Caden adjusted the collar of his tight black shirt, letting his fingers trace the line of the perfectly tailored fabric. His reflection stared back at him in the full-length bedroom mirror, a mix of confidence and vanity gleaming in his pale green eyes. His body was his trophy, earned through long, sweaty hours at the gym and an unrelenting diet of grilled chicken, kale smoothies, and tequila shots—the latter strictly for social purposes, of course.
His lean frame was a masterwork—a canvas of sharp angles and taut, tanned skin. His chest was broad but not overbuilt, his waist narrow and cutting a sharp V into his low-slung trousers. His jawline, always adorned with just the right amount of stubble, was one of his best features, or so he’d been told. Caden knew how to use his looks—whether that meant an easy smirk that won over a bartender or the slow, deliberate way he unbuttoned a shirt when he knew someone was watching.
And someone was always watching.
“Another collab? What’s it this time, some kind of low-rent Men at Play knockoff?”
Caden turned to his boyfriend Leo, fresh from the shower and lounging on the bed. His loosely tied bathrobe left little to the imagination. Still sporting his workout pump, Leo’s glistening pecs and bulging biceps captured Caden’s attention momentarily.
“Not tonight,” Caden replied, holding up the black and gold envelope that had arrived earlier that day.
Leo squinted. “The Everweight Club? What the hell is that?”
“You haven’t heard of it?” Caden’s voice was laced with mock surprise. “That new gentlemen’s club took over the old guild hall by the pier.”
Leo sat up, his abs rippling as he leaned forward. “Yeah, but what do they want with you?”
Caden’s grin faltered, just for a moment. With a flick of his fingers and wrist, he sent the invitation flying on a boomerang arc across the bedroom. It landed on the bedspread, right between Leo’s massive thighs. He picked it up and opened it, his meaty hands creasing the paper’s edges.
“Dear Mr. Caden Locke,” Leo read aloud, “You have been nominated for membership in the Everweight Club. Should you accept this honor, join us at 8 PM this Friday. Dress appropriately. Wealth, power, and prestige await.”
“How could I refuse?” Caden said as he worked his silk tie into a perfect Windsor knot.
Leo snorted, running a hand through his damp blond hair. “Did you see the portraits of the nominating committee? All these dudes are old. And fat.”
Caden shrugged, though the word fat stuck in his brain like an unwelcome burr. “Maybe they’re branching out. Besides, they wouldn’t have nominated me if they didn’t think I had what it takes.”
“This has to be a mistake,” Leo said, rising from the bed and crossing the room in a few long strides. His muscular frame towered over Caden’s more toned, athletic build. “Or a joke. These clubs are where rich, old guys go to smoke cigars and complain about guys like us. You don’t exactly scream ‘trust fund.’”
Caden bristled, stepping back and adjusting his collar. “You’re just jealous.”
Leo barked out a laugh, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “Oh yeah, Cade. I’m real jealous. The second they find out about all the porn you’ve made, you’ll be run out on a rail.”
Caden slid his suit jacket over his shoulders, then snatched the invitation from Leo’s bear paws. “Or maybe, after I become a member,” he said, tucking the invitation into his pocket, “you’ll be begging me to introduce you to someone who can get you out of that lame personal training gig at Discount Fitness.”
The Everweight Club’s guild hall loomed over the warehouses and office blocks like a relic of a bygone era. Its stone facade was adorned with ornate carvings, and its high-arched windows glowed warmly in the dim evening light. Caden hesitated at the foot of the steps leading to the entrance, tugging at the lapels of his jacket. Compared to the imposing structure, he felt impossibly small. Patting the gold-edged invitation in his breast pocket, he took a deep breath, ascended the steps, and then pushed through the heavy oak doors into the grand foyer.
The interior was stunning—polished marble floors, intricately carved wooden columns, and a vaulted ceiling complete with frescoes. Caden’s footsteps echoed as he moved toward a group of men clustered near the base of a sweeping staircase. They were all enormous, their rotund frames dressed in immaculate white tie and tails gleaming under the chandelier’s soft light overhead. Thick, silver-gray mustaches adorned their faces, and their expressions radiated an air of untouchable superiority.
“Mr. Locke,” a smooth, baritone voice called out.
Caden turned to see a man breaking away from the group, his belly leading the way. He extended a hand. “How do you do? I’m Mr. Worthington, chairman of the nomination committee.”
Caden shook his hand, wincing slightly under the older man’s tight grip. Worthington’s tuxedo seemed impossibly tight, the white waistcoat straining over his massive midsection, and his mustache twitched with his every word.
“It’s a pleasure to welcome you to the Everweight Club.”
Caden forced a smile, acutely aware of his underdressed appearance. “Thank you for inviting me. This place is… incredible.”
“Quite so,” Worthington replied, his tone dripping with pride. “The guild hall was in such a sorry state when we acquired it. The club spares no expense when it comes to restoring greatness. Much like we do with our members.”
Caden wasn’t sure what Worthington meant by the last part, but before he could ask, Worthington held out a small velvet box.
“This is for you,” he said, opening the lid to reveal a gold ring. Its band was thick and its surface was engraved with the diamond-shaped Everweight Club emblem, which seemed to shift and shimmer in the light.
Caden hesitated. “What’s it for?”
“It’s tradition,” Worthington said, slipping the ring onto Caden’s finger before he could protest. The metal was warm, almost unnaturally so, and Caden felt a strange pulse as it settled into place.
“Not to worry,” Worthington said with a chuckle, noting Caden’s discomfort. “You’ll get used to it. Now, come with me. The others are eager to meet you.”
Worthington led Caden into the library, which seemed ripped straight from the pages of a Victorian novel. Shelves filled with leather-bound tomes lined each wall, their spines gleaming in gold and burgundy. Plush armchairs and polished mahogany tables created several conversation spaces, and a roaring fireplace cast a warm glow over the space.
Even more overwhelming than the room’s decor were its occupants. Every man present was old, fat, and resplendent in white tie. Caden squinted in the dim light, studying the expressions of the gentlemen as they chatted in small groups. The tuxedos seemed tailored not only to the men’s bodies but also to their personalities. The room practically oozed with unchecked smugness, wealth, and privilege.
“Gentlemen,” Worthington announced, his voice carrying over the low hum of conversation. “May I present our nominee, Mr. Locke.”
All eyes in the room turned toward him, and Caden immediately felt the weight of their scrutiny. Their small, calculating eyes roamed over his lean frame and casual jacket, their mustaches concealing tight lips and what Caden could only guess was disdain.
“Well, he’s young,” one of them said, his tone dry.
“And thin,” another added, as though the word itself were an insult.
Worthington laughed, clapping Caden on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, gentlemen. He’s a diamond in the rough. You’ll see.”
Worthington and Caden circuited the room as the men resumed their conversations, which revolved around topics that made Caden’s stomach churn: complaints about taxes, difficulty finding competent staff, and the “decline of standards” in society.
“Just the other day, my chauffeur dared to ask this weekend off,” one of them said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I told him, ‘You’re lucky to have weekends on, with the pay I give you!’”
The others roared with laughter, their bellies jiggling in unison.
Caden forced a tight smile, feeling increasingly out of place. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze darting around the room in search of anything that felt familiar.
“So, Mr. Locke,” one of the men said, turning his attention to Caden. “Where, may I ask, did you come by your fortune?”
The question hung in the air, and Caden felt his throat tighten. His “fortune,” such as it was, came from his side hustle making and selling adult content online—a detail he had no intention of sharing with this room full of old-money tycoons.
“I, uh…” he began, but Worthington stepped in smoothly.
“There will be plenty of time for questions at dinner,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “For now, let’s not overwhelm our guest.”
The other man nodded, though his expression made it clear he wasn’t satisfied.
Caden excused himself shortly after, slipping out of the library and into the washroom to catch his breath. The space was as opulent as the rest of the guild hall, with marble sinks and gold fixtures that sparkled under the soft glow of antique sconces.
He splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. At first, he thought the dim light was playing tricks on him. But as he leaned closer, his stomach tightened.
His jawline had a faint softness that hadn’t been there before, and his once-sculpted cheekbones seemed slightly less defined. He tugged at his shirt, realizing it felt more snug around the middle, where a subtle swell began forming.
His eyes darted upward, and he noticed faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes—lines that deepened when he frowned. His hair, once dark and thick, now had streaks of gray at the temples, and the texture seemed… thinner.
“What the hell?” he whispered, gripping the edge of the sink.
The ring on his finger pulsed faintly, the warmth spreading up his arm.
Before he could process what was happening, the door opened, and Worthington entered, running a finger over his mustache.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Locke?” he asked, his tone dripping with false concern.
Caden straightened, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just… needed a moment.”
Worthington’s eyes gleamed as he stepped closer, his presence towering and suffocating. “Good. Dinner is about to begin.”
The dining room was breathtaking. A long rectangular table dominated the room, covered in a pristine white cloth embroidered with gold thread. Massive candelabras adorned the table, their flames flickering in the dim light. The walls were lined with heavy tapestries and portraits of the Everweight Club’s past officers, each painting depicting a rotund, mustachioed man in varying states of regal repose.
At the head of the table sat Mr. Worthington, his girth making the chair groan softly as he settled into it. Caden was seated to his right, the place of honor, though he couldn’t shake the feeling of being woefully out of place. The chair felt too large, the room too opulent, and his trim frame too slight amidst the bulk of the other men.
“Gentlemen,” Worthington said, raising his glass. His voice cut through the low hum of conversation, drawing every eye to him. “Before we begin tonight’s feast, it is only proper that we honor one of our own.”
A heavy silence fell over the room, save for the faint clink of glasses being raised. Worthington’s expression turned solemn, his bushy mustache twitching slightly.
“This dinner is dedicated to the memory of Mr. Somerset, our beloved vice president,” Worthington continued. “A man whose appetite—for power, indulgence, and life itself—was unmatched. His absence leaves a void, one we can never truly fill. To Somerset.”
“To Somerset,” the men echoed, their voices deep and reverent.
As Caden raised his glass to join them, he felt a faint pulse from the ring on his finger. It grew warm—not uncomfortably so, but enough to make him glance down at it. The golden band shimmered faintly, the engravings almost seeming to shift under the light.
“Somerset was a true titan,” one of the older members began. “The largest man to ever grace this club, in both size and stature.”
Another member chuckled, his ruddy cheeks shaking. “Remember when Somerset bought that entire village just to demolish it?”
Caden’s eyes went wide. “D-demolish it?”
“He didn’t like the view from his summer estate,” Worthington said. “The townsfolk begged him to spare their homes—offered him all sorts of sentimental nonsense about heritage and tradition. Remember what he said, gents?”
“Sentimentality is for the poor,” came the chorused reply from a handful of members.
Caden eyed his glass of brandy and twisted the ring on his finger. “What happened to the town?”
“He turned the land into a private golf course,” the man to Caden’s right answered, sipping his brandy with a smirk. “Cost him millions to flatten the hills and relocate the families, but Somerset said it was worth every penny to hit his drive without seeing a single chimney in the distance.”
The table erupted into laughter, but Caden’s stomach turned. Somerset sounded like a monster. Yet, as the men continued singing his praises, he felt an odd sense of intrigue and a desire to know more about the deceased tycoon the men seemed to love so much.
“Somerset’s appetite was legendary,” one of them said, patting his massive belly. “No one could out-eat Somerset. At our holiday feast last year, he polished off an entire turkey himself, and that was just the first course!”
Caden winced at the mental image but found himself captivated by their admiration. The stories painted Somerset as a man who lived without restraint, without apology, and with absolute power—a grotesque and magnetic figure.
As the first course was served—a rich, creamy soup—Caden realized he was hungrier than he thought. The spoon felt heavy in his hand, but the soup’s flavor was sublime. It warmed him from the inside out, and before he knew it, his bowl was empty.
“Well done,” Worthington said, eyeing Caden’s empty bowl with approval. “But pace yourself, Locke. There’s much more to come.”
By the second course—a heaping plate of roasted duck with a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes—Caden was starting to feel overwhelmed. The portions were absurdly large, and every bite seemed to sit heavier in his stomach. Yet, as the men continued to praise Somerset’s gluttony, Caden found himself pushing forward.
“Somerset always said,” Worthington remarked with a smile, “that a man’s appetite was the truest measure of his ambition. How can you dominate the boardroom if you can’t dominate the table?”
The ring on Caden’s finger glowed warmer as if on cue, and an inexplicable wave of hunger washed over him. He picked up his fork and resumed eating with renewed vigor. The rich flavors filled his mouth, each bite more satisfying than the last. He could feel the food settling in his belly, stretching the waistband of his trousers tighter and tighter, but he couldn’t stop.
A loud pop echoed through the room as the button on his trousers burst free, landing with a clatter in the middle of the table.
Caden froze, his cheeks flushing crimson as the members roared with laughter and applause.
“Now that is a proper appetite!” one of them bellowed, raising his glass.
“Don’t be embarrassed, my boy,” Worthington said, his voice warm and encouraging. “You’re simply beginning to find your true self.”
Caden tried to cover his stomach with his napkin, but the warmth of the ring and the approving gazes of the men around him sent an unexpected thrill through him.
“Somerset would be proud,” Worthington added, gesturing toward the far wall. “Speaking of which, allow me to introduce you to the man himself.”
Caden turned to see a massive portrait hanging above the fireplace. The man depicted was enormous, his girth spilling over the arms of the chair he sat in. His bald head gleamed under the light, and his silver mustache curled proudly above a confident smirk. His tuxedo, tailored to perfection, emphasized the size of his belly and the breadth of his shoulders.
Caden’s breath hitched.
The portrait was… mesmerizing. The man’s presence seemed to radiate from the canvas, his sheer size and unapologetic decadence exuding a magnetic, almost primal allure. Caden felt his heart race, his face growing hot as a strange wave of desire washed over him.
“Magnificent, isn’t he?” Worthington said, noting Caden’s reaction.
Caden swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. He really is.”
As dessert was served—a towering slice of chocolate cake dripping with caramel sauce and whipped cream—one of the members leaned toward Caden.
“Tell me, Locke,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Are you married? Or… involved with anyone?”
Caden hesitated, his mind flashing to Leo—their fights, the tension, the way Leo had seemed so resistant to him joining the Everweight Club. The warmth of the ring pulsed again, stronger this time, as if it were waiting for his answer.
“No,” Caden said finally, the word leaving his lips before he could stop it. “I’m single.”
The man smiled, clearly satisfied, and raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” Worthington echoed, his eyes gleaming with approval.
As the toast rang out around the table, Caden felt guilt and exhilaration. The weight of the ring, the pull of the club, and the image of Somerset burned in his mind.
After dinner, the men retreated to their inner sanctum of excess: the smoking room. Plush leather armchairs, aged to a soft sheen, formed a loose circle between two crackling fireplaces. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the world beyond, leaving the room cloaked in a hazy, amber glow. The air was thick with the scent of cigars, brandy, and the faint tang of sweat and aftershave.
Caden sank into one of the chairs, feeling the strain of his too-snug trousers and the lingering lethargy from the seemingly endless courses of the marathon dinner. His stomach was bloated, his head foggy from the brandy, and his body felt heavy like never before. He ran a hand through his hair, which felt thinner and coarser than he remembered, and tried to focus on the low rumble of conversation around him.
The members of the Everweight Club reclined in their chairs, their massive bodies radiating an aura of smug satisfaction. Every one of them seemed larger than life, their tuxedos straining over their vast frames, their thick mustaches bristling with unspoken authority. Caden couldn’t stop staring at them—at their commanding presence, the way they lounged with such unapologetic indulgence, the way they seemed to embody power itself.
He’d never been attracted to men like this before. He liked his men gym sculpted, smooth, and muscular. But now, the raw masculinity of the Everweight Club—unrestrained decadence, sheer mass—was hypnotic. His gaze lingered on Worthington, whose belly pushed against his waistcoat as he puffed on a cigar, and he felt a thrill, an arousal he couldn’t explain.
Worthington’s voice cut through the haze. “Gentlemen,” he announced, setting his cigar in a crystal ashtray. “It’s time for the induction.”
The members began to rise, their movements slow but deliberate. Their immense bodies shifted and creaked against the leather chairs, forming a circle around Caden one by one. The flickering firelight danced against their polished shoes and the golden rings that adorned their fingers.
Caden shifted in his seat, suddenly uneasy. “What, uh… what does the induction involve?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Worthington said. He raised his hand, twisting the heavy gold ring on his finger. The club emblem seemed to shimmer, and as the other members followed suit, the room filled with a faint, otherworldly glow.
The light from the rings pulsed, growing brighter with each turn. Caden felt a strange pressure in the air, like a storm gathering around him. His head swam, and his vision blurred as the men began to chant.
“Power,” they intoned, their voices low and resonant.
“Privilege,” they continued, their circle tightening.
“Wealth.”
“Indulgence.”
“Exclusivity.”
The words burrowed into Caden’s mind, each sending a shiver down his spine. He tried to resist and focus on the trepidation bubbling in his gut, but the warmth of the ring on his finger pulsed in time with their chant, soothing him and lulling him.
“Repeat after us,” Worthington commanded, his voice like a velvet vise.
Caden shook his head, trying to push back against the fog creeping into his mind. “I… I don’t think—”
“Power,” Worthington interrupted, stepping ever closer.
Caden’s lips trembled. “Power.”
“Privilege.”
“Privilege.”
“Wealth.”
“Wealth.”
The words spilled from his mouth unbidden, and with each repetition, he felt his resistance crack. The circle of men advanced closer, their massive bodies hemming him in, their tuxedos brushing against his arms and legs. He was trapped. Their presence overwhelmed him. Suffocated him. Intoxicated him.
“Indulgence,” they said, their voices growing louder.
“Indulgence,” Caden repeated, his voice barely a whisper.
“Exclusivity.”
“Exclusiv—Exclusivity!”
The final word left his lips like a vow, and the warmth of the ring turned into a searing heat. Caden gasped, his body jolting as a wave of pleasure and pain washed over him.
The room seemed to spin as his body began to change. He felt his stomach swell, and the pressure of his waistband finally gave way as his belly pushed outward, heavy and soft. His chest broadened, and his shoulders thickened until his shirt and jacket seams began to tear. His thighs grew massive, ripping through the fabric of his trousers, and his hands, once lithe and tapered, thickened into powerful, sausage-like fingers.
Caden’s face burned as lines and creases carved into his skin, his youthful features giving way to a more rugged, weathered visage. He felt his hairline recede and his temples go gray as a thick, bushy mustache sprouted above his lip.
He looked down at himself, at the expanse of his belly, now encased in the tattered remains of his shirt, and at the golden ring on his finger, which seemed to glow even brighter against his thickened hands.
The men cheered, booming laughter filling the room as they clapped and patted Caden’s shoulders. “Welcome, brother!” they roared.
Caden’s mind reeled. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of confusion and exhilaration. He tried to remember who he was and held onto his image as lean, young, and free. But the more he looked at the men around him, the more he wanted to be like them.
“Who am I?”
“You tell us,” Worthington said, staring into Caden’s eyes expectantly.
“I’m…” Caden began, his voice deeper, gravellier than before. He faltered, his mind blank.
“Who are you?” Worthington insisted.
Caden’s lips parted, and the words came. “Somerset. Somerset. Somerset.”
The name echoed in the room, a final declaration of his transformation. The members of the Everweight Club surrounded him, their cheers blending into a low, resonant chant of his new name.
Somerset stood tall among them, his massive frame radiating power and privilege. The sea of men surrounding him parted, and one of the members approached with Somerset’s tuxedo, sure to fit his new, corpulent frame perfectly. He was one of them now—fully inducted, fully transformed, and fully home.
“Leo, I’m really sorry, man. I tried to fight for you, I swear,” the gym manager said, running a hand over his shiny, bald head.
Leo’s fists clenched at his sides. He stood in the cramped back office of Discount Fitness, his sweat-soaked tank top still clinging to him after a grueling workout. “So that’s it? After three years, you’re just letting me go?”
The manager sighed, looking genuinely pained. “It’s not personal. The franchise got bought out—some big-shot conglomerate. They’re slashing costs left and right. Trainers are the first to go. The new owners insisted on it.”
“Who bought it?” Leo snapped.
The manager hesitated, then shrugged. “Some company called EWC Holdings. Doesn’t ring a bell, but they came in, threw some money around, and now they own the place. Look, man, if I hear of anything—”
But Leo didn’t wait to hear the rest. He turned and walked out of the office, his jaw tight and his heart pounding with frustration.
Outside, the blazing sun hit him like a wall. The parking lot shimmered with heat oases, and Leo stormed toward his car, desperate to get away. But when he reached it, his already miserable day managed to get even worse.
A bright, orange clamp was locked onto the front wheel, glaring at him like an insult.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, running a hand through his sweat-slicked blond hair. His chest heaved as he tried to process. First, his dickbag boyfriend Caden disappeared weeks ago with no explanation and stuck him with both halves of the rent, and now this—no job, no car, and no clue what to do next.
He wandered aimlessly, cracked asphalt radiating heat beneath his sneakers, as he scrolled the contacts in his phone, wondering who to call for help. Then he heard the soft hum of an engine.
A sleek, black limousine rolled into the lot, tinted windows reflecting the harsh afternoon sun. It stopped near him and the driver stepped out first—an impeccably dressed chauffeur in a crisp, black uniform. The man walked to the back door, opened it with a precise gesture, and out stepped an older man, obese yet distinguished.
Leo’s eyes widened. The man was enormous, his belly straining against the buttons of his tailored three-piece suit. A silver pocket watch chain glinted across his waistcoat, and a polished walking stick with a gold lion’s head rested in his hand. His bald head gleamed under the sun, and his thick gray mustache curled slightly at the ends, giving him an air of both dignity and authority.
Already sweating, the old man adjusted his stance, leaning slightly on his walking stick, and addressed Leo in a deep, measured voice. “Excuse me, young man. I was hoping you might direct me to the Worthington Employment Agency?”
Leo blinked, caught off guard by the man’s commanding presence. “Uh… sorry, I don’t know where that is.”
The man tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smile peeking beneath his mustache. “Ah, a pity. Well, thank you anyway.”
Leo hesitated. “Are you… hiring? For anything?”
The older man’s eyes narrowed, studying Leo with an intensity that made him squirm. “As a matter of fact, I am. But it is for a domestic position. A butler, to be frank. I imagine you’d find such work beneath you.”
Leo opened his mouth to dismiss the idea—he did find it beneath him—but he caught a glimpse of the man’s fingers twisting the heavy gold ring he wore on his right hand.
Suddenly, Leo’s mind went foggy. A strange warmth spread through his chest, and his posture shifted of its own accord. His back straightened, his shoulders squared, and he placed one hand gently against the small of his back.
“I… I might be interested,” he said, the words surprising him as they spilled out. Then, as if a spontaneous command chided him, he continued: “Sir.”
The older man smiled wider. “It’s exhausting work,” he warned, almost teasing. “Long hours, limited days off, and you must dress properly at all times. White gloves, tailcoat, the works. Are you certain you’re up to the task?”
Leo nodded, though a small part of his mind screamed in confusion. “I only work out so much so I can look good for my employer, Sir.”
The man chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound. He extended his hand. “Very well, I might be willing to consider you for the position. What did you say your name was, young man?”
Leo reached out, his palm sweaty against the man’s cool, pudgy hand. The moment his fingers brushed against the ring, a jolt of something—electricity? Warmth?—coursed through Leo’s body.
“Name’s Leo, Milord,” Leo murmured, startled to hear the word escape his lips.
The older man bared his teeth, the smile extending to the crow’s feet surrounding his eyes. His grip was firm but not cruel. “No need to rest on such formality yet,” he said. “Call me Mr. Somerset.”
Leo stared at him, his mind swimming as the name echoed in his head. Never before would he have given such a man a second glance, but now, all he wanted was to please and obey such a magnificent example of masculine decadence and nobility.
“Yes, Sir, Mr. Somerset,” he said softly.
Somerset gestured to the open door of the limousine. “Shall we?”
Without thinking, Leo nodded and stepped inside, his body moving as if guided by an unseen force. Somerset joined him, and the chauffeur closed the door behind them with a soft click, sealing Leo in.
The limo pulled away, leaving the parking lot empty save for Leo’s clamped car and the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air.
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I don’t know if I’d rather have become one of the members, or just one of their obedient and uniformed butlers
Thanks for the comment! I’m glad you enjoyed the story. Read it twice and imagine yourself in both roles.