by Etienne Telling

The sun is still sunk low on the horizon, not quite starting to rise when Wren wakes up, but it doesn’t mind the early mornings. There is a certain kind of peace with the house still sleeping; the anticipation and the potential of the day are some of its favorite things about early mornings. Wren rises and washes the sleep off its body and dresses. A bra—because it found their new breasts too unwieldy without containment, particularly for chores—cheeky briefs, and a comfortable cotton swing dress suitable for working.

Before breakfast, there are prayers. There is a small altar to the Triad just off the dining room. Wren offers a fresh lemon from the trees in the courtyard before it kneels. Quietly, Wren recites morning devotions to each of the three gods, kissing each statue at the end of its prayers. The prayers, particularly the kisses, are terribly old-fashioned, but Wren is an old-fashioned submissive. 

In the kitchen, Wren slips on an apron over its dress and ties it securely before getting to work. Wren has the first pot of coffee made for the house by 6AM, and the rest of breakfast in hot stasis ready for everyone to take as they please within a half hour after coffee. Flour dusts its apron from the biscuits, with some smudged across its cheek. 

“Good morning, Wren,” Gem says as they step into the kitchen, grab a napkin, and then catch Wren’s jaw in their hand. 

“Good morning, Gem,” Wren says, voice going faint as the grip on its jaw tightens, and Gem wipes the flour from its face with a sweep of their thumb. 

“Messy thing,” Gem chides. 

Wren just smiles at them. “Ah, you don’t have time to punish me, Gem. And I made your favorite kind of biscuits.” Wren turns to grab them a cup of black coffee, and Gem swats its ass. 

“Hm. Maybe when I’m home. You’re not on to make supper tonight, are you?” Gem turns to the hot table and starts to assemble their plate as Wren makes a cup of coffee for itself, too. 

“No, it’s Lucia on point for supper. It’s market day for me, putting away linens once they’re delivered from the laundry, and bathroom refreshes after the cleaning team comes through.” 

Gem hums thoughtfully and settles at the long family dining table for breakfast. Wren doesn’t join Gem at the table; there are still tasks to be done before everyone else comes down for their meal.  

Wren’s second favorite thing about mornings is the satisfaction of giving its housemates a warm start to the morning. That their day will be a little nicer because of Wren. No matter how shitty its housemates’ days may be, Wren started them right. It will wait for them when they get home, bookmarking their days with warmth and affection. 

Creche-raised and then straight into the dorms of vocational school, communal living is the only way Wren ever lived and the only way it wants to live. Wren could have returned to the creche to help raise the next generation, but its desire for service had a sharper edge. Service within the traditional gated district suits it better than childrearing ever could. 

Wren has only worked as the House Submissive of the Lemon Cooperative House for two months now. Everyone is still so new, but service is service, and the pleasure it brings is the same for new or old faces. Wren is an easy submissive, and the Lemon House is a joy to serve.  

Lemon is a small house, all things considered, with Wren making up its tenth member. It’s the only House Submissive, which is uncommon; most places have at least two, even small-scale cooperatives. Wren wanted to work alone, and the Lemon House was among the few considering solo service. They had a cleaning team and rotating chore rosters; they wanted a House Submissive who fit into their community, not just a glorified housekeeper. 

Wren smiles as more people filter into the dining room, and as it fills up Gem’s coffee mug, they pull it down to kiss its cheek. “I have to hurry out, but I’ve swapped with Jacob and Ori to have you for the night. I’ll message you with details when I’m on the train.” 

“Jacob forgot he had afterschool duty tonight,” Ori says as e clicks eir tongue disapprovingly at eir submissive. 

“I wasn’t supposed to, but Mira is out sick,” Jacob sighs as he ducks into the kitchen to make breakfast. Ori greets Wren by hooking eir long fingers in the O-ring of Wren’s collar and pulling it forward into a heated kiss. 

“Good morning, sweet thing,” e says with a smile. “Jacob, be a good boy. Eat your breakfast. I’m going to borrow little Wren.” 

Gem gives a little wave, but Wren hardly notices as Ori guides it into the sitting area at the far end of the room from the dining table. When released, Wren doesn’t need to be told what to do. Ori sits on an armless chair, hiking the hem of eir nightgown and splaying eir legs to make room for Wren between them. 

Wren sinks to its knees and reaches for Ori’s cock, only to have its palm smacked away. “Presumptuous,” Ori teases. “Your mouth only. Don’t talk. Just do your job.” 

A shudder races down Wren’s spine as it nods and gets to work. Ori’s cock is soft and fat, and Wren leans forward and rubs its cheek back and forth against it before pressing soft kisses along Ori’s shaft. Wren loses itself in the taste and smell of Ori, in the way eir cock hardens across its tongue when it takes e into its mouth. 

Ori doesn’t rush Wren, but e runs eir fingers through its hair, pulling almost absently. Wren’s cunt throbs, but it ignores its own desire. This isn’t about it, and that only makes them more turned on as it sucks at the head of Ori’s cock, rubbing the underside with its tongue. Wren lavishes attention down the length of Ori’s shaft, and then, before it can work its way back up, Ori grabs its hair tighter and fucks into its throat.  

Mornings are Wren’s favorite part of the day, but this is its favorite part of their work. It makes itself a thing to be used by its housemates when their pleasure is tangible, something it can hold, taste, and feel. Wren knows its body was created to be useful and used. The pleasure their body gives washes back over it, warm and blissful, a blessing from the gods. 

Wren’s head empties out of thoughts beyond the slow ache of pulled hair and a stretched throat and the rush of blood to their cunt and cock. Wren gags around Ori’s cock as e thrusts forward into its mouth. Wren clenches its hands behind its back and breathes heavily through its nose as Ori uses its mouth. Wren is distantly aware that a few more people are at the breakfast table. Lucia is perched behind them on the sofa. Even so, Wren keeps its focus on Ori, and before long, e thrusts deep into Wren’s throat and holds it in place by the back of its head as e comes. 

Wren goes dizzy before it’s released. It sways, gasping and coughing as Ori pulls out of their mouth. Lucia hands Ori a cloth, and they gently wipe Wren’s face off once it’s done coughing. 

“So good for me, little Wren,” Ori says as e smiles at it. “Go on, back to work,” they motion to the kitchen. “Jacob, make me a plate. I’m going to clean up,” e calls to their own submissive. 

Wren stays on its knees, waiting for Ori to stand before it does. Lucia catches it by the wrist as it rises. 

“You’re getting so much better at getting your face fucked,” Lucia says, smiling fondly at Wren. “You gagged so much when you first got here.” Lucia’s hand leaves Wren’s wrist and slips under its skirt to find its mostly soft cock and pinches the tip through its briefs until Wren cries out in pain. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Wren whispers, eyes closed as she keeps pinching until Wren’s eyes start to water. 

“Come on, Lucia, leave it be. We need more coffee,” someone calls from the table. 

“Like you don’t know how to use the pot yourself.” But Lucia releases Wren’s cock. “We can continue this later in the week, Wren.”  

“I look forward to it, ma’am,” Wren says, blushing a little as Lucia kisses its cheek and pushes it toward the kitchen where it cleans itself up, washes its hands, and gets back to its other work. 

Wren checks its house calendar as a fresh pot of coffee brews, trying to gather its thoughts away from how horny it is now. Its cunt is so wet, and it’s dying to rub its soft cock to coax itself to an orgasm. It takes a deep breath and directs its thoughts away from sex to the calendar. Arousal settles in the background as it checks the schedule. 

Tonight, Gem, tomorrow and the day after are rest days, then Lucia. Wren is about to pull up Gem’s message when someone asks for more eggs, and there is still the coffee. The rest of breakfast passes in a blur, and Wren doesn’t get a chance to check what instructions Gem’s left until everyone is done and it’s packed the leftovers up into grab-and-go’s for tomorrow.

Today is a market day, shopping to ensure food for the communal suppers and for people to make their own breakfasts for the next two days. Wren does an inventory and adds to its list before returning to the bedroom to tidy itself up for the market. 

There’s a ping on its implant, reminding it that Gem left a message, and it pulls it up with a flick of its eyes. 

From: Gemina Iasco
To: Wren Sergeant
Subject: Preparation for our scene 

I hope you were good for Ori, little bird. I had to leave before it was over. I’ve left a plug and harness in your cubby. Wear it to the market. If you’re staying in the gated district to shop, wear the top half of the harness exposed and then whatever else you’d like. You can orgasm, but if you come without me, you can’t orgasm with me.

Be good, 

Gem  

Well, that’s easy. Wren only leaves the gated district if it has to, and nothing on its list means it needs to go further abroad today. Humming to itself, it walks into the second-story living room and to the wall of cubbies, taking out the harness and plug that Gem left. 

The background arousal flares back to life as Wren feels the heft and weight of the plug. The harness is a new acquisition, something Lucia made for Wren in her leather shop. It’s a sturdy body harness that frames Wren’s breasts and hugs its body tight but also serves to hold all kinds of insertables inside of its body. Wren loves it. Loves it even better when both holes are filled, but it takes what it’s given with pleasure. 

Wren’s cunt is almost as new as its breasts, a graduation present, and the novelty of it hasn’t worn off. Still, Wren ignores it as it sets the plug in the harness before fingering itself wet enough to take it. It’s not a small plug. 

Still humming, Wren settles the harness on its body and the thick plug in its ass. It doesn’t resist fucking itself, working the plug back and forth in easy, gentle thrusts. It can’t come, or at least it doesn’t want to come, but it feels so good Wren can’t help itself. 

Eventually, Wren stops and stands up to finish buckling the harness and dress. With the plug in its ass, its cock is half hard and likely to stay that way, and it’s still quite wet from Ori’s facefucking downstairs. The market will be interesting today. Thrilling. It’s gone out plugged, but not with tasks to complete. Still, or perhaps because of it, the day will be great. 

Rain outside the dome makes the sky overcast. Lighting is set to a soft, ambient glow that doesn’t clash with the grey skies. The temperature is warm even in the gloom, so Wren doesn’t mind that it’s topless. It walks slowly, the plug inside it shifting as it pushes  a small cart toward the market. 

For all that Wren is painfully aroused, the market trip is straightforward. It gathers what it needs from stall to stall. It isn’t the only submissive in a state of undress or arousal, but the market is the market, and no one is doing anything about it beyond quietly suffering. 

At the produce stand, the submissive running gives Wren a delighted once-over. “Oh, you are settling nicely to the Lemon House, aren’t you?” she asks as her eyes linger on Wren’s erection. 

Wren blushes but grins brightly. “The house is treating me very well,” it agrees. 

“My Mistress lived there about five years ago, before she collared me and we moved in together,” the girl says as she weighs out tomatoes for Wren. “I lived next door, but it’s for dominants now, like yours.” 

“Mixed,” Wren says as it takes the bag from the girl. “There is a House Submissive and a House Dominant who run the place now, a couple. Will you and your mistress be coming to our Solstice party? We’ve invited them over, and you can meet them.” 

“Mixed! How progressive.” She laughs. “I’ll have to wrangle an invite from them when we’re at the party. You’ll introduce us?” 

“Mixed but traditional,” Wren says as it takes a second bag from the girl. “They have high standards for their submissives and higher still for the dominants who live there. I will introduce you!” 

It leaves the produce stand with a full cart and an amused smile. Mixed is the new normal almost everywhere but Voxis and the city’s gated district. Wren doesn’t mind the shift, not really, and especially not in a city that even if things mix, still follows old religious traditions. 

Wren’s creche hadn’t quite known what to do with it when it so strongly presented as submissive, with its drive to submit to the gods as much as a potential dominant. Old-fashioned or not, Wren loves its calling. 

Wren hums to itself as it walks back to the Lemon House with a full cart of food and flowers. It’d have a skip in its step, but the plug is still maddeningly rubbing in all the right places. The plug is easy to ignore when standing still, but it is almost agony once Wren starts moving again. 

Wren manages to get home without coming, but it soaks through its panties and has to change when it finally arrives and can take the plug out. Wren fucks itself again, so slow and careful now. It knows it would come if it pushed too hard. Right now, it just wants to tease itself, to make its cock throb and leak a little more before it has to stop and get back to work. 

It doesn’t stop until it’s breathless and gasping, its cock dripping with precome. One hard thrust up against its prostate, and it would come hard and fast. Shaking, Wren eases the plug from its ass and unsteadily walks into the bathroom to wash up. 

Once clean, Wren keeps the harness on, tosses the swing dress over it, and reaches for a clean apron. 

The cleaning team is hard at work in the bathrooms and kitchen, and Wren fusses with flowers around the house and delivers fresh linens to everyone’s room. Somewhere between setting out the flowers and the linen delivery, Wren’s cock finally goes flaccid without constant prostate stimulation. Wren’s labia still rub slickly together as it walks, and just because its dick is soft doesn’t mean it’s stopped aching. 

Wren’s dick is responsive in new ways since it had gotten its cunt. It can’t get hard without anal, but its dick is still so sensitive, and when Wren is wet, it throbs in arousal. 

It distracts Wren all through chores and lunch. Once it’s tidied up, it slips into its bedroom and pulls its dress up and panties down to rub at its cock, unable to resist the urge to touch itself any longer. 

This is going to make the arousal worse, but Wren can’t stop itself. It’s so horny, and it feels so good. Wren brings itself right to the very edge. There’s no promise Gem will let them come anyway—Wren yanks its fingers from its cunt and lays back, breathing hard. If Gem does let it come, it will be better than anything it can give itself. 

Wrenching its hand away from between its legs, it once more settles its dress back down and cleans itself up. 

The rest of the day passes just as quickly as the morning. Wren ensures the folks taking care of dinner have everything they need, finishes cleaning its own room, and then settles into the living room with a book to be there as people at work return home. 

Gem is the third person home, and they stop to stroke the soft peach fuzz of Wren’s shaved head. “Good afternoon, little bird. Have you been behaving yourself?” 

“Of course. And all my tasks for the day are complete,” Wren says as it rubs back against Gem’s hand and tries not to be too eager to see when Gem plans to claim their time, before or after supper. 

“Oh, are they?” Gem’s nails scratch lightly over its scalp, and Wren shudders. “Do I detect a hint in your words, Wren?” 

“You do.” It pauses and glances up at Gem through its eyelashes. “But I am not presumptuous. If you want to wait—” 

“Absolutely not,” Gem laughs. “I’ve been looking forward to coming home to you all day. I spent all morning in terrible meetings, and you, little bird, are my reward for my good behavior.” Gem rests their hand on the back of Wren’s head and pulls it forward so its head rests gently on the broad swell of their stomach. 

Wren isn’t entirely sure what Gem does for a living beyond working for the government. It doesn’t need to know and doesn’t think Gem could tell it the full scope of their work. What it does know is that Gem is tense and needs it. 

“Come pray with me.” Wren shifts back, and Gem relaxes their hand to allow it to move. “Then I will be fully at your disposal to do with as you please.” Wren smiles at Gem, taking in the tension around their eyes, even with the small smile on their lips. 

They hold hands as the two walk into the altar alcove, and Wren allows Gem to walk in before it does. Gem doesn’t kneel but bows low before the altar as Wren slips to the floor. 

“It’s been some time since I’ve made a physical offering to the gods.” Gem glances down at Wren. 

Wren goes flush and warm with what Gem is suggesting. “I would love to make an offering with you, Gem. My pleasure and pain are yours to offer to the Triad.” 

Gem traces the symbol of the gods on Wren’s forehead with their index finger. “Present yourself before the Triad, Wren,” they say, motioning toward the altar.

Without standing, Wren strips out of its dress and kicks its house shoes into the corner of the room, leaving it in nothing but the harness it wore to the market. 

“Ah, what a good little bird, but that too.” They don’t wait for Wren to move before they bend over it and help it undo the harness straps. 

Wren accepts the help silently and, once naked, kneels down and lays its forehead against the floor. Gem bends over the altar to kiss the statues of the Triad. Wren asks the gods to empty its mind and body into a vessel for their love so that Gem may receive blessings through its body. 

It takes nothing more than these prayers for Wren to find its subspace and sink under, giving their agency and body into Gem’s hands and to the Triad as easily as it breathes.

“Through Them, I am yours to command,” Wren whispers as it rises from the floor to its knees. 

Gem’s hands are warm as they guide Wren to its feet. They kiss Wren on the lips as their hands roam across its body, tracing the print of the harness it wore with their fingers.

Wren would be more active with others in the house, but not with Gem. Gem takes what they want when they want it, and if Wren gets too handsy, it ends up with its hands tied out of Gem’s way. 

“Did you come?” Gem asks as they slide their hands down to Wren’s still wet cunt, dragging their fingers through the mess between its thighs and rubbing it across its soft cock. 

“I was good,” Wren moans, trying not to rub itself against Gem’s fingers. “I—oh—edged myself a few times.”

Gem eases up the foreskin of their cock to tease the sensitive head with their fingers. “I planned to take you upstairs, but I want to see you spread out over the altar.” 

Wren squeaks and squirms but doesn’t protest. It wants to. It never feels right to lay on the altar, but it isn’t Wren’s choice, and they submit to Gem’s desire. 

Gem leaves off touching it to clear the altar. They fetch a padded mat for this very purpose and lay it out over the top of the wooden surface. “Up,” they order Wren. They don’t let it position itself. Gem makes Wren bend its knees and lay its feet flat on the altar, keeping its legs spread. 

They vanish out of view, and Wren closes its eyes to keep from trying to watch. It hears the cabinet against the wall open, and then soft leather wraps around its ankles. Gem clips the cuffs to O-rings set into the altar, and Wren is left splayed open for them. 

They walk away again, and Wren thinks about what else it stocked that cabinet with, the tools carefully selected for worship and offering. To stop itself from anticipating, it closes its eyes and focuses on its breath, remaining open to whatever Gem chooses.  

Wren doesn’t have to wait long. It feels the heat of Gem’s body as they come back to the altar, and its eyes snap open as Gem pinches its nipples between their fingers. Gem pulls hard, hard enough to move their breasts and stretch their nipples taut. Wren whines in the back of its throat, arching its back up off the altar with the force of the tug. 

“No.” Gem pinches Wren’s nipples so hard its eyes water. “Flat on the table, you are an offering. You are no longer your own. You do not move unless I move you. Be good, Wren.” Gem doesn’t raise their voice or sharpen their tone, but they don’t need to.

Gem’s words light Wren on fire, the heat blazing outward from the tight pinch, out over its arms, down its torso, glowing hotter between its thighs as its soft dick begins to throb once more. It lays flat back on the altar. It does not speak, not even to apologize. 

It does, though, cry out as Gem replaces their fingers with sharp metal clamps. Wren has no chance for another reaction as Gem pulls the chain upward and forces it into its mouth. 

“If the chain leaves your mouth before I remove it, you won’t be allowed to come,” Gem says as they smile down at Wren. Wren closes its mouth and teeth around the chain. It’s short enough that it tugs their nipples upward, exerting constant pressure on them and setting up a slow, creeping sort of pain as the scene goes on. Wren shudders at the realization, and Gem only smiles wider. Gem rubs their fingertips across the peaks of Wren’s clamped nipples. “Be good,” they tease as they trail their fingers down its stomach. 

The gentle touch turns to the rough scrape of nails. Gem rakes them down the soft skin of Wren’s inner thighs. Wren has to fight itself to stay flat on the altar and clenches its hands around the table’s edge as the scratches turn to sharp, bruising pinches. 

Wren bites down on the chain in its mouth and fights the urge to close its thighs, keeping its knees spread wide even as Gem’s pinches inch higher up its inner thighs. When they catch its labia in their fingers, Wren cries out behind its teeth. 

Gem soothes their fingers over the spot just pinched, waiting for Wren to relax before they do it again on the other side until Wren is too tense between pinches to relax. Only then does Gem relent, and pinching fingers become gentle once more. 

Wren still expects more but allows itself to melt back into the table, to breathe out rather than hold tight in anticipation. Gem rewards it, their fingers finding Wren’s cock and stroking, carefully pulling the foreskin back to expose the tip. 

“Should I let you get hard again?” Gem asks, and Wren almost answers. 

The chain almost slips out of Wren’s mouth as it opens it to answer, and it quickly snaps its lips closed once more. 

“I don’t think so,” Gem answers themselves, laughing at Wren as they do. “I love the feel of your soft little cock in my hands, and you did wear that plug for your whole market trip.” 

Wren whines pathetically. It wants to rock its hips up and beg for more. It lays flat, breathing heavily instead, closing its eyes so it doesn’t see the look of bemusement on Gem’s face. The whine grows as Gem moves from light touches to Wren’s cock to pinching and slapping. It bites down on the chain of the nipple clamps, fighting to keep it between its lips. 

It wants to come. It wants Gem’s clever fingers to make it orgasm and—

Gem’s mouth closes around its soft dick, sucking firmly. Wren’s mouth falls open in a gasp and the chain slips from its lips. 

“No,” Wren whispers. “I’m—I’m sorry I…” 

Gem doesn’t stop. Not only does Gem not stop, they slip their fingers into Wren’s cunt. They aren’t slow about it. They know how Wren likes being fucked, and they fuck it hard and fast, thrusting their fingers deep into its body. 

Hot tears fall down Wren’s cheeks, ashamed that it couldn’t handle the simple request of keeping the chain in its mouth. Gem doesn’t stop suckling at its dick, and it feels so amazing, and it can’t come now. It just wanted to be good. 

“Hey. Hey, little bird, shh,” Gem pulls off Wren’s cock and reaches up over its body to stroke its cheek. “Shh. I know. I know you wanted to come. Poor little thing, don’t cry. This is still a gift to the Triad. Come now, you can take this for us, can’t you? You’re our good one, aren’t you?” 

Wren manages a nod for Gem. It can do this for Gem. They’re right; it is an offering. Its suffering means as much to the Triad as the pleasure. 

Gem moves their fingers in its cunt, and Wren moans. “I… I wanted to please you,” it whispers, still a little miserable about failing, even if it has only failed itself. 

“Sweet thing, you do please me. Shh,” they soothe as Wren keeps crying. “You’re such a good submissive. You’re still fresh out of training. You please us all so much, Wren. It’s okay; you can cry, but I will keep going. You’ll learn with practice and discipline.” 

Still sniffling, Wren nods and tries not to sound too pathetic. “Yes, Gem, I understand.” 

“That’s it, good. Recite the Duodecima Laude three times, sweet thing, and then it will be over.” 

Wren doesn’t wail only because it manages to stop itself from doing so. That’s one of the longer prayers to the three. “What if I can’t—” 

“You can,” Gem says firmly. “You will. And if you don’t, you may offer your apologies to the Triad, and I will let the household know you’re not allowed an orgasm for nine days, three days for each of the Triad.” Gem wraps their fingers back around Wren’s cock and squeezes. 

And Wren knows, from its first correction, that further transgressions add three more days. 

Wren breathes in slowly, trying to ground itself, letting itself sink back into the sharp pain on its nipples, the pleasure of Gem’s hand on its cock. It can’t orgasm, but that doesn’t mean this is wasted pleasure, that the ache doesn’t mean anything. 

This pleases Gem. This pleases the Triad. The denial is a gift to them all, and Wren opens itself back up and slips into the wash of sensation. This is its place; failure is a part of growth, it reminds itself. Gem’s fingers draw its foreskin back as they keep fucking it, and Wren begins to pray.

Gem’s tongue circles the head of Wren’s cock, and it forgets several words, mind going blank as it groans, forcing its hips to remain still on the altar. Gem stops, and Wren groans in frustration this time, but as it resumes its prayer, Gem takes the whole of its cock into their mouth. 

It goes on like this for all twelve stanzas. Wren’s brain stops working, and Gem stops touching it. Its cock aches and its cunt soaks Gem’s fingers as they keep fucking it deep and hard. At the end of the first round, their fingers shift, and Wren’s whimpers between words become deep and guttural. Its whole body feels primed to explode like a firework as Gem works a third and then fourth finger into its cunt. 

“Don’t stop, sweet thing,” Gem whispers, lips brushing over the too-sensitive head of Wren’s cock. 

Wren can barely speak by the middle of the second repetition, and its shout echoes through the room, breaking the prayer as Gem works their fist into its cunt. The pain of the stretch is the only thing that keeps it from orgasm as it spasms around Gem’s fist. 

Half the house could be in the room with them, and Wren wouldn’t notice anything but Gem’s fist in its cunt. It sobs; it begs. 

“Shh, this isn’t over until you finish your prayers, Wren,” Gem says, so soft and gentle as they kiss the inside of Wren’s knee. “Keep going.” 

How Wren manages to keep going, it doesn’t know. The prayer falls broken from its lips as Gem works their fist in Wren’s body, deep inside, moving in shallow rocking thrusts. 

Wren sobs as it prays, focusing all its words on the prayer, all its energy on not orgasming. Sweat drips down its forehead, and its hands cling to the altar, almost cramping with how tightly it holds on. Wren will do this. It tells itself how proud Gem will be of it if it succeeds. How proud of itself it will be. 

Gem takes its whole cock back into their mouth again, and Wren forces through the words, pushing itself into the middle of the third recitation. It almost comes as Gem’s tongue slides under its foreskin to circle the head of its cock. 

Wren’s body jerks on the table; it wails, words falling off. Words it picks up just as quickly as they fall from its lips. Through gritted teeth, Wren finishes the prayer, voice rising with every word as it approaches the final stanza. It is nothing but pure animal need awash with pain and pleasure. Its thighs hurt from keeping its knees bent and its legs open, and the moment the last word leaves its lips, its legs drop down. 

Gem pulls off Wren’s cock, and carefully, so carefully, eases their fist from its cunt. Wren gives a little jerk and soft whine as the absence leaves it open and raw, but it has no energy left to move. 

“You did so well, little bird.” Gem squeezes one of Wren’s thighs with their clean hand. “I’ll be right back, just breathe.” 

“Ngh?” Wren doesn’t know how to move. Can’t fathom moving. It lays flat on the altar, a wrecked and perfect offering. 

It thinks Gem is only gone for a few seconds, but it could be hours for all it knows. Gem lays their hands on each of the nipple clamps. “This is going to hurt, sweet thing.”

Wren almost screams in pain as Gem quickly unpinches the clamps and blood rushes back into its abused nipples. 

“Easy, easy, it’s okay.” Gem guides Wren to sit up and wraps their arms around it. “Shh, you poor thing, that was so much, and you did so well.” 

This time, even knowing it didn’t get everything it wanted, Wren knows Gem is right. It did do well. It hums and nuzzles into Gem’s neck, letting Gem pet its back in long, smooth strokes. 

“Thank you, Gem,” it whispers. 

“Thank you, Wren.” Gem turns their head and kisses Wren’s temple. “Can you make it to the bathroom? Let’s clean you up and get you rubbed down with lotion and into a robe. When you’re ready, we can go down to supper. I’ll hand feed you.” 

Words are difficult, but thankfully, Wren doesn’t need to speak. It nods. It would like that. It likes being hand-fed almost as much as it enjoys feeding people. It can snuggle up against Gem on the bench, surrounded by the rest of the Lemon House, and know it’s done well. 

That’s its second favorite part of the day. In the end, when people are all back together, talking about their days, and the energy flow is tired but satisfied by a good meal and good company. 

The sun begins to set as Wren slides off the altar on unsteady feet. Gem holds onto it until it finds its balance and kisses it on the lips. “Come on, little bird.” 

Wren follows them upstairs and into the last of its day. 

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