My New Neighbour: Part 5 (Patreon)

Mark’s legs tingled, the sheer fishnet stockings brushing against his freshly shaven skin with every tiny movement. The sensation was foreign, intimate, and impossible to ignore—an ever-present reminder of just how much he had been transformed. Each step he took sent delicate friction up his thighs, amplifying his vulnerability.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The skirt of his maid outfit felt dangerously short. Every time he moved, the fabric shifted, and a fresh wave of anxiety surged through him. Was it long enough? Was it really covering... everything? The restrictive presence of the chastity belt beneath the frilly layers was an added torment—physically confining, mentally humiliating.

His hands twitched at his sides, instinctively tugging at the hem of his skirt as if that would somehow make it longer. What if Dante noticed? The thought made his stomach clench. The idea of being seen like this, so utterly exposed, was almost too much.

And yet, he was still standing there, cheeks burning, heart racing, obeying Juliana’s every word.

Dante’s eyes were on him. Mark could feel them.

He didn’t dare look up at first, but when he finally stole a glance, Dante’s smirk sent another sharp rush of embarrassment through him. His neighbour wasn’t just amused. He was enjoying this—taking in every detail, watching how Mark squirmed under his gaze, how he hesitated, how his painted nails trembled when he reached for the wine glasses.

Juliana leaned against the kitchen doorway, her body thrumming with heat, her breath shallow as she took in the scene before her. It was one thing to fantasize about this—to imagine Mark trembling in his frilly little uniform, utterly at the mercy of the moment—but seeing it unfold in front of her, watching it play out in real time, was something else entirely.

Mark stood frozen in the doorway, his blush a deep, helpless stain across his cheeks, his wide, glassy eyes flickering between his wife and the man towering over him. Dante. The contrast between them was intoxicating. Mark, delicate, trembling in lace and silk, looking so small, so breakable beneath the weight of Dante’s presence. And Dante—dark, powerful, his tailored suit sculpted to his broad frame, exuding dominance with every measured breath.

Juliana felt the slow throb of arousal pulse between her thighs.

Mark was caught—trapped between her smoldering gaze and Dante’s slow, knowing smirk. There was no escaping it. No hiding from the way he was being devoured by their eyes.

The soft, teasing swish of his skirt as he shifted uneasily. The delicate tremble in his stocking-clad thighs. The nervous flutter of his fingers against the lace of his apron, as if he could somehow shield himself from the intensity of the moment.

Dante was drinking it all in. Taking his time. Savoring every inch of Mark’s reluctant submission.

Juliana watched the way his gaze moved over her husband, lingering on the curve of his glossed lips, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven, shuddering breaths, the way his fingers gripped the hem of his skirt as though he might disappear into it.

Oh, but there was no disappearing from this.

Juliana exhaled, slow, deliberate, letting the weight of her pleasure seep into every syllable as she purred, “Don’t keep our guest waiting, sweetheart.”

Mark stiffened.

He knew what she meant.

Dante arched a dark brow, waiting, expectant.

Mark swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. His lips, soft and pink, parted hesitantly. His voice came out breathless, fragile.

“W-welcome, sir… may I take your coat?”

Dante chuckled—low, rich, indulgent. He moved slowly, deliberately, shrugging off his jacket and handing it over with a smirk that sent a shiver down Juliana’s spine.

“Good maid,” Dante murmured.

The praise slithered over Mark like warm honey, making his blush deepen, his breath hitch. His fingers clenched around the coat, as though it were the only thing tethering him to reality.

Juliana’s pulse spiked.

Oh, tonight was going to be exquisite.

And they were only just beginning.

Juliana’s voice cut through his frantic thoughts.

“Wine glasses, Mark. Now.”

The authority in her tone left no room for argument. Mark swallowed hard, nodding quickly as he turned on his heel—his own reflection flashing in the hallway mirror as he hurried past.

He almost hated how pretty he looked. The way the soft blonde wig framed his face, how his cheeks were already flushed pink without the help of blush, the way his lips—glossed and plump—parted in nervous little gasps. It wasn’t just that he was embarrassed. It was how natural he looked like this.

The realization sent a fresh jolt of humiliation through him.

As he reached the kitchen, his breath came fast and uneven. He had to get himself under control. This was just a game, wasn’t it? Something he had agreed to? Something he had wanted, even?

So why did it feel like Juliana was always three steps ahead, pulling him deeper and deeper into something he wasn’t ready for?

His fingers curled around the wine glasses, the chill of the glass grounding him for a fleeting moment. But as he turned back toward the dining room, the soft swish of his skirt, the tickling sensation of lace against his thighs, and the weight of Dante’s presence waiting for him sent another nervous shiver down his spine.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—the way Juliana commanded him... or the way Dante watched him.

And the night had only just begun.

The soft clink of silverware echoed through the dimly lit dining room as Dante settled into his seat, his broad frame almost too large for the elegant chair. His suit, perfectly tailored, stretched ever so slightly over his chest and arms, emphasizing his strength with every small movement. He exuded confidence—casual, effortless—as if nothing about this situation fazed him in the slightest.

Mark, on the other hand, felt like he could disappear into the floor at any moment.

His hands trembled as he carefully poured Dante’s wine, trying his best to keep the deep red liquid from spilling. The weight of Dante’s gaze on him—along with Juliana’s knowing smirk from across the table—made the simple task feel impossible.

His fishnet-clad legs felt exposed, his frilly skirt far too short, and the faintest brush of air against his thighs only served as a horrifying reminder of what he was wearing beneath it. The chastity belt—cold, unyielding—was a secret shame he prayed neither of them would mention.

And the makeup…

Every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished silverware, his stomach flipped. The perfectly blended blush, the soft pink sheen of his lips, the delicate eyeliner that made his eyes look so much larger and more innocent… It was impossible to pretend that this wasn’t real.

He was dressed like this. Serving like this. Being seen like this.

And Juliana was loving every second.

She took a slow sip of her wine before finally breaking the silence.

“So, Dante,” she mused, her eyes dancing with amusement as she glanced at Mark. “I suppose you’re wondering why our little maid is so… properly dressed tonight.”

Mark’s breath hitched.

Dante leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine glass lazily between his fingers. His smirk hadn’t faded since the moment he walked in. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious,” he admitted, his voice smooth. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured dinner going.”

Juliana let out a soft, sultry laugh. “Oh, trust me, it’s been a very fun night already.” She turned her gaze back to Mark, watching him squirm as he set down the wine bottle. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Mark’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His face was on fire.

Juliana grinned. “Oh, don’t be shy now. You were having plenty of fun earlier.”

Dante raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Earlier?”

Juliana placed her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm as she let the tension build. “Mark and I played a little dice game before you arrived. Just something to… spice things up.”

Mark gripped the hem of his apron tightly, resisting the urge to pull it lower. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want Dante to know.

But Juliana?

She wanted everything out in the open.

“I rolled first,” she continued, her voice teasing, watching Mark’s discomfort grow with every word. “And lucky me—I got to give him a lap dance in my sexy little nurse outfit.”

Dante let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Now that,” he mused, “I wouldn’t have minded seeing.”

Mark let out a strangled noise of protest, his humiliation deepening. “J-Juliana—”

She ignored him, leaning in slightly, lowering her voice as if they were sharing a secret. “And then it was Mark’s turn.”

Dante’s eyes flicked back to Mark, his smirk widening. “Oh?”

Mark wanted to vanish.

Juliana tilted her head, playing with the stem of her wine glass. “And his roll… well…” She gestured toward him with a slow, sweeping motion, taking in his full, blushing, feminized appearance. “Let’s just say he’s been the perfect little maid ever since.”

Dante let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock admiration. “Damn,” he mused, his gaze raking over Mark again, lingering on the soft curves of the maid dress, the delicate stockings, the rosy embarrassment painted across his cheeks. “You really committed, huh?”

Mark couldn’t breathe.

He could feel Dante’s gaze, feel the weight of his amusement, his intrigue.

The worst part?

Dante wasn’t mocking him outright. If anything, he was just enjoying the spectacle—leaning into the moment, letting Mark sit in the heat of his own shame.

Juliana, clearly delighted, took another sip of wine before casually gesturing toward the empty plate in front of Dante. “Mark, sweetheart, don’t forget your duties. Our guest must be starving.”

Mark’s fingers twitched.

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to argue.

But he knew better.

His voice barely above a whisper, he forced out the words.

“Y-yes, mistress.”

And as he turned on his heel to retrieve Dante’s plate, the soft swish of his skirt and the sting of his own helplessnessonly made his blush deepen.

He had never felt smaller.

And he had never been more aware…

That the night was far from over.

Mark stood at the edge of the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, the frilly lace cuffs of his maid’s uniform brushing against his wrists as he trembled. His mind wasn’t on the food, wasn’t even on the way Juliana and Dante were devouring each other with their eyes. No, his thoughts kept looping back to the door—back to him.

Dante. His new neighbor. A man he had only exchanged pleasantries with in the past. A man who had seen him in jeans, shaking hands over the fence, making small talk about the weather.

And now?

Now Dante had seen him in this.

A tight little maid’s dress, with glossy pink lips and blushing cheeks. Stockings clinging to his shaven thighs, a dainty apron tied in a bow at the small of his back. A wig, curled and styled, framing his burning face.

The weight of that humiliation sat heavy in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Dante hadn't just seen him. He had looked at him. Slowly. Thoroughly. His eyes had roamed over every inch of Mark’s feminized form, drinking in the sight of him like he was something to be examined, studied.

Judged.

God, what was Dante thinking now, sitting there, letting Juliana flirt with him so brazenly, as if Mark didn’t exist? As if Mark wasn’t standing there, still wearing the proof of his own submission?

Heat crawled up his neck, and he clenched his hands tighter in front of him, the stiff petticoat brushing against his thighs as he shifted uncomfortably.

Dante knew. Knew exactly what kind of man Mark had become.

Or rather, what kind of thing.

And the worst part?

Dante wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t disgusted. He was enjoying this.

Mark could tell by the way he smirked, by the way he leaned back in his chair, legs spread comfortably as Juliana’s foot slid teasingly along his thigh.

Mark watched, frozen, as Dante lifted a bite of steak to Juliana’s lips, watched as his wife leaned forward, her tongue barely brushing the fork before she took the bite.

She purred, slow and decadent, savoring it like she was savoring him.

Dante watched her, his fingers tapping idly against the stem of his wine glass, his attention utterly absorbed.

Mark felt small. Irrelevant.

Exactly as he was supposed to.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pulse of something hot and shameful coiling in his stomach.

He sees me like this. He’ll always see me like this now.

Dante’s gaze flicked to him briefly—just a second, a passing glance, but it was enough to send a fresh wave of humiliation rolling through Mark’s body.

Dante knew.

And Mark?

Mark was drowning in it.

Mark moved carefully around the table, his dainty steps barely making a sound as he refilled their wine glasses, his head bowed slightly, his blush a permanent stain across his cheeks. The frilly hem of his maid’s uniform brushed against his stocking-clad thighs, the delicate apron cinched tightly around his waist making him feel even smaller under the weight of their presence.

He focused on the simple task of pouring, hoping—praying—that if he moved quietly enough, if he remained as unobtrusive as possible, they might ignore him.

But that was a fantasy.

Because they weren’t just noticing him—they were discussing him. Toying with him. As if he wasn’t even there.

Dante swirled his glass of wine, watching the deep red liquid shift before smirking. "He would only agree to this if he is a sissy," he said casually, his voice a smooth, rich timbre that made Mark’s stomach twist. “A real man doesn’t just end up in stockings and lace by accident.”

Juliana chuckled, tapping a manicured nail against the rim of her glass as she watched Mark with a knowing smirk. “Oh, you’re absolutely right.” She took a slow sip, letting the wine roll over her tongue before continuing. "He likes this. No matter how much he blushes, no matter how shy he gets… he wouldn’t be here, dressed like this, if he didn’t want it."

Mark’s fingers curled against the stem of the decanter as he finished pouring Dante’s wine, his breath coming in uneven little shudders.

Dante leaned back, rolling up his sleeves slightly, revealing strong, tanned forearms. His gaze flickered to Mark briefly—assessing, amused—but his attention was fully on Juliana, the unspoken heat between them thick enough to make Mark’s knees feel weak.

“I could tell the moment he opened the door for me earlier,” Dante said lazily, taking a sip of his wine. “He looked so… small standing there in that ridiculous little uniform, barely able to meet my eyes.” He exhaled a low chuckle. “Men like him can’t help but fold in the presence of someone stronger.”

Juliana hummed in approval, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately—her heel sliding up the inside of Dante’s calf beneath the table. “Mmm… you’re so perceptive,” she purred.

Dante’s smirk deepened, his large hand settling on his thigh, just a whisper away from where Juliana’s foot lingered. “It’s a gift,” he murmured.

Juliana tilted her head, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I knew you’d see right through him. It’s instinctual, isn’t it? The way he follows. The way he responds when someone like you is in the room.”

Mark’s stomach clenched, his fingers twitching against the decanter. He could feel their gazes weaving around him, trapping him. His body betrayed him with every nervous shift, every flutter of his fingers against his skirt.

Dante set his glass down with a quiet clink. “It’s not just that he follows,” he mused, glancing up at Mark with a slow, knowing smirk. “It’s that he wants to be led. It’s written all over him.” His voice dropped slightly, deliberate. “I’d bet he gets wet just hearing you talk like this.”

Mark’s breath hitched audibly.

Juliana chuckled darkly. “Oh, he does,” she purred, reaching out with delicate fingers to trace the lace of his apron, right over the trembling swell of his stomach. She didn’t even need to look at him. She already knew.

Mark’s face burned, his entire body betraying him as he struggled to suppress the way his legs trembled, the way his breath stuttered in his throat.

Dante leaned in slightly, watching Mark’s reaction with something darkly amused in his eyes. “It’s adorable,” he mused. “All that nervousness. Like he’s ashamed of what he is.” He smirked, tilting his head. “But shame doesn’t change the truth, does it?”

Juliana exhaled a pleased sigh, sitting back with an indulgent smirk as she turned fully toward Dante. “It doesn’t,” she agreed, swirling her wine before taking another slow sip. “And the best part? His training has barely started.” She reached for a strawberry from the dessert plate and lifted it to her lips, biting into it with sinful leisure, a drop of juice glistening at the corner of her mouth before she flicked her tongue out to catch it.

Dante’s gaze darkened, his smirk deepening.

“Already taking to it like a fish to water,” she murmured, rolling the berry between her fingers before offering the next bite to Dante.

Dante held her gaze, his lips curling slightly before he leaned forward and took the offered bite straight from her fingers, his mouth brushing the tips of them just barely before he pulled away.

Mark felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

He was still standing there. Still being ignored. Still being talked about as though he were nothing more than a pet being assessed.

And the worst part?

The heat curling low in his stomach—the humiliating, undeniable truth that they were right.

Dante smirked as he chewed, exhaling through his nose with quiet amusement before turning his attention back to Mark.

“I imagine by the time you’re done with him,” Dante mused, his gaze slow, deliberate, “he won’t even remember what it felt like to pretend he was anything else.”

Juliana’s smirk widened, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, I plan to make sure of that.”

She glanced at Mark then, finally acknowledging him with a slow, satisfied smile, running a single finger down the side of her wine glass.

“Now, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice honey-sweet but laced with amusement, “why don’t you bring us dessert? Something light… but decadent.”

Mark swallowed thickly, his head dipping in obedience.

“Yes, mistress,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

And as he turned on shaky legs, his fingers curling into the lace of his apron, he knew—without a doubt—this was only the beginning.

Juliana leaned back in her chair, utterly at ease, swirling the last remnants of wine in her glass as she watched Dante with a smirk. The dinner plates had been cleared, dessert had been savored, and now, the evening had settled into something far more intimate—far more dangerous for Mark.

Mark stood at the edge of the dining room, hands clasped in front of him, his delicate fingers gripping the lace-trimmed hem of his apron as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His heart hammered against his ribs, his face still burning from the way Juliana and Dante had spoken about him like he was a mere curiosity to be studied. And now… now the conversation was shifting into even more humiliating territory.

Dante’s smirk was slow, lazy, as he set his glass down and exhaled. “So,” he mused, glancing between Juliana and Mark with amusement, “do you two still fuck? Or does this”—he gestured lazily at Mark’s maid uniform, at the petticoat swaying slightly as he fidgeted—“mean he’s been retired from those duties?”

Juliana let out a slow, indulgent chuckle, crossing her legs in a way that made the slit of her dress part just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her thigh. She took her time answering, letting the tension in the room stretch.

“Oh, Dante,” she purred, tilting her head, “you’re assuming my sweet little maid is even capable of that anymore.”

Mark swallowed hard, his entire body tensing.

Dante raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

Juliana’s smile deepened. She reached out, running her fingers lightly along the stem of her wine glass. “Tell me,” she murmured, her voice dripping with amusement, “do you think I’d let my sissy touch me the way a real man would?”

Dante exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he said smoothly, his smirk widening. “I don’t imagine you would.”

Juliana turned her gaze to Mark then, her eyes gleaming. “Sweetheart,” she cooed, her voice laced with condescension, “why don’t you show our guest exactly why that isn’t possible anymore?”

Mark’s breath hitched. His fingers curled against the hem of his skirt, trembling.

“Mistress…” His voice came out as a pitiful whimper, barely above a whisper.

Juliana arched a brow. Waiting.

Mark’s stomach twisted with dread, but he knew better than to hesitate for too long. His fingers slowly lifted the layers of frilly fabric, exposing his bare, stocking-clad thighs—and, more importantly, the steel chastity cage locked snugly around his most private parts.

Dante let out a low whistle. “Well, well,” he mused, leaning forward, his dark eyes gleaming with interest. “A proper little sissy maid, then.”

Juliana’s smirk turned razor-sharp. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “I had it custom-made. It ensures my sweet little maid understands his place.” She reached out, trailing a manicured finger along the metal with slow, deliberate amusement. “No erections. No release. Only service.”

Dante chuckled darkly, reaching out without hesitation. His massive hand cupped Mark’s caged cock and balls, palming them easily, rolling them slightly in his grip as if weighing them. Mark let out a pathetic little whimper, his whole body stiffening, his knees nearly giving out as the heat of Dante’s touch sent humiliation coursing through him like fire.

Dante exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Damn,” he muttered, smirking. “They’re so small.”

Juliana laughed lightly, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Oh, I know,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “You should have seen my poor little thing when I first suggested the cage.” She sighed theatrically. “He tried to pretend he didn’t want it, but we both know how that ended.”

Dante gave an amused squeeze, making Mark gasp softly, his blush deepening to an impossible shade of red.

Juliana smirked. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Tell Dante how grateful you are for it.”

Mark’s lips parted, his breath coming out in short, shuddering pants. “T-thank you, mistress,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Juliana arched a brow. “And?”

Mark squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his body trembling. “A-and thank you, sir…” he choked out.

Dante let out a low chuckle, releasing him with a slow, deliberate pat against the cage before leaning back in his chair. “Good sissy,” he murmured, shaking his head in amusement. “It’s always the ones who pretend they don’t want it that end up needing it the most.”

Juliana clinked her glass against Dante’s, her smirk widening. “You’re so right,” she purred.

Mark, standing there, still holding his skirt up, his body burning with shame, knew without a doubt—

He would never escape this.

Dante leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly against the rim of his wine glass, his expression thoughtful yet undeniably dominant. He had been enjoying himself tonight, that much was obvious. But now… now his smirk faded just enough to let something more serious—more deliberate—settle into his gaze.

“I have to admit,” he said, his voice deep and measured, “I’m interested in this situation.”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat.

Dante swirled his wine, watching the way the candlelight flickered in its deep red depths. “But if I’m going to be involved… it’s going to come with strings attached.”

Juliana tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?” she purred, leaning forward slightly, her eyes gleaming. “Do tell.”

Dante let a slow smirk return to his lips. “I want the keys,” he said simply, his gaze flickering toward Mark before settling on Juliana again. “If I’m going to be a part of this, I should be the one holding the lock to your little maid’s chastity.”

Mark’s entire body tensed. His knees nearly buckled.

Juliana let out a soft, breathy moan, her thighs squeezing together under the table. “Oh, Dante,” she exhaled, her pupils blown wide with arousal. “You don’t even have to ask.” She reached for her wine glass, taking a slow sip before licking a stray drop from her lip. “The idea of you being in control of him…” She shivered. “It’s delicious.”

Mark’s fingers twitched where they were still awkwardly clasped in front of him, his body pulsing with heat. His thoughts raced in panicked circles.

Dante wanted the keys?

Dante, his neighbor, his wife’s new obsession?

That would mean—oh, God—that would mean even more control. No longer just Juliana’s plaything, but theirs. No longer just submitting in the privacy of their home, but knowing that anytime Dante looked at him—whether in passing, in the yard, in the driveway—he would be looking at his caged little toy.

And yet.

And yet, his body betrayed him.

He was throbbing against the steel cage, aching, so utterly humiliated by the fact that this was turning him on. He should have said no. He should have refused.

But instead, he stood there, trembling, his cheeks burning as the seconds stretched out. His eyes darted between Juliana, her expression dripping with desire, and Dante, who watched him with patient amusement, clearly knowing exactly what was happening inside his head.

“Mark,” Juliana’s voice was soft, teasing, but laced with unmistakable authority. “We both want this.” She reached out, running a single manicured finger down Dante’s forearm before looking back at her husband. “But we need your consent.”

Dante arched a brow, tilting his head. “What’s it going to be, princess?” His voice was thick with amusement. “Are you going to let me take that tiny little key… and make sure you never forget who owns you?”

Mark’s breathing was shallow, his thighs pressing together involuntarily. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting, expectant. His mind screamed at him to say no.

But then he felt it—the humiliating, undeniable throb of need.

His lips trembled. His body burned.

And before he could stop himself, before he could even think, he whispered—

“…Yes.”

The word came out barely audible, but it shattered the moment.

Juliana’s smile turned wicked, triumphant. “Good boy,” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Dante chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he reached for his wine glass. “I knew you’d make the right choice,” he murmured.

Mark felt his stomach twist into knots as the reality of what he had just agreed to settled over him.

His key no longer belonged to Juliana alone.

It now belonged to Dante.

And there was no turning back.

The night had settled into something thick and heavy, the kind of atmosphere that wrapped itself around Mark like a vice. The remnants of dinner sat forgotten on the table, the candlelight flickering lazily as if savoring the tension in the room.

Mark stood there, his hands clasped together in front of his frilly apron, his breath shallow as his whole world seemed to slow down.

Juliana reached up to her neck, her fingers grazing the delicate chain of her necklace before she unclasped it. The small silver keys dangling from it caught the candlelight for a brief moment as she let it slip into her palm. She held it between her fingers, rolling it lightly, as if savoring the weight of it.

Then, without hesitation, without even looking at Mark, she turned to Dante and held them out.

Mark’s stomach clenched, his whole body locking up.

Dante took his time. He watched Juliana with that slow, knowing smirk of his before reaching out, his large fingers brushing against hers as he took the tiny key from her palm. It was nothing—a small piece of metal, insignificant in any other context.

But to Mark, it was everything.

His cage. His freedom. His control.

Now, it was in Dante’s hands.

His throat bobbed, his knees wobbling slightly in his tight heels as he fought against the wave of humiliation crashing over him.

Juliana let out a slow, contented sigh. “Mmm,” she hummed, her voice thick with pleasure as she tilted her head to look at Dante. “That feels right, doesn’t it?”

Dante chuckled, rolling the key between his fingers, inspecting it like it was nothing more than a curiosity before slipping it into the pocket of his trousers. “It does,” he murmured.

And then, without hesitation, he reached for Juliana.

Mark’s breath hitched as he watched his wife melt into Dante, her body pressing against him, her hands smoothing up his chest as she tilted her head up, inviting him in.

Dante didn’t hesitate.

Their lips met, soft but deliberate, a slow, deep kiss—one that wasn’t hurried, wasn’t rushed, but claimed her, possessedher. His large hand slid into her hair, holding her in place as he took his time, tasting her, letting her moan softly into his mouth.

Mark burned.

He wanted to look away. He should look away. But he couldn’t.

His heart pounded in his chest, a twisted mixture of jealousy and arousal making his knees tremble, his lips parting in silent agony as he stood there, dressed in his ridiculous maid’s uniform, his makeup perfect, his chastity cage locked, while his wife moaned into another man’s mouth.

When they finally pulled apart, Juliana exhaled a pleased little sigh, licking her lips as if savoring the taste of him.

She turned then, finally looking at Mark—her gaze dark, unreadable.

Dante followed her gaze, his smirk widening as his eyes raked over Mark’s blushing, trembling form.

“Mmm,” Juliana murmured, brushing a finger across her own lips as she studied Mark. “I think it’s time we end dinner, don’t you?”

Dante chuckled. “Oh, I think it’s only the beginning,” he mused, pocketing the keys with a smirk.

Mark’s whole body flushed hot.

He had no idea what they had planned next.

But one thing was certain.

He was no longer in control.

Juliana stood at the door, her body practically vibrating with arousal as she watched Dante step out into the night, his confident smirk lingering in her mind as much as the phantom weight of his kiss on her lips.

Her fingers toyed with the neckline of her dress, her skin burning with anticipation, her pulse thrumming in time with the click of his polished shoes against the pavement. She had never been this turned on before—never felt this alive—knowing that everything had changed, knowing that her sweet, blushing, helpless little maid was now under Dante’s control as well.

As she turned back inside, her gaze landing on Mark—standing there in his sissy maid outfit, his eyes wide, his chastity aching—a wicked smile curled her lips. Oh, she thought, what I have planned next is going to be so much fun...