Chapter 7: Morning Devotion
The first sensation was heat. A firm, insistent warmth against Maddy’s thigh. The second was the scent—lavender, yes, but underneath it, that darker, synthetic musk clinging to the sheets, to her skin, to the air she breathed.
She blinked awake. Morning light, filtered through the blinds, cut sharp lines across Bree’s sleeping form beside her. Bree was on her back, one arm thrown above her head, her lips parted. The silk sheet was pushed down to her hips. And there, rising from a nest of blonde curls, was the thick, flushed evidence of the previous night’s claim.
It looked different in the calm daylight. Real. The skin was smooth, a vein tracing a faint blue line along its length. A bead of clear fluid welled at the tip, catching the light. Maddy watched it swell, quiver, then slide down the curve in a slow, glistening trail.
Her mouth watered.
The reaction was instantaneous, visceral, bypassing any higher thought. A deep, answering throb pulsed between her own legs, a fresh, damp warmth spreading. The dream-harem was a ghost now, pale compared to this single, sleeping reality.
She moved without sound, shifting onto her side. The mattress, with its new, suspiciously luxurious give, barely sighed. She propped her head on her hand, just looking for a moment. Studying the shape of it. The weight. The simple, intimidating thereness.
Carefully, as if approaching a sleeping animal, she reached out. Her fingertips, still unfamiliar in their slenderness, brushed the side. The skin was hot, softer than she expected. It twitched at her touch, a small, involuntary jump. Bree murmured in her sleep, a low, unintelligible sound, and her hips shifted minutely.
Encouraged, Maddy’s hand closed around the base. She tested the weight in her palm, the firm give of it. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was a threshold. Last night had been a storm of sensation, a surrender to forces beyond her control. This was a choice.
She leaned down.
The smell was more potent up close—salt, skin, that distinct, musky perfume. She hesitated, her breath ghosting over the wet tip. Then, with a surrender that felt like victory, she opened her mouth and took the head inside.
The taste exploded on her tongue. Salty-sweet, cleanly male. The texture was smooth, like a ripe fruit. She sucked gently, and more fluid seeped out, a richer flavor. A soft groan rumbled in Bree’s chest. Maddy glanced up. Bree’s eyes were still closed, but her brows had drawn together, her breathing deepening.
Emboldened, Maddy slid her lips lower, taking more of the length. It was a stretch. She relaxed her jaw, letting her tongue explore the underside, lapping at the bead of precum that had begun to steadily leak. She experimented with pressure, with rhythm, guided by some new, instinctual map. One of her hands came up to cradle Bree’s balls, feeling their weight, the tight pull of the skin.
Bree’s fingers slowly tangled in her hair. Not guiding, not forcing. Just a loose grip, a anchoring touch. Maddy looked up again. Bree was watching her now through heavy-lidded eyes, a look of drowsy, profound satisfaction on her face.
“Good morning,” Bree rasped, her voice thick with sleep.
Maddy hummed in response, the vibration drawing a sharper gasp from Bree. The fingers in her hair tightened.
“Fuck, Maddy,” Bree breathed. Her hips lifted off the mattress, a shallow, seeking thrust. “Just like that.”
Maddy took it as permission. She sank deeper, letting her throat open, accepting the gentle push. Her eyes watered, but the slight burn was intoxicating. This was service. This was worship. This was making the dreamworld real with the scrape of her teeth and the flat press of her tongue.
Bree’s composure unraveled quickly. Her breaths became ragged pants. “Yeah… yeah, just…” Her head tipped back into the pillow, exposing the long line of her throat. “Don’t stop.”
Maddy didn’t. She found a rhythm, bobbing her head, using her hand where her mouth couldn’t reach. She lost herself in the sensations—the weight on her tongue, the sounds Bree made, the perfect, salty taste of her. The world narrowed to this point of connection.
Bree’s thighs began to tremble. Her grip on Maddy’s hair became urgent. “I’m gonna come,” she warned, her voice strained.
Maddy just took her deeper, swallowing around her, a silent plea.
With a choked-off cry, Bree did. Her back arched, her body going rigid. The hot, bitter rush flooded Maddy’s mouth. She swallowed instinctively, once, twice, until Bree softened, spent, and finally stilled.
For a long moment, the only sound was their shared, labored breathing. Maddy slowly released her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt dizzy, powerful, utterly debased. She loved it.
Bree hauled her up by the shoulders, kissing her hard, tasting herself on Maddy’s lips. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered against Maddy’s mouth, a giddy laugh bubbling up. “Where did you learn that?”
Maddy shrugged, a shy smile touching her lips. “I had a good teacher in my dreams.”
Bree’s laugh was bright, filling the sunlit room. She rolled, pinning Maddy beneath her, her green eyes sparkling. “We need to feed you. Keep your energy up.” She kissed the corner of Maddy’s mouth. “Pancakes?”
“Pancakes sound… normal,” Maddy said, the word feeling strange.
“Normal is overrated,” Bree said, but she climbed out of bed, stretching gloriously naked in the morning light. She moved with a new, unselfconscious ease, as if her body had always been this way. As she walked toward the bathroom, she paused, looking back over her shoulder. “But we can do normal. For a little while.”
The domesticity that followed was a surreal counterpoint. Maddy stood in her—Matt’s?—old kitchen, now subtly altered. The fridge was stocked with exotic fruits she didn’t remember buying. The coffee maker was a sleek, foreign model. She found herself staring at her reflection in the stainless steel toaster, the feminine curves under one of Bree’s oversized t-shirts still a shock.
Bree, humming, whipped up batter. She was wearing just a pair of panties, her new anatomy moving with a casual freedom that was mesmerizing. Every so often, she’d catch Maddy staring and wink.
“So,” Bree said, pouring batter onto a sizzling griddle. “We should go out today.”
“Out?” Maddy repeated, the word sticking in her dry throat. She looked down at the t-shirt, at her bare legs. The idea of doors, of sidewalks, of other people’s eyes, sent a chill through the warm afterglow. “Like… outside?”
“Yeah, outside. The world.” Bree flipped a pancake with a crisp snap of her wrist. “I want to go shopping. I’m dying to buy you things.” She slid the golden disc onto a plate and turned, leaning back against the counter. Her gaze traveled over Maddy, deliberate and appraising. “I want to see you in something that isn’t my laundry. Something… tantalizing.”
The word hung in the steamy kitchen air. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a blueprint.
“Tantalizing,” Maddy echoed, faintly.
“Something that makes people look twice.” Bree brought the plate over, setting it on the table with a soft click. She didn’t sit. She stood behind Maddy’s chair, her hands resting on Maddy’s shoulders. Her thumbs stroked the knobs of bone. “Something that says exactly what you are.” She bent, her lips brushing the shell of Maddy’s ear. “My pretty, secret thing.”
A shiver, hot and cold at once, raced down Maddy’s spine. The pancake smelled of vanilla and butter. Her stomach turned. This was a different kind of exposure. Last night, this morning, that was private alchemy. This was a performance. A branding.
“What if…” Maddy started, picking up a fork. “What if I don’t know how?”
Bree’s laugh was a soft puff of air against her neck. “You’ll learn. I’ll teach you.” She straightened, her tone shifting to practical, almost breezy. “Eat. Then we’ll get ready. This’ll be fun.”
Maddy ate. The food was good, fluffy, but it tasted like nothing. Her mind was a spiral of fabric and eyes. Bree moved around the apartment, a whirl of purposeful energy. She showered, and Maddy heard the water run, pictured her there, that body now so familiar yet still miraculous. When Bree emerged, wrapped in a towel, her skin pink and her hair in a damp knot, she looked simultaneously ordinary and like a goddess visiting from some wetter, hungrier planet.
“Your turn,” Bree said, nodding to the bathroom.
The shower was a reprieve. Maddy stood under the hot spray, letting it pound the soreness from her muscles. She looked at her body in the steamy mirror—the softer waist, the full breasts, the delicate hollow of her throat. A canvas. Bree’s words echoed. My pretty, secret thing. She traced a finger over a faint bruise on her hip, a souvenir from Bree’s grip. A claim staked in the flesh.
When she came out, Bree was already dressed. She wore simple black jeans and a tight cream-colored sweater that hugged her torso. She looked devastatingly normal, chic and clean. Only the knowing glint in her eye betrayed her.
“Okay,” Bree said, clapping her hands once. She walked to the closet—the same closet where the world had bent—and slid the door open with a flourish. “Let’s find you a starting point.”
The contents had changed. Matt’s flannels and khakis were gone. In their place hung an array of fabrics that shimmered, clung, or floated. Slinky dresses, skirts that looked like layered mist, tops constructed mostly of lace. Maddy stared, her towel clutched to her chest.
“I did a little online shopping while you were… adjusting,” Bree said, her fingers walking through the hangers. She pulled out a slip of charcoal-grey silk. It was a dress, but just barely. Thin straps, a drape that would leave little to imagination. “This. Try this.”
Maddy took the cool fabric. It felt expensive, fragile. “There’s no back.”
“There’s enough.” Bree’s smile was all teeth. “Go on.”
In the bedroom, Maddy let the towel fall. The silk whispered over her skin, slipping into place with a lover’s ease. It clung to her breasts, settled on her hips, and ended mid-thigh. She felt a draft on her lower back where the material plunged. She didn’t need a mirror. The look on Bree’s face was mirror enough.
Bree stepped into the room and stopped dead. Her breath caught. A slow, deep flush spread up her neck. “Oh, fuck yes,” she breathed. She walked a slow circle around Maddy. “Perfect. It’s perfect. You see?”
Maddy saw only her own exposed shoulders, the dizzying vulnerability. “It’s… short.”
“It’s a beginning.” Bree stepped close, her hands settling on Maddy’s bare hips. She was already half-hard again, a firm pressure against Maddy’s stomach through the jeans. “You look edible. You look like a fantasy I had once, walking down a city street.” She leaned in, kissed Maddy’s shoulder. “Now. Shoes.”
They were black heels, strappy and cruel-looking. Bree knelt, holding Maddy’s ankle steady, and fastened them. The act was intensely intimate, servile and dominant all at once. When Maddy stood, the extra inches altered her balance, her perspective. She felt taller, more precarious, more seen.
Bree stood back, her head tilted. Something was missing. Her eyes scanned the dresser and landed on the bottle of For the Most Devoted. She picked it up, spritzed a cloud into the air, and guided Maddy through it.
The dark, sweet musk settled over the clean scent of soap. It was the smell of the dreamscape, of the tangled sheets. It was Bree’s signature now, applied to her property.
“There.” Bree’s voice was thick with satisfaction. She slipped a finger under one thin strap, adjusting it. “My masterpiece.” She met Maddy’s eyes in the mirror over the dresser. Maddy saw a stranger there—a beautiful, anxious girl in a slip of grey silk, belonging to the fierce, proud woman behind her. “You’re terrified,” Bree observed, not unkindly.
Maddy nodded, unable to speak.
“Good.” Bree spun her around, holding her by the shoulders. “The fear is part of it. It means it matters. Now come on.” She grabbed a long, black wool coat from the closet and draped it over Maddy’s shoulders. “Let’s go show you off.”
She took Maddy’s hand, her grip firm and sure, and led her toward the front door. The coat hid the dress, but Maddy felt the silk moving against her skin with every step, a secret whisper. Bree paused with her hand on the knob, looking back at her with those blazing green eyes.
“Remember,” Bree said, her voice low. “Every look, every stare, every fucking whisper you get out there? That’s for me. You’re walking proof of my wish.”
She turned the knob. The door swung open to the ordinary hallway, the mundane hum of the apartment building. Maddy took a sharp, shuddering breath. The threshold yawned before her, the line between their private paradise and the waiting, judging world.
Bree stepped out, pulling her gently.