Finishing touches
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@preppygdboys
Finishing touches
"I know the old you would think you look dorky like this, but remaking you into a good preppy boy is a process, Justin. The bow tie and loafers are certainly a start, but we have so much farther we can take you. So continue to drift deeper and deeper into trance and we will work more on your speech and behavior today. . ."
Casual Friday
Alternate
The Perfect Fit
Marcus Hale believed in order.
His office sat on the top floor of a glass tower overlooking the city, and everything inside it followed a quiet logic. The desk aligned perfectly with the windows. The books were arranged by height and color. Even the suits in his private wardrobe were spaced evenly along the rail, dark fabrics hanging in disciplined rows.
Marcus believed most people lacked structure.
And people without structure were easy to improve.
Sometimes, when his work was finished for the evening, he stood by the window and watched the street below.
Hundreds of people moved through the city every minute.
Most were busy. Distracted. Chaotic.
But every once in a while, someone stood out.
Someone unfinished.
Someone who simply needed the right guidance.
It was raining lightly when Marcus noticed him.
Across the street, outside a concert hall, a young man stepped out of the building holding a thin folder of sheet music. Tall. Athletic build. Dark hair slightly damp from the rain.
His shoulders slumped.
He looked hollow.
Marcus watched as the young man stood there for a moment, staring down at the pavement like the ground might offer an explanation.
Marcus recognized the look instantly.
Rejection.
It had a way of hollowing people out.
Marcus picked up his coat and headed downstairs.
The young man was standing near the road when Marcus approached.
“You auditioned,” Marcus said calmly.
The young man looked up, startled.
“Yeah.”
Marcus glanced briefly at the folder.
“And they declined.”
A quiet nod.
Marcus extended his hand.
“Marcus Hale.”
“Daniel.”
Marcus studied him carefully.
“You’ve been trying to become something,” Marcus said.
Daniel gave a weak laugh.
“Yeah. Guess I’m not good enough.”
Marcus tilted his head slightly.
“Not yet.”
Daniel frowned slightly.
“What do you mean?”
Marcus gestured toward the tower across the street.
“Come upstairs,” he said calmly. “You look like someone who could use a different opportunity.”
Daniel hesitated.
Then he nodded.
Marcus’s office was quiet when they entered.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city lights. Everything inside the room felt precise. Controlled.
Daniel stood awkwardly near the center of the room.
“Wow,” he said softly. “You run all this?”
Marcus walked past him and set his coat down neatly.
“I shape it,” he replied.
Daniel looked around, slightly overwhelmed.
“I wish my life looked this organized.”
Marcus studied him carefully.
“You’ve spent years trying to build something for yourself.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yeah.”
“And it hasn’t worked.”
Daniel sighed.
“Not really.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“You’re tired of deciding everything yourself.”
Daniel blinked.
“I… what?”
Marcus’s voice remained steady.
“Look at me.”
Daniel stopped.
His eyes lifted automatically.
Marcus held his gaze.
“Good,” Marcus said.
Something in Daniel’s mind began to slow.
Marcus continued calmly.
“You’ve spent years chasing approval.”
Daniel tried to answer.
“I—”
“Quiet.”
The word dropped into place like a switch.
Daniel’s voice stopped instantly.
Marcus nodded.
“That’s better.”
Daniel felt the noise inside his head fade.
Marcus walked toward the wardrobe and removed a folded shirt.
White. Perfectly pressed.
He returned and placed it in Daniel’s hands.
“You don’t need to think anymore,” Marcus said softly.
Daniel stared down at the shirt.
His thoughts were drifting.
Marcus spoke again.
“Put it on.”
Daniel obeyed.
His hands moved automatically, pulling the shirt over his shoulders, fastening the buttons neatly.
Marcus stepped forward and adjusted the collar.
“There.”
Daniel felt the fabric settle against him.
His breathing slowed.
His posture straightened without him trying.
Marcus smiled faintly.
“Good boy.”
Daniel repeated softly.
“I obey.”
Marcus nodded.
“That’s right.”
Daniel’s voice sounded distant to himself.
“I obey.”
Marcus spoke again.
“You must wear a suit.”
Daniel nodded immediately.
“I must wear a suit.”
Marcus corrected the collar slightly.
“Good boy.”
Daniel repeated it again.
“I must wear a suit.”
Marcus studied him carefully.
The uncertainty from earlier had disappeared.
Daniel stood straight now.
Still.
Attentive.
Marcus stepped back slightly.
“What is your name?”
Daniel answered without hesitation.
“Daniel.”
“And what do you do, Daniel?”
Daniel’s eyes remained fixed forward.
“I obey.”
Marcus smiled.
“Good boy."
Marcus turned toward the wardrobe.
Rows of perfectly tailored suits waited there.
He selected one and held it out.
“You must wear a suit.”
Daniel nodded.
“I must wear a suit.”
Marcus gestured toward the dressing room.
“Put it on.”
Daniel obeyed.
Moments later he stepped back out wearing the tailored suit.
The transformation was immediate.
Marcus walked around him slowly, adjusting the jacket and smoothing the shoulders.
“Stand straight.”
Daniel obeyed.
“Yes.”
Marcus nodded approvingly.
“That’s my good boy.”
Daniel repeated softly.
“I obey.”
Marcus turned back toward the window.
Outside, the city remained chaotic.
But inside the office everything was calm.
Ordered.
Daniel stood beside him, silent and attentive.
Marcus adjusted his cuff.
Some people spent their lives searching for purpose.
Others only needed someone to give it to them.
Daniel spoke quietly beside him.
“I obey.”
Marcus smiled faintly.
“Good boy.”
Vincent and the Preppy Club
Vincent found the envelope when he came home late, keys still in his hand, thoughts scattered the way they usually were. Matte white. Heavy paper. No return address. He stared at it longer than necessary, then opened it.
An invitation. The Ashford Society. Attendance encouraged.
No time. No explanation.
The building greeted him with silence. A door opening before he knocked. Warm light. Clean lines. Men standing in small, precise clusters, their voices low, their movements economical. Polo shirts in calm colours. Khaki shorts pressed so sharply they looked permanent. Vincent hesitated just inside the doorway, suddenly aware of his own lack of intention. His messy blond hair. His hoodie. His posture that never quite settled.
“You look lost.”
The voice was calm, almost amused. Vincent turned to see a man standing close enough that he hadn’t noticed him approach. Blond hair, perfectly arranged. Polo immaculate.
“I just got an invite,” Vincent said. “I wasn’t sure—”
“That’s how everyone starts,” the man replied, smiling. “I’m Julian.”
“Vincent.”
Julian nodded, eyes moving over him slowly, not judging, assessing. “You stand out.”
Vincent laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”
“For now,” Julian said lightly. “Come on. You’ll feel less awkward once you settle in.”
Vincent followed before thinking to ask where they were going.
“You’re tense,” Julian observed at one point, resting a hand briefly on Vincent’s shoulder. “You carry too much noise.”
Vincent exhaled without realizing he’d been holding his breath. “I guess I do.”
“We help with that here.”
Men passed them, adjusting collars in mirrors, smoothing sleeves, correcting posture without instruction. One caught Vincent looking and smiled faintly.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “It feels better once everything lines up.”
Vincent nodded, though he wasn’t sure what that meant.
Time blurred. Rooms blended together. Conversations looped back on themselves gently, always redirecting Vincent when he strayed too far. Whenever he fidgeted, someone noticed. Whenever he hesitated, someone reassured him.
Then Vincent noticed the doors.
How they closed softly behind him. How the exits weren’t where he remembered them.
“I think I should go,” he said suddenly, stepping back. “I didn’t plan to stay this long.”
Julian’s expression didn’t change. “You’re overstimulated.”
“I’m serious.”
“That happens right before clarity.”
Vincent shook his head and turned away, panic breaking through the calm. He ran.
The hallway stretched longer than it should have. The lights felt warmer. His footsteps sounded wrong. Heavy.
Hands caught him. Not rough. Firm. Correcting.
“Easy,” someone said near his ear. “You’re safe.”
“Let me go,” Vincent said, but his voice sounded distant to his own ears.
Julian stepped into view, unhurried. “You almost made yourself uncomfortable.”
“I don’t belong here.”
Julian smiled gently. “Not yet.”
Vincent was guided into a smaller room. Quiet. Padded walls. A single chair bolted to the floor, facing a mirror. He slowed instinctively.
“What is this?” he asked.
“A moment of focus,” Julian replied.
They sat him down. Leather straps closed around his wrists, his ankles, his chest. Not tight. Just enough to remind him where he was meant to stay. Vincent tested them once, twice, then stopped. Struggling felt pointless, like pushing against gravity.
Julian pulled a chair close and sat facing him, their knees almost aligned.
“Listen carefully,” Julian said. “You’re not in trouble. You’re being corrected.”
Vincent swallowed. “I want to go home.”
“I know,” Julian said calmly. “Say this for me.”
Julian spoke slowly, clearly. “I am calm.”
Vincent hesitated.
Julian waited.
“I… am calm,” Vincent said.
“Good,” Julian replied. “Again.”
“I am calm.”
“I belong where I am,” Julian said.
“I belong where I am.”
“My mind is clear from any distracting thoughts.” Julian said.
“My mind is clear from any distracting thoughts.”
“I must obey the rules.” Julian said.
“I must obey the rules.”
The phrases repeated. Not shouted. Not rushed. Corrected gently whenever Vincent stumbled. The mirror reflected his own face back at him, slowly emptying of tension, of doubt.
Julian stood and stepped out of Vincent’s line of sight. When he returned, he held folded clothing.
A polo shirt. Pale blue. Structured collar.
Julian loosened the straps just enough. “Hold still.”
The polo slid over Vincent’s shoulders, soft and deliberate. Julian adjusted the collar carefully, centering it, smoothing it flat against Vincent’s neck.
“There,” Julian said quietly. “Now kneel, Vincent.”
Vincent kneeled on command.
“There we go, who's my good little obediant good boy?” Julian asked
“I am, Master” Vincent said mindlessly
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