The banlieue stretched out in a sprawl of concrete and graffiti, a forgotten edge of the city where rules bent and shadows ruled. In a cramped apartment on the fifth floor of a crumbling tower block, Julien knelt on the cold tile floor, his bare skin prickling in the damp air. He was a gay slave, and tonight, his master, Marc, would initiate him into a ritual unlike any other.

The Banlieue Pact

Marc stood before him, a broad silhouette against the flickering neon light streaming through the cracked window. His leather jacket hung open, revealing a chest marked with tattoos—symbols of power in this lawless suburb. “You’re mine, slave,” Marc said, his voice rough like the streets outside. “Tonight, you learn what it means to serve your master.”

Julien’s pulse quickened. He’d been a gay man drifting through life until Marc found him, pulling him into this world of dominance and submission. Now, as a gay slave, he craved the structure Marc provided, the rituals that bound them in this concrete jungle.

“Golden shower training,” Marc announced, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll take it, and you’ll thank me.” Julien swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the floor. The idea thrilled and terrified him—a test of his devotion to his master.

The Preparation

Marc stepped closer, unzipping his jeans with a deliberate slowness that made Julien’s stomach twist. The room smelled of stale cigarette smoke and sweat, a fitting backdrop for their banlieue ritual. “Kneel up,” Marc commanded, and Julien obeyed, lifting his chest, his hands clasped behind his back like the good gay slave he’d been trained to be.

“You’re my slave,” Marc said, his voice a low growl. “And I’m your master. This is your place—beneath me.” He tilted Julien’s chin up with a rough hand, forcing their eyes to meet. Julien saw the fire in Marc’s gaze, the unyielding authority that defined him as master in this gritty world.

The ritual began with a pause, a moment of tension that hung heavy in the air. Julien’s body tensed, anticipating the warm cascade that would mark his submission. He was a gay man, yes, but here, in this apartment, he was something more—a slave ready to prove his loyalty.

The First Wave

Marc stepped back, positioning himself above Julien. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, and Julien complied, his lips parting as he stared up at his master. The first stream hit him, warm and sharp, a golden shower that baptized him into this new level of servitude. He flinched but held his position, a gay slave determined to please.

“Good,” Marc said, his tone laced with approval. “You’re learning, slave.” The liquid ran down Julien’s chest, pooling on the tiles beneath him. It was raw, primal, a ritual born of the banlieue’s unforgiving streets. Julien felt the weight of it, the power his master wielded over him.

As the flow continued, Marc’s eyes never left Julien’s face. “You’re mine,” he repeated, the words a mantra that anchored Julien in his role. “A gay slave doesn’t resist his master.” Julien nodded, the taste bitter on his tongue, but his heart swelled with a strange pride.

The Deepening Bond

The golden shower ceased, leaving Julien drenched and trembling. Marc knelt beside him, his hand gripping Julien’s shoulder. “You took it well,” he said, his voice softening for a moment. “But we’re not done.” Julien’s breath hitched—he was a gay slave, and his training was far from over.

Marc stood again, guiding Julien to lie flat on the floor. The tiles were cold against his back, the dampness seeping into his skin. “Spread your legs,” Marc commanded, and Julien obeyed, exposing himself fully to his master’s will. The banlieue outside buzzed with distant shouts and sirens, but here, it was just them—master and slave.

Another wave came, this time slower, more controlled. Marc aimed with precision, marking Julien’s body as his territory. “You’re a gay man who belongs to me,” he said, his voice steady. “This is your ritual, your place.” Julien closed his eyes, letting the sensation wash over him, a testament to his submission.

The Test of Endurance

The training intensified as Marc pushed Julien further. “Crawl to me,” he ordered, stepping back to the edge of the room. Julien moved, the wet floor slick beneath his hands and knees, his body still dripping from the golden shower. He was a gay slave, and every act of obedience deepened his bond with his master.

Marc watched, his expression unreadable. “Faster, slave,” he barked, and Julien pushed himself, ignoring the ache in his limbs. When he reached Marc’s feet, he looked up, seeking approval. “Good,” Marc said, crouching to meet his gaze. “You’re learning what it means to serve your master.”

The ritual wasn’t just about the act—it was about breaking Julien down, rebuilding him as the perfect slave. The golden shower was a symbol, a mark of ownership that transcended the physical. Julien felt it in his bones—he was a gay man transformed, a slave forged in the fires of the banlieue.

The Climax of Submission

Marc pulled Julien to his knees again, the final stage of the ritual looming. “One more,” he said, his voice thick with intent. Julien braced himself, his body weary but his spirit unbroken. The last golden shower came, a powerful stream that sealed their pact. He was a gay slave, and this was his initiation.

“Thank me,” Marc demanded, and Julien’s voice rasped out, “Thank you, Master.” The words were heavy with meaning, a vow of loyalty spoken in the aftermath of the ritual. Marc nodded, satisfied, his hand resting on Julien’s head like a crown.

“You’re mine, slave,” Marc said, the final declaration of the night. “A gay man who knows his place.” Julien’s chest heaved, his body marked and claimed, but his mind was clear—he belonged to his master, body and soul.

The Aftermath

The room fell silent, the banlieue’s chaos a distant hum. Marc helped Julien to his feet, steadying him as his legs shook. “You did well,” he said, his tone almost tender. Julien leaned into the touch, exhausted but fulfilled. He was a gay slave, and this ritual had cemented his place at Marc’s side.

They sat together on the worn couch, the dampness of Julien’s skin soaking into the fabric. Marc lit a cigarette, the smoke curling upward as he studied his slave. “This is just the beginning,” he said, a promise of more to come. Julien nodded, already anticipating the next test, the next ritual.

The golden shower training had been brutal, raw, and unforgettable—a banlieue rite that bound them tighter than any chain. Julien was a gay man, yes, but more than that, he was Marc’s slave, a role he’d embrace with every fiber of his being.

A New Dawn

As the first light of dawn crept through the window, Julien rested his head against Marc’s shoulder. The banlieue outside stirred, but inside, there was peace—a quiet born of submission and dominance. He was a slave, marked by his master’s will, and in that, he found freedom.

Marc exhaled a plume of smoke, his arm draping over Julien. “You’re my gay slave,” he murmured, the words a seal on their night. Julien smiled, content in his place, knowing he’d survived the ritual and emerged stronger—forever bound to his master in the heart of the banlieue.