Chloe's Night (IV)

As Andy and Chloe reached the Suite, the hush and gentleness of Chloe’s Sanctuary clung to them like a second skin. Andy’s palm was still warm with Chloe’s, and the echo of her laughter—the real, unscripted kind—still haunted the ridges of his ears. But as soon as he turned the handle and opened the door, the spell broke.

They stepped into the common area and found themselves in the middle of a crime scene.

The long dining table had been transformed. At every chair sat a guest: not a person, but a plush. Twelve stuffed animals had been conscripted, propped into position with the stiff postures of the recently murdered. The armadillo wore an apron, slightly askew. The teddy bear slumped, its head trapped in a plastic bowl. A toothy plush crocodile smirked at the head of the table, with a napkin draped like a funeral shroud over its snout.

Every plush wore a bib—identical, hand-cut from pearly shells and strung with a strip of denim. Each place setting was filled with food, but not real food: the “meals” were napkins, each one folded into the uncanny shape of a roast, a pie, a stack of pancakes. Some, like the “cauliflower” bouquet, were more abstract, just a mess of twisted cloth blooming from a soup bowl.

In the center of the table, under a wineglass, sat a single folded card.

Chloe’s hand went to her mouth; she made a noise that might have been a gasp or a laugh. Andy grinned, already certain of the culprit. He plucked the card from under the glass, careful not to knock over the salt-shaker snowman (“Uncle Salty,” according to the tag), and opened it.

Dinner’s ready. Gotcha. — L.

He started laughing and couldn’t stop. It was helpless, immediate, the kind of laughter that shakes everything out of you and leaves nothing but the bare, warm truth. Since he started sensing Laura's distress, each evening he returned to the Suite and feared this would be the day no prank would be waiting. But each day, Laura still had the resilience to set one up for him, and showed a part of her was still fighting whatever sorrow she was feeling. Chloe stood beside him, mouth open, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes—not from sadness, but from something else, something closer to relief.

“She made us a family table,” Chloe said, her voice trembling on the edge of a giggle. “Even the bibs—she must have made those last night.” She stepped around the table, running a finger along the row of plushes, lingering on the bunny with one droopy ear and the owl with a wonky eye. She lifted the bib on the bunny, turning it in the light. “She even sanded the edges.”

“She’s never done things half-assed,” Andy said, wiping his eyes. The laughter was winding down now, leaving him a little raw, but lighter than before.

Chloe smiled, then reached for Andy’s hand. “God, I love her.” She squeezed his hand, the pressure strong and sudden. “I mean, not like—” She stopped herself, eyes wide, and then laughed, a little embarrassed. “You know what I mean. She’s family.”

Andy nodded. He looked at the table and saw it as Laura had meant it: not a joke at their expense, but a version of home, built from the only raw material she’d ever been allowed to hold onto. He recognized one of the plushies now, her bedraggled stuffed bunny, Fluffy, the subject of far too many scientific experiments when they were children. He wondered, a strange ache in his heart, where she had found it. This was sentimental in the purest sense: a recreation of what she’d never had.

He squeezed Chloe’s hand back. “I think she wanted us to find it together,” he said.

Chloe wiped at her cheek with her free hand. “I feel like I’m going to cry again,” she said, laughing at herself. “You’re supposed to stop after the first time, right?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think it works like that.”

They stood there, in the late afternoon hush, surrounded by a congregation of fabric witnesses. Andy felt the ache in his chest soften at the edges.

For a long moment, they just breathed together, neither willing to be the first to break the spell. Andy watched Chloe study the table, her gaze skipping from place to place, as if she was memorizing the whole scene for later. Then she looked up at him, her lips pressed into a thin, hopeful line.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Andy hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just—” He gestured at the table, helpless. “She’s been different, the last few days. I sense it, in here.” He touched his chest. He could sense something else in Laura, a tension that hadn’t left her for days, just flared and faded, but never really left. He wanted to say more, to explain the worry that gnawed at him, but he swallowed it down. “I just wish I could help.”

Chloe took a breath, then let it out slowly. “I heard—” she paused, checked herself. “I heard from Dawn that she and Marissa got into it, a couple days back.”

Andy nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Yeah. Dawn said it was pretty intense, but then later, Claire said Marissa and Laura had made peace.” Chloe shrugged. “I think they patched things up. But I don’t know.”

Andy considered that. He could see Marissa’s logic: confront the storm, ride it out, and hope the thunder clears the air. But he knew Laura. Sometimes the aftermath of the storm was worse than the storm itself.

“Maybe that’s it,” he said, not quite convinced.

Chloe looked at him, searching for something. “You think there’s more?”

Andy shook his head, but only halfway. “I just—” He stopped. He didn’t want to bring the weight of his fear into this moment, not with Chloe looking so raw and open and hopeful. So he let it be. He squeezed her hand again, gentle. “Let’s not worry about it tonight,” he said. “You built us a home, and Laura set the table. That’s enough for now.”

Chloe nodded, relief and gratitude blooming in her face. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw, the gesture quick and light as a secret. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Andy pulled her close, both of them still facing the table, and let the hush settle over them again. The plushes stared back in perfect, eternal attention, their fake meal waiting for the family to arrive.

He thought, not for the first time, that this—this ridiculous, loving, impossible mess—was exactly what he wanted. And if Laura was hurting, if there was something he couldn’t fix yet, he’d just have to wait, and hope, and trust her to come home, too.

Chloe insisted on making dinner. Even with the faint ache of tears still glistening in her eyes, she was a **** of nature in the kitchen, moving from drawer to drawer like she’d lived in the Suite all her life. “Sit,” she ordered, her tone only half a joke. “Let me cook for you. And don’t say you’re not hungry, because I’ve seen you eat. You’re always hungry.”

Andy made a show of sitting at the island, but after a minute he was up again, rolling up sleeves and digging through the fridge at her direction. He fetched ingredients, opened jars, and watched her while keeping out of the way. Chloe, for her part, worked with a kind of practiced grace—measuring by sight, adding pinches of this and splashes of that, never consulting a recipe or hesitating in her work. The clatter of prep filled the air with a comfort Andy didn’t realize he’d missed until it was back again. He hadn’t lied to Laura on her first night after returning: some of the women could run circles around him in terms of cooking skills, and Chloe and Dawn were definitely two of them.

Chloe sang as she worked, a medley of old musical numbers and cheesy pop songs from their shared middle school years. When she hit a lyric she liked, she’d swing her hips and mouth the words with exaggerated flair, always glancing at Andy to see if he’d notice or smirk. By the time the onion and garlic hit the oil, the kitchen felt like a home, not a hotel, and the long table in the next room seemed a little less empty.

They cooked together in a rhythm that felt inevitable. Andy grated cheese while Chloe stirred a sauce; he set the table while she spooned filling into a battered lasagna pan and covered it with foil. The smells were impossible to ignore—bright tomato, bubbling mozzarella, the comfort of bread already warming in the oven. It was all old-school, nothing fancy, but every step was precise, almost ceremonial.

The lasagna finished and cooled, and Chloe insisted on serving it herself, cutting neat, even squares and plating them with a flourish that would have made Norah proud. “Try not to burn your mouth,” she warned, then handed Andy the plate with a little bow.

They sat at the big table—the one still set with Laura’s plushes, now moved to the side like honored guests—and ate in a hush so perfect it felt sacred. The first bite was molten, too hot, but after the shock of the initial heat it was all comfort, layered and rich. Andy groaned around a mouthful, shook his head. “This is incredible,” he said, and Chloe’s smile stretched from her lips to her eyes and back again.

“I’m sure you say that about any lasagna,” she teased, but the pride was obvious. “But thank you. I needed this tonight.”

Andy nodded, swallowing. He took a moment to find the words for what he felt, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than he’d expected. “You always make this place feel like home, Chloe.”

Her fork paused in the air, then she set it down gently, hands folding in her lap. “I didn’t think I ever would,” she admitted, not quite meeting his gaze. “After… everything, I thought maybe that part of me was just gone.” She looked up, eyes shining, but this time there was no trace of sadness in them. “But I think it’s not. I think I just needed someone to believe I could do it.”

Andy reached across the table, lacing his fingers through hers. “You didn’t need anyone,” he said. “Look at the home you made. You built that yourself.”

Chloe squeezed his hand, the pressure steady and sure. For a while, they just sat, eating in companionable silence, the night deepening around them. The hum of the Suite faded, replaced by the simple sound of two people sharing a meal.

When they were both full—Chloe more so than Andy, but only by a little—she sat back, stretching her arms overhead, the motion pulling her shirt tight across her chest. She caught Andy watching, blushed, then grinned. “Still hungry?” she asked, voice low.

Andy laughed. “Always,” he said, the admission costing him nothing. She served him another portion of lasagna and watched him eat it with a happy, contented expression on her face.

They cleared the plates together, Chloe humming again, a song Andy didn’t recognize but liked anyway. When the kitchen was tidy, and the leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, they returned to the table, sitting closer now, their knees bumping under the edge.

Chloe rested her chin on her hand, eyes fixed on the flicker of the pendant lamp above. “Are you really okay with it?” she asked, out of nowhere.

Andy tilted his head. “With what?”

“With me being pregnant,” she said, and the word came out raw, like it still startled her to say it. “I know I said I wanted it, and I do, but… it’s a lot. And I don’t want you to feel like it’s a burden.”

Andy shook his head, reaching for her hand again. “It’s not a burden. It’s a miracle.” He squeezed her fingers, then added, “And honestly, I have a feeling you’re not the only one.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Andy said, trying to stay casual, “with how close we all are—living together, the transformations—I’d be surprised if you were the only one expecting.”

Chloe’s cheeks went pink. She thought of Erin’s comments at the Chapel of Small Kindnesses, and wondered if Andy knew. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Andy said.

Chloe was quiet, then glanced up at him, a wicked little smile curving her lips. “Erin said something the other day,” she whispered. “She hasn’t had her cycle in a while. She’s nervous, but… I think she’s excited, too.”

Andy felt the warmth bloom in his chest. “Yeah, I know. I’m happy for her. For you both. For all of us.” The truth of it hit him, sudden and real. He really was happy—happier than he’d thought he could ever be again.

Chloe’s smile softened. She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, her hand never letting go of his. “Do you think it’ll be okay? That we can make it work, all of us, together?”

He nodded. “I think if anyone can, it’s us.”

They sat like that for a long time, the last of the light filtering through the window and casting strange, lovely shadows across the floor. It was peaceful, the kind of peace that made Andy believe, for just a minute, that maybe things could turn out all right after all.

When Chloe finally spoke, her voice was so small and quiet it was almost a secret. “I’m glad it’s with you,” she said. “I can’t imagine it with anyone else.”

Andy kissed her hair, then her cheek, and let the promise hang in the air, unbroken.

After dinner, with the warmth of lasagna still humming in their bellies and the kitchen put to rights, Andy and Chloe collapsed on the couch, stretching out so their feet touched and their heads bracketed opposite ends. Outside, the wind had picked up, rattling the windowpanes and carrying the tang of sea and ozone. Inside, the Suite was a cocoon—lamplight, the soft click of the old clock on the wall, the faint plush-murmur of Laura’s prank tableau keeping them company from the next room.

They traded stories the way old friends do—softly at first, then with more confidence as the hour deepened and the world outside faded. Chloe told him about her years after eighth grade, how the day after Laura’s funeral she’d woken up convinced the world would be angry if she ever smiled again. She talked about the high school where nobody knew what to say to her, and so they didn’t, and how for a while her only real companion was a rescued guinea pig with an unpronounceable name and a taste for banana chips.

Andy listened, asking small questions, steering her gently around the worst patches but never swerving away from the hard parts. He confessed that after Laura, he’d retreated into grades and projects and, later, into the cold logic of code—because it made sense, and people didn’t. He admitted, almost shyly, that there had been years where he had trouble picturing a future that wasn’t just him, alone, at a long table set for nobody.

They both laughed at the memory of the old Warrenville river path, and how Chloe she always paused to help every worm, every caterpillar, every dumb thing that wandered into her way. “It was a moral obligation,” Chloe insisted, feigning outrage. “Nobody else was going to help them.” She grinned, and Andy, watching the way her face brightened with the story, realized he loved this version of her: ****, unafraid to be the butt of the joke.

Later, as the lamplight pooled around them and the night settled, Chloe grew quieter. Her fingers played with the edge of her sleeve, twisting and untwisting the fabric. “Can I ask you something?” she said, voice almost lost under the whirr of the fridge.

“Anything,” Andy said.

Chloe took a breath. “When you were in the Garden of Glass—when you saw my memories—what did you see?”

Andy let the silence stretch, giving the question room. He remembered the cold clarity of the place, the way the glass had caught him with flashes of every wound, every secret shame.

He hesitated, then said, “I saw you at the doctor’s office. I think it was the day you got your diagnosis. You looked so small, and so angry, and… alone.”

Chloe didn’t answer at first. She just nodded, her throat working around a dozen half-formed words. Then, with a shaky laugh, she said, “That sounds right.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, letting it out, then catching it again. “It was weird. When I sat down in that office, the nurse tried to make small talk about the weather, and I wanted to scream at her, like—what could the weather possibly matter now?”

Andy reached for her hand, letting his thumb trace the bones of her knuckles. He waited.

“It felt like my body just… collapsed in on itself,” Chloe said. “I wanted to make it all a joke, but the only punchline was that everything I wanted was now impossible.” She shrugged, the motion brittle. “So I put it away. I told myself it didn’t matter. And for a long time, I almost made myself believe it.”

Andy listened, letting the sadness live in the air without rushing to fix it.

Andy waited for her to say more, and after a while she did. Chloe’s hand found his again, her grip steady and dry, a sign that the world inside her had re-anchored.

“I know it’s silly, but I always wondered if people could see it on me,” she said. “The ‘can’t-have-kids’ thing. Like maybe if you looked hard enough, you’d notice something missing.”

“I can’t believe that,” Andy said, meaning it.

She squeezed his hand, then let go, retreating into herself just long enough to take a breath. “Can I ask you something else?”

He nodded.

Chloe looked at the ceiling, as if searching for the answer before she asked the question. “That day Arabella introduced Laura to everyone, Emi said she saw a memory in the Garden of Glass—of Laura, as a little kid, baking cookies.” Chloe paused, then her lips twitched up. “Specifically, she said it was limerick cookies, the ones that used to show up in my locker whenever my mom had one of her… spells.” She smiled, fondness laced with embarrassment. “The ones with the terrible poetry on them.”

Andy remembered that vision. He remembered Emi’s face, stricken and amazed, when she realized the truth of the memory. “Yeah. I remember that. Why?”

“Did it really happen?” Chloe asked, her voice a hush now, almost conspiratorial. “Was it real?”

Andy grinned, warmth blooming. “It was real. Laura would use my Mom’s oven because hers kept screwing up the temperature.” He watched Chloe’s face as she let that sink in. “Laura did it because she wanted to cheer you up. She thought the poems would make you laugh even when things were bad at home.”

Chloe laughed, the sound low and wild. “It worked. God, it worked so well. There were days when that was the only thing that kept me going, you know?” She looked away, blinking. “I never knew it was her. I always thought it was a prank, or maybe from a teacher. I just assumed it was something random and weird, but it always made me feel like someone was looking out for me.”

Andy nodded, letting her sit with the realization. “She was,” he said.

Chloe was quiet for a while, but she didn’t look away. “She was always **** than anyone gave her credit for,” she said. “I think I envied that about her.” She smiled, but then her eyes darted away. “I’m worried she’s going to hate me for this,” Chloe whispered. “For being happy. For being pregnant. I know it sounds dumb, but I can’t shake it.”

Andy shook his head. “She won’t.”

Chloe looked up, raw. “How do you know?”

He thought about it. He thought about Laura, and about the ache that never quite left her. “Because I know what she’s like.”

Chloe chewed her lip, considering, then nodded. “I just… I don’t want her to think I’m stealing something from her. Again.” The word again hung between them, sharp.

Andy slid closer, resting his hand on her thigh. “She’s not angry at you,” he said. “She’s just trying to figure out how to belong. It’s a lot. But I’ll be there for her. Our date day is the day after tomorrow. I’ll take the whole day with her. We’ll work it out.”

Chloe nodded, her relief visible in the looseness of her shoulders, the way she let her legs tangle with his under the coffee table. “You’re good at that,” she said, and when he raised an eyebrow, she clarified: “Making people believe it’s going to be okay. Even if it isn’t.”

Andy shrugged, a little bashful. “Maybe I’m just faking it.”

She laughed, softer this time. “Well, it works.”

There was a lull, and for a while the only sound was the distant rumble of the wind against the windows. They sat like that for a long time, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her. The quiet was comfortable, neither of them feeling the need to fill it with words.

Eventually, Chloe tilted her head and looked at him, the barest hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “Can I ask something else?”

He grinned. “Anything.”

She rolled her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks was unmistakable. “If, hypothetically, I wanted to… I don’t know, spend time with someone else. Like, romantically. Would you be okay with that?” Her face was deadly serious, but her voice trembled. “I know it’s not what you signed up for, but I wanted to ask.”

Andy blinked, surprised. “Uh, Chloe, none of us signed up for anything here. But… you mean like with another woman?”

Chloe nodded, looking down. “Specifically, Riley. I like her a lot. She makes me feel…” She trailed off, looking for the word.

Andy supplied it: “Safe?”

Chloe nodded, relief painting her features. “Yeah. Safe. And sometimes, it feels like she knows exactly how I feel, without me having to say it.” She chewed her lip. “But I know it’s weird, especially now. With the baby. I just wanted to check.”

Andy smiled, then laughed. “Chloe, you do know Sam and Liesa have been a thing for weeks now, right?”

She looked up, startled. “Uh, yes, but…”

He interrupted her, knowing what she was going to say. “And I’m happy for them. I want you to be happy, too. If Riley makes you happy, I’m not going to stand in the way.”

Chloe grinned, sheepish. “I guess I’m still not used to the idea of it being okay.”

He shrugged, pulling her closer. “These are our lives, Chloe. We get to make our own rules about how we feel.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then said, “Thank you. I mean it.”

He kissed her forehead, then her lips, soft and sure. “I mean it, too.”

Chloe let out a sigh, her whole body relaxing. “I’m still figuring it out. But I want to try. I want to try everything, while we have the chance.” She hesitated, then added, “And I want to get married someday. To you.” Her face was bright red now, but she didn’t look away. “Not as a proposal, just… so you know.”

Andy laughed, the warmth in his chest blooming into something bigger. “I’d like that,” he said, letting the words hang between them, true and solid.

She smiled, eyes shining. “Good. I just needed to say it.” She cuddled into him, content.

They sat in the growing dark, the warmth of the fire and the nearness of each other holding off the chill.

It was full dark by the time they drifted to the bedroom. There was no preamble—no hesitation or fumbling or performance. Chloe let Andy lead her, but only by a step, her hair brushing his shoulder as they entered the room that was, for tonight at least, just theirs.

The window was cracked, letting in a briny breath of ocean. The lamp was already on, casting a warm glow across the sheets. Chloe kicked off her shoes, then dropped onto the bed, landing with a bounce that sent her breasts quivering beneath the thin knit of her dress. She grinned at Andy, mischief sharpening her exhaustion. “So. Now what?”

Andy smiled, unsure how to answer. There had been so much conversation, so much confession, that part of him wondered if this was the moment for action or for simply letting the world stop. Chloe solved it for him by reaching out, catching the hem of his shirt, and tugging him closer.

He went willingly, sitting on the edge of the bed. For a while, they just looked at each other. The lamp painted everything soft—her hair, her curves, the way her skirt bunched on her hips. She was beautiful, but more than that, she was open. Alive in a way she hadn’t been for years.

Chloe reached out, running her hand over his knee, slow and lazy. “I should warn you,” she said, voice low. “I’m feeling very… competitive tonight.”

Andy quirked an eyebrow. “Competitive?”

She nodded, the color rising in her cheeks. “It’s the transformation. The First Ambitions one. It’s like, every time someone does something new, or has a ‘first’ with you, I get this urge to match them. Or beat them.” Her laugh was more self-deprecating than sexy. “It’s really embarrassing. I mean, who turns sex into an Olympic event?”

Andy laughed, tension draining from his spine.

Chloe grinned, then dropped her voice. “I hope it’s allright, but it was getting a bit overwhelming, so I asked Claire to help me make a list.” She produced it from her pocket, a folded sheet of paper that had clearly seen heavy use. The top was labeled Chloe’s List of Harem Firsts, with columns for activity, girl, and date. There were tally marks, small stars, and several notes in the margins.

Andy blinked, impressed. “Is there a leaderboard?”

Chloe snorted. “No, but I think Claire probably made one after this. She’s scary that way.” She pointed at the sheet, walking him through the highlights, blushing furiously as she did. “First blowjob? That was Erin. First handjob? Claire. First titjob? Marissa. First twerk? Norah, believe it or not. First hug? Sam, obviously.” Her eyes flickered up, a little nervous now. “But then there’s, uh… only one first with Andi.” She pointed, shy. “No one has done anything with Andi yet, except for Sam who apparently touched your boobs. Not even a kiss. I kind of want to be the first.”

Andy blinked at the list. There were more columns than he’d expected—Claire’s influence, no doubt. Several rows were marked with stars, some with smiley faces, and a few had tiny sketches of the relevant body parts (those, Andy suspected, were Chloe’s own embellishments). He traced the “firsts” with his finger, watching Chloe’s face as she explained the logic.

“The problem is,” she said, “every time one of the girls does something, I get this…” She gestured, helpless, “… urge, I guess. Like, if I don’t keep up, I’ll get left behind. Or maybe,” she added, “that you’ll forget about me.” The last part was quiet, almost embarrassed.

Andy folded the list in half and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “I won’t forget you. I couldn’t if I tried.”

Chloe made a small, flustered noise. “I know, I know, but the transformation keeps making it feel like if I don’t do every single thing, I’m letting everyone down. And it makes me want to do them right.” She laughed, then groaned, hiding her face. “God, that sounds awful. Like I’m a pervert. Or a little kid who doesn’t want to lose the game.”

Andy chuckled. “It’s not awful.” He hesitated, then: “Would it help if we just… checked off something now?” He was trying to keep it light, not make it a big deal, but there was a flutter in his chest he hadn’t expected. The possibility of Andi was not a new one—being Andi felt natural in that shape—but the thought of Chloe wanting it, of her making it safe for him to try, was something different.

Chloe’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Andy nodded. “If you want. We can start with the first on the list, see how it goes, and then you can tell the transformation to suck it.”

She laughed, tension spilling out in a rush. “Deal. But, um—” Her cheeks went bright pink. “Can you… do it now? Switch, I mean?”

Andy nodded again, and let himself change.

The shift was strange, but never painful. More like unzipping one self and pulling another on—shoulders narrowing, hips rounding, stubble fading away, hair rippling out to brush his collarbones. The clothes hung differently, the weight and balance of everything just off enough to feel exciting and uncanny at the same time. When the transformation finished, Andi brushed a lock of brown hair out of her face and grinned, a little self-conscious. “Hey.”

Chloe just stared, mouth slightly open. Then, as if on a delay, her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a delighted laugh.

“You look…” She searched for the word, then found it: “Beautiful. And very, very weird, because your eyes are exactly the same.” She circled Andi, taking in the full effect. “Wow. Is it weird that I want to… touch you?”

Andi shrugged. “You can if you want.” The voice was different—higher, musical—but the inflections were still Andy. She liked how it sounded, maybe more than she expected.

Chloe reached out, tentative, brushing Andi’s hair, then trailing her fingers down the length of Andi’s shirt. “You have to let me see you, though. I want to do it right.” She bit her lip, the nervousness fighting with her competitive need to get the “first” exactly right. “Can I take your shirt off?”

“Go for it,” Andi said, and lifted her arms. Chloe gripped the hem, then slid it up, exposing Andi’s torso inch by inch. The chest was all smooth skin and soft, natural curves, the D-cups full but not cartoonish, the color of the nipples a gentle blush. Chloe’s fingers hovered for a second before she touched, tracing the line under the breast, then cupping it carefully, as if holding something fragile and new.

Saw the Master’s boobs! Who knew? +1 VP
First! x2
Touched the Master’s boobs! Who knew? +2 VP
Played with the Master’s boobs! Who knew? +2 VP
First! x2

“Wow,” she said again, but softer. “They’re perfect.” She looked up at Andi, grinning. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

Andi laughed, a sound she was still getting used to. “First time for everything.”

Chloe stepped back, tugging her own sundress over her head in one smooth, practiced motion. She wasn’t wearing a bra—never did anymore, not since her boobs had outgrown anything short of industrial scaffolding—and her breasts bounced free, the skin creamy and flecked with blush. Her nipples were large and pink, already hardening in the cool air.

She caught Andi looking, and blushed deeper. “Is it weird? If I just… take everything off?”

Andi shook her head, but words weren’t enough. She reached for Chloe’s hips and helped slide down her underwear, careful and reverent, not wanting to make it feel like a joke. She admired Chloe’s body, the curves and softness, the little dips and scars that made her real. It was different, looking at her through this lens—every touch felt more electric, every gaze doubled back on itself. It was like being both observer and observed, wanting and wanted, at the same time.

Chloe slid her own hands over Andi’s ribs, then up to her chest, kneading gently, her eyes hungry but also awed. “I want to kiss you,” she whispered, and when Andi nodded, Chloe did—soft at first, then firmer, mouths meeting and parting, the taste of Chloe’s breath sweet and thick.

Kissed the Master’s soft lips! Who knew? +1 VP
First! x2

Chloe giggled, nerves sparkling at the edges. “You smell different as a woman,” she said, then ducked her head, embarrassed.

Andi grinned. “Better or worse?”

Chloe licked her lips, thinking. “Different. More, um… flowery. Less like gym socks.”

They both laughed, and the tension broke. They kissed again, deeper, the moment taking its own shape. Chloe slid her hands under Andi’s breasts, cupping them, then bent down to suck at one nipple, slow and careful. Andi gasped, the sensation sharp and hot, more intense than she’d ever imagined. She threaded her fingers into Chloe’s hair and held her there, wanting more.

Chloe suckled gently, then switched to the other breast, letting her tongue circle the areola before closing her lips around it. She grazed the nipple with her teeth, and Andi whimpered, hips bucking without thought. The pleasure was different—not blunt and urgent, but tidal, rolling up from the center of her body in soft, shivery waves.

Chloe pulled back, face flushed. “You like that?”

Andi could only nod, her breath coming fast.

Chloe grinned, eyes twinkling. “Then it’s my turn.” She pulled Andi down onto the bed, guiding her to straddle Chloe’s hips. Chloe arched up, pressing her own breasts against Andi’s chest, the soft flesh yielding and spilling between them. She reached up and pulled Andi’s face down, kissing her hard, then trailed her lips down Andi’s neck to her collarbone, biting and sucking little marks as she went.

Andi rocked her hips, the friction making her dizzy. She bent down and took Chloe’s nipple in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, then bit gently. Chloe gasped, the sound raw and beautiful. Andi suckled, drawing out a few drops of milk, and was startled by the taste—sweet, creamy, a little wild.

Chloe shivered, her whole body twitching with sensation. “Oh god,” she said, “that feels so much better than I thought it would.”

Andi nuzzled against her, then drew more milk, letting it fill her mouth before swallowing. “You taste amazing,” she said, and Chloe giggled, the laugh broken by another moan.

Breastfed the Master! +2 VP
First! x2

They pressed together, all hands and mouths, exploring without hesitation now. Chloe grabbed Andi’s ass, squeezing hard, and Andi returned the favor, kneading Chloe’s hips and thighs. Chloe’s hands drifted lower, sliding into Andi’s pants, brushing between Andi’s legs, but she paused, remembering the agreement.

Groped the Master! Who knew? +1 VP
First! x2

“Do you want me to…?” Chloe asked, fingers poised.

Andi thought about it. She was already so turned on, so close, that the idea of Chloe touching her there was terrifying and perfect at the same time. “Just—outside,” she said. “For now. I want to see what it feels like.”

Chloe nodded, then cupped Andi’s pussy, rubbing gently. The heat and slickness were immediate, and Andi gasped, hips rolling into Chloe’s hand. Chloe circled the clit with her thumb, slow at first, then faster, and Andi melted, her breath coming in helpless little cries.

Touched the Master’s pussy! Who knew? +2 VP
First! x2

Chloe bent up, kissing Andi’s neck and jaw, then her mouth. She sucked on Andi’s bottom lip, then let her teeth graze it, all the while working her fingers in slow, careful circles.

Andi didn’t last long. The buildup was different than anything she’d felt as a man—more diffuse, less like pressure in a single spot and more like every nerve ending was waking up at once. When the orgasm hit, it was a wave, a surge that left her gasping and shaking. She clung to Chloe, grinding helplessly against her palm, moaning with abandon.

Master brought to orgasm! Who knew? +2 VP
First! x2

Chloe held her through it, murmuring soft encouragements, then rolled them both to the side, cuddling Andi close. “Was it good?” she asked, voice teasing but also a little awed.

Andi laughed, the sound fuzzy and unsteady. “That was… different.” She tried to catch her breath. “I think Mark was right, that time at the birthday party.”

Chloe giggled. “What did he say?”

“He said that nothing compares to a girl’s orgasm.”

Chloe snorted, then nuzzled closer, her breasts pressed between them. “I get it,” she said. “I really do.”

They lay together, catching their breath. Chloe played with Andi’s hair, twisting little curls around her fingers, then ran her palm down Andi’s back, tracing the curve of her spine. “Thank you,” she said, and when Andi looked at her in confusion, she added, “for trusting me with this. With you. I know it’s not easy.”

Andi smiled, a little shy. “Thank you for making it easy. I didn’t expect it to be so… nice.”

Chloe beamed. “You’re amazing,” she said, then went quiet, as if the words were so big she had to put them somewhere safe.

They lay there a long time, bodies tangled, the warmth of each other more than enough to hold the world at bay.

When the room cooled, Andi found the energy to roll up on one elbow and look down at Chloe. “How did you get so good at that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Chloe blushed, then shrugged. “Practice, I guess.” She covered her face, then peeked through her fingers. “When Arabella gave me these—” she cupped her breasts, hefting the soft weight with both hands—“I kind of, um, got obsessed with touching them. So I did. A lot. I’d squeeze them at night, and sometimes… it just felt really good. So I tried all sorts of things to see what I liked.” She looked away, bashful. “I guess I wanted to be ready, in case you ever wanted to try.”

Andi grinned, then bent down and kissed her, gentle and slow.

They melted into each other again, the afterglow sweet and content. It was different, this kind of encounter—not about conquest or climax, but about discovery and closeness, about the simple thrill of being with someone who wanted all of you, even the parts you’d only just learned to want yourself.

After a while, Andi shifted back to Andy, the change rippling through her in a slow, warm wave. Chloe watched, fascinated. When the transformation finished, she pushed herself up, straddling his lap. She let her palms flatten against his chest, fingers splayed, feeling the strength and solidity there. “I missed you,” she said, and grinned, the nerves returning for just a second.

He cupped her hip, thumb brushing her skin, and waited. The rhythm of the moment was different now—less a wave and more a pulse, a new tempo set by the certainty in Chloe’s posture.

She leaned down and kissed him, slow and open-mouthed. Then she slid lower, her hands moving with intention—undoing his belt, tugging down his boxers, freeing him. She giggled when his cock sprang up, already hard, the tip wet. She wrapped both hands around it, then squeezed at the base, gentle but confident.

“I want to try something,” she said, and began stroking him, up and down, using both hands in a twist she must have learned from somewhere.

He groaned, the sensation more intense than usual—maybe because of what had just happened, maybe because Chloe was looking him dead in the eyes as she did it. She bit her lip, watching the way his breath caught, the way his hands gripped the sheets. She increased the pace, then slowed it, teasing the head with her thumb. The focus was entirely on him, the attention worshipful but not performative.

Andy felt himself getting close, and warned her. “Chloe—careful, I’m gonna—”

She didn’t stop, if anything she went faster. “I want to see,” she said, half-laughing, and when he came, it was with a gasp that echoed off the walls. It arced up, splattering her breasts and neck, some of it running down the curve of her chest.

Handjob! +3 VP
Cumshot! +2 VP

Chloe stared at it, then at Andy, then back at herself. She laughed, an honest, delighted sound, then bent to lick a drop from her nipple, eyes twinkling.

“You’re so hot when you do that,” Andy said, voice hoarse.

Chloe flushed, then scooped more of it onto her finger and sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact. “It’s not as bad as I thought,” she said, amused. “Kinda sweet?”

He rolled his eyes, then tugged her back up, kissing her deep and slow. She climbed back onto his lap, breasts pressing to his chest, and rocked her hips against him, rubbing her slick pussy along his length. It took almost no time for him to harden again—she could feel it, the way he throbbed against her, the heat of his need.

She reached down, lining him up, and sank onto him in one slow, measured push. She went slow, savoring the stretch, the fullness. Andy groaned again, hands finding her waist, but letting her set the rhythm.

Chloe started to ride him, not frantic, but deliberate—each motion a steady grind, her breasts bouncing with every rise and fall. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation, in the way he filled her so completely, in the way she could see his jaw clench and his eyes go dark with hunger.

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, and rode him harder. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, and when she opened her eyes, Andy was staring up at her, lips parted, in awe.

They moved together, the rhythm building, Chloe taking him deeper with each thrust. She moaned, the sound raw and loud, uncaring if anyone heard. Andy thrust up to meet her, matching her pace, his hands kneading her ass, sometimes her thighs, sometimes sliding up to grab her tits, still sticky from before.

When Chloe started to get close, her voice changed—went higher, ****. She let go of everything, riding him with abandon, her hands clinging to his shoulders as if she could climb inside him and stay there.

He came first this time, deep inside her, the orgasm ripping through him so hard he saw white. But Chloe kept moving, grinding, until she came too, the cry tearing from her throat—relief and joy and something like love, all tangled up.

When it was done, she slumped forward, collapsing onto him, her hair sticking to his chest with sweat. They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, trembling with aftershocks.

Chloe didn’t say anything at first. She just let her cheek rest against his heart, the sound grounding her. Then, in the quiet, she whispered: “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

Andy kissed the top of her head. “Me too.”

They lay there, time slowing, the world outside fading to nothing.

Afterward, they showered together, Chloe giggling as Andy soaped her back, then resting her head on his shoulder while the water sluiced away the sweat and stickiness. They returned to bed, wrapped in towels, the sheets cool and fresh. Chloe curled up against Andy, her cheek pressed to his chest, her hand draped over his heart.

He stroked her hair until her breathing slowed and deepened, the steady rhythm a lullaby. She slept quickly, exhaustion and peace merging into a dreamless hush.

Andy didn’t sleep right away. He watched the light from the lamp in the next room, where the seashell bibs and their plush witnesses still waited at the long table. The lamp caught on the shell edges, scattering soft reflections across the wall. He wondered if Laura would see them in the morning, if she’d laugh at her own handiwork, or if she’d stand at the threshold, uncertain whether to join.

He thought of family, of the houses you built with your own hands, and the ones you found by accident. He thought of Chloe, and of the way she’d looked at him when she said, “This is all I’ve ever wanted.” He thought of Laura, somewhere in the darkness, working through her hurt one measured breath at a time.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much still to come. But as Chloe sighed in her sleep, her body warm and heavy against him, Andy let himself—for the first time in years—imagine a family that was more than just him and the women, a family where Chloe’s child would play with their half-siblings from Erin, where Laura’s daughter—somehow, he was sure she’d have one—would read to her younger half-siblings on the porch swing. Andy closed his eyes, holding Chloe close, and let the world drift.

Recurring Author's Note: Check out the sister season, Athanor, here: https://chyoa.com/chapter/Adrien-Moore-%28HH%3A-Athanor%29.1815591

Likes and comments are welcome! And remember to check out the wiki at: https://hhnetwork.miraheze.org/wiki/Harem_Hotel:_The_HH

Aside from info on the contestants, the locations, and so on, a new section - the Marginalia - highlights Easter Eggs, deep cuts, foreshadowings and hidden elements in previous chapters. The same section is also present as a thread on the Discord channel (the Marginalia Discord thread is usually updated more often).
BEWARE! There are no spoiler tags in the wiki, so the Marginalia chapter includes spoilers up to the last published chapter!

Also, don't forget: you're welcome to propose TF ideas for Contestants via the anonymous link here: https://forms.gle/NY5MbGrvv2ZkUknn9

While I can't guarantee they'll all be used, or that they'll be used at the next available TF vote, I look at all suggestions and will try to fit them in where necessary.

Thank you for reading!