Caught

The tension in the house has been growing like a slow burn, simmering just beneath the surface. Eleanor has always been the type to keep things under control. Nothing escapes her; she knows more than she lets on, always waiting for the right moment to strike. But you’ve gotten good at dodging her suspicions, keeping her just on the edge of guessing without ever giving her solid proof.

Until today.

You feel it in the pit of your stomach as you pull into the driveway of your house later than usual, after another long afternoon spent on your knees for Emily. The satisfaction of her cruel treatment is fading, replaced by a gnawing sense that something is off. You park the car and take a deep breath, trying to shake the feeling, but it sticks to you like sweat.

The front door opens easily, but the silence in the house is heavy, unnatural. No quiet hum of the television, no sound of Eleanor’s heels clicking against the floor. She’s always waiting for you when you come home, even if she’s pretending not to care.

You step inside, closing the door behind you, your dress shoes making dull thuds against the marble floor. There’s a smell in the air—a sharp, expensive perfume you know all too well. Eleanor’s favorite. It always lingers just enough to remind you of her presence, even when she’s not in the room.

As you step further into the living room, your heart skips a beat. Eleanor is there, sitting on the sleek leather couch, her legs crossed in that powerful, dominant way that always makes you feel like you’re two inches tall. She’s dressed in a fitted dark green dress, the color making her hair look even darker, almost black in the dim lighting. Her feet, those long legs that drive you wild, are encased in knee-high leather boots, just like earlier, but now polished to a high shine. The stiletto heels are pointed, sharp, the kind that make you weak with just one glance.

But it’s not just her. Sitting next to her on the couch is Emily.

Your breath catches in your throat. She’s dressed differently from when you saw her earlier—this time in a sleek black dress, legs crossed casually, and those Ugg boots you hate are nowhere to be seen. Instead, she’s wearing flats, simple but elegant, with black nylons that stretch over her legs. Her hair is as dark as Eleanor’s, falling in the same straight, glossy curtain. They look like mirror images of each other, two sides of the same coin—one polished, the other casual—but both infinitely more powerful than you.

Both sets of eyes are fixed on you, their expressions unreadable. You try to gather yourself, pulling on that cocky, arrogant persona that’s gotten you through everything. But this time, it feels hollow, like armor that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

“What’s going on?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly, betraying the nervous energy building inside you.

Eleanor is the first to speak, her voice smooth and cold. “Sit down, Tom. We need to talk.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, and before you even realize it, you’re moving toward the chair opposite them, sinking into it as if your body is acting on its own. Your hands grip the armrests, trying to ground yourself, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re walking into a trap.

Emily leans forward slightly, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “So, Tom... how long did you think you could keep this little game going?” Her voice is sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Your mind races, trying to keep up with what’s happening. Eleanor knows. Emily knows. They’ve known for longer than you’ve realized. You’re caught, completely exposed, and there’s no way out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try, but the words come out weak, unconvincing. You can feel their eyes boring into you, tearing apart the thin veil of lies you’ve been hiding behind.

Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t insult our intelligence, Tom. We’ve both known for weeks now. You think you’re clever, sneaking around, lying to both of us. But you’re not. You’re just... pathetic.”

The word hits you like a slap. Pathetic. It’s not a word you’re used to hearing, not from anyone, especially not from her. But coming from Eleanor, it cuts deep. You try to speak, to defend yourself, but the words die in your throat.

Emily, leaning back again, taps the tip of her flat against the floor, the soft sound somehow deafening in the tension-filled room. “Did you really think you could play us both like this? Lie to my face and tell me you’re single while running home to her every night?”

You can’t look at either of them. The weight of their combined anger presses down on you, suffocating. You’ve always enjoyed the thrill of being humiliated, of being belittled by powerful women—but this is different. This isn’t controlled. This isn’t part of the game. This is real, and it’s terrifying.

Eleanor uncrosses her legs and stands, her boots clicking against the floor as she moves closer to you. She towers over you, her presence overwhelming. “You’ve always liked being humiliated, haven’t you, Tom?” she asks, her voice low, almost a purr. She leans down, her face inches from yours, and you can smell her perfume, that intoxicating scent that makes you weak. “Is this what you wanted? To be caught? To be put in your place?”

Your breath hitches. You don’t know how to answer. The thrill of submission, the rush of powerlessness, is there, bubbling beneath the surface—but it’s laced with fear now. Eleanor reaches out, her hand wrapping around your chin, forcing you to look up at her. “Answer me, Tom.”

“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely audible.

She smirks, but there’s no warmth in it, only cold satisfaction. “Good,” she says, releasing your chin and straightening up. “Because now, you’re going to learn what real humiliation feels like.”

Emily rises from the couch, moving to stand next to Eleanor, both of them looking down at you like a pair of goddesses deciding your fate. You’re trapped, completely at their mercy, and for the first time, the thrill of the game is gone. There’s only the crushing reality of what you’ve done.

“We’re going to have some fun with you, Tom,” Eleanor says, her voice dripping with promise. “But it’s not going to be the kind of fun you’re used to.”

Emily’s smile widens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “No, this time... we’re in charge.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look up at the two women towering over you. For the first time in your life, you’re truly powerless—and there’s no escape.