Chapter: Confessions Between Fingers
David lay back on the same bed they once shared as husband and wife, though he barely recognized it now — or himself. His thighs were spread again, breath shallow, the room thick with heat and memory.
She sat between his legs, one hand moving slowly, deliberately, watching every twitch of his face as he gasped beneath her. This beautiful pussyboy.
“You have to tell me,” she murmured, voice low. “Why did you do this to yourself?”
David blinked at her, caught between past shame and present need. He swallowed, eyes fluttering as her fingers worked inside him with careful pressure.
“I think…” he panted, “I think I was always submissive. I just didn’t know how to live with it. I didn’t understand what I was. So I… overcompensated. Took control. Used sex to win instead of connect.”
She stared at him, her expression unreadable.
“I was a terrible husband,” he whispered.
“You were,” she said, but without cruelty. Her fingers didn’t stop. “But you’re this now. You chose this.”
“I did,” he said, biting his lip. “And I’ve never felt more myself.”
Her fingers found the rhythm that unraveled him. His body arched and trembled, a long moan escaping as he came again — soft, shaking, undone beneath her.
She held him after, hand resting on his belly, watching the rise and fall of his breath.
And then he smiled — small, grateful, serene — and whispered, “Also… Jeff made me gay with the Chronivac.”
She blinked. “He what?”
David kissed her hand. “He made sure I’d want him. Fully. But I’m still grateful for everything you gave me. And I think it’s time I returned the favor.”
He rolled her gently onto her back before she could argue. And then he did return the favor — with reverence, with skill, and with a patience she’d never known from him before. Her body rose to meet his mouth, his hands, his rhythm — again, and again, and again. She came more than she had in years.
By the time it ended, she was boneless, breathless, stunned.
David stood slowly, gathering his things.
“You’re not allowed to be this good now,” she murmured, half-joking, half-serious.
David looked back over his shoulder, slipping on his shirt. “Too late.”
And then he walked out, hips swaying just a little, leaving her flushed and wrecked in the best way — haunted not by who he was, but by who he’d become.