When I have to lie to someone, I like to reach for the closest truth I can find to make the fiction come easier. Maybe I didn't do an important assignment, but I had this problem that happened a week ago, so let's just move it to yesterday and massage it into a plausible story. Write what you know, lie what you know.

Not for Violette. Nobody ever taught her how to lie well; I'm not sure anyone's taught her to lie at all. She'll say things that are untrue sometimes, but only when she wants them to be true. Orders or fantasies, denials that she should mean but doesn't. If I ask her a direct question, her main two responses are to either shut down or tell the truth.

So, when I run a finger down the front of her cornflower blue sleepshirt and get her squirming and biting at her lip, I'm sure she won't lie to me.

"I had an interesting dream last night. I think you had something to do with it. Admit to it," I say.

"A dream?" She looks at me blankly.

Hmm. This isn't off to a great start, but I continue. "A sex dream. Or, it was going to be, but I woke up before then."

"What kind of sex? Was it bad?" She seems more curious than concerned. Is she stalling for time to actually think of a lie? That would be uncharacteristically cunning of her.

"Good or bad isn't the issue. Did you give me an order to dream something, then make me forget?" I put my hand on her stomach and press the cool fabric of her shirt into her skin.

"No! I..." She furrows her brow, then shrugs. "Maybe I could do that, but I didn't."

I lean over her, my face as serious as I can manage. "That's weird, because the dream was very vivid, and very close to what you said yesterday about swapping places. I don't think one conversation made that happen. You swear you didn't?"

"I was thinking about that when we went to bed, but I didn't give you any orders!" She wriggles her arm against the tie on her wrist, then bats her eyelashes at me as cutely as that rabbit sticker set she likes. "Was it a good dream?"

"You couldn't make me have a dream just by thinking about it, could you?" That sounds ridiculous. I'm the mind reader around here--Violette just commands absolute obedience.

"I don't know... you're the smart one, you tell me," she says with a pout. "And you didn't answer me!"

Fine, I guess I owe her after grilling her. It's not just because I like that she called me the smart one. Before explaining, I move toward her headboard to untie the braided ribbon from the leftmost post.

"Oh, are we done?" she asks.

"Nah, girl," I say. I nudge her to roll over, and she doesn't question it, like the angel she can sometimes be. I take her other wrist and the wrist the ribbon is tied around and pull them toward me. With a few quick tugs and loops, her hands are now tied behind her back.

"Oh!" she says when she realizes what I've done. After testing the bindings (nothing she couldn't break out of in a pinch, but they hold), she happily chirps, "Okay!"

I don't know how she's survived this long in the world without being kidnapped or something. You wouldn't even have to knock her over the head before throwing her over your shoulder. "Violette, has anyone ever told you you're a slut and a bimbo?"

"Umm, slut isn't new, but I don't think anyone's called me a bimbo before... I think you have to have big boobs to be a bimbo."

Laughing, I climb onto the bed and push her facedown into the mattress. She squirms but doesn't otherwise protest it as I hold her there. "I heard they changed the rules just for you, flat-chested girls can join the club now. You're the first inductee."

"Do I get a shirt?" she asks, somewhat muffled by the mattress. With my hand in her hair, I roughly tug her head back and enjoy the sigh of pleasure it draws out of her.

"Focus, Violette. You wanted to hear about the dream." My grip on her hair slackens and her head drops back down, until she twists to look back at me the best she can. Her eyes are bright.

"Oh yeah! Was it sexy? Was I handsome?"

I draw my tongue along the front line of my teeth before I answer that question. "It wasn't unsexy. We really had traded almost everything, so I was cute like you, while you were taller. I woke up before anything happened, but at the end, I felt... I think I felt how it gets for you, when you're aching inside. Like you are now, I bet."

"Maybe," she says with a secretive giggle. "But I can't do anything to stop it. You'll help me, won't you? Like I did?"

The memory of the smothering affection of brother-Violette sends a flush through me, enough I almost feel the phantom ache again. To be honest, dumb, earnest guys are about the only sort I don't mind letting fuck me--yes, Eric has the personality if not the body type; it helped her case. A male version of her would be a decent candidate, but I'm glad the real her is the princess model.

"Not exactly like you did. Unless you woke up wanting to lose your anal virginity."

"Ummmmm... It might be a good day, like a celebration?"

Hey, if she's offering, I won't turn her down. But she might think I am at first because I get off the bed and go over to her wardrobe.

"Noooo, 哥哥, come back," she whines, twisting back and forth on her belly like an agitated snake.

The pressure of my hand on her ankle when I return stops her performance. "I just got panties to cover your pussy, relax."

"Oh, good idea." She adjusts her legs to accommodate me right away. We tested whether her orders could fully negate its hypnotic draw but found the most successful technique was to block the view of it in some way. Her orders could break me out of the fugue, but it was a constant struggle if I saw it more than once.

I pointedly don't look as I tug the silky fabric up her legs and nestle it over her hips. She sighs quite happily when I press back down on her, tug the fabric aside, and spread her thick ass enough to expose the handle of the stainless steel plug she wore to bed. Tracing the stretched skin of her dusky pink hole, I'm grateful this part of her isn't mind annihilating. It's fun to look at.

"You're not going to make a mess if I do this, are you?" I ask as I jiggle the handle of the plug.

"No, I promise, I... I think it's so clean and empty, actually?" Her voice is more hopeful than confident, but her body is supernatural enough that she's probably right. As long as she wants it, I can believe it.

"What a good mèimei I have," I say, rewarding her with her favorite word and by pulling the plug out in one go.

"Ggghhh," she groans into the mattress. Her well-trained hole remains open momentarily before closing back up. I place the toy on the towel on her bedside table where they usually go and come back with lube, though I'm not sure she needs it. She's so malleable, and the toys lately make wet noises inside her whether she prepares herself or not.

Whatever type of being she is, I still don't think she's a monster. Privately, I've started thinking of her as a type of commensal cuckoo, since she's a replacement for a normal human child that Eric might have had. Her relationship with him could be considered parasitic, like a wasp that feeds on the caterpillar it was laid inside, but a true parasite wouldn't care about his feelings, right? Even her attempt to cause Eric and Jett trouble by sleeping with me was more petty than malevolent. I think her dislike of Jett was the main driver there, and it's not like I blame her for that.

"Oran, are you thinking too much again?" she asks, her face craned round so she can squint at me.

"Guilty," I say with a grin. "One of us has to."

"Okay, but later!" She swings her hips in a little figure eight to draw my eye. "Feels empty now. Please fix it."

"Princess, who is the one tied up and getting fucked in the ass?" Not that I'm not pushing down the boxers I wore to bed and lubing myself up for her. (Better safe than sorry on that.)

"I said please!" She does drop her face back to the mattress in feigned submission, at least. With a soft laugh, I line myself up.

"Um, I've never done it there, so, be gentle, please?" she asks in a voice that halts because she's trying to act more than real concern. At least she's better at role-playing than lying. Moderately.

"But what I really want is to fuck you so hard you can't walk. Wouldn't that be okay too?

She draws in a shuddering breath, her asshole flaring around the head of my cock in an obscene invitation that I take advantage of, and she doesn't respond beyond moaning as I slide inside her. It is indecently easy to take her to the hilt.

"Y-You, you could do that too, can't stop you," she whimpers.

"That's right." I pull her long hair again, enjoy the arc her neck makes as her head tilts back. Her eyelids flutter shut as I test the limits of her flexibility. She's as pretty and strange as one her alien landscapes. Wordlessly, I let go of her hair and watch her torso drop.

"Are you...are you going to?" she asks, trying to sound more scared than excited. I give her a B- for the attempt.

"Yeah." I dig my fingers into her hips and draw my own back, wait for just a moment, then slam back into her. The shudder that goes through me is matched by the one she makes. She's unusually hot inside, in a way that feels like it should burn but doesn't. It makes me want to test the limits of that.

Once I get started moving, I might be thrusting a little too hard for her first time, but it's difficult to stop when she's egging me on with such cute moans. This was a project, she's been teasing me with updates every day for a month now, and we both want it, so--why can't I go overboard?

I leave marks on her skin from how tight I'm gripping her, and thrust as hard as I can. Greedily, I do want to hurt her. No one else has managed to, so carving some pain out of her tender sacrifice of a body will make me special, won't it? She offered it to me, didn't she? In that vision, she begged for it. No one else but me has earned the right.

"Oran," she cries, her whole body trembling, before she goes silent and only gasps. Reader, I do like it best when she calls me by name, not anything else. Don't tell her, please.

I'm not sure I've fucked anyone harder than this. Maybe Jett, the first time; he had to use a sick day afterward. Anger fueled that. It's fueling me a little now, but only because I love Violette more than feels safe. Like I need to eat her so no one else can have her. It's fucked up that she'd be gone if I did that. I'd like to do it over and over again. Instead, I can only press her down and fill her with my cock.

Not that I mind too much. Her hole feels fucking good.

"How'm I doing, huh? You're awful quiet," I hiss. It's hard to catch my breath, but I can manage it for her.

She shakes her head mutely, and I can see the wet spot where she's been drooling onto her sheets. Good, great. Overwhelming her is an honor.

I think of warning her, but it really sounds more fun to spill my seed in her like it was a forgone conclusion, so I do that instead. As always, she's perfectly, beautifully receptive to it.

As I roll off and lay next to her, panting, I realize I didn't even notice if she got off--but I bet she did.

That is, until I notice she's crying.

Though I'm tired and overheated, I hurry to take her in my arms, untie the ribbons around her wrists and peer into her face. "Sunshine, buttercup, angel, what's wrong?"

"I liked it, I liked," she says through tears, shaking her head like a confused pet trying to shake off an unwanted collar. "It was just scary. Like maybe you really hated me."

God, what a relief. I thought maybe I'd misinterpreted the whole session. "Never. You could order me to and I wouldn't do it."

She makes a warbling sad noise, then nothing more while I stroke her hair. I curse at the traitor side of me that wanted to hurt her earlier. Maybe she'd sensed the dark way my thoughts had turned. If she accidentally influenced my dream, and I really think that dream last night wasn't normal, could she be developing new powers?

Using me up?

My memories rumble like the low growl of a dog before it bites. There's something dangerous in my mind that won't let me near it. Red words and red hair. The image of her is still vivid, even if the rest is wrapped in untouchable barbed wire.

I don't breathe a word about it to Violette. Later, when she's not badly in need of aftercare.

* * *

Good news: Violette's perky and bright-eyed again within half an hour. She just needed to cry the big feelings out and receive lots of kisses. I didn't even hurt her, really, not more than a twinge that she manages with just a wince or two. Her body's more than capable of taking a beating, as usual.

Bad news: I can't bring myself to discuss the worries and uncertainties rattling around my head once she's cheered up.

I could trouble her, if I really tried to trouble her. But who would upset such a lucid dear? I think as I watch her get dressed. And I do love her hopelessly, too. That's a huge part of the problem.

"Are you thinking weird things?" she says as she works a thigh high sock up her leg. "Your face got all scrunchy."

"Oh, are you reading my mind?" I say with a laugh. Smooth over it.

"No, that's your job." She sticks her tongue out and straightens up. "I wouldn't like to. People talking is loud enough."

"You get used to it. I can turn it up or down if I concentrate, though the hum of it is kind of comforting."

She comes over to me on the bed and holds her palm up. The dream I had after our first night together swells in my memory as I take it. I'm more certain than ever that I want to hold onto her and go wherever she's leading me, even if there's sharks in the water.

"I wouldn't want to," she reiterates, her eyes locked on mine, "I like that we're different."

* * *

The rest of the day helps take my mind off the flickers of uncertainty in the morning. I make Violette eggs and toast for brunch--Eric's been encouraging about me using the kitchen and feeding Violette. For someone who apparently isn't allowed to use the toaster oven lest she burn the house down, she sure eats a lot. Taking a unusual amount of resources, that's also cuckoo behavior... except it's just as likely she got her appetite from her dad. They're both garbage disposals.

After we eat, Violette and I sprawl on the couch in the living room, her on my lap with her back resting against my chest, my back against the armrest. Jett and Eric are moving furniture around upstairs and downstairs, finding the spaces where our old life fits into the Li household.

I should ask Jett if he's keeping our last name or taking on Li when he marries Eric. I have a good laugh when I think of that. At least Jet is a different spelling, but, like. Still funny.

Maybe Eric will be the one to swap? Eric Green has a nice ring to it. Then Violette might want to as well. Oh, but the name "Violette Green" is almost too cute to bear. I grin.

Still, I'd rather give her my last name the old-fashioned way.

Wait, ew. That might be the most heterosexual thought I've had in years. I'm gonna have to turn in my queer card if anybody finds out.

"Do you think your dad will take Jett's name?"

"No way. Daddy's a Li and so am I. He wouldn't change it."

"You could change your name too, if he did. Then it'd almost be like we're married." No, hold on, I wasn't going to admit to that part. Shit!

She tilts her head back to look at me. I wish I was as dark as Jett so any trace of a blush would be impossible to see on my face.

"Are you proposing to me?"

"What? Oh my god? We've only known each other for about a month, Violette." I'm lying! It's a lie! I want to ask her. I kind of did, in the most weasely way possible, which does suit me.

Unfortunately, as I already told you, I'm much better at lying than she is.

"Oh, okay," she tilts her head back and doesn't say anything else for about a minute. I wait, uncertain, to see if she's done or this is one of her trademark long silences.

She starts talking again right as I start to think she won't. "You should do it properly if you're going to, like Daddy did, after all."

"Uh... huh?"

"Like with a ring and on one knee and stuff. And we should probably know each other for at least a year. That's a good example. Daddy waited even though they got serious really fast."

Dizzily, I think that just means I have to wait eleven more months, and start making money to buy a ring.