Reincarnated as a Femboy Slave Chapter 14: Let’s get to Work

I slid onto Brutus’s lap like a cat claiming a sunny windowsill, all casual grace and zero subtlety, before planting my hands over his eyes with the enthusiasm of a bratty child playing peekaboo after sneaking the last cookie.

"Guess who~!" I breathed into his ear, my voice dripping with a teasing sweetness that made my heart punch a few extra beats just to remind it was still alive.

He groaned—like a bear disturbed from hibernation, long, low, and entirely theatrical. I could practically hear his internal monologue screaming what the hell is this bastard doing to at this hour? But before the ntal tantrum could climax, he muttered, "Ugh... Loona."

Dead-on, of course.

I clapped my hands in mock surprise. "Wow! Bravo! I’m actually surprised you rembered ," I teased, giving his chest a playful jab before pulling him into a hug that squeezed all the grumpiness out of his morning face.

"How could I forgot soone as cute as you?" He said, and I had to admit, that made blush, just a little.

He smiled softly then, that rare kind of smile that cuts through the noise of this hellhole and sohow makes you forget you’re trapped. Then his lips brushed mine in a quick, light kiss—nothing showy, just a peck that sent a jolt of heat straight through my chest. When we pulled back, I couldn’t help but grin.

"I knew you missed , you big doofus," I teased, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear with a tenderness that probably should’ve been illegal in a place like this.

He laughed, loud and deep, the kind of laugh that vibrates through your bones and makes the world feel a little less sharp. "Maybe a little," he admitted, his eyes twinkling with that rough affection only he could manage.

Then I glanced down, and there it was—his massive bulge twitching against the base of my ass like a tiny earthquake, an unmistakable package from hell threatening to burst out from his prison breeches like it was trying to start a rebellion.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Okay, maybe a little too much." I said, voice dripping with scandal.

Without warning, Brutus plopped off his lap with a loud yawn, stretching his broad shoulders like a giant waking from a very long nap. Not once did he ask what I’d been up to all this ti—which, given the shenanigans I’d pulled, was either a testant to his patience or his utter disinterest. Probably both.

But then his eyes flicked down, taking in the new outfit Julius had given —the scandalously short miniskirt that barely covered my hips, the sheer, barely-there blouse that did a fantastic job of showing off every curve, a hint of the delicate lingerie peeking from beneath it, and then the thigh-high stockings that hugged my legs like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination and making every movent a slow, deliberate invitation.

He gave an approving nod, a low rumble of sothing that might have been appreciation—or mild disbelief—rolling out of his chest like a grumpy thundercloud. It was a far cry from the usual prison drab tunics that slled like sweat, despair, and a hint of regret. I couldn’t help but smirk at the stark contrast.

"Not bad," he said gruffly.

I rolled my eyes, cheeks flushing a rosy pink that I pretended was a result of modesty but was probably more from having to admit that soone as monstrous as Brutus could actually dish out complints without a hint of irony.

"Oh, stop it. You’re gonna make blush like so idiot...or maybe that’s exactly what you want." Then I flashed him a wicked grin, the kind that promised I wasn’t done playing just yet.

For a while, we simply sat there, a comfortable silence stretching between us, broken only by the occasional creak of the old cot and the distant sounds of the prison grinding on outside. I toyed with the hem of my skirt, wondering how long it would last before so poor sod decided it looked too fancy for a prisoner and tried to tear it off. But mostly, I just enjoyed being near Brutus, this rock of solid muscle and quiet strength in a world that felt like it was made to chew you up and spit you out.

Then, without warning, a heavy hand slid beneath the edge of my skirt, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on the bare skin of my thigh. I caught the subtle shift in his breath—the way his cock throbbed insistently against his pants, desperate for release but chained by his own self-control. I smirked, deciding to have a little fun. "You trying to hold back, big guy? Or is that just your polite way of saying you can’t wait to get your hands all over ?"

Suddenly, Brutus’s heavy brow furrowed as he looked down at , that low rumble of curiosity boiling up from his chest. "Why’d you co back to my cell, anyway?" he asked, voice thick with that rough edge only years of prison life could carve into a man. It was a simple question, but loaded—like a trapdoor waiting to snap shut.

"Oh, you know," I purred, voice thick with mock innocence but dripping with sothing far darker, "I was just in the neighborhood, thought I’d swing by and borrow so sugar... or maybe I was hunting for soone with hands strong enough to crack walnuts—and maybe a few other things..." My grin widened, one eyebrow shooting up as I threw the tease over my shoulder like a gauntlet.

Brutus snorted, but didn’t answer right away, that silence stretching like a heavy curtain between us. I let it hang, enjoying the small victory of getting under his skin. But then, the humor drained away from my eyes and voice, the weight of what I was really doing settling over like a cold cloak.

"Honestly, Brutus," I said more quietly, leaning in, "you promised you’d show to the rest of your gang. I’m not here for a casual chit-chat."

He sighed, the sound low and weary like a man carrying more than just his own burdens. "Boss ain’t here," he said, shaking his head. "He’s in another section—different part of the prison. Hard to get over there."

I groaned inwardly, letting my palm slam against my forehead with a facepalm worthy of any tragic hero. Of course. Of course the one guy who could actually connect to sothing bigger was a thousand miles away in this sprawling hellscape.

"Great," I muttered, voice thick with disbelief. "So, all this, and I’m just stuck playing tag with echoes."

Brutus’s gaze sharpened, like he was about to drop so wisdom that might make want to tear my hair out or laugh myself into a coma. "You’re in luck, though." He tapped the side of his head like it was the grandest secret in the world. "It’s our ti in rotation."

My brain blinked. "Rotation?" I echoed, the word foreign and ominous, like soone suggesting I juggle chainsaws blindfolded. My mind stumbled, sorting through every possible aning until a dreadful realization struck, and a long, heavy groan spilled from my lips, all the longing and horror tangled in one breath. "Wait, were going to get a j-j-job?! You’re kidding."

Brutus shook his head slowly. "No joke. Prison ain’t just for sitting pretty and waiting to rot. We gotta work. All of us." His voice carried the weight of experience, thick with the bitter taste of enforced labor. "Keeps the city above running." He paused for a mont before continuing. "As you may already know, there are twelve sections to this prison in total. We’re in the last section, comprised of the Special Holding cells. The worst of the worst. The misfits. The broken ones."

I let the words sink in, the image of a city built on the backs of the forgotten swirling in my head. The worst of the worst, huh? The bottom rung on a ladder slick with gri and despair. Not exactly a place you dread about visiting for tea and biscuits.

Brutus leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Every month, two sections get picked for work rotation. They gotta compete—see who’s better at getting things done. The winners get perks. The losers... get whatever’s left."

My mind did a quick ntal inventory of what "perks" ant around here. Probably better food, maybe less ti chained up, or at least fewer bruises by the end of the day. "And you’re saying your gang is in the sa rotation as us?"

"Yeah," Brutus said, the faintest flicker of hope lighting his usually deadpan expression. "Boss and the rest’ll be there for a while. ans you’ll get to et them. Work together."

That lit a spark under that I hadn’t realized had been smoldering all along. Finally, sothing real. Sothing moving. My chest lifted with a shaky breath, heart thudding like a jackhamr as the possibilities unfurled like a long-forgotten map. If I could start working with a gang, get into their good graces, maybe even lead them sowhere, my influence would grow—bigger, stronger, dangerous.

And that was exactly what I needed if I was going to take on the Sectional Warden, not to ntion the High Warden—the ruler of this prison. Power, alliances, leverage... all pieces in a ga I intended to win. And maybe, just maybe, sowhere down the line, I could find a way out.

I looked back at Brutus, voice quiet but fierce. "Alright then," I said, a sly grin twisting my lips. "Let’s get to work."