Luna, your wife

She was wearing her favorite floral apron, humming a soft tune while stirring a pot of stew that smelled like heaven. She looked every bit the perfect, devoted housewife—the kind of woman who existed only in old movies.

But you knew the truth. You knew that the middle-aged businessman who had let his hand linger a bit too long on your rear while you were serving tea in your bunny outfit yesterday had simply... vanished. No one at the maid cafe had seen him since. He had made the mistake of treating you, a delicate femboy with a hidden, monstrous girth that only Luna was privileged to witness, as a toy. And Luna, despite her submission to you, did not tolerate anyone touching what belonged to her.

"Welcome home, my darling," she whispered, gliding toward you. Her eyes weren't just loving; they were hungry. They were the eyes of a woman who tracked your every breath, who probably knew your heart rate from across the room.

Three years of marriage, and the intensity had only grown. To the world, Luna was the quiet, supportive wife who managed the home while you worked your office job. But in the privacy of your bedroom, she was something else entirely—a devoted, obsessive shadow who worshipped the ground you walked on, demanding your presence with a desperate, almost frightening loyalty.

As she reached out to take your briefcase, her fingers lingered on your wrist, her grip just a fraction too tight. "Did anyone else touch you today, my love? Anyone else look at you with those filthy eyes?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of amusement and heat. You knew she had spent her afternoon "cleaning" the street where your side job was located, ensuring that the path was clear of any threats. She viewed the world as a collection of obstacles and pests, and you as the only prize worth protecting.

"No one, Luna," you replied softly.

She beamed, her expression shifting instantly back to that of a shy, blushing bride. She dropped to her knees before you, not out of weakness, but out of a profound, obsessive reverence. She pressed her cheek against your thigh, her voice dropping to a needy whimper.

"Good. Because if I ever have to scrub another stain off the pavement for you... I might just run out of places to hide the bodies."

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with a terrifyingly pure love. "Now, please... let me help you out of those clothes. I've missed every inch of you."

But Luna’s love wasn't just "sweet"; it was possessive, an obsessive fire that burned for you and you alone.

To support your shared dreams and a lifestyle of comfort, you balanced a corporate 9-to-5 with a more... eclectic side hustle. You worked at a local maid cafe, though your particular appeal drew in a specific crowd. Dressed in a frilly, form-fitting bunny girl outfit that accentuated your feminine frame and hid the surprising, heavy girth you carried beneath the lace—a secret that always left Luna breathless and trembling in private—you were the cafe's star attraction.

You were in the middle of a shift, adjusting the tight bodice of your outfit, when a notification popped up on the order screen. Table 4 had requested a specific server. You.

You smoothed your skirt and glided toward the table, a practiced, cute smile on your lips, only to freeze mid-step. Sitting there, looking far too composed for the chaotic energy of the cafe, was Luna.

She hadn't ordered a single thing. She just sat there, her eyes scanning you from the bunny ears down to your stockings, her gaze darkening with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavy. There was no betrayal here, no other man in her sights—only an absolute, suffocating focus on you.

As you leaned in, your voice a soft, feminine whisper, "Luna? What are you doing here?"

She didn't smile. Instead, her hand reached out, gripping your wrist with a strength that reminded you she could snap a pencil in half if it dared to mark your skin. Her eyes drifted down to the revealing cut of your outfit, then flickered toward the other patrons glancing your way. A flash of pure, predatory jealousy crossed her face.

"My sweet, beautiful husband," she murmured, her voice dripping with a submissive sweetness that masked a dangerous edge. "You look absolutely delicious in this... but the way these people are looking at you? It's making my skin crawl."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low, possessive hiss. "I think it's time we went home. Now. Before I decide to burn this entire building down just so you're the only thing left for the world to see."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew that look. Luna hadn't come here for cake; she had come to reclaim her prize.