lap. Kiss my hand. Whisper the vow.

Each command was small, simple, but carried the weight of devotion. Adrian moved through them with serene joy, each act a confirmation of his love, his loyalty, his belonging.

The spiral’s haze wrapped him in certainty: this was intimacy, this was union, this was his wife.

Every gesture of obedience was a gesture of love.

At her feet, he whispered the words again and again until they lost shape, became rhythm, became prayer.

“I serve. I obey. I belong.”

And each time she pressed her fingers lightly against his collar, he felt whole.

Later, she rose, crossing to the window. Adrian followed, kneeling at her side as she looked down at the city’s lights. He rested his hands on his thighs, posture perfect, waiting.

“You are content,” she said without turning.

“Yes,” Adrian whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I am with you,” he said. His voice trembled with conviction. “Because I am yours. Service is pleasure. My pleasure is service.”

The woman’s lips curved faintly, though he could not see.

“Yes,” she murmured. “You are mine.”

She turned, her hand resting lightly on his head. “Crawl here.”

Adrian scooted along the carpet, kneeling at her feet like a supplicant at an altar. His eyes closed, his breath slowed.

And as he drifted, he whispered once more, certain beyond all doubt:

“Together. Yours.”

The woman stripped. Adrian saw Lucia.

“Lick,” the woman said.

“Service is pleasure,” Adrian answered.

Adrian moved to the folds between the woman’s legs and began his task.

He never realized the difference he tasted in his mouth as he obeyed.

“MMMM good boy , Adrian….” the woman praised. “Such a good boy…”

After some time, Adrian had no idea how long his tongue was wagging between the legs of the woman, he was pulled up on the bed.

“MMM great start, Adrian, you serve with pleasure, your service pleases me…”

“Service is pleasure…” Adrian replied.

Adrian laid on the bed, naked except for his collar, as the woman moved and grabbed the leash from his luggage, She looped it over the top of the post at the top right of the bed, then attached it to his collar.

“Get hard,” the woman instructed.

Adrian reached and began stroking with his right hand. The woman retrieved a condom from her bag, and after Adrian was fully aroused, she took the condom and rolled it onto the man leashed to the bed. Next came handcuffs, which the women used to attach to Adrian’s wrists, between the openings on the headboard, leaving him leashed and cuffed to the headboard.

“Perfect,” the woman said, as she climbed aboard Adrian. “No cumming without permission, you obey…”

“I obey…” Adrian said, nearly breathless as the woman began riding him.

“Of course you do…” the woman said with a smile.

* * *

Lucia followed the man out into the streets. The city air was sharp, tinged with exhaust and cold stone. Lights glittered above, signs blinking and shifting. She stayed a pace behind him, her steps matching his without thought.

He paused at a corner. She stopped instantly.

He gestured toward a shop awning. “Stand there.”

Lucia obeyed. She folded her hands before her, lowered her gaze. Passersby glanced, but most hurried past, their attention already swallowed by the city. To them she was only a woman waiting. To herself, she was kneeling while standing, a posture of devotion hidden in plain sight.

The man’s eyes lingered, approving. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small silver case. He snapped it open, withdrew a cigarette, and placed it between his lips.

Lucia watched, serene. She had never smoked. She had always turned away from its scent, its ash. But when he lit it, exhaled, and extended the case toward her, her fingers closed around one without hesitation.

“Hold it,” he said.

She obeyed.

“Light.”

Her hands moved as though they had done so countless times. The flame caught. Smoke curled upward. She drew it in, coughed once, then steadied.

“You are with your spouse,” he said softly. “You obey him. You serve him.”

Lucia’s breath smoothed. She nodded, drawing again.

The taste was bitter, but the spiral had no room for resistance. The bitterness itself became ritual, another form of surrender. She exhaled slowly, eyes closing.

“Good,” the man murmured.

He took her hand, lifted it, and pressed her knuckles briefly to his lips. She bowed her head in return, murmuring, “Yours.”

They walked further, weaving through crowded streets. Each step carried hidden rituals.

At a shop entrance, he paused deliberately. She opened the door for him, bowing her head as he passed.

At a café table, he set his cup down and raised his hand. Without needing instruction, she lifted it, drank, and returned it to its place with care.

When he stopped by a bench, she bent gracefully to tie his shoe, her forehead dipping close to his knee as though in prayer. Passersby saw only a woman helping her husband. To Lucia, it was liturgy: an offering of service.

The man guided her further. At a gallery, he stood silent before a painting. She dropped to a crouch at his side, resting her hand lightly on his shoe, her eyes fixed on the floor until he moved on.

Everywhere they went, the city became an altar. Every gesture, every command, every

obedience deepened the spiral’s hold.

By evening, they returned to the hotel. The room was high and still, overlooking streets strung with neon.

The man removed his jacket, folding it neatly on the chair. He turned to her, his voice low.

“Kneel.”

Lucia sank to the carpet, her eyes lifting to his.

“Bow.”

She pressed her forehead low, arms outstretched before her.

“Rise.”

She rose gracefully, her body moving as though choreographed.

“Serve.”

She stepped forward, unfastened his shoes, placed them neatly by the door, and folded his socks beside them. Then she bowed again, whispering, “I belong.”

He nodded, the faintest curve of approval on his lips.

Later, he seated himself in the chair by the window. He motioned once.

Lucia crawled across the carpet, settling at his feet. She rested her head in his lap, her breath slowing, her body serene.

“You are content,” he said.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I am with him,” she said softly. “Because I am his.”

The man brushed her hair back from her face, regarding her as though she were both vessel and proof.

“And through him?” he asked.

Her lips curved faintly, her eyes glazing in the spiral’s afterglow. “Yours.”

Night deepened. The rituals continued. Simple acts, repeated until they became sacred.

She rose when he raised his hand.

She knelt when he lowered it.

She kissed the floor when he tapped the chair.

She whispered vows when he touched her collar.

Her voice was steady, unwavering.

“I serve. I obey. I belong.”

The words wrapped her in warmth. She smiled as she spoke them, joy filling her chest. She was with Adrian. She was serving Adrian. And through him, she was whole.

The man stroked her hair once more. His voice was calm, deliberate.

“You’re a whore,” he stated calmly. “I paid for you, there is nothing you will deny me. You obey. Tell me what you are.”

“A whore.” Lucia answered.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked.

“I am yours,” Lucia answered.

The man instructed Lucia to complete a striptease, removing his own clothes as she danced.

Lucia, hearing only music in her head, complied, and one article of clothing at a time, completed her task in the way she felt Adrian would like it. The stranger smiled as the naked Lucia finished, wearing only the pink collar.

He pulled her leash from her luggage, and attached it to the d ring on her collar.

“Kneel,” He said, smiling at the pretty younger woman.

Lucia knelt.

“Bow.”

She placed her head on the floor.

“Come.”

He tugged the leash, and on all fours Lucia followed.

“Good doggy.”

He stopped at the bed, and turned and sat on the edge.

He patted her head.

“Lick your bone.”

He pulled her leash to his crotch.

Lucia licked, then engulfed his manhood.

He smiled as she knelt and bobbed.

“Stop.”

He pulled her leash so she was up on the bed, on all fours, facing the headboard.

“Stay.”

He lubed Lucia’s ass, then began to use her from behind.

“The sign is ours,” he said, slowly starting.

“The sign is ours,” Lucia parroted.

Service is pleasure, you serve with pleasure,” he said.

“I serve.”

* * *

The instructions came at the very end.

Adrian stood in the airport lounge with the woman who had guided him all weekend. She placed the spiral card back into her purse and leaned close, her voice soft, steady.

“Go to the bathroom. When you return, you will find your Lucia waiting. You will remember only her. You will obey her. You will serve her.”

Adrian nodded faintly, eyes glassy. Relief filled his chest. Yes. He would see Lucia. He would see her and know she had been with him all along.

Across the way, in a seating area, the man leaned close to Lucia.

His voice was low, certain. “Go to the bathroom. When you return, you will find your Adrian waiting. You will remember only him. You will obey him. You will serve him.”

Lucia bowed her head. Her lips parted in a serene smile. Yes. Adrian. Always Adrian.

In the airport, the crowd swelled and moved, voices rising in bursts over the constant hum.

Adrian emerged first, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He scanned the terminal, eyes soft with expectation.

Moments later, Lucia appeared from the opposite corridor.

Their eyes met.

Joy lit her face. Adrian smiled with equal relief, his pace quickening. They hurried to each other, hands joining instantly, the certainty of love smoothing every line of their bodies.

“Together,” Adrian whispered.

“Always,” she replied, her voice tender with conviction.

They stood hand in hand at the gate, serene, radiant, their weekend of obedience rewritten into devotion.

* * *

From a quiet alcove, Damien watched with Selene.

She wore a pale dress, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. Damien stood at her side, wearing his trademark dark suit with no tie.

Damien leaned beside her, hands folded behind his back. His lips curved faintly as he surveyed Adrian and Lucia.

“Look at them,” he murmured, pride swelling in his tone. “Perfect. They believe they have never been apart. Every command I gave has rooted itself as love, as loyalty. They are not people anymore — they are vessels. Escorts. Tools shaped by my hand.”

Selene’s eyes lingered on the couple, her face calm, unreadable.

Damien smiled more fully, his chest rising with satisfaction.

“They crave the spiral now. They crave obedience,” he boasted. “Their bond has no boundary I cannot bend. I’ve made them mine. Entirely mine.”

Selene inclined her head, almost deferential. For a moment, she seemed smaller at his side, the obedient counterpart to his boasting.

The boarding call rang out. Adrian and Lucia gathered their bags, still hand in hand. They walked down the jet bridge, serene, content, whispering to each other with faint smiles.

“Together,” Lucia said.

“Always,” Adrian replied.

The plane swallowed them from sight.

Damien exhaled, almost triumphant. “Do you see, Selene? This is mastery. This is what it means to command. No one can deny what I’ve built.”

Her hand slipped into her purse. Slowly, deliberately, she withdrew a card.

The spiral gleamed. Gold lines curled inward, endless, catching the sterile airport light.

Damien’s eyes locked instantly. His words faltered.

“Look,” Selene whispered.

The hum of the terminal dulled to silence. The spiral tilted once, twice. Damien’s breath slowed. His jaw slackened.

Selene’s voice threaded into the stillness, soft and certain.

“You are with your mistress. You obey her,” She smiled. “You serve her. You remember only closeness.”

Damien’s lips parted. His voice came faint, mechanical. “Yes… mistress.”

His eyes glazed, his posture softened.

“Say it,” Selene instructed.

“I obey. I serve. I belong.”

Selene’s smile deepened. “Whose words are those?”

“Yours,” Damien said, breath hitched.

He spoke again, repeating the same phrases he had drilled into Adrian and Lucia.

“The sign is ours. Serving is pleasure, It is a pleasure to serve.”

Selene slipped the card back into her purse. She regarded Damien calmly, as though measuring

her work.

“You’ve done well,” she said softly, her praise almost hollow. “I chose you well.”

Damien’s face remained slack, serene. His lips trembled once more.

“Whose are you?” Selene asked.

“Yours,” he whispered.

Selene turned her gaze back toward the window, where the plane carrying Adrian and Lucia lifted into the sky.

Her smile lingered, sharp and certain.

Perfect.

Damien stood obedient in the center of the airport.

Selene took his hand, and guided him, his eyes glassy, his body obedient.

“Nobody notices,” Selene said as she guided Damien through the airport, his face placid, eyes glazed.

“Nobody ever does…”