Chapter 4: Adaptions
The first thing Annie registered was the smell—chlorine and sex, embedded in her skin despite the two showers she’d taken in the guest suite’s sleek bathroom. The second was the ache. A deep, muscular soreness between her legs, a tenderness in her jaw, the ghost of fingerprints on her hips. Dawn painted the sky in bruised purples and pinks beyond the glass wall. She hadn’t slept. She’d lain rigid on the stiff, expensive sheets, listening to the vast silence of the condo, her mind replaying the wet crack of skin on skin, the guttural commands, Josie’s final, whispered threat.
She heard movement in the main living area. The quiet grind of a coffee grinder, the tap of leather soles on stone. Levi was up. A different kind of tension coiled in her stomach. She pulled the duvet higher, a futile shield.
In the master bedroom, Levi stood before a full-length mirror, knotting a tie the colour of a slate roof. The bed behind him was pristine, unslept in. He’d spent the night in his office, working. The physical release by the pool had been just that—a release of pressure, a transaction completed. Now his mind was on the day’s acquisitions.
A soft knock at his door.
“Enter.”
Josie slipped inside, a folder in one hand, a steaming ceramic mug in the other. She was a vision of crisp efficiency: a tailored cream blouse, a pencil skirt that hugged her curves, her hair bound in a sleek low knot. “Good morning. Your nine-thirty with the zoning board has been moved to eleven. The asset transfer documents from Singapore are finalized and on your desk. I took the liberty of pushing back the lunch with the developers to one-fifteen. You’ll want the extra time after the board meeting.” She set the mug on his dresser. “Coffee. Black, two sugars, just stirred.”
He finished the knot, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror. “Efficient as always.”
“It’s what you pay me for.” She opened the folder, presenting his schedule. Her perfume was subtle, clean.
He took the folder, his gaze not leaving her face. “You watched last night.”
A heartbeat of silence. Josie’s professional mask didn’t slip, but a faint pink bloomed high on her cheeks. “I was ensuring the terrace was cleared per your instruction. I only stayed a moment.”
“You stayed until it was over.” His voice was matter-of-fact. He sipped the coffee. Perfect temperature. “You always were a voyeur.”
She closed the folder, her knuckles pale. “It’s irrelevant. My job is to manage your life, not your… recreational activities.”
He set the mug down and turned to face her fully. The early light cut across the planes of his face. “Is it? You manage everything else. You know my appetites better than anyone.” He took a step closer. The air between them thickened, charged with a history Annie could only guess at. “Do you still remember how to handle them?”
Josie’s breath hitched. Her eyes, usually so sharp and mocking, dropped to the front of his trousers. The professional distance evaporated. It was a switch flipping. “Levi…” she whispered, a warning that was really an invitation.
“Answer the question, Josie.”
Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip. “Yes.”
“Then show me.”
It was all the permission she needed. The folder fell to the plush carpet with a soft thump. Her hands went to her hair, pulling the pin so that the dark cascade tumbled around her shoulders. Then her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse, popping them open with practiced haste. She didn’t strip it off; she just pulled the fabric apart, letting it hang open. She wore no bra. Her breasts were full, tipped with tight, dark nipples. A small, appreciative sound escaped him.
She sank to her knees before him, the movement fluid and graceful, utterly submissive. She looked up at him through her lashes, a look that was both worship and hunger. “Please,” she said, her voice husky. “Let me.”
He gave a single, slight nod.
Her hands went to his belt. The buckle clinked, a familiar sound to Annie listening from down the hall, a sound that made her stomach lurch. The zipper’s rasp was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Josie reached into his briefs, freeing his cock. It was soft in her hand. She didn’t rush. She bent her head and took the soft flesh into her mouth, whole.
Annie had crept from the bed, drawn by the low murmur of voices. She stood frozen in the hallway, just around the corner from the open door of the master suite. She could see the reflection in the darkened television screen across the room—a distorted, ghostly image of Josie on her knees, Levi standing over her.
Josie worked him with a devotion that was terrifying. She used her lips, her tongue, the soft suction of her cheeks. She wasn’t frantic or clumsy. She was an artist. She lavished attention on every inch, her head bobbing in a slow, sensual rhythm, her free hand cupping and gently rolling his balls. Within a minute, he was fully, impressively hard in her mouth.
“Good girl,” Levi murmured, his hand coming to rest on top of her head.
Emboldened, Josie took him deeper. Annie, from her vantage point, saw Josie’s throat work, saw her nose press into the dark hair at Levi’s base. There was no gagging, no struggle. Josie swallowed him whole, her throat accepting the entire length in a smooth, practiced glide. She held him there, her eyes watering slightly, but her gaze locked on his, full of defiant pride.
Levi’s hips gave a slight, involuntary thrust. A groan rumbled from his chest. “Fuck, Josie. That’s it. Just like you used to.”
She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his shining tip. She took a breath, her voice a wet, slutty whisper. “I’ve missed this, Levi. I’ve missed your cock in my throat.” Then she dove back down, setting a faster, deeper rhythm. The wet, slick sounds of her mouth on him filled the room. Her other hand snaked under her skirt, and the slight, rhythmic movement of her shoulder told Annie exactly what she was doing to herself.
Levi watched, his control absolute, his face a mask of carnal appreciation. He guided her pace with the hand in her hair, not forcing, but directing. “You swallow everything, don’t you? Every drop.”
Josie hummed in affirmation, the vibration making him jerk. She increased her tempo, the sounds becoming filthy, voracious. Her breasts swayed with the motion. Levi’s breathing grew ragged.
“I’m gonna come,” he grunted, his fingers tightening in her curls.
Josie didn’t pull away. She redoubled her efforts, sucking fiercely, her throat milking him. With a sharp cry, Levi came, his body bowing. Josie took it all, swallowing repeatedly, her throat working around him as he pulsed. She didn’t miss a drop. When he was spent, she slowly, meticulously, slid her mouth off him, her tongue lapping at the sensitive head to clean him, leaving him spotless.
She sat back on her heels, her lips swollen and glistening, her blouse still open, her skin flushed. She looked utterly debauched and completely triumphant. She tucked him gently back into his trousers, fastened them with tender care.
Levi adjusted his tie, his breathing returning to normal. He looked down at her, a complex emotion in his eyes—gratitude, possession, a cool dismissal. “You can go now, Josie. I’ll see you at the office.”
Just like that. The spell was broken.
Josie’s triumph flickered. She straightened her skirt, closed her blouse with trembling fingers. She stood, her legs slightly unsteady. “Of course.” She retrieved the folder, her mask of professionalism slipping back into place, though it was cracked, her makeup smudged. She walked out, head high, not seeing Annie shrink back into the shadows of the hallway.
Annie fled back to the guest room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She’d seen the mechanics of it. The efficiency. The sheer, unassailable skill. Josie wasn’t just a jealous ex. She was a tool Levi kept perfectly maintained, for this exact purpose. Annie’s own fumbling, tearful submission by the pool seemed pathetic in comparison. A crude, first attempt. Josie was the masterclass.
The condo was silent again. A few minutes later, she heard the front door open and close. Josie was gone. Levi’s footsteps approached her door. He didn’t knock. He opened it and stood in the frame.
He was fully dressed, immaculate, the picture of powerful composure. No sign of the man who’d just had his cock swallowed to the hilt minutes before.
“I’ll be late tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning her. She was still in the t-shirt from last night, her hair a mess, her face pale. “There’s food in the kitchen. Don’t wait up.”
He turned to leave.
“Levi.”
He paused.
The words stuck in her throat, thick with shame and a desperate, rising anger. “Why?” It was all she could manage.
He understood. He half-turned, his profile sharp against the bright morning window. “Because she’s useful. And because you needed to see it.” He met her eyes, his gaze impersonal. “You have a lot to learn, Annie. Consider that your first lesson in the pecking order.”
He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Annie stood in the center of the sterile room. The ache in her body was nothing compared to the new, hollow feeling in her chest. The humiliation was a living thing, gnawing at her. She was a deed. A field to be plowed. And in this gilded prison, she was at the very bottom.
Her eyes fell on the stacked, unopened boxes in the corner. Her life, packed away. Her past. With a sudden, violent motion, she strode over and ripped the tape from the first box. She wouldn’t just lie here and be taught lessons. She would unpack. She would find something, anything, that was still hers.
She ripped open the cardboard flaps with a violence that startled even her. The contents were a sad archaeology of her former life: folded flannel shirts smelling faintly of hay and diesel, a mason jar full of dried wildflowers from last summer, a stack of well-thumbed veterinary manuals. Each item was a relic from a foreign country. She handled her old work boots, the leather scarred and earth-packed, and placed them defiantly by the bed, a silent protest against the polished floor.
For hours, she folded and refolded, arranged and rearranged, trying to imprint herself on the cool, empty shelves. The physical labor was a familiar solace, a muscle memory of order. But the silence of the condo was oppressive, a vacuum that amplified the ghost-sounds from the morning—the wet, hungry sounds of Josie’s mouth, Levi’s groan of release. Her own body felt alien in this space, too loud, too clumsy.
Exhaustion, a heavy tide pulled by a sleepless night and emotional erosion, finally washed over her. She sank onto the floor between two half-empty boxes, her back against the bed frame. The sun had climbed high, painting a hot rectangle of light on the stone. She was asleep in moments, her breathing deep and ragged, one hand still curled around the faded cotton of an old barn coat.
The click of the front door unlocking didn’t rouse her. The scent of expensive perfume and the crisp tap of heels approaching her open door did nothing. She was submerged in a dream of tractor engines and open sky.
“Well, this is a poignant tableau.”
Annie jerked awake, disoriented, her neck screaming in protest. Josie stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a sleek shopping bag hanging from one manicured hand. She surveyed the room, the scattered boxes, Annie sprawled on the floor like a discarded doll. Her expression was one of amused contempt.
“Don’t they have beds where you come from?” Josie asked, her tone light. “I thought you farm folk were up before dawn, working yourselves into the dirt. Not taking mid-day naps on the floor like a teenager.”
Annie pushed herself up, wiping a trace of drooze from her chin. Every muscle ached. The sleep had left her groggy and raw, not refreshed. “What do you want, Josie?”
“To see if you’d managed to drown yourself in the toilet, mostly.” Josie’s smile was brilliant and cold. “But it seems you’re just… nesting. How adorable.”
“I was unpacking.” Annie stood, trying to muster some dignity. She felt rumpled and at a disadvantage. “I got tired.”
“Evidently. Levi’s orders are to get you properly integrated. You can’t integrate looking like a homeless person who raided a tractor supply store.” Josie held up the shopping bag. “We’re going shopping. You need clothes that don’t scream ‘government subsidy’.”
A hot spike of anger cleared the last of the fog from Annie’s mind. “I like my clothes. And I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten.”
Josie sighed, as if dealing with a particularly stupid child. “Fine. I’ll make you something. What does the little farm girl crave? Oats? Some raw corn?”
“Anything that doesn’t come with a side of your bullshit,” Annie snapped, pushing past her into the main living area.
Josie followed, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the stone. “Charming. Truly. You must be a delight at state dinners.” She breezed into the kitchen, a space of gleaming steel and dark marble, and began opening cabinets with familiar efficiency. “So? What’ll it be? I’m under strict instructions to cater to your… rustic palate.”
Annie watched her, this woman who had been on her knees just hours ago, now moving through Levi’s kitchen like she owned it. Which, in a way, she did. “Why?” Annie asked, the question blunt and weary. “Why are you doing any of this? You hate me. I saw it in your eyes by the pool. You despise me.”
Josie paused, her hand on the handle of the Sub-Zero fridge. She didn’t turn around. “Levi’s orders are absolute,” she said, her voice losing its mocking lilt, becoming flat and precise. “My feelings are irrelevant. He wants you assimilated. He wants you dressed appropriately, fed, and presented. I am the instrument of that will.” She turned then, her eyes meeting Annie’s. They were hard as flint. “So yes, I will take you shopping. I will dress you like the trophy whore you are. I will feed you enough pastries and cream to soften that irritatingly pert body of yours. But I will do it because he commanded it.”
The frankness of the malice was like a slap. “Is that why you sucked his dick this morning?” The words were out before Annie could stop them, sharp and accusing, laced with a jealousy she loathed. “Because his orders are absolute?”
A slow, terrible smile spread across Josie’s face. It reached her eyes, lighting them with genuine, vindictive joy. Annie had given herself away completely. “Oh, Annie,” Josie purred, turning back to the fridge. “You did see. I wondered.” She pulled out eggs, cream, a bowl of fresh fruit. “That wasn’t an order, sweetheart. That was a perk. One you’re clearly not equipped to handle.”
Humiliation burned through Annie’s veins. She’d walked right into that. She stood, impotent, as Josie whisked and poured with a dancer’s grace, humming softly to herself. The smell of cooking butter and sugar filled the air, a cloying, false comfort.
After a few minutes, Josie placed a plate in front of Annie on the vast, cold kitchen island. It was a crepe, perfectly golden, drizzled with chocolate and dolloped with whipped cream. Sliced bananas were arranged along its length. The presentation was deliberate, obscene.
The crepe was folded, but not neatly. It had been crafted, with unmistakable intent, into the detailed shape of a thick, erect penis. The banana slices formed the veined shaft. A glob of whipped cream crowned the tip.
“Bon appétit,” Josie said, leaning her elbows on the island, her chin resting on her folded hands. Her eyes sparkled with wicked delight. “Eat up. You need your strength. Shopping is so… draining.”
Annie stared at the plate. The crude, deliberate shape of the food was an insult deeper than any words. It was a mockery of the act she'd witnessed, a physical manifestation of the humiliation still scraping at her insides. Her stomach, long empty, clenched in a rebellion of pure pride.
"That's fucking disgusting," she said, her voice low.
"I thought it was rather accurate," Josie replied, unblinking. She pushed a fork across the marble towards her. "A little salty, perhaps. But you seemed so fascinated with the general idea this morning."
Annie wanted to smash the plate. She wanted to throw the chocolate-smeared monstrosity into Josie’s perfect, smiling face. But a colder, more practical thought cut through the rage. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Her body was weak, her mind sluggish from hunger and sleeplessness. In a battle of wills, fuel mattered.
Without another word, she picked up the fork. She looked Josie dead in the eye as she cut off a piece of the “head”, making a show of severing it. She put it in her mouth.
Flavor exploded. The crepe was impossibly light, melting on her tongue. The chocolate was rich and dark, not cloyingly sweet. The cream was real, flecked with vanilla bean. The banana was perfectly ripe. It was, unequivocally, the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. That truth was a second, more profound violation.
She chewed slowly, swallowed. She gave Josie nothing. No flicker of pleasure, no sign of the small, internal surrender to the exquisite taste. She kept her face a blank stone wall.
She ate methodically, cutting the obscene shape into manageable, unidentifiable pieces. She demolished it. Every bite was an act of cold defiance, a consumption of the insult itself. She scraped the last smear of chocolate from the plate and licked it from the fork, her eyes never leaving Josie’s.
Josie watched, her initial smirk faltering, then reforming into something more considered. She’d expected revulsion, tears, a refusal. This silent, thorough consumption was a different kind of response. It was unsettling. She could see Annie taking the nourishment, taking the fuel, and giving absolutely nothing back.No satisfaction. She was already under the farm girl’s skin, yes. But the girl was digging in, not breaking out.
Annie set the fork down with a definitive clink. She stood up from the stool. "I'm getting dressed," she announced, her tone flat. "Then we can go."
"Oh, no need," Josie said, recovering her breezy tone. She slid off her own stool. "Strip. Right here."
Annie froze, her hand halfway to brushing a crumb from her shirt."What?"
"Take your clothes off. All of them." Josie picked up a sleek tablet from the counter.
Confusion warred with suspicion. A sickening new possibility dawned, colored by everything Josie had revealed about herself. "Wait," Annie said, her voice hardening. "Are you… are you wanting to have sex with me now? Some kind of girl-on-girl shit? Is that another one of Levi’s perks?" She took a step back, her body tensing for a real fight.
Josie let out a genuine, surprised laugh. It was short and sharp. "God, no. Don't flatter yourself, honey. Your appeal is strictly... agrarian. This is pragmatism." She tapped the tablet screen. "You haven't a clue what size you are in city clothes, and we're not wandering from store to store like lost puppies. I'm going to scan your body. The app will give me your exact measurements and cross-reference inventory in real time. It will also suggest cuts and colours that won't make you look like a sack of potatoes."
Annie crossed her arms over her chest, instinctively protective. "You just want naked pictures."
"I want data. Pictures are messy, emotional. This," she waved the tablet, "is clean. It's numbers and algorithms. It's efficient. You of all people should appreciate not wasting time and energy." Her eyes swept over Annie’s worn t-shirt and shorts. "Or we could try your method. Which, judging by your current ensemble, involves guessing and profound failure."
"I'm not letting you take pictures of me naked for your little computer," Annie snapped.
"Then Levi will ask me why you're still dressed like a vagrant tonight. And what will you tell him? That you were shy?"
The threat was clear. Levi’s questions had only one acceptable answer: compliance. Annie remembered his words from the morning, cold and final. You have a lot to learn. Refusing Josie’s "pragmatism" would be failing a lesson before it even began.
She hated the logic. Hated that it was sound. "Fine," she spat, the word tasting like ash.
She didn't make a show of it. She turned her back to Josie, pulled the t-shirt over her head, shoved the shorts and her underwear down. She kicked them aside and stood rigid, facing the blank expanse of the kitchen window, her arms stiff at her sides. The city yawned below, indifferent.
"Arms out.Stand straight. Like you're not trying to hide." Josie’s voice was businesslike now.
Annie complied, spreading her arms like a prisoner awaiting a search. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She felt terrifyingly exposed, not just physically, but in her helplessness. Josie circled her, the tablet emitting a soft, scanning hum."Turn slowly. Stop fidgeting.Hold still." Josie’s commands were clipped. The device beeped."Good. The system's having trouble with your muscle mass. It's not a standard configuration. Thighs and shoulders are throwing off the baseline." She sounded annoyed, as if Annie’s body was a faulty product.
The warm lure of the crepe curdled in Annie's stomach. She was a biological anomaly to an algorithm. A collection of non-standard parts.
"It's your farm-girl build," Josie muttered, tapping the screen. "Too dense. The software's assuming a softer fat distribution. It keeps flagging your deltoids as an error." She sighed in frustration. "Alright, that's the best it's going to get. You can put your… whatever those were… back on."
Annie dressed quickly, the soft cotton feeling less like comfort and more like a pitiful disguise. Josie was already scrolling through results on her tablet, a faint line of concentration between her brows.
"Fine," Josie announced, grabbing her purse. "We'll have to do it the old-fashioned way. There's a place a few blocks over that should have things in your… atypical proportions."
The "place" was a boutique that throbbed with bass-heavy music. Neon strips of light outlined clothing racks holding garments that seemed to be made of spiderwebs and patent leather. Everything was black, sheer, or impossibly shiny. It was not a store; it was a confession of intent.
Josie marched to a rack and began rifling through with the efficiency of a general."This. And this. Try them. All of them."
She shoved a pile of fabric at Annie. The first outfit was a bandage dress in blood red, so small it looked like it belonged to a child. The second was a bodysuit made entirely of lace, with clear cut-outs for the nipples and crotch. The third was a skirt so short it was a belt, paired with a mesh top.
Annie held the lace bodysuit, the material fragile and intricate in her calloused hands. "You have got to be kidding me. Where the hell would I wear this? To milk a goddamn cow?"
"You'll wear what Levi wants you to wear," Josie said, not looking up from another rack. "To dinners. To events. To his bed. Now go. The dressing room is in the back."
The dressing room was a cramped, mirrored closet. Annie struggled into the lace bodysuit. It hugged every curve, the intricate patterns doing nothing to conceal her flesh. Her nipples were blatantly visible through the delicate openings, dark and puckered against the black lace. The crotch was a narrow strip that settled with a shockingly intimate pressure. She felt like she was wearing a diagram of her own nakedness.
She pulled back the curtain, stepping out hesitantly.
Josie looked up from her phone. A slow, approving smile spread across her face. It was a hunter's smile. "Walk," she commanded."What?"
"Walk to the end of the store and back. I need to see how the fabric moves. If it rides up, or bunches. Go on."
Annie, skin crawling, took a few steps. The lace rubbed against her sensitive nipples with every movement. The thin strip between her legs created a constant, maddening friction. She felt utterly on display, though the store was empty save for a bored-looking cashier near the front.
"Do a full circuit," Josie instructed, her phone now subtly angled. "Down to the windows and back."
Annie walked, her bare feet cold on the polished concrete. She reached the far wall, which was, as Josie well knew, a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a bustling pedestrian plaza. The afternoon sun streamed in, illuminating her completely. The sheer lace might as well have been air.
She stood there, a lithe, near-naked figure framed in the glass. People outside slowed. A group of teenage boys pointed and laughed. A man walking with his family did a double-take, his eyes widening. A woman shook her head in disapproval. Annie was a sudden, shocking exhibit.
Her face burned. Her body, trained for labor, felt like a cheap spectacle. This was the point. This was Josie’s true purpose. It wasn't about fit or fabric. It was about exposure. It was about reducing her to a body in a window, observed and judged by strangers. It was a silent, public reiteration of her position: a thing to be looked at.
She turned and walked back, her spine rigid, refusing to hurry. She held Josie’s gaze as she approached, her own eyes like chips of flint.
"It rides up," Annie said, her voice dangerously calm. "It fucking rides up, and everyone in the goddamn shopping district now knows it."
Josie lowered her phone, the recording stopped. "Excellent," she said, her voice sweet as poison. "It's a flawed garment, then. We'll keep looking. Go try the next one."
She pressed the next outfit into Annie's hands—the microscopic skirt and the mesh top. Annie took it, her fingers curling into fists around the cheap, shiny fabric. She turned and walked back to the dressing room, the eyes of the plaza seeming to follow her through the glass. This was not a lesson in fashion. This was the slow, meticulous stripping of another layer, under the cold, watchful eye of a woman who had already won everything that mattered.