The speed with which Jennie raced to her bed made me laugh. Within a minute, she was tucked under the covers and eagerly waiting for me to start my instruction in how to fingerfuck a woman to climax. The irony was, I was by no means an expert. Oh, sure: I’d explored our body since I’d ripped myself free from our subconscious. And I’d explored a lot. For Jennie, it’d felt like only an evening had passed since that first blowjob with Cole. For me? It’d been a week. They’d gone just the way you might’ve thought: spend hours in bed discovering just how rough and willing my body could be under the punishment of my own hands, followed by teasing and seducing Cole into having her way with my throat every evening. All the while, I pretended to be “Jennifer”.

It was a ruse I thought that Cole needed at first. The third day, though, when she made me gag on her erection while referring to me an “eager fucking whore” made me realize just exactly who I was dealing with: a predator who understood how broken I’d become from a single dose of starlight. It was why I needed to make sure I got a second hit. I needed to make sure Cole understood that I wanted this. Cole obliged a few days later, when I “stole” the autoinjector again.

I brought it up to my throat, and held it there. Cole stepped toward me, her face devoid of any emotion she might’ve faked around the woman I’d been; all that remained in their place was the need to wreck me further, and the violent, primal, thoroughly libidinous need to see me fall deeper under her sway. She didn’t rush when she trailed her fingers up my spine and gripped my hair; she didn’t hasten when she pulled back hard enough that it hurt so fucking good; and she didn’t hurry when her hand closed over mine, and depressed the button.

I didn’t flinch when I felt the starlight take me, and it was better the second time. I knew what to expect, but also? That thrill of knowing what it was going to do, and letting it happen anyway? God. Yes. If there was a God, then He wanted this for me. He’d brought me to this moment of being laid low, and then being driven further into the dirt where the corpse of “Jennifer” belonged.

I watched her watching me, and relished every moment along with her as that wonderful, corruptive, mind-destroying drug stripped my neural pathways. We were a perfect match: I wanted to be her perfect casualty; she wanted to savor every moment of killing the cruel, hateful, bigoted woman who’d helped to destroy her life. I loved her. I knew it in that moment, even as I knew she’d never return my affection for her. Why would she? I was a toy for her to use, and you didn’t develop feelings for the pocket pussy you raped raw… not that she’d done that yet. It wasn’t for me to get raped. Which meant I had to prepare Jennie well.

Speaking of little sis, whatever hesitancy she might’ve been feeling paled in comparison to just how desperate she’d become. “Spread your legs,” I crooned, and Jennie complied.

“Good girl.” She brightened at the praise. God, yeah. I needed this, too. I existed to corrupt, after all, and unlike who we’d been I wasn’t an embarrassment to my raison d'être.

“And now… I’m gonna take control, okay? I’m gonna walk you through what feels good. So just lay back and relax.”

“Th-thank you, Thya,” Jennie said, mumbling slightly as she let the tension drain from her. This would be okay. Yeah, she was letting her big sister that decided to name herself after the birthplace of the Whore of Babylon teach her how to make herself feel good, but… but maybe the Bible got it wrong, after all? Maybe it was just a document? A set of guidelines. After all, Jennie hadn’t always been some doting wife.

At one point she’d held such a dim view that she rolled her eyes whenever anyone mentioned being a “traditional wife”. Then she’d met Jane, and felt her life shift. It was like one moment she’d been someone else, and then she felt compelled to dote on the woman she’d always wanted to marry — as though she’d abruptly discovered a fixed fact about herself: she was Jane Crosier’s wife-to-be. Her values had shifted, too. Not entirely! Sure, they’d lurched precipitously to the right after her first date with Jane. A date that might’ve included the same stinging pain of an autoinjector to her carotid, now that she thought about it.

Jennie gasped as her fingers grazed along the folds of her pussy. Oh, God. Jane had made her some Stepford wife. God. God, even the word “God” was something she’d never used before this. She’d been a proud “gender critical” feminist. How had she forgotten? She fought the administration on campus about not letting men into women’s spaces, about making sure that those weird transgenders didn’t have their way of things. It was how she’d met Jane: she’d been an ideological comrade. Her fingers slipped inside herself, and she shuddered with delight at how wet she was.

It was clear as ever that Jane and Jennie’s relationship was a lie. Jane had used Jennie for her own selfish ends, and drugged Jennie to accomplish it. Her fingers tweaked a nipple, adding a blessed and welcome sting of as her digits picked up the pace. Jennie shouldn’t feel excited at the prospect that she’d been violated like that before last night, but instead all she could think about was the autoinjector. The sting of it. The way the injection had felt familiar, even if she didn’t know it.

“It is hot, isn’t it?” I hadn’t known about our ex-husband-cum-wife’s betrayal, but damn if it didn’t make all the sense in the world.

Jennie groaned, spasms of pleasure cascading along her body as she picked up the pace. “S-stop!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop f-fingering me!” She groped her tit as she said it.

“No.”

“Pleaaaaase.” Her fingers picked up the pace between her legs. The sounds they made Jennie could only think of as obscene, and the obscenity of it all brought her ever closer. Her muscles tightened in anticipation, as if they could ever truly brace for the blissful humiliation that awaited her.

“You don’t want me to stop.”

“I do! I-I can’t- I can’t- you- please don’t make me come like thiiiiiiiiissssss!” Jennie hissed out the final word as her thumb circled her clit. The feeling — all at once new and familiar — made her convulse and writhe as her orgasm drew near, rolling onto her stomach in search of more.

More friction.

More depth.

Fuck.

She needed this.

She was gonna come to this. Unless.

“Please, don’t—”

“I can’t stop it… because you’re the one doing it.”

I’d only said I’d taken over.

The understanding of it was all Jennie needed. Not just that she was getting off to it, but that of a memory overlaying on top of her thumb rubbing her clit: the definitive, unmistakable, undeniable truth that Jennie’s thumb hadn’t slipped. She’d injected herself. Trained by years of being drugged to ensure her own violation. She wanted this. She made this happen. She chose to desecrate herself. It magnified every bit of the tainted, grotesque need inside her until even the notion of ambiguity was a laughable. She was a pitiable, drug-addled source of pleasure for others.

A primal, distressed scream of pleasure ripped its way free from her as brutal pleasure better than anything she’d ever felt detonated like a daisy-cutter bomb low in her stomach. Her back arched, vision blurring as every thought left her except one:

‘More.’

Each aftershock of pleasure that raced through her pulsed with that same word:

‘More.’

A demand for further degradation.

‘More.’

A twisted blessing of her disgusting need.

‘More.’

A promise, etched into the damaged, warped, corrupted neurons of her mind.

Even as the haze of chemicals flooding her system ebbed, the tide of Jennie’s arousal began to rise again. Her mind buzzed. By the time she was able to catch her breath, she was close to panting with need.

“Th-that was…” Jennie shook her head, wiping tears she’d only now realized she’d shed with the back of her hand.

“Amazing?” I offered, hoping that I hadn’t pushed her too far.

“Awful.” Jennie sniffed, beginning to wipe more forcefully at the tears falling down her cheeks.

Fuck.

“I need more.”

Oh?

Jennie flopped onto her back. “I need it again, but I-I know I shouldn’t!” Unable to stay still, Jennie rolled back onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. “Hnnnnnn but it felt so fucking good!”

“Language~”

Annoyed, Jennie lifted her head from where she’d buried it into downy softness of her goose feather pillows. The ones she’d demanded they buy as newlyweds. It was all spinning too fast: the college crusader she’d been, the wife she’d become, the little sister she wanted to be… which one was truly her? Did she even have any say? Why couldn’t someone just tell her? It made her so mad. “It’s your fault!!! I wanted to just ignore it and you had to s-say all those things about Cole. About h-her…” Jennie breathed out through her nose, then in through her mouth. “Her penis.”

“Using big girl words now, are we?”

Jennie rolled over onto her side, pulling herself into a fetal position.

“Whatever! You wanted me to do this!”

“Yeah! Because I know you. I am you, sis.”

Jennie shook her head. “I know what your name means.”

“Oh, c’mon! I chose it to mess with you!”

Jennie didn’t respond to me. And then night came, and she drifted off.

And then morning came, and she still didn’t talk to me. At all. It went like this for days on end. She went about like nothing had changed, keeping a wide berth from Cole and ignoring me. Even if she didn’t have to change her underwear three times daily, I’d have known how much it was affecting her just by the way she leered at Cole. And then there were the touches. The small, “accidental” ways she grazed against her nipples when she folded her arms, or caught the lip of the chair as she slid onto it in a way that maximized how much of it grazed against the folds of her pussy.

Plausible deniability was a powerful means of protecting one’s mind. No wonder why, when Jenna Harmon became Jennifer Crosier, she adopted such a zeal for an all-powerful God who could absolve anything she did wrong. Still, even plausible deniability had its limits.

It was day six when she finally stopped fighting. I thought it would’ve been something major, like Cole being more aggressive the way she’d been with me. Somehow, though, that wasn’t it. Instead, all it took was Cole placing a gentle touch on Jennie’s arm.

It happened after breakfast. Jennie had torn through eating a cereal bar as she leaned against the counter. Cole sat at the table in the breakfast nook, as she’d taken to doing ever since the night Thya awakened. The distance was necessary for Jennie. Even this far away, slipping up and breathing through her nose would get her lightheaded and foggy. She’d done that once or twice already, complete and total accidents to be sure, and it’d forced her to clamp her free hand between her knees to keep it from wandering.

She blamed that part on me. It had to be her sister messing with her. And yeah, that was fine and something that sisters did to each other… but it didn’t mean that Jennie should go for it. She’d been a proud feminist, or something, and that meant she should have autonomy over her body. And, regardless of whether if the Bible was just some set of rules her rapist ex-wife had foisted upon her in a drug addled haze, there was something wrong morally about everything that was going on.

Right? At least, she thought she remembered something being wrong with it. She interrogated that idea as she took another bite of her cereal bar. Yes, it definitely was wrong that Jane had turned her into a doting far-right partner. Probably. She’d only been into men, after all, and Jane hadn’t transitioned at that point. And she recalled having found herself agreeing with Jane about much of their beliefs. It’s why Jennie, if reluctantly, agreed to meet Jane for a cup of coffee.

She hadn’t agreed to the syringe of drugs Jane had administered at first, but then she couldn’t find herself exactly minding the effect it had had on her. She’d been so angry and unruly before that. The peace that Jane had brought her was a blessing. It felt divine at the time. And that was the reason she’d gone back. That and the conditioning Jane had buried deep in her mind and made her forget.

But that was normal, right? To have commands buried deep in one’s mind that made them the obedient thrall of someone else was just what society did to people. It wasn’t that different if her erstwhile wife did it to Jennie under the guise of making her a better, more servile partner. So it couldn’t have been that bad. And it was pretty hot. That was the thing she kept circling back to with all of it: getting corrupted was hot.

The gentle pressure of Cole resting a hand on her shoulder jolted her back to the present, causing her to inhale that potent musk yet again. Fuuuuuuuuuck. Jennie tried to concentrate on the words Cole was saying, something about “you were making these weird noises”, but all she could focus on was how weightless her mind felt. She didn’t need thoughts. She didn’t need to be a person. All she needed was to feel good.

Still, damnably, Cole was asking something about Jennie and if she was okay. Cole was treating her as person, but all Jennie wanted was to be alone in her bedroom and be meat and lose herself in how badly she needed to stuff her fingers into her cunt. Hell, she didn’t even care about being alone if she was honest. All she cared about was climbing into her bed and fucking herself silly until she had an incredible orgasm. And even then, the appeal of Cole being there to help wasn’t a dealbreaker. Cole already had a hand on her. Cole already had had hands on her. Cole had forced herself down Jennie’s throat. No. Not Jennie’s throat. Thya’s. That was so unfair.

Somehow, Jennie found the power to speak. “I nn-need to gggooo to my-y rrrroom,” she slurred, listing away from Cole’s touch and stumbling out into the hallway. That she was conscious at all was an accomplishment, given how leaden her steps felt. Jennie paused to rest her head against the door to Jane’s study, taking a moment to peer down the hallway toward her bedroom. It was so far away. Too far. Too many steps and too many clothes between her and what she needed.

She’d respected her ex-wife’s need for privacy and a separate space to conduct her career as a military official, but now that Jane was as good as gone it didn’t feel like as much of an intrusion. She stumbled over to the leather executive chair and slumped in it. The last time she was in her, she’d almost gotten taken advantage of by Sergeant. That would’ve been… terrible. It would have been awful to have Sergeant pinning her down and ripping off her clothes; awful to see Cole protesting in spite of the way she got hard at watching Sergeant fuck Jennie right on this desk; awful to have Cole join in and spitroast Jennie until there was no more room for pretending this wasn’t exactly what she was meant to do with the rest of her life.

Jennie’s barely had time to slip three fingers inside her pussy before she came, screaming so loud that there was no doubt that Cole must’ve heard her. And then a moment later, the door to the study flew open. The sound made her pull her hand free on reflex. In the doorway was Cole.

“A-are you- Thy- I mean, Jennie, are you okay? You were really loud just now…” Cole stammered out, those burning red eyes of hers flicking from the wetness staining Jennie’s hand to Jennie’s blissed out face before taking in the disheveled state Jennie was in. Cole decided on something, nodded to herself, and closed the door to the study. For her part, Jennie didn’t registered that Cole had entered the room until hours later, just before she was going to drift off for the night. When she finally recalled what happened, she ground down on her fingers to what might’ve happened if Cole had taken advantage of her, and then passed out.

I’d never been so fucking proud of her in my (admittedly short) life.