#he should be portrayed only by being jiggled around and every once in a while a closeup of a costumed human hand

[egophiliac]

Doesn't Donbrothers have a character that turns into a dog?

yeah, Tsubasa turns into a little dog guy who looks like he fell out of a Sonic game:

unless you mean the time he had a curse put on him by a vengeful dog ghost, spent the episode slowly turning into a literal dog, and was adopted by a little girl before he got better:

[cxsmicmyeon]

NEW THINGS ; DKS [M]

do kyungsoo x fem! reader

IN WHICH your new boyfriend tries something different in bed, which ends up causing you to panic slightly. and when you tell him to stop, you start to worry that he won’t like you anymore.

genre: non-idol & new relationship au! smut, angst that turns into comfort & fluff. word count: 1.2k warnings: oral sex (male receiving), dirty talk, degradation, swearing, mentions of anxiety, mention of past trauma, panic attack. please take these warning seriously, as some portray serious topics. if you are triggered by any of these, please read with caution.

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18.

author’s note: omg hey there i cannot be degraded in bed for the life of me (: honestly i get why people like it but every time i read a fic where the reader gets called a “whore” or a “slut” i start to get sad woohoo (maybe i’m too sensitive i dunno). i struggle to love myself and i self doubt a LOT and while i would know that he doesn’t actually mean it, my mind may not be able to comprehend it in the heat of the moment. writing this helped me get out some feelings on this. communication is so so important in a relationship, especially discussing sexual things with them!!! feedback and notes are greatly appreciated <3

"Get on your knees.”

You complied in an instant, dropping down onto the floor so you were eye-level with Kyungsoo’s erect cock. Looking up at him with innocent eyes, you gripped his base and awaited his next command.

“Suck.”

You wrapped your lips around his tip, giving it a few kitten licks before taking more of him in. He took a deep breath as you began sucking slowly, as if you were licking a cherry lollipop. 

“Just like that.”

You took more of him in, coating his throbbing cock with your saliva as you swirled your tongue around the head. He fisted your hair into his hands and tugged harshly as his tip grazed the back of your throat. You moaned loudly at the contact, the sound and vibration of your voice elicting a loud moan from your boyfriend.

“You take my cock so well, don’t you, you slut?”

You felt yourself tense at the word. Pushing away any intrusive thoughts, you continued to go down on Kyungsoo. You told yourself to focus on how hot he sounded when he let out another groan from your ministrations.

You and Kyungsoo have been dating for two months. You were still in that fresh stage of getting to know each other (socially and sexually), and you had no complaints. He was always quite the gentleman and very sweet to you. And the past couple of times where you had sex, he blew your mind every time.

Kyungsoo brought up the idea of being more rough with you and trying out dirty talk one night. You were familiar with both ideas, having read loads of erotica in your life and even dabbling in it yourself with past partners. Despite a few doubts, you still remained open-minded. You accepted his offer, which brought you to this very situation.

“You like that? Having your filthy lips wrapped around my cock, whore?”

At those words, you felt yourself begin to panic. You released Kyungsoo’s cock from your mouth with a soft pop, uttered a soft ‘I’m sorry,’ and stood up. You ran inside of Kyungsoo’s bathroom and locked yourself inside. You felt your eyes well up with tears and started to cry softly, burying your face into your hands. 

You knew he didn’t actually think you were any of those things, and you knew that those names were all a part of trying out dirty talk with a partner. But, in the heat of the moment, hearing him call you those names made you think of times where you were called them by someone who actually meant it. Bullies in school, perverts on the bus, drunkards at the club. Obviously he wasn’t any of those people, quite the opposite, actually. But still, your mind went back to those hard times, and you did not want any of that to be associated with Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo, the kindest man you ever had the pleasure of knowing. Kyungsoo, the man with the loudest laughter hidden behind his stoic façade. Kyungsoo, the man whose cooking you absolutely adored. He was the textbook definition of an amazing boyfriend, and you wanted nothing bad to remind you of him.

You heard a soft knock on the bathroom door. You wiped your eyes with some spare toilet paper before walking to the locked door.

“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo asked, worry laced in his voice. You didn’t answer, looking down at your hands in shame. You were ashamed that you could not handle the simple act of sexual degradation, you could not handle being called a small, little insult that Kyungsoo did not even mean. If characters in the erotica you read could handle it, why couldn’t you? That’s what you told yourself, at least.

“(Y/N), please open the door. I need to know if you’re okay.” Kyungsoo pleaded, jiggling the handle. As if a dam were to break, you sunk down onto the floor and began sobbing uncontrollably. Kyungsoo jiggled the handle once more before leaving to get the key.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around you as soon as you heard the door open. Your sobs only intensified as you heard soft reassurances come from your boyfriend. He sat you up and began running a hand up and down your back soothingly.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, throwing your arms around Kyungsoo’s neck. You felt yourself hold him tighter, burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Why are you saying sorry, baby?” Kyungsoo asked, kissing the top of your head.

“I... I...”

You struggled to get your words out. Your heart raced inside of your chest as you felt yourself start to shake. Kyungsoo let you go and moved himself in front of you.

“Breathe with me, (Y/N),” You looked around the bathroom for a bit before meeting Kyungsoo’s eyes. He took a deep breath, motioning for you to do the same. You inhaled deeply, holding your breath for a moment before exhaling. “There you go, one more...” You mirrored Kyungsoo’s breathing a few more times, feeling yourself calm down. Just to be safe, you took one more deep breath, feeling your heartrate slow to its normal speed. You looked at your boyfriend and gave him a weak smile, taking his hand into yours.

“Do you feel calmer now?” you nodded, squeezing his hand. “Good. Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to, whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

You thanked him before standing and leading him back to his bedroom. He sat on the foot of his bed, patting the area next to him for you to sit with him. You took his hands into yours again, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for before. I should have told you before we started, but I’m really uncomfortable with degradation. I know you brought up the rough stuff and dirty talk, and I’m mostly okay with that, but the whole degradation thing slipped my mind and I should have brought it up earlier. I know that’s probably something you’re into and I’m sorry that I can’t really provide that for you. P... Please don’t be mad at me.” You avoided Kyungsoo’s gaze in fear he would reject your apology.

“You don’t have to apologize. And I’m not mad at you. I should have asked you if you liked that stuff. But thank you so much for telling me, (Y/N). Please don’t think that I’d be mad for something that makes you uncomfortable, especially in bed. I want you to be comfortable with me always, (Y/N).” Kyungsoo wrapped his arms around you, kissing your temple softly. You returned his affections, cuddling close to him.

“Thank you, so so much.”

Never have you felt so safe, so valid, so appreciated. Never have you felt so heard, so seen by a partner. You curled closer to Kyungsoo, peppering his bare shoulder with kisses.

“We don’t have to do anything else today, do you wanna watch a movie or something?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Can we just... cuddle?” you responded, looking up at him.

“Of course.” Kyungsoo stood and led you to the front of the bed, moving the blankets so you can get underneath. He laid next to you and covered both of you with the blankets. He held you close as you laid your head on his bare chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt as if you were home.

Home was now with Kyungsoo.

Forevermore with Do Kyungsoo.

[rebelliousenjolras]

night and day (pt. I) (jack thompson x reader)

pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader summary: After years of working in solitude, the reader is sent an urgent message from her cousin, Daniel Sousa, begging her to come to New York to work on a case. Once there, she learns that she will have to play pretend wife to none other than Jack Thompson, the arrogant Chief of the New York S.S.R. Although they are at first night and day in differences, a series of events neither could foresee radically alters the course of their lives forever.  word count: 1601 trigger warnings: Minor violence a/n: Part I of a new series based around our favorite asshole, Jack Thompson! Partly based on a few requests I got ages ago, and partly from my own brain. It’s been a while since i’ve posted on here... Hope you enjoy my loves. 

PART I: FIRE AND BRIMSTONE

If hell was a feeling, this was it.

Something had told you, whether it be a celestial force or simply your own intuition, that he was in danger. And so, you’d fled the little apartment you’d sworn to hide in, jumped into the car you’d promised not to drive, and burst into the hotel you’d vowed to avoid. You stood in the lobby, looking around wildly as you tried to plot out your next move.

You didn’t know which room he was in, and that was the first order of business. Damn him and his secrecy, disguised under the pretense of “keeping you safe.” You approached the front desk carefully, forcing your steps to remain measured, and fixed your face into a mask of calm. It was time, once again, for you to play your part. You only hoped that you weren’t too late.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said, pouring as much false sweetness into your voice as you could muster, throwing in a Southern accent for kicks. “Would you mind tellin’ me which room my husband is in? I just flew in, and silly me, I lost the--”

The man looked at you, boredom written plainly across his face. His eyes barely med yours before he returned to the papers that he was shuffling through. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not allowed to give out the personal information of guests. Perhaps you should call your husband?”

You forced a thin smile onto your lips, though inside your head you had already broken three of the man’s fingers. You had only so much patience, and the most of it had been used up as you’d sat in that damned apartment, checking the clock every three minutes. So, you tapped your perfectly manicured nails against the desk, the only movement that portrayed your intense annoyance.

“Well, mister, I would call him, but I don’t know what room he’s in.” You let out a breathy little laugh. “I’d be ever so grateful for your help.”

The man rolled his eyes, already looking back at the papers in front of him, and gestured to the empty lobby. “Take a seat, ma’am, maybe that husband of yours will come down--”

It was your turn to interrupt. After taking a surreptitious glance around the room to confirm that it was empty, you reached across the counter and gripped the man by his collar. His eyes grew wide as he spluttered, hands clawing uselessly at his throat. You pulled his face closer to yours, all pretenses of a light, lovely woman gone. You were made of fire and brimstone, and whatever was etched on your face told him this.

“You will give me your logbook, or I swear to every entity above that I will make you see stars, and you will be so far gone that not even a god himself could bring you back,” you spat, glowering at the cowering mess of a man before you.

“Yes-- Yes ma’am,” he managed to choke out, face turned a peculiar shade of red. You released him, and it only took a second for him to throw the log book at you.

You flipped through the pages quickly, impatiently searching for the false surname that was all too familiar to you now. However, it wasn’t the name that caught your eye first, but rather, the handwriting. The loopy “J,” far more feminine than you’d expected his penmanship to be; the not quite lowercase, but not quite capital “S,” infuriating when you were trying to type up his notes. Your heart rate spiked as you thought about him, and you forced yourself to not dwell on what it would be like to never see that lettering again.

202D. You shoved the logbook across the counter, not bothering to look at the man, who was standing as far away from you as he could in the space. You’d deal with him later. You raced for the stairs, figuring that you might spontaneously combust in the time that it would take for the elevator. It seemed that the last of your patience had finally run out.

Your feet pounded against the metal staircase, shaking the entire contraption as you wound up through three stories. Finally, you pushed open the door labeled “D,” and found yourself in the middle of a carpeted hall. The room on your left read 212D, so you followed it, hands shaking as you tried to convince yourself that your gut was wrong, that you’d open the door and he’d be there, exasperated but alive. You’d take his anger a hundred times over the alternative.

206… 204… 202.

You jiggled the doorknob, fully expecting to find it locked, but to your surprise, it opened easily. At first, you saw nothing but an empty room: bed unmade, of course; windows shut and curtains drawn; radio playing quietly… And then you looked down. The scream that echoed around the room couldn’t have been issued from you. It was wild, animalistic. There was no earthly way for it to have crawled out from inside a human being.

But so it had. You sank to the ground, kneeling in a pool of rich, dark blood as you pressed two trembling fingers to the neck of the man lying before you. For a split second you thought you felt a pulse, but then you realized that was just your own heartbeat thrumming through your fingertips. And that is the moment when you lost what little control of your sanity that you had left.

“Goddamn you, Jack Thompson!” You sobbed, fingers curled around his collar, reminding you of all of the times that you’d straightened it before you left for the day; of unbuttoning his shirt on that one mistake of a night… “Don’t you dare die, damn you! Please, Jack.”

And suddenly, you were sure that the universe was playing some cruel joke on you. The soft opening strains of “Night and Day” drifted through Jack’s little portable radio, causing your stomach to tighten and your grip on Jack’s collar to slack. A calm washed over your body, allowing you to think clearly for the first time since you’d entered the hotel room and saw the horrors that had taken place.

You unbuttoned Jack’s shirt, searching for whatever injury had caused such bloodshed, and located a bullet wound in his chest, just below his right shoulder. You applied pressure to the wound, using strips of fabric from your skirt, and were alarmed at how quickly the blood soaked through.

For the first time since you’d discovered him, your eyes left Jack with some difficulty, now searching for a way to call for help without having to leave his side. You wouldn’t let him be alone, especially if--

You wouldn’t allow yourself to finish the thought. You located the telephone across the room and sprinted to it, immediately having the operator connect you to 911. The man who answered the phone began speaking to you in a soothing tone, but you completely ignored him and plowed through your speech. “My name is (Y/N), I’m at Hotel Astor in room 202D. My--” you fumbled for a second, trying to decide whether or not to reveal the truth to the operator. “My husband has been shot, and he’s lost too much blood. Get someone here as quickly as you can!”

You hung up the phone before there was a chance for too many questions to be asked. Although you possessed a rather large range of skills, you’d never been much good with coming up with lies on the spot. That was much more Jack’s forte. Jack, who apparently hadn’t been quick enough on his feet this time… You took another anchoring breath and dialed the S.S.R.

Thankfully, you immediately recognized the voice that picked up. Daniel Sousa, once again there when you needed him. You quickly repeated the same information to him that you’d told the 911 operator, only adding, “I’m scared, Daniel,” before your voice broke.

You could hear Daniel barking out orders to the others in the office. “Henry, you and Reese get ready to go. Come armed. I want you stationed outside of the hotel, and if you see anything, I mean anything, you take them down. Wallace, Fisher, meet us at the hospital. Carter, you’re with me,” Daniel then addressed you, and you could tell that he was making an effort to keep his tone calm. “(Y/N), everything’s going to be okay. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Keep him alive.”

You nodded, although Daniel couldn’t see you through the phone. After setting the phone down on the hook--it seemed ridiculous, taking such care at a time like this--you once again attached yourself to Jack’s side, alternating between feeling for his weak pulse and checking the amount of blood still oozing from his chest wound. You wrapped the shreds of fabric more tightly around him, and something caught your eye in the process.

Your wedding rings, stained red with Jack’s blood, but still sparkling in the light. Bile rose in your throat as you stared at the objects, but you couldn’t force yourself to take them off. “If we survive this, Jack...”

You trailed off, unsure what promises to make to the man in front of you. Jack was so many things to you, so many complicated, confusing things, but you knew that if he died, a part of you would as well. There was no (Y/N) without Jack Thompson, you sussed, because his death would mean that you failed. And you’d made a promise to him, what felt like a lifetime ago...

[entergamingxp]

Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE Encore review

I love a good crossover, even if they’re often limited to fighting games and online events. It’s exciting to see developers being fans of each other and working together to interpret and merge each other’s stuff, culminating in an enthusiastic collaboration across the industry. With this in mind, Tokyo Mirage Sessions, a crossover between the Fire Emblem and Shin Megami Tensei series, sounds like a pretty fantastic idea.

Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE Encore review

Developer: Atlus

Publisher: Nintendo

Platform: Switch

Availability Out January 17th on Switch

It focuses on the friends Aoi Itsuki and Tsubasa Oribe. Ever since Tsubasa’s sister Ayaha disappeared during a concert five years prior, the timid girl wants to become a singer to continue her sibling’s legacy as an entertainer. During her very first audition, Tsubasa is attacked by mirages, demons who are after the natural artistic ability within humans. To fight back, Tsubasa and Itsuki gain the power of Chrom and Caeda from the Fire Emblem series, who help them change into magical “carnage forms”. Unfortunately their new friends have lost all memory of who they are and where they’re from. The only thing that’s clear is that mirages regularly attack entertainers, so what better way than to join an entertainment agency to keep an eye on these occurrences?

It’s not the smoothest integration of a theme into its setting, but the entertainment industry gives Tokyo Mirage Sessions its own identity beyond being a crossover, in ways both good and bad. Let’s start with the good: Tsubasa and friends are training to become idols, Japanese all-around entertainers, and Tokyo Mirage Sessions makes great effort to showcase different facets of the job. Each chapter is dedicated to another aspect, whether that’s being a model, an actor or a show host. Chapters also often culminate in short anime music videos of your characters performing a new song. The round-based battles take place on a stage, a mass of adoring fans following your performance from the stands. Your characters whirl around acrobatically, draw their signatures in the air for every spell and cheer for each other. Each hero is wearing elaborate costumes that spell love for magical girl and boy design. If you complete side quests for the members of your party, they gain special attacks reminiscent of their signature performances. Each win is celebrated with applause and an amount of confetti I haven’t seen since Ace Attorney.

Without this stylish veneer however, combat is a familiar affair. Similar to the Persona games, themselves a sub-series of Shin Megami Tensei, offence is the best defence, and you have the best chances of winning if your opponent doesn’t even get the drop on you. If you can exploit an enemy’s weakness, for example by attacking them with a specific weapon or spell, you start a Session. If they have the right skill equipped, during a Session your other team members get to chain an attack immediately to yours, more often than not leading to a monster’s immediate demise. Battles are vibrant to watch without dragging on, and I loved every unnecessarily bombastic transformation and attack. If they still run too long for you, the Encore version now allows you to enable quick sessions and skip special attack sequences with the press of a button.

Combat is energetic, fun to watch and generally over quickly, though randomly appearing savage enemies sharply raise difficulty.

I also liked the dungeons. While the first one is pretty drab, the subsequent ones follow the style of the different chapters and each come with a different gameplay element. In one dungeon depicting a TV show set, for example, you run errands for a demonic production supervisor.

So far so good, but while I enjoyed Tokyo Mirage Sessions at first, as a crossover it’s decidedly weak. It retains the modern Tokyo setting from Shin Megami Tensei, but there isn’t much to do. Some characters, like Tsubasa, are really likable, others fall flat because they often only talk to you instead of each other, so don’t expect too much depth in the social element. During main quests, dungeons are pretty large, as typical for an Atlus game, but each features only one unique gameplay element, so after a while you will have done the same thing for hours, whether that’s solving switch puzzles or navigating changing floor layouts. To fully heal your party and unlock new skills, you have to visit your agency, so while you gain the ability to warp there early on, you still have to traipse back every time, a far cry from just having the entrance to the Velvet Room at the beginning of each dungeon.

It takes more than half of the game for Tokyo Mirage Sessions to remember that the #FE in its title stands for Fire Emblem. Generally, the Fire Emblem influence remains incredibly easy to ignore, certainly due to the Fire Emblem developer Intelligent Systems hardly having had a hand in either design or development. That makes Tokyo Mirage Sessions approachable for people who are unfamiliar with either series, but it seems odd to market something as a big crossover of two beloved properties and then skimp on the crossover elements.

Your friends are eager for your good opinion, but they’re not as fleshed out as other SMT protagonists.

With this in mind I wanted to judge Tokyo Mirage Sessions purely on its merit as a magical idol RPG, which raises a few difficult points. The whole idol industry has been a pretty niche interest in the West, until Korean idols such as BTS turned into international sensations. The idea of magical girl idols, who sing and dance by day and transform into fighters for justice by night, was devised with young girls in mind, right until the moment someone realised that there’s a lot of money in sexualising this concept. That’s where Tokyo Mirage Sessions comes in, because it’s not a game made for a target audience of young girls, but what quickly turned out to be the new number one customer of the idol industry – guys who like their girls to be what we consider barely legal, or let’s be honest, not at all. The idol industry sells itself in the perceived innocence of its performers. While several local different local laws apply, the age of consent in Japan is 13, which is why what we consider the sexualisation of minors is in fact perfectly legal, if still questionable and a very convenient loophole to sell idols not to hormonal teenagers, but adult men, whose gaze is the predominant focus of the game (as it is for most of the video game industry).

Protagonist Itsuki was purposefully designed as an everyman, an unassuming dude in argyle sweaters who is enough of a blank page that through him, players can live the fantasy having an idol all for themselves. “What do you think of my outfit?” Tsubasa will ask him, “How about this pose?” “Uwwah, help me, I’m so embarrassed to show myself to others like this, but doing this for you feels natural!” There’s a side quest in which Itsuki teaches his friend Touma “nanpa”, picking up women on the street. Just like any sort of pick-up artistry, nanpa is rarely associated with someone bumbling “Hey, come here often” and more with rape at worst and sleaziness at best. Yet, Tokyo Mirage Sessions makes Itsuki into a napa master, the hero popular with all the ladies, and only after the fact does someone ask if picking up women is really the best way to become a successful entertainer.

Of course a lot of Japanese content uses fanservice, but Tokyo Mirage Sessions is made uncomfortable by the reality of the industry it portrays. The idol industry is real, and directly responsible for the expectations fans have of how women should look and behave. In order to seem available, idols are barred from dating, leading to incidents such as obsessive fans threatening them for being seen with male idols in TV shows or private outings. Minami Minegishi, members of Japan’s largest girl idol group AKB48, once shaved her head as penance for dating. In 2016 Tatsuya Yamaguchi, bassist of hyper-popular idol band TOKIO, admitted to having tried to kiss an underage girl he frequently invited home with him – he’d promised to make her a famous idol. Just last year, an executive at an idol agency was convicted of several cases of grooming. Several idols were convicted of drug possession, in Japan a career-ending event, and most idols admitted that without stimulants they couldn’t keep up with their extraordinary workload. There’s a large cost in upholding the fantasy of the idol, especially for young girls.

Side stories and some good old grinding in special dungeons meant to help you earn experience points help you quickly unlock skills and new special attacks.

Nintendo released a cut for Western territories. Changes include raising almost all character’s ages to the age of consent in most countries, deleting panty shots and the revision of overly revealing costumes. Additionally a quest focusing on gravure modeling, a term for idols suggestively modeling in swimwear and underwear, was completely reworked to focus on fashion modeling instead. In an interview with Game Informer prior to the game’s original Wii U release, representatives from Nintendo America stated that “It was a priority to ensure the game feels familiar and appeals to longtime Atlus fans. Any changes made to the in-game content were due to varying requirements and regulations in the many different territories Nintendo distributes its products.”

While the Encore version also adds DLC content such as costumes, a new song and the albeit limited opportunity to have support characters further help out in battle, this Switch version is otherwise based on this altered version. I find the changes easy enough to ignore and I think anyone who gets incensed about less exposed skin on their anime girls should perhaps take a healthy walk around the block, Tokyo Mirage Sessions is still plenty sexual. Elements from boob jiggling to introducing characters cleavage first to many costumes that remain as revealing as ever can still be found.

If you want to truly learn more about the idol industry, here you’ll hear mostly platitudes, and beyond that all elements from characters to combat stay rather simple. As it stands, Tokyo Mirage Sessions is a stylish game with a unique theme that’s as often questionable as it is cute, but it doesn’t reach the depth of either of its crossover franchises to leave a lasting impression.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/01/tokyo-mirage-sessions-fe-encore-review/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=tokyo-mirage-sessions-fe-encore-review

[anavoliselenu]

Beautiful lies chapter 1

Prologue

Tonight I will be sold to the highest bidder. As I stand here in this quiet room, I try to find that little voice of reason telling me I’m doing the right thing. She’s nowhere to be found. Traitorous whore.

I meet my dim blue gaze in the mirror and remind myself that I’m entering into this arrangement knowingly, and by choice. Not the choice I want to make, certainly not my life’s ambition, but it’s a choice I have to make in order to save someone I love.

In another hour I will belong to someone – a man with sick needs and fetishes that propel him to purchase his companion rather than date a normal girl. Heaven help me.

Chapter One

Selena

I’ve been told that I could go for more than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and maybe more given that I’m still a virgin. The money will mean the difference between life and death for my twin sister and best friend in the whole world. It will mean I can pay the fees to get her into the experimental treatment program for advance stage ovarian cancer. We’re both just twenty-one years old and have barely lived. When she got cancer at age nineteen and had a hysterectomy, I promised her I’d carry her babies someday, a promise I intended to keep. And now she’s facing death in a matter of months if I don’t intervene, which is why I’m standing in the dimly lit dressing room applying my third coat of mascara and dressed only in a pair of panties.

I’d found out about this place completely by coincidence. A few weeks ago, I would have never believed places like this existed. I’d been searching online for money making schemes – something, anything, that could help me raise the three hundred thousand dollars we needed. My parents made ends meet, but just barely. So I knew it was up to me. My job searches turned out to be a joke. My skills could earn me minimum wage waiting tables. That’s when my internet searches got more interesting and my attitude bolder.

I agreed to an interview at a local strip club. As if the interview itself wasn’t embarrassing enough – being asked to undress in front of the club’s owner and prove my non-existent dancing abilities – when he’d asked how much money I hoped to make dancing and I said three hundred thousand dollars in the next few months, he’d laughed in my face and told me to get dressed. It was obvious to us both that based on my dancing skills, I’d never earn that kind of money. Let alone in my small Northern California town.

When he saw the tears swimming in my eyes and inquired about why I needed the money, I’d given him, a complete stranger, the entire sad story. Once I was dressed, he brought me into his office and made me promise that what he was about to say would stay only between us. The shifty way his eyes danced around the room told me whatever it was, it probably wasn’t legal. I didn’t care. I’d never so much as run a red light, but I was willing to do anything – go to any extreme to save Becca. I promised him complete secrecy. He asked how serious I was about saving my sister and warned that I wouldn’t like what he was about to tell me. That was how I learned about tonight’s auction.

Bill, the strip club owner, entered me into tonight’s bids. He’d arranged everything for a ten percent cut in my earnings. I’d seen a doctor, who tested me for pregnancy and STDs, and verified my virginity. Bill had also made me an appointment at a local salon for full body waxing and a makeover – a haircut with long layers and caramel highlights in my otherwise chestnut brown hair, along with a manicure and a pedicure. All of which would come out of my earnings too. If I didn’t sell, I would be responsible for paying him back. But Bill all but guaranteed I’d sell. He said that virgins were very rare and that someone so natural and beautiful would go for a high price. I just hope to keep my nerves under control so that I can actually follow through with this. I feel like throwing up and I haven’t even eaten all day.

I turn to the sound of a light tapping on my door and Bill pokes his head in. My arms fly over my chest as I try to cover my breasts. My modesty is pointless and a hysterical giggle bubbles up in my throat. All too soon I’ll be exposed to a roomful of men and expected to give my body to one of them, but I focus on maintaining my innocence while I still can. Bill raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you ready?"

I glance in the mirror one last time and draw a steadying breath. I look down at my toned legs, thanks to hours spent jogging – my only form of stress relief – to my stomach that is a bit softer than I would like, to my breasts that jiggle when I move. The eyes looking back at me are harder than before. Good. I will need that hard exterior to survive the next six months.

I hadn’t known this side of the world existed and now I was entering into it. I’m doing this for Becca, I remind myself. Drawing every ounce of strength I can, I uncross my arms from over my breasts and nod to Bill. "I’m ready."

His eyes give me a cursory once over. I’m grateful he doesn’t leer. "You look great. Very natural. That should work in your favor," he remarks, leading me from the safety of the dressing room.

I see what he means as we progressed down the hallway. There are a few other women ranging from early twenties to late thirties and each of them seemed to have embraced the stripper look – big hair and layers of thick makeup, red stained lips, fishnet stockings and sky high heels. All of them are wearing g-strings. I’d been told the only article of clothing allowed was a pair of panties so I’d chosen my most modest pair – light blue briefs with lace along the hem. They’re cute and feminine and comfortable. It had never occurred to me to try and make myself look sexier. Regret churns in my stomach. What if no one wants me? I’ll have done all this for nothing, plus owe Bill for the expensive makeover he provided. The concrete floor against my bare feet sends an icy chill up my body, pebbling my nipples into hardened points. My arms once again cross over my chest as I clutch my breasts.

I might be more covered than the other women, but somehow I feel more exposed. Completely ripped open for the world to see. I’m dressed as me, not some sexified version of myself that I can portray to the men waiting on the other side of that door. Suddenly I don’t want them to see the real me. I wanted to be caked in makeup with perhaps a long blonde wig and tassels hanging from my nipples. I could be whoever they wanted me to be. Instead I’m just Selena and that seems much more dangerous to me. I can’t let my new owner get inside my head. He might be buying the rights to my body, but he’ll certainly never have the real me. I need to remember that.

When we stop outside a steel door, panic courses through my veins and my throat constricts, my gag reflex threatening to send bile shooting up my throat. I draw a deep breath through my nose and open my mouth to tell Bill I’ve changed my mind when his hand suddenly reaches out and twists the doorknob.

The door swings open to reveal a large, dimly lit room. The only light comes from a bare bulb that hangs directly above a platform-like stage in the center of the room. Men sit in lounge chairs facing the small round stage, their faces completely hidden in the shadows. I’m unable to distinguish a single feature, which I know is the point. The nature of tonight’s activities means they want their anonymity. And the kind of money that would be spent tonight bought you that right.

Bill gives me a gentle shove forward and whispers something of encouragement, but the blood pounding in my ears garbles the message.

My feet move across the room, my arms still crossed in a death grip across my breasts. The faint smell of cigar smoke assaults my senses as I move toward the platform. I keep my eyes trained on the floor, letting the swath of light from the single bulb hanging overhead draw me forward. My knees shake as I walk the final few steps.

Finally I step onto the raised platform and face the small group of men. Keeping my eyes downcast, I know in this moment I would have never been brave enough to strip for a whole audience. I can barely stand here without my knees knocking together and just remembering to pull air into my lungs and release it again seems beyond my abilities. But a spike of determination rips through me. I am here to save Becca.

A man standing in the shadows at the side of the room clears his throat. "I give you the ninth and final girl of the evening. And trust me when I tell you, gentlemen, that we’ve saved the best for last. She’s as pure and untouched as they come. She comes to us as a virgin, willing and fully in agreement with the six-month terms. Now, who’d like to start the bidding?"

It’s quiet for just a heartbeat and I wait for something to happen.

"Move your hands off your tits, angel," a man in the crowd says.

I raise my eyes toward the sound of the voice, but my hands stay where they are. A streak of defiance I didn’t know I had rears its head. No one owns me yet. Not a single bid had been placed. I still control my destiny.

I shift my weight, feeling that tingling sensation that means my foot is falling asleep and clutch my chest tighter as though I’m hanging on for dear life. My heart races in my chest and little beads of sweat form under my arms despite the cool temperature in the room. I can do this. I have to do this.

"Two hundred." The man’s voice who’d ordered me to uncover myself places the first bid. I hope that’s two hundred thousand and not two hundred dollars. It never occurred to me that I needed to have a minimum established before this began. I was not sleeping with some weird old man for two hundred dollars. But then I recalled Bill saying something about six figure minimums, and I relax the tiniest bit.

"Two fifty," another voice says. He sounds younger and has a slight Spanish accent.

"Three hundred," a third voice croaks.

Soon the price is up to five-seventy five and I feel dizzy listening to the whole exchange. I need to get off this stage before I pass out or throw up, or do something equally as terrifying, like go home with one of these sick men.

Be strong, Soph.

"Six hundred thousand," my tit-loving admirer counters. I don’t want to go to the man who I’ve already defied by refusing to show my chest. Knowing my luck, his first order of business will be to punish me for that act of disobedience.

"Greedy tonight. He already has one and now he wants a second," the announcer chuckles.

The man who is currently driving up my price has apparently already purchased one girl tonight and now he wants me too. Call me old fashioned, but I always assumed I’d be the only slave in this type of arrangement. I thought I was signing up for the typical one man–one woman experience. This wasn’t how I imagined losing my virginity, but I certainly never pictured being part of an orgy, or whatever he had planned. It disturbs me to think that he could buy us like cattle and force us to do things to each other and him. This whole process is going from bad to worse.

I look up and to the center of the room – to the one man who’s remained completely silent so far. He crosses his ankle over his knee and leans back further in his chair, concealing his face entirely in the shadows. His casual, aloof behavior strikes something in me. I have a roomful of men bidding on my virginity, but somehow I don’t like the idea that this one man isn’t interested. Is there something wrong with me? It’s self-conscious and stupid, but something about being mostly nude in a roomful of strangers puts bizarre thoughts in your head.

No one has countered the man to my left – the one who’d called me angel and wanted to see my breasts and my stomach churns in knots. He’s offered five hundred and seventy five thousand dollars – more than enough to pay for my sister’s medical treatment, give Bill his ten percent and the money he spent on me at the salon. I should feel happy and relieved. This is what I wanted, right? But the idea of actually leaving with him and the other girl he’s bought tonight sets off a gnawing feeling inside my chest.

"If there are no other bids…" the announcer begins.

My windpipe threatens to close. It can’t end like this…

"Seven hundred," the man directly in front of me says. His voice is smooth and rich. Deep and hypnotic somehow. I lean forward on my toes trying to see his face. The foot he’s crossed over his ankle bounces as he fidgets, the only sign he’s now engaged in this bidding war. My heart leaps in my chest, doubling its pace as I wait nervously to see what will happen.

Not being able to discern anything else in the room, I focus on his shoe. It is large, a black shiny leather, and expensive-looking dress shoe. But I suppose you have to be insanely wealthy to buy another human being for the prices these men are offering. His foot twitches again and my eyes shoot up to where I imagine his face is.

The other man grumbles something under his breath, and I catch the word overpriced. Then he barks out another bid. "Seven twenty-five."

Crap. I don’t want to be part of this weirdo's threesome fetish and I have no idea if going with Mr. Shiny Dress Shoes will be any better, but I stare straight ahead, silently pleading with him to up the bid. A dose of raw willpower keeps me steady on my feet.

"One million dollars," he says after what feels like an eternity.

My head spins and I feel faint. A million dollars? For me? There is no way I’m worth that as a sex slave. Once he realizes how inexperienced I am–not just at sex, but at everything–he’ll have buyer’s remorse, and maybe even try and return me. Yet still, I hold my breath, praying that no one will outbid him. Something inside me–woman’s intuition, a gut feeling, tells me that out of all these men here tonight, I am supposed to go home with him, but the thought of actually giving myself over to one of these monsters for six months is terrifying.

I have nothing to go on but a clean, sleek, black leather shoe… but he gives off a good vibe. Maybe at the very least I’d be well taken care of. Panic threatens to overwhelm me. Breath, Soph.

"She’s yours. No pussy’s worth that much," the other man bites out, shifting in his seat.

My lungs fill with oxygen as I pull in a much needed breath, filling my chest cavity.

"Our final object up for auction has been sold. Gentlemen, thank you for your participation tonight. If you would kindly make your way to the lounge area through the rear door to finalize payments and collect your earlier purchases. Drinks are available and some in-house entertainment if you’re in the mood."

The announcer’s voice buzzes in my head.

I’ve been sold.

Men rise from their chairs and I hear footsteps retreat as they exit the room. A door closes in the distance, leaving just my new master and me alone in the silent room.

I want to step down off the humiliating stage I’ve been made to stand on. I want my clothes. But I remain rooted in place, realizing for the first time that my actions are no longer my own.

"Come forward," he commands.

I swallow and step down off the platform, my legs heavy from remaining in one spot for so long. I take slow strides across the room like I’m approaching a dangerous animal. Maybe I am. What kind of man buys a woman?

"I won’t hurt you," he encourages and I take another tentative step closer, stopping directly in front of his chair. "Lights," he says to no one in particular and the overhead lights all flick on at once. Blinking several times against the sudden rush of light, my eyes remain downcast as they struggle to adjust.

Disoriented, I continue looking down, studying his shoes, which are now both resting squarely on the floor. "Look at me," he says.

I lift my chin and take in the man seated before me. Black suit. White crisp shirt. Thin black tie knotted loosely at his neck.

I inhale again, forcing another breath into my lungs and finally look into the eyes of the man who has just spent one million dollars to purchase me. Sky blue eyes fringed in heavy black lashes stare back at me, stealing the breath from my lungs. He is stunning. Tall, fit, and attractive. Confusion washes over me. What is a man like this doing here? He could walk into any bar in America and pick up a girl easily enough. My stomach twists in recognition. That can only mean that his tastes are peculiar enough that he requires complete obedience. He’ll want things no normal girl would do. Oh god, I feel like I’m going to pass out. I can’t let this attractive monster lure me in.

"Just breathe," he says, calming my fears.

I obey like a good little slave, opening my mouth and sucking in air greedily.

"That’s it," he says soothingly, his own posture relaxing just slightly. "What should I call you?"

It’s an interesting way to phrase the question. He didn’t ask me for my name. Maybe he’s assuming I’ll give him a fake identity. And I probably would have if I’d been thinking clearly. Instead I whisper, "Selena." As soon as it’s off my lips, I momentarily regret giving him my real name. But then I realize I’ll be living with him for six months and I don’t think I can keep up with the lie of a fake identity that entire time. I’ll already be lying to my family and friends about where I am. No sense making this even more difficult on myself.

He tilts his head to the side, continuing to study me. "Call me Justin," he says finally. I wonder if Justin is his real name.

Just when I’m beginning to think he’s going to make me stand here all night, he rises from the chair. Having his full height in front of me is daunting. I’m average height, and he’s at least a foot taller than me, well over six feet. I stagger back a step.

"Come with me." He turns and heads toward the exit and like an obedient pet, I follow closely behind him.

When we reach the steel door I entered through just thirty minutes before, it feels like I’m exiting as a whole different person. Justin turns to face me before opening the door. "Would you like my jacket?"

I look down at myself – at my pale blue panties that now feel childish and my hands which haven’t strayed from my breasts. I nod weakly.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he’s even more muscular than I first realized. His tailored dress shirt clings to his broad shoulders and defined chest. It sends a ripple of fear through my gut. Yes, he’s attractive, but he’s also strong. Which means I’ll stand zero chance of defending myself against him if he gets too rough.

Ignoring my visual inspection of his body, he places the jacket over my shoulders, closing the lapels over my chest and buttoning the first button. I thought he might demand to see me – to inspect me for himself, but he only seems concerned with getting us the hell out of here. Which is fine by me.

Once I’m covered by the jacket, I let my hands fall away and lower my arms, my stiff joints crying out from being in the same position for so long. My arms hang uselessly at my sides and I follow him out into the hall. As grateful as I am for his jacket, I can’t mistake this first bit of kindness from him for more than it is. He doesn’t want other men’s eyes on something he’s just purchased for himself.

We pass several others on the way out and I keep my eyes on Justin’s shoes as I follow him down the hall, a false sense of security settling over me.

Chapter Two

Selena

He stops outside the dressing room I used earlier. "Are your clothes in there?"

I nod and mumble an unintelligible reply.

"Get dressed," he commands, his tone smooth.

I duck my head and push my way inside the small changing room. Once inside, I cannot keep my eyes from darting toward the mirror where I stood applying mascara just a short time ago. I can already see that the girl looking back at me is someone different. The black suit coat swallows me up, proclaiming me to belong to someone other than myself.

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