Re: Luke's Crew (M+/M+)(New Chapter 1/11/26)
Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2026 4:23 am
by gag1195
@Guardianbound not sure how you're going to feel, but this chapter does address a lot of what your comment mentions!
This story has a bit of a hold over my creativity as of late, so enjoy another chapter! We see more of not only T4137's training, but also how this separation continues to affect Luke and the rest of the Crew! I hope to hear your thoughts in the comments! Enjoy!
Part 25: The Lowest Rung
The tour continued back towards the entrance, having already seen the other powder room, smaller sitting room, and breakfast nook. Luke and Damian walked towards the stairs, but Laney paused.
“I know I’ve already gushed about the Original Ornst here in the entryway but I cannot walk by without commenting on it again!” She directed the camera to the marble statue of the two men leaning in for an embrace. It stood in the center of a dark wood circular table that dominated the middle of the entryway. In classic Mid-Century style, the entryway floor was a darker tile, better to catch dirt, dust, and mud before the flooring transitioned to the polished hardwood of the rest of the main floor.
“It’s one of our favorite pieces!” Luke agreed. “It frames the entrance so beautifully.”
“It’s such a striking way to be greeted!” Laney nodded. “But so are these stairs!”
The stairs were also a Mid-Century classic- the steps were solid warm toned wood, seemingly free floating, gaps and spaces between and underneath. The railing too, seemed to float alongside the stairs, with a widely spaced balustrade joining the two. The stair wood matched the other hardwood flooring, while the frame was a darker, almost black, wood, providing a stark contrast.
“Thank you!” Luke beamed as he bounced up the first few steps before looking back towards the show hostess. “Of all the architectural features in our home, I think I’m most proud of these stairs.”
“And they truly are a classic look. That negative space and warm toned wood!” Laney gushed.
“And you’ll see that the design continues on the upper landing.” Luke pointed out the same dark, black wood railing and warm wood floor on the second floor hallway and balcony that overlooked the entryway and part of the living room.
“I bet the view from up there is amazing!” Laney commented, looking past the entryway and towards the back of the house, where the large picture windows revealed the rolling hills of southern California.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Damian raced up the stairs, playfully nudging Luke against the railing on his way up.
—--
The alarm distracted Luke from his sulking. He turned off his phone and sighed. He and Damian were outside, lounging in the chairs next to the pool. It was a beautiful sunny day, and Damian, his perfect husband, was handcuffed to the chair. Both men were naked, soaking up a tan without worrying about lines from swimwear or more bulky restraints.
Crest was busy cleaning the pool and deck area, dressed only in his tight blue speedo and sunglasses. Inside, Spark was finishing up a light fare of sandwiches and snacks, and would then spend the rest of the afternoon with Luke working out together. And Haze was spending the afternoon bound in a new humiliating position.
It was a perfect day. On paper, it was truly a perfect day for Luke and his Crew.
But he was still miserable. And his Crew was miserable. And that made him angry beyond understanding. Tommy hadn’t even finished training. He wasn’t even officially on the Crew. He was months away at least. Luke had jokingly teased about Tommy’s presence in the interview, but they’d issued no press notice, made no formal announcement, found no permanent place for Tommy on the show, within the Crew, and in their lives.
How had his departure managed to affect everyone so strongly? It didn’t make sense.
And it didn’t matter. What was done was done. There was no changing it. They all needed to make their peace with it. Whenever Tommy finished his training, and eventually went on the market, he wouldn’t really be Tommy anymore. He’d be whatever drone they programmed him to be. And a fully trained Drone Tommy would be useless for Luke and his Crew.
And it was too late to call Maxim or Tristan and request Tommy back. He couldn’t do that.
“MMMMFFR MMMMKK!” Damian’s calling brought Luke out of his moping, like a second alarm.
“Shit, sorry.” Luke leaned over and fished the mouth filling sponge out from between Damian’s lips. He picked up the key ring between them and quickly uncuffed his husband.
“Thanks, Dear.” Damian stood, then leaned down and pecked Luke’s cheek. “I don’t want to be late for those meetings. You sure you don’t want to join?”
Luke shook his head. “No. Not in the mood. Besides, I trust you to take good notes and fill me in later. Just tell them I’ve got a headache or something.”
Damian nodded. “It’s been a week already, Master. We do need you back before too long.”
Luke didn’t, couldn’t look at his husband and partner. “Soon.”
Damian kept his face blank, but nodded. “And you don’t mind me taking over the office for the rest of the afternoon?”
Luke waved him off. “I can’t do much more with the current plan until these meetings happen, so I don’t mind. I know you’ll represent us well.”
Damian nodded and retreated inside to suffer through hours of endless video calls and meetings. Admittedly, Luke had been putting off work since the incident. His heart just hadn’t been in it.
He left Crest outside to continue his work and joined Spark in the gym.
But like with work, he found himself unmotivated and unfocused in his workout. Spark easily outpaced him- more reps, more pushups, more weight, more steps, more sweat.
He didn’t exactly handle it well. He marched a sweat drenched Spark out of the home gym with the yellow slave in bonds. Those impressive and impressively worked arms were pinned behind Sparks back and locked in leather arm binders. One of his own sweaty gym socks had been crammed into his mouth and held in place there by white athletic tape. His ankles were cuffed together, hobbling his march.
Luke led him to the kitchen and lifted his hefty hunk onto the island, then spent a few moments arranging the prepared luncheon foods around him. A Spark-cuterie. The pun did make Luke smile, but it was short lived. He commanded Spark to remain there until he decided to free him, and threatened to order in and keep him there through dinner.
He stomped up the stairs in a huff, eliciting a whimper from Haze.
Haze.
His hulking right hand slave hung suspended and strapped to the floating rungs of the mansion’s main staircase. He hung, not quite upside down, but feet up, back flush against the bottom of the staircase, or as flush as can be accomplished with a step shaped object. His arms and hands were pinned to his side, and multiple crisp white ropes anchored his body to the stairs and railing. Luke had pulled Haze’s feet up and back slightly, somewhat like a hogtie. The soles of Haze’s feet were flat against the opening between two stair rungs.
Similarly, Haze’s face was pushed against the space between stair rungs. The rungs were too close together to allow Haze’s head to actually pass through the rungs, but it didn’t need to. The upper step served as something of a blindfold, pressed against his eyes and forehead, while the lower rung pressed against his chin. That left his nose and mouth to fill the space between steps. White rope was wound around Haze’s head and the adjoining step to hold his head in place.
He was gagged with the O-ring gag, keeping his mouth open, just as Luke wanted. When Luke made it to the steps where Haze’s head was tied to, he stopped and sat down. He unlaced his workout shoes and peeled off his well worn socks. He happily crammed them into Haze’s open gag, and positioned his shoes on their side, angled toward Haze’s nose.
“Enjoying your position, Haze?”
Haze couldn’t shake his head, but he did groan into his Master’s socks. “HHHGGGGGGGGHHHH!”
“Well, get used to it. We don’t have Tommy to serve as the lowest rung in our little hierarchy anymore. Can’t have you getting too much of an ego.” Luke stood and stretched, airing out his bare feet in front of Haze’s nose. “I’m going to shower and nap. When Leaf is done with his meetings, I might release you.”
He reached up and lightly stroked Haze’s soles, causing the big man to spasm against his secure anchors.
—--
Drone T4137’s week had been torture. Literally. Master Constantin’s schedule was as rigorous as it was unerring. It was precise. Practiced. Perfected. T4137 was the latest in a countless line of Drones. There was no margin for error.
Two Company drones woke T4137 promptly at 5am. He was gagged with a feeding tube, fed a filling nutrient mush, and then taken to the facilities to be cleaned and given the opportunity to use the bathroom. His suit was not removed, instead zippers were utilized to allow access to his behind. Dental gags were used so the drones could brush T4137’s teeth and floss. The rubber suit’s neck was unzipped and lubricant was applied to allow greater movement and reduce sweat build up within his rubbered limbs.
On the third day, as Master Constantin had warned him, Drone T4137 was stripped of his rubber skin and given a full scrub down, including a deep cleansing shampooing. While his original suit, the last gift from Master Luke, was taken to be cleaned, a new suit, fitted to his exact dimensions, was applied.
At 6:30, T4137 was taken from the Drone Quarters, a room that was officially labeled “Interns and New Hires” and marched down the hall to Master Constantin’s office. T437 remained cuffed and hobbled at all times unless Master Constantin was training him, or the Drone chaperones were preparing him.
Master Constantin ran T4137 through simple commands, like a dog in obedience school. Stand, stay, come, halt, hold this, lift this, spread, speak. Crop ever in hand, any imperfection was met with Master Constantin’s quick retribution, then the exercise was drilled again. And again. And again. Until Master Constantin was satisfied. Not happy. Satisfied. T4137 had begun to understand that Master Constantin was rarely happy, at least not around his Drones.
Obedience training transitioned easily into a basic workout regime. It reminded T4137 of what Haze had begun to set up back… before. Master Constantin was aware of Master Luke’s notes, and was also aware of T4137’s potential, so he held nothing back with his new Drone’s physical training. It was brutal and intense, made even more difficult with the rubber suit forcing even more sweat out of him than normal, but even T4137 could tell a difference, even only a week in. He was building back to his previous physique quickly. Soon enough, he’d be just as big, if not bigger, as he was before… well, before.
The mental conditioning was… was pleasant. Straitjacketed and leg sacked, allowed to sit and rest and relax. Master Constantin fit some sort of headset over T4137’s eyes and ears, and for the next hour and a half, the Drone floated to relaxing sounds of nature, images of beautiful landscapes, interspersed with handsome men, and different bondage positions. Soothing voices spoke to T4137 from somewhere below the music, but he could not recall what those deep, masculine, calming voices ever said.
He rode that euphoria through the rest of his training. Master Constantin stretched and trained T4137’s orifices, with different tools and toys, and occasionally, when T4137 was exceptionally well behaved, with Master Constantin’s own impressive member.
On this particular morning, Master Constantin positioned T4137 on a specific tile in the corner of his office. This tile was slightly off color, with a thin red line of grout. Master Constantin unlocked the drone’s ankle restraints, and then surprisingly, removed the wrist restraints. Although gagged and collared, T4137 was otherwise free.
He felt an urge built up inside him. That deep, soothing feeling fought to push the urge down.
Master Constantin watched, his face inscrutable. Seemingly satisfied, affixed a small ring around Drone T4137’s exposed shaft and balls, which he had unzipped and casually cupped in his leather hands.
“Your training today is simple, T4137. Simple enough for you to understand and follow. Patience. Your future Master may not always have a task or job for you to complete, so your default is to patiently wait, restrained or otherwise, by your Master’s whim. So that’s what you’re going to do. Wait. in that square and that square only. If you move a single toe out of line…” Master Constantin kicked his booted foot against T4137’s ankle, hard, causing the Drone to stumble out of his assigned square. A blinding, intense, painful jolt erupted from the device around his member. Master Constantin helped his Drone right himself back into position. “The sensors in this tile are connected to sensors in that cock ring. A toe out of line will result in the strongest shock the body can handle while remaining conscious.”
He left T4137 in the corner. “Now, I have some emails and calls to concern myself with. Remember, Drone, patience and silence.” And with that he left T4137 to absorb the shocking lesson of patience. It was far more intense than any zap he’d received while training with Spark. He had trouble focusing on those training sessions. They seemed to fade just as quickly as he remembered them. For a brief moment, T4137 wondered if even Spark could withstand this intense pain and shock…
—--
That afternoon, T4137 was once again straitjacketed and leg sacked, a preferred restraint method during training, he had surmised. His mental conditioning headset had been removed, as had his cock cage.
In its place, a clear, tight tub was affixed to his shaft, continually pumping, forcing orgasm after orgasm from the long denied T4137.
Master Constantin had determined that much of T4137’s rebelliousness was due to his lack of release. The threat of remaining locked versus the promise of a long delayed release worked only well enough to ensure compliance and obedience, he had explained while applying the milking device to the whimpering drone. “Drones like you require routine draining. Too much build up breeds discontent and disobedience. When you’ve been properly milked, you’ll be much happier. More content, and more obedient.”
And he’d left T4137. Three orgasms later, and the Drone was still pumping.
“Now, this is interesting…” Master Constantin said to himself. T4137 learned quickly that his trainer was rarely actually talking to T4137. Instead, Master Constantin often thought out loud.
He picked up the phone on his desk. “Tristan!... Yes… Just read it… Is this legit?”
A long pause.
“I mean, he’s only a week into training. We haven’t sent anything up to Marketing yet… Very interesting…”
—--
Luke couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to get out of his funk. But nothing seemed to help. He had his perfect husband and his amazing slaves, the dream career, everything he could ever want. And he was miserable.
He missed Tommy.
He hated to say it. But he really did. He had made so much progress. He was on the cusp. At least, Luke told himself that. Had he been too brash, too harsh? He’d put on a show in front of Maxim and Mr. Brier. He regretted that, now.
But it was too late. What would it cost to bring him back? And what version of Tommy would they get? He was already a week into training. Company training.
Luke’s training was as long or as short as it needed to be to mold him into the perfect slave and Crew Member to suit what Luke wanted and needed. He had the gift of time. The Company was well, a company. Selling a product, looking for profit. They were streamlined professionals. They wouldn’t break Tommy down over months. It would be weeks at most before he was deemed a viable product, or sold as is, if he could not or would not be trained effectively.
He put down the notes from Damian’s meetings the day before. His husband was with him in the office. He was bound simply, basic green rope restraints around wrists, ankles, chest, and thighs. He was relaxing on the leather sofa, his cage unlocked. A jazz record played softly on the player on one of the shelves.
Damian was reviewing the meetings with Luke, who sat in his office chair. Luke was only wearing his leather harness, a suggestion from Leaf, hoping it would get Luke more in the mood. It was working, but barely.
Luke read one of his husband’s notes, and Damien, from his languid position on the sofa, would explain what was said, and what reactions were, and what he meant from his quick notes.
Halfway through the notes, Luke slammed the notebook closed. “FUCK! I can’t stand it anymore! Damian, I miss him, damn it! I miss what he could have been with us, what he was on his way to being! I hate this!”
“Luke…” Damian tried to sit up, but the ropes made it difficult. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… I made a mistake. Fuck! I fucked everything up. I need to bring him home.”
“What about Mr. Dionicio, and the Company…?”
Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t care. I’ll take the consequences. Whatever sanction Maxim feels he needs to level. And we may need to avoid the next few events, if we aren’t outright asked not to attend. But we need Tommy back. I know you agree.”
Damian nodded. “Of course. We all miss him.”
“It’s settled then!”
It was late, but he didn’t care. He was past caring. He called Tristan Brier. “I apologize for how late I am calling. This is rude and unprofessional, and I have no excuse. But”, he took a deep breath, “I would like to purchase Tommy back. I made a mistake. I’m not too proud to eat some crow when I’ve earned it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. McLain.” Tristan’s remorseful voice spoke after a long pause. “I planned on calling you tomorrow morning. But I’m afraid that I cannot accept your request.”
Luke stood up. “What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid that Drone T4137, Tommy, has already been purchased, and the sale was approved this afternoon.”
The phone fell out of Luke’s hand. He stared, not at his bound husband, but at the mirror. His defeated reflection stared back at him. “We’re too late.”
