Katie 01: Domesticated by Choice

This story is a spin-off to the Cherry saga. Specifically, it explores characters introduced in Cherry: Chapter 7. The transition of this story is less non-con, and explores the Sub's journey a bit more. There may be trauma cues for sensitive readers. As always, I welcome any feedback in the comments or my DMs. Enjoy!

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Chapter 1: Domesticated by Choice

Freshly ironed cloth napkins warmed my hands as I descended the stairs. My partner demanded that the napkins be immaculately ironed and folded when I served him dinner. Though "partner" is not quite the right word. "Partner," and its less modern counterparts of "boyfriend," "fiancé," or "husband," indicate a relationship between relative equals. But Adam and I are not equals. Every article of clothing in my armoire was hand-selected by Adam. Adam chose the size of my augmented breasts. Adam chose the size and shape of my surgically enhanced ass and hips. Adam chose the length, style, and color of my hair. Adam selected the finer details of my face, carefully crafted by the West Coast's premier plastic surgeons. My vocal cords were shortened to create a high, sing-song tune because Adam prefers that sound. Adam chose my very name, "Katie," after one of his high school sweethearts. Though I am exclusively Adam's, I would not describe myself as his "partner."

Descending the staircase was a precarious activity these days. I am not allowed to wear a bra around the house--Adam's house--so I need to support my DD-cup breasts with my slender forearm to save myself from the painful bouncing. Indeed, this morning Adam had chosen for me to wear a crimson apron that barely covered my torso, a matching collar, and matching house shoes. This particular collar is outfitted with a small bell, so the jingle reminds me of that symbol of ownership as I descend each step.

As I set the table in preparation for dinner, my thoughts turn to the man who will shortly be returning home from work. My man. My Adam.

Adam is a wildly successful attorney. He negotiates finance deals on behalf of biomedical companies. But Adam's true passion is ignited when those deals go awry. When an investor makes an allegation of securities fraud, or a company founder gets overly haughty, his clients turn to Adam to sort things out. A brilliant and ferocious mind, Adam can take and contractual or litigation posture and brow-beat the other side into submission.

Adam and his associate, Jay, are famous on the West Coast for turning any situation into a favorable outcome for the company. And with that reputation, they can charge more money than god for their services. Jay is the velvety, refined, charismatic one. The "good cop." Jay can talk any party across any negotiating table into whatever terms he chooses. But when things go south, or Jay's charisma doesn't get the job done, Adam steps in with an iron fist. Adam is a feared negotiator.

By contrast, Adam is something different to his clients and associates. And to me. To those on Adam's side, Adam is very much like a "Daddy." And I don't mean this in a kinky sense (though I frequently call him "Daddy" in a kinky sense). Adam anticipates your wants and needs before you anticipate them. Part of his unique skill set comes from his ability to read people. He understands in a deep, profound way what makes a person tick. And this is how he turned me from a gifted, male intern into a bimbofied, trans trophy wife naked in his kitchen.

**SIX MONTHS EARLIER**

During my second week interning at the firm, I saw across the table from Adam. This conversation was a pivotal moment in my life--Adam made me feel seen and understood in a profound way that I've never felt before.

"You are old enough to drink, right?" Adam asked as he poured the expensive white wine into my glass. I nodded nervously. Adam was a partner at the firm; my future depended in large part on the impression that I made on him and his colleagues. "I'll take your word for it, Chris." Chris was my name at the time, though I would barely think to respond to it if called by "Chris" today.

"This particular white wine is a little dry for most people your age. But based on the reasons you didn't like that red from earlier, I think you're going to like this, Chris."

As I sipped from the beautiful glass, I thought to myself that Adam must have been a prophet. This was quite possibly the best flavor that ever hit my lips. "So, I take it you're a fan?" Adam asked with a charming smile.

"MMMMHHH!" was my natural, if not a little awkward, response. I've always found my interactions with other men to be slightly awkward. Strangely, I'd always found that I more readily developed an emotional connection with women.

Adam could carry on any conversation by himself, which was fortunate for me because my awkward ass wasn't helping much at all. "You said that your parents were in town last week, right? How was that visit? You mentioned that they're from the Midwest, right?"

How did Adam remember this from a passing conversation we had before my interview? Hadn't the firm interviewed around fifty candidates? Adam obviously possessed a level of interpersonal skills far beyond my own.

"Yes, they were!" I stammered. "It was a little uncomfortable at times, but they liked what they saw of the city." God, why was I so awkward? And why would I lead my response with how my relationship with my parents is awkward? The inner critique in my head admonished me for my cluelessness around small talk.

Adam didn't miss a beat. "I'm glad to hear that they enjoyed the city! But I'm sorry to hear that it was awkward. What made it that way?"

I was in it now, so I just kept floodlighting my dirty laundry. "My parents are avid church-goers. I haven't believed in that stuff since I was a teenager. When Sunday came around, they were disappointed that I didn't have a 'church family' that I could introduce to them."

Adam nodded his head in understanding. "I'm there with you, Chris. I was raised in a fringe Baptist sect. Getting out was the best decision I ever made."

"Really? Was cutting ties with those relationships difficult?" As I asked, I felt profoundly grateful that Adam was willing to cut past the small-talk bullshit.

"Absolutely," Adam responded without a second thought, "but when I got away from those people, I realized how toxic that culture could be. The sowing-circle rumor-mill, the judgmental glances, the holier-than-thou paradigm. Fuck it all." I liked Adam.

"So why did you decide to get out in the first place?" I wanted to learn more about Adam.

"Well Chris, we're heading into heavy territory. Can I trust you to keep something tight to the chest?"

"Of course!"

"This involves some of my sexual history, and I don't want to have THAT conversation with HR tomorrow. So affirmative consent on talking about this?" Adam winked at me while he spoke, as if we were sharing a private joke.

"Of course! I really want to know." I leaned forward toward Adam, listening intently.

"My sect hit the anti-homosexuality stuff pretty hard. Specifically, my preacher LOVED to read from Romans chapter 1. According to his interpretation, if a man is sexually attracted to another man, then God would find him so disgusting that the man would be 'turned over to a reprobate mind.' In other words, according to that asshole preacher, if you're a boy who has crushes on other boys, then god would abandon you."

Was Adam gay? I had no idea! Despite myself, I had to fight back tears. My church had taught me that same shit during my formative years.

Adam could probably tell that I wasn't in a great place to talk, so he continued. "As for myself, I identify as bisexual." The pieces were coming together. "Or maybe pansexual. There's a debate in the community as to whether there's a meaningful difference, and I don't get involved in it. The bottom line is that, growing up, I would fantasize about bending my classmates over and fucking them. The guys and the girls."

"So you felt unwanted by your church community?" I managed to get out.

"Not exactly. That community LOVED me. They didn't know that I was also attracted to boys. I was the fit, charismatic, football star. My father wanted me to be a preacher. But psychologically, my childhood was a nightmare. I spent most of it thinking that I was going to hell because of the people I was attracted to. My parents were big into those godawful Left Behind films, so I also feared that the rapture would come and take all of my friends and family but leave me behind."

"Oh my god! That sounds terrible!" I didn't know how to articulate it to him, but I could empathize with Adam's experience in a big way.

"So that's my story," Adam continued, "what's Chris's story?"

There it was. How could I share it with him? That I was also the fit, charismatic football player? But that for me it wasn't just an attraction issue; I didn't feel like a boy at all on the inside. That in my sexual and romantic fantasies, I was the girl. That in my wildest dreams, I was a beautiful woman.

"Well," I stammered, "I've never told anyone this before, but I didn't feel welcomed at church because I don't exactly feel like a boy." Shit. I just up and said it. For the first time. To my boss. During an internship.

I said it so inelegantly. And now I can't take it back. All of the images of the stats on workplace discrimination against trans employees flashed before my eyes. Would I lose my internship? Would Adam tell anybody? Would I lose my friends? Would my family ever speak to me again?

Adam said nothing at first, but reached his hand across the table and placed it on top of mine. I didn't quite understand what I was feeling, but I breathed a sigh of relief. His touch felt warmer than it should have. Adam's hand was larger than mine, so his thumb and fingers easily enveloped my tense, curled fist. "I'm honored that you shared this with me, Chris." As meaningful as that touch was, I wanted more. I wanted him to hug me. To hold me.

I melted in the face of Adam's unbroken smile. My vision clouded as tears welled up in my eyes. Adam pulled a handkerchief from his jacket. Let's go somewhere more private. There's a rooftop bar in the adjacent building. As I stood up, Adam put his hand on the small of my back and guided me out the door.

For the rest of the night, I poured my heart out to Adam. I talked about the boys I had crushes on growing up. We laughed about my "girlfriends" with whom I had no real interest in being with. We talked about how difficult it was growing up in a conservative, religious household with no real hope of my loved ones loving the REAL me. And Adam was a perfect gentleman. He let me use his handkerchief when I cried. He held my hand during particularly difficult discussions. I truly, deeply liked Adam as a person.

By the end of the night, I'd had more alcohol than I probably should have. Adam came around to pull my chair out for me, and set his hand on my back as he helped me stand. Adam towered over my 5' 8'' frame.

Without thinking, I reached up to my tippy toes and planted a kiss on Adam's lips. Then regret set in. I had just kissed my boss. My male boss.

He didn't react but stared at me silently for a moment. "I'm flattered, Chris, and I think you're cute. But you've been drinking, and I'm your boss. So this would be wildly inappropriate." He conspicuously had not told me that I was fired, so relief washed over me.

Adam looked past me into the distance, contemplative. Then, snapping back into reality, he looked me square in the eye. "Chris, how important is this feeling to you? This sense that you don't belong in the body that you're born with?"

"I mean, I've tried to avoid thinking about it much, but EXTREMELY. I can't tell you how much I've struggled with depression. With disassociation. I just don't feel right."

Adam nodded. "I'm going to offer you something. But it's late, and you've been drinking, so I want you to sleep on it before you answer. Would you give up your relationships to have the body, and the self, that you've dreamed of? Would you give up your career? Your identity?"

I didn't know what to say. If I looked deep into myself, the answer was a resounding YES. But would I have the courage to take that if offered?

"I'm going to make you an offer, Chris. That's what I do for a living. I make offers. But if you're going to accept my offer, it's going to be on my terms. If you don't, then that's okay: we'll continue our professional relationship, and we can both forget that this conversation happened. Otherwise, I can give you everything that you're looking for."

What? Everything that I'm looking for? What exactly was he offering?

"I can make you into a woman. The woman of your dreams. Specifically, one of my clients is a biomedical firm known as 'Orgos, Inc.' They can make you into a bombshell in no time at all. I've seen it myself with a colleague of mine--you've met Jay, right? He has a trans trophy wife bouncing around at home. And she's the best fuck of Jay's life, or so I'm told." Chris winked. "And that's what I'm offering you. Of course, your friends and family might not be as accepting, so you need to accept that you may lose some of those relationships now. And the career you're in is toxically conservative. So you'll need to accept that this will hurt your career prospects. But I'll keep you employed--I need a good secretary and researcher anyway, and you've been a great fit at the firm."

This sounded too good to be true. Why was he offering me all of this so suddenly, and without knowing me that well?

"But that's not the biggest catch," Adam continued.

Ah, here it comes.

"The treatment involves some cognitive reconditioning, and you would essentially be a test subject. Under this reconditioning, you would be assigned a 'master.' And that would be me. Once the conditioning is complete, you would be unable to disobey me. I would fundamentally own your body, your mind, and your soul. I can spot a sub when I meet one, so I suspect that this wouldn't be too far outside what you want in a relationship anyway. But this is a one-way street: once you undergo the conditioning, there's no going back."

I didn't know what to say, so I thanked Adam for the offer and told him that I'd think about it. He drove me home and walked me to my apartment door. "Think about what I offered you, Chris," Adam told me before wishing me goodnight, "I can tell that you're a brilliant young woman, but that you're not satisfied with the path you're on. I can offer you what you've been searching for all along. Good night."

Adam was right. I didn't want my masculinity. I didn't want my independence. I never valued these concepts like most of the boys I knew. They seemed more burdensome than anything. I grew up watching family sitcoms from the '50s and '60s. I Love Lucy; Leave it to Beaver. I wanted what the wives and mothers of those old shows had. I wanted to be a woman, but more than that, I wanted to be free of the burdens of freedom. I wanted a strong man; and more importantly, I wanted to be HIS.

The next morning, I walked promptly into Adam's office. Before he could look up to acknowledge me, I blurted out: "I want to accept your offer!"

Adam smirked--he seemed delighted but unsurprised. "Close the door behind you," he calmly said. I obeyed. Adam's door was thick and solid oak. A nice benefit to the doors in this office was that they muffled sound, so attorneys and clients could be sure that their conversations were completely private. "Are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Yes! Very much so!" I abruptly replied.

"First things first, if we're going to go through with this, then we should get one formality out of the way. When you're speaking to me, I expect there to be some honorary title in there. 'Sir' will do for now."

"Yes, Sir," I meekly answered. I could feel my cock shifting and swelling in my pants at Adam's change in tone.

"I need to be VERY sure that this is something you want. I want you to tell me, in your own words, what you're accepting."

"Yes, Sir," I was confused by the order, but I complied as best as I could, "I want to undergo the cognitive reconditioning procedure with Orgos. I want to be yours. I want to be your trophy wife. I want this more than I value my relationships and my career. I want to give myself to you."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Adam said with a wink. He pushed a button on his office phone, "Nancy," he said to his secretary, "I want you to cancel my meetings for the next three hours. I'm going to be stepping out of the office."

Adam stood up and put on his jacket. "Grab your jacket and meet me by the elevators. I already have an appointment booked. Don't bother packing your other things; whatever you own will be mine soon anyway. After your procedure, you'll be signing your assets over to me."

I shuddered at the finality with which he spoke. And it sank in that Adam was so confident in my submission that he had already booked the appointment with the company.

"Yes, Sir," I said before stepping out of his office.

Adam drove me to an inconspicuous clinic on the outside of town. Perhaps the most boring business sign I'd ever seen, displayed "Orgos, Inc." in Times New Roman font above the door. There were no windows.

"Stay put," Adam said, before getting out of the car. He walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and gestured for me to get out. Was this setting the stage for our relationship going forward? Was Adam the type to open a lady's door and take her coat?

Adam put his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the front door. As we entered the building, I was struck by how basic the furniture and fixtures looked. I knew from prior projects that Orgos was a huge and important client, but one would never have guessed it from the grey, inexpensive chairs that lined the waiting room.

I was then struck by how gorgeous the receptionist was. Her makeup was done expertly; painted to perfection. I was a huge fan of drag shows and online videos from famous drag queens, so I knew an expert in cosmetics when I saw one. Underneath her smart, classic secretary uniform, I gawked at her snatched waist and large, perfectly-formed breasts. But underneath the makeup, I could tell that her jawline was surprisingly square at the edges for a woman. And I could tell that her shiny brunette hair was a wig, albeit an expensive one.

"Adam! It's wonderful to see you," the gorgeous brunette gushed, "and this must be Chris! Please step this way!"

I was surprised by the brunette's height as she stood up. She looked easily six feet tall by herself, but she expertly strutted along in six-inch, needle-thin heels. Queen.

She led Adam and me to an exam room, then handed me two paper cups, one with a handful of pills, and the other with water.

"Take these, hun. They're going to make you a bit loopy, and you probably won't remember what happens after that. Have you eaten anything today?"

"No, Ma'am!"

"Please, call me Daisy!" The brunette beamed at me. "And that's perfect. You're going to be pretty out of it for a few days, and you'll be," she paused, thinking of the right word, "different when you wake up, so if there's something you want to say to your man here before you go under, say it now." Daisy winked at Adam and lithely stepped out of the room. I couldn't help but admire her perfect, round ass through her pencil skirt.

Adam put his hand on my shoulder. "Last chance, Love. Are you ready for this?"

I nodded. "Yes, Sir. I want to do this."

"Good girl. Well, bottoms up!" Adam pretended as if he was holding a glass, and made a toasting gesture toward my cup of water.

I giggled and downed the pills in one gulp. A fog set in around the edges of my vision, and my head became heavy and cloudy. The last thing I remember was a group of men in white coats entering the room, carrying various electronic equipment. One of them looked like an old-timey VR headset.