[Note - this section contains an alcohol-induced gap in Caden's memory with ambiguity around what happens during that gap, referenced later in the story. In case this is upsetting to some readers I'm giving warning here.]

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The intercom buzzes twice before Hale's voice crackles through — "Who is it?" — the same baritone Caden had heard on a hundred conference calls, smooth as poured bourbon.

"Caden Voss." His voice comes out softer than he intended, vowels rounding at the edges.

A pause. The static hisses.

"Sorry?"

Morning light finds him asleep in his clothes, barely rested. He packs both devices into his messenger bag and heads for the closest repair shop.

The bell jingles as he enters. A technician glances up from behind the counter — early twenties, a name tag reading ETHAN. His eyes skim past Caden's shoulders, landing somewhere around chin level. "Help you, ma'am?"

Caden's breath hitches. He sets the laptop and phone on the counter.

"Sir," he says, his pitch higher than expected, higher than a man's should be. He coughs, tries again. "Biometric lockout."

A week later. The alarm blares and Caden slams a palm down on it, the sharp sting of impact radiating up his wrist. He stares at the ceiling. Podcast day — out of town, he and Hale are both guests on the show. Keynote finalized. Twenty-eight days since the first flannel seam had scraped his neck raw.

Torn from his own world and stuffed into the body of a villainess, facing the end of a doomed route he himself wrote, "Amelia" must navigate a world she really should know - too bad she was never great at worldbuilding.

Stuck in a world she (maybe) created, Amelia quickly finds that reality has filled in the details she failed to describe. The characters who were so flat when she wrote them now have nuance, and motives. The kingdom she wrote into existence is experiencing internal strife she never even thought about. And let's not even get into the complexities of the magic system, or the demon that forced her into this situation to begin with...

Oh, and then there's the fact that she's about to be arrested and executed... but surely she can come up with a way to write herself out of that, right?

...Right?

This is the start of a (currently) 3 part story, dealing with the world’s biggest sissy, the world’s biggest she stud, the greatest hookup ever written and (eventually) all that follows! If you want to read the rest of the night and stay informed of all the nights beyond, subscribe to my patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/c/SissyGirlSammi

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"Four weeks," Caden mutters as the gravel crunches under his tires, the cabin's wooden sign swinging slightly in the wind. He parks, kills the engine, sits for a moment staring at the pine trees crowding the driveway. The tour contract is signed, the advance spent. A short drive from Denver, no distractions. Just the work.

The ward bathroom. You are standing at the mirror with your shirt off and you don't know how long you've been standing here. The bathroom is empty except for you. The strip light hums above. Your hands are pressed flat against the sides of the belly, which is — large, is the only word, enormous compared to the last time you looked, the navel pushed outward, the skin taut and marked down the center by a dark line you didn't put there. You have been doing the inventory.

The first thing is the seat.

Not pain — just wrongness, a soft pressure where there shouldn't be softness, the wooden chair coming up against sensitive and unfamiliar flesh, flesh that registers the hardness of the wood with a directness that makes you shift immediately, instinctively, your weight rolling forward onto your thighs. Better. Marginally. The underwear is wrong too — something silky, something that rides and gathers in ways that underwear shouldn't, the fabric light against skin that is reporting every thread of it.

You look at the table.

Mad scientist John Crevil and his wife swapped bodies with billionaire Jacob Astoria and his wife, but they got found out, and performed a second swap into the bodies of the Astoria’s chauffeur and maid in order to try to escape. How’s it all going to end?

The bio on the app had been straightforward, almost disarmingly so. “Looking for someone open-minded, cultural explorer type. Coffee first?” No shirtless photos, no overt flexing—just a candid shot of a man in his mid-thirties with a sharp jaw, easy smile, and dark hair cropped close. Simran had swiped right on impulse, his thumb lingering a second too long over the screen. He was rarely out; his life balanced family expectations, temple visits, and the quiet ache of wanting more. But Clive’s messages had been witty, probing without being pushy. “Tell me about your turban game,” one read.

This is the first of two stories (so far) in what will eventually become a multipart tale that details Minnie’s full weekend!

https://www.patreon.com/c/SissyGirlSammi

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Mad scientist John Crevil and his wife Betty have pulled off the perfect crime: They used gene-editing technology to make themselves perfect doubles of billionaire Jacob Astoria and his wife Margaret, used the same technology to make the Astorias look like themselves, and left the Astorias knocked out so they are unable to find the nutrition needed to survive the changes. Or have they? They were worried when an unknown extra person unexpectedly stepped into the fray.

Mad scientist John Crevil has figured out the perfect crime: Use gene-editing technology to swap places with billionaire Jacob Astoria and his wife, and set them up to die after putting the Astorias’ into their own guises. What could go wrong?