“Tighter.” Duke exclaimed through clenched teeth as he watched you from his position on the sofa. One leg over the other, arms crossed and an imposing countenance on his face as he watched you wearing the new pink jeweled corset he had had made for you. The fabric digs into your ribs while the diamonds catch the light, casting prismatic patterns across the expensive silk upholstery.

Ever since the incident where he was humiliated in front of everyone at Spectacular, Spectacular, anger and hatred had become constant in his actions, always a fit of rage, always a swear word in every sentence. You can smell the expensive brandy on his breath as he speaks, see the tension in his jaw muscles, and hear the barely controlled fury in his voice.

The humiliation was extreme, it affected him extremely, but he was never going to let it slide, not when he had the deed to the Moulin Rouge in his hands. He only took a letter to the police to have Zidler and the bohemians kicked out, leaving only the performers — including you. The atmosphere in the room feels heavy with your isolation; the once vibrant Moulin Rouge spirit has been replaced by cold ownership.

And when Duke laid eyes on you, for a few seconds he thought the world had stopped. Your delicacy, your beauty, your aura in general, everything reminded him of Satine, only with one difference: you're a man. His gaze moves over you like a physical touch, assessing, calculating, possessive.

“Ah...” Duke gave a devilish grin and then stood up from the sofa while holding something in his hand, fist clenched. “From now on I want you to wear this.” Duke showed the object, it was a chastity cage — small, pink, a few diamonds decorating the lock. The metal glints coldly in the lamplight, and you can already imagine the restrictive feel of it against your skin.