Caught in Two Minds

The soft click of the bedroom door closing was followed by silence, save for the gentle rustle of Kieran’s skirt as he stepped into the room, purse still over his shoulder, heels clicking quietly on the polished floor.

It had been a long day.

His spine was tired from perfect posture. His cheeks ached from perfect smiles. His thighs were still subtly sore from hours of careful clenching to keep the plug in place, and somewhere between the Maison de Lune notes and Lucian Devereaux’s wolfish gaze, he’d started to feel like a doll wound too tight.

So when he shut the door behind him, all he wanted was to exhale.

But then he turned.

And froze.

Celeste was sitting on his bed, legs crossed neatly at the ankle, one hand resting atop the other in her lap. Her expression was unreadable. Her heels were off. She’d clearly made herself comfortable.

For a split second, his heart slammed against his ribs. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Kiara smiled.

“Oh,” she said, voice light and curious. “What’s going on?”

But inside, Kieran was screaming.

Oh fuck.

Celeste stood with a slow, deliberate grace, brushing her skirt smooth with her palms. “I was just waiting for you,” she said casually. “Wanted to have a little sister talk. Nothing serious.”

Nothing serious never meant nothing serious. Not with Celeste.

Kieran knew that look in her eye. He'd seen it a thousand times since this whole transformation began. It was the look she got right before she exposed something he thought he’d hidden. The look of a woman who already had all the answers, and was about to make you say them out loud.

Kiara tilted her head and smiled again. “Well, I’m here now.”

Celeste gave a small nod, then turned toward the dresser and began to pace slowly. “So, I came in here earlier today while you were at work. Just to see if you’d... warmed up to the little gift box I left you.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. Kieran’s stomach dropped.

“Imagine my surprise,” she continued, “when I saw that the drawer was open.”

Kiara’s smile didn’t move.

Celeste walked over to the vanity next, running her fingers lightly along the edge. “I mean, I decided to take a little peek... you know, check inventory. Just curious. So I looked for the plugs. The dildos. All accounted for.”

She turned back toward Kiara fully now, her tone still calm.

“But one thing was missing.”

Silence stretched. Kieran’s blood ran cold.

Celeste’s smile sharpened. “Where’s the prostate stimulator, sweetheart?”

His breath hitched, just slightly, but the Kiara mask stayed on.

She placed her purse on the desk with quiet precision, then turned back with her most serene, delicate smile.

Kiara reached into her purse, and pulled out the remote in her palm. She placed it gently in Celeste’s waiting hand.

And then came the next blow. “Take off your skirt.”

Kieran didn’t move. Celeste didn’t flinch.

“I want to see it,” she said, not unkindly. “You’ve been using it, haven’t you? You can’t hide that from me.”

Kieran—Kiara—exhaled slowly. Still calm. Still composed.

She reached behind herself and unzipped the pencil skirt, letting it fall in a soft whisper around her ankles. The pale grey blouse tucked into nothing now, and her hips were bare save for the smoothing shapewear and lace panties beneath.

Celeste nodded. “Shapewear, too.”

Kiara obeyed, bending slightly to roll it down over her hips. The plug shifted inside her. She didn’t react. Her thighs remained close. Her movements still dainty, still trained.

She was careful. Controlled. Panties now the only barrier.

Celeste walked over, still holding the remote. “May I?”

Kiara stepped aside. Just a little. Celeste leaned down, fingers gentle as she slid the lace aside. And there it was.

Nestled firmly between the curves of her backside, the slick head of the stimulator was visible—just barely. The base sat flush. Clean. Used.

Celeste smiled. “Well well.”

Kiara swallowed. “I’ve... been trying to figure it out.”

Celeste leaned back and looked her sister in the eye, pleased. “And how does it feel?”

Kiara offered a soft, polite laugh—one hand brushing her hair behind her ear. “Subtle. Good. When it moves the right way.”

“And you wore it all day?”

Kiara nodded.

Celeste was beaming now. “I’m so proud of you, Kiara. I wasn’t sure you’d actually take the step.”

Kieran, deep inside, was burning with humiliation. The fact that she knew. That she saw it. That he was standing there, panties tugged aside, his ass literally plugged, with his sister smiling like a teacher whose student finally got a passing grade.

But Kiara’s tone didn’t waver.

“I figured if it’s something I’ll need to learn... better to start now.”

Celeste reached out and touched her shoulder gently. “Exactly. Good girls prepare.”

Kiara smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

And Kieran wanted to scream.

But then Celeste took a seat back on the bed, smoothing her skirt. “One more thing,” she said, as if just remembering.

Kieran blinked. “Oh?”

Celeste smiled again, folding her hands in her lap. “And this one’s even more exciting.”

Kiara stood with her skirt still pooled around her ankles, blouse perfectly pressed, makeup flawless, posture composed as if this entire moment—panties tugged aside, plug nestled inside her—were just another part of the job.

Celeste sat casually on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, one elbow resting on her knee as she examined the remote in her hand like it was an accessory, not a control device for the thing currently vibrating inside her feminized younger sibling.

“So,” Celeste said, looking up with a knowing smile, “how was lunch?”

Kiara blinked once. Composed herself.

“Oh,” she said with a soft, almost airy lilt, “it was nice! Lucian was very professional. Really sharp. He had the Maison analytics all pulled up and ready to go. And he’s charming, too. Kind of funny in that confident, oh-I’m-so-effortlessly-intimidating way. But polite, definitely. We talked through some campaign milestones. A little bit of branding. He’s clearly passionate about the rollout.”

Celeste raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Kiara giggled lightly—trained, delicate, just enough. “And I mean... he’s not hard to look at either.”

She added a coy shrug for effect.

“And how do you feel about him?” Celeste asked, her tone too casual to be casual.

Kiara paused, fingers brushing her hair behind her ear. Inside, Kieran hesitated—calculating, measuring every word. Then came the mantra. The Kiara voice.

My name is Kiara Laurent. I am confident, graceful...

She breathed out.

“I think he’s cute,” she said, placing a hand on her hip like she didn’t notice the lack of a skirt. “Smart, ambitious. He definitely sees me as a woman of power, and I like that. I think it could be good for Euphorica… and for the campaign. I’m open to wherever it goes.”

She smiled sweetly, voice dipped in practiced innocence.

Celeste tilted her head. “Huh.”

Kieran’s internal radar went off instantly. That’s not a good ‘huh.’

“I don’t know,” Celeste continued, twirling the remote gently in her hand. “That’s not the impression I got.”

Kiara blinked again, confusion painted across her perfectly made-up face. “What do you mean?”

Celeste smiled wider. “I was there.”

The air snapped tight like a wire pulled too hard.

Kieran’s stomach dropped.

“Excuse me?” Kiara said, still smiling—but her voice had softened, a little too high.

“I was there,” Celeste repeated. “Three tables behind you. Black sunglasses. Hair pinned up. I had a rosé and a front-row seat to you looking like you’d rather be cleaning bathroom tiles than sitting across from Lucian Devereaux.”

Kiara’s smile froze.

Kieran’s internal monologue was all alarms.

What the actual fuck? This bitch was watching me? Like—spying? At my lunch?

“I don’t—” Kiara began, her voice softening, sweetening, “I mean, that’s not—”

Celeste held up a hand, still smirking. “Sweetheart, please. If you were faking interest, you’re a terrible actress. And if that was real indifference? Then you’re risking something big.”

“I wasn’t indifferent,” Kiara protested, tone rising slightly, still delicate. “He just… surprised me, that’s all. He was being very forward and I—”

“Didn’t flirt back,” Celeste cut in. “Didn’t touch your hair. Didn’t lean in. You barely even laughed at his jokes. You were stiff.”

Kiara exhaled through her nose, subtly.

“Well, I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea,” she said, trying to regain footing. “I was being professional.”

Celeste gave a knowing hum.

“Well, unfortunately, that ship has sailed.”

She stood now, adjusting her pencil skirt, walking slowly back toward the vanity. “Because the paparazzi already got shots of the two of you at that table. And they’re circulating. And guess what, sis?”

Kiara didn’t answer.

Celeste turned with a grin. “The press is already asking if the face of Euphorica has found her mystery man. ‘Kiara Laurent Spotted in Midtown with Company Exec: Just Business or Something More?’”

Kieran wanted to melt into the floor. Scream. Kick something. But Kiara… Kiara just blinked softly.

“And that means,” Celeste continued, voice light and final, “Maison de Lune is getting exactly what they wanted. Their ‘Femmes Who Lead’ campaign gets a perfect romantic subplot. A powerful heiress and her handsome counterpart. Viral magic.”

She crossed her arms and smiled like the cat who had not only eaten the canary, but monetized it.

Kiara swallowed hard. “So… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Celeste replied, stepping closer, “that Lucian might not just be lunch anymore.”

Celeste remained perfectly still after dropping the bomb, arms folded across her chest, one heel cocked slightly as she leaned her weight onto one leg. Her smile hadn’t moved in minutes—it was still there, sharp and knowing, soft only in the way silk can hide a knife.

Kiara stood across from her, half-undressed—her blouse still perfectly tucked, but her skirt and shapewear discarded in a neat pile at her feet. The lace of her panties was still tugged aside, the plug nestled neatly between her cheeks. Every shift of her hips made it pulse inside her, a slow, warm pressure she no longer dared to call uncomfortable.

Kieran was, internally, barely breathing.

Of course she was watching me. Of course she snuck into the restaurant and sat there like some psycho fucking handler. What else has she been doing? GPS-tracking my panties?

But Kiara didn’t flinch. Her lips curved upward in a soft, dutiful smile.

Celeste stepped forward, voice still breezy. “So, here’s the thing,” she began, tapping the stimulator’s remote gently against her palm. “Once Mom sees the press coverage of you and Lucian—spoiler, it’s already circulating—she’s going to lean in hard.”

Kiara tilted her head slightly. “She already knows?”

Celeste gave a light, amused laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. She’s the one who sent me to watch. She was worried you might freeze up, and you did. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t soften. You didn’t give him what he wants.” Her smile turned pointed. “But now? We have an opportunity.”

Kiara’s voice stayed calm, even. “An opportunity?”

Celeste crossed to the bed, sitting gracefully, smoothing her skirt as she spoke. “The public wants a story. Maison de Lune wants a woman who commands desire. And Lucian? He’s a perfect co-star. Handsome. Powerful. Interested.”

Kieran seethed silently. I’m not playing girlfriend for some fantasy power couple bullshit.

Celeste's tone shifted—less mocking now, more instructive.

“So. We’re going to course-correct.”

Kiara’s smile held. “Of course. Whatever you think is best.”

Celeste’s eyes glinted, pleased. “Good girl.”

She stood again and stepped closer, holding up the remote like it was a symbol of something far greater.

“This isn’t just about appearances anymore. You’ve clearly figured out how your body responds now. Plugged, vibrating, ****, conditioned.”

Kiara said nothing. Just kept smiling.

“So we’re going to apply that. Systematically. We’re going to retrain your arousal patterns. Away from old habits. Away from girls and fantasy and all those boring masculine feedback loops. And toward something more fitting. More aligned with who you’re becoming.”

Kieran froze behind her eyes. Celeste was calm. Surgical.

“Every day, moving forward, you’ll follow a conditioning program. Repetition, stimulation, and denial. Reinforcement through prostate play. Male-focused media. Visuals. Audio. Submission cues.”

She walked slowly behind Kiara now, voice low.

“Because if you’re going to be Euphorica’s symbol of feminine power, you need to feel it. Not just mimic it. Your body needs to respond when the right man touches your arm, or when he looks at you the way Lucian does.”

Kiara’s voice was soft, controlled. “You’re talking about... rewiring me.”

Celeste nodded once, circling back to face her.

“Exactly. We’re going to shape your craving until it aligns with who you are. A woman who’s soft for power. Wet for control. Aching for the right kind of dominance.”

Kieran’s fists clenched invisibly. You insane, manipulative bitch.

Celeste stepped close. “It won’t be fast. And it won’t be optional. Obedience and consistency are everything. You skip a day, you start over. You resist, you lose access to your release privileges. Understood?”

Kiara’s face betrayed nothing.

She simply nodded. “I understand.”

“Good,” Celeste said, smiling again. “Because this is the final stretch, baby sister. You’ve already come so far. Now it’s time for the part where you stop pretending.”

Kieran said nothing.

“I may be a fashion major, but sis—I’m in charge of your day-to-day, and I can’t have you not fawning over a handsome, smart man and his cock.”

And somewhere deep inside Kieran, something cracked.