You grabbed your phone and snapped a photo. Not of your face, not of your feet. But of your hand, slipping under the hem of your worn leggings, your fingers lost in the wet folds of your pussy, your black cotton panties pushed aside. The bathroom light was dim, but it was enough to show how soaked you were, how your body was responding to that power dynamic. Your pussy lips were swollen, glistening with juices, and your fingers (two inside, one grazing your clit) were already soaked in your desire.
You attached the photo to a new message.
Y/N: "Daddy, look what you're making me do. If you don't respond within an hour, I'll send this photo to someone else. And I'll tell him to bring me a friend."
Then you waited.
Toji's silence was deafening. But this time, you weren't frustrated at all. Your thumb grazed the screen, your heart pounding as you imagined both possibilities: Choso, on his knees, licking your feet while you led him on a leash like a trophy. Or Toji, finally, giving in, answering you with that deep voice you imagined red with desire, hoarse with need.
The phone vibrated.
It wasn't Toji.
It was Choso.
Choso: "Mistress…please…I can do more. I can make you more money. I saw you sent a photo to someone else…am I not good enough for you? Please, tell me what you want and I will give it to you, please!"
You smiled as you typed your reply.
Y/N: "Send me a video of you barking for me. Every time I tell you to bark, you have to obey, understand?"
Sending.
View in 30 seconds. Suddenly, you received a notification from your bank:
"+$500"
Your eyes widened, and you were about to close the chat when you froze for a few minutes, unable to breathe.
"Tell me more, Mistress. Please insult me."
You turned off your laptop, you were exhausted. You lay down on the futon, your hands slipping under your clothes, your fingers moving in slow circles over your swollen clit. Your eyes were closing from exhaustion, but you began to masturbate, imagining Choso's lips on your feet, Toji's hands gripping your hips, your breathing becoming more and more labored, your moans muffled into the sweaty pillow.
You imagined Choso on his knees, begging you and showering you with gifts, while he licked your toes with his tongue and you ordered him to bark like a dog. You imagined Toji, finally on his knees before him, that statuesque body, your lips wrapped around his imaginary cock, his eyes looking down at you, full of desire and anger at being tamed.
Your orgasm came, but you were tired, fed up. You wanted a cock, and you'd wanted it for a long time. You moaned, your body arching as your fingers continued to move, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning you would have worn a new, tighter dress, a black one that cinched your hips and made you look taller. Tomorrow morning you would have worn the high heels, the wedge ones you'd seen the other day in a shop window and that you so desired.
You fell asleep, your phone clutched to your chest, your body still shaking with little post-orgasmic tremors, dreaming of leashes, collars, and the weight of a muscular body finally giving way beneath you.
***
You'd just gotten home from work, and you were already incredibly horny. All through your afternoon shift, you'd thought about Satoru, Nanami, and Choso. You hadn't seen a man in years, and your craving for cock was so overwhelming you could barely contain yourself. Nanami had been texting you almost all day, asking if you had any major food allergies and whether you'd prefer more meat or fish. You'd replied that you preferred fish and that before you met, he'd have to choose and buy you the clothes you'd wear. Satoru, on the other hand, had also written to you asking about a possible meeting, but you replied saying that he would have to wait until the following week, due to "important work" commitments. He said he'd make you quit your job if you'd just agree to be with him. But you didn't want to lose your freedom, just yet.
Meanwhile, your laptop burned hot on your lap, its screen illuminated only by the dim light of the desk lamp, the cheap one you'd bought at a fair long ago. By now, you'd forgotten about the screams of the Chinese woman who lived upstairs, who argued every night with her bachelor, good-for-nothing son... it had become the constant background noise of your life. Suddenly, the sound of your computer notification made you jump. The screen displayed a notification from mysweetdaddy.com, a private message. Your heart leaped into your throat when you saw the sender: Toji. Not a name, not a detailed profile, just that word, like a brand burned into your mind. You'd been waiting for him, after sending him that photo, after showing him your body bent over, your hand inside your crumpled leggings. He hadn't responded, vanished into thin air. Silence. As if you weren't enough. As if you were worthless.
Now, instead, there he was.
"Age?"
Three letters. A blunt question, thrown out like an order.
You swallowed, your fingers trembling over the keyboard. You replied without thinking.
"21."
You sent the message and stared at the screen, breathing shallowly. Three dots appeared almost immediately, and your heart leaped into your throat. He was typing; he had stayed online! Your stomach twisted, a knot of excitement and fear.
"Perfect."
Then, after a pause that seemed like an eternity, he wrote:
"Send me a picture. Bikini. G-string mandatory. I want to see your ass. If it's nice, I'll pay you."
The words burned inside you. It wasn't a request at all. It was a command. And yet, the way he'd written it, only if it's nice, was a real challenge. As if he were doubting. As if you had something to prove to him.
You stood up abruptly, the futon twisting beneath you. Your blood was already pounding in your ears. You looked around the filthy room, the clothes strewn on the floor, the crumpled sheets, the plastic plate with the remains of instant ramen caked on the nightstand. Then you headed for the bathroom, your bare feet sticking to the hot, sticky linoleum.
The mirror above the sink was cracked in one corner, its surface opaque from a layer of moisture and dust. You took off your baggy T-shirt, your sweat-smelling sweatpants, and stood naked before your reflection. You were thin, your ribs protruding slightly beneath your pale skin, but the curves were there... your small but firm breasts, your narrow hips that flared just before your thighs, your round, firm ass that even Nanami had praised more than once. A whore's ass, he'd said. Made for spanking.
You bent down to rummage through the worn cloth bag you used as a closet, pulling out the black thong, the one with the lace frayed at the edges, and the red bikini you'd bought at a secondhand shop in Shinjuku. It was too small, the fabric was tight over your breasts, the strings were digging into your skin, but it was the only one you had. You slipped on the thong first, feeling the tight fabric dividing your buttocks, then the bra, arranging your breasts so they looked fuller. You turned, looking over your shoulder at your reflection. Your ass was high and firm, your thighs lean but toned. Beautiful. It was. You knew it.
You grabbed your phone, activated the camera, and bent over, knees on the cold floor, torso bent forward, hands resting on the edge of the sink. You arched your back, pushing your butt toward the camera, spreading your legs just enough to reveal the dark shadow between your thighs. You took the shot. The photo was perfect: the black thong disappeared between your buttocks, the milky skin contrasting with the red fabric of your bikini, the submissive yet proud position.
You didn't hesitate. You sent it.
You waited.
A minute. Two. Sweat beaded on your forehead...then PING!
Toji: "Damn."
Another pause. You held your breath.
"That's cool."
And then like a bolt of lightning: "$8,000. It's coming to you now."
The phone screen went blank for a second, replaced by a notification from the bank. The account, which had been slowly rising, now displayed an almost absurd figure. Eight. Thousand. Dollars. Suddenly, every time it happened, you could barely believe it. Your legs buckled. You slumped over the toilet, the cold lid against the bare skin of your thighs. Your hands shook as you stared at the screen.
Then, another text.
"I want to see you now."
You felt a shiver run down your spine.
"I'll take you to Gucci. I'll fill you up with designer shoes and bags. Let's make a call now."
It wasn't a request; as usual, it was an order. And something in his tone, cold, confident, with no room for a no, made your stomach clench.
You hesitated. Your fingers lingered on the keyboard. Yes. You should have said yes. Eight thousand dollars in five minutes. Who knows how much more he would have been willing to give you. But there was something in your head that screamed at you to be careful. That man had no face. He didn't even have a real name. It was just a muscular torso and a voice ordering you to undress.
You wrote, deleted, wrote again.
"Okay."
You sent it before you could regret it.
The phone rang almost instantly. An incoming video call. Toji.
You pressed accept with a trembling finger.
He was there.
Not his face; that was hidden in shadow, or perhaps by a filter, impossible to discern. But the rest... God, the rest. The naked torso, golden under a warm light, the muscles defined as if sculpted from marble. The broad shoulders, the abs that seemed drawn with a knife, the veins pulsing along the powerful forearms. A large hand, with long, tapered fingers, gripped the base of a huge cock, already hard, the tip slick and veins bulging along the shaft.
You felt your mouth go dry. Your breathing became labored, your chest rising and falling too quickly.
"So," he said. His voice was low, hoarse, as if he had just woken up. Or as if he were holding something back. "Let me see."
He didn't specify what. He didn't need to.
You bit your lip slowly, your fingers trembling slightly, and unhooked your bikini top. You let it fall to the floor. Your nipples were already hard, dark, pointing like arrows at the screen. You ran a hand over your breasts, pinching them lightly, and an involuntary moan escaped your lips.
"Good girl," he murmured. The hand on his cock moved slowly, rubbing the tip against his palm. "Now the thong. I want to see how wet you are."
You obeyed. You pulled down your panties, slid them down your thighs, then kicked them off. You turned around, bending over again, but this time naked. Your ass was bare before the camera, your pussy lips already swollen and shiny.
"Spread your legs," he commanded.
You obeyed, spreading them slightly, feeling the warm air from the bathroom caress your wet skin.
"More."
You spread your legs wide, exposing yourself to the screen, your fingers trembling as you touched yourself, grazing the moist folds of your pussy.
"Fuck," he growled. The sound of his breathing became heavier, ragged. "Touch yourself. I want to feel you cum."
You closed your eyes for a second, then slid a hand between your legs. You were soaking wet. Your fingers sank into your heat, rubbing your swollen clit, a strangled moan escaping your throat.
"Yes, like that," he whispered, his hand pumping his cock with slow, deliberate movements. "You're mine now, do you understand? That ass is mine, that pussy is mine. Every hole you have is mine."
The words hit you like slaps. As if he could possess you. As if it had already happened.
"Toji..." You began, your voice breaking with a moan as your fingers sank deeper, two inside you, the other rubbing against your clit.
"Don't talk," he interrupted you, his tone harsh. "You just have to moan. That's all. Let me feel how much you like it."
You obeyed again. There was nothing else you could do, after all. Your fingers worked frantically, your breathing became more and more labored, your moans became louder and louder, more desperate. You could hear it, on the other side of the screen, the sound of his hand on his cock, your breathing becoming increasingly shallow.
"Yes, whore," he growled, "cum for me. Now."
And that was exactly what made you collapse. A wave of pleasure washed over you, your body contracting, your fingers digging into you as the orgasm rocked you, violent. You screamed, a high-pitched, animalistic sound, your thighs shaking, the muscles in your ass clenching uncontrollably.
"Good girl," he gasped, "Now look at me."
You opened your tear-blurred eyes just in time to see his cock throbbing, his seed spurting out in thick, white jets, coating his sculpted chest, his fingers dripping down his abs.
"Next time," he said, his voice still hoarse, as he ran a hand over his chest, smearing his cum across his white skin, "I want to feel your ass squeeze my cock. Are you up for it?"
You remained silent. Your heart was pounding, your body still reeling from the aftermath of your orgasm. The screen went dark, the call was over. PING!
"I'll call you when we need to meet."
You remained there, slumped on the bathroom floor, phone still in your hand, your body naked and sweaty. Outside, on the landing, someone laughed too loudly. The woman continued screaming. Reality crashed back down on you like a boulder. $8,500 in total that night.
And the promise of something much, much darker.