A pastel pink room.

You wake up and find yourself in a disgustingly pink room, full of plushies and Nintendo merchandise. And, more appealingly, a tiny little bundle of half-blonde, tiny-tittied rapemeat in a gaming chair. This must be one of those “e-girls” you’ve heard so much about. And she has an audience! You’ve always wanted to be on TV, and this is kinda like that. A girl as hot as her is sure to have a ton of viewers, too. You creep up behind her and spin her chair around, bringing her face to face to the worst thing ever to happen to her. She screams, scuttling backwards in her chair, covering her mouth in fear.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck is she? All you did was walk through a door, you didn’t ask to end up here. You think. You’re not really clear on how all of this works, honestly. Maybe you manifested her into existence? That sounds familiar. Hey, that means this bitch should be grateful! She wouldn’t exist without you.

It also means that you’re her Daddy, sort of.

“I’m your Daddy, bitch,” you say, picking her up and stealing her chair, plopping her back down on your lap. She squirms around, but that just means she grinds against your cock, which is slowly poking up.

She tries to stand up, but you just pull her back down. “You’re not my fucking Daddy, weirdo. My Daddy is watching the stream, and he buys me stuff.”

With that, you spin the chair around and wave at the camera, a creepy grin stretching across your face. You stick your finger in your new toy’s mouth, just for her “Daddy” to see.

“What’s your name, toy?”

“I’m not a *fucking* toy,” she says, still trying to wiggle out of your grasp. “And my name is Elizabeth. My streamer name is Lizzi4U,” she says, uncharacteristically obedient.

“Wrong!” you say, slapping her face. “Your name is Trashhole. Your streamer name is also Trashhole.”

She winces, but nods along. You pat her head. “Good Trashhole.”

You look at the chat, and it’s going absolutely apeshit. Some guys are white knighting for her, but it’s mostly people egging you on and suggesting other names to call her. You’re vaguely jealous at all the good ideas, but YOU named her, goddamn it. Trashhole is a perfectly fine name. “Hey now, chat, calm yourself,” you say, smirking. “We’ll get to all that fun stuff. I just gotta break her in first."

Trashhole doesn’t like that sentence. She looks up at you, confused. “Wh-what do you mean, break?” Her question is met with a slap in the face.