Good Boy, Daddy Chapter 14

Female Supremacy takes root and spreads through the household.

I feared dinner. From the day Bryn and I had become man and wife, we had committed to making dinner a truly family event. It wasn’t a place for life lessons or explaining why the day sucked. We ruled out electronics at the table once that became an issue. Our dinners were where we became family, sharing our lives and offering our support to each other in whatever way was needed.

Except now it wasn’t. Now it was the time of day when I ran the greatest risk of exposure. Kila knew how much I feared the loss of secrecy, and she took great pleasure in grabbing my cock under the table while her mother was asking about college. Or making me finger-fuck her while Bryn brought out dessert.

My own fault, really. Sure, Kila had put a lot of pressure on me to behave in specific ways, but the truth was that I went along with it the whole way. And I didn’t see how it could possibly end.

“Hey, Mom, I want to get your opinion on something,” Kyla said as she cut a round, white potato. “Do you believe in genetic superiority?”

I choked on my tea, sputtering as it dribbled down my shirt. Grabbing a napkin, I covered my face and coughed, wiping at the worst of the spill. Bryn looked at me with concern until I wave her off with a gentle hand.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Bryn responded, pausing to chew a dainty bite of baked haddock. “To the degree genes guide us, I guess some are superior and some aren’t.” She paused and thoughtfully shook her head. “I don’t know. It sounds too much like the old talk from the days of racial purity and such. Makes me kind of nervous to hear it.”

“It isn’t about race,” Kila said, giving me a quick warning glare. “Race is an entirely social construct that has no scientific basis. But gene are the basic building blocks of our structural form, right? So, it makes sense that some are better than others. Everything can’t possibly be exactly equal.”

Bryn made an unconvinced sound. I carefully overfilled my mouth with potato, hoping to avoid being dragged into the discussion. Given the things Kila had taught me the last few days, there were just too many landmines in this conversation for me to navigate.

“Actually, I read an article last week about how men’s digestion is way less efficient than women’s,” Kila said. She picked a pea from her plate and held it up between thumb and forefinger, examining it like a microbe under a microscope. “Something about the way our hormones interact with the gut. Women process fiber better, eliminate toxins faster, store less visceral fat.” She popped the pea in her mouth and chewed slowly. “Evolutionary advantage, you know?”

Bryn shrugged, unimpressed. “Everything’s evolutionary advantage to you,” she said, but there was fondness in it.

Kila beamed, giving me a quick wink when her mother looked away. “It’s true, though. There’s a whole branch of evolutionary biology that’s basically about how males are just defective females.” She turned the smile on me, eyes bright. “The Y chromosome is literally a broken X. It’s missing, like, 99% of the good genes.” She eyed me carefully, waiting until I had to swallow. “What do you think, Dad? Are you a broken chromosome away from being the equal to me and Mom?”

Bryn shot her a look. “Don’t be cruel,” she scolded, but with the lazy affection of someone who had seen this act a hundred times before.

I wiped my mouth with the napkin. “I think we each have our strengths,” I said, voice thin. “Evolution is about balance, isn’t it?”

Kila grinned. “That’s the classic male answer,” she said, tilting her head. “But women are the default. All embryos start as female. You have to fuck up the genes pretty spectacularly to make a male. It’s why men have nipples, you know. They were supposed to be girls, but something went wrong.”

Bryn took a drink and laughed. “I had no idea your father was such a genetic disaster,” she said, shooting me a wink. “But you do have nice nipples, darling.”

My face went hot. “I think we should be grateful for any traits that make us unique,” I mumbled, not daring to look at either of them.

Kila kicked off her sandals and tucked her feet under her on the chair, sitting cross-legged like a kid at summer camp. Her thighs flexed, drawing the shorts even higher. “It’s actually pretty wild how many things are better in women,” she went on, voice sweet and relentless. “Longer life spans, better pain tolerance, more acute senses. You could make the argument that males only exist because the species needed a throwaway model for risky behaviors. You know… war, hunting, that kind of thing.” She shrugged. “And reproduction. Slash pleasure.”

Bryn picked up the thread, her tone airy. “Well, your father did put himself through college by working construction. Maybe that’s what she means.” She smiled, but her eyes were on the gravy boat, not me. I tried to hide the trembling in my hands by clutching my napkin in my lap. Kila watched the movement, tracked it with a scientist’s patience.

“It’s not an insult, Dad,” she said, and this time there was something almost gentle in her voice. “You’re not alone. You’re just a product of biology. If anything, it’s a relief. You can stop worrying about being in charge all the time.”

Bryn set her fork down, the clink too loud in the silence. “You know, I never really thought of it that way,” she said, sounding genuinely curious. “Is that why women are so often the planners in families? I always assumed it was socialization, not biology.”

Kila shrugged, but she was pleased. “There’s definitely a cultural aspect, but the science is pretty clear. Females are programmed for longevity, stability, caregiving. Males burn out fast, and then they die. Or, you know, get replaced by a new batch.” Her eyes slid sideways to mine for a moment. “It isn’t a moral judgment or anything. Some men, like Dad, try very hard to uphold the very best their defective chromosomes have to offer. But they can’t help being inferior. Right, Daddy?”

The last molecule of water in my mouth disappeared. Kila’s face was carefully expressionless, but I knew she expected me to go along with her. Bryn noticed the delay in my response and looked up.

“Well,” I said, sitting back and putting a thoughtful look on my face. “All life begins as female until a defective chromosome turns the organism male. That would mean that males are a deviant form of life, which could be inferior in some ways.”

“In all ways,” Kila corrected. “Not as individuals, but as a total population.”

“Well, I haven’t seen all the data…”

“I have. You’re inferior.”

“Kila!” Bryn shook her head. “You go to far with things. Garrett is your father.”

“He’s my daddy, not my father,” Kila corrected. “There is no part of his DNA in my genetic makeup.”

I tried to smooth things over by moving back to the earlier point. “So, men are inferior. Which means I am inferior to the two of you.”

Kila smiled proudly, while Bryn looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head. I stalled for time by gulping tea. I hoped Bryn didn’t notice how my hands shook.

“I never thought I’d hear you say something like that,” Bryn said. A furrow appeared between her eyes. “Are you just going along with Kila because you know it unsettles me, or do you really believe that?”

“It’s, uh… hard to argue with science,” I said, deflecting the question. “Beyond contributing a sperm cell, men have nothing to do with reproduction. It seems like the only real job men need to do biologically is to make a woman happy.”

“Well, then you are doing your real job very well.” Bryn patted me on the knee. “You have so many… ideas, Kila.”

My stepdaughter shrugged. “I let science inform my opinions. Only a fool argues with the facts.” She turned back to me. “An honest question, Daddy: Would you be happier if all you had to do here at home was to obey? You’d never wonder if Mom was happy. Her job would be to tell you what would make her happy; and your job is to do it.”

I looked at Bryn, hoping for rescue, but instead she seemed genuinely curious. Her head tilted, as if she was weighing the question with more seriousness than I could have expected. I saw the ingeniousness of Kila’s trap for me. If I said I would be happier, Bryn would surely go along with it. If I didn’t… well, with all the evidence I’d given Kila over the last couple of days, there was no chance I would go against her.

“I don’t know,” I said, wishing I could lie. “Maybe. I think a lot of the stress I feel… at work, at home, whatever… comes from not knowing what matters. Or if what I’m doing is enough.” I thought it over a moment and shook my head. “That isn’t right. I know what I do is important. I just need…”

“Approval,” Kila finished when it was clear I wasn’t able to. “And approval has to come from above. From a superior.” Kila did something sly with her mouth. “So if you just had a woman to tell you what was right, and it was your job just to make her happy, that would be a relief?”

Some white animal in my chest cowered at the trap. I couldn’t even find the pretzel logic of the right answer. The scientist’s answer of “follow the evidence” clashed against everything I was supposed to want as a man. And yet… It would be easier, wouldn’t it? Just to be told what to do, and know you were doing it right, and never have to wonder if you’d made the correct choice.

I lifted my eyes to meet Kila’s. She was right. She’d been right all along. One step head of me, leading me to this place of acceptance. Relief flooded my chest and I turned towards my wife.

“She’s right,” I said. “I’d never have figured it out in a million years, but Kila’s right.” I swallowed and said the words I knew my stepdaughter wanted me to say. “I’m inferior, Bryn. That’s the truth, and I think we’ll all be happier if we stop pretending otherwise.” As my wife blinked in surprise, I felt the words tumble out. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was to make you happy, Bryn. To give you the life you deserve. I don’t even know what that is anymore, and it’s tearing me up inside. I can’t be a man if I don’t know how to give you what you need.” I took a deep breath. “I have to embrace my inferiority and serve you.”

Bryn’s eyes went a little soft and glassy, the way they did when she was moved by a Hallmark card. “Honey,” she said, reaching for my hand across the table. “That’s actually the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.”

In a second I remembered all the pop-psych articles and marriage therapy advice columns we used to read in the beginning, when we still thought we could rescue our marriage with aphorisms and TED Talks. Happy wife, happy life. Don’t keep score. Just ask for what you need. I’d always failed at those rules because I never knew which of her needs to put ahead of the others, and because I always hesitated, always worried I’d make things worse by guessing wrong.

Kila tore a strip of haddock off her fork with her teeth, her gaze never leaving me. I could see that she was happy, in her own way, to see me admit this out loud. “What if,” she said, voice syrupy, “we made a little experiment out of it?”

Bryn smiled at her, wary but curious. “What kind of experiment?”

“Science,” Kila said, spreading her hands as if demonstrating the world’s most obvious truth. “We assume Daddy is happiest when he’s being bossed around, but we don’t have direct evidence. So for a week, you can give all the orders. He doesn’t get to argue. He just does what we say, and we see how it impacts his overall mood and satisfaction.”

“Where do you get this stuff?” Bryn asked, but she was smiling. A chuff of laughter made her shake her head. “I haven’t bossed anyone around since you was in pigtails. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“He doesn’t need a mommy,” Kila said. “He needs rules. Real rules that have real consequences.” Kila’s mouth curled. “I could write some test scripts, if it helps. Simple things: laundry, dinner, chores, foot rubs, maybe a few ‘fetch me dessert’ commands.” She twinkled at me. “You tell me what Daddy needs to do and be and I’ll write up the path towards that goal.”

Bryn nodded, picking up her plate and turninng towards the kitchen with it. “We can talk about it after I get the dishes done.”

“Mom, no! Sit down!” Kila’s startled both Bryn and I. Her mother sank back into her chair like a kid with a hand in the cookie jar. “Daddy is inferior. He has to do the housework. Tell him to do it, Mom. Don’t ask.”

My wife turned her eyes towards me. I nodded as my gaze shifted downwards. Something inside of me hungered her next words. Trembled in anticipation.

“Okay, then.” Bryn stood again, this time leaving the plate untouched. “Garrett, since you are inferior, you will clean the table, rinse the dishes, load the dishwasher, and clean up the kitchen.” She looked at Kila, who nodded enthusiastically. “And if you don’t do a good job then…”

“He has to sleep on the couch,” Kila offered.

“Yes, that,” Bryn said. She turned one way, then the other. “And bring me a cup of coffee to the living room.”

Kila gave her mother a double thumbs-up and a Cheshire grin. Bryn’s cheeks took a hint of blush as she fought her domestic habits. After a moment, she ambled towards the living room.

“Good boy, Daddy,” Kila whispered. “I was hoping you weren’t so stupid that you’d resist the plan.” She unfolded from the chair to loom over me. One hand took a grip of my hair and pulled my head back. The other rested on my throat. “This changes nothing, Daddy. I own you. I’m just sharing you. But you better treat my mom like a mother-fucking queen. You make her want to keep you this way.”

I nodded as Kila leaned down to touch the tip of her nose to mine. The tip of her soft, pink tongue tickled the outline of my lips. The hand on my throat moved up to cup my jaw, her fingers digging in to force my mouth open. As her lips formed a seal on mine, her tongue filled my mouth. I sucked hard at Kila’s tongue as she released my hair and pinched my nose closed.

It was an amazingly sweet torture that I didn’t want to end and couldn’t resist. I clung to her for oxygen, dizzy and helpless as the seconds stretched. Just when I thought my lungs and lips might implode, Kila released the pinch on my nose. I gasped, the cold air stinging as it rushed into my throat. I looked up at her, helpless, wanting more and yet afraid that was coming.

“Now go do the dishes,” she whispered. “Don’t keep Mom waiting.”

I staggered to my feet. If there was ever a moment I had considered restoring my dignity, it vanished as I wobbled to the kitchen, Kila’s taste and scent clinging to my face. My stepdaughter watched me as I cleared the plates and stacked the Tupperware and ran water into the sink. At first I was so mortified I could barely function, but then the motions of obedience slowly numbed the swirl of my thoughts. And… I was happy.

“Inferior,” Kila said softly, leaning against the counter next to me. “You need to trust me, Daddy. I know exactly what I’m doing to you.” Her hand squeezed the front of my pants, making my cock throb to full length. “Say it.”

“I want to fuck you.” As she laughed, I continued with the First Principle, “All life begins as female until a defective chromosome distorts the development to create a man. Men are biologically inferior to women.”

“Keep going.”

“I began life as female, but my defective chromosome turned me male, making me inferior.” I looked at my stepdaughter for a moment. “Thank you for this. For bringing your mother on board with it.”

“Mom doesn’t know you want to fuck me,” Kila reminded me. “She doesn’t know what a pretty little cocksucker you are or how you love to take it in the ass.” She laughed. “But you’re welcome. I’m doing it for her, though. Not you.” Her hands tightened around my nuts until I gasped. “Did you forget Mom’s coffee?”

I had, in fact, done just that. Kila watched me as I corrected my mistake. I scurried into the living room where Bryn sat with her legs tucked to one side in her chair, a paperback romance novel in her hand. I sat the coffee on the end table next to her.

“Thank you,” Bryn said, looking up. Her palm touched my cheek. “Is this what you really want, Garrett?”

“I think so,” I whispered back. “As long as you’re happy.”

Her eyes searched mine. A slow nod indicated she approved of what she found. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.” A sultry smile I hadn’t seen in months curved her lips. “You’re going down on me tonight, mister inferior. You get nothing in return. This is for me. To make me happy, right?”

“Absolutely,” I told her. “Bryn, I love you. Thank you for this.”

My wife waved her hand in a royal dismissal. Turned back to her book. I felt Kila’s eyes on me as I returned to the kitchen.

“What was that about?”

“She…” I cleared my throat. “I have to… um… give her pleasure tonight..”

“Eat her pussy? You’re going to eat my mother’s pussy?” Kila snorted. “I still expect my nightly visit. Don’t you dare put your dick in her.”

“That’s the deal,” I said. “That isn’t on the table. I just… go down on her.”

I returned to my appointed chore under Kila’s supervision. Stared out the window into the dark, listening to thunder rumble in the distance. It scared me how easily Kila’s worldview took root. The virus of her Female Supremacy had infected me, brought me to my knees, and now it was spreading throughout our house. And like a novel virus, I had no defense against her.

The realization didn’t even make me angry. If anything, I felt something like serenity. This was the truth, and it cost so much less to accept than to fight it.

“Daddy,” Kila whispered, and I had never heard her voice drawl with such lazy, hungry confidence. She pressed herself into my side, arms climbing up my chest like the limbs of a strangler fig, rooting herself in me, and I felt the familiar, shameful shudder of anticipation in my belly. The kitchen lighting was harsh, interrogative, bending the shadow of her jaw in a sharp arc, but she kissed me as if we were lost in the blackout of an unlit room.

She tasted of sweet wine and lemon, and when her lips parted, her tongue stabbed into my mouth, not yielding, not inviting, but conquering. I gave her what she wanted. My hands seized her hips, squeezing the meaty curves through her jeans until her pelvis bucked forward, grinding at my thigh. I wanted to step back, to check the sight lines to the living room, to be a prudent father and a better man, but there was nothing left in me that wanted to resist her. Not after the table, not after the vow. I had given up all my vetoes.

Kila’s fingernails scraped the back of my neck, then clamped in my hair. She yanked my face downward so I bent at the knees, meeting her mouth at the angle she desired. She bit my lower lip and then growled, “Harder, Daddy. Don’t be a bitch.” I obeyed, tongue and lips and teeth, our faces mashed together until my nose hooked sideways and my vision blurred with the force of it. She purred like a lion playing with a mouse and ran her palm down the length of my chest, then under my shirt, finding the soft flesh at my sides and digging in, her touch both ticklish and cruel.

She broke the kiss, panting a little, her face flushed and triumphant. “Show me how much you want me,” she said, and I felt the blood roar in my ears. “Prove it this time.” Her hand traveled lower, pressing at my belt buckle, feeling the strain of my erection through the denim, and she grinned with delighted contempt. “Always so desperate,” she teased. “I could get drunk on how much you need me.”

She yanked my hand up to her chest and shoved it under her shirt. My palm slid over her stomach first, warm and taut from the work of her breathless laughter, then cupped her breast, a weight that filled my whole hand, with her nipple a hard, rubbery point stabbing my palm. “Squeeze it,” she ordered, and I did. She hissed, then leaned her head back, exposing every inch of her graceful throat, the very image of a beautiful girl daring her abuser, inviting the violence she knew she owned.

I bent lower, trailing my mouth off her lips, down the ridge of her jaw, inhaling her skin, and then found that bare stretch of neck with my teeth. I nipped her, not enough to bruise but enough to make her gasp and arch her back, pressing her chest harder into my hand. She shivered, and for an instant I felt the power tilt. She, the master of every moment, was letting herself be controlled by me, just for this flash, and it made me dizzy with gratitude.

I marveled at her boldness, how she could announce her intentions without a trace of shame. She was right, of course. I was hers, and now Bryn knew it too, or would soon enough. That thought, humiliating and exhilarating, made me squeeze Kila’s breast even harder, until she whimpered in a way that sounded almost… proud.

“That’s it, Daddy.” Kila tilted her head back, baring her throat to me, the sinew and softness of it a dare, her pulse drumming just beneath the skin where, seconds ago, my tongue had mapped her. She didn’t even flinch when I nipped at the tender spot beneath her earlobe; she moaned for more. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

The words arrived from a place in my chest I barely recognized: an animal, greedy, starved for her. I clamped my hands around the sides of Kila’s neck, not tight, just enough to command every ounce of her attention. “I want to rip your fucking clothes off,” I growled, the syllables vibrating between our locked jaws. “I want to pin you down and watch your eyes go wide because finally, finally, I’m hurting you. I want to fuck you so hard it erases everything that’s ever touched you but me. I want your legs spread so far you can’t walk right for days, and then I want you coming to me for more.”

Her grin was a razor, sly and bright in the kitchen’s cold light. “Show me,” she breathed. “Put me on the floor. Now.”

The world telescoped into her. Bryn could have been a planet away. I seized Kila by the hips, my fingers digging into the warm denim, and dropped to my knees. The tile was hard and cold, but I barely noticed as I maneuvered her down, laying her flat, my weight coming down heavy to pin her. Her back arched, ass pressing into the unyielding floor; Kila’s legs wound around my waist like the roots of a strangler fig, locking me in place.

“Come on, Daddy.” She was taunting now, voice thick with pride at my helpless obedience. “Show me what you want to do to me. Don’t just say it, make me believe it. You want to fuck your daughter through the floor? I dare you.”

I snarled into her mouth, teeth scraping her lips. My hips bucked down, driving her pelvis into the tile, the heat of her cunt radiating through two layers of fabric. I hammered at her, grinding, rutting, the way I’d only imagined in guilty dreams. Kila met every thrust, smirking like she’d known all along that this was the real me. She wanted it ugly, she wanted it desperate, and I gave it to her.

Nails raked down my back, clawing at the thin fabric of my shirt, little zippers of pain that threatened to rend my spine, and for a split second I thought she actually might want to draw blood. “Harder,” she demanded, raw and urgent, her breath chasing the order. “Fucking break me, Daddy, or I’ll tell Mom you’re weak.” The words were an electric prod, jagging up my nerves, and I felt something hot and reckless surge through me, hungry to prove I could be exactly the monster she dared me to be. Her laughter was wild, not girlish but jagged and predatory, the high-pitched staccato of a woman who’d found the weakness she craved and would never let it go.

She goaded me, hips grinding up into mine with a force that made the kitchen floor rattle. There was nothing soft about her, not in this moment, not in the way her hands ran under my shirt and dug at bare flesh, not in the way her thighs tried to snap me in two. I gave her what she wanted, letting my weight crash down, flattening her to the tile, rutting into her like an animal in heat, each movement rougher and more desperate than the last. My head spun with shame and relief and the pure, bruising need she conjured in me, all of it blurring into the heat of her body.

Her voice echoed through my brain, kept needling me, every barb sharper than the last. “All I’ve ever wanted is to make you happy,” she taunted, breathless and triumphant, her voice pitched to be heard over the slap of our bodies. “That’s what you told my mother, right? Are you making her happy dry-humping me on the kitchen floor?”

The words hit me like a bucket of ice. My own voice played back through a broken mirror, every flaw and failing magnified. I froze, arms tensed on either side of her head, my weight hovering suddenly uncertain. My brain tried to catch up, but every neuron was frayed and burned out, unable to process her accusation or the truth behind it. For a second it was just the sound of us panting, the distant static of the TV in the living room, and I felt Kila’s thighs still grinding up at me, relentless.

“You’re a liar,” she whispered, and this time there was no teasing in it, only the cold, surgical cut of certainty. “Either you lied to Mom, or you lied to me, and I can feel how hard your fucking cock is, Daddy.” Her hair was splayed around her head on the floor, a dark corona, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy with tears she would never let fall. “The truth is you don’t know what you want. You can’t possibly know. You need me to tell you. Or Mom.” Her hands found my face, palms cool against my feverish skin, and she pulled me down for a kiss so gentle it disarmed me, undid every hard-edged thing she’d said in the minute before. Her mouth moved over mine, sweet and slow, her tongue exploring with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “You’re inferior, Daddy. In every way. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I heard myself say. I didn’t recognize the voice as my own. It was too raw, too needy. The word hung in the air, heavy as a confession in church, and I couldn’t stop my hips from moving, couldn’t stop the slow, helpless rutting against her. “Kila, I’m so fucking lost right now. I don’t know what you want from me.” I said it not as an excuse but as a plea. I felt the shame of it, the exposure, and was surprised to find that it brought only relief.

“Obedience,” she said, and the word echoed between us, bouncing off the kitchen walls, off every memory of every conversation we’d ever had, even back to her childhood, when ‘obedience’ was a game and not a sentence. Her eyes locked on mine, dark and unyielding, the pupils swimming with something too deep and ancient for words. I was powerless to look away. I braced myself for her next order, knowing it would come, that she was waiting for me to ask for it.

And I did. I let my body go slack, sat back on my knees between her spread legs, and raked a hand through my sweat-plastered hair. I could feel my own pulse in my skin, a hammering that threatened to break me from the inside out. “Kila, please. Tell me what to do,” I whispered, desperate for her command.

She watched me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. Then she sat up and folded herself over my shoulders, arms winding around my neck in a vise. She smelled of sweat and ozone, her skin slick, her hair damp at the temples. She put her lips to my ear, speaking so quietly it was almost a secret: “Go out there and sit at Mom’s feet. If she doesn’t give you orders, you kiss her toes. Massage her feet. Worship her, Daddy. Make sure she knows you belong to her.” She paused, a smile curling up the corner of her mouth. “Do you actually love my mom?”

“I do,” I told her, and it was the easiest truth I’d ever spoken, though I felt a pang of guilt in saying it while my cock still throbbed for her. “From the moment I met her, I’ve loved her with everything I have.” I swallowed hard, my voice nearly breaking. “Until you.”

Kila let the silence stretch, as if she needed to test the boundaries of my confession. Her expression softened and she tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Prove it,” she said. “Not to me. To her. To you.” She pushed herself to her feet in one smooth motion, the movement feline and graceful, then leaned down to whisper again: “And make sure you’re ready to be obedient when you visit me tonight.”

She left me kneeling on the kitchen floor, my hands shaking, my breath still not quite under control. I stayed there a minute longer, letting the cold seep up from the tile, letting the humiliation and relief settle in my bones. My mind scrambled to piece together what had just happened, to decide if I’d won or lost or if there was even a game to be played. But none of it mattered. I was just a shell, waiting to be filled.

I stood, legs shaky, and glanced at my reflection in the microwave. My face looked lost, haunted, flushed with something that wasn’t quite lust and wasn’t quite shame. For the first time in years, maybe ever, I felt like I was staring at the real me. I straightened my shirt, wiped the sweat off my forehead, and walked toward the living room, each step an act of surrender.

Bryn was curled up on the armchair, her paperback in hand, legs folded under her in that delicate way that always made her look smaller, younger, less like my wife and more like the girl I first met. She glanced up as I entered, her gaze lingering on the tremor in my hands, the way I hovered in the doorway. Her expression was both knowing and a little bit wary, as if she had been waiting all this time for me to finally break, uncertain whether it would bring her relief or more regret.

I crossed the room and stopped in front of her. She held my gaze, not a flicker of judgment in her eyes, only a slow, patient curiosity. I hesitated, and for a moment wondered if I’d misunderstood Kila, if I was about to humiliate myself in some irrevocable, public way. Then I remembered the way Kila’s voice had sounded, so certain, so final. If I wanted to belong, then I had to trust her.

So, I did. I dropped to my knees in front of Bryn, ignoring the way my bones cracked and how the rug burned at my shins. I took her foot in my hands, feeling the soft warmth of her skin, the delicate shape of her instep. She let the book fall to her lap, watching me, silent. I bent down and pressed my lips to her toes, not once, but twice, then began to knead the arch of her foot with both hands. The act was both worshipful and desperate, a prayer with no words, just the repetition of pressure and release, pressure and release.

To my surprise, Bryn sighed and let her head tilt back against the chair. “So sweet,” she said, her voice a low, velvet caress. “My inferior husband wants to kneel at my feet.”

I couldn’t answer, not at first. I just kept massaging, letting the rhythm soothe both of us, letting the humiliation become something else. Intimacy, maybe, or surrender. Something that didn’t need to be named.

Kila appeared in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, watching us with the curiosity of a scientist observing her experiment. There was no malice in her gaze, but neither was there mercy. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and I knew I’d passed her test. With a spring in her step, she walked across the room and bent to kiss my temple.

“Good boy, Daddy,” she whispered. “My panties are fucking soaked.”

All I could do is hang my head, hoping my wife would accept it as love and reverence instead of shame.