The Demise of Evan-X Ch. 03

Chapter XII: The Path to Acceptance

It had been a few weeks since Anna had planted the thought in Evan's mind. She had let it sit there, burrowing deeper with each passing day, a whisper he couldn't escape. She didn't rush him. She didn't need to.

Real submission--true transformation--was a slow erosion.

And Evan was unraveling beautifully.

She stood in the doorway of his gooning cave, watching him slump in his chair, his body weaker than before, his movements slower, his fingers twitching from withdrawal. He had never realized how much of his willpower had been linked to his physicality. He had been proud of his size, his strength, his stamina.

Now?

Now, he was soft.

Not just in mind, but in body.

The chastity had ensured that.

Weeks locked away, weeks of no touching, no stimulation--his cock, once thick and pulsing with need, had become something pathetic. Shrinking. Fading from his own sense of identity. His muscles had softened too, his body slowly losing definition, weakened by a lack of testosterone, by constant edging with no reward, by the artificial warmth of the blow that filled his veins but never truly satisfied him.

And that was exactly how she wanted him.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped inside, letting him hear the sound before he even lifted his head. His pupils were already dilated--whether from the withdrawal or from the sound of her approach, she couldn't tell. Probably both.

"Evan, love... you look tense."

Her voice was warm, understanding, but there was a knowing sharpness beneath it. She settled onto the edge of the desk, crossing her legs slowly, watching the way his eyes flickered down, drawn to her heels. Good. Even in his daze, his conditioning held firm.

"Tell me, love... what's been on your mind?"

She already knew. She had seen it--the way his body twitched with frustration, the way his eyes lingered too long on certain clips, the way his breathing hitched at certain words.

But she needed him to say it.

Evan hesitated, shifting in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests like he was trying to hold onto something. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"I just... it's hard, Anna. The waiting. The... the not being able to--"

She chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"Oh, Evan... of course it's hard. That's the point."

She reached into her pocket, pulling out the familiar, pristine baggie--the one thing that could ease him, soften him, keep him from thinking too much. She tapped a small, perfect line onto her heel, tilting her foot toward him.

"Come now, love. I think we both know what you need first."

She didn't command him. She didn't force him.

She just... waited.

And sure enough, within seconds, he was already moving--falling forward onto his hands and knees, crawling to her, his breath already uneven as he lowered his face to her shoe and sniffed.

The moment the powder hit his bloodstream, she saw it--the way his body relaxed, the way the tension in his shoulders melted away, the way his pupils dilated even further.

"There we go... my obedient little addict."

She ran a single finger along his cheek, watching as he shuddered under the illusion of affection. It was all so easy now.

"Tell me, love... what have you been thinking about?"

His breath hitched. There it was. The hesitation. The shame.

Perfect.

"I... I don't know," he muttered, but they both knew that was a lie.

She let the silence stretch between them, her presence suffocating in the most gentle way.

Then she sighed, shaking her head.

"Evan... I know."

He froze.

"I know what's been running through that pretty little head of yours."

His entire body tensed, a visible flinch rippling through him.

"I see the way you watch them," she continued, her voice smooth as silk. "The way your body reacts when you see those men on the screen... the ones who've found other ways."

He was shaking his head before she even finished, but it was weak, uncertain.

"N-no, I--"

She laughed, low and soft, cutting him off again.

"Oh, love... it's nothing to be ashamed of."

Her hand trailed lower, over his chest, her nails just barely grazing the fabric of his shirt.

"In fact, I think it's... inevitable."

His breath stuttered, and she could see the panic rising in his eyes.

He was still trying to hold on. Trying to fight the thought.

Not for long.

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, her lips just inches from his ear.

"You see, the funny thing about denial, Evan, is that it changes you. The longer you stay in it, the more your body... adapts."

She pulled back, watching the way he was crumbling before her.

"And I know you feel it, don't you?"

His silence was answer enough.

She smiled.

"That little ache. That pressure. That need."

A slow exhale.

"It's not going away, love. In fact, it's only going to get worse."

He squirmed in the chair, his face burning, his entire body screaming discomfort.

But that was good.

Discomfort was the precursor to acceptance.

She let the silence stretch again, let the weight of her words settle into his bones, twisting and curling around his doubt.

Then, she delivered the final blow.

"You don't have to fight it, Evan."

A soft sigh, her fingers tilting his chin up so he had no choice but to meet her gaze.

"I can help you."

His lips parted, a sharp inhale. He looked lost, terrified, but also... curious.

She could see it--the war in his mind, the last crumbling walls of resistance, the need to believe her, to let her lead him.

She leaned back, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her thigh.

"But only if you're ready."

She let the words linger, knowing they would sink in like venom, spreading through him long after she left the room.

Then, without another word, she stood.

And walked away.

And when he did, she would show him.

Step by step.

Bit by bit.

Until he came crawling, begging, for anal pleasure.