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The message came on a Tuesday.

Jonas was standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot. Silke was sitting at the table, cell phone in hand, reading the same sentence twice because the first time she read it, it had gone straight to her pussy.

Anonymous: “Friday. Disco. You’re taking Jonas with you. No underwear. No bra, no panties.

Just a short dress. As soon as you’re inside, I want proof.”

She slid the phone under the edge of the table before he turned around. It had gotten wet between her legs right away. Not warm. Wet. As if someone had pulled her labia apart and stuck a finger inside without asking her. Her pussy was throbbing. Dirty. Obedient. Ready to put herself on display for a stranger while her boyfriend stood right there looking for Parmesan.

“Parmesan?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Silke.

Her voice sounded normal. That was the most disgusting part of it all. Inside, she was already dripping into her panties.

On Wednesday evening, she tried it for the first time.

She came up behind him, pressed her tits against his back while he was doing the dishes, and slid her hand lower until she felt his cock through his pants. “We haven’t been out dancing at a club in ages.”

Jonas laughed wearily. “Since when do you want to go to a club? You hate that.”

“Since today.” She squeezed him, gently enough that he could still take it as an affectionate gesture. “Just one night. You don’t have to stay until the end. I just want to get out. With you.”

He made a sound that sounded like refusal but wasn’t. Just apathy. On Thursday, she pressed the issue. In bed. Not for sex. For the kind of closeness that softened him. A kiss on his neck, her leg draped over his, her bare pussy pressed against his thigh, wet enough that he should have noticed. “Please. I want to get out. With you. Not alone.”

Jonas sighed into her hair. “An hour or two. That’s all.”

She smiled at him gratefully and thought about how, in two days, she’d be standing next to him at the club without panties, her pussy bare under a dress that was too short, because a stranger had ordered it that way.

Silke kissed him longer than the sentence deserved, letting her tongue linger in his mouth as if she were already stealing something from him. Afterward, she wrote in the bathroom, with the water running, her legs slightly apart because she had to touch herself:

Silke: “Friday. The club at the train station. He’s coming with me.”

Anonymous: “Good.” Nothing more.

Friday arrived as if the week had deliberately gritted its teeth.

Silke stood in front of the mirror and held the black dress up against her body before putting it on. It was tight. The neckline cut so low that her tits almost fell out. The hem ended midway down her thighs. She left her bra in the drawer. As the fabric glided over her chest, it brushed right against her hard nipples. They immediately became rock-hard. Below, she took off the panties she’d been wearing all day and tossed them onto the bed. Her smooth, shaved skin lay bare beneath the dress. Cool air brushed against her pussy. A feeling of wrongness that instantly turned into lust. She was a slut undressing on command while her boyfriend waited in the hallway.

She sat down tentatively. The fabric rode up. There was nothing between her legs to catch it. Her labia lay exposed against the chair. She could feel them already getting wet.

In the hallway, Jonas whistled softly. “We have to go.”

No comment on the dress. Did he even notice it? In the car, she pressed her knees together until her muscles trembled. The seat cover was rough. Every bump in the road pushed the dress up a little. Once it slid up so far that she felt the inside of her bare labia against the fabric. Jonas talked about parking spots and how he couldn’t stand the bass. Silke replied in half-sentences and thought about the moment when she’d have to show her pussy to the stranger. Her clitoris throbbed. She could have stuck her fingers in her pussy right then and there and sent him the video.

The club welcomed them just like all the others: loud, dark, too crowded. Lights that cut bodies into pieces. Bass that sat heavy in her chest. Jonas bought two drinks that no one would finish. Silke set hers down and pulled him aside by the hand.

“I need to use the bathroom for a sec.”

He nodded, already half swallowed up by the rhythm. Clueless. The man who would take her home, while another had her naked pussy on his phone.

In the stall, she closed the door and stood there for a moment, her forehead pressed against the metal. Then she grabbed the hem and pulled it up past her hips. The neon light was merciless. Naked, shaved labia. Already glistening. Slightly parted. She spread them with two fingers so you could see the slit, the moisture that had already gathered there. She held the phone low, framing the tiled floor, the edge of the door, and the dirty rim of the toilet. Something to prove: This isn’t a bathroom at home. This is a slut in a club bathroom, spreading her pussy for a stranger while her boyfriend waits outside.

The click was quiet. She sent the photo.

When Silke came out of the stall, the phone was still vibrating in her pocket, right against her bare hip. The fabric of her dress was already clinging damply to the insides of her thighs. Her shaved pussy was wet enough that the hem was stuck there like a dirty confession.

She pulled out the phone, still in the narrow hallway in front of the mirrors, where the neon light made every detail of her face look harsher than it was. The message was there, as if someone had squeezed her throat.

Anonymous: “I’m here. You don’t know who I am. I could be anyone. I’m going to ask you to dance in a moment. And don’t you dare say no to me.”

Silke stopped in her tracks. The sentence lodged itself inside her like a finger already stuck in her pussy. Shock at first. Then the other thing. The thing she now knew better than fear: that dirty, instant wetness that shot between her labia because the man who’d been bossing her around for weeks was in the same room.

The guy who had her nude photos. The one who’d made her fuck Max, Jonas’s roommate. The reason the moving guys had taken her—three guys who’d taken turns with her. He had so much power over her that “no” had long since ceased to be an option. Better to play it safe and just say yes to everything.

She typed, her fingers damp because she’d unconsciously wiped her mouth.

Silke: “And Jonas?”

The answer came immediately.

Anonymous: “A few guys are keeping him occupied.”

Silke put her phone away. In the mirror, she saw a slut. A short dress, hard nipples pressing through the fabric, a bare pussy underneath that was already throbbing again. She was so horny she could have slid her fingers between her legs right then and there and finished herself off in front of the mirror. Instead, she pulled the hem down a bit—not enough to really cover anything—and walked out.

The dance floor hit her like an open hand. Bass thumping in her chest, lights slicing through bodies, strangers’ hands already searching. Jonas was still standing at the bar, two drinks in his hand, oblivious. Two guys were already with him, talking, laughing, pulling him a little to the side.

Silke stood at the edge, her knees weak. Anyone who asked her to dance now...