CHAPTER ONE: The Arrival (Expanded with heighted unease)

It looked like one of those photos where everything but the one thing you are looking at is out of focus, but not in a good way. More like a postcard of a town that someone had smoothed all the hard edges off.

That was my first thought as we crested the last hill and the trees split open like parting gates. Eldervale sprawled beneath us, as if curated. Trimmed. Arranged. Not a blade of grass out of place. The streets gleamed as though freshly scrubbed, although the sky was bone dry. No breeze. No birds. Not even a car on the road.

Just... stillness.

Carl drove like we were arriving at Disneyland. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he said, practically bouncing in the seat. “It’s exactly like the brochure.”

I didn’t answer. My eyes stayed on the rooftops, the glassy windows, the exact symmetry of each white fence. The silence behind them was thunderous.

The air tasted wrong. Filtered. Stale, despite the trees. And cold. My fingers prickled.

On the sidewalks, women moved like dancers stuck in a loop. Each wore the same gray dress, long, high-collared, stifling. They moved in identical strides, heads lowered, hands gloved or folded or full of baskets. Some knelt beside hedges, pulling weeds with a rhythm that made my stomach twist. Not one of them looked up.

“Carl…” I murmured.

He didn’t seem to hear. “You said you wanted a new beginning,” he said, grinning at the windshield. “This is it, Maria. Eldervale. Purpose. Structure.”

“Yeah, but it’s like a, ”

“, dream,” he finished. His hand came down to squeeze my thigh. “Trust me.”

I stared at him. His face was flush with excitement. But the way he looked at the town, it wasn’t casual. It was hungry.

We pulled into the cul-de-sac. Every house was nearly the same, as if copy-pasted. Our assigned one was number 12. Symmetrical. Pristine.

Two people stood waiting.

A woman in gray. A man in black. Silent. Still.

The woman had her hands clasped just below her waist, fingers interlaced perfectly. The man, tall, square-shouldered, nodded as Carl stepped out.

“You must be Mr. Harrow,” Carl said eagerly.

The man smiled. Barely. “Mr. and Mrs. Garcia. Welcome to Eldervale.”

His voice was heavy and slow. As if emotion was something he doled out only on special occasions.

The woman said nothing, but smiled as Maria looked at her.

“This is Clara,” Harrow said, gesturing to her without looking. “She’ll assist with your wife’s integration.”

The word snapped my attention.

“Integration?”
“Community functions, shopping etc.”

Before I could step back, Clara approached. She didn’t make eye contact. Just opened a small velvet box and handed it to me.

Inside: a silver locket.

Simple. Plain. The engraving caught the light,

Trust in Him.

The back of my neck prickled like ice.

Carl, oblivious, murmured. “Very thoughtful.”

“You’ll receive your orientation materials this afternoon,” Harrow added. “and a welcome at the town hall.”

Carl nodded, like he’d expected that.

I looked at Clara. She was still smiling and looking at her husband as if waiting for him to do something.

I clutched the locket. It felt heavy. This was all a bit off.

Where did Carl find this job, and this place?

CHAPTER TWO: Orientation

They separated us inside the town hall.

Carl vanished through an archway of warm lighting, handshakes, laughter, and brandy-glass masculinity. I glimpsed the tail end of a firm pat on his back before the door swung shut behind him.

Clara said nothing. She simply turned and gestured for me to follow.

I followed.

Her shoes made no sound. Mine echoed faintly, too loud, like I was intruding in a church.

The hallway we entered was narrow. Unadorned. Lights set into the ceiling buzzed slightly, casting shadows that stretched unnaturally along the edges of the walls.

We walked to the end of the hall.

There was no art. No signage.

Finally, we stopped in front of a plain steel door.

I looked at Clara, this was all so weird.

Clara placed her hand on a panel beside it.

A soft click.

Inside: a dim, rectangular room, sterile and airless. One chair, white, plastic, reclined slightly. A small table beside it. A screen on the wall, blank for now. The only color came from a single glass filled with something clear and faintly pink.

Clara gestured.

“Sit,” she said gently. “And drink. It helps with the transition.”

“What is it?” I asked.

My voice sounded too loud in the small room.

Her expression didn’t change. “A tonic. It calms your body for the introduction.”

“No, this whole thing, this room, this…”

“Just your orientation. It is fine.

I didn’t want to drink it.

But something, maybe the long hallway, maybe the strange stillness of Eldervale, had already dulled my edge.

I took the glass.

It tasted faintly of roses. Something herbal. Something sweet. I felt warmth spreading through my chest before I’d swallowed half.

My fingers tingled.

My thoughts… slowed.

Like syrup poured over too much bread.

Clara gestured to the chair again.

I sat.

And couldn’t stand back up.

My legs were heavy. My arms relaxed at my sides, the glass slipping from my fingers with a soft clink as it landed on the tray.

The lights dimmed.

The screen lit up.

Swirling color.

Shimmering threads of purple and gold, pulsing softly against a black background.

A deep, male voice filled the room.

“Welcome, woman.”

The colors throbbed gently in sync with the words. I blinked, confused. I couldn’t seem to look away.

“You are here to be made whole.”

Whole? I… what?

“Your thoughts are scattered.”

The shapes danced, rippling, melting into each other. It was like watching reflections in water, disturbed by gentle wind.

“You do not need your thoughts.”

Something inside me… agreed.

I didn’t say anything. But my head dipped slightly.

“You will listen.”

“I will… listen,” I whispered.

My voice startled me.

But the voice rewarded me with warmth, and somehow I couldn't disagree.

“You will repeat.”

I will… repeat?

“Obedience is clarity.”

My lips moved.

“Obedience is… clarity.”

“Obedience is joy.”

“Obedience is joy.”

“Men lead.”

“Men… lead…”

“Women follow.”

“…women follow…”

My breathing grew shallow.

The chair reclined another inch with a soft click.

My head was swimming and I couldn't seem to grasp any thought except the ones the voice gave me.

The lights pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.

“You serve their will.”

“I… serve… their will.”

The voice deepened.

“You exist to please.”

“I… exist… to please…”

“You feel pleasure when you serve.”

My thighs shifted.

A flicker of heat sparked low and warm.

“You want to obey.”

“I… want… to obey.”

“Touch yourself.”

My hand moved.

Slow. Detached.

Not my hand. Not me. Just something happening.

My fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my dress.

“You obey.”

I obey.

“You serve.”

I serve.

“Your pleasure is obedience.”

A soft moan curled from my throat as my fingers found wetness.

Too wet.

Soaking.

“Say it.”

“My pleasure is… o-obedience…”

The screen shifted.

Now: images, moving slow and deliberate, women kneeling, mouths open, hands folded behind backs, all gazing upward, blank-faced, serene.

“Good girl.”

The phrase made me gasp, and I felt it right through me.

I rubbed harder. Deeper. My hips shifted.

“Say it.”

“I’m… a good girl…”

“Say it.”

“I’m a good girl… I’m a good girl…”

“Obeying is bliss.”

“Obeying is, ahh, bliss…”

“Only men may lead.”

“Only men… may lead…”

The voice purred.

“You want to serve.”

“Yes…”

“Say it.”

“I want… to s-serve…”

“You want to please.”

“I want to… please…”

“Rub harder.”

I did.

My thighs tensed.

The fog in my brain bloomed wider, heavier, syrup-thick and golden.

“You love to obey.”

“I love… to obey…”

“Obeying makes you cum.”

That one hit like a pulse of lightning.

I gasped, loud.

The climax tore through me.

My hips jerked.

My fingers soaked.

The pulse between my legs swallowed the world.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

Everything blurred.

The screen dissolved into pure light.

Sound dropped away.

Just me.

Dripping.

Moaning softly.

Breathing like I’d run miles.

The light dimmed.

My breath slowed.

I blinked.

And blinked again.

The door opened.

Clara stood there.

Expression unchanged.

I looked at her.

My chest still rising and falling.

My hand still in my lap.

But I couldn’t remember why.

“Come,” she said.

I stood.

My legs wobbled.

Something wet cooled the insides of my thighs.

But the only thing I felt was…

Confusion.

“What… what was that?” I asked.

Clara didn’t answer.

She only turned and walked.

And I followed.

Dazed.

Shaky.

Like I’d just woken up from a dream I couldn’t quite remember, but that left my body warm, my nipples hard, and a slow pulse between my legs that hadn’t faded.