Your tits?

Nervousness rushes over me as i ask what's at the front of my mind.

"C-c-could i see your tits?" I say weakly

Ashley's face cycles through emotions faster than a slot machine—shock, disgust, rage—before settling on something unexpected: calculating amusement. Her black-painted lips curl into a cruel smile as she lets out a sharp, mocking laugh that slices through the tension.

"Are you fucking serious right now? Fifteen hundred dollars to see these?" She gestures at her corseted chest with theatrical flair. "Wow, you really are more pathetic than I thought. And that's saying something."

She takes a step closer, her boots thudding against the floor like a countdown. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as she studies you with newfound interest, like a predator reassessing prey that's shown unexpected behavior.

"Let me get this straight. You want to see my tits? The same tits that guys at college would sell their kidneys for a glimpse of?" She taps her fingernail against her front tooth, considering. "You know what? Fine. But not because you asked—because I want to see just how much of a **** little perv you really are."

With deliberate slowness, she reaches for the laces of her corset, her eyes never leaving yours.

"This is a one-time show, understand? And if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll cut your tongue out while you sleep." Her fingers work the laces with practiced ease. "Now close the fucking door before someone walks by."

Without my eyes leaving her chest, i close the door to her bedroom, fumbling with the door handle without looking at it.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing both of you in the dim sanctuary of her gothic lair. Ashley's room smells of incense, perfume, and rebellion—black curtains filtering the sunlight into something murky and intimate. The walls are plastered with posters of bands you've never heard of, figures with corpse paint and leather.

Willow watches your nervous movements with predatory amusement, her fingers still working at her corset laces with deliberate slowness.

"Look at you, all twitchy and pathetic," she murmurs, her voice dropping to a husky register you've never heard before. "Bet you've been fantasizing about this since our parents got married, haven't you? Jerking off to thoughts of your goth stepsister while crying into your pillow?"

The corset loosens gradually, revealing slivers of pale skin beneath. She's clearly enjoying your discomfort, drawing out each movement like a torturer with a favorite tool.

"Fifteen hundred dollars... I could buy so much makeup and clothes with that. Maybe I should charge you extra for the trauma of having your beady little eyes on me." She finally pulls the corset open, revealing a black lace bra underneath. "Well? Is this what you wanted, pervert?"