Cole was gone when Jennie woke up. She could tell without checking every room. Jennie could barely smell her musk; usually, the scent of it was strong and heady and permeating every inch of their home. Still, she walked through every space the two of them had come to share and found only stillness. Emptiness. She missed how Cole filled the space. She needed Cole to fill the space.

Feeling defeated, Jennie drifted over to the kitchen to get a yogurt out of the fridge. Just because Cole was gone for now didn’t mean Jennie had an excuse to starve herself. If anything, it meant that she needed to carb up for when Cole got back and Thya took over.

Jennie trailed to a stop at the threshold to the kitchen. Would Thya take over? It’d been a while since her big sister had taken the lead, and

The only sign that Cole had been here at all in the was a note that Jennie found, scrawled on a piece of DoW stationary and pinned to the fridge with a ‘HOUND Program’ magnet:

Have to go meet with the brass.

Be good.

—Cole

‘Be good.’ As if Jennie was some pet. How dare Cole write things that made Jennie’s body react with need when Cole herself was nowhere to be seen. It was unfair and rude, she reflected later as the shower’s pulse setting made her come for a second time. God, how hot it would be to be Cole’s pet? She could get a cute little collar, and stare up adoringly at her. Would Cole like it if she got on all fours and barked? It wouldn’t be too offensive to a hound for her to act like a dog, right?

Right?

…Right?

…

…

…

A nauseating wave of sobriety hit Jennie, and it threw everything that had happened since that first hit of starlight into horrifying relief: the smell of a transgendered woman’s penis had made her into some… drooling fucktoy. Without it, all Jennie could feel was anger and betrayal. She’d almost cheated! On her dead husband. And yes, that man was a horrible rapist who’d abused her before ultimately succumbing to the same twisted gender ideology that had almost claimed Jennie’s mind and body, but Christ alive how was this what her life had become?

And how did nobody stop her downward spiral? Didn’t any of her friends from college notice when their firebrand leader suddenly became a doting housewife? There were faces buried beneath all the layers of broken memory, though she couldn’t recall a single name. All that came to the surface were the mean-spirited pet names she’d given them. She doubted ‘Muffintop’ would rise to her defense.

What about her parents? She remembered, vaguely, that they might’ve held some liberal values before they passed years ago. They’d attended her wedding to that man! They’d gone on vacations with him, and dinners, and oh, God. Oh God, they’d wanted grandchildren. They teased her about it. The people who raised her cared more about the next generation of kids than their own child’s welfare.

And Eileen! Eileen was right next door, but somehow she of all people didn’t think anything that’d happened to Jennie was a sign of moral degeneration. Or, she’d had suspicions and chosen to keep them to herself. It wasn’t unusual for women in college to go through changes and discover new things about themselves. Lord knows plenty of her faceless college “friends” had gone from straight girls to dyked out lesbians in the matter of a scant few years, falling to degenerate perversions even as Jennie had tried to carry her loyal cause.

It stung, though. Eileen should’ve been able to discern that something was wrong when she’d married a man that she would’ve found repulsive. In fact, she could recall through the haze having railed against the vile institution of marriage and its “domesticating effect” on strong women with opinions. That settled it. With Cole gone, now was the perfect time to get Eileen’s attention.

No matter what, she was getting to the bottom of this.

Jennie turned off the water, toweled off quickly, and headed to her bedroom. Rather than the floral print dresses that had become her staple, she rummaged through her dresser until she found what she was looking for: a single pair of dark colored jeans that clung to every curve she had. She paired the look with a graphic tee (that she got from the church’s food drive, but it’d do for now), and gave a sharp nod to herself in the mirror. She was fierce. She was womyn.

Her first obstacle became leaving the house. As she headed for the exit through the mudroom, she smelled Cole’s musk again. Something in here reeked of it. “Twist the handle, open the door, and leave,” Jennie coached herself. “Just twist the handle, open the door, and— God dammit!” Jennie growled, baring her teeth. She needed to find whatever it was. The feral drive that’d plagued her in the days prior was back and it demanded as much. It didn’t take long to discover the source: Cole had deposited her sweaty clothes in the washer, just presuming that Jennie would’ve hopped to and been a good little housewife.

Hah! Jennie wasn’t a housewife. She was a strong, independent woman who didn’t need to bow to Cole’s transgender appendage. And that’s why she had Cole’s boxers stuffed in her mouth, sucking the ball sweat and precum from them as her fingers worked herself to an incredible climax. It didn’t make her a pervert to do this. It was strategic. She needed to fortify herself if she had any chance of withstanding the real thing. God, the real thing. Throbbing, veiny, pulsing and deep inside her as her orgasm spiked and oh GOD!

Her body shook, and for a moment Jennie worried that Thya was taking over. But no. This was hers. Her pleasure. Violent and clawing for every bit of the revolting ecstasy as she screamed into her makeshift gag. She ragdolled and heard the machine’s metal frame groan as she went. Then she couldn’t see. It took her a while to realize it was because she’d closed her eyes and let the undulations of what she’d just done to herself spill over her.

When Jennie came to, she found her body still sagging against the washer. Her head had lolled into the machine, closer to the rest of the clothes. Drool dripped from the corners of her mouth to splat against the metal drum. It would’ve been embarrassing had the woman she’d been brainwashed into being had seen the state of her. Hell, it was embarrassing. That’s what made it hot.

Jennie pushed herself free of the machine, discarding Cole’s boxers back into them as she did. She dropped in a single washer pod as she licked her fingers clean, closed the lid, pressed the button, and viola. No more musk. Her fingers gripped at the lid’s lip until she heard the washer’s locking mechanism engage. Too late now for her to change it unless she canceled the wash. Disappointed, and unsure if it was because she’d wanted to cling to the scent or because it reflected poorly on her to merely think of not washing Cole’s clothes, she headed for the door. Twist, open, and leave. Easy concepts. She would not give any self-reflection on why it took her two minutes to grasp the handle and do just that.

• • •

Eileen’s home always held a place of comfort for Jennie, but today something about it felt off. Her skin prickled the moment she crossed the threshold and into the den. It looked the same as always: the same poured concrete floor, the same beige rug that centered your focus to the matching sofa and coffee table in taupe with birch accent, the same mint colored accent wall that held a fireplace that had never once been used in the many years that Jennie had been coming over to visit… but something raised Jennie’s hackles. It was the stillness. It was too still over the sound of her heart thudding so damn loud she was sure that Eileen was about to round the corner and tell her to stop making such a commotion.

But Eileen wasn’t here. It was the middle of the day. Eileen was always here in the middle of the day. Another thing that was just wrong. Then an anguished moan — soft and coming from Eileen’s bedroom — disturbed that disturbing tranquility. It startled Jennie, and she drew in a sharp breath that flooded her nostrils with a familiar fragrance. It smelled like Cole. This time, though, it didn’t make her head spin. It made her furious.

Cole was here? Not with Jennie, but with Eileen? And Eileen was making those noises? Sickening, bestial possession forced her legs to move before she could consider what she was about to walk in on: Cole, fucking her best friend and sister. The thought only occurred to her as she was already shoving her way into the bedroom, and she almost forced herself not to look. If she didn’t perceive it, it wasn’t real. It was what had gotten her through most of her life, but that was a child’s way to cope. She was a womyn.

No womyn, though, could have prepared herself for the profane tableau that presented itself when Jennie opened the door. She was taken so aback that she stumbled to a stop and simply stared. She’d missed noticing something when she’d entered the home: Rick’s memorial flag — the one that normally sat, folded and kept in a display case on the mantle — lay beneath Eileen’s naked body, her drool and juices desecrating it. Eileen looked serene, almost zen-like, with her eyes closed and a slight smile on her pouty lips.

What sparked fury in Jennie, however, was the way her sister’s stomach bulged out slightly from where Cole must have been had been busy depositing load after load into her, the remnants of which had begun to coat her inner thighs with a glistening marble sheen. Something sick and sour twisted in Jennie’s gut. The nerve of this woman. Cole was hers. Jennie stormed over to the bed and clambered onto it.

Eileen stirred from her blissful slumber, eyes fluttering open. “Rynn…? Izzat you…? Wha-”

“Eileen Brooke Waddlesbee,” Jennie tutted, making sure to stab at the pronunciation of each name.

Eileen sobered in an instant, eyes bulging to alertness in a way Jennie would’ve found comical under better circumstances. “Ff-fuck! Ah, w-wait a second, sis, I- SHIT!” Eileen swore as Jennie’s hand connected with the meat of Eileen’s ass. No single noise had ever sounded so distasteful and arousing. What followed, though, was better than anything Jennie could contemplate: a pained, utterly pathetic whimper that escaped Eileen’s lips. Tingles erupted across Jennie’s body at it, and it was everything she could do to not feel lightheaded. This was wrong. It was all too much.

Which is why I was here. Unlike earlier, it was my time to step in. Take off the edge. I didn’t want to deny my sister this moment, though. And I had a reason to make sure she followed her worst impulse. A part to play. I wrapped my arms around her waist, letting my fingers splay out over her stomach. Phantom touches and sensations, but all too real to my little sister. I could touch her underneath her clothes, and nobody would know except us.

“You should be mad,” I whispered, nipping at her ear. “And you should take it out on her.”

“I am mad! At you!” Jennie shot back, the anger in her voice belied by the lurid zeal growing in her body.

I kissed at her neck, wishing that I’d been able to truly take form and despoil her — the way an angel descending from the heavens to lay low the wicked might. That wasn’t the deal I made, though, and I still had my own mission to complete. “I know you are, sweetie. But you can’t hurt me in the same way you can desecrate her.”

Jennie let out a resentful snort of mirthless laughter. “What’s left to desecrate?”

“Your bond with her. The two of you are so close, almost like you’re...”

“Sisters.” Jennie trembled as the word formed in her mind, each letter flaring bright as if lit by neon.

“They share everything, don’t they?”

“But… I’m scared. What if I do something wrong and she never talks to me again?”

“Don’t worry about that, honey. Just worry about the part where you wanna rape your sister as you hurt her.” By the time I finished speaking, she was naked.

Attagirl. Now all she needed to do was—

“Bold of you to interrupt ‘laundry time.’” Dammit.