Phase 2 Pt. 2

Four days had passed since the first night of Phase Two. And already, something had shifted.

Kieran couldn’t name it—not exactly—but it was there. A kind of static beneath his skin, a tugging in the space where certainty used to live. His thoughts felt lighter, fogged at the edges, and his nights... no longer his own.

Every evening, the same quiet ritual. Same knock on the door. Same instructions, same voice, same curve of Celeste’s knowing smile. And each time, he obeyed more quickly. Sat straighter. Moaned a little more willingly. Even when he hated himself for it.

Tonight, the air in the room was warmer than usual. The scent of roses, musk, and warmed silicone drifted gently through the space. The lights were dim, as always, but now a low amber hue filled the corners—softer than harsh white, but sharper than candlelight. Intentional. Purposeful. Training lighting.

Celeste sat on the bed already, barefoot, legs tucked to one side, a silk robe wrapped around her frame like she was preparing for a facial, not a conditioning session. The tablet was beside her, spreadsheets open, already filled with color-coded notes from the week. Kieran stood in the doorway, his palms resting neatly against the hem of his robe.

Cinched tight at the waist, with lace detail along the cuffs. Beneath it, the usual routine: perfumed skin, cage gently pressing down against freshly tucked anatomy, and the faintest blush over each cheek—unintentionally applied a little too well. A skill now ingrained.

“Come on, Kiara,” Celeste said softly.

He obeyed.

She motioned to the vanity bench again, where everything was already laid out with clinical precision: the headset, the headphones, the plug, the wand, the lubricant, the collar.

And, new tonight: a collar.

His stomach fluttered.

“You’re going to meet with Lucian soon,” Celeste said, matter-of-fact, tapping her tablet. “Not a date. Not yet. But in person. Close. Real. And we need to know what you’re ready for—and what you’re still resisting.”

Kieran’s breath hitched.

“We’re not there yet,” she continued, “but we’re close. Your responses to male stimuli have risen dramatically. Verbal compliance is high. Visual focus is more reliable. And most importantly… you’re starting to associate your orgasms with the emotional idea of being taken care of. That’s critical.”

He said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.

Celeste rose and walked over slowly, reaching up to adjust a loose strand of hair at his temple. Her fingers were gentle, warm.

“But… you’re not done. Not close. So tonight, we’re applying reinforcement more actively. Controlled exposure. Mixed stimuli. Some pain. Some reward.”

She leaned in slightly.

“Good girls get to come. Disobedient girls... get punished.”

Kieran’s cheeks flared pink. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or arousal. Lately, they felt the same.

“Strip,” she said softly.

He untied the robe and let it fall to the floor with a whisper. His corset came next—unhooked slowly, reverently. Then the shapewear, peeled away from skin that had become alarmingly soft. Feminine. Yielding.

And when he turned to reach for the plug, Celeste stopped him with a raised brow.

“Ask.”

His voice came quiet, trained. “May I plug in, Celeste?”

“Good girl.”

The headset slipped over his eyes, the headphones followed. The soft hiss of white noise gave way to the first video—a favorite of Celeste’s. A soft-spoken dom coaxing his shy, feminized lover into bed. No harsh tones. No humiliation. Just praise, control, permission.

“Let me guide you,” the voice murmured. “You’re safe when I’m in charge.” “Pretty things like you aren’t meant to lead.”

As always, the video began slow. Deliberate. Kieran was instructed to keep the wand in his lap until told otherwise. The plug—already buzzing gently—set the stage.

But five minutes in, Celeste interrupted the process.

“Pause.”

Kieran flinched. The video stopped. So did the plug. He sat still, knees together, silent.

“Now,” Celeste said. “Time for contrast.”

A new video loaded—this time, a female dom. A dark-haired woman in lingerie, scissoring a submissive girl between her thighs, calling her a slut.

“No response,” Celeste warned. “Not even twitching.”

Kieran tried to stay blank.

But something in his body—the ghost of old cravings—moved. Just a little.

Celeste saw it. The flicker. The hesitation.

Click. A shock. Tiny, but unmistakable. The collar buzzed faintly, just under the edge of pain.

Kieran gasped, shifting.

“Wrong,” she said.

The image faded.

Celeste stood behind him now, voice low, calm. “It’s not about punishment, Kiara. It’s about realignment. I can’t let you reinforce those patterns. If you do… you go backward.”

She lifted the headset briefly. Just enough to look him in the eye.

“I want your body to flinch when you see a woman like that trying to take control. I want it to feel... wrong. Cold. Empty. And when a man holds your throat and praises your submission? I want that to feel like coming home.”

The headset slipped back down.

Kieran trembled.

The next sequence began. A man whispering soft praise, stroking a girlish cheek, telling her how sweet she looked kneeling.

Celeste tapped the spreadsheet.

The plug resumed. The wand was placed in his hand again.

“Setting two,” she said. “Tell him you missed his voice.”

“I… missed your voice,” Kiara whispered to the screen.

“Why?”

“Because… it makes me feel… safe.”

“Why else?”

A pause. The plug intensified.

“Because it makes me feel like… like I’m allowed to stop trying to be in control. Like I can just… give in.”

Celeste smiled to herself.

The spreadsheet glowed with fresh green.

And that was the rhythm of the night. Exposure. Pause. Test. Punish. Reward. Repeat.

Kieran's brain—already softened from days of repetition—began responding faster to masculine praise, recoiling from feminine aggression, leaning into scripting that sounded absurd to him even a week ago.

He caught himself saying things like “I love being useful.” Or “I don’t want to think—just tell me what to feel.”

And the worst part? It didn’t sound fake when it left his lips.

The room had gone still again.

The video had ended. The final wave of praise from the dom’s voice faded into silence. The headset now rested on the vanity. The headphones were coiled neatly beside it. The wand was silent, set aside, its smooth pink handle now slightly warm from prolonged use. And Kiara sat on the padded bench like a windup doll that had just stopped ticking—knees together, hands resting in her lap, breathing slow and shallow beneath the satin drape of her robe.

Celeste stood a few feet away, tapping lightly on her tablet, updating response notes, adjusting sliders in her behavior tracker. The hum of the stimulator inside Kiara was still present—barely—level one, like a murmur under the skin. A whisper of something unfinished.

“Tonight’s gone well,” Celeste said quietly, her voice calm, professional. “You responded more quickly to praise. Less tension. Less hesitation. Even the sissy clips didn’t make you flinch.”

Kiara said nothing.

She didn’t need to. She knew better now.

Celeste turned toward her, finally closing the tablet and setting it aside. “But we still have work to do.” She walked closer, slow and measured, and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. Her perfume—rosewater and bergamot—drifted through the warm air.

Kieran’s heart was already beginning to race.

“Lucian will see you again soon,” she said softly, adjusting the hem of her robe. “Not on a call. Not through the press. But close. Real. And he’s going to do something, Kiara. You know what it is?”

Kiara blinked. “He’ll ask questions.”

Celeste smiled. “Maybe. But before he asks questions, he’s going to lean in.”

The room thickened.

“And when he does,” she continued, “you won’t have time to think. No headset. No script. Just him… and you. And your lips.”

Kiara’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

Celeste brushed a hand along her thigh, gentle. “So tonight, we learn how to kiss.”

The words struck like ice down her spine.

“Not just physically,” Celeste added, her tone impossibly light. “But emotionally. Soft girls kiss differently than men. They receive. They melt. They respond. A kiss is a message—a way to say ‘I’m yours,’ without using words.”

She reached forward and took Kiara’s chin in her hand. Her grip was delicate but firm.

“You’ve been trained to want male control. Now I want to see what you do when it’s inches from your face.”

Kiara’s lips parted slightly.

Celeste moved in closer—too close. Their knees touched. Her perfume clung to Kieran’s skin like memory. And then, just like that, Celeste kissed her. Not sisterly. Not soft. Like a man would. Her mouth pressed against Kiara’s—full, controlled, insistent. She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t tease. She took. And Kiara, frozen, kissed back without thinking—slow at first, unsure, his painted lips parting under hers.

Celeste pulled back.

“No,” she said gently. “Too neutral. Too flat. You’re kissing like someone with no weight in her hips. Try again. Let your mouth soften. Tilt your head more. Accept the kiss. Don’t return it—receive it.”

Kiara swallowed. “Okay.”

They kissed again. Slower this time. Kieran let his lips loosen, let Celeste lead. He didn’t push. He didn’t overthink. His hands stayed in his lap, unmoving, and the plug buzzed faintly inside him like an anchor to this strange, charged moment.

Celeste moaned lightly into his mouth, then broke away.

“Better. That’s how a girl kisses when she knows she’ll be kissed again. When she knows she’s the one being wanted.”

Kiara’s cheeks were flushed now, visibly pink beneath the powder. Her breathing had quickened. The robe slipped slightly at her shoulder, revealing one soft, smooth collarbone shaped by weeks of hormones, posture training, and massage oil.

“Now,” Celeste said, her voice quieter, darker. “I’m going to kiss you again… but this time, I want you to want it. I want you to tilt your chin up like you’ve been waiting for it all day. I want your thighs to tense just a little. I want your lips to part like you’ve been aching to be kissed.”

Kiara hesitated. Just for a breath.

Click.

The collar buzzed again—sharper now. Not a shock, but a jolt. Her back straightened instinctively.

Celeste smiled.

“That was hesitation. And hesitation doesn’t get kisses. Hesitation gets correction.”

Kieran bit his lip. Then nodded. “I’m ready.”

Celeste didn’t wait. She leaned in, her hand cupping Kiara’s jaw, and kissed her again. This time, Kiara responded. Not with hunger. Not with desperation. But with submission. Her lips parted gently. Her knees pressed close. Her whole body leaned in—delicate, yielding.

The kiss deepened.

And with it, the plug buzzed stronger—level two. Not from the remote this time. From the script. The cue. The signal.

Her body rewarded her because she kissed like a good girl.

Celeste pulled away slowly, her breath warm against Kiara’s cheek.

“There it is,” she whispered. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

Kiara’s eyes were glassy. Her thighs shifted against each other, subtly. “I think so.”

“No,” Celeste said, brushing a hand through her hair. “Don’t think. Feel. That buzz in your stomach? That heat in your lips? That flutter in your chest? That’s not confusion anymore. That’s a seed.”

She stood now, adjusting her robe, and picked up the tablet again.

“That’s what I want Lucian to awaken. Not resistance. Not awkwardness. But flutter. That tiny breath you take when a man touches you and your body asks, ‘Will he kiss me again?’”

Kiara sat frozen, her lips tingling.

Her body remembered the kiss more than her mind did.

And Celeste, pleased, turned off the plug and finally smiled.

“Tomorrow night, we’ll see how long you can make the kiss last before begging for more.”

Kieran’s breath caught.

Not because he hated the idea.

But because he didn’t hate it enough.

And that terrified him most of all.

Celeste had just reached the door.

The room was quiet again—post-session silence. Soft and golden, lit only by the glow of the bedside lamp and the faint flicker of the tablet screen left idling. The plug had been turned off. The wand rested on its stand. Kiara sat still on the edge of the vanity bench, legs tucked together, makeup smudged subtly at the corners from earlier headset pressure. Her lips, still tingling, wore the faintest sheen of gloss—refreshed once during the break between scripting blocks.

Everything looked finished.

Everything should have been finished.

But just before Celeste touched the handle, a voice—soft, small—floated through the stillness behind her.

“Wait.”

Celeste turned, brows raised.

Kiara was still seated, but her fingers were now curled around the edge of the bench, knuckles slightly pale. Her eyes were wide—not pleading exactly, but… open. Exposed. **** in a way Kieran never allowed himself to be.

“Can I…” She paused. Swallowed. “Can I cum tonight?”

Celeste blinked once.

For a long second, she said nothing. Her instinct was to deny. Not out of cruelty—but because rewards had to be earned, and this wasn’t part of the plan. Tonight had been about praise, yes. About training. Yes. But not release.

Not yet.

Her lips parted to speak. She was ready to shake her head and say, No, not tonight.

But then she saw Kiara’s face.

Not desperation. Not rebellion.

Something worse. Something deeper.

Hope.

Real, quiet, earnest hope.

And Celeste, for all her precision, for all her spreadsheets and protocols and rules, paused.

She stared for another moment. Then—without a word—turned back toward the bed.

She lifted one of the pillows and placed it carefully at the foot of the mattress, then smoothed the fabric flat with both palms.

But instead of stepping back, Celeste moved forward—onto the bed.

She lay down slowly, positioning herself atop the pillow, shoulders relaxed, arms at her sides, gaze steady.

Then she looked up at Kiara and gestured. “Straddle me. Face the headboard.”

Kiara hesitated for a breath, then obeyed.

She stepped forward slowly, one smooth, trembling thigh lifting over Celeste’s waist, then the other, until she was straddling her. The curve of Celeste’s body framed her perfectly. Her skin prickled where they touched—thighs brushing hips, heat meeting heat. And as Kiara’s hips lowered, she shuddered—skin meeting silk and warmth, but now laced with the deep, humming tension of Celeste stretched out beneath her.

Celeste retrieved the headset, adjusted the feed, and placed it carefully over Kiara’s face.

“Tonight,” she murmured, settling the headphones over her ears, “you’re going to imagine I’m him.”

Kiara’s breath hitched audibly.

The video began: a POV feed—a man beneath her. Strong hands on her hips. A deep voice murmuring approval. The camera rising and falling as if she were riding him slowly, rhythmically.

And then Celeste’s voice, low and close, whispered right beside her ear.

“He wants to see how you move when you need it. He wants to feel you grind.”

The wand buzzed to life—set to maximum. Celeste angled it expertly, pressing it between their bodies, right against the cage nestled against Kiara’s pulsing, tucked heat.

Then the plug. Level five.

It began to hum, hard and unrelenting—its curve pressing deep, forcing her hips into motion atop Celeste’s lap.

“Rock,” Celeste said.

And Kiara obeyed.

Her body moved slowly at first—unsure if this was punishment or reward. Her hips swayed forward, then back, grinding the cage against the vibrator and against the firm tension of Celeste’s body. The friction made her gasp. Her thighs flexed around Celeste’s hips. Her toes curled in the carpet.

“Deeper,” Celeste urged. “Slower. You’re not rutting like a man. You’re riding him.”

Kiara moaned—soft and shaky.

The headset showed strong hands pulling her down. A man’s voice calling her beautiful, soft, perfect. His rhythm matched hers, guided her, claimed her.

“Feel him inside you,” Celeste whispered, voice curling warm against her throat. “Feel the way he fills you. Guides you. Owns you.”

Kiara rocked harder, her rhythm deepening, sensual. Her hair fell forward around her face, breath coming in short gasps. The collar shifted slightly at her throat. Sweat prickled along her lower back.

“I want you to beg for it,” Celeste said, hand steady on the wand.

“I…” Kiara whimpered.

“Say it.”

“I want him to make me cum. Please.”

“Why?”

“Because… because I feel empty when he’s not inside me. Because I… I want to give him everything.”

The wand was a furious pulse now.

The plug throbbed in time with her motion.

Kiara’s hips weren’t just moving—they were surrendering. Slow, practiced, sinuous. There was nothing masculine left in her. Her body moved like someone who had long forgotten what it meant to take.

And Celeste watched, calm and unreadable beneath her, pressing the vibrator just right.

“You’re going to cum when I tell you. Not before.”

Kiara nodded rapidly, eyes shut behind the headset, lip trembling.

“Imagine his hands gripping your thighs,” Celeste said. “Imagine him saying you belong to him. Imagine his voice—low, deep, final—saying, You were made to be fucked like this."

A broken sob escaped Kiara’s throat.

Not from pain.

But from truth.

Her body burned. Her pulse drummed through her hips. Her skin felt too tight. And when Celeste finally whispered, “Now,” the orgasm wasn’t loud or sharp.

It was complete.

Kiara cried out softly—knees clenching, thighs shaking, body shuddering in Celeste’s lap as wave after wave broke through her. Her hands gripped Celeste’s shoulders. Her back arched. Her lips parted in a silent moan that didn’t end for long, breathless seconds.

And when it passed, she collapsed forward.

The headset slipped.

The wand fell away.

Celeste caught her gently, easing her down, stroking her back.

No words. Just the sound of Kiara’s panting breath, warm against Celeste’s neck.

And when she finally looked up—red-cheeked, ruined, feminine—Celeste kissed her temple softly.

“You asked for it tonight,” she whispered. “That’s new.”

And Kiara, still trembling, closed her eyes.

Because it was new.

And that… scared her more than anything.