Chapter Five - The Housewife

Harry stirred beneath the weight of his bedsheets, his body heavy with exhaustion as he clawed his way out of a dreamless sleep. His eyes fluttered, reluctant to open, as if his mind resisted the pull of consciousness. The softness of his luxury apartment bed cradled him, and the familiar press of Egyptian cotton sheets against his hairless skin felt too soothing to move.

The gamer groaned and tried to piece together how he had ended up here. He couldn’t remember how he ended up in bed, and his memory of the evening before was a thick and impenetrable fog. Harry wasn’t much of a drinker, so he knew that booze wasn’t the culprit. He had logged into Lifesynced, hadn’t he? He didn’t remember logging out of the damned virtual reality game. He had held a meeting with someone, eager to get to the bottom of his inexplicable transformations. He shook his head, attempting to rid his mind of the haze, and froze to the spot; something felt wrong.

He lifted his hand to remove the unusual strands of hair blocking his vision and gasped sharply, a sudden jab against his cheek halted his motion. The 19-year-old stared in horror at his hands as he opened them up for examination. Long, glossy candy-pink acrylic nails gleamed in the morning light filtering through his window, each adorned with a silver jewel at the cuticle. Suddenly, the memories of last night’s in-game events came flooding back to him.

Harry’s breath paused momentarily, his heart pounding as the memories crystallized. The Gilded Fork, that upscale restaurant in Lifesynced, where his former friends turned nemesis, Michael King, had sat across from him, smirking with cruel satisfaction. The bastard had revealed himself as Lord Mitch Wandsworth, admitted to funding Harry’s humiliating makeover, and proposed that Harry pose as his in-game wife to investigate further a theory he had given Harry no evidence of.

The engagement ring, slipped onto his finger as he reluctantly agreed to the deal, had been the last thing he remembered before dizziness swallowed the streaming star whole. He had blacked out, hadn’t he? But how had he ended up here, in his own bed, with no memory of logging out?

Harry bolted from the bed and stood upright. The weight of his hated DD-cup breasts sat uncomfortably on his chest, straining against the loose t-shirt he had worn yesterday. He ignored them, his focus locked on the full-length mirror across the room, a source of deep-rooted anxiety and fear these days.

He stepped toward the mirror, his heart still hammering in his chest. The reflection hit the man like a fist to the gut. A cascade of platinum blonde hair, streaked with delicate pink highlights, spilled over his shoulders, its wavy curls stretching to his mid-back, shimmering in the soft light. It was the exact hairstyle that had been forced upon him in that wretched Lowtown salon, inexplicably transferred to the real work, just like his previous alterations. His short, shaggy, reddish-brown locks were gone, replaced by a cascade of blonde curls.

“What the fuck?!” he muttered with a low, furious growl. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

He leaned closer, studying the stranger staring back. His face bore the plump, cupid bow lips that had appeared days ago, their exaggerated pout a permanent fixture that twisted his once-confident smirk into something sultry and freaky. The DD-cup breasts straining against his t-shirt were a grotesque addition from earlier in the week, their unnatural firmness a constant reminder of his virtual alter ego. His skin, hairless and unnaturally smooth since the game’s first intrusion, gleamed superficially in the morning light. The pink acrylic nails were his newest additions, completing the image of Hayley, the dumb bimbo, creeping into his reality.

“Son of a bitch,” Harry snarled with a mix of rage and despair as he stared at himself. “This goddamn game is stealing my fucking life!”

He pressed his forehead against the mirror and thought back to his latest encounter in the game. The memories of Michael’s smirk and his calculated words at the restaurant burned brighter now. That bastard had orchestrated the makeover, the nails, the hair, all of it, just to humiliate him. That dork must have known more than he was letting on, Harry thought. At least the gamer had a lead now; he needed to find that son of a bitch and pummel him black and blue until he shared exactly what he knew.

Harry tore himself away from the mirror, his long blonde curls swaying with each movement. His fists clenched, but he immediately uncurled his fingers as the new, long fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. The young gamer stormed to his closet, determined to hide his nightmare. He didn’t want to leave the house, but knew it was inevitable if he was going to find that asshole.

He shoved aside tight shirts and fitted jackets, anything that might cling to his altered curves, and pulled out a baggy gray hoodie; its oversized fabric promising to conceal his appearance as much as possible. He tugged it on, the hood drawn over his head to hide his ridiculous hair, though stray strands still escaped and reflected in the light. Digging further, he found a pair of loose jeans and slipped them on, giving him a grungy look, although the hoodie did little to hide the protrusion of his new chest. He slipped on a pair of white trainers and glanced back at his ridiculous image in the mirror. His baggy outfit did nothing to hide his permanently pouty lips, and he looked like a tomboy attempting to hide the oversized assets God had given her.

Shaking his head, he turned from the mirror and stared at his long, humiliating fingernails. Despite the California heat, he decided to slip on a pair of black gloves to hide the garish pink color before trotting out of the apartment. He had a score to settle.

❖

Harry stormed onto his college campus, his baggy gray hoodie pulled low, shrouding the platinum blonde curls that threatened to spill out. His hoodie and jeans did what they could to conceal his altered body, but the DD-cup breasts protruding beneath the fabric drew curious glances from passing students.

Their whispers and sidelong looks grated on his, reminding him of the humiliation he endured the last time he was on campus. However, he did his best to ignore the comments, and fixed his fury on one target: Michael King. That bastard had answered, Harry was sure of it, and he was determined to beat them out of his nemesis if he had to.

After searching the courtyard and the student services department, Harry shoved through the glass doors of the Digital Media building, his eyes scanning the crowded hallway for one scrawny man in particular. Students milled about, occasionally glancing his way. In many ways, his overdressed appearance was more eye-catching than the alternative.

Harry knew Michael’s habits and headed towards the corridor where his former friend’s locker resided. His trainers carried him swiftly down the corridor, ignoring the amused stares from a group of girls giggling to each other. The gamer rounded a corner and spotted him: Michael, scrawny and bespectacled, stuffing books into his locker, oblivious to the fury approaching him.

Michael glanced up, his thin lips curling into a smug grin as he caught sight of Harry’s hooded figure. The grin immediately vanished, replaced by a flash of panic, as Harry stepped forward and charged towards the nerd. Michael slammed his locker shut, dodging a startled student clutching a laptop, and darting down the hallway.

Harry pursued, his soul filled with rage and retribution, his gloved hands clenched into fists. Michael turned a corner and ducked into a cleaner’s closet, but the transformed gamer caught the door slamming shut. He casually approached the closet and pulled the door open, finding the cowardly Michael cornered against the cupboard wall.

“You’re gonna talk, you piece of shit loser,” Harry growled in a low snarl, dripping with venom. He lunged forward, grabbing a shuddering Michael by the collar of his ill-fitting t-shirt, and slammed him against the closet wall with a force that almost knocked Michael’s glasses off his face. The weaker man’s feet dangled as Harry’s gloved fist drew back, poised to strike.

“Stop!” Michael pleaded with urgency, preparing for the pain coming his way.

Harry’s fist froze, trembling midair, his arm locked as if bound by an invisible chain. His eyes widened, confusion crashing through his anger, his body refusing to obey his will. He wanted to smash Michael’s face, to make him pay for the humiliation and interrogate him for answers. Still, his muscles wouldn’t budge, held by a force he couldn’t comprehend.

Michael opened his eyes, and his terrified expression slowly gave way to a joyous smirk. “Aha, it worked!” He said with glee. “Put me down,” Michael commanded, his tone far steadier and his confidence rising with each passing moment.

Harry’s hand inexplicably opened, releasing Michael’s collar, and the sleight man’s feet settled on the closet floor with a soft thud. Harry stepped back, his mind spinning a whirlwind of rage and bewilderment. “What’s going on?” Harry asked venomously as he tried to strike again, but his body continued to betray him.

Michael pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Follow me,” he commanded, brushing past Harry, his shoulder grazing the gray hoodie as he stepped out of the closet.

Harry’s legs moved, trailing Michael down the hallway, each step a violation of his intent. He clenched his jaw and tried to fight the invisible compulsion, but he couldn’t resist, couldn’t break free.

Students parted around the pair, their curious stares further humiliating the popular streamer, as Michael led Harry to a vacant computer lab. The door clicked shut, and Michael lowered the blinds, ensuring the two remained in total privacy.

“Lower your hood,” Michael ordered, turning to face Harry, his bespectacled eyes shimmering with a mix of amusement and control. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Harry’s hands moved against his will, pulling the hood back, revealing the perfect platinum blonde curls that cascaded over his shoulders, their pink highlights adding to the humiliation of an already feminine hairstyle. The gamer’s plump, cupid bow lips trembled, his face a mask of fury, shame, and confusion.

Michael examined and admired Harry’s altered appearance. “Wow, so it really is true,” he said in a cryptic fascination that prompted Harry to second-guess how much Michael actually knew. “You look good, but that game sure did a number on you.” The dork’s tone was mocking, which only heightened Harry’s fury.

Michael leaned against a computer desk, his smirk widening as he raised his hand, displaying a sleek silver ring glinting on his left ring finger, its surface etched with subtle hieroglyphs. “This is the Master ring,” he said nonchalantly. “It controls the slave ring you’re wearing. Go on, take those gloves off and take a look.”

Harry’s hands trembled as he peeled off the black gloves, revealing his ridiculous glossy pink nails that shimmered under the lab’s fluorescent lights. He dropped the gloves onto a nearby keyboard and stared at his left hand. A flashy, feminine diamond ring gleamed on his ring finger, its intricate design catching the gamer’s eyes. He noticed faint hieroglyphs that matched his rival’s along the curve of the ring.

Harry grabbed the diamond and yanked it with a desperate force, but the ring refused to slide off, stuck as if it were held by an invisible pull. His fingers slipped, the nails clicking against the metal, but it wouldn’t budge; he was stuck with it.

“You’re wasting your time,” Michael said, his voice dripping with condescension as he crossed his arms. “That slave ring binds you to me. You cannot remove it unless I command you to take it off. You’ll do whatever I say, whether you like it or not, Hayley.”

Harry’s eyes blazed with fury; the use of the gamer name he was forced to adorn added insult to injury. He squeezed his long, fingernailed hand back into a fist. “You fucking bastard,” he spat with rage. “You’re gonna pay for this!”

As the streamer prepared to hit his nemesis, Michael raised a hand. “Nu uh. I don’t think you understand, Harry,” he spoke with calm determination. “You will never harm me whenever we meet offline.” Harry’s eyes widened as his fist immediately opened and his arm dropped. The bastard had just forbidden him from harming the bespectacled asshole, and Harry knew the ring would force him to comply with the command.

Michael enjoyed the view of Harry coming to terms with the new dynamic between the pair. “I can’t wait to see my new wife in Lifesynced,” he taunted.

“I’m not logging back into that fucking game,” Harry snarled with a determination that looked humorous coming from his overfilled lips. “I’ll take the fine, I don’t care. Screw EchoLife, screw Claire Kirkland, and screw you!”

Michael’s laughter was sharp and patronizing. “Ohh, you’ll log in,” he said confidently. The nerd straightened up and adjusted his glasses. “You will log in to Lifesynced for at least two hours every day. In fact, it’s best you get to work now. Go, I’ll see you there, wifey.”

Harry’s body turned, his legs carrying him towards the computer lab door. He seethed inside; he hadn’t received any of the answers he had come for, and now he was twisted in a more twisted web of humiliation and control.

He stormed past nearby students, openly giggling at the sight of his plump lips, blonde hair, and girly nails, but the feminized man blocked them out of his mind. He didn’t know how, but he wasn’t prepared to allow that scrawny loser to outsmart him. He would win this war, one way or another.

❖

Harry slammed his apartment door shut and stormed towards his studio office. The slave ring’s command pulsed in his mind, Michael’s smug voice echoing inside his brain, demanding the streamer to go home and log back into the horrific lifesim game immediately.

He wanted to smash the neural device, to stick it to the company and the asshole that had caged his freedom. Still, his body moved, betraying him again as he slipped the device around his neck. Harry’s pink nails caught his attention as he picked up the game controller and launched the game. Despite his resistance, the gamer soon found his vision blurring as he returned to the virtual reality beta game.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open. He expected to find himself in the same dingy motel room he had become familiar with every time he logged in, but instead, he lay on a large four-poster bed, its silk sheets caressing his hairless skin. Tilting his head and examining the room, he was in a bright, lavish bedroom he had never seen before.

Confusion gripped him as he sat up, the silk sheets sliding away, revealing a semi-transparent white negligee that showed off his fake DD-cup breasts. His gaze darted around. He noticed the large wardrobe dominating one wall, and the dresser beside it with dozens of makeup instruments scattered across it. He raised an eyebrow as he discovered a small, black, steel cage in the corner of the room, and a wooden St Andrews cross mounted on the wall nearby. He was no longer in a Lowtown squalid motel room; he must have awoken inside Michael’s home.

“Like, where the fudge am I?” He gasped, momentarily forgetting about the bimbo translator he had received on his last visit. The machine had adjusted his vocal cords, but did not indicate how to reverse the procedure.

Harry swung his legs off the bed, the flimsy nightdress slipping slightly. He accessed his inventory, hoping to find anything less humiliating than this see-through rag. He groaned as he saw the majority of his outfits had been adjusted and grayed out again, with a new message flashing across his screen: ‘Tradwife Addon Active. Current Inventory Controlled By Lord Mitch Wandsworth.’

Harry’s eyes widened in horror. Tradwife addon? What the hell was that? That fucking bastard controlled his inventory? The feminized avatar searched the menu to find the only outfit not grayed out: a yellow sundress with a deep neckline and knee-length pleated hem, paired with 4-inch yellow wedge heels. He cursed until his breath, his nails tapping the bedpost, but selected the outfit.

The sundress materialized, its tight bodice squeezing his feminine curves, the neckline plunging to flaunt his busty cleavage. The matching wedges lifted him, forcing a seductive sway in his hips whenever he moved. He stood, steadying himself, and crept toward the bedroom door. Who else was here? He dreaded to think, but knew he needed to find out.

Harry eased the bedroom door open and carefully stepped into a grand hallway. He moved towards a large open staircase and descended the stairs towards the lower floor of the large two-story building.

The blonde stepped onto the polished marble floor of the lower hallway and glanced around the wide-open space. A large crystal chandelier glowed overhead, and expensive pieces of oak furniture strategically furnished the open room. The atmosphere and opulence starkly contrasted with the rustic, dirty motel inn he was used to.

Harry moved silently, his wedges steady on the marble floor. It felt like he was alone in the large house, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. He reached the front door and gripped the ornate brass handle. However, as he attempted to open the door, his hand froze, similar to his experience on campus. Bewilderment surged inside the feminized man, and he tried again, but the door held firm, trapping him inside.

A jolt suddenly surged through Harry’s mind, like a gear clicking into place. His body turned from the door, his anger smothered by a sudden need to clean. He grabbed a feather duster from the nearby coat rack and began wiping down oak bookshelves in an exaggerated, feminine manner.

Harry’s mind screamed in protest. He wasn’t a damn maid, but his hands kept moving, dusting picture frames and polishing glass tabletops. He tried to search his UI for answers, but nothing explained why he had suddenly turned into some NPC French maid. His mind thought back to the Tradwife addon message from earlier; did the addon have anything to do with this?

He tottered on his wedges, ass swaying with each step, the pleated sundress swishing as he moved from room to room, collecting every speck of dust and ensuring nothing was out of place. He moved through the living room, the study, two guest bedrooms, three bathrooms, the utility room, and the grand dining room before finishing his cleaning task in the kitchen.

Harry’s hands trembled as he set down the duster, his cleaning spree leaving the mansion spotless. He gritted his teeth, “Like, that total bad man!” He squeaked in a humiliatingly translated version of what he actually attempted to say.

His mind churned with rage, but his helplessness was not over yet. The moment he set down the duster, a new gear clicked in his mind. He stepped towards the kitchen’s modern counters. He opened the cabinets, pulling out ingredients he had never eaten in his life. The feminized man’s movements were fluid and precise, like a chef who knew exactly what he was doing. In reality, Harry had never prepared a gourmet meal in his life. He was a typical 19-year-old gamer, living on pizza and microwaved meals, but inside the game, Hayley seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

Thirty minutes into chopping vegetables and seasoning a rack of lamb, a message appeared in his vision: Cooking Skill - Level 2 Reached, accompanied by a celebratory chiming sound. He continued to cook the unknown meal, preparing a creamy sauce and creating homemade ice cream, and it wasn’t long before he reached level 3. A couple of weeks ago, the gamer had intended to rise the ranks of Maplewood’s criminal underworld, and now he found himself dressed like a blonde housewife, preparing a succulent meal.

Harry carried the steaming dishes to the dining room, tottering carefully on his wedges as he set the table with polished silverware and a crystal glass, setting the table for one. His hands moved with precision, arranging the lamb, potatoes, and salad perfectly.

The front door creaked open, and Michael strode in, as Lord Mitch Wandsworth, his sharp navy blue suit exuding power and authority. Harry’s body betrayed him again, gliding towards the grand hallway and meeting Michael at the door.

The feminized man leaned in, puckering his full lips and planting a soft kiss on Michael’s cheek. “Like, take a seat, sweetie,” Harry cooed without any input from his own brain, his bimbo voice dripping with false affection. “Dinner’s, like, super ready!”

Mitch Wandsworth grinned, but didn’t say a word. He took in Harry’s sunshine appearance before heading through the hallway towards the dining room. Harry lowered his head and followed his virtual husband; what was going on?

❖

Michael settled into the oak dining chair, taking in the fresh smell of the meal prepared for him. The environment and the use of all five senses made this game as immersive as anything Michael had ever seen. He savored the roasted lamb, cutting into it with deliberate precision, the aroma of herbs filling the air. “This is exquisite, Hayley,” he said approvingly. “Your skills are impressive.”

Harry stood frozen beside him, his yellow dress tight across his feminine curves, his hands clasped submissively behind his back in a practiced pose. The Tradwife addon held him in place, despite the feminized man’s bemusement at how he was forced to follow the submissive housewife act.

He stared at his nemesis eating the dinner he had prepared, the smell causing his own stomach to churn. Eventually, he managed to whisper out a protest. “Like, what’s totally going on?” he managed. “What did you do to me?” His voice was humiliating, and his eyes pleaded for answers. He was a far cry from the confident man’s man he always thought of himself as.

Michael chewed slowly, setting his fork down. “I slipped in some suggestions while you were asleep,” he said casually with a light, humored tone. “They’re just helping you settle into your new role.”

Michael leaned back, sipping his wine. “The Tradwife addon was a nice touch. Imagine how surprised I was when I found it,” he said, his smirk sharp. “It made this entire process so much easier. Come on, Hayley, isn’t this what you really wanted? You’re the one who installed the addon after all.”

Harry’s mind reeled, flashing back to his initial meeting with Claire Kirkland at EchoLife. She’d told him all available addons would be installed as standard and shoved into his contract without a choice. The Tradwife addon wasn’t his doing; what else had they installed?

Michael swirled his wine glass and took a long sip before setting it down and picking his fork back up. “Feeling hungry, Hayley?” he asked with a deceptively gentle tone.

The gamer’s stomach growled. The game mimicked every need a human would have regularly required in the real world, except for using the toilet, and the hunger need was no different. Harry solemnly nodded his head; he was starving.

The man of the house smiled, casually unzipping his pants with a slow, deliberate motion. “Help yourself, darling,” he commanded, his voice firm, before resuming his meal as if nothing was amiss, his cock hanging freely from his open pants.

Harry felt his diamond ring pulse on his hand, and his body moved, dropping to his knees and crawling under the table. He was hungry, but he would never be hungry enough for this, he thought. Nonetheless, he parted his plump, glossy pink lips and softly slipped the cock inside his mouth, wincing at the foul taste.

He began bobbing his head mechanically, pushing down further, the ‘Blowjob Expert’ trait appearing in his vision. The feminized man’s throat opened and he pushed the cock further down, allowing the tip to slide as far down his throat as possible.

As Harry sucked, Michael absently patted his blonde-haired head patronizingly before swallowing another bite of lamb. “Good girl,” he complimented his imprisoned wife. Harry let out a muffled groan but continued to expertly blow the suited man.

Ten minutes later, Michael groaned, his hand tightening in Harry’s curls, as he held the feminized man tightly and emptied his load inside his ‘wife’s’ mouth. Harry’s Blowjob Expert trait ensured that he swallowed every drop, his eyes helplessly darting up at his tormentor as Michael continued to eat his delicious meal.

Eventually, Michael let go of Harry’s platinum locks and the feminized man pulled him off the cock, coughing as he caught his breath. Harry’s cheeks blushed with humiliation when he found his hunger had been depleted, no longer feeling the rumbling of his stomach despite the aroma of the gourmet meal lingering in the air. How could this game believe that cum was actual sustenance? Was LifeSynced designed by a degenerate perv?

Michael pushed his empty plate aside, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. He glanced down at Harry and smiled at the ‘woman’ between his legs. “I’ve enjoyed several whores in this game, but none of them can suck a cock as good as you,” he mockingly complimented the man who tormented him for so many years.

Harry felt a gentle, unwanted jolt of pleasure run down his spine. He didn’t interpret the comment as a compliment, but his ‘Sexually Confident’ trait created pleasure from the attention.

Michael stood, tucking himself back into his pants. “I think it’s time to consummate our marriage, don’t you, pet?” He declared with sadistic glee, enjoying every moment of his former friend’s torment. He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he bent down and scooped Harry up in a fireman’s carry, his strength a stark difference from the scrawny, unmuscled frame Michael had in the real world.

Harry’s sundress humiliatingly rode up, exposing his thighs, as the suited man hauled him up the open staircase and headed towards the Master bedroom the blonde had woken up from a couple of hours prior.

Harry’s heart raced as Michael carried him like a ragdoll into the large bedroom. The feminized man’s eyes locked on the four-poster bed, and his hope surged. If Michael threw him on the bed, he could log out as a designated safe zone. He’d escape this nightmare before having to ensure whatever his captor had in mind.

However, Harry’s body jolted as Michael bypassed the bed and stopped beside a wide mahogany desk cluttered with various books and newspapers. Michael set the blonde avatar down and slid the contents off the table in one fell swoop. He grabbed Harry by his long, wavy hair and bent him over the table.

“Like, what ya doing?” Harry asked sweetly, witnessing his rival wrap leather cuffs around his wrists, the other end already connected to the table legs, and secure them tightly. Michael wrapped more cuffs around Harry’s ankles, securing him in place. The transformed gamer tugged at the bonds but remained bent helplessly over the polished wooden desk.

Michael stepped behind his bound captive, his hands gripping the sunshine colored dress. With a sharp tug, he ripped the fabric apart, the tearing echoing around the bedroom. The dress fell in tatters before dissolving into nothingness, returning to Harry’s inventory until it was needed again. The feminized blonde was left naked and exposed.

Michael positioned himself behind Harry, his hand gripping the blonde’s hips. He lowered his pants and rested his cock against Harry’s smooth slit. The blonde shuddered, his pussy lubricating the moment Michael’s dick rested alongside it. The nerd then pushed himself inside Harry’s sensitive slit, prompting the helpless man to gasp in a mixture of horror and forced pleasure.

The navy-blue suited man thrust hard, his cock driving deep into Harry’s slick pussy, each movement rough and relentless. The tall man gripped Harry’s blonde locks and pulled back, forcing the gamer to lift his head and look directly ahead. For the first time, he noticed a large mirror directly ahead of them, reflecting the sex act back at him. “Take a look, my pretty,” Michael taunted. “You make a much better slut than you ever did as a man.”

Harry’s gaze locked onto the mirror, his reflection a cruel humiliation that twisted his gut. The blonde curls bounced with each thrust, his glossy lips parted in a gasp. Michael’s pounding intensified, each one jolting pleasure throughout Harry’s body, his fake tits barely moving on his chest.

The gamer felt the pleasure build. The blonde's submissive trait merged with the sexually confident trait, both appearing in his vision, to elicit desperate, horny moans of lust. The act disgusted him, but he couldn’t deny the hot pleasure flowing through his body. “Mmm, I think my slut’s enjoying herself,” Michael teased before ramming harder into his bride.

Michael’s thrusts grew faster, his grip on Harry’s hips tightening as he groaned, his climax nearing. The blonde’s moans escalated, his body forced into a slutty arch, pushing back against Michael with unadulterated lust, amplifying the feminized man’s shameful pleasure. With a final, forceful thrust, Michael came, filling his virtual wife with a shudder that made the blonde’s vision blur, Harry’s orgasm triggered by his sexual traits.

Panting, Michael pulled out and unfastened the leather cuffs, first from Harry’s ankles, then his wrists, the bonds falling away with a soft clink. The exhausted, feminized man collapsed against the desk, his legs buckling, his naked form slumped over the polished wood.

The tall man stepped back and slipped his spent cock back inside his pants, before slumping into a plush velvet chair by the window. He reached for a cigar from a silver case on the nearby table, lighting it with a match. He took a long drag and blew, savoring his proud moment of triumph.

Michael exhaled another plume of cigar smoke, watching Harry’s slumped form over the table with a satisfied, smug expression. “You’re quite the wife, Hayley,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. Harry moaned out in forced pleasure, as his sexually confident trait reacted to the compliment. Filled with humiliation, the feminized man’s mind struggled to formulate an escape plan.

❖

As Michael savored the end of his cigar, Harry continued to slump on the mahogany desk, his naked body trembling with exhaustion. His platinum curls clung to his sweat-dampened skin, but somehow looked as perfect and full of life as ever. The feminized gamer parted his plump lips in ragged breaths, trying to gather enough strength to get out of there.

Michael lounged in the chair, exhaling another plume of smoke before dabbing the cigar out. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he watched Harry’s weakened form, relishing in his revenge. In truth, the nerd hadn’t planned for things to go so far, but a primal persona took over the moment he saw Hayley in that slutty sundress.

Harry tried to use his energy to move away from the desk, but ended up falling to the floor, his legs spent of energy. His eyes drifted to the large four-poster bed, agonizingly close.

Resolve surged through Harry’s busty body. If he could reach the bed, he could log out, escape this virtual torment, and formulate a new plan. He dragged himself forward, crawling on his hands and knees, his plastic chest rubbing against his arms.

Michael’s grin widened, spotting Harry’s desperate crawl towards the bed, watching the feminized bimbo attempt to escape this virtual world. Harry outstretched a hand, his long pink nails shimmering in the light, inches from the mattress.

“Gahhh,” the blonde squeaked out as he felt something pull at his wavy hair. His eyes darted up, and he found Michael, the man he used to bully relentlessly, standing over him with a mocking smirk. Michael wrapped Harry’s blonde curls in his fist and yanked him back with a forceful pull.

The gamer yelped, pain searing in his scalp. “Like, please, stop. Let me go!” he squeaked out in a pathetically meek tone. Michael dragged the busty avatar away from the bed and stepped towards the small steel cage in the corner of the room, the cage door invitingly open.

Michael shoved Harry’s naked body inside the cramped cage, the blonde shuddering as the cold bars made contact with his sensitive, smooth skin. “I’m not ready for you to log out just yet, Hayley,” he chuckled. “I’m testing a theory, and I need you right here while I do.” The nerd slammed the door shut and snapped a heavy padlock into place, sealing Harry inside.

Harry gripped the bars, his pink nails wrapping around them, and shook them wildly, trying to break free. “Like, please, let me out, you jerk!” he pleaded, his threat being translated into a bimbo plea.

Michael adjusted his navy suit jacket and straightened his tie, smirking. “Have a good night, wife,” he mocked, before turning and striding out, the bedroom door slamming shut, leaving Harry in near-darkness.

The streamer’s mind reeled as he accessed his UI. There must be a way to log yourself out when you get stuck like this. He hovered over the log out option, but a message he had seen before immediately flashed before his eyes: “Realism Mode Active: Logout only permitted from a designated safe zone (e.g., a bed). Please locate a safe zone to exit LifeSynced.”

He struggled against the bars one more time, but they held strong. Defeated, he slid into the corner of the cramped cage, his naked body curling into a ball. His eyes glanced over at the large bed on the opposite side of the room. Freedom felt so near, yet impossibly distant. He slowly closed his eyes; he was trapped inside the game that had cost him so much, and all he could do was wait for his hated captor to return.

End of Chapter Five