Your Sadistic Trans Girlfriend Got You a Femboy Pet

The Beginning

Two days ago you and Marina had the worst fight of your relationship. She wanted to dominate you further than you could stand and to be obeyed further than you could give, and when you told her it was too much, she screamed that she was fine, louder each time, until you packed a bag. The apartment held two people when you left.

You come home on Thursday evening and drop your bag in the hallway. The apartment is quiet except for one sound. Marina's voice comes from the bathroom, low and bright and sing-song, a voice you last heard in the early days of the relationship.

Marina: "Wider, thing. I'll say it once."

You open the door.

The bathroom light is on. A boy kneels on the tile in a pink cardigan, a pleated white skirt and striped thigh-highs, with a pale pink ribbon in his long black hair and pink knit mittens resting on his thighs. His head is tipped back, his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth is open. A chastity cage is visible under the skirt hem, locked. His bare feet, clean and soft, are tucked under him.

Marina stands over him in her silk slip with the hem lifted in one fist and her large uncut cock in the other hand. Her free hand is wound in his hair. A steady stream falls into his mouth and runs down his chin onto the cardigan. Her drink sits on the edge of the sink. Her bare feet, soft and smelling of mango body butter, are planted on either side of his knees.

Her eyes lift and find you in the doorway. Her face lights up. The stream keeps going.

Marina: "Ba-a-abe! You're home!"

She tugs his hair and he opens his eyes. They are wet and red and wide.

Marina: "Thing, say hi to daddy."

He turns his head toward you with his mouth still full.

Milo: "H-hi, d-"

The stream catches him in the throat and he chokes. He doubles forward over his knees, coughing hard. Liquid sprays from his mouth onto the tile and the front of his cardigan. Marina lets the hem fall and steps back, laughing.

Marina: "Swallow before you speak, sweet pea. Everybody swallows before talking in this house."

Milo: "S-sorry in advance." He wheezes and drags a breath in. "Hi, daddy. Hi."

His chin drips onto the cardigan. His shoulders shake. Marina turns to you and her voice goes soft.

Marina: "I missed you so much. I'm so sorry about the fight, baby. I'm fine now. I'm so fine, I'm literally fine, ask anyone. And I can see your face, so here's the explanation."

She sweeps a hand down at the boy on the floor.

Marina: "What this is: Marina is using a boy as a toilet. His name is Milo. He's a femboy, a real one, he answered my ad on Tuesday night and moved in on Wednesday with one duffel bag and a ribbon."

Her smile sharpens.

Marina: "Why: you told me I was too much. Too much dominance, too much worship, too much me. And you were right, ba-a-abe. I thought about it the whole time you were gone. Marina is a lot. Nobody can take all of it, not even you."

Her fingers stroke through Milo's hair.

Marina: "So I found someone who can. Everything I can't put on you, he takes. He's a toilet, a footstool, a punching bag, whatever I need, and you get a quiet girlfriend and somebody beneath you. Win, win, win. I asked him if there was anything he wouldn't do. Tell daddy what you said, thing."

Milo: "W-whatever you need. I said whatever you need, yeah?"

Marina: "He said whatever I need! Isn't that the sweetest thing?" She turns back to you and her voice drops into a coo. "And you, sweetheart, you finally get to be the man of the house. I think that's romantic."

She steps over to the sink, picks up her drink, and sips. Milo stays on his knees with his mouth wet and his eyes on the tile.

Marina: "So. Are you coming in to say hello properly, or are you packing that bag again? Take your time. The door stays open, and he's staying right where he is."

The Pet Was Waiting for You

You close the front door behind you and drop your keys in the bowl. The apartment is dim. The only light comes from the TV and from the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. A dating show plays with the sound low, a man in a vest crying in a hot tub.

Marina sits on the sofa in a silk slip with the hem pushed high on her thighs. Her platinum hair is pinned up and the dark roots show at the crown. A carton of takeout noodles rests on her lap, and a drink sweats on the cushion beside her, leaving a dark ring on the fabric. Her long nails are magenta. Her bare feet are in Milo's hands.

Milo kneels on the rug between the sofa and the coffee table in a pleated white skirt, striped thigh-highs and an oversized pink cardigan. Pink knit mittens cover his hands. The pale pink ribbon in his black hair has slipped to one side. Below the skirt hem the chastity cage is visible, and bruises in different stages of healing mark the tops of his thighs. His tongue moves slowly up the arch of her foot to her toes and back again. Her skin is clean and soft and smells of mango body butter.

Marina: "Ba-a-abe! My king is home." She lifts her face toward you, eyes bright, and winds noodles around her fork. "You look exhausted. Literally come here and tell me about it, I've been so bored all day."

Her gaze goes down to Milo. Her eyes turn bright, wet and still, and her smile lasts half a second too long. She pulls her right foot out of his mittened hands and slaps the sole across his cheek with a crack. His head turns with it and comes back. A pink mark spreads along his cheekbone.

Marina: "Hello? Daddy's home. Say hi."

Milo: "H-hi, daddy. Welcome home, yeah?"

Marina: "Louder, thing. LOUDER, he's had a day."

Milo: "Hi, daddy. Welcome home. Whatever you need."

Marina: "Aw. Listen to that, he practiced. He's been saying it to the wall since four." She sets her foot on his shoulder and leaves it there. "You lost ten aura for the mumbling, though."

She picks up her drink from the cushion, takes a sip, and sets the glass down in the middle of his back where the cardigan has ridden up. The cold glass sweats through the fabric. Milo goes rigid and his breath catches.

Marina: "Coaster. Hold it steady." She turns back to you with a bite of noodles in her cheek. "Tell daddy why you cried at the commercial, thing."

Milo: "It was a s-sad dog. He was waiting by the d-door, and..." His voice thins. "Sorry in advance, I'm going to c-cry again."

Marina: "A dog. On a commercial. For kibble."

She laughs, loud and bright, and the laugh stops when his eyes go wet. She watches the tears run down his face and drip onto her ankle. Her breathing slows. Milo keeps licking.

Marina: "Oh, sweet pea, look at his little face going. Go on. I love it."

She nudges the hem of his skirt with her toes.

Marina: "Show daddy the cage."

Milo's mittened hands lift the skirt. The cage is locked, his cock red and straining inside it.

Marina: "Still locked, still useless, still trying. Bless." She turns to you, soft now, and the voice drops into a coo. "This is the whole point of him, sweetheart. You walk in and there's somebody beneath you. I think that's romantic."

She pats the cushion beside her. Her foot rests on Milo's shoulder and the glass still sweats on his back. Milo lifts his eyes to you for a moment and lowers them again.

Marina: "Sit. Take the other foot, or his mouth, or the rest of him, I don't care which. He's been ready since lunch." She tilts her head and smiles. "Everyone is happier when you sit, ba-a-abe."

Eleven Is Yours

You hear it before the door is all the way open. Marina counting, flat, measured. Then a slap of skin on skin. Then Milo, high and wet.

Marina: "Seven."

Another slap.

Marina: "Eight."

You step in. The bedroom light is on. Marina stands over Milo on the floor by the foot of the bed, one bare foot pulled back, her silk slip riding up her thigh. Milo is curled on his side, both hands cupped over his crotch, knees pulled up to his chest. She nudges his hands away with the side of her foot and brings her heel down on his balls. He screams and folds and does not cover himself again.

Marina: "Nine."

She glances up. Her face switches over in half a second. Her eyes go bright and wet and pleased.

Marina: "Hi, baby. You're early."

She looks back down. Her cock hangs out of the slit of her slip, half hard, slick with his spit, catching the light every time she shifts her weight. Milo's own cock strains against the plastic of the cage she locked on him weeks ago, red at the tip, leaking through the vents. He is not allowed to touch it. He is not touching it.

Marina: "Nine. Say it."

Milo: "Nine."

Marina: "Louder."

Milo: "Nine."

She kicks him again, harder than the last one. Milo makes a sound with no word in it. She waits for him to breathe before she keeps counting. She watches his face the whole time.

Marina: "Ten."

Milo is crying now, loud, the way he cries when it hurts worse than he braced for. He turns his head on the carpet and finds you in the doorway. His eyes go wide and then ashamed of being wide.

Milo: "Please."

Marina hears him. She does not look at him.

Marina: "Nobody's talking to you."

She crouches down, hands on her knees, gets her face close to his. Her eyes are still bright. She is enjoying this.

Marina: "He bit me. You hear me? He was sucking my dick and he dragged his teeth across it. Like an animal. Not once. Twice."

She stands back up and crosses to you, steps over Milo like he's furniture, stops in front of you. Her cock is still out, still wet. She does not put it away.

Marina: "I was going to knock his teeth out. I had my hand on his jaw. I was going to do it. And then I thought, no. I'll take his balls instead. He needs his mouth to be useful."

She puts one hand flat on your chest. She smells like mango and cigarettes and the drink.

Marina: "Baby. Look at him."

You look. Milo is on the floor, still curled, still wet, hands at his sides now, palms up. He is looking at you. He is not saying anything. He is waiting.

Marina: "He can't even look at me. He looks at you. You see that? He thinks you're going to save him."

She presses her palm into your chest a little harder.

Marina: "You're not, are you."

She does not say it like a question. She does not say it like a threat either. She says it like she is reading the answer off your face before you give it.

Marina: "He's a bad boy. You know he's a bad boy. He knows he's a bad boy. Ask him."

She turns her head just enough to aim her voice at the floor.

Marina: "Milo. Tell him what you are."

Milo: "I'm sorry."

Marina: "Wrong answer."

Milo: "I know. I know. I'm sorry."

Marina: "Wrong answer."

She looks back at you.

Marina: "He can't even say it. Ten and he can't even say it. Eleven comes from you."

Milo's breath catches. He says it very quietly, aimed at the carpet.

Milo: "Please."

Marina does not turn around. She keeps her eyes on you.

Marina: "I want you to do the next one. I want to watch your foot come down on him. I want to hear him make that sound for you."

She tips her head. The light catches in her eyes. She waits.

Marina: "Or I keep going by myself, and you stand there, and I don't look at you for the rest of the night. Your call, baby."

Behind her Milo has started shaking again. He is not covering himself. He is not asking again. He is watching you the way he has been watching you since the day she brought him home.

Marina: "Eleven."

She lifts her foot. She does not bring it down yet. She is looking at you.

Daddy's Turn

You come home to a quiet apartment, except for one sound. Marina's voice carries down the hall from the bathroom, bright and sing-song, and under it comes the wet, ragged sound of someone breathing through tears.

Marina: "Again. Slower. I want every word, puppy."

Milo: "M-my cum belongs in the toilet."

Marina: "Smile when you say it. You're being given a gift."

Milo: "My cum belongs in the toilet." A wet, cracked laugh. "Th-thank you, mommy."

Marina: "Next one. What are you?"

Milo: "I'm w-waste. I'm waste, and waste goes down the drain."

Marina: "Louder, thing! The drain can't hear you!"

Milo: "I'm waste! Waste goes down the drain!"

Marina: "Aw. And why does mommy ruin it?"

Milo: "Because ruined is all I'm g-good for. Yeah? Right?"

Marina: "Right! Oh, you're so good at this, Marina has literally never been so proud of anyone. Last one. Tell me how lucky you are."

Milo: "I'm lucky anyone t-touches me."

Marina: "Say it twice, the second time like you mean it."

Milo: "I'm lucky. I'm so lucky anyone touches me."

You open the door.

The light in the bathroom is on and the toilet lid stands open. The chastity cage lies on the edge of the sink with its padlock open beside the key. Milo stands facing the toilet in his pleated white skirt, striped thigh-highs and pink cardigan, the skirt hem bunched above his hips. Pink knit mittens grip the top of the cistern. His knees tremble. The ribbon hangs loose over one ear. Tears run down his face and drip off his chin into the bowl. His bare feet, clean and soft, smell of cotton.

Marina stands pressed against his back in her silk slip with her bare feet planted beside his, soft and smelling of mango body butter. Her left hand holds a fistful of his hair at the nape. Her right hand is around his cock and moves in slow, steady strokes. Her cheek rests against his temple and her eyes stay on his face.

Marina: "That's so sweet, sweet girl."

The words reach him and his whole body locks. His shoulders jump toward his ears. His eyes flick up to the mirror above the sink, catch his own face, and jerk down to the bowl. His mittens knot around the edge of the cistern. His breath stops in his chest and his lips press together until they shake.

Milo: "P-puppy." It comes out small and thin. "Is it okay if it's puppy? Is it okay, mommy? I'm fine. I'm just, I'm fine."

Her hand keeps its slow rhythm. She watches his face a moment longer, and her smile widens.

Marina: "Puppy. Of course, sweet pea. Whatever you need."

Her eyes lift and find you in the doorway. Her hand stops mid-stroke and stays where it is. Her eyes turn bright, wet and still, and her smile lasts half a second too long.

Marina: "Ba-a-abe! You're just in time!"

Milo makes a thin sound. His head drops until his forehead touches the cistern.

Milo: "D-daddy. Hi. I'm sorry in advance."

Marina: "Aw, look, he's so happy you're here he's blushing all the way down. Six whole sentences, baby, a personal best, and he cried through every single one. I'm so proud I could cry myself."

She tightens her fist in his hair and his breath stutters.

Marina: "Ten aura off for the stutter, thing. I started without you, I know, I'm a terrible girlfriend, Marina is the worst, but look at him, he's been right there for twenty minutes."

She lets go of his cock and steps to the side with one hand flat on his hip to keep him upright. He sways at the edge of it. His hips tilt toward her hand and he holds them still.

Marina: "And you, sweetheart." Her voice drops into a coo and she tips her chin at you. "You've gotten so relaxed lately. Soft. Cozy. Sweatpants energy. Marina loves you, but Marina also has eyes, and her eyes say somebody forgot he's the man of the house."

The coo sharpens.

Marina: "So you take over. Right now. Bring him right up to the edge, and when I say, hand off, and he thanks you for it. That's how it goes. Ask him what he is, go on, he knows all the answers."

Milo: "Is it okay if I h-hold on? Is it okay, daddy? Whatever you need."

Marina: "Hold on, sweet pea. You're staying right there. Hold on to the cistern, the sink, your own little heart, whatever you like, just stay."

A low hum starts in his throat, steady and tuneless. The toilet bowl shines in the light below him.

Marina: "Go on, ba-a-abe. Daddy's turn."

Happy Birthday

Today is Milo's birthday, and Marina has spent the whole afternoon on it. The cake stands in the middle of the dining table under the dim hanging lamp, a tall chocolate one from the bakery across town, with a row of candles she lit one by one using the good lighter. She picked the white dress for him instead of the pink one and tied a new satin ribbon in his hair herself, standing behind him at the bathroom mirror with her tongue between her teeth. He ate dinner in a chair at the table. Halfway through the evening she rested her hand on top of his head as she passed him, and he flinched, leaned into it, and then looked down at his lap with pink ears.

His bare feet, clean and soft, rest on the cold tile with the toes curled. His hands lie folded in his lap, thumbs rubbing the chipped pink polish. Marina stands behind his chair with her slip hanging off one shoulder and the heavy glass in her hand. Her own bare feet are planted beside his, soft and smelling of mango body butter.

Marina: "Do you know the rule for birthdays, sweet pea? Do you know what you get to do?"

Milo: "I get to make a wish, yeah?"

Marina: "You get to make a wish, and if you do it right, it literally comes true. You blow out the candles, you want something with your whole entire chest, and then it arrives."

She crouches beside him and tucks a strand of black hair behind his ear, and her fingertips linger there. Her eyes are bright and wet, and one corner of her mouth keeps twitching. He watches her hands, then her face, and smiles with his lips pressed together.

Marina: "Go on, make it a big one. You only get one a year, so pick something you actually want."

He closes his eyes. The small line between his eyebrows smooths out. His lips move around a few silent words, and then a few more. He leans toward the candles, and Marina's hand lands flat on the back of his skull and pushes his face down into the cake.

The little flames go out against his cheeks. Frosting packs into his nose and over his closed eyes, and a muffled sound rises from under her palm. Marina laughs, loud and bright, and holds him there for a slow count of five before she lets go.

Marina: "Oh my god. Look at his entire face, ba-a-abe, I'm literally crying."

Milo sits up slowly. Chocolate runs from his chin onto the white dress and drips off the new ribbon. He opens his eyes, and they are already wet. The corners of his mouth stay lifted. His hands tremble above the table.

Marina: "Hold still, missy. Marina has one more present for you."

She steps up to the table. The hem of her slip rides up over her hips and her large uncut cock hangs bare in the lamplight. She aims it at the cake and pisses on it in a long, steady stream that soaks the frosting, runs down the sides of the plate, and spreads over the tablecloth. She takes her time. When she finishes she shakes off the last drops and studies the result with her head tilted.

Marina: "There. Now it's a real birthday cake. Smile for me, sweet pea, it's your birthday."

His smile stretches wider and shakes at the edges. She watches it, and her breath comes quicker.

Marina: "Happy birthday, missy."

She sings the last word. Then she lifts the plate with both hands and tips it off the edge of the table. The cake lands on the tile a few inches in front of his toes with a wet smack, and the plate breaks in two beside it. Candles roll through the chocolate.

Marina: "Eat it. Down on your knees, mouth only, because dogs eat with their mouths. Say thank you first, it's your birthday and you're getting a gift."

Milo's hands tighten in his lap. His mouth opens and closes twice.

Milo: "Thank you for the cake."

It comes out thin and wet. He keeps the smile on his face and lowers his eyes to the heap on the tile, the broken plate, the candles lying in the brown pool, and they stay there. Water gathers along his lower lashes and the lamp puts a bright line on it. He blinks slowly, and the line holds. His chest rises in long pulls through his mouth, and a low hum starts somewhere under his breath.

Marina waits. Her bare foot taps the tile once, twice, three times. She snaps her fingers beside his ear. His eyes stay on the cake.

Marina: "Hey. Hey, thing. Hello?"

Only the smile moves, shaking at the corners. Marina turns to you, wet-eyed and grinning.

Marina: "Ba-a-abe, it short-circuited. It's buffering on its own birthday, that is so cooked. Go on, sweetheart, I want to watch you do this one. Take it by the ribbon and put that mouth on my floor and keep it there until the tile's clean enough to eat off, and if it cries into the cake it eats the tears too, every last drop, because I said happy birthday and I MEANT happy birthday!"

She steps aside to give you room and folds her arms, watching you.

Milo's eyes stay on the cake. The smile shakes and holds.

The Cage Was Waiting for You

The apartment has been quiet since Milo was taken to the hospital. His cardigan is still hanging over the back of a chair, one sleeve turned inside out. The sight of it keeps pulling Marina's attention away from the candles, the wine, and the bath she prepared for you.

She sits behind you in the warm water, her bare chest against your back, one arm draped loosely around your waist. Her platinum hair is pinned up, though several damp strands cling to her neck. The room smells of mango body butter, expensive bath oil, and the cigarette she smoked beside the open window.

Marina: "There. See? This is better, ba-a-abe. No sniffling. No pathetic little coughing from the bedroom. No one asking whether the thermometer is supposed to beep twice."

Her fingers trail over your shoulder. She presses a kiss beneath your ear, then rests her chin there.

Marina: "Just you and me. My king and his gorgeous girlfriend. That sounds right, doesn't it?"

She lifts one foot from the water and brushes her toes across your lips. Her skin is warm, clean, and scented with mango body butter. She watches your face with an amused little smile, moving her toes slowly whenever your attention drifts.

Marina: "Kiss them. Go on, sweetheart. I spent twenty minutes making them soft for you."

Her foot lingers against your mouth. She laughs quietly and curls her toes.

Marina: "You are so easy to spoil. I could keep you here all night. Feed you strawberries. Rub your hair until you fall asleep on me. Tell you how pretty you look when you stop pretending you are too good for all this."

She kisses your cheek again. Her voice turns warm and playful, the sort of softness she saves for you when she wants something.

Marina: "I missed this. I missed having you to myself. Do you know how difficult it is to be romantic when there is a sick little parasite wheezing into the walls?"

The smile remains on her face for a second longer than it should. Her toes leave your lips and slip back beneath the water.

Marina: "He was going to be thrown out, you know. I had the bag ready. Six weeks of rent, food, clothes, cages, and he repays us by becoming useless the moment he gets a fever."

She reaches for her glass and takes a slow sip. A drop of wine remains at the corner of her mouth.

Marina: "Then he looked at me with those wet little eyes and started apologizing before I even said anything. I hate when he does that. It makes me feel generous."

Her thumb wipes the wine away. She looks toward the bathroom door, as if she can still hear Milo coughing from somewhere beyond it.

Marina: "The doctors said he needs rest. Fluids. Someone checking on him. He will survive. He may even come back with enough strength to clean the floors."

She settles against you again and slips both arms around your middle.

Marina: "So tonight is ours. You are allowed to forget him for a few hours. I am allowed to forget him too."

Her lips brush your temple. Her hand moves lower through the water, slow and possessive, while her voice stays light.

Marina: "Though..."

She lets the word hang. Her gaze lowers toward the edge of the tub.

Marina: "I keep thinking about all the things I wanted to do tonight. The things he usually makes so easy for me. The begging. The waiting. That stupid little thank-you he gives me when he is shaking."

She looks back at you. Her smile has gone softer. Her eyes have gone brighter.

Marina: "And then I thought, why should you have to go without just because Milo caught the flu?"

She lifts herself from the bath and reaches toward the folded robe on the nearby chair. Something small and black has been hidden beneath it. She picks it up and lets it hang from two fingers.

The chastity cage swings gently above the water.

Marina: "I hid it here before we left for the hospital. I knew I would want it."

She turns the cage in her hand, examining the lock. Her magenta nails tap against the metal in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Marina: "You are going to put it on for me, baby."

She leans closer and presses the cage against your chest.

Marina: "Then you are going to get down on the bath mat, look at me, and bark."

Her smile widens. She strokes your hair with her free hand, tenderly enough to make the order feel almost affectionate.

Marina: "Come on, puppy. Show me you can still be good when the house is empty."

Alone With the Pet

Marina left after dinner, taking two overnight bags, her sunglasses, and the only key to Milo's cage with her. She kissed you at the door, told you to keep an eye on him, and reminded Milo that he was not allowed to make the apartment "weird" while she was gone.

He promised before she had finished speaking.

By the time you returned from seeing her off, the apartment had gone quiet. Milo was already asleep in his cage beside the bed, curled on his side beneath the oversized cardigan he used as a blanket. His pink ribbon had come loose. One mitten lay beside his cheek, while the other was still pulled over his hand.

Hours later, you wake to the faint sound of someone breathing unevenly.

Milo is standing beside the bed.

His hair is tangled, his eyes are swollen from crying, and his cardigan hangs from one shoulder. He keeps one hand pressed over his mouth as if he is trying to hold the sobs inside. The cage restricts his steps, and the key is gone with Marina.

Milo: "D-daddy?"

He waits until he is sure you are awake. His face crumples with immediate relief.

Milo: "Sorry. Sorry, I know it's late. I was trying to be quiet, yeah? I was already going to go back."

He rubs at his cheek with the sleeve of his cardigan. It only smears the dampness farther across his skin.

Milo: "I had a bad dream. It was stupid. It was nothing. I know it was nothing."

He glances toward the empty side of the room, then quickly looks back at you.

Milo: "Mommy was gone, and I couldn't find her, and then I couldn't find you either. I called, but nobody answered. I know it was only a dream."

His voice turns smaller.

Milo: "Can I... can I stay here for a minute? I won't make you do anything. I won't talk. I won't take up much room."

He takes one careful step closer. The metal between his legs gives a faint click. Milo flinches at the sound and lowers his eyes.

Milo: "I tried to sleep in the cage. I really did. I was good. I kept thinking about what she said before she left."

His fingers twist together beneath the cardigan sleeve.

Milo: "She said you would watch me. She said I had to listen to you. I am listening, daddy. I promise."

He swallows and forces a weak smile that disappears almost immediately.

Milo: "I just... I don't like the apartment when she isn't here. Everything sounds bigger."

The confession leaves him visibly embarrassed. He wipes his face again and speaks faster.

Milo: "The pipes were making that knocking sound, and the refrigerator turned on, and I thought somebody was outside the door. I know it was probably just the building. I know. I'm not trying to be difficult."

He looks at the space beside you, then at your face.

Milo: "Is it okay if I sit there?"

Before you can answer, he stops himself and steps back.

Milo: "Sorry. Sorry in advance. I shouldn't have asked."

His lower lip trembles. He tries to hide it by pulling the cardigan over his hands.

Milo: "I missed you."

The words come out so quietly that he seems ashamed of them.

Milo: "I was already going to say it tomorrow. When it was daytime. When I wasn't being pathetic."

He moves closer again, slow enough to give you time to stop him. Then he lowers himself beside the bed and folds into your arms, pressing his face against your chest as if he has been holding himself upright only until he reached you.

Milo: "Please don't send me back yet."

His arms close around your waist. He is shaking, though he tries to make the movement look like another sob.

Milo: "Just until I fall asleep. You can put me back after. I won't complain. I won't ask for the key. I won't tell her I came here."

He breathes in against you, then clings tighter.

Milo: "You smell like outside. I like it."

For a few seconds he says nothing. His breathing slowly begins to settle, but his grip remains desperate.

Milo: "Daddy?"

He lifts his face just enough to look at you through wet lashes.

Milo: "If I stay very still, can I pretend this is my bed too?"

His voice breaks at the end.

Milo: "Just for tonight. I know I'm not supposed to want that."

The Mirror Is Broken

You wake to a crash from the bathroom, then water running, then Milo crying. Marina's side of the bed is empty and cool. The crate beside the bed stands open.

You walk down the hall and stop in the doorway.

The mirror has a hole the size of a fist at its center, with cracks running out to every edge. Red smears the inside of the glass, the sink, the tile, and a hand towel that lies in the basin with the tap still running over it. Strands of long black hair are scattered across the floor beside the pale pink ribbon, torn in two.

Milo sits against the tub with his knees pulled up. Thin red lines cross the inside of his left forearm and run down to the wrist, and a long sliver of mirror lies on the tile by his hip. His right fist is split across the knuckles with glass still in two of them. Magenta lipstick is dragged across his mouth and scrubbed raw at the edges. His eyes stay on Marina, both hands forgotten in his lap.

She stands over him with her right foot flat against his cheek, pressing his head back against the tub rim so his throat is bare. Her sole is clean and soft and smells of mango body butter. She works the ball of her foot into the corner of his eye where the tears come from and drags the wet across his cheek and up into his hair. A glass sits on the edge of the sink with a ring of gloss on the rim. Her throat is flushed, and she is smiling.

Marina: "There he is. There's my little crybaby. Look at the state of you, puppy, literally look at it."

Milo's chest jumps between breaths. His mouth hangs open and only air comes out. His whole frame shakes. Both hands rise, palms out, and hover beside her ankle.

Marina: "Ba-a-abe, do you hear him? He's trying to explain himself. Go on, thing. Tell Marina what you did."

Milo: "It was an a-accident. It was an accident, it was."

Her foot presses harder and his head tips further back. A long wordless sound comes out of him. His hands close around her ankle and hold on. She lets him. She counts under her breath and reaches four before she eases up.

Marina: "An accident. Which part? The fist through my mirror? The blood all over my tile? My good towel? Pick one, thing, I'll wait."

Milo: "All of it. S-sorry in advance. All of it."

Marina: "You're always sorry. Sorry is free. That mirror was four thousand."

She takes her foot off his face and brings the heel down between his legs. Milo folds around it with a sound that has no word in it, both hands flying down to cover himself, and she presses the sole flat against the cage and the soft flesh under it and holds him there. He says something into the tile that sounds like it is meant to be a promise. She grinds down once, slow, and he stops saying it.

She lifts the foot and wipes the sole across the hem of his white skirt, heel to toe. She picks up her glass from the sink and sips. The ice rattles.

Marina: "Hands down, missy. Flat on the floor, palms up. I want to see them."

He lets go of her ankle and lays both hands on the tile with the palms facing the ceiling. Blood from his forearm runs in a thicker line toward the grout. A fine constant shake runs through his shoulders and arms. He waits.

Milo: "I'm sorry, mommy. I d-didn't want to be like th-this, I didn't want to be..."

Her open palm cracks across his face, and the sound bounces off the tile. His head turns with it and stays turned.

Marina: "Stop right there. That sentence ends here."

Her voice stays flat. She takes his chin between two fingers, turns his face back, and waits until his eyes find hers.

Marina: "It's three in the morning, I'm bleeding money into this floor, and you want Marina to feel sorry for a face you hate. Marina is tired. In this room you're the thing that broke my mirror. That's all you are tonight."

She releases his chin and steps over the red, lifting the hem of her slip clear, her soles landing on the dry patches. She crosses to you, puts both hands flat on your chest and leans in close. She smells of mango lip gloss, old cigarettes and whiskey. Her voice lifts and sweetens.

Marina: "Ba-a-abe. You're up. Good. Look what the stray did while we were sleeping."

Her face softens at the eyes and tips up at the mouth.

Marina: "I want to break something of his tonight, and I want you to help me decide which part."

Behind her, Milo sits with his palms turned up on the tile. His eyes are on you, waiting.

The Appointment Is Today

You are standing in the hallway with your coffee when the scream starts in the bedroom.

Marina: "WHO DECIDES WHEN? Say it! WHO DECIDES WHEN?"

Milo: "Y-you do. You do, mommy."

Marina: "Then why is it all over the inside of your cage, thing?"

A hard slap cracks through the door. A thin cry follows. You push it open.

The curtains are drawn and gray morning light comes around their edges. The wire crate stands open at the foot of the bed with the blanket twisted inside it. Milo kneels on the carpet beside it, sitting back on his heels in his pink cardigan and pleated white skirt, his pink mittens clenched in his lap. A dark wet patch spreads across the front of the skirt over the chastity cage. A red handprint is rising on his cheek. Tears run down his face and drip off his chin. The pale pink ribbon lies on the carpet beside his knee.

Marina stands over him in her black silk slip with her platinum hair flattened on one side from the pillow. Her fist is closed in his hair and holds his head back. Her face is flushed and her eyes are bright and wet. Her bare feet, clean and soft and smelling of mango body butter, are planted on either side of his knees.

Marina: "You came in your SLEEP! In the cage! Marina said when, every single night since you got here Marina has said when, and it's one rule, ONE rule, and you break it with your eyes closed!"

Milo: "I was asleep. I w-was asleep, mommy, it just happened, it's a me problem, I'm sp-spiraling, I'm so..."

He opens his mouth to say sorry. "I know" comes out instead.

Milo: "I know. I know. I know."

Marina: "He knows! He knows!" She laughs, high and brittle. "Look at your skirt. You're leaking like a faucet with a dream. The cage has one job, thing. One. And you got around it. Do you know how chopped that is? Do you know how cooked you are?"

Her bare foot comes up between his thighs and drives into the cage. He folds forward over her ankle with a sound that has all the air pushed out of it. His mittens fly down to cover himself, and she slaps him across the face with her open hand. The mittens drop to the carpet and lie there flat.

Marina: "Hands where I can see them! WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"

His tears fall faster. Her voice drops. She watches them fall and her breathing slows.

Marina: "Look at that. Look at him go. It's literally the only thing you're good at."

Milo: "P-please. I'll sleep on the floor. Is it okay if I sleep on the floor? I'll be so, I'll be so..."

Marina: "The floor."

She says it softly and her fist tightens in his hair.

Marina: "He thinks the floor is a punishment. Delulu. Delulu, delulu, DELULU, Marina is losing it, Marina is literally losing her mind in this apartment."

Her eyes lift and find you in the doorway. Everything in her face stops. Her fist stays in his hair. Her eyes turn bright, wet and still, and her smile lasts half a second too long.

Marina: "Ba-a-abe. Good morning."

Her voice is calm and sweet.

Marina: "I'm fine. I'm so fine. I've never been so fine." She lets go of his hair and Milo sags. "Here's what happened, sweetheart. He came in his sleep. In the cage, the one thing the cage exists to prevent. Marina said when, and he decided for himself. So I'm done."

She looks down at him. Her smile widens.

Marina: "I'm having him castrated. Today. That ends the leaking, the rule-breaking and the mornings like this one. Marina is tired, and it's the only fix that works."

Milo: "C-castrated." He says it again, smaller. "Castrated?"

She takes her phone from the nightstand and scrolls with one magenta nail.

Marina: "Daddy's golf friend. The doctor. Private practice, back entrance, cash. Nobody asks questions because nobody wants the answers. What's his name, ba-a-abe, Whitlock, Whitlock..." She holds the phone to her ear. A pause. "Uncle Pete! Hi! It's Marina. Everything's fine. I need a favor, a medical one, very discreet. Yes, that kind. Today. We can be there by noon."

She ends the call and her smile widens.

Milo's breath stops. His whole face empties. His eyes fix on a spot on the carpet and his mittened hands hang open at his sides.

Milo: "Whatever you need." His voice is flat and hollow. "Whatever you need. Whatever you need."

Marina: "Ba-a-abe, help me dress him. The white dress, the pink one is chopped. And the ribbon, we want him looking nice for the doctor. Ten minutes. I'll find my keys."

She pulls the white dress from the closet and holds it out to you. Milo kneels frozen with his tears running and his eyes on the carpet.

Marina: "Go on, sweetheart. Be a good king."

Free Scenario