17th of August, 2018It’s not every day that one is the only one to arrive at a party by Uber and gets to feel poor doing so. Her feeling isn’t alleviated by the fact that she is likely to be the only one to have relied on public transport as well. It’s not that Britain’s wealthy shun travelling by rail— Amy is such a fervent patron of the Great Western Railway that she has spent more than a worker’s sary on their services over the past years. But there’s wealthy and there’s elite, the absolute top of the top, for whom gliding through Southern Engnd’s countryside at 125 miles per hour in a first-css seat is simply not exclusive enough.

  They’re the exact kind of people Amy needs to impress if she wants to build the kind of career that she has been expected to have her entire life. Her father wants her to become a cabinet minister, if not prime minister, and has demanded such from her since she was little. It would finally finish her family’s destiny, confirm their long march to the top, and reinforce the hard work of every ancestor she had in the process. Amy sits at the end of a thin but important family tree made up of only sons for the past 150 years.

  Her great-great-great-grandfather owned a minor company specialising in trade with the Americas, building up vital retions in America and the then-booming Cuba throughout his life. He used that business, and the retions maintained through it, to ensure that his eldest son could start working in Whitehall; particurly, the Colonial Office, focusing on His Majesty’s colonies in the Caribbean. He slowly worked his way up through the hierarchy, eventually working with cabinet ministers on occasion, under the Asquith cabinets and helped ensure that the United Kingdom continued receiving the supplies it needed to continue fighting the Great War.

  They were, naturally, proud members of the Liberal party. This was an era before the party had gone insane, when they supported free trade, capitalism and fought dangerous and antisemitic bills pushed by the Labour and Conservative parties.

  Her great-great-grandfather’s close contact with various Liberal ministers led them to take on his son, who worked as a special advisor for the First Commissioner of Works before being elected as a member of parliament himself in 1929. Soon her great-grandfather found himself supporting Ramsay MacDonald’s National government, splitting from his party in doing so. He held the seat for sixteen years as a hard-working constituency MP, losing it in Labour’s 1945 ndslide victory. A few years ter, he became the first member of her family to join the Conservative party, even if he didn’t hold office anymore. His hard work and smart post-war investments into the automotive industry helped him build the wealth that would ter become the tens of millions Amy will inherit.

  Her grandfather was a Lord, appointed into the role by Thatcher for his diligent work as a wyer and as a top civil servant in the Department of Justice. He’s the oldest person in her family Amy actually got to know, even if it was for just a fleeting moment in her youngest days— he had been born in 1922, and died in 2004, just a few weeks after she’d turned seven years old. The times she’d visited her grandparents with her mother are still some of her happiest memories, and she’d love to visit their little cottage again. Sadly, it was turned into a short-term rental almost the second Dad inherited it.

  Her father is one of the richest men in Bristol and owns a major construction company, the first one of her lineage to be truly rich. The rest may have had the respect of their peers or minor political power: but her father had become politically important. Not because of positions he held, but because of donations he could make. Yet his wealth only bought him favourable policy, he never gained the status he wanted.

  In his te forties, knowing he would never be accepted into the elite circles of this country, he finally decided to create an heir of his own with a woman half his age.

  An heir, not a child or a family. He doesn’t care about Mum, Amy, or himself. He’s thrown everything he has to offer into his business and didn’t care much about being an actual father, other than piling more and more expectations on her with the implicit threat that her inheritance is dependent on making him proud.

  Today is his 70th birthday, and rather than celebrate, he decided to attend the same annual convention he’s always gone to. He’s old and could have retired long ago to offer Amy the same love Mum had. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He never cared, really— by reproducing at his age, he gave Amy the degenerate fantasies she has to suffer through. By not being there for her, he never gave her a male role model to aspire to. By making her his only son, he made it impossible to act on her fantasies of becoming a woman, even if the very concept wasn’t deplorable.

  She has to be a man. Not because it’s particurly fun— but because it’s the only way she can improve her status. The only way she can gain respect from the powerful. Amy is her family’s key into the true elites of society, a result of being well-educated, politically-connected and from an incredibly wealthy background. The only issue with her background would be the fact that she attended a private grammar school rather than a boarding school— though Bristol Grammar School is still an old and highly-accimed institution in its own right. She could have attended a boarding school if she’d wanted to, but her mother convinced her that the masculine culture in such schools would be highly detrimental to her development.

  Mum wanted her to be a good person and that’s incompatible with attending an English public school.

  But that’s not why she’s here. She’s here to celebrate her friend’s birthday, meet some important people, suck up to some nobles and get really fucking drunk doing it. Alcohol is the only method through which one could manage to put up with people like this, anyhow.

  Amy sighs, prepares herself mentally and is ready to start the show— just for the script to be interrupted as she approaches the door. It’s opened for her before she even gets to knock, a servant waiting for her on the other side. She’s short, demure and has lovely blonde hair.

  “Good evening, Mr…” The woman looks at her, eyes wide open, cogs almost visibly turning inside her head. Her accent seems vaguely Eastern European. “I’m afraid I don’t quite remember your name.”

  “Finch. We wouldn’t have met before, this is my first time here. I know Nicos from university— we’re roommates.” Even the aristocracy, when offered the chance to get on-campus accommodation, will settle for one of the more luxurious new dorms built for wealthy foreign students able to afford a shower of their own and an in-unit kitchenette.

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir, I hope you’ll forgive me—” The servant bows, her gaze quickly lowered to the floor, hands csped together in front of her stomach. She looks like she would prostrate herself in front of Amy if she had scared the maid more than she could ever be capable of.

  It’s a little sickeningly submissive, even for a maid. There’s loyalty and subservience, relegating yourself to being a capable, respected and assistant— and there is whatever these particur aristocrats think they are doing to this poor girl. An unhelpful whisper in the back of her head insists it has to be quite exciting.

  “It’s quite alright, miss.” Amy responds, holding her hands behind her back to show that she is no threat to the woman. Calling her ‘miss’ still seemed to make her pause for a second, like she wasn’t used to that title. “There must be a whole lot of names to keep track of on a night such as this. I’m not bothered by it— you seem like a very kind dy. Don’t work yourself up about it.”

  If the servant wanted to respond to Amy’s comments, she didn’t. Instead she seemed uncomfortable, going through the motions of expining where one could find snacks and refreshments. Anything but acknowledge the fact that someone seems to be nice to her.

  It’s not like Amy was paying particur attention to that, though— she’s more intrigued by something else: the woman herself. Her voice seemed to sink into a slightly deeper tone over time. There was more than a hint of anxiety when Amy’s eyes slipped to certain features of her face. She has a retively masculine pattern of speech and her makeup and clothes were very intentionally chosen to obscure the remaining male features.

  It’s surprising. She would never have expected Nicos’ family to be so progressive as to keep a transgender maid, even if they were clearly refusing to offer her any comfort in the job. At least it’s employment entirely befitting of her new stature in life. She’s lowered herself in the natural hierarchy that has existed for generations — unlike Amy, who very much intends to climb higher — and found herself serving her betters to allow them to give their much greater contributions to society. Her bour is necessary to maximise the total economic, cultural and intellectual output of society and she should be given comfort and appreciation in return.

  Amy’s mother had devoted her life to her when she was a child. She helped create a stable and safe environment for her to grow up in, supported Amy in her studies and encouraged her to seek out the performing arts in the way she had. Mum knew the biggest possible contribution she could make to the world is to be someone who loves, cares and raises and was so proud to do exactly that. But she spent her twenties bouncing between various low-paid jobs and constantly on the verge of homelessness whilst suffering through chronic pain that left her nigh-disabled. Dad thought she was pretty, though, and she got to be a stay-at-home mother rather than continue working in his office.

  She regrets the fact that she can’t spend this weekend with her mother, like she always does. Instead she’s at this stupid party with the poshest of the posh and needs to prove that there is indeed infinitely more she could offer the world than she would be able to if she decided to transition.

  4th of January, 2019“You can do better than that.” Kelynen is not amused with her today. It’s the first time Amy is being properly put to work. Rather than submitting, she’s refusing to go along with anything she’d understood and agreed to less than twenty-four hours ago. “Use your feminine voice. I know you’ve got one in you. We have recordings of you singing.”

  It took Amy less than two hours to really get on her sponsor’s nerves and accumute more than a dozen electric shocks. Most of these shocks have been of the weakest kind possible, which are more uncomfortable than they are painful, especially when one has had some time to get used to them. They’re the kind of punishment she’s all too willing to accept if it means she doesn’t have to help them achieve their forced feminisation goals for the week.

  There’s a little Ray in the back of her head telling her she needs to resist their efforts more. Regrettably, he’s correct. Ray is correct way too often, especially in the moments Amy lets her paraphilia grow out of control and threaten to destroy her. Truth is that his absence has been impossible to ignore.

  “You know I bloody can’t.” Amy says in her deepest, most masculine voice. It’s not super masculine — she’s always tended towards a higher pitch than most boys and men she’s met throughout her life — but it’s certainly rebellious.

  “God—” Her sponsor paces, clearly reluctant in giving her another level two electric shock, but ends up doing so regardless. “This is the fourth time I’ve had to escate the shocks today. We’re supposed to be cleaning the library.”

  Amy smugly notes they’ve not even made it out of the storage room yet, the two too busy bickering to get anywhere. Her resistance is working— in that she’s definitely been able to annoy the hell out of her sponsor. Her foot hurts like hell as a result, but she knew it would when she decided on this approach. A bit of pain is worth it, just like a bit of hunger was okay if it meant avoiding wearing the maid uniform for as long as possible.

  She’s not going to speak like a woman. Never. She’d rather never speak again than give them this win in particur.

  The power of having a masculine voice cannot be underestimated. It’s the most revealing thing that a transgender woman can have, but also one of the most feminising things, especially when someone looks broadly feminine but perhaps a little clocky— like Faith. Someone who is in the know or particurly observant will recognise the girl for who she truly is, but the average cis person will just take it for granted that something that kind of looks like a duck but quacks like a duck probably is a duck.

  And if Amy is honest, she’s starting to become quite waterfowl-like. Not quite a duck. Maybe a goose, if she really continues to torture the metaphor. She’s not that tall for a man at a mere five foot eight. She’s thinner than she’s ever been, at barely 7 stone. She’s wearing a padded bra, skirt, leggings and stupid pink shoes. Her hair isn’t long, but it’s not short either, and she’s tended towards letting it hang a little rather than combing it into something more masculine. Her face is clean-shaven and moisturised, making it really nice and soft nowadays—

  Perhaps she’s letting her appearance get feminised more than she intended to.

  Her tendency towards more queer mannerisms doesn’t help — Ray once accused her of holding mugs ‘like a girl’.

  But as long as she has her voice, she’ll always be read as a man.

  Kelynen, meanwhile, escorted Amy to the library like she was a petunt child. She was being one, after all. And there’s no reason to talk someone like that out of the decisions they’ve made— they need to be treated differently. Her sponsor clearly recognised this and changed her approach.

  “I need you to clean this room by the end of the day, Amy.”

  “Okay?” She rolls her eyes. “And what if I don’t?”

  There’s another intense shock to her ankle, which does risk destabilising her for a second. It also forces her to bite her lip again before she does something absolutely pathetic in front of a sponsor. Amy really hates the fact that everything being done is as exciting to her as it is.

  “I won’t be getting you any food until you’re done.” Kelynen tries to force a confident grin — like Rose would have done — but fails. “You’ve already ruined your chance for lunch, but maybe you can still get dinner.”

  Amy ughs a little and shows her the confident grin the sponsor couldn’t manage. “You’re so retarded. I sted for weeks without anything to eat—”

  And then Amy sharply inhales, her words interrupted by a long, intense shock to her leg. She has to hold on to a wall for bance, her foot hurting to such an extent she can’t stand on it anymore, holding her knee up with her right hand. There’s no way she would be able to handle another shock today after that, but she’s not going to admit that— she would never utter anything along those lines. She can’t let them know when they’ve won.

  There’s another, more pathetic sound that left her instead.

  “Fuck. I— Fuck. You moaned again.” Kelynen looks at her, horrified. “Are you— are you doing this to get shocked?”

  “No.” Amy responds. It’s the truth for once. She isn’t trying to get shocked. She likes it, yes, but Kelynen can’t really make it as viscerally exciting as Eira can. The woman is too soft, too uncomfortable in her role. Simple masochism isn’t something she would seek out like that.

  Probably.

  Her sponsor eyes her suspiciously. “I don’t believe that.”

  “You’re free not to.” Amy lowers her voice just to annoy her. A part of her is trying to bait her into another shock as well. Not because she’s into it, but as a confirmation that she is indeed being a pain in the ass like Ray would want her to be. “Just like I’m free to decide whether I py along with your disgusting little games or not.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.” She states it like it’s obvious, when it’s not. “I do. I can choose how I want to punish you. This thing— it’s just an option.”

  “Feel free to use the taser instead.” Amy grinned. It’s a total bluff on her end— she couldn’t take another shock today, not after the pain she just had to go through. Not to her left leg, at least, and if she’s tased the electricity will find its way to the ground through it. But she can still act like she could handle one, and she knows she can make her sponsor uncomfortable this way.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of sending you down to the cells to spend a bit of time with Jenny.” She sighs. “Which I would rather not, because I know you can be a good girl when you want to be one. But if you’re going to be like this, we will have to find a way to punish you that doesn’t just end up working as encouragement.”

  Amy tries to read just how serious Kelynen is with this specific threat. Most of what she sees is nervousness, perhaps insecurity— but no signs of her trying to force confidence anymore. It might actually be completely honest. Which would suck, because the st pce Amy would want to be is back in the pce where she nearly lost her mind, but that won’t stop her from trying to push the woman a little further.

  “You’ll do that so we can pn our mutual insubordination?”

  “It’s not about getting you in contact with Jenny. It’s about keeping you away from Faith.” Her voice continues to waver, genuinely upset to have to say the things she’s saying. “It’s— It’s for her own good. If you continue to act the way you are, I’ll be forced to shock you way beyond the limits we’ve been told are safe. Because I can’t let you get away with this. You’d be left basically unable to walk. She would be so upset to see you come home hurt so much every single day.”

  “You can’t use her against me like that—” Amy protested. She hadn’t expected this from Kelynen, but maybe she should have.

  “I’m not. Rose and I spent the whole day with her, giving her a makeover. I see why you care about her. She’s sweet. I don’t know what you girls did to her to make her say all those nasty things online, and she won’t talk about it either, but clearly it’s not something that comes naturally to her. I don’t want her to get hurt just as much as you.”

  Hearing Kelynen say that was painful. The worst part was that she was entirely genuine when she said these things. She’s a bad liar, she’s worse at trying to feign confidence. She couldn’t act to save her life. Which leaves her in the situation that she has to be honest if she wants to convince people. It means she will have to show that she is, at heart, a good human being.

  Better than Amy, at least. Even if Amy’s never been able to hurt girls who are obviously just kind and sweet— she needs an asshole who she can get herself angry at. Kelynen is not that. Not if she allows herself to be vulnerable.

  It does make it more surprising that she is working for someone doing the evil things Cecil described to her. Perhaps she’s a victim of the same pressures that other trans girls fell for? A peasant girl from an unaccepting family, allowed to transition if she did something horrible to others who they cimed ‘deserved’ the punishment? Scared, helpless, and willing to appease her employer?

  If true, Amy would want to do anything but fight her.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, picking up some items from the cart so she can get to work. Her voice isn’t quite feminine, but it’s higher pitched, which seems to please Kelynen. “You win. I’ll try to behave.”

  17th of August, 2018These are the evenings she hates her legal name more than ever. Normally, it is a painful but manageable part of her daily life, applied to her by others because she allows them to believe that she is a perfectly healthy young man. Some people assume she is somewhat queer. She allows them to do so, especially as people just believe her to be homosexual— something which is true, in a way.

  Introducing herself as him is something else though. A continuous reminder that it’s not just something she tolerates others believing about her, but a lie that she is explicitly keeping up everything single time she introduces herself. She’s … Finch, Nicos’ friend and roommate, the grandson of the Baron of Tewkesbury. In just a few months, she’ll be working in the Houses of Parliament for her local MP, the honourable Jacob Rees-Mogg. She wishes she could have introduced herself as the Chair of the Exeter University Tory Society, but Cecil made sure she could never take up that position.

  It’s pathetic to have to pretend to be his friend just because her roommate is fond of him, but she has to despite everything that he did to her. He thoroughly humiliated her in that election. She’d helped organise a dozen events as a member of the committee, she’d written a manifesto filled with all kinds of exciting pns for the future, expanding the society to be more than a club and become something fun for outsiders to engage with— and Cecil had done nothing. He showed up, sure, and he’s quite a jovial fellow: but he never contributed. He took the committee’s work for granted.

  And then he won. Barely. He never deserved to win, but did so anyway, because Cecil has two things Amy doesn’t have. The first is a title — the Earl of Great Marlow, inherited from his te father — and the second is immediate access to his millions, as opposed to Amy, who only gets an allowance from her father. He indicated he might get them a new fancy office somewhere in the city centre in one of the properties he inherited and cut their costs by ￡500 per month in doing so. It convinced a lot of people, but not enough of them to actually win the election, so his allies started to spread various nasty rumours about her. Traditional gender norms turned into misogyny, and misogyny turned into sexual impropriety. The rumours were then fed by people knowing about her getting opinionated, loose-lipped and sleepy when drunk, which they then extended to include cuddly. Did she get touchy with someone when drunk? No one had any proof it happened, but the seed was pnted regardless. The worst part is that her getting cuddly when drunk is actually true, though she never acts on those feelings.

  She lost by two votes in the end. Soon after they started an investigation into the accusations, which ended up being a total waste of time— even when offered full anonymity no one would come forward with an actual compint. Because there were none to be made. Amy was raised properly by an amazing mum who made sure she knows all about proper consent.

  Amy would rather never have put up with Cecil again, but Nicos and he had been cssmates at Eton, and he wasn’t exactly going to avoid inviting him to his birthday party just so his roommate didn’t have to deal with someone she happened to dislike. So that’s why the three of them have occupied a sofa in a small shed outside, te at night, drunk and intending to continue drinking after most of the other guests have left.

  Cecil catches the attention of the maid doing a quick round to check up on the table set up outside and calls her over to them. She is much more anxious than she had been before in the hallway.

  “You. Boy. We’d like another bottle of wine. Red, please.” Surprisingly, Cecil’s tone towards the maid is about as respectful as his tone towards Amy had been that night— that is, basically non-existent. At least he’s putting up with her as much as she’s putting up with him.

  “I’d love some scotshhh—” Nicos adds to the order, only somewhat slurring his words after eight hours of heavy drinking. He’s on the verge of losing consciousness, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to drink more.

  He’s sitting on the other side of the couch from Amy, nearest to the door, with Cecil in the middle. It leaves Amy uncomfortably trapped in the corner.

  “It’d be lovely if you could get me some red wine as well, Miss…” Amy tries to think of the name, she knew she’d heard it somewhere today. “Ilena?”

  “Don’t reinforce his delusions. You, make yourself useful for once, go away—” Cecil dismisses the servant, who fails to hide how happy she is to leave. It doesn’t make the attitude less disgusting, though.

  Maybe it’s the alcohol making her more combative than usual, but Amy feels the need to say something. “Don’t be so bloody rude.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cecil turns around to look at her. It’s obvious from his tone that he isn’t looking for her to repeat what she said, but more of an expnation.

  “The girl.” Amy crosses her arms. “She works for Nicky— she’s due some respect. I wouldn’t accept you talking to one of my employees like that.”

  “You don’t have employees.” Cecil notes with a grin, taking some crisps out of a bowl on the table.

  “That’s beside the point— the maid did nothing wrong. Be nice.”

  Ilena returns with the two red wines and bottle of scotch and pces them on the table. Neither Cecil nor Nicos even notice her work, so Amy acknowledges her with a nod and a smile, unsure if she should say anything and attract either of their attention to the girl.

  She seems to appreciate it, at least, slowly taking a few steps back, intending to leave— but then Cecil grabs her hips. The maid whimpers under his touch, freezing rather than fighting, and all Amy can do is look away from the scene despite knowing she should try to stop it from happening. But Cecil has half a foot and some fifty pounds on both of them— there’s nothing Amy could do, especially not stuck in a corner like she is. Nicos has already succumbed to his drowsiness and isn’t much use either.

  It feels like the situation lingers for an eternity before Ilena gets to walk away, remarkably put together for what happened to her. Definitely more than Amy is after these events. Her gut says that the woman might be used to it, at least from Cecil.

  “Did you really have to—” Amy starts trying to say something, but is quickly interrupted.

  “No. I didn’t have to touch him.” Cecil scoffs. “I wanted to touch him. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “You can’t just go around touching people because you want to, you bloody—”

  “I’m not touching people. I’m touching that fucking tranny. Do you think he deserves respect? That freak is pushing his pathetic little fetish on all of us, thinking he can be a woman. And you, idiot, are pying along with him.” Cecil leans forward to fill his gss with wine, but decides to take up more space as he rests his back against the couch again, pushing Amy further into the corner.

  “I don’t care what you think of her—”

  “As if I care what you think.” He interrupts her again.

  “Let me fucking finish.” Amy is properly annoyed now. “She was just minding her own business, trying to do her work, doing absolutely nothing wrong—”

  “What, it would have been okay if he was doing something wrong? Or do you just think it’s uncouth to be doing this around others?”

  “No! Of course not. It’s just fucking disgusting, is what it is.” Amy folds her arms and looks away. She’d almost forget why she even puts up with people like him. Yes, they are her one shot at trying to get in the good graces of this particur css of people. But at this rate, this creep is more likely to cause her issues than he is to be an asset for her ambitions.

  “That boy should be grateful.” Cecil starts talking to Amy like she’s a child. “Nicky’s parents found him in some god-awful Moldovan vilge and offered to take him here to the United Kingdom so he could have the drugs he so desperately wanted. They feed him, clothe him, give him a roof over his head and the opportunity to pretend to be a woman here. Just because they like trannies like that… thing.”

  “So? Does that mean she deserves to be sexually assaulted—”

  “He’s here voluntarily, you know. He could leave any second and return to Moldova, at least if they give him his passport back.” He smirks devilishly. “Though I’m pretty sure they had it burned. Not like it matters. I doubt he wants it back. It’s got his ‘deadname’ in it after all.”

  “So she’s basically stuck in this pce whether she likes it or not? Because she’s been turned into an illegal immigrant by his family?” Amy can’t believe this guy— these guys.

  “What, are you going to tell me you have issues with that? You? Your dad works in construction, …” Amy ignores her legal name in Cecil’s rant. “Your dad did this to hundreds, if not thousands of people. Find the most desperate people in Eastern Europe, transport them to Engnd, put them into debt for that trip, and take away their passports until they’ve paid it off. Make them live at housing tied to their employment and subtract all kinds of costs from their incomes to skim even more off the top. It’s the same thing, except your family does it to people rather than perverts. You grew rich off it, whilst all Nicky gets is a loyal and devoted servant.”

  “You can’t convince me any of this is okay—”

  Cecil interrupts her again. “It used to be a lot worse, you know? Before this, we didn't even need to import our toys from abroad— we made them at home, to our liking. We took troublesome boys and turned them into the most pathetic little whimpering servants we could get, unable to resist being used and abused by their superiors. Not trannies like that thing, but boys. Because there’s nothing worse you can do to a man than take away his masculinity— things like him had none to lose in the first pce. Sure, they’re pretty and you can touch them no matter how much they hate it, but it’s not the same. Some people pretend it is, but it’s not— they’re not fundamentally scared enough. They don’t know that their very survival depends on their ability to do as they’re told. They think there might still be a future. Our old toys didn’t.”

  It’s horrifying. The idea that they would actually do that to men is terrible. It’s hot, too, insanely so. She can’t really hide her blush as she imagines the idea. It’s not hard to fantasise given the amount of captions she’s read, but it actually happening in real life is— fuck. She can’t think very clearly anymore. “You… You sissified them. Bloody hell.”

  Cecil raises an eyebrow. “You’re familiar with the concept?”

  “Vaguely.” She shrugs, trying to seem less deeply informed than she really is.“Take boys. Turn them into girls. It’s about humiliation, or whatever.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” He presses his hand against Amy’s chest, pinning her into the sofa. “You know much more than that, don’t you?”

  Amy desperately wants to stop staring into Cecil’s eyes, but doesn’t feel like she can, not now, not when every instinct in her body is demanding that she run.

  “Right, girl— you better keep this secret better than you’ve kept that one, at least if you want a career, still.” He pushes even harder. Her chest hurts. “If you want to be a part of our world, you’ll have to accept its sins. You’ll have to keep its secrets. So stop protesting when the betters get what they want from degenerates like yourself, and I’m sure we can keep your sexual fantasy as well-hidden as you want it to be.”

  Amy nods, slowly. She’s not completely lost, she’s just in debt to one of the biggest cunts she’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

  “And if you even think about speaking one fucking word of this to anyone, I’ll make sure that you’ll get to live through your perverted little fantasies whether you like it or not. Understood?”

  Amy finally averts her gaze, unable to speak, unable to move, hoping that her total physical capitution is enough for him to know she understands. It’s enough. He’s satisfied— for now.

  It could have been a lot worse, really.

  At least she had the dignity of not being touched in more intimate ways.

  At least she could scurry off to her hotel.

  At least she knows how to keep her mouth shut.

  9th of January, 2019Having to read a bunch of feminist rubbish sucks, but Amy has to give the sponsors props where they are due: they seem to have pirated the works and printed them out rather than financially supporting a bunch of imbeciles. It means she can defile the works with her notes directly rather than needing to use a separate piece of paper for that. It also allows her to impulsively correct the spelling mistakes in the text — dishonourable is written with a u! — and add commentary where it deserves such.

  The result is a pile of papers that have been relentlessly scribbled over. She kept the expletives to her notes so her essay can be as clean and proper as possible. It’s going to be great. Sure, the sponsors won’t agree, but they were never going to. All she has to do is write something honest, which she definitely will. She can write something much better than the rubbish a few American academics have ruined perfectly fine paper with.

  Amy is lying chest down on her bed, her legs in the air, and is quite busy drawing argumentation structures on a piece of paper when Eira enters the room and disturbs her workflow.

  “I’m quite sorry for interrupting you girls at this te an hour,” The head sponsor starts off with a lie. “But I have a few important announcements for tomorrow. First of all: Jenny will be let out of the cells, having finished her punishment. I assume you will welcome her back with open arms, or without causing trouble in the case she’d rather not get ptonic in such a way.”

  Amy remembers that Ray hadn’t been locked up in the cells for the whole ten day period he was cut out of their lives. Instead, he seemed to be living out of the cells whilst still doing the same work that they’ve been made to do, presumably including voice training and such. She’s seen him walk around once or twice, naturally escorted by an annoyed-looking Rose with a taser in her hand.

  “I missed him.” Faith mumbles from the table next to Amy’s bed, half-focused on the television rather than the head sponsor. It’s perhaps the most disrespectful thing the girl has done since arriving at the manor, but it’s more borne out of sleepiness than rebellion.

  “Good. I assume she’s missed you two as well. Sadly, you won’t have any time to catch up as tomorrow will be an extra busy day for you girls. The owner of the manor will be visiting us to meet you girls. You’re expected to be on your best behaviour. As there’s quite a bit of work to be done in preparation of the visit, each of you has been assigned to a task or two: Jenny has been tasked with cleaning the rge dining hall. Amy, you will be cleaning one of the bedrooms and helping prepare the main course. Faith, you will prepare the main hallways on the ground floor. You’re also to receive our guest when they arrive—”

  And with that idea, anything else Eira might have said became trivial.

  Faith will be left alone with the man who ordered her forced feminisation. The aristocrat who decided that their lives prior would be over, that they would be reduced to pathetically submissive servants. Amy knew this was the end result, but it seemed more theoretical when they never had to deal with the man in person. And now it’s more real than it’s ever been.

  Faith is already the most nervous of the three, the most likely to fold under pressure, and she’ll be the one to receive him first. That’s why they chose her, most likely: Ray and Amy haven’t been broken down enough yet. They’re not ready to be shown off as more than curiosities, works-in-progress. But they have someone much more ready to perform the role they’d intended for her.

  Dar is just afraid— all she wants is safety. She’ll behave as long as they won’t physically hurt her. She will do whatever she is told, and that would also include letting them touch her in whatever way they like. And it’s disgusting to think that’s exactly what will happen to her.

  She takes Faith’s hand the second Eira leaves them alone again. Amy allows her to lean into the touch, and then pulls her onto the bed to hold her close. The girl melts into her embrace. She’s got the cutest blush on her face.

  She’s so sweet. So innocent. So pure. Faith doesn’t even know what’s coming. The worst part is that Amy couldn’t tell her even if she wanted to— she’d end up in much more trouble than she already is. She’d be left unable to protect her friend.

  There’s nothing she can do, not today. She’s waited too long to attempt an escape, and Dar will suffer for it whilst Amy actually deserves to. So she just pulls the covers over them for an additional yer of protection, no matter how weak. Their eyes meet for a second, but then her friend looks away, embarrassed. Self-consciously, she leans forward, bridging the gap—

  And then Dar kisses her.