Warning: This chapter contains a brief reference to sexual violence, including rape. It is not explicit, and it is only presented as a recalled fragment of memory central to the protagonist's identity. Reader discretion is advised.
 

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Your Choices Tonight:
Option A: November 14th
The air is thick with sweat, exhaustion, and the lingering threat of 'something' being orchestrated. Are there consequences to the games being played?
 
Option B: December 7th
The door is about to open, and they won't find the Sissy waiting. This is an identity forged in fire to contain deep trauma. Is her family ready to accept the woman who has emerged?

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Chapter 1

November 14th 2025: 11.00 PM
The home of the Millers

A stupid bet had brought us there, but the booze definitely made everything worse.

We were at Eli and Cass's place, on their way-too-soft couch. The garden lights were licking at the floor-to-ceiling windows like dirty old voyeurs, and the playlist had wandered from nineties R&B into drum and bass.

The place reeked... but in a good way.

Like lime wedges after last call, scorched sugar, and candles with names like ‘Urban Solstice'. As if good old-fashioned vanilla had been taken out back and shot for not being aspirational enough.

It was just us. Four bodies. One room. Infinite possibilities for disaster.

Dear old Cass was currently the epicentre of the carnage.

She was on all fours across the ottoman, skirts rucked up. The little bar-wench costume from the previous bet bunched around her waist like a discarded wrapper. At some point during the last flurry of swats, the bustier had surrendered.

The laces dragged half-loose; the top splayed open to her hips. Her breasts hung free beneath her. Full, heavy, and moving with every sharp breath she greedily snatched from the air.

Her ruffled skirt that had looked flirty an hour ago now served no purpose, wrapped around the damage. Her ass was a lit canvas. Hot pink and handprinted with her husband’s darker impulses.

Cass was small, technically. But nothing about her chest or that phenomenal ass fit the word once unleashed.

But she carried dangerous curves on a frame that had no business holding it. That ass was a heavy, inviting shelf, trembling with the aftershocks of impact, but her breasts... Christ. They were lush. Ripe with a spilling weight that any man or most women would willingly carry.

And those nipples. Motherfucker!

Obscene in their beauty. Dark, and hungry nerve endings that looked ready to explode if teeth so much as grazed them. Those puppies came with a gravitational pull that dragged the eye… and the soul straight into the gutter.

They were a threat to civility. Shaped to make a self-controlled man regress into a more primal state. They were the kind of poison you wanted to pull into your mouth and suffocate on.

Until the room, the rules, and the mortgage rates dissolved into nothing.

Even with my wife Zara, bright and sharp like a diamond cutter beside me, Cass's body shouted to a biological need so strong it could shatter every virtue holding me in place. 'Breed me. '

Eli's hand cracked down one more time to extract the exact result he intended.

"Fuck," Cass yelped into the cushion and broke into breathless laughter. She slapped the ottoman frantically.

"Last call," she choked out, voice wet and trembling. "Daddy, please... last call."

The way she said it, though, made the safe words feel anything but safe. Her voice came out tuned to some depraved frequency that seemed designed to bypass reason. It went straight past my ears and settled low in my spine.

A part of me I didn't like admitting existed. That lizard–brain wiring, usually so well-hidden behind my suit and tie, was raging now. My hard-on pressed brutally against my jeans, giving me an insistent ache now. The denim was feeling less like fabric and more like sandpaper against the painful swell.

I tried to adjust, but it was useless. My pants scraped right over, and that only made things worse.

Cass whimpered as she shifted, preparing for whatever she intended to do next. "Please," she breathed, half into the cushion, and half into the void.

Beside me, Zara sucked in a breath. Sharp enough to draw blood. Her eyes were locked on Cass’s own for one stolen, scorching second. Even she, the goddess of high-cheekbone elegance, wasn’t immune to this wild, incredible creature.

Zara's hand floated up, almost without thought, as her thumb brushed the outline of her own nipple through the silk. Then, she snapped back to reality and pulled her hand to her lap to focus on the show.

This wasn't just arousal anymore. It felt like punishment by association.

---

 

But of course, things could only escalate now, and so Eli didn’t give her time to recover. He reached for the balm on the side table.

"Up," he commanded. Low. Absolute. "Climb on. Let me fix what I broke."

Cass moved like a puppet with its strings cut. Clumsy, frantic, and driven by a motor that was sputtering out. She didn't just climb onto the couch; she moulted.

She scrambled up, knees sinking deep into the plush velvet between Eli’s sprawled legs. She didn’t face him. She backed in, presenting her scorched rear to his mercy while her now mostly naked front was a stunning, unfiltered show just for us.

And Christ, what a fucking work of art!

With her thighs wide and torso leaning back against her husband’s chest, that velvet maw of a snatch stared us down like a challenge. Even in the dim lights, it glistened an impossible pink.

Pristine and untouched by the savagery wreaked on her backside. It looked unnatural in its perfection, a piece of anatomy that had no business belonging to a suburban wife with a library card.

It belonged to a succubus, or some other mythical creature forged entirely from lust and wet dreams.

Finally, Eli dug his fingers into the tin and dragged a thick, cooling stripe of balm across the arson-red wreck of her rump.

But mercy wasn't on his mind or on the menu.

His other hand wrapped itself around her thigh as it slid towards her slit. He didn't tease. He simply mashed his thumb straight against the hard, swollen knot throbbing there.

The contrast, the ice on the burn and crude friction on the trigger...fried her wiring.

Cass... fuck...she was convulsing now. Her head whipped back into Eli’s shoulder with a wet thud. A jagged scream ripped out of her as her spine snapped into a hard arch. Her breasts thrust outward, but the real damage unravelled below.

Her legs seized, and muscles trembled violently under the strain. Then the dam broke. She soaked the place. A warm, relentless gush that washed over Eli’s lap and instantly ruined the expensive fabric.

It was a sodden disaster that no amount of dry cleaning would ever truly erase.

Cass crumbled. She melted into a damp, heaving mess, slumped against her husband. Her overworked lungs struggling for oxygen, she couldn’t swallow quickly enough.

Eli peered over the curve of her shoulder, ignoring the mess of his jeans to beam at us. That proprietary grin that said, Look what I did.

But it was Zara who unravelled me. My own wife had turned bright red. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps that cut through the room's silence. She sat frozen, perhaps unaware or uncaring that her body had spilt its own secrets.

Her silver silk dress, caught between her clenched thighs, now bore the hints of her own lust as she shifted her hips and it escaped its confines. The heat radiating from her needed no interpretation.

Cass was still slumped backwards, head still resting on Eli’s shoulder. She lay there for a long moment, staring blindly at the ceiling while her pulse tried to remember a slower rhythm. It took a dozen jagged drags of air before she peeled her heavy eyelids open.

Slowly, a little hazily, her chin dropped. She blinked the bliss away, searching the room until her gaze snagged on Zara.

---

 

Zara sat tall, attempting to view the carnage with the regal detachment of a queen inspecting a peasant’s revolt. But cass and their past had gotten to her. The façade was cracking.

What I saw in her eyes and felt between my legs was only the sheer, terrifying courage required to ruin a perfectly good decade of monogamy.

You could see it in her breath trapped against her bronzed chest. A tone that seemed to hold the warmth of a Mumbai sunset, even in this air-conditioned room.

She was a masterpiece. Her father's Indian half blended perfectly with her dead mother’s Scottish Highlands. The result? Streaks of natural chestnut and electric blue eyes that could freeze a man at twenty paces.

Right now, though, those eyes weren’t freezing anything. They were melting.

Cass caught the drift. She always did. She was brilliant, and loyal, but also a bratty isotope of chaos, and seeing Zara’s crumbling defences had triggered her the troll. The pillar was going to fall.

Meanwhile, the bastard Eli kept working the balm into her rump. Long, slow strokes, but Cass, our favourite little shit, wasn’t interested in recovery. She was chasing the high like the creature of pure, kinetic greed that she always was.

Her hands declared war.

Her left hand clawed up, fingers digging into the heavy, white spill of her breast to pinch that dark, furious nipple. Her right hand dove south. It vanished between her thighs as she began to strum herself.

Her eyes were rolling back once again as she caught herself between the balm, the pinching, and her own fingers. A low, guttural keen rose from her throat. Climbing the scale steadily until she snapped her eyes open and found the only thing missing from the equation.

She locked eyes with the queen.

"It... ngh... stings, Z..." Her hips bucked, cutting the words in half as her finger slid deeper.

"I’ve been... oh god... I've been so bad... come... nhh... come hush me up."

The plea landed somewhere between a joke and a pipe bomb.

There it was, calling upon the history we kept polished on the high shelf of our memories.

I could still remember the sticky smell of cheap dorm-room vodka that night. I was back in that narrow uni hallway with Eli and there they were. Cass was a dishevelled riot, dragging a dazed Zara out of a locked room like stolen loot.

She’d caught me staring. Caught the voltage arcing between Zara and me before we’d even spoken. And because Cass never exits a stage without burning it down, she didn’t just introduce us.

She grabbed Zara by the nape and planted a kiss on her that was pure, performative arson. Tongue, teeth, and a wet, smacking sound designed solely to rev the engine for my benefit.

She held it a beat too long, then shoved Zara, breathless and eyes blown, into my chest.

"Right then," she’d smirked, stealing Eli’s beer. "You'll do."

She handed me my future wife as she marched Eli off to play video games.

They had been a supernova that burned out in a semester but stayed the best of friends.

“Turns out, neither of us can sleep at night unless we’ve been stuffed and roasted like a Thanksgiving bird," was what my Zara jokingly told me later.

But looking at them now, Zara tortured by restraint, and Cass splayed out like a ruinous dessert. I realised our marriage hadn't been a denial of this heat.

This moment wasn't an accident; it was a debt coming due. We had all known, beneath the white noise of suburbia, that this day was bound to arrive.

The monogamy, the mortgages, the safe, vanilla dinner parties. None of it was a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth.

The reality was never spoken aloud, but the fact was that Zara and Cass could never belong solely to us. They had carved out pieces of their souls back in that dorm room and handed them to each other for safekeeping.

And strangely, we both felt no fear in that realisation. We knew they would never threaten the love they had built with us. The foundations of our marriages were concrete. This? This was simply the necessary spring cleaning that was long overdue.

Zara went still. Her gaze slid to me, a flash of electric blue cutting through the haze to seek permission. She wasn't asking to burn the rulebook. The fine print, her eyes said. Is it finally time to read it?

I flinched, but I knew that loving Zara meant loving all of her. Even the part that belonged to Cass.

I gave a tiny, hesitant nod.

---

 

Shit.

By the time my rational brain tried to file a motion to dismiss, Zara was already gone. She had flowed off the sofa like a predator who had finally decided the prey was ripe. She crossed the space on slowly, and I could only Gawk. She was stalking her best friend and former fuck-buddy, who was looking like a sacrificial, but very willing offering on that velvet altar.

Eli’s eyes were popping. They were tracking Zara’s movement like a man witnessing a solar eclipse with his naked eyes. He and I both knew exactly what was coming.

Zara stopped beside the ottoman, looming over the carnage. She looked down at the red bloom that was Cass’s arse now, then at the curve of her breasts.

Her throat worked once. A gulp and then, with trembling fingers, she started to peel the silver silk straps off her shoulders.

The dress slithered down, pooling around her waist with no real purpose any more.

The contrast was art. Where Cass was lush and spilling, Zara was proportionate and sculpted. And when the silk fell away, I knew exactly what she had dropped on Eli.

He was seeing the colour theory I’d memorised a decade ago. Against her own warm, caramel skin, Zara’s nipples were shockingly pale. A delicate, rose quartz that seemed almost innocent compared to the dark garnet of Cass’s chest.

A surprise for Eli, sure, but for me? It was a reminder of the hidden weaponry my wife carried every day.

Of course, I stood up.

A tiny part of my brain, the one that filed the taxes and remembered anniversaries, told me to stop this train before it went off the rails. But the rest of me? Pure, unadulterated swine. Husband or not, I was a man, and we were simply pigs with better personal hygiene. I stepped closer. I wanted to watch. I wanted to drown in the smut.

Zara caught the movement. She threw a side-eyed glance over her shoulder, checking my clearance. She was daring me one last time to object before she went for the kill. Eli met my gaze with his trademark grin, while Cass simply ran her eyes over me with that impish glee.

Then, my wife turned back to the altar and bent over.

She didn’t touch at first. She exhaled against Cass’s nipple. Cass let out a sound that was half a sob and all moan. Zara grazed the edge with her mouth. Her question pressed to Cass's flesh.

But then Zara answered it herself when she closed her lips over it.

That was all it took for Cass to lose all language. She let out a strangled cry that clawed through my spine. Her fingers flew up, tangling in Zara’s hair. She intended to hold her there, desperately anchoring herself to her 'bosom' buddy.

"Oh god, Z... please," she babbled. "I missed this... baby, I missed this so much. Just like that... oh god, don't stop... I need this."

"Bloody hell," Eli swore as he tore his eyes away from the spectacle just long enough to find mine. His eyebrows shot up over the curve of his wife’s shaking spine. Of course, we knew it. We always knew.

Cass couldn't wait any longer, though, and the 'sentimentality' of the moment vanished. She twisted to glare at the man hovering behind her.

"Eli," she growled, the sound vibrating low in her throat. "Don't just sit there gaping. Fuck me."

She pulled back, breaking contact with Zara’s mouth against her with a wet, sharp sound.

She scrambled, shifting her weight and twisting her hips until she was parallel to the cushions to clear the runway. She hiked her hips up, presenting the steaming target to him.

He didn't wait for an invitation. He moved off the couch, shifting behind his wife. The rasp of a zipper was followed by the rustle of denim, and that was that. He lined up his hips with that inviting rump, gripped her waist, and slid into her in a single push.

Cass gasped as he filled her, but she needed an anchor. She launched herself forward, dragging Zara by her hair until their mouths met violently. It was nearly two decades of hunger snapping shut as Cass tried to inhale her. Zara’s palms kneaded the tension out of Cass’s back, while Cass’s fingers dug greedily into the soft spill of Zara’s breasts.

It was sensory overload. Cass was impaled by her husband’s brute force while devouring my wife’s mouth. Eli’s jaw was clenched, eyes squeezing shut as he navigated the situation. He managed to move to her rhythm while the women lost themselves in the shared taste of each other.

But my Zara, always in control, wasn't lost in the moment; she was orchestrating her own.

---

 

December 7th 2025 : 11.30 AM
Eden’s Dungeon

Mommy didn't tease. She knew exactly what her sissy needed.

She stepped right between my spread-out legs. Her hands were busy! One hand grabbed my big, pink, throbbing clitty and squeezed it tight! Her other hand though... ooh!

Slide!

She pushed her fingers right into my sissy pussy!

"Oh!" I gasped, even as my head thumped back against the wall.

She was double trouble as she curled her fingers to touch that magic button that made my tummy do flip-flops while Mommy pumped me up and down with her other hand. Rub, rub, press!

I was wiggling against the cuffs. I was totally stuck and totally Mommy's!

"That’s it," Mommy growled, looking so strong. "Give it up."

The bubbles started boiling! Faster and faster! My toes curled inside my ballet flats. I was gonna burst!

"Mommy!" I whined. "I'm gonna—!"

Just as the explosion started, BOOM! Mommy dropped to her knees.

She opened her mouth wide. She didn't just lick the tip. She took my whole clitty inside her throat! Deep!

Gulp!

I shattered! I poured everything I had right down Mommy's throat! My hips bucked against the wall, shaking the chains, feeding her my warm sissy cream. She swallowed it all! Every single drop! She drank me dry while her fingers kept squishing my insides.

When I was finally empty and trembling, Mommy stood up with her shiny lips.

She leaned in close and said, full of love.

"Open," she whispered.

I opened my mouth, and she pressed her lips to mine.

She pushed her tongue into my mouth and shared! She fed my own yummy summy back to me! It tasted salty, and like the love I had for mommy as I swallowed it down with the big, happy gulp.

"Thank you, Mommy," I whispered, feeling so full and floaty.

The Quiet Time

"Good girl," Mommy said, wiping my mouth.

She looked at Mistress and Sir and Miss D. "Time to go. She needs her stillness."

They all nodded. They didn't say goodbye; they just quietly walked out of the Void.

Click. The heavy door shut. The lights were low and red.

I was alone.

I was spread wide on the wall, completely naked, with my wrists locked in.

I should have been scared. Sissies get scared in the dark! But... I wasn't.

I wiggled my fingers. Clink. The chains held me tight.

I felt safe. I knew Mommy was just upstairs, and I knew Uncle was guarding the door. I knew they all loved me so much that they tied me up just to let me rest. I was just a doll put back on the shelf for a little while.

I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift like little clouds. I was helpless... and later, when they came back, I would be 'helpful'.

But then... the drift went the wrong way.

A voice whispered from the dark corners of my fluff-brain. Not the nice voices. The other one.

"Look at the fairy faggot," it sneered. "Angry little shit."

I flinched against the wall.

Rage?

That was a scary word! Sissies aren't angry! Sissies are happy and giggly! Why did the bad voice say rage? Sissies cry when they are scared; they don't get mad!

And then... I heard the other part.

"Grab the Princess," the voice laughed. "Make them watch each other bleed."

I froze.

Wait.

Princess?

My sissy brain tried to grab the thought, but it was slippery. I was too fuzzy! I needed help!

"Daddy!" I called out inside my head. Daddy, help! What does it mean? Am I the princess?"

But Daddy stayed asleep. Daddy didn't like these memories. Daddy hid from them.

I needed... I needed the other voice.

I needed the Big Girl Voice. She was smart. She was like Mistress, but inside my own head.

"Come here," I whispered to myself. "I need to be smart for a minute."

I took a deep breath. I let the bubbles pop. I let the giggles fade.

And she stepped forward.

My mind cleared. It wasn't cold like the Fixer's, but it was sharp... Whole. It felt like putting on a pair of glasses and suddenly seeing the leaves on the trees.

"Okay," the Big Girl Voice said. My voice was calm now, like steel wrapped in silk. I briefly mused before focusing on the task at hand. "Let's listen properly."

I hung in the ropes, but I wasn't just floating anymore. I was thinking.

The pieces started to click together, not like Lego blocks, but like the beads on a necklace.

It was before Mommy... mmm Mommy.

The memory was old, I realised. But the intent was clear. "Faggot" and "Princess" were spoken in two different directions.

University, I realised. Could there be a gap in the timeline?

There were two of us.

I saw a flash. A cramped space. Fear.

There was Him. The one they hurt because he was a boy in a dress.

And next to him... There was 'her.'

The Princess.

I tried to look at her. I tried to see who she was.

But her face was... gone. It was just a blur of static. A blank space where a person should be.

"Who are you?" I asked the memory.

But I couldn't see her.

So I looked at him instead.

And I felt it.

It started in his chest and flooded his veins. It was pure, distilled fury.

I felt his blood boil. I felt the scream trapped in his throat. He wasn't crying. He wanted to kill them. He wanted to rip the world apart with his bare hands because they were hurting the girl with no face.

The rage slammed into me. It was too big for both... clearly.

'I'll take it,' I decided.

I reached out and wrapped my mind around that boiling, acidic anger, and I squeezed. I pulled the fire out of his chest and into mine. It burned, but I now knew I was forged in this fire he forgot. I could hold it.

That was how I got in for good this time. By taking the anger he couldn't handle and turning it into steel.

---

 

I looked at the blank space in the memory where the Princess should be.

I couldn't see her face, I didn't know her name, and I didn't know if she got out.

But I knew what happened.

The math was simple. He was restrained. The Princess was hurt. He was forced to watch.

"Rape," I deduced, holding back the pain. Both of them most likely.

And fucking 'sir', my blood boiled. He knew, I realised. He must have known.

He had carried this radioactive secret for eighteen years.

But then my anger faded just as quickly as it had surfaced.

'Sir' was the best friend who had watched him. He watched him build a fortress over a graveyard and hadn't said a word because he knew the foundation was shattered. He probably hated himself for every silence, every moment he couldn't fix what was broken.

Poor Bastard, I thought with a pang of sympathy and love for our best friend.

And the ladies? They left the room. They left the Sissy alone. Why?

"They know too," I concluded. "The fucker told them. He finally cracked the seal."

That meant they weren't running. They knew about the monster in the room, and they locked the door with him, not against him. The silence was a planned tool in their arsenal. They were all in on the fight.

And then, I thought back to the name. 'Eve.'

It floated up from the deep water of my memory. I didn't know if it was her name, my name, or just a word we used.

But it fit.

It fit like a key in a lock.

If I took the name, I could take the pain associated with it. I could weaponise it. I could make them say it, make him say it. I could force it out of them until it didn't hurt anymore. An acknowledgement without the blood.

"I will be the heat shield," I decided. "And once we are strong enough... once I have put enough of the pieces together... we will find the real Princess together."

I looked down into the mental architecture.

I saw him hiding in the corner. Far away from the light. He looked so small. He was the boy from that night, shivering, his arms wrapped around his knees.

"Come here," I whispered.

He flinched.

I called to him gently. "It’s okay. Come to me."

Slowly, painfully, he uncurled. He looked at me. He didn't see a stranger. He saw the part of himself he had tried to kill.

He crawled forward.

I sat down on the floor of our mind. I opened my arms.

I called my sissy over to my right knee. She snuggled in instantly, desperate for comfort.

And then, I pulled him onto my left.

He was resisting, but I held him. I wrapped my arms around both of them. My Sissy and my Man. Making sure they felt my breath as I pulled them into my chest.

"I have you," I told them. "I have you both."

"Who are you?" Aria whispered.

I looked at him. I needed him to hear it.

"You will only call me by my name," I told them.

"What is it?" He rasped.

"Eve," I said.

He jerked instantly as a blinding pain flashed in his eyes.

"No," he gasped. "Don't say it."

"I am Eve," I spoke gently as I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "And I am fine. Look at me. I am here."

He looked. He searched my face... Our face. He saw the strength. He saw that the "weakness" he feared was actually the only thing holding us together.

The tension drained out of him. The "Fixer" finally clocked out.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay, Eve."

He closed his eyes. He leaned his head against my shoulder and drifted off to sleep.

I held them for a moment longer. We were the Trinity.

But I didn't hand the reins back to the sissy. Not yet.

I opened my physical eyes.

I was hanging from the wall, and my wrists were cuffed in leather. I was spread wide and exposing the body I had claimed.

I tested the ropes. They were tight and secure. As intended, they were unyielding.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face.

Perfect, I thought.

I heard footsteps in the corridor. The heavy, muffled thuds of their return.

Good, I thought, lifting my chin, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.

I wasn't going to hide when they walked through that door.

Trust was a two-way street. They had protected the Sissy. Now, they had to meet the woman who protected her 'Daddy.'

I waited for the latch to turn, suspended in the dark, ready to introduce myself.

---