Dealing with it

Author's Note: I didn't split this long chapter into two, for your enjoyment ;)

The bedroom was quiet, wrapped in a hush that only came this late at night—long after the buzz of Euphorica meetings, long after Celeste’s footsteps had vanished down the hall, and long after the house lights dimmed to that soft, expensive amber glow.

The air smelled faintly of rose water and powder.

Kieran sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in his nightwear.

It wasn’t lingerie, not exactly—at least not tonight. He had pulled on one of the more "practical" options: a pale blush camisole, softly ribbed, with built-in support for his silicone breast forms. Matching lounge shorts clung to his hips, satin-trimmed and high-waisted. Beneath them, the ever-present shapewear panties with the cage tucked and secured like always. The layers were smooth, seamless, undeniably feminine.

His long, curled hair—freshly re-blended with extensions just days ago—was tied up in a lazy clip, with a few soft strands falling around his face. He had removed most of his makeup, but a hint of lip tint still clung to his mouth, and his lashes were too thick, too fluttery to be anything but artificial.

He padded across the room—barefoot, light on his toes.

He didn’t walk like a man anymore. He moved like Kiara: careful steps, centered balance, ankles close. Even in the dark, even alone, his body remembered the training.

The black box still sat in its original place on the dresser. Untouched since the night he’d first found it.

“For you, sis.”

Kieran stared at it, arms crossed under his chest—feeling the squish of the silicone forms against his arms. He shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way it felt. Not tonight.

He exhaled through his nose.

Tonight wasn’t about submission. Or femininity. Or Kiara.

Tonight was about need.

Raw, stupid, unbearable need.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Seraphina’s cleavage. The neckline of her dress. The press of her chest against the silk fabric. Her scent. The curve of her hips.

His cock hadn’t twitched. Couldn’t. But his mind was on fire.

It had to stop.

He bent down and opened the box slowly.

The contents glinted under the low light. Sleek, clean, new. A mix of silver, blush pinks, and soft silicone shapes that looked too realistic for comfort.

Three dildos. Small. Medium. Large.

Two plugs. One narrow and subtle. One... not.

A boxed prostate stimulator. Curved and clinical.

A bottle of Euphorica-branded lube—gold cap, minimalist label. Even the lubricant was beautiful. Of course it was.

And a vibrator.

He stared at the last one. Sleek. Pale rose gold. Slender, rounded tip. It looked like something that belonged on a makeup counter.

His lip twitched. Figures.

Still, he reached for it and picked it up.

It was light in his hand. Quiet when he pressed the power button—just a soft hum, like an electric purr. Gentle but insistent.

His other hand gripped the edge of the dresser as he leaned forward slightly.

He wasn’t going to do the other stuff. No plugs. No dildos. That would be... too much.

He imagined the alternative for a second. Lube. Laying back. One of those things inside him. Riding it. Maybe even straddling it. He shuddered.

_Absolutely not. _He wasn’t ready for that. He will never do that.

He turned toward the mirror.

And froze.

It was unintentional. Just a glance. But it hit him like a slap.

There she was. Not he. Not Kieran. Kiara.

Standing in soft pink nightwear, hair clipped up, holding a vibrator in one hand. Her legs bare. Her lashes curled. Her lips soft and pink.

It looked like the beginning of a solo porn video. One of those gentle, intimate ones where the girl starts in her bedroom, sitting on the bed with her legs drawn up, playing with herself while giggling quietly into the camera.

His stomach twisted.

He set the vibrator down. Hard.

“No,” he whispered, under his breath. “Not like this.”

He walked back to the bed, pulling off the camisole as he went. The silicone forms stayed adhered to his chest. They were smooth, slightly warm from his body heat. They jiggled just a little as he moved.

He pulled them off with careful fingers, setting them on a tissue like fragile art pieces.

Off came the shorts next. Then the shapewear. Then the thong. Every item peeled away carefully, as if removing pieces of someone else.

He was almost naked now. Just the cage remained.

And his body felt... strange. Small. Smooth. Feminine, still—no matter how much he stripped down. And the cage had long since erased the presence of what used to define him.

He sat back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his stomach.

Even the way he leaned into the pillows was too graceful.

He looked down at his legs—long, slim, hairless. They pressed together automatically. A posture drilled into him over weeks. Knees together. Ankles aligned. A proper girl.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

But the vibrator was still there. Lying beside him on the bed, silent, waiting.

His fingers brushed over it once.

Then again.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Just get it over with, he told himself.

Just one orgasm. One release. Then he could sleep. Then maybe this... haze would go away.

He took a slow breath in.

And another. Then, finally—quietly—he picked it up again.

The vibrator was warm now, just from resting against his hand, its hum low and steady like a secret being whispered too close to the skin.

Kieran hesitated.

His back was pressed against the headboard, legs drawn up slightly, knees turned inward—not quite spread, not quite closed, resting in that instinctive middle ground that had become second nature. It wasn’t masculine. Not anymore. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. Just another habit from endless training sessions with Celeste: how to sit, how to fold, how to exist like a woman.

He shifted again. Bare now, except for the cage.

The thin metal pressed against him—a quiet, unrelenting weight between his thighs. It had become a constant, unwelcome companion, and still, somehow, he felt it now in a new way.

Kieran swallowed and flicked the vibrator back on. The gentle buzz resumed—nothing aggressive. Soft. Teasing.

He held it above himself for a second, staring down at his body.

Even like this... stripped of the nightwear, without the breast forms, without the smoothing shapewear... his body wasn’t his anymore. It had changed. Subtly, quietly. There was a softness to him that didn’t leave with clothes. A delicacy in how his thighs curved, how his arms moved. Even his breath felt lighter somehow.

He placed the vibrator against the top of the cage.

A shiver ran up his spine immediately.

It was like touching an exposed wire—sensation humming along the metal, through the cage, into the flesh below. Not pain. Not even discomfort.

Just... need.

He moved it slowly, dragging it along the underside of the shaft—where the skin was most sensitive, even if it couldn’t swell. His hips gave a tiny jolt before he even meant to.

“Shit,” he whispered.

His breath caught. He repositioned the vibrator—pressing it now directly at the base of the cage, where the bar looped around the scrotum. The hum pulsed through his skin, a low vibration that skipped past the surface and shot straight inward.

His thighs squeezed together. Reflex. Automatic. Feminine.

And the pleasure spiked.

He gasped—softly. Too soft. A sound that didn’t even sound like _him _anymore.

He moved the vibrator again. This time against the small strip of exposed flesh between the cage and his balls. Then lower.

The metal kept humming against his skin, and with each passing second, the sensation deepened—not just in his groin, but everywhere. His chest tingled. His belly fluttered. His toes curled.

And the cage? It ached. Twitched. Tried to react. Tried to rise. But couldn’t.

Denied. Caged. Powerless.

It should’ve made him feel angry. Humiliated.

Instead?

Kieran arched his back slightly as another wave rolled over him—his fingers tightening on the vibrator like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

He moaned this time. Quiet. Long.

The kind of sound that came out of him during makeup touch-ups when someone brushed his neck the wrong way. The kind of sound that made Celeste smirk during training. The kind that didn’t belong to Kieran Laurent.

But god, it felt good.

He kept moving it—now over his balls, circling gently, then pressing upward against that tender seam between his thighs. The pressure. The hum. The heat.

His whole body thrummed with it.

Not a hard-on. Not even close. But something deeper. Something more primal. Like need without tension. Pleasure without buildup.

He was panting now, chest rising and falling. His lips—still faintly tinted from the night—parted on each breath. Hair loose, strands clinging to his forehead.

He couldn’t believe it. It was working.

And worse? He didn’t want it to stop.

The vibrator’s buzz seemed to melt into him, one with his nerves. His thighs quivered. His hands were trembling now, but he kept pressing it in tight circles along the edge of the cage. He could feel his own breath start to break—hitching in quick, breathy gasps. Like crying. Like moaning.

The pressure was building.

Not in his cock. It couldn’t. But inside. A tension climbing the spine. His belly tensing. His fingers curling.

“Please,” he whispered—he didn’t know why. To who.

He leaned further into the headboard, hips rocking. Small, quick motions. The kind girls did when they were grinding. He knew because he’d seen it. Learned it.

Now he was doing it.

A full-body shudder ripped through him. His back arched. Eyes wide. And with one last buzz against the base of his balls, it happened.

White heat.

The orgasm hit him like a detonation—no warning, no ramp-up, just a tidal wave tearing through every inch of him. His thighs locked. Toes curled. His entire body convulsed, mouth open in a silent gasp.

He couldn’t even move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe it.

Then he felt it. Wetness.

He looked down—eyes still glassy, brain short-circuiting.

Stripes of cum streaked across his stomach. The cage had done nothing to stop it. He had shot through the bars, full and forceful, sticky lines across his belly and chest.

He blinked. Stunned.

It was the first orgasm he’d had in over a week. The first real one. No hands. No dick. No friction.

Just a soft buzz and a locked cock and a body that barely felt like his own anymore.

He collapsed back into the pillows, vibrator falling from his hand. Chest heaving. Eyes blurry. His skin was flushed. His thighs trembled.

And when he swallowed hard and tried to find his breath again...

He realized he was smiling.

Kieran lay sprawled against the pillows, chest flushed, thighs trembling, lips parted in a slack, quiet aftershock. His entire body felt limp—like something had been drained out of him. Sweat clung to his skin, glinting faintly in the low amber light of the vanity across the room.

And still, he couldn’t stop staring at the streaks of cum on his stomach.

They glistened. White, sticky, warm. A stain of shame and triumph all at once. He hadn’t even known if his body could still do it. The pills, the cage, the psychological avalanche of being Kiara all day, every day—he’d started to believe that part of him had been erased.

But it hadn’t.

It was still there. Somewhere.

And now that he’d found it again—unlocked it, felt it—he wasn’t ready to let it go.

His breath had only just begun to steady. His lashes—long and thick, still curled from the recent fill—fluttered shut for a moment as he tried to collect himself. His thighs remained lightly pressed together, hips tilted to the side, back arched in that subtle trained pose that made his waist look narrow and his shape more... pleasing. Even now. Even naked. Even gasping in post-orgasm bliss.

His hand moved instinctively, reaching for the vibrator again.

It was slick now—wet from his grip and still faintly humming where it had fallen on the comforter beside him. He turned it back on. The soft, rhythmic buzz filled the space again. He brought it back to the cage—his caged cock now sticky with his own release, the small puddle of cum still pooled between his belly and the waistband of the sheet.

He winced at the contact at first. His cock twitched uselessly inside its steel trap. Overstimulated. Raw.

But his body responded anyway.

God. He wanted it again. Needed it. A part of him was already leaning into the next orgasm, impatient. Hungry.

He moved the vibrator in slow, teasing circles over the cage, just like before. The pressure wasn’t the same. His muscles still spasmed with the afterglow, his core tender—but the pleasure started to crawl back up his spine again, whispering its way into his blood.

He groaned softly.

Not from pain. From greed.

His mind blurred. The cum on his stomach began to dry, leaving a glossy sheen across his skin that caught the light. It didn’t gross him out. Not anymore. It made it feel real. Like proof. Like a trophy.

His hips rocked forward, chasing the buzz.

But this time... it wasn’t enough.

The edge wouldn’t come. The buzz soothed him, teased him, but the sharp build of release he’d just felt? Gone. Delayed. Distant.

He growled under his breath and tossed the vibrator aside for a second.

Breath heaving. Lips parted.

He wanted it again. He wanted it more than anything. To be overwhelmed. To not think. Just feel.

And the vibrator wasn’t enough.

His eyes flicked to the dresser again. The torn-open black box still sat open from earlier, shadows stretching over its contents.

His gaze locked on the unopened box in the back—the prostate stimulator.

Kieran sat up. Legs swinging over the side of the bed.

His thighs stuck slightly from sweat. His nipples—still sensitive from weeks of hormonal changes—brushed the air, sending a small shiver through his chest.

He moved to the dresser. Walked with short, balanced steps. Even now—even in this moment of messy, post-orgasm desperation—he still padded lightly across the hardwood, hips swaying, arms tucked slightly close to his sides.

Trained. Feminine. Polished. He didn’t even realize he was doing it.

He snatched up the stimulator box and tore it open with clumsy fingers.

Remote controlled. Internal rotating head. Dual vibration zones. Waterproof. Medical-grade silicone.

The thing looked alien. Sleek. Curved. Made to go inside.

Kieran didn’t hesitate. Not now. Not after what he’d just felt.

He pressed the button. The device whirred to life, the head gently rotating in one direction, then the other. The base vibrated with a hum deeper than the little hand-held one.

He swallowed hard. His cheeks burned. His body ached.

He clicked it off, grabbed the bottle of lube—hands trembling—and twisted it open.

The scent was floral. Euphorica’s signature blend. Subtle. Luxurious.

Of course.

He slicked a dab onto the stimulator. The lube was thick, cool, slippery between his fingers.

He paused. Just a moment.

This is it. This was the line. The line he had promised himself he would never cross.

No penetration. No anal stuff. Nothing emasculating.

Except his cock was locked. Except his balls ached. Except the orgasm he’d just had was the most powerful thing he’d felt in weeks, and he’d done it without even touching himself.

And now the need was back.

So he turned. Climbed back onto the bed. Bent his legs up. Opened his thighs. His hips tilted instinctively. Head against the pillows. He brought the stimulator to his ass, already slick with lube. His fingers trembled.

No going back.

He pushed. The head met resistance—then pressure. Then a sharp, unfamiliar stretch.

He gasped aloud. Half-pain. Half... not.

He paused. Pushed again. The head slipped in. His legs trembled. He moaned.

And then—slowly, steadily—he slid the rest in. The curve of it sat flush between his cheeks, the base fitting tight, the bulb nestled inside.

And Kieran lay back, breathless. Eyes wide. Throat dry. Every nerve in his body on high alert. His hands trembled.

The remote was light in Kieran’s hand. Sleek, matte white, shaped like an oversized pebble with a single silver button at the center.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Click.

Inside him, the stimulator came to life.

A low hum pulsed deep within his body, and the head began to rotate in slow, deliberate arcs—pressing against nerves he didn’t even know were there. The sensation was immediate and jarring. Not just pressure—movement. Massage. A rhythm of push and pull that lit up the base of his spine and stole the air from his lungs.

His thighs snapped together. His back arched.

A breath caught in his throat—tight and fragile.

What the hell am I doing?

The thought came too late.

Because his free hand was already reaching for the vibrator again. He flicked it on, and it buzzed to life like a memory.

He brought it back down—pressed it gently against the base of the cage. The soft hum spread instantly through the steel, up through his pelvis, and collided violently with the rotating pressure deep in his ass.

The combination was electric.

“Oh—fuck—” he gasped, breath hitching, words caught somewhere between protest and prayer.

His entire body snapped to attention—legs shivering, stomach fluttering, neck rolling to the side as his brain struggled to process the overload.

He could still see the cum on his stomach from before—glossy, half-dried, stretched in streaks across his lower belly and just barely clinging to the edge of his navel. It shimmered in the low bedroom light. A badge. A warning.

And maybe… a promise.

You’re going to do it again.

His body already knew. The way his hips rolled slightly upward. The way his thighs flexed to meet the vibrator’s rhythm. The way his feet arched without thinking.

Even the way he held the vibrator—delicate, two fingers curved inward, wrist bent—not like a man jerking off, but like a girl playing with herself after lights-out.

He blinked hard.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t who he was.

Except… look at him now.

Laying there, long legs parted, ass plugged, cage vibrating, cum drying on his soft, hairless skin. Every breath a moan. Every sound out of his mouth came light and high-pitched—almost pretty.

He still hated that word.

Pretty.

But right now… right now he felt too close to it.

His hips bucked again, chasing sensation. The stimulator curled perfectly into his prostate with every rotation—deeper than anything he’d ever felt before. It made the vibrator's soft buzz feel like icing on a cake he hadn't meant to order.

The pressure was building faster now.

Too fast.

His whole body was heating up again—sweat beading along his collarbone, nipples peaked, skin flushed.

Still, some part of him resisted. The corner of his mind where Kieran still lived. Where he still believed he was just a guy caught in a fucked-up situation. A guy who’d fix this. Regain control. Cut his hair. Stop taking the pills. Get out of the cage.

But what kind of guy moans like this with a toy in his ass and a vibrator on his cock?

What kind of guy lays there watching his own cum dry and thinks, God, I want more?

The truth twisted inside him.

And _Kieran _didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

The vibrator moved in faster circles. The stimulator inside him picked up speed, too—buzzing and turning, coaxing his second orgasm out like it owned him.

And it did. It owned him now.

Because Kiara was the one gasping now. Not Kieran.

Kiara was the one whose hand was shaking, whose moans were slipping free without shame. Whose thighs were wet with sweat, whose painted nails curled into the sheets, whose eyes fluttered open just enough to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror again.

A flushed, trembling woman on the edge of ecstasy. Breasts slightly bouncing with every breath. Skin soft and glowing. Lips parted. Eyes wet.

Kiara.

That was who was going to cum again. Not the man she used to be. Not the boy in the cage.

Her.

And when it finally came, the climax was so hard, so sudden, it knocked the breath from her lungs.

Her body arched, toes pointed, legs clamped tight around the buzzing cage. Her fingers dug into the sheets as her ass clenched helplessly around the toy inside.

It exploded.

White ropes of cum spurted through the bars of the cage again—hot, thick, messy. It spattered across her stomach, mixing with the dried streaks from before, some of it reaching her ribs, even up toward her chest.

Kiara screamed into the mattress.

Her legs kicked once. Her hips bucked. Her back arched like a bowstring snapping.

Her second orgasm wasn’t just intense. It was obliterating.

She lay there, panting, shaking, twitching. Fingers limp. Toys buzzing softly in the silence. The cage throbbed—emptied, spent. Her belly sticky and coated.

The post-orgasm haze crashed over her like a wave. Heavy. Foggy. Sweet.

Her thoughts blurred into nonsense. Her body? Floaty. Light. Gone.

And Kieran? In this moment, he was nowhere to be found.