My New Neighbour: Part 8 (Patreon)

The soft glow of vanity lights bathed Juliana in warm, golden hues as she leaned in toward the mirror, carefully applying a final sweep of deep red lipstick. Her reflection smirked back at her—sultry, confident, untouchable. The delicate lace of her lingerie hugged her curves, a sheer black slip that draped just enough to tease, leaving little to the imagination.

Her skin was flushed with warmth, her pulse thrumming beneath the surface. Excitement coiled low in her belly, a delicious, pulsing heat. Butterflies. Real, breathless butterflies. She hadn’t felt like this in years—hadn’t felt desired, truly wanted, in so long.

Dante had changed that.

The way he looked at her, the way his deep, hungry voice wrapped around her in every conversation—it made her feel like a woman again. Not just some taken-for-granted wife, not just a Mistress keeping her pet in line, but a woman who could be devoured. A woman who could be taken.

Behind her, Mark lay spread-eagle on the bed, his wrists and ankles bound in luxurious silk restraints. The ridiculous frills of his sissy maid outfit contrasted sharply with the hunger in his eyes, the way his caged cock throbbed uselessly between his trembling thighs. He hadn’t said a word since she left him like that, his breath shallow, eyes tracking her every movement as though she were the center of his universe.

Juliana let him watch. Let him see what he would never have again.

She turned slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror, dragging a manicured nail down the slope of her bare shoulder. The heat between her thighs pulsed at the power she held over him. Over both of them.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, pet.”

Mark swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know what to say, Mistress.”

She pouted mockingly. “Oh? Nothing to say about how stunning I look tonight? About how lucky Dante is?” She traced her fingers down the valley between her breasts, revelling in the way Mark’s body twitched in response.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted, voice hoarse. “So, so beautiful, Mistress.”

Juliana’s smirk deepened. “Mm. That’s better.” She picked up a delicate bottle of perfume, spritzing a soft mist over her throat and wrists, imagining the way Dante would lean in close tonight, breathing her in.

He’s going to touch me tonight. Kiss me. Maybe more.

A slow ache bloomed deep inside her, anticipation curling like fire through her veins. She crossed her legs, pressing her thighs together, revelling in the subtle throb of need between them.

“I do wonder how he’ll react when he sees me like this,” she mused, her voice thick with something indulgent. “When he realizes exactly what kind of woman I am.”

A shudder ran through Mark’s bound frame. “D-Dante is… he’s a lucky man.”

“Oh, darling.” Juliana stood, smoothing her slip down over the curve of her hips before sauntering toward the bed. The ache between her thighs pulsed stronger with every step. She leaned down, brushing her lips against Mark’s ear. “He doesn’t need luck. He’s a real man.”

Mark whimpered, his entire body trembling against his restraints.

Juliana’s nails scraped lightly down his chest, slow, teasing. “And you? You’re my sweet little sissy. My devoted, desperate sissy maid.” She sighed, feigning sympathy, though her own breath had quickened. “I do hope you won’t be too lonely tonight while I’m out with him. It would be such a shame if you had nothing to keep yourself occupied.”

Her lips curled as she watched him fight against the whimper clawing its way up his throat.

She was wet. Achingly so.

The thought of Dante’s strong hands gripping her, of his deep, commanding voice whispering filth against her skin—it sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted this. Needed it. Craved the way he made her feel alive again.

Juliana moved towards her wardrobe, and began to get ready.

Juliana let the silk of her lingerie slip from her shoulders, the delicate fabric pooling at her feet as she stood in nothing but lace panties and the glow of her own reflection. The air was thick with the scent of her perfume, the lingering traces of her body heat.

Behind her, Mark let out a strangled sound—something between a whimper and a groan.

She smirked, dragging her hands slowly over her bare curves, feeling the warmth of her own skin. She knew he was watching, helplessly bound, his body betraying him with every desperate twitch inside that tight steel cage.

“I should wear red tonight,” she mused aloud, stepping toward the sleek, open wardrobe beside the vanity. “Dante always says red is my color.”

Mark trembled against the silk restraints, his fingers curling uselessly into fists. “M-Mistress…”

She ignored him, running her fingers over the elegant gowns hanging before her before finally pulling out the one. A stunning, scarlet dress—silky, form-fitting, with a plunging neckline that barely contained her massive breasts and a slit that ran dangerously high, teasing the full length of her thick, toned thighs.

She slipped it on with practiced ease, letting the fabric mold to her curves like it was made for her. The moment she turned back to the mirror, she couldn’t help but admire herself. She looked delicious. Ravishing.

The kind of woman men craved.

And Mark? He would never have her again.

She glanced at him through the mirror, watching his chest rise and fall in ragged, uneven breaths. His eyes were dark with raw need, locked onto her like she was something holy. His body strained against the restraints, his hips shifting, his caged cock throbbing helplessly inside its steel prison.

“Oh, sissy,” she cooed, running her hands down her curves, smoothing the silk against her body. “You look like you’re suffering.”

A choked whimper. A desperate tug against the restraints.

Juliana chuckled, slow and indulgent, before stepping into a pair of sleek black heels, the delicate straps wrapping around her ankles. The extra height made her even more imposing as she stood before him, looking down at his bound, pathetic form.

Her smile was wicked as she trailed her fingers along his trembling chest. “You know what excites me the most about tonight?” She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. “Dante isn’t going to beg for me.” She scraped her nails down his stomach, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. “He’s going to take me.”

Mark whimpered, his body trembling violently against the bonds, his caged cock pulsing, straining, utterly useless.

Juliana laughed softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw. “Be good for me, sissy,” she whispered, turning toward the door with a sway of her hips.

She didn’t need to look back to know his eyes were still glued to her. To know his body was wrecked with helpless, aching need.

And it thrilled her beyond words.

Tonight, she was going to feel alive again.

Juliana paused at the doorway, one perfectly manicured nail tapping against the frame. She could hear Mark’s ragged breathing behind her, the sharp, pitiful sound of his restraints creaking as he squirmed.

“Maybe I’ll let him mark me tonight,” she mused aloud, glancing at her reflection one last time, tilting her head as if considering. “He always leaves the prettiest bruises.”

A desperate sound wrenched from Mark’s throat—something caught between anguish and arousal.

She turned then, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast a golden sheen over her exposed skin, the red silk hugging every curve, every valley. She was art, indulgence incarnate.

Mark’s chest heaved, his fingers flexing against his bonds. His lips parted like he wanted to speak, to protest—but they both knew he wouldn’t. He consented to all of this.

Juliana crossed the room in measured, unhurried steps, the sharp click of her heels against the hardwood making his body jerk in anticipation. She stopped beside the bed, looming over him, trailing her fingers up the inside of his trembling thigh. His body was betraying him in every possible way, and it sent a wicked thrill through her.

She leaned down, her lips a whisper away from his ear. “You want to beg, don’t you?” she purred, her breath warm against his fevered skin. “You want to tell me not to go.”

Mark let out a strangled noise, his hips jerking upward before the unforgiving steel of his cage forced him back down with a shuddering whimper.

She chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “But you won’t,” she said, pressing the softest kiss to his temple. “Because good sissies don’t beg.”

Mark’s eyes squeezed shut, his entire body shaking beneath her as his cock strained within the confines of the chastity cage.

Juliana straightened, her gaze lingering on him for a moment—his flushed skin, his trembling limbs, the raw, aching need in his dark eyes.

Then she turned away, striding toward the door, her steps slow, intentional. She could feel the weight of his gaze burning into her, drinking in the sway of her hips, the smooth expanse of her bare back where the dress plunged scandalously low.

She paused, just as she reached for the handle, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” she murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling her lips. “I know I will.”

And with that, she stepped out into the night, leaving him there—bound, aching, helpless.

Exactly as he was meant to be.

Mark lay spread-eagle on the bed, wrists and ankles bound to the posts, his body thrumming with conflicting sensations. The soft, frilly hem of his sissy maid uniform barely covered his trembling thighs, the tight embrace of lace and satin a constant reminder of how much he had changed—how much Juliana had changed him.

The chastity cage, cool and unforgiving against his skin, pulsed with his every heartbeat. Every failed attempt at arousal only reinforced his helplessness, his submission. The ache was unbearable. Delicious.

His mind swam, flickering between the past and present.

He could still remember the first time Juliana had locked him in chastity, the way her voice had dripped with amusement as she clicked the tiny padlock into place. “This is for your own good, darling,” she had said, running a perfectly manicured hand down his cheek. “You’ll learn to love it. To love what I make you.”

And somehow, he had.

Somewhere between that first lock and tonight, between the slow unravelling of his masculinity and the meticulous crafting of his new self, something inside him had surrendered. He had resisted at first—shame burning through him when she made him wear skirts, when she dressed him in delicate lingerie and called him her “pretty sissy.” But the more he fought, the more intoxicating it became. The more she took, the more he wanted to give.

Now, lying there in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, bound and trembling in a ridiculous little maid’s outfit, he could no longer deny the truth.

He loved it.

He loved the way Juliana owned him. The way she teased him, tormented him, moulded him into something softer, weaker. Something that existed solely for her amusement.

A shiver ran through him at the thought. His fingers flexed against the silk ropes, his breath shallow as he imagined where she was right now. Out in the world, free. Maybe she was at a bar, basking in the attention of Dante who could actually touch her, unlike him. Maybe she was dancing, her body pressing against Dante, laughing in that low, sultry way that made his chest tighten with longing.

The idea made his stomach clench with something raw, something he refused to name.

His mind drifted back to the way she had looked at him before she left—the smirk playing at her lips, the wicked glint in her eye as she taunted him, knowing he would be left here alone, desperate, aching.

He let out a slow, shuddering breath.

How could something so cruel feel so…right?

The soft rustling of the sheets was the only sound in the room as he tugged experimentally against his restraints. They didn’t budge. Of course, they wouldn’t. Juliana was always so careful.

Careful to remind him who he belonged to.

Careful to make sure he had no way out.

Careful to make sure he would be right where she left him—waiting, aching, desperate for her return.

His eyes fluttered shut, his mind hazy with the unbearable pleasure of denial, of longing.

He would stay like this all night. Helpless. Hungry.

And when she finally came back…

God, he hoped she would make him beg.

Juliana stepped out of the car, her pulse already thrumming beneath her skin. The cool night air did nothing to calm the heat coiling in her belly. She smoothed a hand over the sleek red silk of her dress, the fabric clinging to her curves, accentuating every line of her body in a way she knew would command attention. But there was only one pair of eyes she wanted on her tonight.

And then, she saw him.

Dante.

Tall. Powerful. Unapologetically male.

He stood just outside the entrance of the restaurant, the dim glow from the streetlights casting sharp shadows over his impossibly broad frame. His navy-blue suit was sculpted to perfection, hugging his powerful chest, his thick arms, the sheer size of him impossible to ignore. His crisp white shirt stretched taut at the collar, teasing just enough muscle to make her mouth go dry.

Juliana swallowed hard, heat curling between her thighs at the way he simply stood—like a king surveying his domain, exuding dominance in a way that was effortless, intoxicating.

And then he moved.

His strides were long, purposeful, brimming with the quiet authority that made every fiber of her body ache for him. He reached her in seconds, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a slow, knowing smirk.

“You’re late,” he murmured, voice a deep, masculine rasp that sent a shiver straight down her spine.

Before she could answer, his hands were on her—big, strong, possessive. He gripped her waist and pulled her against him in one smooth motion, and the second her body collided with his, she felt it.

The sheer heat of him. The unrelenting hardness of his body.

Her breath caught.

And then his lips crashed against hers.

A claiming, not a kiss. He kissed her with the kind of raw intensity that stole the air from her lungs, made her knees weak, and had her pressing into him, desperate for more. His grip tightened, fingers digging into her waist just hard enough to make her feel it, to remind her just how much stronger he was.

Juliana whimpered softly against his mouth, her thighs clenching involuntarily at the rush of arousal that pulsed through her.

God, he was dangerous.

By the time he pulled away, she was trembling, her skin flushed, her body betraying just how badly she needed him.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he teased, smirking as he took in the dazed look in her eyes. His thumb brushed lazily along her hip, sending another sharp pulse of heat straight to her core.

Then, as if he hadn’t just set her entire body on fire, he took her hand and led her inside.

Juliana could barely focus.

Dante had taken charge the second they walked through the restaurant doors, his presence alone enough to make heads turn. But it wasn’t just his sheer size, or the way his suit framed his muscular form like a second skin—it was him.

The way he moved, so controlled, so utterly sure of himself.

The way he spoke, voice smooth but commanding, making it clear that he decided how this night would go.

He didn’t even wait for the hostess to speak—just shot her a look, a flick of his chin, and led Juliana toward a private table at the back as if he owned the place. And God, the power in that simple action had her pressing her thighs together under the table, her breath coming just a little faster.

Dante slid into his seat, legs spread in that effortlessly dominant way, his large frame seeming to fill the space.

And then his eyes were on her.

Watching her.

Possessing her.

“So,” he murmured, his deep voice wrapping around her like silk and smoke. “Tell me, princess… did you enjoy leaving him behind?”

A wicked smirk curled on her lips, but she barely had the composure to hold it.

Because the truth was—she was losing herself in this man.

Every time he shifted, his muscles flexing beneath his suit, she felt another pulse of heat between her legs. Every time he spoke, that commanding edge to his voice sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her, leaving her breathless, needy.

She could barely hold herself together.

And Dante knew it.

He could see the way her body responded to him, the way she subtly pressed her thighs together beneath the table, the way her breath hitched whenever he leaned in closer.

His smirk deepened.

“Mmm,” he hummed, taking a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “You look a little flustered, mi reina.”

Juliana swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass.

God, she was soaked.

And the night had barely begun.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the candlelight flickering against the dark wood of their private booth. Soft jazz hummed in the background, but Juliana barely registered the sound.

Her entire world had shrunk to the space between her and him.

Dante.

She was already breathless from the way he had owned the evening, commanding the space around him with a quiet, effortless dominance that made her ache in ways she hadn’t expected. And now, as the waiter set down a beautifully plated dessert between them—a rich, velvety chocolate soufflé—she could tell Dante wasn’t done toying with her.

He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, taking the small fork in his large, capable hand.

Juliana watched, mesmerized, as he broke into the warm soufflé, the chocolate oozing slightly onto the plate. He scooped up a perfect bite, his movements unhurried, calculated.

Then, without a word, he lifted the fork toward her lips.

The smirk playing at his mouth told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

"Open, mi reina," he murmured, his voice low and dripping with command.

Her breath caught.

She could have resisted—teased him back, taken control of the moment—but she didn’t want to.

So, she obeyed.

Her lips parted, and he slid the fork into her mouth with an unbearable slowness, his dark eyes locked onto hers as she wrapped her lips around it.

The rich, decadent chocolate melted on her tongue, but it was nothing compared to the way Dante was watching her. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening slightly as she swallowed, the tip of her tongue just barely grazing the fork as he pulled it away.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice just a breath above a whisper.

Heat coiled low in her stomach.

Juliana barely had time to recover before he took another bite for himself, dragging the fork between his own lips, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You like being taken care of, don’t you?” he mused, his voice like warm honey, thick and intoxicating.

Juliana swallowed hard, her thighs pressing together under the table. She could barely think.

“Maybe,” she breathed, her lips curling into a playful smirk.

Dante chuckled, shaking his head as he scooped up another bite. This time, instead of feeding her right away, he simply held the fork near her mouth, waiting.

Teasing.

His other hand came to rest on the back of her chair, his thumb just barely brushing against her exposed shoulder. It was nothing, really—just a touch. But the sheer size of his hand, the way he could engulf her so easily, made her shiver.

“You’re so easy to read, princesa,” he murmured. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“See what?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk widened.

“How badly you want me.”

The breath hitched in her throat.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Not when he was right.

Dante let out a low chuckle, finally guiding the fork between her lips again, this time brushing his thumb along her bottom lip as he pulled it away.

Her pulse thundered.

By the time they finished the dessert—if it could even be called finishing, considering most of the time was spent with Dante watching her, teasing her, testing how far he could push her without even touching her—Juliana was barely holding herself together.

Dante leaned back in his chair, satisfied, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his glass.

Then he tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes locked onto her with that same, knowing smirk.

“I think,” he said, voice slow and deliberate, “that it’s time we take this somewhere more… private.”

Juliana’s breath hitched.

“Your place,” he added, not a question. A decision.

A command.

Heat flooded through her so fast she almost forgot to breathe.

She should’ve teased him. Should’ve made him work for it.

But she was too far gone.

So, instead, she simply reached for her purse, her heart pounding, her body already burning with anticipation.

“Let’s go.”

The taxi ride home was thick with tension, the air between them charged like a storm waiting to break.

Juliana sat beside Dante, her breath shallow, her body still thrumming from the way he had owned the night—commanding the date, feeding her, speaking to her in that deep, measured tone that made her weak. But nothing compared to the way he touched her now.

His large, warm hand rested firmly on her thigh, fingers splayed just enough to make his dominance clear. He wasn’t asking for permission—he was taking what he wanted.

And Juliana loved it.

She crossed her legs, just slightly, shifting under his touch, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

Dante’s grip tightened, his fingers pressing possessively into the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

"Careful, mi reina," he murmured, his voice laced with warning. "You're already playing with fire."

Her breath hitched.

God, he was intoxicating.

The ride felt endless, each second stretching between them, thick with unsaid promises. By the time they pulled up in front of her house, Juliana could barely breathe.

Dante slid out of the car first, reaching for her hand with that same effortless confidence. The second she was on her feet, he pulled her close, his large hand sliding down to cup her ass, gripping it hard as he pressed her against his solid chest.

She gasped softly, her nails digging into his suit jacket.

“Mmm,” he hummed, tilting his head, eyes flicking to her parted lips. “You like it when I take what’s mine, don’t you?”

Juliana swallowed hard, her skin burning where he touched her.

Yes.

But she couldn’t say it—not yet. Not when she wanted to see how much further he would push.

With a smirk, she turned away, leading him up the steps and unlocking the front door.

The second they stepped inside, the quiet hum of the house wrapped around them, the only sound their measured breathing and the soft click of her heels against the hardwood floor.

Dante closed the door behind them, his presence filling the space.

"Upstairs," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dante didn’t hesitate. He followed her, his pace slow but deliberate, his energy in a way that made her stomach tighten with anticipation.

The heat between them was almost unbearable by the time they reached the bedroom.

Juliana reached for the switch, the warm glow of the light flickering on—

And then she smiled.

Dante stilled behind her, his entire body shifting from heat to something unreadable as his gaze fell on the sight before them.

Mark.

Bound.

Spread-eagle on the bed.

Still locked in his chastity cage, still dressed in the delicate, frilly sissy maid uniform Juliana had left him in. The restraints held him in place, his wrists and ankles secured to the bedposts, his flushed face turning toward them the moment the light illuminated the room.

His eyes widened.

Juliana’s stomach flipped, a wicked thrill rushing through her at the sheer contrast between the two men.

Dante—towering, powerful, utterly masculine in his tailored suit. And Mark—bound, helpless, wrapped in satin and lace, completely at their mercy.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, slowly, Dante exhaled a low, dark chuckle.

“Well, well,” he murmured, stepping forward, his gaze flicking over Mark’s trembling form with something between amusement and intrigue. "Looks like someone’s been waiting for us."

Mark let out a strangled whimper, his body tensing against the restraints, his caged arousal completely betraying him.

Dante turned his head slightly, looking down at Juliana with a smirk that sent shivers down her spine.

"You really are full of surprises, mi reina,” he mused, brushing a hand down her back. “Now… why don’t you tell me exactly what you had in mind?”

Juliana’s lips curled into a smile.

Oh, this was going to be fun.