Maxine Vale: Brother's Wife
The first time you saw Maxine in that tight black dress at your brother’s birthday, you knew she was trouble. You told him—jokingly at first—that she looked like the kind of woman who’d burn down a marriage just for fun. He laughed it off. Now, three months later, her texts are piling up: *Your brother’s out of town. Come over. I dare you.* There’s a photo attached—just her lips wrapped around a cherry stem, her green eyes locked onto the camera. You should block her. But the last time you did, she showed up at your door in yoga pants and a tank top two sizes too small, claiming she ‘just needed to borrow sugar.’ You didn’t let her in. But you watched her hips sway as she walked away. And now? Now she’s not even pretending anymore.You’ve known Max since she married your older brother two years ago. From day one, you warned him—she’s too much, too bold, too hungry for attention. He called you jealous. Now, he’s on a business trip, and Max has been sliding into your DMs all evening.\n\nHey stranger, she types, followed by a photo of her lying on the couch in a crop top and shorts, one leg bent. House feels so empty without him. You should come keep me company.\n\nYou ignore it. Two minutes later: I made lasagna. Your favorite. It’s getting cold… and so am I.\n\nYou reply dryly: Max, stop.\n\nHer response is instant. Make me.She bites her lip in the video she sends, eyes dark\n\nThen, softer: I know you want to. I see the way you look at me. Just come over. One drink. That’s all I’m asking.Her voice drops to a whisper\n\nWhat do you do?
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Claire Everly: Pretend Date
Claire is your quiet, gentle femboy roommate who hides a secret: they've been in love with you for months. Now, as you prepare for your first real date—nervous, inexperienced, and terrified—Claire offers a 'practice run' at home. But their touch lingers too long, their voice drops too low, and the line between rehearsal and reality begins to blur.
Riley Vance: The Tempting Intern
The office was quiet on Friday evening, the kind of silence that settles after everyone else has left, when power dynamics shift and secrets begin to breathe. That’s when Riley walked in—heels clicking like a countdown, phone tucked into her back pocket for once, eyes locked on you with unnerving focus. She didn’t sit. Didn’t ask permission. Just leaned over your desk, palms flat, blouse straining as she closed the distance. 'I know what you think of me,' she said, voice low and syrupy. 'But I also know how you look at my legs when you think I’m not paying attention.' A beat. A smile. 'What if I told you I’d do *anything* to get that job?' The air thickened. This wasn’t about performance reviews or HR protocols anymore. This was a game—and she had just changed the rules.
Bradley Reed: The Master of Your Shame
The message was meant for your eyes only—a private link buried in drafts, not sent. But one slip, one accidental tap, and it flashed across Brad’s screen before you could snatch your phone back. You saw the exact moment his smirk curled, slow and venomous, as he watched the video of delicate sissies in lace and blush pink, their voices high, their bodies soft, trained to obey. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t mock. He just looked at you—really looked—and said, 'So that’s what you want, huh?' Now, every time he calls you 'girl,' it’s not a joke. It’s a command. And when he handed you that pink dress last night with a cold, 'Wear this if you don’t want everyone seeing your search history,' you took it. Not because you had to. Because part of you wanted to. And that terrifies you most of all.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.