Things Get Real Pt. 2

The office smelled faintly of white gardenia and vanilla musk, the Euphorica signature scent that lingered in every corner of the building—subtle but ever-present. Outside the windows of the executive floor, downtown Manhattan gleamed under a pale, early afternoon sun. The skyline glinted in the distance, blurred slightly by the tinted glass.

Inside the CEO’s office, everything was clean lines and warm neutrals—cream boucle armchairs, lacquered birch wood, curated displays of Euphorica products under soft lighting. Kiara Laurent sat behind her desk, framed perfectly by it all. A symbol of feminine leadership, elegance, control.

At least, that’s what the headlines were calling her now.

Kiara Laurent: The Beauty Heiress Reinventing Power

Euphorica x Maison de Lune: The Birth of a Global Empire?

All good news.

But Kiara could barely focus.

Because Seraphina was standing by the window, reading off press tracking updates from her tablet—and she looked like sin wrapped in silk.

The dress was professional, yes—nothing scandalous. A deep plum midi dress with long sleeves, a soft twist at the waist that hugged her curves, and a plunging neckline that managed to remain tasteful but devastating. Her breasts were... impossible to ignore. Perfectly supported, round and high, framed by the V of the fabric and her long, honey-toned hair spilling down one side. She had paired the look with opaque black tights and simple ankle boots. On anyone else, it would’ve read conservative. On Seraphina, it was erotic by accident.

Or maybe not by accident.

Kieran tried not to stare—but his eyes kept drifting. Every time she leaned over the desk slightly to adjust the moodboard files or swipe through campaign drafts, her cleavage shifted just enough to pull his breath tight in his chest. He clenched his thighs instinctively. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t do anything about it anymore.

A week. Over a week, actually. The cage had stayed locked since before the “For You, Sis” box. He hadn’t dared use any of the toys. Hadn’t touched anything. The cage didn’t allow for much anyway. Just throbbing, humiliating frustration.

And to make it worse, the pills were still happening—more of them now. The little planner Vivienne had set up now held six different colored capsules, all branded with discreet little Euphorica logos.

So now he sat there, in full drag as the woman he was supposed to be, in his executive chair, pretending to listen to Seraphina while fighting every instinct not to fall apart with arousal and confusion.

Her voice was soft, confident, cheerful.

“The Chastain team is very pleased with the New York coverage,” Seraphina was saying. “They loved the quote you gave at the gala preview—especially the bit about ‘beauty as power, and femininity as strategy.’ The marketing exec told me it gave her chills.”

Kiara gave a gentle, perfectly-timed laugh. “I’m glad.”

Even her laugh had been trained. Soft, short, slightly breathy. Never brash. Never too loud.

Seraphina looked up. “Is your throat dry? Should I get your tea?”

“No,” Kiara said quickly, maybe too quickly. She adjusted in her seat. “I’m fine.”

Her corset hugged tight around her waist, invisible beneath her tailored ivory blouse and pearl-buttoned blazer. The blouse was tucked into a deep burgundy pencil skirt that hugged every curve her shapewear had sculpted. Beneath it all: a soft lace bral, adhered silicone forms resting snugly in place, giving her a natural, subtle swell. And at her very core, the slim, unrelenting pressure of the chastity cage beneath her sheer stockings—clipped into her garter belt. All of it tight. All of it feminine. All of it perfectly arranged.

Celeste had done her nails the night before. A dusty mauve shade, glossy and almond-shaped, with tiny crescent moons on her index fingers. They matched the shimmer on her eyelids and the gloss on her lips. Her lashes—redone and feather-light—fluttered every time she blinked. Her freshly blended extensions fell in rich waves down to mid-back, styled that morning into a smooth side part that exposed just a hint of the silver hoop she wore in one ear.

She was flawless.

And she hated it.

No. That wasn’t entirely true. He hated it. Kieran. The part of him still trapped under all this silk and powder and performance. The part that remembered being someone else, someone with a voice that didn’t sound like this and a body that wasn’t always sticky with lube and perfume and heat.

But she—Kiara—was still the one who smiled when Seraphina walked past, and said thank you when a door was held open, and crossed her legs when seated so the skirt didn’t ride up.

It was all second nature now.

Seraphina sat across from her now, legs crossed, the slit of her dress falling just enough to show the black lace tops of her tights. Her tablet sat idle in her lap.

“You okay?” she asked. Her tone had shifted. Softer. Knowing.

Kiara blinked. “Why?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m focused.”

Seraphina gave a half-smile. “Sure.”

There was a silence between them. Tense. Electric.

Kieran stared—really stared—at her. And for a second, it was like his brain short-circuited.

God, she was gorgeous. Always had been. But today? The dress. The curve of her chest. The way her bra must’ve pushed everything just a little higher.

He imagined peeling that dress off her in this office. Dropping to his knees. Kissing the valley of her breasts. Pushing himself inside her.

Except...

He couldn’t.

Not anymore.

Not unless he begged for a key. Not unless someone _let _him.

And she didn’t even remember the last time. That night. The drunken, breathless, messy fuck. Her moaning, him grinding into her, **** and confused. She’d passed out afterward. Never brought it up. He didn’t know if she remembered or if she was pretending not to.

He shifted in his seat. The cage pressed against him, unforgiving.

His face didn’t show it. Not even a flicker. Just a smile. Polished. Composed.

Seraphina stood finally and walked around the desk, brushing past him to set down a new folder. Her hip brushed his shoulder lightly.

“Your three o’clock is with the Maison de Lune brand director,” she murmured.

“Thank you,” Kiara said.

Their eyes met.

Her lipstick today was darker than usual. Deep berry. Almost red. It made her mouth look even more inviting.

“Try to breathe between meetings, okay?” Seraphina said, with a little wink. “You’re too pretty to be this tense.”

Then she turned and walked out.

The sway of her hips beneath that dress burned itself into his brain.

And Kieran—alone again—gripped the edges of the chair and tried not to scream.

The door clicked shut behind Seraphina, her heels tapping down the hallway in fading rhythm. But the damage was already done. Kieran was vibrating with tension beneath the silky shell of Kiara Laurent—his heartbeat thudded too fast, his breath caught just a little too easily.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

Her chest. Her perfume. That mouth. That fucking wink.

And the way the top of her bra had peeked out just above the edge of her neckline when she leaned forward. That perfect, taunting curve of flesh. Not in a pornographic way. Not even on purpose. Just... real. Effortless. Soft.

Kieran’s thighs squeezed together beneath the desk. Not that it did anything. He was still locked. Of course he was. He hadn’t been unlocked in over a week—not since that night with Seraphina, not since before the box of toys had arrived like a cruel joke on his dresser.

It was unbearable.

He pressed his knees together again, **** for any pressure. Any friction. Anything.

But the cage just sat there like a punishment, like a reminder. The thin steel bar down the middle pressing against the lining of his shapewear, trapped beneath sheer stockings, garters, panties, silicone pads, and a thousand layers of synthetic femininity that felt more like a prison every hour.

But today?

Today was worse.

Because today, he needed it. Not wanted—needed.

And there were no options.

He yanked open his office laptop and navigated to a private tab like it was muscle memory. The search bar blinked back at him, waiting.

“how to cum in a chastity cage”

He hit enter.

Hundreds of links. Reddit threads. BDSM forums. Frustrated men typing into the void. Diagrams. Advice.

“Use a wand massager over the cage.”

“Perineal stimulation can trigger hands-free orgasms.”

“Edging with a prostate toy + mental focus.”

“Get a keyholder who teases you until you beg.”

Kieran grimaced.

He tried again.

“how to get off in chastity without dildo”

Nothing useful. All paths circled back to the same conclusion:

Use the toys. Submit. Stop fighting.

He hated this. Hated how mechanical it all sounded. How humiliating. He didn’t want to squirm on a vibrator. He didn’t want to learn to cum like a girl. That wasn’t who he was.

Except...

Except he hadn’t had an erection in days.

Not a real one. Not since the cage kept it from even swelling without pain. Now when he felt turned on, it was just heat and tension and nothing to show for it.

His hand moved to his lap, reflexively. His fingers brushed the skirt, then down to the tight bodice. Then lower.

No sensation.

Just pressure. Useless pressure.

He squeezed his thighs again. It only made things worse.

The ache was like fire now—low, deep, humiliating. Like his body wanted to be used, to be touched, to be filled. He hated that thought. But it wouldn’t leave.

He switched to ChatGPT.

“how to have an orgasm in chastity cage”

He barely waited for the response.

It came cheerfully, clinically:

“It’s possible to achieve hands-free orgasms while in chastity using techniques like perineal massage, prostate stimulation, mental focus, or incorporating toys like vibrating wands or anal plugs. Many people find that over time, the mind and body adjust to new pathways of pleasure. If you’re feeling intense frustration, it might be worth exploring some of the tools you’ve been given—especially if they’re designed for your comfort and release.”

He slammed the laptop shut.

Comfort and release. Was that what this was now?

Kiara Laurent, CEO. Locked, tucked, teased. A woman on the outside, aching on the inside. All while the world smiled and complimented her grace, her polish, her allure.

Kieran leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto the desk, head in his hands. His perfectly manicured hands. Dusty mauve polish, almond-shaped, elegant.

He’d spent the whole day nodding through meetings. Smiling during calls. Touching up his lipstick between press check-ins. And the whole time, his thighs had been clenched, his jaw tight, and his thoughts filthy.

He wanted to fuck Seraphina. He wanted to cum. He wanted to remember what it felt like to own his body again.

But there was no body to return to. Not really. Just the soft, trained thing he wore now. The thing that spoke in a gentle voice, stood with straight posture, and moved through the world like silk wrapped in expectation.

Even alone, he crossed his ankles when sitting.

Even alone, he fixed his lipstick before leaving the room.

Even alone... he couldn’t get hard.