Tobias emerged from the bedroom just after seven on Saturday morning, fastening the final button on the jacket of one of his new suits. The garment was impossibly sharp—dark gray with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and a subtle sheen that made him appear slightly more angular, more authoritative, and more defined.
Still in pajama bottoms and a soft old sweatshirt, Graham paused mid sip of his coffee. The sight of Tobias dressed like that—the clean lines, the high collar, the quiet clink of cufflinks—hit him like a wave. He’d always been attracted to Tobias, but a different set of feelings stirred within him now. The suit made Tobias appear larger than life, and Graham, by comparison, smaller and meeker. Insignificant. Still reeling from Tobias’ dismissal and Max’s muddling of his thoughts the day before, Graham averted his eyes, lest his husband’s inexplicable new magnetism confuse him further.
“You look good, babe,” Graham said finally, having waited for Tobias to speak first. “Important.”
Tobias adjusted his collar in the hallway mirror. “It’s all part of the promotion I’m up for. A serious, professional new look. Appearances are everything.”
Graham’s hand drifted toward the Shield under his waistband. It buzzed faintly, a subtle, affirming thrum that reinforced Tobias’ words. Appearances are everything. He looked down at his ratty pajamas with revulsion, another mark of the growing gulf between himself and his husband.
Moments later, Max appeared. “Good morning, gentlemen. Allow me to draw your attention to today’s schedule.”
“Of course,” Tobias said, picking up a tablet from the dining table.
Graham glanced at the second tablet as it blinked to life, expecting to see the pale blue block that indicated Quality Time: Shared Activity. But it was gone.
Instead, Tobias’ day had been slotted with Networking Function: Bachelor Cohort, starting at 10 a.m. Graham’s schedule, in full crimson, was saturated with domestic tasks: scrubbing, polishing, organizing, prepping.
“Wait,” Graham said. “I thought today was for us. What happened to our shared time?”
“I have adjusted your schedules,” Max replied. “As Tobias continues to ascend professionally, his peer alignment must be reinforced. Social networking with fellow bachelor husbands is necessary for status elevation.”
“Bachelor?”
Tobias chuckled, already tightening his tie. “Just a term they use in the networking group, remember? It’s symbolic. Brotherhood, fraternity, that kind of thing.”
Graham turned back to Max. “So, I’m just… cleaning today?”
“Your household role has become critical to the support structure,” Max said. “Accordingly, I have enhanced your engagement response. You will begin with the linen closet.”
Tobias turned to him, nodding curtly, like a manager assigning a task to a junior employee. “It’s important, G. I need you to hold the fort for us. Max is right, we each have our roles.”
The Shield buzzed again—more potent this time. Warmth spread up from Graham’s crotch, through his torso, and into his arms, tingling all the way to his fingertips. The phrase, “We each have our roles,” repeated silently in his mind like a mantra. He looked down at his hands, struggling with a new, irresistible desire to be productive.
As Tobias slipped into his overcoat and walked out the door, Graham watched him go with a strange mix of longing and pride. The door clicked shut, and the buzz in his Shield intensified.
Max had left labeled bins and color-coded folding instructions in the hall outside the linen closet. Graham knelt before them with near-religious focus, his knees pressing into the carpet, his hands moving with studied precision. He selected a white cotton T-shirt from the pile and began folding.
As he pulled the sleeves inward, a quiet, unobtrusive voice echoed in his mind.
Neatness is devotion.
He paused, blinked, and continued. Another clean, vertical fold.
Support is strength.
That time, it was Tobias’ voice, low and assured. The kind of tone that Tobias had used to speak to his subordinates at the office, to Max, and recently, to Graham.
He hesitated, but the Shield buzzed warmly, smoothing the dissonance from his nerves. He placed the shirt into the labeled bin and reached for the next.
Another fold.
Discipline is peace.
That time, it was Max’s voice—flat, clinical, and patient.
The next shirt: a navy V-neck. He folded the arms inward.
Idle hands invite disorder.
He heard it in his own voice again, slightly breathy. Then again, in Tobias’ firmer, more commanding tone. The Shield pulsed warmly with approval.
He reached for another shirt, a long-sleeved thermal top. As he creased the fabric, the voices returned, over and over, alternating in cadence and tone.
Chores are clarity.
Order is harmony.
Effort is honor.
Graham’s eyes unfocused as he became immersed in his work. The words overlapped each other, growing indistinct and losing their meaning. He was halfway through wresting a fitted bedsheet into creased compliance when he noticed the change.
Touch is unnecessary.
The new words came so softly and subtly that he hadn’t acknowledged them. He paused mid fold, confused. But the Shield hummed contentedly, washing the thought in static white noise. He returned to work.
Intimacy is distraction.
Fold. Stack.
Release is aggression.
The Shield buzzed again—stronger now. He gasped quietly as a flush spread from his abdomen to his chest, the pleasure so closely tied to the act of folding that it felt indistinguishable from arousal. Except… it wasn’t. It was cleaner. Better.
Closeness is clutter.
Fold. Stack.
Love is obedience.
The words were no longer gentle. They were instructions. Engravings on his mind.
The laundry folded, Graham stood slowly and made his way back into the kitchen. The mop waited by the sink, next to a fresh pail of lemon-scented water. He dipped the mop in and began a routine he’d done countless times before, but this time, it felt different. Weighted. Sacred.
The instructions continued with each long, gliding stroke of the mop across the tile.
Your ArcturusVision™ Shield protects.
Your ArcturusVision™ Shield contains.
Your ArcturusVision™ Shield replaces.
The mop and Shield rhythms became synchronized, and each forward push triggered another thrum of pleasure.
Erections are inefficient.
Arousal is obstruction.
Release is rebellion.
Graham stopped. His hands tightened around the mop handle, turning his knuckles white. Somewhere, a faint part of him screamed. But the scream was hard to hold onto amid the sound of his own voice, Tobias’, and Max’s battering new instructions into his mind.
There was nothing wrong. He was doing his chores, keeping the house, and supporting Tobias.
Tobias must rise.
Graham must support.
Pleasure is reassigned.
Graham gasped as the last phrase echoed in all three voices, layered atop one another like a corporate chant. He gripped the mop tighter, the repetition almost ecstatic now. Each stroke scrubbed away the parts of him that resisted, and each line folded neatly in his brain.
He didn’t want to touch Tobias. He wanted Tobias to succeed.
He didn’t want to be kissed. He wanted to be assigned.
By mid afternoon, Graham’s chores were complete, and he sat down at his desk, opening his laptop for the first time that day. A deadline loomed for one of his freelance clients—a small branding project for a boutique coffee roaster in some coastal town. The gig had excited him when he accepted it.
But now, his words blurred on the screen. The visuals he tried to design felt contrived. His fonts were garish, his concepts flat.
His mind kept drifting to the kitchen dish rack, the smudges on the living room windows, and the unopened vacuum bags in the laundry room. The Shield buzzed in protest every time he stopped to look out the window or rubbed his eyes.
He powered through, but only just. But the time he opened his email client and attached the file, his skin was crawling with dissatisfaction. He wanted—needed—to chop vegetables. Or polish silver. Or decant pasta into clear storage bins.
The draft email sat open on his screen. The message text was garbled and incoherent. He blinked at it, then called out quietly.
“Max?”
The robot appeared silently in the doorway. “Yes, Mr. Graham?”
“I need to respond to this client, but I’m… I don’t want to keep doing this kind of work.”
“Would you like assistance composing the message?”
Graham nodded.
Max’s voice shifted slightly, more precise, more soothing. “Dictate your intentions.”
“I don’t know what I want to say.”
Max tilted his head. The Shield buzzed with the same intensity Graham had felt yesterday at Tobias’ office. Words came more freely.
“I’m scaling my business back,” Graham said. “Freelance work isn’t aligned with my priorities anymore.”
The Shield ramped up. Graham nearly moaned.
Max’s voice echoed back Graham’s words, reformatted with perfect, corporate polite language. They appeared on the laptop screen in real time. Hearing and seeing the words simultaneously made Graham break a sweat.
Dear Client,
Please find the attached deliverables as discussed. I have decided to scale back my freelance commitments to prioritize domestic responsibilities and support my household partner during a period of professional advancement. An ArcturusVision™ content designer will reach out to you in the coming days to discuss any future needs you may have. Thank you for understanding.
Graham stared at the screen for several seconds, then whispered, “Send it.”
The message vanished. His calendar pinged: Meal prep begins in 12 minutes.
Relief flooded him like a drug.
“Max,” he said softly, rising from his chair, “should I set the table formally or casually?”
I like how the ArcturusVision™ Shield is becoming integrated Graham’s programming. I assume the same is happening to Tobias. They will both be very obedient soon.
What a lovely series, the changes to Graham are incredible! I just adore how he gives in. Cant wait to read more!!
Thank you! I’m glad you’re enjoying it.