My New Neighbour: Part 6 (Patreon)

The morning sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, casting soft golden hues across the bed. Mark stirred, his body warm and heavy with exhaustion, his mind still lost in the haze of sleep—until he felt it.

The tight, inescapable pressure.

The chastity cage.

His breath hitched, and instinctively, he shifted beneath the covers. The chastity cage was still locked in place, still holding him firm, still denying him. And the worst part? He was already achingly hard within it, his body betraying him completely.

Last night.

Heat flushed through him as the memories flooded back.

Juliana’s smirk, slow and wicked.Dante’s deep, rumbling chuckle.The keys—slipping between Dante’s fingers before vanishing into his pocket.

Mark swallowed hard, his pulse quickening.

His hands slid down his body, feeling the smooth skin he had after removing all his hair. His nipples were still sensitive, tingling with the ghost of last night’s touches, his thighs sore from standing in heels for so long. Between his legs, he felt the unmistakable slickness—evidence of his arousal, his frustration, the torstrugglement of being so close to pleasure yet denied at every turn.

A soft whimper escaped him.

Footsteps.

Slow. Confident.

The door creaked open.

Juliana leaned against the frame, her silk robe barely fastened, one shoulder slipping down to reveal smooth, flushed skin and the faintest mark on her collarbone—a love bite, dark and damning. Evidence of her pleasure. Of his pleasure.

Not Mark’s.

She let out a small hum of satisfaction as she took in the sight of him: sprawled out, still dressed in last night’s humiliating little outfit, his flushed, trembling body betraying him.

“Poor thing,” she cooed, stepping forward. “Did you sleep at all?”

Mark licked his lips, trying to find his voice. “Y-yes, Mistress,” he whispered, though the ache between his legs said otherwise.

Juliana smirked, crawling onto the bed beside him, her fingers drifting lightly over his chest, nails teasing over the lace and down his stomach. Lower, lower—hovering just above his caged cock but never touching.

Mark whimpered, hips shifting before he caught himself.

“Ah, ah,” she chided softly, her nails dragging up his inner thigh. “No squirming, pet.”

His breath stuttered as her lips ghosted over his ear, her voice a slow, indulgent purr.

“You were such a good girl last night,” she murmured, her breath hot against his skin. “But good girls don’t get to come, do they?”

Mark trembled, his head shaking. “N-no, Mistress.”

Her smirk deepened.

Her fingers trailed teasingly along his thigh, so close, too close, but still not touching where he needed it most. His cage throbbed, straining, utterly useless, and yet his body ached for more, for anything.

Juliana leaned in, lips brushing against his jaw. “You must have been dreaming about us,” she whispered. “About how he touched me… how he kissed me…”

Mark whimpered, his body burning.

Her lips barely grazed his, teasing, taunting. Not enough.

She pulled back suddenly, reaching into the pocket of her robe. “Oh,” she mused, her voice dripping with amusement. “Dante left something for you.”

Mark’s breath caught as she unfolded a small note and placed it in his trembling hands.

His eyes flickered down, scanning the bold, confident script:

Be a good girl.

A moan slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

Juliana chuckled, her fingers tilting his chin up, forcing his dazed, needy gaze to meet hers.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her thumb stroking over his lower lip. “This is just the beginning.”

And with that, she stood, sauntering from the room, leaving him panting, aching, and utterly at their mercy.

Mark sat up in bed, his body still aching from the night before, the chastity cage throbbing with frustration. His mind was still clouded with sleep when Juliana reappeared, a silk robe wrapped lazily around her body, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

She carried a bundle in her arms—delicate fabrics in soft pink and black, with lace and sheer materials spilling over the edges. As she approached, she let them fall onto the bed beside him.

Mark swallowed hard.

“Get up, sweetheart,” Juliana cooed, trailing a finger along his jaw before tilting his chin up. “It’s time to get dressed.”

His stomach clenched as he reached out, his fingers brushing over the new outfit—a delicate pink French maid’s dress, even shorter than the one from last night, with fluffy layers of tulle beneath it. Alongside it lay a tiny lace thong, a matching bra with soft cups and satin bows, black fishnet stockings, and… his breath hitched… a pair of pink patent leather heels.

Five inches tall.

He looked up at Juliana, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted.

She chuckled, amused. “Something wrong, darling?”

He shook his head quickly, though his hands trembled slightly as he picked up the delicate lace thong.

Juliana leaned in, her lips close to his ear. “Good girls wear what they’re given without question,” she whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

Mark’s cheeks burned as he slid out of his old uniform, his body shivering at the loss of the familiar fabric. He hesitated only a moment before stepping into the thong, pulling it up his legs and adjusting it around the chastity cage. The fabric barely covered anything, the soft lace pressing snugly against his aching cage.

Juliana watched with a knowing smirk, her fingers trailing over his arm as she guided him to the matching bra. “Let’s make sure these sit just right,” she murmured, slipping the straps over his shoulders and adjusting the cups against his chest.

Once the lingerie was in place, she handed him the fishnet stockings, watching as he rolled them up his legs, the delicate weave stretching over his thighs. The finishing touch was the dress—a flirty, pastel pink creation with puffed sleeves and a deep neckline, cinching tight at the waist before flaring into a scandalously short skirt.

Mark gasped as Juliana smoothed it down over his body, the layers swishing as she adjusted the fit.

“Perfect,” she murmured, stepping back to admire her work. “But something’s missing.”

She reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a small makeup bag.

Mark’s stomach clenched.

“Oh, don’t pout,” she teased, pulling him toward the vanity. “Every proper maid needs to look presentable, and I know you want to make a good impression for me.”

Juliana smiled at his reaction, her fingers ghosting under his chin before she turned his face toward the mirror.

“Let’s start with foundation,” she murmured, dabbing a sponge into a small bottle of liquid before smoothing it over his skin. “We want to make sure your complexion is flawless.”

Her touch was gentle but firm, blending the makeup evenly over his face.

“Now, a little blush,” she continued, swirling a soft pink powder onto a brush before dusting it across his cheeks. Mark watched in the mirror as his face transformed, his features softening, his skin glowing under her careful application.

Juliana picked up a small eyeshadow palette, her fingers selecting a shimmery pink shade. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

He obeyed, shivering as she swept the color across his lids, deepening the outer corners with a sultry hue.

“Now for mascara,” she hummed, unscrewing the cap. “Blink when I tell you.”

Mark barely had time to process before she was running the wand through his lashes, lengthening them with each careful stroke.

“Beautiful,” she purred. “But let’s make those lips even prettier.”

She uncapped a tube of glossy pink lipstick, tilting his chin up as she painted his lips with slow, deliberate strokes.

Mark swallowed, his lips tingling as she pressed them together, smoothing out the color.

“Now for the finishing touch…” Juliana reached for a pair of delicate, dangling clip-on earrings, the tiny rhinestones catching the light as she fastened them to his lobes.

She leaned back, admiring him.

Mark barely recognized himself in the mirror.

Soft, blushing, delicate. Pretty.

Juliana’s smirk deepened. “Now,” she murmured, pressing a hand to his lower back, guiding him to stand. “Slip on those heels and let’s see how well my little maid can move.”

Mark hesitated, glancing down at the gleaming pink stilettos.

“Go on,” Juliana coaxed. “Good girls wear what they’re given.”

Heart pounding, he stepped into them, his legs wobbling slightly as he adjusted to the height.

Juliana laughed, the sound rich and pleased.

“There you go, sweetheart. Now…” Her fingers trailed down his arm as she turned him toward the door.

“It’s time to clean the house and do your chores. And if you do a very good job,” she purred, leaning in so her lips ghosted over his ear, “maybe I’ll tell Dante what a good girl you’ve been.”

Mark’s knees wobbled.

Juliana grinned.

“Now get to work, maid.”

Mark stood in front of the mirror, his breath shallow, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The reflection staring back at him was… unrecognizable.

Smooth, hairless skin from the eyebrows down, his face perfectly made up—flawless foundation, soft pink blush dusted over his cheeks, long, thick lashes accentuating his wide, timid eyes. His lips were slick with glossy pink lipstick, plump and inviting.

The blonde wig cascaded over his shoulders in soft curls, brushing against the delicate lace collar of his pastel pink sissy maid dress. The outfit hugged his waist tightly, flaring out into a scandalously short skirt that barely covered the tops of his thighs. The black lace-trimmed apron was a cruel reminder of his role—of what he had become.

Fishnet stockings stretched over his smooth legs, leading down to the towering pink patent leather heels that forced him to stand with perfect posture, every movement exaggerated by the challenge of keeping his balance. And between his legs—his breath hitched—the steel chastity cage sat snug and unyielding, the cold metal a cruel contrast to the warmth burning through his body.

Mark swallowed hard.

He was completely transformed. Utterly feminized.

And completely at her mercy.

"Stop staring at yourself, sweetheart," Juliana's voice rang out, dripping with amusement. "You’ve got work to do."

Mark turned quickly, his face burning as he took in the sight before him.

Juliana stood in the center of the room, her toned body gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. Her sports bra clung tightly to her full, perfect breasts, the fabric stretching with each deep breath she took. Her tiny, skintight shorts barely covered the curve of her ass, the smooth, muscular lines of her legs flexing as she adjusted her stance.

She looked incredible.

Mark’s cage throbbed uselessly, his knees wobbling slightly in his heels.

Juliana smirked as she picked up a dumbbell, lifting it effortlessly as she watched him through the mirror. "Something wrong, maid?" she teased, her voice a playful lilt. "You seem… distracted."

Mark’s face flamed, and he quickly lowered his gaze. "N-no, Mistress," he stammered, gripping the feather duster tightly in his delicate fingers.

She chuckled, setting the weight down before sauntering toward him, her toned stomach tightening with each slow, deliberate step. When she reached him, she trailed a single finger along the edge of his apron, then lower, grazing the steel cage lightly through the thin fabric of his dress.

Mark sucked in a sharp breath, his body shuddering.

"Awww," she cooed, feigning pity as she tilted her head. "Is it hard being such a good girl for me?"

He whimpered.

She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "Too bad good girls don’t get to be hard at all, do they?"

His knees nearly buckled.

Juliana smirked, stepping back. "Now," she clapped her hands, all playfulness gone, replaced with firm authority. "Get to work. This house isn’t going to clean itself."

Mark swallowed, forcing himself to move. Every step in his heels was a challenge, every shift of the stockings against his smooth skin a reminder of just how exposed he was. He lifted the duster and began working, starting with the furniture, careful to keep his balance as he reached up, his short skirt riding even higher, exposing the tops of his fishnet-clad thighs.

Juliana, meanwhile, returned to her workout, dropping into deep squats, lifting weights, stretching in ways that made Mark’s cage strain unbearably.

He tried to focus on his task—dusting the shelves, wiping down the coffee table—but his eyes kept drifting back to her.

The way her breasts bounced ever so slightly with each movement.The way the muscles in her legs flexed as she lunged.The way a single bead of sweat trickled down between the curves of her chest, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

Mark let out a shaky breath, his face burning, his cock throbbing in helpless frustration within the confines of the chastity cage.

Juliana caught him staring.

She smirked, setting her weights down and stretching her arms above her head, her toned stomach tightening beautifully. “Mmm, I love a good workout,” she mused, rolling her shoulders. “Gets the blood flowing, doesn’t it?”

Mark whimpered softly, ducking his head as he dusted furiously, hoping she wouldn’t see just how much her presence was affecting him.

She did.

"Oh, sweetheart," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. "Blushing like that… You must be so pent up."

Mark swallowed, his grip tightening on the duster.

Juliana sauntered closer, stepping behind him, her hands smoothing over his waist, tracing the curves of the dress. Her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered, “You love this, don’t you?”

His lips parted, a soft, desperate sound slipping free as he admitted he loved it.

Her fingers trailed lower, ghosting just above the steel cage, never quite touching.

“You love being my little maid… my little sissy…”

Mark shuddered, his legs trembling in his heels.

She pulled back suddenly, laughing as she spun on her heel. “Then you’d better make sure my house is spotless,” she called over her shoulder. “Or no rewards for bad girls.”

Mark whimpered, gripping the duster tightly.

He had no choice but to obey.

And deep down, he loved it.

Juliana leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him squirm. The power in her stance, the casual dominance in her smirk—it sent another humiliating thrill through Mark’s body.

“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” she praised, though there was a teasing lilt in her voice. “But you’re not done yet.”

Mark turned hesitantly, duster still in hand, heart pounding. “Wh-what do you mean?” His voice came out softer than he intended, uncertain.

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Dante is expecting you.”

Mark blinked. “W-what?”

“He’s got a long list of chores for his little sissy,” she continued, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “So, I hope you’re ready for a busy afternoon.”

His breath caught. She couldn’t be serious. Could she?

The mere thought of stepping outside—dressed like this—had his stomach twisting in knots. The soft, frilly maid uniform hugged his frame, the petticoats swishing with every hesitant movement. His cheeks flamed, and his pulse thundered in his ears.

“You… you want me to walk out there? Like this?” His voice was barely above a whisper, mortified.

Juliana arched a brow, arms still folded. “Of course.” Then, a wicked little smirk. “Unless you’d rather disappoint your new keyholder?”

Mark swallowed hard. His knees wobbled at the very thought. He could already imagine the humiliation—stepping out of their house, the cool afternoon air teasing the exposed skin of his thighs, the possibility of being seen by anyone… or everyone.

“I—I—” He stammered uselessly.

Juliana chuckled, stepping closer, closing the distance between them in an instant. Her fingers trailed up his arm, her nails grazing his sensitive skin just enough to make him shiver. “Oh, sweetheart…” she cooed. “I know you’re embarrassed. But isn’t that the best part?”

Mark whimpered.

She leaned in, lips just inches from his ear. “Be a good girl for me,” she whispered, her breath sending goosebumps down his spine. “And don’t keep Dante waiting.”

Then, without another word, she stepped back, crossing the room to pick up her water bottle. The way her breasts bounced ever so slightly with each movement, the way the muscles in her legs flexed as she stretched—it was all so effortless, so intoxicating.

Mark was left standing there, trembling, blushing furiously, his body betraying him with the painful throb of his chastity cage.

She was really going to make him do this.

And deep down… he knew he would.

Mark’s breath came in shallow gasps as he stepped forward, the sharp click-click-click of his five-inch heels echoing through the polished floor of the entryway. Each step sent a nervous tremor through his body, the tight pink maid dress swishing teasingly around his upper thighs. He tugged at the hem, his delicate fingers grasping at the frilly fabric in a desperate attempt to cover himself, to hide the humiliating sight of his locked chastity cage beneath the lace.

But it was too short.

No matter how much he pulled, the silky material bounced right back, leaving his fishnet-clad legs exposed, his steel-caged frustration hidden beneath nothing but the thin, humiliating fabric.

His heart pounded as he reached the door, his painted lips slightly parted, his whole body burning at the reality of what was about to happen.

I can’t do this…

The thought was useless.

Juliana was watching.

He could feel her smirk, her amusement as she stood behind him, arms crossed, waiting to see if he would actually follow through.

And Dante was expecting him.

Mark swallowed hard.

If he hesitated for even a second longer, Juliana would march him over there herself.

And worse… Dante had the key.

Mark stood frozen, his fingers barely grazing the door handle, his breath shallow and unsteady. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he swore Juliana could hear it.

And oh, she loved it.

Juliana leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her lips curling into a slow, wicked smile as she devoured the sight of him. Her once-masculine husband, now nothing more than a trembling, blushing sissy maid, standing in heels and fishnets, a frilly pink dress barely covering his chastity-caged frustration.

God, she had never been more turned on.

Watching him stand there, humiliated, so obedient, so weak beneath her gaze, made heat coil low in her stomach. She had always loved seeing him in lingerie, had always loved teasing him about his submissive little tendencies, but now? Now he was fully hers.

Her perfect little sissy.

And the best part? She knew how much he wanted this, even as he trembled, even as he hesitated to step out the door, even as he burned with the shame of it.

Juliana bit her lip, feeling herself pulse between her thighs as she stepped up behind him, pressing her body close. Her nipples, still stiff from her workout, brushed against his back through the thin material of her sports bra. She let her hands smooth down his sides, feeling the delicate lace, the silky fabric of his apron, the slight tremble in his frame.

“You look so pretty, sweetheart,” she murmured, her lips ghosting against his ear, making him shudder. “My perfect little maid. So soft. So helpless.”

She felt his breath stutter.

“You love this, don’t you?” she whispered, dragging her nails lightly down his arms, feeling his body tense beneath her touch.

Mark whimpered, shifting slightly in his heels, as if trying to run from the truth.

Juliana smirked.

“Oh, don’t pretend,” she teased, “if I unlocked that cage right now, you’d make such a mess, wouldn’t you?”

Mark’s whole body burned. His cage throbbed, but there was nothing he could do.

Juliana let out a slow, contented sigh, as if she were savoring every single second of his situation.

Mark let out a soft, desperate whimper.

Juliana bit back a moan at how wrecked he sounded.

She had never been more turned on.

God, she was soaking just thinking about what was coming next.

Watching him walk down the driveway in broad daylight, his heels clicking against the pavement, the frilly pink dress swishing with every timid step.

Watching him blush as he scurried next door, terrified of being seen.

Watching him serve Dante, their real man, the one who held the key to his pathetic little cage.

Juliana ached with pleasure at the thought.

“Go on,” she purred, stepping back, arms folded as she leaned against the doorframe, watching.

Mark hesitated, his body trembling, his blush deepening.

“Unless…” Her voice turned teasing, wicked. “You want me to tell Dante you couldn’t follow a simple order?”

Mark whimpered.

Juliana’s core throbbed.

The absolute power she had over him was intoxicating.

She arched a brow. “I said move, maid.”

With a shaky breath, Mark finally turned the handle, stepping onto the porch.

The bright sunlight hit his perfectly made-up face, his curls bouncing slightly in the breeze. The skirt of his pink maid dress swayed as he took his first step down the driveway, his heels clicking loudly against the pavement.

Juliana moaned under her breath, biting her lip.

This is the best thing I’ve ever done.

She folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching, drinking in the sight of her husband—her beta, her sissy—forced to walk next door, forced to serve Dante, forced to embrace what he had become.

And the best part?

This was only the beginning.

With a soft click, the door swung open, revealing the bright, unforgiving daylight.

The world outside felt too big, too open, too exposed.

Mark hesitated at the threshold, his breath catching in his throat.

What if someone sees me?

His house was in a quiet neighborhood, but not quiet enough.

A neighbor could be outside.

Someone could be walking their dog.

A car could drive by and—

“Move.”

Juliana’s voice was sharp, amused.

Mark let out a shaky breath and stepped outside.

The second his heels touched the pavement, he felt naked.

The concrete was warm beneath his towering stilettos, the unfamiliar terrain making each step feel dangerous, wobbly, exaggerated. His hips swayed naturally with every click of his heels, the movement only making his skirt bounce flirtatiously around his upper thighs.

God… what if someone sees?

His blush deepened as he hurried down the pathway, trying to keep his head down, his blonde curls swaying with each rushed step. His hands instinctively reached for the hem of his dress again, but it was useless. No amount of tugging would make it longer, no amount of wishing would make him less of a sissy maid in broad daylight.

And Dante’s house was right next door.

So close, yet every step felt like a lifetime.

Each click of his heels on the pavement was a reminder.

A reminder of what he had become.

A reminder of what Juliana had turned him into.

A reminder that he loved every second of being her sissy maid.

His locked steel cage pulsed as he rushed forward, his painted lips pressing into a tight, mortified line. He was too afraid to look up, too afraid to see if anyone was watching.

And then—

A car.

Mark’s stomach dropped.

The low hum of the engine made his knees wobble, his fingers curling against his apron as he prayed it would keep driving, that they wouldn’t—

HOOOOOOONK!

Mark gasped, his whole body seizing up.

The car zoomed past, the driver leaning halfway out the window, whistling before letting out a low, drawn-out, “Daaaaamn!”

Mark burned, his body on fire as he stumbled forward, heels clicking furiously against the pavement as he tried to move faster, tried to get to Dante’s door before—

Laughter.

Distant. But there.

Mark’s lip trembled as he reached Dante’s front porch, his hands shaking as he brought them up to knock.

His whole body trembled with humiliation, his thighs clenching uselessly as his caged arousal only worsened under the weight of his shame.

His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath the tight pink fabric of his uniform.

And then—

The sound of footsteps.

Coming toward the door.

Mark swallowed, his painted nails digging into his palm as the doorknob turned.

This is it.

His knees wobbled.

The door creaked open.

And Mark stood there, blushing, helpless, and completely owned.

The door swung open, and there he was.

Dante.

Tall. Confident. Smirking.

Mark felt small.

His whole body burned as he stood there on Dante’s front porch, his painted lips parted slightly, his breath shaky. His lace-trimmed pink maid dress barely covered the tops of his trembling thighs, his fishnet stockings hugging every inch of his smooth, exposed legs. His locked steel chastity cage pulsed uselessly beneath the delicate fabric of his frilly apron, the ache deep, frustrating, and unrelenting.

Dante leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his dark eyes raking over Mark from head to toe, taking his time—inspecting him like he was nothing more than a toy.

“Well, well, well,” Dante mused, his smirk deepening. “Look what we have here.”

Mark’s stomach clenched.

He wanted to run. He wanted to hide.

But he couldn’t.

He was expected to be here.

And more than that—he needed to be here.

Dante had the keys.

Dante controlled everything.

Mark swallowed hard.

“Come in,” Dante said smoothly, stepping back.

Mark hesitated for a second too long.

Dante arched a brow, his smirk never faltering. “Unless you’d rather Juliana know you disobeyed me?”

Mark whimpered.

His heels clicked against the hardwood as he hurried inside, his hands instinctively tugging at the hem of his dress even though it was pointless. His entire body was on fire as Dante closed the door behind him.

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. “You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly, eyeing Mark up and down.

Mark’s cheeks burned hot.

“But,” Dante continued, “I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?”

Mark didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

He just stood there, trembling, his painted lips pressed together, his lashes fluttering as he tried to breathe.

Dante let out a low chuckle, shaking his head before gesturing around the house. “Alright, princess,” he said, his tone shifting to something more commanding. “You’ve got work to do.”

Mark swallowed, nodding quickly, his hands wringing together in front of his lacy apron.

Dante stepped forward, invading Mark’s space, forcing him to look up at him. “That means no standing around blushing like a useless little sissy,” he murmured. “You do exactly as you’re told.”

Mark’s knees wobbled.

Dante pulled back, walking toward the kitchen. “First,” he called over his shoulder, “I want the counters wiped down. Then the floors mopped. After that, you’re taking the trash out.”

Mark blinked, his breath hitching.

The trash.

Which meant going outside. Again.

His whole body tensed.

Dante glanced back at him and grinned, as if he knew exactly what Mark was thinking.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Dante teased. “Afraid someone might see you?”

Mark’s blush deepened.

Dante chuckled. “Good.”

Mark’s stomach twisted as he stepped forward, his heels clicking against the floor as he hurried toward the kitchen. His mind was spinning, his body buzzing with a mixture of shame and arousal as he grabbed the cleaning supplies.

He worked quickly, wiping down the counters, his heart pounding so hard he swore Dante could hear it. Every movement of his skirt sent shivers of humiliation down his spine. He knew Dante was watching him, silently enjoying every second of this.

After he had finished wiping down the counters, he grabbed the mop, his hands shaking slightly as he dipped it into the bucket. His heels made everything harder, forcing him to be deliberate with every movement, careful not to wobble too much.

Dante leaned against the counter, watching. Always watching.

“You missed a spot,” he said casually, pointing to the floor.

Mark quickly dropped to his knees, grabbing a rag to scrub the missed section.

Dante laughed. “That’s more like it.”

Mark squeezed his eyes shut for a second, his entire body on fire.

And then—

“Alright, princess,” Dante said suddenly. “Trash time.”

Mark’s stomach dropped.

His lips parted, a quiet whimper escaping before he could stop it.

Dante smirked.

“Come on,” he said, motioning to the full trash bag by the door. “Take it outside, down to the curb.”

Mark froze.

Dante arched a brow. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

Mark’s pulse raced.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the trash bag, his whole body buzzing with humiliation.

Walking to Dante’s house had been bad enough.

But now—walking back outside, in his ridiculous pink maid dress, his towering heels clicking loudly against the pavement, his caged arousal throbbing helplessly beneath the frills of his apron—was worse.

And this time, there was no rushing to a front door.

This time, he had to walk all the way down the driveway.

To the curb.

To the street.

Where anyone could see.

He hesitated, his grip tightening on the bag.

Dante tilted his head. “Go on,” he murmured, voice low, commanding. “Or do I need to call Juliana and tell her you’re being difficult?”

Mark whimpered.

His knees shook as he turned toward the door.

Each step in his heels felt heavier, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him.

His painted lips trembled as he reached for the doorknob.

With a shaky breath, he pulled the door open.

The bright daylight hit him like a slap.

Mark swallowed hard, his entire body burning as he stepped outside.

His heels clicked against the pavement.

The frills of his short pink dress bounced with every timid step.

His steel cage throbbed with frustration.

And as he made his way down to the curb—his face burning, his hands gripping the trash bag tightly—a car slowed down.

The window rolled down.

And someone whistled.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching.

But he kept walking.

Because he had no choice, and deep down he consented to all of this.

Mark’s entire body burned with humiliation as he set the trash bag down beside the curb, his painted nails gripping the plastic tightly. The sun was bright, too bright, casting long shadows on the pavement. The warm breeze brushed against his exposed thighs, making him painfully aware of just how short his pink maid dress was, of just how much he was on display.

He turned quickly, heels clicking against the pavement as he hurried back up Dante’s driveway, his stomach in knots, his caged arousal throbbing helplessly with every rushed step. His painted lips were still parted in shallow breaths, his blush still deep from the sound of the car horn earlier.

As he stepped back inside, Dante was waiting for him.

Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with that same knowing smirk.

“Good girl,” Dante murmured, amusement dripping from his voice.

Mark swallowed, his knees wobbly in his heels, his hands gripping his frilly apron as he tried to compose himself.

Dante tilted his head slightly, studying him. Then, after a moment, he let out a low chuckle.

“Juliana told me something interesting about you,” he said casually, pushing off the counter and walking toward him.

Mark’s breath hitched as Dante closed the distance, his body radiating confidence, control.

“She said you’re bi.”

Mark’s entire body locked up. His heart pounded against his ribs, his hands clenching into tiny fists around the lace of his apron.

His throat bobbed as he stared down at the floor, his blush deepening. “I…”

Dante arched a brow. “Is it true?”

Mark swallowed hard.

He knew there was no point in lying.

He was already here. Already dressed like this. Already submitting.

And Juliana knew.

So of course Dante knew.

His lips trembled slightly before he finally nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Y-yes.”

Dante’s smirk widened. “I thought so.”

Mark’s pulse raced.

Dante reached forward, his large fingers brushing under Mark’s chin, tilting his face up so their eyes met.

Mark’s breath shuddered.

“Come here,” Dante murmured, stepping back and lowering himself onto the sofa, his legs spreading comfortably as he settled in.

Mark blinked, hesitating, his whole body trembling with anticipation, with something deeper than just nerves.

Dante arched a brow. “Kneel.”

Mark’s knees nearly buckled at the command, his cage throbbing uselessly, painfully.

Slowly, shakily, he sank down onto the floor, his fishnet-clad knees pressing into the plush carpet, his hands resting on his lap as he knelt in front of Dante.

Dante smirked down at him, spreading his legs just a little wider, his dark eyes devouring the sight of Mark—his perfect little pink maid, his painted lips trembling, his breath uneven, his body already soft, submissive, needy.

Dante slowly unzipped his pants, letting his massive cock and balls spill out in front of Mark’s face.

“You know what to do,” Dante murmured, his voice low, deep, commanding.

Mark swallowed hard, his lashes fluttering, his whole body burning as he secretly knew how much he wanted to suck Dante’s glorious cock and balls.

Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned forward, his soft lips parting as he obeyed.

Mark’s entire body burned with shame as he knelt on the plush carpet of his neighbor’s living room. The weight of his predicament crushed him, the frills of his pink sissy maid uniform brushing against his trembling thighs. The tightness of his corset, the swish of his petticoats, the delicate fishnet stockings hugging his legs—every little detail made him hyper-aware of just how ridiculous, how humiliating he must look.

His heels wobbled slightly as he steadied himself, his painted lips still slightly parted, his breath shaky. The heavy wig on his head made him feel even more artificial, like a doll dressed up for someone else’s amusement. His makeup—perfectly applied by Juliana herself—was surely smudging now, a mess of lipstick and desperation.

And yet, here he was.

Kneeling in front of Dante sucking on his big black balls.

His strong, confident neighbor who had barely lifted a finger, and yet had Mark utterly undone.

The weight of the moment pressed in on him, suffocating, overwhelming as he struggled to fit the two huge salty balls in his mouth. The thought of what he was doing—of where he was, of who he was right now—sent his stomach into knots. He had never felt so small, so exposed.

He had spent years convincing himself he wasn’t like this. That he was straight. That his urges were fleeting, meaningless, something to be buried deep and never acknowledged.

But Juliana had always known. And now, Dante knew too.

Dante held Mark’s head in one hand as Mark slurped on his balls while his other hand dialed someone on his phone.

Mark’s breath hitched.

His stomach twisted violently as he realized who it had to be.

The line rang once. Twice.

Then—

“Dante?”

Juliana.

Mark felt like he was going to faint from how horny and embarrassed he was.

Dante smirked down at him, fingers toying lazily with his wig as he pressed the speaker button.

“You were right,” Dante said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement. “He is bi.”

Mark’s whole body seized. His humiliation reached an unbearable high as he clenched his fists in his lap, his breathing stiffled by Dante’s balls in his mouth. He could hear the knowing smirk in Juliana’s voice as she responded.

“Told you. But I bet you already figured that out, didn’t you?”

Dante chuckled. His fingers brushed against Mark’s cheek, tilting his head just slightly, making sure he was fully present in the moment.

“Oh, I had my suspicions,” Dante murmured, letting his fingers trail down, tracing the flushed skin of Mark’s throat. “But let’s just say I have proof now.”

Juliana let out a soft, delighted hum. “Mmm, and what exactly is my sweet little neighbor doing right now?”

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, mortified.

Dante grinned. “Would you like to tell her, Mark?”

Mark’s muffled a reply as his mouth was stuffed with Dante’s massive balls. How could he say it? How could he admit to Juliana—to anyone—what he was doing right now?

His knees pressed deeper into the carpet, the chastity cage throbbing painfully between his legs, the ache of it both a punishment and a reminder of how helpless he was.

“Let’s just say, he’s on his knees, right where he belongs.”

Mark let out a shaky exhale, his whole body betraying him with the way his muscles tensed, the way his painted lips parted slightly at the words.

“Oh, Mark,” she purred. “I always knew you were a good boy.”

The words sent a shiver down his spine, shame and something darker curling in his belly. His hands trembled slightly where they rested, gripping the hem of his dress. The frilly fabric felt unbearably soft against his fingertips, a cruel contrast to the way his entire body burned with humiliation.

Dante chuckled, low and pleased. “Mmm, I think he likes hearing that,” he mused, his hand lifting to trace the flushed skin of Mark’s cheek. “Look at him… Blushing so sweetly.”

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, mortified, yet the heat inside him only grew as he sucked on Dante’s black balls. He could feel Dante watching him, studying every reaction, every twitch of his muscles, every unspoken plea in his eyes. It was unbearable—and yet, in some twisted way, it was exactly what he craved.

“You should see him, Juliana,” Dante continued, his voice rich with amusement. “Kneeling here so pretty, just waiting to be told what to do next as he sucks on my balls.”

Juliana let out a soft, delighted hum. “Mmm, my sweet little neighbor is getting quite the attention, isn’t he?” she mused. “And tell me, Mark—do you like being put in your place?”

Mark’s throat gurgled a reponse as Dante’s balls took up every inch of his mouth.

Mark’s heart pounded. Every nerve in his body felt exposed, raw, utterly at their mercy. The words stuck in his throat, his entire body betraying him with the way he trembled beneath their attention.

Juliana’s voice came through the speaker again, lilting, wicked. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You don’t even have to say it. We already know.”

Dante’s smirk widened. “That’s right,” he murmured. “A good sissy doesn’t need to speak. Their body says everything for them.”

Mark let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The heat of his gaze was suffocating, intoxicating, overwhelming.

He was exactly where they wanted him.

And deep down, he knew… it was exactly where he belonged. Mark knew this was only happening because he consented to it.

Dante slowly removed his balls from Mark’s mouth as he told him to get to work on his massive black cock.

Mark parted his lipstick-covered lips and began to take the shaft into his mouth, slurping as he attempted to take in several more inches of Dante’s huge penis.

Dante groaned, holding his phone next to Mark so Juliana could hear the sounds of her husband sucking his massive cock.

Mark couldn’t believe what was happening, but his cock was rock-hard inside the chastity cage.

He knew this was best for everyone—and that Juliana had much more planned for their new relationship…