Today is the happiest day of my life, and the worst.

Those two things now walk hand in hand, for me. In the months since my final surrender to Ivy Robinson, agony and ecstasy have become so intertwined within my emotional landscape that i can barely imagine them apart. No pleasure but abject masochism. No pain that my broken mind cannot transmute into a source of unhealthy arousal. All that truly matters to me is the certain knowledge that i am inferior, and each day brings another of Ivy’s reminders to be grateful for. Each another nail, hammered still deeper into whatever remains of my soul. My life is a marriage of torment and bliss.

A marriage. What an apt thought.

After all, it’s my wedding day.

Not long after i shattered myself in Ivy’s office, Luna and i agreed to tie the knot—as, more importantly, did Ivy. Our relationship has long since become like that ridiculous old Christian meme. ‘The myth of consensual sex—isn’t there someone you forgot to ask?’ Ivy Robinson stands between my new wife and i, a greater presence, one that delights in placing us in awful little tableaus the way a sadistic young girl would her dolls.

Isn’t there someone i forgot to ask? Of course not. i would never forget about Ivy. It’s just that i would never waste her time by asking her if i'm allowed to fuck Luna. i already know the answer.

For her part, Luna has become equally pliable to Ivy’s whims. She is not, though, inferior the way i am. She does not obey because it is her place. She is simply in tune with Ivy the way a prize female might be with her alpha. And it certainly took no convincing for her to accept Ivy’s proposal. The mere prospect of cheating on a wife rather than a girlfriend practically made her cum on the spot. i’ve never seen her so happy as when i slipped the engagement ring on her finger, daydreaming about what her cheating partners might think of it.

Luna was still glowing with that thrill, that pleasure, as she walked down the aisle and as we spoke our vows. She looked so beautiful in her dress. We both did, or so they all say. Ivy was careful to choreograph our outfits. i looked merely acceptable enough not to raise eyebrows. For Luna, no expense was spared—my expense, naturally. She was a splendid vision, overflowing with a joy that, unbeknownst to the priest, stemmed from the way so many eyes were set on her in jealous admiration. The ceremony itself was mostly traditional; it amused Ivy, i think, to preserve the superficial appearance of happy matrimony. It makes what she has done to us—is doing to us—all the more real. Only the truly keen-eyed would have noticed that Luna was looking past me while she said “I do,” gazing longingly at my sole bridesmaid in my place: Ivy Robinson.

i imagine the priest must have realized that Luna’s vows did, in fact, omit the traditional promise to be true.

Now, at the reception, Luna is even more ravishing. She has let down her hair, and her true charm, as i have come to appreciate it, is on full display. My beloved Luna has, under Ivy’s tender care, become a creature of wanton appetites. Her hunger shines out from within her, sparkling in her eyes, smoldering in her cheeks, throbbing through her body as she presents herself for consumption, chest held forward, painted lips slightly parted in an expression of shameless want. She is a dark star, glowing as she devours, and with her gravity she pulls objects into her orbit. So it is with her bridesmaids, clustered around her at our table. Friends new and old, she sits facing them, facing away from me, holding their attention effortlessly with constant, light, suggestive touches and remarks.

She’s already fucked them all, of course.

Thanks to that, each of them knows exactly what i am. They know enough, anyway; not the full story, but they know that i derive pleasure from Luna’s shameless adultery. Thanks to that, they look upon me much the way my wife does. As they flirt with her, they sometimes throw contemptuous glances in my direction, reminding themselves with my every blush and shiver that i enjoy being cuckolded. Sometimes, in moments of particularly blatant overstepping—a hand up Luna’s dress, a stray finger on her lips—they will even look me dead in the eyes, teasing me, daring me to break out of my role as spectator. They know i won’t. i couldn’t, even if i wanted to.

It strikes me as unlikely that all these women were quite so cruel when they first took to Luna’s bed. At the beginning, i'm sure most of them would have balked at my presence. Provoked by Luna in some way, each of their first seductions were the usual, surreptitious, guilty sort. But slowly, the pleasure of superiority has taken root in them. Pride is a corrosive thing, and they look as proud as well-fed wolves as they surround the two of us now, plotting further assaults on the sanctity of our marriage.

i wish i could thank them for it; maybe i will, later, privately. i'm sure the looks on their faces at hearing my gratitude would tear the scab in my heart open anew. i crave that feeling more than anything. It’s the only pleasure that means anything to me anymore. The only thing that keeps me from falling at their feet right now is that seeing Luna treated this way at our wedding has me in such a delirious mood, i'm too tongue-tied to speak.

Fuck. All the bridesmaids are looking at Luna like she’s just a juicy piece of meat. It’s shameless. It’s despicable—and so much worse is the knowledge that they’ve all tasted her. My breath is coming in desperate pants. Beneath my dress, my underwear is soaked. All those hands. All those tongues. Everywhere, all over her body. Places i’ve never touched. Pleasures i could never awaken. Fuck. And worst of all is the fact that Luna loves it. She is as aroused as i am right now. She loves being a piece of meat. Being a trophy. She will fuck them all and a dozen other people over and over again—all because of me. Because of what it means to do this to me. Fuck. i love being married to an eager, cheating bitch.

Will they let me watch some more? i hope so. i really hope so. i wish i could touch myself right now under the table without giving myself away, but even more than that i wish they'd let me watch.

i wonder what I’d have to sacrifice to get them to let me watch.

i’m about to start crying at my wedding reception and everyone will think i'm overcome with joy when really i'm just desperate to watch my wife fuck superior women instead of me. i’m such an inferior little spectator.

It drives me crazy that it’s such a competition, too. i can see the bridesmaids striving to outdo each other with acts of daring. A foot up under the table. A cherry offered up to Luna—and with it, a juice-stained finger pressed past her lips, for her to obligingly wrap her tongue around in worship. Eventually out comes the finger, then the pit—and then the stem, tied in a knot.

When did Luna learn how to do that? She shouldn’t be able to. She’s not that kind of woman.

She is now. And it drives me crazy.

It drives everyone here crazy. i can see it in the bridesmaids’ faces. They all want to be the one to fuck Luna on her wedding night.

It’s too bad for them. On that front—and that front alone—they will be denied. Luna’s marital bed is already spoken for.

“Hello? Olive, dear?”

A familiar voice snatches me from my torrid thoughts. i stand and turn, trying to hide the look of drooling masochism on my face even as my blush reasserts itself. i cannot reveal my true nature in public. Not to my family, of all people.

My parents and my sister stand next to our table, all smiles. They’ve been keeping to themselves throughout the reception; my introversion runs in the family, and besides a few stray aunts and cousins, there aren’t many other guests from my side of the relationship for them to recognize and chat with. i have few friends, thanks to Ivy’s machinations. Perhaps they’ve come over here to make their excuses after a little conversation.

“Hi Mom, Dad,” i manage, after catching my breath. A few of the bridesmaids titter behind me. Luna too, i think. That doesn’t help. i nod to my sister. “Alyssa.”

“Hey sis!” she waves. God, they all look so proud. It’s so wrong.

“Your father and I just wanted to tell you again how proud we are,” my mom says. “Both of you were so beautiful at the ceremony—it was just perfect!—and it was all I could do to keep myself from sobbing. You were always such a quiet girl, and every so often we worried… but this happiness is all we ever wanted for you.”

i get the sense a few glasses of champagne have loosened her tongue. Dad seems to think so too, judging from the sheepish look on his face. “Thanks, Mom,” i reply awkwardly.

‘This happiness.’ They have no idea, do they? My own parents don’t know how wretched and awful their daughter is. How inferior. They think i'm essentially normal—shy, quiet, but seeking the same kind of happiness as anyone else. They don’t know that i know the taste of Ivy’s feet better than i do my new wife’s lips. That i spend as much time kneeling beside Luna’s bed as sleeping in it. That three nights ago i paid Ivy five hundred dollars for the privilege of eating out Luna’s ass after she got done fucking it.

How would they look at me if they knew? The question itches at me, even as i fight to suppress it. Surely my family, of all people, should be safe from these thoughts—but Ivy’s forceful brainwashing is not so discerning.

It’s wrong for them to look at me like i'm normal. Like i deserve their well-wishes. It itches at me.

I need them to see what i truly am.

Inferior. Inferior. Inferior.

I need them to know that i'm just a little spectator and that my eager, cheating bitch of a wife is sleeping around every chance she gets while i drool over it and-

Dad mistakes the look on my face for embarrassment at my mom’s comment. “Yes, you two will be very happy together,” he says, a touch awkwardly, resting his hand on my shoulder and glancing at Luna. He’s never been great with feelings. “She’s a keeper.”

She is. Dad doesn’t know the half of it.

But maybe Alyssa does. My big sister is a little more adept at reading the room. The look of concern on her face tells me that she has picked up on the fact that something is deeply, nauseatingly wrong here. That the unwholesome smirks on the bridesmaids’ faces mean something—even if she doesn’t know what. She draws close to me and drops her voice, the smile on her face stained with concern.

“So, Olive,” she probes, with forced, failed lightness. “Is all this…” she gestures around vaguely, suggesting more than just the reception, “how you always wanted it to be?”

What a question.

Is this how i always wanted it to be? A deranged marriage to a cheating wife, the both of us brainwashed puppets of my former college bully, a woman who has meticulously obliterated my ego, stolen my job, ruined my reputation, and who has made me eager to turn over my paychecks so i can masturbate at her feet while she takes Luna on fancy dates at my expense?

Yes. Yes, of course it is.

Under Ivy’s leadership, i have hammered my psyche into the necessary shape for that to be my truth. Whatever hopes and aspirations i once had besides serving as her plaything are long forgotten. This is what is right for me, and every bone in my body knows it. The fact that i once thought differently is meaningless; the fact that i once thought i deserved better is downright laughable. You don’t bother asking a grown woman if she’s sad about her unfulfilled childhood dream of becoming an astronaut.

i have grown out of the delusion of my independence. And i can no longer imagine a world in which anything gives me more pleasure than this.

“Yes,” i tell Alyssa truthfully. “It’s perfect.”

The tears welling up in my eyes may not banish all suspicion, but they’re convincing enough for now. Then Luna stands up from the table and comes to join us, and the moment passes.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, Alyssa, thank you so much for coming!” Luna greets my parents warmly. In front of them, she is faultless. She’s not always a cheating bitch. Probably, her profligacy waned without my pathetic, agonized reactions to enjoy.

“Of course, dear!” Mom replies, hugging her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Oh, I was just telling Olive that you looked beautiful up there at the altar. I was so moved! And then, my goodness, the announcement! We had no idea.”

My blood runs white-hot. Oh god. It’s the one thing i’ve been fighting not to think about, for the sake of my remaining sanity.

Luna giggles. “It’s still so early. We only just found out ourselves, and… well, what better time to share the happy news?”

She rests her hand protectively on her belly. My stomach drops.

“It’s just so wonderful!” Alyssa coos. Even she’s caught up in this sick performance now.

“It is, it is!” Dad agrees. He looks so pleased with me. It’s devastating. “It’s your news to share, of course. We were just so surprised—you never told us you were doing IVF, or whatever it was.”

Luna spares a moment to throw me a look that sets my heart aflame and almost brings me to my knees. “No,” she agrees viciously. “We didn’t.”

At that moment, of all moments, she appears. My new goddess.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Ivy Robinson purrs, as Luna and i part to admit her to the conversation. She’s wearing a perfectly tailored, luxurious tuxedo, opened along with the shirt beneath to expose her cleavage. She looks immaculate. Like a model. She and Luna make a wonderful couple. “I simply wanted to pay my respects.”

i shuffle my feet. i look down. Her presence only makes it harder not to slump to my knees.

But i can’t. i must be the dutiful host. “M-mom, Dad,” i stammer. “This is I-”

“Ivy Robinson!” Mom jumps in. To my shock, she seems as pleased to see my superior as Luna does. “Your… well, your boss, now anyway. We’ve already met.”

“I introduced myself earlier,” Ivy explains. She grins a shark’s grin at me. “I do hope that’s alright.”

“O-of course,” i mutter. As if anything she did could be anything less than perfect. Ivy is entitled to take anything she wants from me.

But my family…

As i lapse into uncomfortable silence, the conversation flows freely and easily around me. Jokes, remarks, compliments. Better than it would if i was trying to hold the room, i'm sure. Ivy wields her charm like a knife. Affecting her charismatic magic on my parents is effortless for her. Within a minute or two of small talk, something appalling becomes clear to me.

They like her.

They like her more than me.

They don’t love her more, obviously. That’s something different, and i am still their daughter. But i’ve always been awkward, even around them. And Ivy? She’s simply so easy to like.

Watching them talk, i can envision the rest of my entire life playing out before my eyes. It will be exactly this—forever. Wherever i go, Ivy will be there. If i won any advantage in our final contest of wills, it is merely that: her permanent attention. She will never grow tired of me. She will never show mercy to me. From now on, i will only ever walk in her footsteps. A follower to my master, as she takes and takes and takes. As she devours everything in my path. Her supremacy over me will grow with each feast, and i will become smaller and smaller with every passing year.

My cunt drips against my panties. Its rhythm matches the incessant drumbeat mantra in my brain.

Inferior.

Little.

Spectator.

Forever.

“Well, it’s getting late, and our taxi’s here,” Dad announces. “So I think we’ll be heading off. A pleasure meeting you, Ivy. And Olive, Luna—congratulations, once again. For all of it.”

We all exchange hugs and well-wishes and goodbyes. i barely hear any of it. i am barely present. i am consumed by my own weakness. My parents leave. My big sister will stay a little longer, but she drifts away toward the bar. In her absence, Ivy is free to reach across and rest her hand possessively on the very faint bulge at the front of Luna’s wedding dress.

My thighs clench. It’s almost too much. i need to rub myself right now. i need to be on my knees. i need to kiss the cock that knocked up the love of my life.

Soon, i’ll get that wish. Ivy has planned that too. Soon, the three of us will ascend to the honeymoon suite of the hotel. i will kneel next to the bed and listen as Ivy consummates my marriage in my stead, my bridal veil wrapped around my eyes like a blindfold so that i can only grow sick with abased arousal at that joyous sounds that Luna makes.

Cuckolded, on my wedding night. Fuck, it’s so hot. Fuck, Ivy’s so good to me.

Because this, to me, is happiness. The only happiness left to one as inferior as me. Ivy and her drug have brought me to that enlightenment—and they have not abandoned me since. Ivy Robinson, in her supreme generosity, will keep finding ways to make my eyes tear up and my heart skip beats and my stomach churn with nauseous, self-disgusted arousal. i am her perfect victim, her subordinate, and thanks to that, she will always find ways to show me fresh heights and new lows.

What is that, if not happiness?

She does it yet again, as she guides Luna and i away from the reception. Ivy noticed, it seems, my earlier discomfort when she was speaking with my family. But she and i both know that my reluctance is not resistance. Not anymore. i have none of that left. i know my place. i love my place, and i love Ivy Robinson for twisting the knife still deeper with just four small words of sinister promise as we board the elevator.

“Your sister is hot.”

i consider it a wedding gift.