Delilah bent over the coffee table, her breath already catching in broken gasps. Her skirt had been flipped up, panties yanked down and bunched around her knees like a white flag. The table felt cold under her trembling hands. Her wig was slipping, her mascara already streaking.
Across from her, Alina sat on the couch, one leg crossed, glass of red wine in hand, her expression unreadable.
And behind her—looming—was Halden.
He flexed the strap between his hands with deliberate calm. His pants were already off—folded neatly over the side of the armchair, as if this had been planned all along. He stood in boxers and a half-unbuttoned shirt, perfectly at ease.
“You used to strut around this house,” he murmured, pacing behind her. “Always the man. Always in control.”
The first lash landed hard across the backs of her thighs. Delilah yelped, her legs jolting.
Halden’s voice stayed calm.
A choked sob escaped her.
Halden tilted his head. “Are you? Or are you just sorry you got caught?”
Delilah whimpered, shaking.
“She’s been desperate for attention for weeks,” Halden said. “Sniffling around the hallway. Sneaking looks.”
He leaned in, voice dark with amusement.
“Last week, she dropped to her knees and unzipped me without a word.”
Alina’s brow lifted slightly, but she didn’t speak.
“She gagged herself,” Halden continued, circling her now. “Like she missed it. Like she needed it.”
Delilah cried out again—louder now. Her whole body rocked forward.
“I didn’t—please—I didn’t mean to—”
Halden’s voice sharpened. “Didn’t mean to?”
She hadn’t. She hadn’t begged. She’d been scared. Pressured. Cornered in the pantry while Halden closed the door behind him and told her she should prove she could still be useful.
But now… now Alina was watching. The strap was still warm.
She knew exactly what would happen if she told the truth.
“I—” she started, then swallowed it.
“…Y-yes, Sir,” Delilah whispered. “I begged.”
Her voice cracked on the lie.
“There’s my honest little sissy.”
Alina set her wine down to the sound of the sissy's screams.
“Is that true?” she asked, voice mild.
Delilah turned toward her, wide-eyed, tears spilling. Her mouth opened—
—but Halden reached down and tugged her head sharply back by her wig.
Her answer came immediately.
“I—It’s true,” she whispered. “I… I begged.”
“Well,” she said, “that certainly clears things up.”
Halden released her hair.
Delilah hesitated—but only for a breath.
She knew what was expected.
She turned and crawled forward, her knees sinking into the rug. The shift in movement made her realize just how much she was trembling. Her eyes flicked to the couch, to her wife’s calm, detached gaze. Alina didn’t blink.
Halden was already waiting.
Boxers pulled low. Arrogant. Silent.
“You remember how to behave,” he said simply.
The air was thick. Her chest felt crushed by the silence. She opened her mouth.
Her cheeks were already wet again. Her jaw tensed. Her stomach turned.
She moved with mechanical obedience, every breath ragged, every second a test of her resolve. She choked softly, coughed once, her shoulders jerking. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not with the strap still visible. Not with Alina watching.
Halden ran a hand through her wig lazily, pressing her lower.
“She really is pathetic,” she murmured. “She used to raise her voice when we argued. Now look at her. She can’t even raise her head.”
Halden chuckled. “She knows now.”
Delilah sobbed softly around the act, her tears dripping to the carpet below. Her mouth wasn’t hers anymore. Her wife’s silence hurt more than the strap. The heat in her face burned hotter than her thighs.
Halden’s breathing deepened.
He shifted his stance slightly, one hand gripping the back of Delilah’s wig, the other tightening at his side. His hips began to tense.
She could feel it—his rhythm stuttering, his grip tightening.
A sharp grunt escaped Halden’s throat as he pushed her head down fully, pressing her face into his skin. His body pulsed, rigid and satisfied, unloading into her mouth while her whole frame shook with quiet, panicked gagging.
Not with his hand anchoring her. Not with her wife watching.
“Mmf—” she whimpered, eyes squeezing shut, tears springing fresh as her throat tensed and her mouth filled. It was warm. Overwhelming. Final.
“Stop,” Halden muttered, exhaling through his nose. “Hold it.”
Her mouth stayed closed, cheeks flushed and bulging. Her breathing hitched as she trembled on her knees.
Halden released her hair and took a slow step back, adjusting himself with lazy confidence.
“Don’t swallow,” he said, voice low and satisfied. “Not yet.”
Then, turning to the silent woman seated across from them:
The heels clicked across the floor.
Alina stood in front of her now, arms folded, eyes cold.
“Show me,” she said flatly.
Delilah’s lip quivered—but she tilted her head up. Opened her mouth just enough to reveal the milky, defeated shame resting on her tongue.
A thread of drool slipped from the corner of her lips.
One hard gulp. Eyes clenched. A fresh sob escaped her nose.
“Good girl,” Alina added with quiet disgust.
Halden wiped himself with her apron and crouched beside her.
He took her chin in his hand.
He wiped another tear off her cheek with his thumb and flicked it away.
“Now,” he said, standing, “get her diapered. Anyone who cries and drools that much needs a good pair of pampers.”
She reached into the credenza drawer and pulled out a white disposable. Thick. Soft. Loud.
Alina just raised an eyebrow. “Lie down, legs apart.”
Delilah obeyed, cheeks flushed, mascara ruined.
Alina knelt beside her, folding the diaper open with a sharp snap.
The thick back panel slid under her hips.
Alina tugged her panties off entirely now, exposing the locked pink chastity cage—small, tight, and humiliating.
Halden chuckled behind her, voice full of cruel satisfaction.
“Pathetic little thing. Locked up like she belongs.”
Alina traced a finger down the seam of the cage, slow and deliberate. A sticky tension clung to the tip. Ropes of milky arousal—threaded between the creases of the plastic, caught in the grooves around the cage’s base.
She gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Well. Someone enjoyed the strap,” she murmured. “Or maybe it was the part where he used your mouth like a fleshlight.”
She lifted the glistening finger, inspecting it with cool detachment.
“You get off on this,” she said. “Being a maid. Being used. Being a little caged-up slut begging to serve.”
Delilah trembled—visibly humiliated, unable to look up.
“You’re disgusting,” Alina added, voice flat. “Absolutely filthy.”
Delilah squirmed—but didn’t resist.
“You should be ashamed,” Alina continued. “But you’re not, are you? You’re just glad someone’s still willing to clean you.”
“You should be. I trusted you to be a man. Turns out you’re barely even a house pet.”
She wiped her carefully—under, around the cage, down the thighs. She applied lotion in slow, humiliating circles.
Then came the powder. A fresh puff across her groin.
Then the front panel, folded up and sealed in place.
Alina smoothed the landing zone. “There. No more accidents on the floor.”
Ran his hand over the front. Firm. Audible.
“She’s warming up already.”
“She stays padded until she earns back the privilege of underwear. Which—let’s be honest—might be never.”
Halden nodded. “I prefer her like this.”
They left her on the floor.
Thickly diapered. Sniffling. Face streaked. Wig lopsided. Legs still spread, like the decision had never been hers.
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