WARNING: This shit is dark and triggering! It revolves around shoving the listener into a closet to break them, utterly, while opening the door from time to time to violate them in various ways.

Summary: You’re the mistress of the House of Doors, where you specialize in keeping people locked in closets while you break them and train them. This is a service you provide, which is a cross between a kinky couple’s getaway, and a dog-training kennel for human subs. Things get dark when you meet a man you want to keep for yourself...and he already has a fiance’.

Shoutout to the immensely talented u/DesperateDoll who inspired the concept for this short.

Who also did the original scriptfill here.

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This script was brought back from the great pastebin purge by request. Reposted here for posterity.

Permissions: I, Mental_Trap, give permission to anyone to edit, re-write, or use any part of this for non-commercial use within the GWA community. For commercial use please message reddit user u/Mental_Trap

[Brackets] = Suggested Tone, Pauses, Etc

*Stars* = Suggested Emphasis on Words

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START

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I’ve never broken a contract before you. But when I see you, I know I have to have you.

Your fiance’ doesn’t notice it; The way my eyes linger on you. Hunger for you... Lust and desire are part of the game, after all. And as your new mistress, I set the rules. The way I bite my lip, the way my fingers drift up my dress to my choker, playing with the steel studs... She assumes it’s part and parcel. That I’m teasing you, before you get your money's worth.

Well...before you get *her* money's worth.

But it’s real. My wanton desire for you might be the only real part of our meeting; as the two of you sit in my parlor, negotiating the terms of your imprisonment.

"we break people here," I tell your lovely fiance’. "Permanently. Utterly. You understand that, right dear?"

She nods, enthusiastically. Your fiance is a lovely creature—A porcelain doll in domination gear—bought from the lover’s store at the mall.

I can see how aroused this is making her; How excited she is at the prospect of having you trained, professionally. Like a puppy. To be taught your manners and released back into her care, with a little diploma for good manners, and a whistle for when you jump on her.

She's excited. Breathy. She loves you very much...I can see it in the way she holds your hand. Squeezes it. Comforting you. Reassuring you.

She has no idea how badly I want to rip you from her and destroy you.

We share a tense moment, the three of us...A split-second, as I hand her the contract, and some of my eagerness shines through my smile. She can still back out. She can still take you home, unspoiled, if only she would look up.

But she's dizzy with desire. She wants to masturbate to the tapes we’re going to make of you. She wants the docile creature I've promised her. She wants you, in chains, forever ready to serve her.

She misses her moment…

Your fiance’ overlooks the burning intensity in my eyes, as my gaze wanders over your body. Your tired features. Your slumped posture. Your downcast eyes. I can't wait to make you mine... And your fiance can’t wait to sign the contract.

She blushes, bites her lip, signing her name beside yours at the bottom. She is oblivious. But you...I see your sudden fear, Your hesitance.

Good. I like clever boys.

[Pause]

I march you, chained, through the main gallery, and you gasp.

Now you see why I call my home the House of Doors. There are dozens of them...perhaps hundreds on the ground floor alone. Each door is as wide as a small cupboard, made of polished oak, with heavy iron bands. No slats. No windows. No wider than a telephone booth. Just enough room to keep a grown adult...uncomfortably.

I open a cupboard door near the middle of the gallery, where the muffled sobs and grunts and moans of my clients surround us. Inside is a dank, dark closet... More of a shaft, really. The floor is concrete with a drain. The walls are plaster with peeling paper.

I flip a switch in the hallway, and a bare lightbulb in the closet flickers and buzzes. I shove you in, shackled, and you stumble to your knees.

"You have one hour to remove your clothes and cum." I tell you. "If you haven't ejaculated by the time I return, or if there's a stitch of clothes on you, your punishment will be severe."

You are still chained, wrists and ankles, with your hands cuffed behind your back. Your open mouth, and the baffled look in your eyes, are delicious as I close the door and turn off the light.

[Pause]

As far as impossible tasks go, you do quite well.

When I open the door you are naked, with scraps of torn, chewed clothes clinging to the chains between your wrists and ankles. You are rubbing your erect cock, desperately, against the grimy floor, when the hall light blinds you.

You blink up at me, and I point at the floor where you’ve been rubbing your cock. I tell you to take a closer look, and in the stark light you see how stained it is...how many others have fouled the surfaces of the closet before you were brought here.

I tell you you're disgusting. Filthy. That your time with me will be miserable and painful, but it’s no less than you deserve. It won't be erotic or sexy. I don’t plan on releasing you at the end, either. I tell you that you're mine. In a very real way. And for half a heartbeat, I see you smile, like this is all part of the game.

My look of displeasure...my chill...sobers you.

"This is not a weekend retreat," I tell you, as I remove my panties and hike up my dress. "This is not the fun premarital fling your fiance thought she was buying. She misjudged me. *You* misjudged me. And now you're mine."

I squat over you, still lying on the filthy concrete, and I relieve myself. I aim a stream of piss at your face, and I hear you choking. As you sputter, I tell you what's going to happen next.

"I'm coming back with company. Soon. And if you haven't gotten off by the time I returned...They will."

Once again, I leave you in the dark. Cold and naked. Rubbing yourself, desperately, against the floor.

[Pause]

To be honest, you never had a chance. The first night is meant to be rough. To break your will, and shatter your expectations. But because you're special to me...Because I plan to make you my personal pet...I'm extra hard on you.

When I return I have two other clients in-tow. A man, and a woman. They're chained with their hands bound in front of them, and leather masks and gags to blind and silence them. They look harder...leaner than you. They've been through a lot already, in my house. Our treatments have made them quite feral.

I guide them, blindfolded, into the closet with you. They stand over you, sniffing the air. I tell them they have one hour to impress me. Then I shut and lock your door. And it's like locking wolverines in with a rabbit.

I lean against the door and I masturbate, as your confusion turns into violent struggles, and the oak rattles against my back. I hear you scream. I hear you cry. I hear you use safe words...and pleas...and threats. Finally, I hear you sobbing, as my feral, moaning beasts claim every part of you. Eventually, I cum against the quaking door, listening to your spirit being shattered.

[Pause]

Your fiance’ is a noisy, troublesome creature. I let her watch the tapes. Just like she wanted. But she demands to see you...demands your release.

I show her to your door, and I allow you to hear her pleas for your freedom. She wants to break our deal. She wants to take you home. She didn't think our treatment...your *violation* would be this harsh. She offers to pay me, anything I want, for your return.

“Sure,” I tell her. “He’s right in there. Take him.”

I wait for her to grasp the cupboard handle, pulling at your door, before I hit her.

She staggers, falls against the oak, and it rattles. You hear me hitting her again...and again...until she's sobbing. Begging. Then you hear me order her to get on her knees...

She’s shocked when she sees what I've worn under my dress; a silicone cock the width of my wrist. I tell her to open her mouth, and she does.

As I use my cock to silence her, forcefully, I wonder if you’ve ever used her like this. Have you ever pushed your cock down her throat? Made her inhale your dick? Made her gag so hard on you, she shook? Judging by your sensitive nature, I think not. So I give her what she’s never had.

...And I make sure you can hear the repeated slam of her skull against your door, as I fuck her throat. She coughs. She cries. And when she flinches, pulling away, I hit her again.

When my cock is slick with her spit I turn her around and push her against the door...And I claim your lovely, weak-willed fiance’. I make her scream against the oak...first in indignation and pain, as I fill her...then in ecstasy. I claim her, hard, and when she collapses, quaking, on the ground, I drag her away from your door by her long pretty hair.

When I return, I taunt you from the hall. I tell you how worthless of a man you are...how you let me desecrate your woman, without ever crying out for her. You didn’t even try to warn her. And do you know why?

Because you’re weak. Because you’re a slut, and you enjoyed it. You enjoyed hearing me violate her...hurt her...because you were broken long before I put you in that box. You didn’t scream for her because I told you not to...and you came, to my abuse of her, because I wanted you to.

I confirm it when I open the door and I see you in tears. I see the cum dripping from your cock, down your leg.

You enjoyed it. You finally came. And now, we know who you belong to. You must have suspected what I would do to your fiance’.

Yet you never made a peep...

[Pause]

Kidnapping and sex trafficking are very serious accusations, the cops tell your fiance’.

It’s real, She insists. You really are being held captive in a cupboard...and the house is full of sex slaves.

The cops don’t laugh, as I unlock your door, but they look amused. Their eyes twinkle.

The door opens. You blink in the light. And you see me, your mistress, standing between two uniformed officers.

Your fiance is crying. Mascara is running...again. She’s wearing long sleeves and a long skirt to cover the bruises. And she’s shocked...horrified by your appearance.

“It’s only a game. It’s all in good fun. A little kink-play between adults.” I assure the cops. “Besides, when a man gets cold feet before a wedding, it’s easier to run to his mistress. Someone who will listen, and comfort them. It’s sad, but certainly not a crime.”

The police uncuff your arms, and they ask you if it’s all true.

You look at your fiance’...at her distraught face...puffy from crying. And you look at the police, who wait, patiently.

Then you see me.

Or, more accurately, you look at my boots, because you know better than to meet my gaze without permission.

You fall, gently, to your knees, and you crawl to me. You press your cheek against my thigh, and I make a show of petting your head.

Your wife breaks so utterly, she has to be escorted away by one of the officers, wailing. The remaining cop looks at you, and he smiles. Then he tips his cap to me, and winks.

“Mistress…” The officer says. Then he leaves to drive your ex-fiance’ home.

[Pause]

At first, I don’t show you how much you’ve pleased me.

I don’t believe in rewarding behavior that should be second nature. And my coldness toward you...the sting of my negligence, after you’ve thrown your life away...that’s your true breaking point.

You are cuffed again, in your cupboard, and I hear you sobbing when you think you’re alone. It sounds empty and unbearable, and you crumble, realizing what you’ve done...the life you’ve abandoned...the fiance’ you’ve spurned...the painful existence you’ve committed yourself to. It breaks you. Utterly. Unreservedly.

It breaks me, too.

I sit in the hall, listening, with my back to your door. I hug my knees to my chest, and I wait. Until your tears dry up, and your breathing goes from shallow, to rasping and steady. Then I rise. I dust myself off, wipe my eyes, compose myself, and I open your door.

You are broken. Wide-eyed, like a boy. Naked, sitting on the floor. And you look like you’ve just seen your first miracle.

And that is how I want you to look at me. Every time you see me. Always.

“You’re mine,” I tell you as I straddle your lap. I hitch my dress up. I lower myself onto you. And I grind on you, until I feel you rise under me.

“You are my fucktoy. And I will take you out and use you whenever I want.”

I grind, and I bounce on you, and you gasp.

“You are my cocksucker, my whore, when I want. You are my slave. My slut. My plaything.”

I feel your cock twitching inside me, desperate, grateful, and I cradle your head under my chin.

“Whatever I do to you...however I decide you please me best...it’s my decision. You are my property.”

I ride you like a toy, then I take a fistful of your hair and I jerk your head back. I hold your neck with one hand, while I slide my fingers into your mouth, down your throat, with the other.

“You’re mine.” I grit my teeth, grinding your hips into the concrete. “You are my fucktoy. Never forget who you belong to.”

I feel you shaking under me, and I’ve never experienced anything like it. You convulse, filling me with your hot seed, and little sobbing whimpers and gasps escape your throat.

I brush your hair, and I hold you against me again. And it’s like I’m holding together the pieces of you.

“You’re mine.” I whisper. Loving, soft. Over and over. “You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine…”