Click the link, paying for twenty minutes session with a beautiful petite slut

You click it. Your credit card information, saved from some long-forgotten online purchase, autofills. You type in your CVV. The confirmation feels like a gunshot in the silent room. The screen flickers, then loads.

She's there. A girl, young enough to make your stomach clench with a mixture of guilt and lust. She's old enough to be one of your daughters. A hot 19 year brat. Petite, just as promised, with dark, smudgy eyeliner that reminds you of Kyler, a thought you immediately squash. She's on a bed, propped up on pillows, the camera angled just so. The background is a generic, sterile pink. She's wearing a cute yoga set.

"Hey, Daddy," she says, her voice a syrupy, practiced purr. "You paid. So, what's my daddy's name?" She calls you daddy again. The word is designed for you, a key turning a lock you didn't know was there. But it still feels wrong.

You type back, "Just... {mc} is fine."

She giggles, a light, airy sound. "But {mc} isn't what you paid for, is it?" She shifts on the bed, the sheet slipping down her shoulder. "You paid for me to be your bad little girl. So tell me {mc} what do you wants."

The logic is circular, a trap of your own making. You didn't want to be 'Dad' tonight. You wanted to be 'JohnDoe42', an anonymous man seeking a simple connection. But you clicked on 'Barely19slut'. You bought the fantasy. You have to play the part.

"I want you to..." You type, then delete. The words feel clumsy, dirty. You want to watch her. You want her to touch herself. You want to tell her what to do. You want to feel powerful, in control. But sitting in the dark, with the faint smell of your family's dinner still in the air, you feel anything but.

"Tell me," she coaxes, her voice a hypnotic drone. "Daddy knows what he wants. Just tell your little slut." She spreads her legs slightly, a tantalizing, calculated movement. It's a performance, but it's a good one. Your body responds, a primal heat overriding the knot of shame in your stomach.

You type, "Take off your top."

She smiles, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "As you wish, Daddy." She peels off the thin top she was wearing, revealing small, perfect breasts. She plays with them, her eyes locked on the camera, on you.

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