Where you've always been living

Betsy was still not back by the time Jesse returned to their room, so he got dressed for the evening and went to the cafeteria alone. The nervousness of being back in the Home without his rather pregnant guardian angel still remained… but the encounter with George had buoyed him considerably. He was determined to prove to himself and everyone else that he could act like a proper, little slut here as well as in the classroom. So the outfit he'd chosen was just a skin-tight, white leotard with several decorative slits cut down each side and his smooth, girlish legs left on full display below. He squirmed a bit at the thong-like way it presented his bubbly bottom from behind… and tried not to even look at the small, but obvious bulge at the front.

There was some practicality to the outfit… for several months now, Cynthia's 'erotic massage' lessons had actually become part of his official education. Every slutwife-to-be was expected to pick up various extra skills to diversify themselves and figure out exactly what kind of unique plaything they were going to become. Somehow, it had just seemed right to ask the much-maligned 'queen-bee' of block H to begin teaching him properly. She was actually quite a good teacher… if a maliciously strict and molestingly intimate one. Of course, the fact that this meant the sissy spent a lot more time in close proximity with George while absolutely dripping with oil hardly came into the equation at all. The taller, handsome teen still seemed to always find an excuse to be somewhere else, anyway.

Whitney gave a wolf-whistle as he passed through the dining hall, and an unapologetic squeeze on his ass. But Jesse didn’t see anyone else he particularly knew, so went to sit with her and Claire anyway. There had been several other instances where he’d needed to come begging to their door for help with an assignment by now, so the boisterous hermaphrodite had clearly begun to see him as solidly part of her property by now. Her designated role as a dominating trainer of others had done nothing if solidified the girl’s undauntable self-confidence. Yet, even Jesse had to admit… it seemed to have curbed the downright bullying she used to dole out. Nowadays every small cruelty was expansively explained to you as being 'for your own good': an example of what she had learned this week and all the ways it would safely shape the receiver into a better version of themselves.

It was funny how grown up it all felt… to be coming back to these same, old rows of plastic tables but now be discussing all the different directions their lives had gone. Even Claire had begun to come out of her shell a little, cozying up to Jesse as they traded stories of how their disparate levels of clients chose to use and **** them. It almost seemed like, to her: the more he submitted to Whitney, the more worthwhile a person he was. Just another little quirk of his fellow residents of Home 23 the sissy felt he could pick up on, now he was no longer hiding behind Betsy’s skirt-tails all the time.

Jesse pondered this, as he said his goodbyes and headed off through the corridors toward George and Cynthia's room. He loved Betsy eternally, and owed her more than he could ever hope to repay… But, at the same time, it was strangely freeing not to have the safety net that she’d provided all those years. All that time, she’d been encouraging him to put himself forward a bit more. Show off the pretty, kind hearted young man she considered to be more rare and precious than any other… Yet also… She’d been giving him the perfect excuse not to: fixing every problem and fighting off every challenge before he even had to face it. The late, but looming removal of that net, seemed to be what now drove the femboy’s determination to prove he could be as close to that idealised version of himself as he could be. To live up to the fantasy of himself as the most perfect of sissy slutwives that she’d always prophesised he should be. In the back of his head, that same old, self-doubting, cynical whisper asked whether that too… had been the Algorithm’s plan all along. Except he now was nearly sure that his dearest friend had been right all along:

It didn’t matter. This was who he was supposed to be. Why worry about all the little factors that had led up to him getting there?