Shackles of Eldridge - Pt.2 by Dome-Mane

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The carriage finally rattled to a halt as we crossed the threshold into the estate, its towering gates closing behind us with an ominous clang. The long journey had stretched the silence between us into something nearly unbearable. I could feel it—Godwin’s quiet resistance, his stubborn refusal to acknowledge the weight of what was happening. But that silence would end soon. I had always admired his strength, but now it was time to remind him who held the power.


I glanced at him, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes fixed on some distant point outside the window, as if that would save him from what was inevitable. He had barely spoken a word since we left the village, and I was done with his defiance. He would talk. He would submit.
I straightened, adjusting my gloves as the door to the carriage opened, my attendant waiting for us to step out. I kept my voice measured, cool, but with a distinct edge of authority.


"Come, Godwin," I said, standing and giving him no room for protest. "We’ve arrived."
Godwin hesitated for a brief moment, but then he followed, his movements slower, more reluctant. His silence was louder than anything he could have said, but that would soon change.


I watched him as he stepped out into the courtyard of the dukedom—his eyes flickering up to the grand estate that stretched before us. It was larger than the one I had grown up in, more lavish, more imposing. My father had made sure of that before passing the title on to me. Every stone, every statue, and every inch of the grounds spoke of the wealth and power I now held. And Godwin would be reminded of it, too.


I nodded to my attendants, and they quickly whisked our bags away, leaving us alone. I led the way through the grand doors, Godwin following behind, still caught in that stubborn silence. It wouldn’t last.


As we reached the private chambers, the heavy doors closing behind us, I turned to face him. Godwin stood there, rigid, trying so hard to maintain his composure. He had always been like that, even when I was younger—strong and stoic, but that strength only made his moments of vulnerability more precious.


"You’ve been quiet for too long," I said, letting my voice cut through the tension like a blade. "That’s not the Godwin I remember."


He blinked, his eyes finally meeting mine. For a moment, I saw a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—but he quickly masked it.


"I have nothing to say, Your Grace," he replied, his voice rough, like he had forced the words out.


"Nothing to say?" I stepped closer, the weight of my authority pressing down on him. "After all this time, after abandoning me, your only words are out of formality?"


Godwin looked away, his jaw tightening. "It wasn’t like that. I—"


I raised a hand, silencing him before he could offer his excuses. "I’m not interested in your explanations." My tone softened, though still laced with control. "But I am interested in reminding you of what you’ve left behind. Of what is mine."


His silence returned, but this time it wasn’t the same defiance. It was tension. Uncertainty. I could see the flicker of fear again, the realization of what was to come settling in.


"You didn’t think I would let you leave so easily, did you?" I asked, stepping even closer. I could feel the heat of his body, the tension radiating off him like a palpable force. "You were mine long before you decided to leave, Godwin. That hasn’t changed."


"I have a family now," he muttered, barely audible, as if saying the words would somehow break the spell between us.


I let out a small chuckle, tilting my head slightly as I regarded him. "Yes, your little family. Your beautiful wife. Your daughter." I took pleasure in watching him stiffen at the mention of them. "Did you really think I wouldn’t take care of them? That I wouldn’t ensure they were provided for?"

His eyes snapped to mine, a flash of anger sparking in them. "What do you mean?"
I smiled, slow and deliberate. This was the moment. "They’re safe, Godwin. Because I’ve seen to it. I’ve made sure your wife and daughter have everything they need. Every comfort, every luxury they could want."


He stared at me, his mouth opening slightly, confusion clouding his expression. "Why would you—"


"Why?" I echoed, my voice softening into something more dangerous, more intimate. I stepped closer, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to, my hand drifting toward his hair but stopping just short. "Because you’re mine, Godwin. And what’s yours... is mine as well."


He recoiled, his eyes widening in disbelief, anger simmering beneath the surface. "You had no right—"


"I had every right," I interrupted smoothly, my tone hardening. "And I’ll continue to take care of them. But that’s up to you, isn’t it?"


His breath hitched, and I could see the war inside him—the urge to fight, to push back against the control I had over him. But I wasn’t finished. Not yet.


"If you continue to be stubborn, well... I can’t promise they’ll continue to live in such comfort. But if you stay... if you return to where you belong..." I let the words linger, watching as the reality of the situation settled over him like a shroud. "Then they’ll never have to worry about a thing."


Godwin clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw working as he fought to keep his composure. "You... you wouldn’t do that."


I smiled again, this time letting my hand finally reach his hair, fingers tangling in the thick, golden strands. The sensation was as familiar as it was intoxicating. I had waited so long for this. "You know I would."


His body stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. Not this time. I could see the fight draining out of him slowly but surely as the reality of my words sank in. He was trapped, and he knew it.


"I want to hear you say it," I whispered, my fingers still playing with his hair. "Tell me you understand. Tell me you know your place."

Godwin swallowed hard, his breathing ragged as he tried to keep control. But there was no escaping it. Not anymore.

"I... understand," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

I leaned closer, my lips brushing against his ear as I spoke the next words, my tone laced with both cruelty and tenderness. "Good. Because you’ve always belonged to me, Godwin. And now, I’ll make sure you never forget it."


I pulled back slightly, letting my fingers trail through his hair one last time before stepping away. I nodded toward the door, signaling the waiting servants to enter.


Godwin’s eyes followed them as they brought in a chair, setting it in the center of the room. A heavy silence settled over us, broken only by the faint rustle of their movements.
I watched him carefully, my heart pounding with anticipation. He still didn’t understand fully. But he would.


I gestured toward the chair, my voice calm and commanding. "Sit."


Godwin hesitated, his eyes flickering to the chair, then back to me. There was a brief moment where I saw him consider defiance, but it was quickly quashed. He knew there was no escape. Not now.


Slowly, he stepped forward and sat down, his body tense, his eyes wary. I could see the fear in him now—the realization of what was coming. But he still didn’t know the full extent of it.
I walked behind him, placing my hands gently on his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath my fingers. For a moment, I let myself remember all the times he had been the strong one, the protector, the one I looked up to. But that time was over.


My hands drifted upward, once again threading through his hair. The thick, soft strands slipped between my fingers, and I let myself enjoy the sensation for a moment longer. Soon, that hair—his beautiful, golden hair—would be mine, too.


"You taught me so much," I murmured, my voice soft, almost tender, as I continued to play with his hair. "How to be strong. How to be a leader. How to carry myself with confidence."


Godwin sat there, rigid, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if to anchor himself. I could feel the tension radiating off him, the silent struggle between what he wanted and what he knew was coming.


"But now," I continued, my voice dropping lower as I leaned closer to him, "it’s time for me to teach you something."


Godwin’s breath hitched, and I could feel the tremor in his body as he fought to keep his composure.


"I’m going to teach you," I whispered, my fingers tightening in his hair, "that you are mine."
The servants brought the tools forward, the clink of metal echoing through the room. I didn’t rush. This moment was too important, too significant. The silence between us grew heavier, filled with the weight of all that had passed between us.


"I won’t hurt you, Godwin," I said, my tone soft but firm. "But you will remember this. You will remember where you belong."


He said nothing, but I could feel his heart racing beneath my hands. He was on the edge, teetering between resistance and surrender. And I would push him over.

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The room was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the soft clink of the clippers being prepared. Godwin sat rigid in the chair, his shoulders tense, his hands gripping the arms as if they were the only things keeping him grounded. His breath came in shallow bursts, and I could feel the tremor running through him, though he was trying to mask it. But I knew. I could feel the storm brewing inside him.



I stood behind him, my fingers still tangled in his hair, luxuriating in the feel of it—thick, soft, and undeniably perfect. That hair had never seen clippers before, and now I would be the one to change that. The thought of it sent a slow, possessive thrill coursing through me. This was more than just a haircut. It was a statement—a declaration of what belonged to me.


Godwin had always been magnificent, even when we were younger. His physical beauty was undeniable, and his presence was commanding in ways that made everyone around him relax. But now, as I stood over him, I felt a surge of possessiveness unlike anything I had known before. He wasn’t just a man anymore. He was my man. He had always been mine, but now I was making sure the world—and he—understood it.


My hand tightened slightly in his hair, and I could feel his body stiffen beneath my touch.
"You’re trembling," I murmured, my voice low and smooth as I leaned in close to his ear. "I thought you were stronger than this, Godwin."


He said nothing, though his breath hitched slightly at the challenge. I could feel his pride warring with the reality of the situation. There was a time when he had been the one to guide me and teach me how to carry myself, but that was in the past. I wasn’t that boy anymore, and Godwin needed to understand that.


"I can’t help but wonder," I continued, letting my voice take on a contemplative tone, "how best to do this. Should I make you look at me? Watch as every strand falls away? Or perhaps it would be better for you to bow, to feel the weight of your submission."


He said nothing, and I could feel the tension growing between us, thick and palpable. I moved my hand gently, tugging his hair slightly, just enough to make him react. I wanted to see him struggle with this, to feel the enormity of what was about to happen.
"Godwin," I said softly, my voice coaxing but firm, "speak."


He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room. For a long moment, he said nothing, but then finally, in a voice laced with frustration and confusion, he spoke.


"What happened to you?" His words were rough, as though forcing them out took everything he had. "You’re not the boy I once knew."


I smiled, though he couldn’t see it. His words were exactly what I had expected, what I had hoped for. He wanted to understand. He still thought that by appealing to some part of me—the part of me that had once admired him as a boy—he could change the outcome.
"I grew up, Godwin," I said, letting my voice soften slightly. "I became the man you taught me to be."


He shook his head, his hands tightening around the arms of the chair. "No," he muttered. "This isn’t what I taught you. This isn’t..."


"This is exactly what you taught me," I interrupted, stepping around to face him, forcing him to look up at me. "You taught me how to be strong. How to lead. How to take what I wanted."
He glared at me, his eyes flashing with anger and confusion. "I never taught you this. You’re—"


"I’m everything you made me," I said, cutting him off again. My voice was still calm, but beneath it was the unshakable weight of my control. "You made me strong, Godwin. And now, I’m showing you what that strength looks like."


His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his eyes searching mine, but there was nothing left to argue. He knew as well as I did that his words had no power here. Not anymore.
I glanced at the clippers in the servant’s hand and then back at Godwin. I had thought about this moment for so long and considered every possible way to assert my control, but the truth was that there was only one way that felt right.


"Bow your head," I commanded, my voice leaving no room for argument.


Godwin hesitated for just a moment, his pride keeping him upright, but then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—he lowered his head. The movement was stiff and reluctant, but it was submission nonetheless. The sight of him bowing before me sent a wave of satisfaction through me. This was what I had wanted, what I had dreamed of for so long.
I ran my fingers through his hair one last time, letting the strands slip through my fingers as I savored the sensation. This hair—his crowning glory, the thing that made him so untouchable to others—would be the first thing to fall. I would strip it from him, just as I had stripped him of his freedom.


Without a word, I nodded to the servant. The low hum of the clippers filled the room, breaking the tense silence. I reached for Godwin’s head, my hand resting on the familiar curve of his neck. He flinched, and for a moment, I felt the warmth of his skin against my palm—a reminder of the years that had passed between us, the boy who once carried me, now sitting beneath my control.


"You’ll remember this," I said quietly, though the edge in my voice softened. This was not just a punishment—it was a reunion of sorts, one I had dreamed of in too many nights of solitude.


The clippers buzzed louder as I pressed them to his scalp. The first lock of golden hair fell, shimmering in the dim light, and I felt an unexpected ache in my chest. His hair—so familiar, so tied to the memories of our youth—was falling away, and with it, something fragile between us. Each swipe was slow, deliberate, but not ruthless. I wanted him to feel the weight of the moment, but I wanted to feel it too.


"Do you feel it?" I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear. "Do you feel what's slipping away?"


He inhaled sharply, his hands gripping the armrests, but I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—was it fear, or something closer to understanding? His resistance wasn’t gone, but beneath it, I saw the vulnerability I’d always been drawn to.


He exhaled through his nose, a sound caught between anger and helplessness. But still, he remained silent, a last grasp of defiance.


With another slow stroke, I moved the clippers higher, watching as more of his thick, golden hair fell away. The once-messy strands that had always defied control were now yielding to me, disappearing under the relentless buzz of the clippers. His scalp emerged pale and exposed in the wake of each pass, the contrast startling. The back of his head was now bare, and I ran my hand over it, savoring the smoothness, the new vulnerability.
"You’re quiet," I mused, tilting his head slightly to the side, forcing him to expose more of his neck. "You always had something to say before. Now, nothing?"


His jaw clenched. He was trying to hold onto whatever sense of dignity he had left, but I wasn’t going to let him have it. Not now.


I moved to the side of his head, the clippers buzzing as I placed them just above his ear. His hair there was shorter but still thick, the kind that many admired for its effortless look. I pressed the clippers to his temple and slowly guided them upward, leaving a clean path in their wake. The sound of the clippers slicing through the hair was almost hypnotic, each pass more satisfying than the last.


Godwin’s breath hitched as I moved around him, taking my time. I wanted him to feel this, every moment of it. His once-carefree hair was being stripped away, and with it, the illusion of the man who had once been free.


"Why?" he finally asked, his voice rough and barely above a whisper. "Why are you doing this? What do you gain from this?"


I paused, letting the clippers hover over his head for a moment, considering my answer. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I brought them down the middle of his scalp. The thickest, longest part of his hair fell away, cascading to the floor in thick, shining clumps. His head was exposed, bare and vulnerable, the stark skin visible between what remained.
"I already told you," I said, my voice firm but calm. "This isn’t about gain. This is about control. I’m taking back what was always mine."


I circled him, moving to the other side, where the hair was still untouched, still defiant. I pressed the clippers against his scalp once more, feeling the resistance of the hair as it was severed. This time, I could sense a shift in Godwin. His hands, once clenched in defiance, now seemed to relax just slightly, as if he were beginning to understand what was happening—what he could no longer stop.


I bent down slightly, my face inches from his as I worked the clippers around the side of his head, each pass slower, more deliberate. I wanted him to feel it. I wanted him to remember every single moment.


"You used to carry me on your back," I said softly, the memories coming unbidden as I cut through the last remaining strands. "I used to play with your hair when you did. I loved the way it felt—so soft, so strong."


Godwin closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting against the memories. I knew what I was doing. I was reminding him of the bond we had—the bond that had now shifted. He had been my protector once. Now, I was his ruler.


"But now," I continued, bringing the clippers back to the top of his head for the final pass, "that strength is mine. You’re mine, Godwin."


The last of his hair fell away, leaving his scalp completely bare. I stepped back, admiring my work, running my hand over his freshly shorn head. His skin was smooth, still warm from the recent removal of the hair that had once protected it. The transformation was complete, but the real significance had only just begun.


Godwin sat there, silent, his head bowed, his once-golden locks scattered on the floor around him like remnants of the man he used to be. I could feel the weight of the moment, the finality of it. The silence in the room was deafening, but it wasn’t just silence anymore. It was submission.


"You’ve always been mine, Godwin," I said softly, my hand still resting on his bare scalp. "Now, everyone will know it."


For the first time since we’d begun, Godwin finally spoke, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something else—something more resigned.

"What happened to you?" His voice was barely above a whisper, the words strained as if they were being pulled from the deepest part of him. "The boy I knew... he wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t..."


I smiled, though he couldn’t see it. "That boy grew up, Godwin. And now he knows what he wants. He knows how to take it."


I leaned down, my mouth close to his ear, my voice barely a breath. "And I will take everything from you... because you belong to me."


As the last words left my lips, I could feel the shift in him—the realization that no matter how much he had resisted, no matter how much he had fought, this was the end. I had won.
But the true weight of what had happened—what I had just done—would settle in soon enough. The hair was just the beginning.


As the final lock of Godwin’s hair drifted to the floor, a palpable silence filled the room. I stood behind him, my hand still resting on the smooth, freshly-shorn skin of his scalp. The buzz of the clippers had faded, replaced by the weight of what we both knew had just transpired. His golden hair, the hair I had admired as a boy, was gone. Every strand that had once been a testament to his freedom now lay scattered, lifeless, at my feet.



Godwin was still. The man who once had been so strong, so unbreakable, now sat before me in silent submission. His head was bowed slightly, and for the first time, I could see the vulnerable curve of his neck, the pale expanse of skin that had always been hidden beneath those shining strands. It was exposed now, like the rest of him.


For a moment, I didn’t speak. I let the silence settle between us, thick and heavy. My fingers traced the bare skin of his scalp, feeling the warmth there, the absence of what once was. The sensation was surreal, almost intoxicating. This man had once carried me on his back, his hair soft against my fingertips. I had looked up to him and idolized him. Now, he sat at my feet, his pride shorn away.

"Godwin," I said softly, almost gently, "look at me."

He didn’t move at first. His body remained rigid, but I could see his hands gripping the armrests of the chair again, knuckles white. It was an act of resistance, but it was futile now. I had already won.

"I said," I repeated, my voice firm but not harsh, "look at me."

Slowly, he obeyed. His head lifted, and his eyes, still filled with that familiar fire of defiance, met mine. But there was something else there now—something deeper, more vulnerable. His jaw clenched as if he were fighting to hold onto the last shreds of himself, but I could see it. He was breaking. Just as I’d intended.


"You…" Godwin’s voice cracked, his breath shaky as if forcing the words hurt more than the act itself. "You didn’t have to do this."


I didn’t respond immediately, watching his chest heave with each breath, a man trying to regain control. I circled him, my hand still resting on the smooth plane of his scalp, and leaned in close. "Didn’t I?" My voice was soft but laced with a quiet menace. "You left me, Godwin. You thought you could outrun this—outrun me. But you were always fooling yourself."


His fists clenched, the knuckles white with effort. "I had a life. You’ve taken everything." His voice wavered, but the anger was there, simmering beneath the surface.


I crouched down beside him, forcing him to meet my eyes. "I haven’t taken everything," I whispered, my eyes narrowing. "Not yet."


His gaze flickered with something—fear, desperation, or maybe just the realization that he had lost. His jaw clenched, and I could see the cracks forming in his resolve. "You wanted control? Fine. You have it. But what’s left of me after this?" His words came out in a ragged whisper, as though admitting them cost him more than he had left.


"What’s left?" I let a slow, deliberate smile form on my lips as I straightened, towering over him. "Whatever I decide to leave you, Godwin. Whatever I decide to keep."


He flinched, the muscles in his jaw tightening as though he wanted to look away but he couldn’t. I wouldn’t let him. My thumb traced the edge of his scalp, where the last remnants of his hair had been. He had always been so proud, so independent. That pride was what had drawn me to him all those years ago. But now it was mine to dismantle.


"You never gave me a choice," Godwin said, his voice filled with quiet accusation, but there was something softer underneath it, something that betrayed the anger. "You took away what was left of me."


I tilted my head, letting the silence stretch between us for a moment before I responded. "I took away what was standing between us."


His eyes flickered with emotion—anger, frustration, pain. But then, for a brief second, there was something else. Something like resignation. His hands relaxed, and I felt his body soften just a fraction beneath my touch.


"You always looked after me," I whispered, my hand moving to cup the side of his face now, my thumb brushing over his cheek. "You were the only one who cared when no one else did. I grew up in your shadow, Godwin. But now…" I trailed off, letting the weight of my words settle.


He closed his eyes for a moment, as if bracing himself against the truth he already knew. His silence spoke volumes.


"Now," I continued softly, "I’ll take care of you."


The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I could see the conflict in his eyes as they opened, the war between the past and present playing out in his expression. His hands trembled slightly, his body torn between the man he had been and the one I had forced him to become.


"Why?" His voice cracked, the vulnerability bleeding through. "Why do this? I had a life. A family. What good comes of this?"


I straightened, looking down at him, my hand still cupping his face. I let a small, almost bittersweet smile curl at the corner of my lips. "I’ve taken care of them too," I said softly. "Your wife. Your daughter. They’re safe. You don’t have to worry about them anymore."
His eyes widened slightly, the shock rippling through him like a wave. I saw the disbelief there, the realization that he hadn’t lost everything and that I had spared the people he loved. But in that same breath, he understood the cost of that mercy.


"But they won’t be, Godwin," I added, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "Not if you refuse me. Not if you walk away."


His entire body tensed again, and his eyes locked onto mine, the fire returning, but it was different this time. It was desperation.


"You…" He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "You can’t…"


"I can," I interrupted, my tone calm and resolute. "And I will."

The silence between us grew heavier, and I watched as the last of his resistance began to crumble. He bowed his head, just slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. It wasn’t surrender—not fully—but it was close. It was the acceptance of his place, of what had to be.


My hand moved from his cheek to his head again, my fingers running over the smoothness of his scalp. I bent down once more, my face close to his, my lips brushing his ear as I spoke, soft but firm, like a promise.


"You’re mine now, Godwin. You always have been."


He didn’t respond. His head remained bowed, his breath shallow and uneven. But I could feel it—the shift. He knew. I had won. But it wasn’t a victory without cost for either of us.
I stood straight, releasing him, letting my hand linger on his scalp for just a moment longer. He stayed there, head bowed, hands still resting on the armrests, his body exhausted, his will broken.


I turned, stepping away from him, my heart pounding in my chest, a bittersweet mixture of triumph and loss swirling inside me. This moment, this act, had been what I craved for so long. But now that it was done, now that Godwin was truly mine, there was an emptiness that followed.


As I reached the door, I glanced back at him one last time. He was still sitting there, silent but no longer defiant. I knew this wasn’t the end—not yet. There was still more to come. But for now, I had what I wanted. And he... he had nowhere left to run.


"You can rest now," I said quietly, more to myself than to him. "We both can."
And with that, I left the room, leaving behind the shattered remnants of what once was and the uncertain, bittersweet promise of what was yet to come.

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