Jennifer Whatley – Obedience Event 1

I slammed my forehead into the keyboard. Once. Twice. Again.

I. Was. So. Fucking. Stupid.

Goddammit.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Jennifer had been interested in me—me, of all people—and instead of having a real evening with her, a real connection, I’d decided that was the perfect time to do “research” on the app.

A wonderful, meaningful night with her… and I chose to act like a complete idiot. Playing games. Metaphorically and literally.

I hurled the controller across the room. It clattered to the floor. “Fuck this,” I muttered.

Sure, I’d told myself it was “important” to see if the events in the app could fail. But I knew it was an excuse.

The truth was simpler and uglier: I was afraid. Afraid of someone getting close.

I banged my head against the keyboard again, then winced—this thing was expensive. Probably shouldn’t do that. Yeah. Stopping now.

I exhaled, dragged my eyes to the app.

JENNIFER WHATLEY

CORRUPTION: 139

LOVE: 100

OBEDIENCE: 87

I’d tweaked the timetable after her love hit a full hundred at the start of the week. No point focusing there. It couldn’t go any higher until the bar event was completed.

So I’d shifted to obedience. One more heart to unlock. That meant scheduling her to exercise, clean her apartment, pinch her own nipples, wear that new “sexy” work outfit.

And for the extra action slot, I’d picked “Go clubbing in an exposing outfit”—a neat little 15-point bump to corruption.

She’d be doing that today.

I wished that I had the courage to go see her in that outfit.

Right now, nothing scared me more than running into Jennifer outside of these “events.” Inside the app, it all felt scripted. Rigged for me to succeed. But out here? In the real world? Nothing was guaranteed.

Now… now it was time to design her next week.

After unlocking her newest heart, the app had bumped me up to seven actions per week. More control. More strings to pull.

The values on her old actions had shifted again, and four new options had been unlocked.

Wait for User at the bar (+10 Obedience, +7 Love, +2 Stress) / E

Write an erotic story in the net, using pseudonym (+12 Corruption, +2 Stress) / E N

Watch a lot of porn, but only with male actors that resemble User (+7 Corruption, +5 Love, +1 Stress) / E N

Search “how to talk to socially awkward people” on the net (+10 Love) / M D E N

Okay, not gonna lie… that last one stung.

And I wasn’t sure I even wanted her to do that action. If I ever saw her practicing some of those “skills” on me… it would probably finish off whatever scraps of confidence I had left.

Ugh. Right now, all I wanted was to get this obedience event over with so I could at least make an informed decision about my next moves.

I was even starting to think about quitting Jennifer altogether.

Yeah.

Every interaction with her felt like walking barefoot over glass. It wasn’t her fault. We were just from different worlds—worlds that barely even touched. We had nothing in common.

I could **** her to love me. The app made that easy. But the thought alone made my skin crawl. Nothing about this was natural. Nothing about this was real.

Sandy, though…

With Sandy it felt different. Familiar. I could imagine us actually working, maybe even growing old together.

God. I wish I’d targeted her first.

Maybe, if this doesn’t start feeling right soon, Jennifer will just be my test run. And then… I’ll move on to Sandy.

…

Okay. Monday morning, I’ll have Jennifer pinch her own nipples and reorganize the store to my “preferences” (whatever the hell that even means). That should max out her obedience heart.

I’ll figure out the five remaining actions after that.

Yeah. Sounds like a plan.

I guess.

This time I didn’t have to wait long.

Tuesday.

Her obedience event was at Jakey’s again.

I put my hand on the door handle… and froze.

Up until now, I hadn’t really thought about the “obedience stat.” Not seriously. But I knew exactly what it meant. I’ve played enough porn games to recognize the pattern.

Submission. That’s the point. The app isn’t shy about it—train a perfect, loving, slutty, obedient girlfriend. Someone who just does what you say without blinking.

It was almost laughable trying to picture Jennifer like that. Jennifer, taking orders from anyone. From me. Impossible.

Could I even do it?

Did I even want to?

For me, BDSM had always been a private daydream. Something reserved for the confident, the alpha-coded sociopaths who actually had the guts to make it happen. Not me. Not ever.

Ah, fuck. Here I was again, trapped in my own head.

I was going to do this, whether I liked it or not.

If it all went to hell, Jennifer could just be a test run. That was the deal. That was the plan.

I had nothing—well, almost nothing—to lose.

And while ordering a woman like her around was something I could never ever do in a realistic setting… This event could be a safe bubble to, proverbially, flex my muscles.

I took a deep breath and tried to inject whatever scraps of confidence I had left into my bloodstream.

The door chimed as I stepped inside.

Once again, the store was empty. Just me. And Jennifer.

Her eyes met mine for a few seconds—long enough to sting—then she turned away, deliberately. Almost theatrically.

She flipped a page in her book with enough **** that I’m pretty sure people outside could’ve heard it.

Yeah. She was angry.

And honestly? I couldn’t blame her. After my idiotic, cringeworthy performance the other night, this was fair punishment.

It almost felt like things had gone back to normal between us, but… not quite. Before, when she didn’t care, she really didn’t care—like I didn’t even exist. Now, she wanted me to know how much she didn’t care. Like she needed me to feel it.

Which didn’t make much sense, but nothing ever really did with her.

She said nothing, so I followed her lead. Fine. Two can play the “pretend nothing’s wrong” game.

Might as well do my shopping and see what happens.

The store looked different.

Everything I usually bought was now front and center, like someone had rearranged the shelves just for me. My favorite chips, energy drinks, bread—neatly lined up, perfectly stocked, and cheaper than before.

And the eggs. Jesus Christ, the eggs.

Every kind imaginable: cage-free, free-range, pasture-raised, organic, vegetarian-fed, omega-3 enriched, hormone-free. White eggs, brown eggs, even egg substitutes. For such a tiny store, it was absurd.

It felt like the whole layout had been redesigned for me—

Wait. It actually was. I had made Jennifer to do that.

So stupid.

I filled my basket with the usual items, pausing at the wall of eggs. For a few seconds, I actually considered skipping them.

…Nah. Might as well keep the running gag alive. It was the one thread that still connected me and Jennifer.

I eyed the freezer aisle, wondering if I should grab some crab cakes—just to call back that awful joke from the bar.

But what would that even say?

“I wanted your crabs”?

Yeah, no. Probably best to let that one die.

I set my basket on the counter.

Jennifer looked up at me with exaggerated weariness, sighed, and started scanning the items. One by one. The only sound was the hollow beep of the register, cutting through the silence like a metronome for tension.

I thought about saying something assertive. You know, for the “obedience” thing. But what? I had no idea how to even begin. The app always made it obvious when to act, like following stage directions. This time, I figured it was safer to just wait for my cue.

I was still learning stuff. Apparently I could improvise, but this time, I wanted play things pretty safe.

Jennifer got to the eggs.

She paused, sighed, and scanned them too.

“That’ll be thirty bucks,” she said, voice flat and lifeless.

I tapped my card, the silence growing heavier around us.

I started packing the groceries—until I realized she was still holding the eggs.

I glanced at her.

“I actually don’t give a shit what your name is,” she said, coldly.

“Okay… uh… cool?” I managed.

She opened the carton, plucked out an egg. “To be honest…” she said softly—then hurled it across the store. It burst against the tile with a wet crack.

“I don’t give a fuck.” Another egg. Another throw. Another splatter.

“I don’t give a shit!” Two eggs this time, both smashing against the freezers.

“I couldn’t give less of a pigfucking shit!” she screamed, pitching the rest of the carton across the store, yolk and shells flying everywhere—one even whizzing past my head.

And then… silence.

It was over.

Everywhere was egg.

Jennifer was out of her mind.

She surveyed the destruction she’d just unleashed with eerie calm.

“Well,” she said at last, “you know where the mop is… Mr. Eggs.”

Then she went right back to her book as if nothing had happened.

I drew in a deep breath.

Yeah.

I knew exactly what the app wanted here.

This was the setup. This was my cue.

It didn’t make me any less pissed.

“I… I paid for those eggs,” I muttered.

She scoffed without looking up, the sound sharp as broken glass.

Oh God. Was I really about to do this? Say the thing?

The words rose in my throat on their own, as if the app itself had pressed a button in my brain.

“I want to speak to your manager.”

Her head snapped up. For the first time since I’d known her, there was a flicker of something like surprise—maybe even intimidation—in her eyes.

“You cannot be fucking serious,” she said slowly.

But something had shifted inside me. A strange, cold confidence I hadn’t felt in years. Trust in the rules. Trust in the system. Something I thought I’d lost long ago.

I had rights, goddammit.

“Get me the manager. I need to make a complaint.”

She folded her arms, glare hard enough to crack concrete, and stared me down. The silence stretched, heavy and electric.

But I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

It was tense enough to cue up an Ennio Morricone score and have it make perfect sense.

I don’t know how I did it—how I held her gaze despite the pull of that neckline, her cleavage deepening as she leaned forward.

Finally, she rolled her eyes in a dramatic arc.

“Fine, Karen,” she muttered. “God. You’re such a bitch.”

She bent to grab the mop.

Some instinct I didn’t know I had kicked in. My hand shot out and caught the handle first, pulling it back before she could take it.

She froze, confusion flickering across her face.

And before I even knew what I was saying, the words were out:

“No. You’re going to clean it… properly. Get on all fours.”