A Week Later

I sit on the couch, my eyes locked on Veronika as she glides across the room, practicing her latest dance routine for the next video. She’s wearing one of the her old outfits—the new clothes I have ordered for her haven't arrived yet-a tight bikini that barely contain her bouncing tits. Her golden blonde hair sways with each move, catching the light in a way that makes her look almost unreal. Pride surges through me, mixed with a raw, aching arousal I can’t shake. She’s come a long way in just a week, and the money proves it—four thousand dollars already from her solo scenes and our fuck sessions on camera, and it’s only the start.

But then she stops mid-twirl, her ocean-green eyes clouding with worry. She turns to me, biting her lip in that way that always sends my pulse racing. “John, I forget to tell you. I run out of birth control pills yesterday.”

My heart stutters, the high crashing into a wall of panic. Birth control. How the fuck did I miss that? I can’t let her get pregnant—that would ruin everything. No way am I letting an OnlyFans whore carry my kid. I sit up straighter. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Veronika? This is important.”

She steps closer, her sharp features softening with apology. “I am sorry, John. I not think about it until now. I am stupid, yes?”

"Very," I say, my tone sharp but not unkind. "A total bimbo." Normally, this would be the moment I’d grab her, tease her with that familiar question: "And what are bimbos good for?" She’d laugh, say "Fucking," and I’d fuck her against whatever was nearby-the wall, bend her over a sofa, even take her on the floor. But now, the thought of her getting pregnant freezes me in place. I can’t risk that—not with everything I’ve got riding on her.

I think through my options, each one flashing in my mind like a bad movie scene. I could order pills on Amazon and wait a few days, but that means no fucking her in the meantime. I’d have to stick to filming her solo scenes—strip teases, masturbation, dancing. The thought of watching her like that and not being able to touch her is pure ****. My cock twitches just imagining it, and I know I won’t last. I need her—need to be inside her, to remind myself she’s mine.

Alternatively, I could avoid her pussy altogether. She’s a damn fine cocksucker, and I’ve been meaning to break in her ass anyway. But even that feels like a compromise, and I’m not in the mood for half-measures. I want all of her, the way I always do. Or I could finally leave the apartment, walk the block to the pharmacy, and buy her more pills.

I stand up from the couch, my frustration simmering beneath the surface, and walk over to Veronika. She looks up at me, a mix of apology and worry etched across her sharp features. I am sorry, John,” she says. “I not think. It not happen again, yes?”

Her voice is blunt but soft, eager to please me, and it stirs something in me—anger, sure, but also that familiar ache. I step closer, my bare feet silent on the floor, and place my hand gently on her lower abdomen. The warmth of her skin seeps through the thin fabric of her bikini, and she shivers slightly at my touch, her breath hitching. “Veronika,” I say, my voice low and steady, “what do you think would happen if I fucked a baby into you?”

She bites her lip, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I… I not know, John,” she stammers, her accent thickening. “Baby is… not good for career?”

I sigh, keeping my hand pressed against her, my fingers sinking slightly into her soft skin. “Let me explain,” I say, locking eyes with her. “If you get pregnant, for the first three months, it might not show much. You could still film—dance, strip, whatever. But you’d have morning sickness, feel nauseous, be tired all the time. You’d puke before shoots, stumble through your routines. Your performance would suck, Veronika. And after that? From month four on, you’d be ruined. Your stomach would blow up like a beach ball, your huge perky tits will sag, and those wide hips your viewers love? Buried under baby weight. They pay to see your perfect body—big breasts, trim stomach, that hourglass figure. If that changes, they’re gone. No subscribers, no money. Everything we’ve built would be fucked.”

Her eyes widen, alarm flashing across her face. “Oh no, John,” she says, her voice trembling. “I not want that. I want to be successful, like you say.”

I pull my hand away and cross my arms, fixing her with a stern glare. “You told me you wouldn’t waste the rewards I’m giving you, Veronika. A better life, a career, millions of dollars. It’s only been a week, and you almost threw it all away by forgetting something this important. Do you really mean what you said?”

She steps closer, her hands reaching out to grasp my arm, her touch warm and ****. “Yes, John, I mean it,” she says, her accent heavy with urgency. “I not want to lose this. I be more careful, I promise. Please, do not be angry with me.”

“Alright, Veronika,” I say. “I’ll forgive you this time. I’ll go to the pharmacy and get you more pills. But if this happens again, I’m not going to the pharmacy,” I say, my voice dropping low and hard. “I’ll order the pills online, and we’ll wait for them to show up. And in the meantime, I’ll keep fucking you. If you get pregnant during that wait, your career’s done. No more OnlyFans, no more cash, no more better life. You get that?”

Her eyes blow wide, fear carving itself into her sharp features. “Yes, John, I understand,” she stammers, her voice shaking. “I not let it happen again. I be careful.” She’s practically shrinking in front of me, her shoulders hunching as the threat sinks in, and I know it’s bullshit—I’d never risk knocking her up, not really. A baby would screw me over as much as it would her. But she doesn’t know that, and the way her breath hitches tells me she’s buying every word.

I nod, letting the silence hang for a beat, watching her squirm. “Good,” I say finally. “I’m going to get those pills now.”

Despite saying that, I move slowly as I grab my keys and wallet from the table. My gut is doing summersaults. The thought of leaving Veronika alone in the apartment sets my nerves on fire—every worst-case scenario flashing through my mind like a damn horror reel. What if the super picks today to snoop around with his spare key? What if someone knocks and she answers? What if she finds a way to use her phone, even though I’ve got it locked down tighter than Fort Knox? I haven’t stepped outside in a week—everything’s been delivered, groceries, her new outfits, all of it—but this birth control screw-up is an emergency. I can’t wait for Amazon to drop pills in two days. I need to fuck her now, tonight, every damn day, and I’m not about to let her carelessness ruin that.

“Veronika,” I say, turning to her. She’s still standing there, her eyes wide. “Stay here and keep practicing your routine. Don’t answer the door, don’t touch anything except your music. You hear me?”

She nods fast. “Yes, John. I stay. I practice. I not mess up.”

“Good,” I snap, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “I’ll be quick.” I head for the door, my heart already thudding against my ribs. I lock it behind me, the click loud in the empty hallway, and I bolt down the stairs, my shoes slapping the steps. The second I step outside, the sun blinds me, too bright after days cooped up. People mill around—walking dogs, chatting—like nothing’s wrong, while I’m sweating bullets over the Russian bombshell I’ve got stashed upstairs.

I hustle toward the pharmacy, a block away, my pace brisk. The whole walk, my mind’s racing. What if she’s snooping right now? What if she figures out what I've sent Alex and tries something? She wouldn’t—she’s too hooked on the cash, the dream I’ve sold her—but the paranoia chews at me anyway. The street feels alien, the air too fresh, the sounds too loud. I’ve been living in our little bubble, fucking her senseless, raking in money, and now I feel exposed, ****.

I shove through the pharmacy door, the cool air hitting me like a slap. I march straight to the counter, where some middle-aged woman with glasses is fiddling with a stack of papers. “I need birth control pills,” I say, keeping my tone flat, like it’s no big deal.

She peers up at me, her face blank. “You got a prescription?”

My stomach lurches. Shit. I didn’t think this through. “No,” I say, scrambling. “It’s for my girlfriend. She ran out yesterday. We need them now.”

She sighs, long and annoyed, like I’m the tenth idiot she’s dealt with today. “Can’t give you birth control without a prescription. She’ll need to see a doctor.”

Of course it’s not that simple. Why the hell didn’t I think of this? Veronika can’t go to a doctor—I’m not letting her step foot outside, not with the setup I’ve got. And a doctor coming to the apartment? Hell no. They’d take one look at her, see that glazed-over devotion in her eyes, and start asking questions I can’t answer.

“Please,” I say, leaning in, my voice low and ****. “You don’t understand. My girlfriend ran out yesterday, and we can’t wait. Just give me a few days’ worth of pills—anything. Or morning-after pills, if that’s easier. I’ll figure out the prescription, I swear, but I need something now.”

The woman- Margaret, from her name tag- sighs again, her lips pursing like she’s sucking on a lemon. “Sir, I told you, it’s prescription-only. I could lose my job. Your girlfriend needs to see a doctor, get it sorted properly.”

My throat tightens, and I grip the counter harder, my knuckles whitening. “Look, Margaret, I’m begging you. Just twelve pills. That’s all I need to buy some time. I’ll handle the rest, I promise. You’d be saving my ass here.” My voice cracks a little.

She adjusts her glasses, peering at me like I’m a bug under a microscope. For a moment, I think she’s about to call security or tell me to get lost. But then her face softens, just a fraction, and she lets out a quiet huff. “Fine,” she says, her voice grudging. “I shouldn’t do this, but I can give you a single pack—twelve pills. That’s it. After that, your girlfriend needs a prescription, no exceptions. You understand?”

Relief floods me, so sharp it’s almost dizzying. “Yes, yes, thank you,” I blurt, my hands unclenching from the counter. “You’re a lifesaver, Margaret. I owe you big time.”

Margaret nods before turning away. She rummages through a drawer behind the counter, her movements quick and precise. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of bottles and boxes. I clutch my wallet, ready to pay and bolt back to the apartment, when she spins back around, a small white pack in her hand. She slides it across the counter, her glasses glinting as she fixes me with a stern look.

“Alright, here’s your twelve pills,” she says, her voice flat and clipped. “That’ll be thirty bucks. And don’t forget what I said—prescription next time, no exceptions.” She pauses, then leans forward slightly, her tone shifting just a hair. “So, what about my reward?”

I freeze, my fingers hovering over my wallet. “What do you mean by ‘reward’?” I ask, my voice coming out rough, tinged with confusion. My mind scrambles—did I hear her right? Reward? Maybe she’s hinting at something else, like a tip or a bribe for bending the rules. It makes sense; she’s taking a risk giving me these pills without a prescription. “Are you talking about a tip or something for helping me out?”

Margaret shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line like I’ve just said something dumb. “No, John,” she says, her tone sharp and matter-of-fact, cutting through the air like a knife. “I’m not talking about a tip. Everyone knows that when a woman does a favor for you, you can give her an invaluable reward. It’s what you're know for. So, what’s it going to be?”

My stomach drops, and I stare at her, my mouth half-open. _Invaluable reward? What I'm known for? _The words hit me like a punch, echoing what Veronika said back in her apartment—those crazy ramblings about my rewards being special; something I brushed off as her being unhinged or glitched out. But now Margaret’s saying it too, her voice steady, no trace of doubt, like it’s common knowledge. I take a step back, my sneakers squeaking on the tile floor. “Wait, what? How do you know about that?” I stammer, my pulse kicking up a notch.

She rolls her eyes, adjusting her glasses with a flick of her finger. “It’s not a secret, John. Everyone knows. When you offer a reward, it’s something special—something we can’t get anywhere else. It's been that way forever. So, come on, what’s my reward?” Her tone’s impatient now, like I’m wasting her time, and she crosses her arms, waiting.

The ground feels like it’s tilting under me. This isn’t just Veronika’s delusion—Margaret’s in on it too. My mind races, grasping for something solid. Two women saying the same thing—it’s not a coincidence. I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Hold on,” I say, my voice shaky. “Is there… is there something in the news about this? Some kind of phenomenon or disease going around?”

Margaret raises an eyebrow, looking at me like I’m a complete idiot. “Disease? What are you talking about? This isn’t news, John—it’s just how things are with you. Always has been, far as anyone remembers. Now, are you going to tell me what my reward is or not?”

I blink, my thoughts spinning out of control. A disease—that’s my first theory. Something’s messing with people’s heads, maybe just Veronika and Margaret, maybe more. I haven’t watched the news in a week, too wrapped up in filming Veronika, counting the cash rolling in. If this is widespread, it’d be plastered everywhere—“Mystery Illness Makes Women Obsessed with Rewards.” But if it’s not a disease, then what? The second theory creeps in, wild and impossible: maybe I’ve got some kind of power. Maybe Veronika and Margaret are right, and I can hand out rewards people see as invaluable. It’s insane, but it’s the only other explanation I can come up with.

“What kind of reward are you expecting?”

Margaret’s stern face softens, her eyes lighting up with a flicker of anticipation. “That’s up to you, John,” she says, her tone still firm but edged with something eager. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be grateful for it. Just make it quick—I’ve got work to do.”

Just like Veronika.

“Alright, Margaret,” I say, cautiously. “For helping me out today, your reward is that you’ll pay for my girlfriend's birth control pills yourself, out of your own pocket, and you’ll give us unlimited refills whenever we need more.” I half-expect her to laugh or call me a nutcase.

I watch her stern face for the crack—anger, confusion, anything. But instead, her eyes light up, and a rare smile breaks through that sour-lemon look. “That’s incredibly generous!” she says, her voice sharp but warm, like she’s genuinely thrilled. “Thank you so much for this reward. I’ll make sure your girlfriend's always got what she needs—no problem at all.”

I blink, my jaw going slack for a second before I catch myself. She’s thanking me? For making her foot the bill? I nod, fumbling for words. “Uh, yeah, you’re welcome,” I mutter, grabbing the pack of pills she slid over earlier. My fingers tighten around it, the plastic crinkling. “That’s it then. Thanks again.”

Margaret straightens, still smiling, and adjusts her glasses with a quick flick. “Anytime, John. You need anything else, you know where to find me.” Her tone’s all business again, like she didn’t just agree to bankroll Veronika's birth control for life.

I turn and walk out of the pharmacy, the door swinging shut behind me with a jingle. The cool air hits my face, but it does nothing to slow the storm in my head. I clutch the pills tighter and start walking back to the apartment, my sneakers pounding the pavement. Did that really just happen? I convinced a pharmacist to pay for Veronika’s pills—forever—and she’s grateful? My stomach flips, a mix of disbelief and excitement.

I needed to test this out more.

I step back into the apartment complex, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. The pack of birth control pills sits snug in my pocket, a small victory from the pharmacy, but my mind’s still buzzing—Margaret’s eager smile, her gratitude for a reward that cost her money. It’s weird as hell, and I’m itching to figure it out. But before I can even hit the stairs, I spot Klein in the lobby, hunched over his clipboard like always. His bald head shines under the flickering fluorescent lights, and those beady eyes of his narrow as he notices me. Great. The superintendent’s been on my ass about the shower repair bill all week, and I still owe him a thank-you for fixing it. Maybe I can test this reward thing one more time—see if it’s real or if I’m just losing my damn mind.

I clear my throat and **** a grin, stepping closer. “Hey, Klein,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I wanted to thank you for fixing my shower earlier this week. Works like a charm now.”

He grunts, barely looking up from his clipboard. “Yeah, well, it’s about time you said something. You think I do this shit for free?” His voice is gravelly, dripping with that sour-old-man bitterness he’s famous for around here.

My pulse picks up, but I push forward, testing the waters. “Actually, I’ve got a reward for you,” I say, leaning in a little. “How about you try being a nicer person? Maybe crack a smile once in a while, huh?” I flash a smirk, waiting for that spark—Margaret’s gratitude, Veronika’s hunger—something to prove this power’s real.

Klein’s head snaps up, and his face twists, turning red as a beet. “What the hell did you just say to me?” he snaps, stepping closer, his clipboard clattering to the floor. “You think you can strut in here and tell me how to act? I’ve been running this dump for twenty years, and I don’t need some smartass punk giving me life advice!”

My stomach drops, and I stumble back a step. “Whoa, hold on, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it!” he barks, jabbing a thick finger at my chest, close enough I can smell the coffee on his breath. “You’re lucky I don’t toss you out on your ass for that kind of disrespect! Get the hell out of my sight before I change my mind!”

I throw my hands up and back off, my ears ringing from his shouting. Jesus Christ, what just happened? I turn and hightail it to the elevator, my sneakers squeaking on the chipped tile floor. My heart’s pounding, and my head’s a mess. Klein’s outburst still echoes in my ears—his red face, that jabbed finger, the venom in his voice. Why didn’t it work on him?

With Veronika, it’s like I’ve got her on a leash—she jumps at every reward I dangle, no matter how wild. Margaret too, back at the pharmacy, practically glowed when I told her she’d pay for the pills. But Klein? Nothing. He didn’t just brush it off—he blew up like I’d spit in his face. Maybe I’ve been kidding myself this whole time. Magical powers? That’s insane—stupid, even. I don’t have some supernatural gift. It’s got to be a disease, something screwing with Veronika’s and Margaret’s heads. Klein’s fine, though—maybe he’s not infected, maybe he’s immune. Whatever it is, I need answers. I’ve got to get back to my apartment and hit the internet—search for anything about weird behavior, outbreaks, anything that fits.

The elevator doors are sliding shut as I reach them, but a slim hand darts out, stopping them just in time. I squeeze inside, barely registering the girl who saved me. She’s Asian, pretty, with a soft figure hugged by jeans and a t-shirt, her eyes glued to her phone. My head’s still spinning, replaying Klein’s shouting, so I mumble without thinking, “Thanks for holding the door. I owe you one.”

She looks up, her face brightening, like I’ve just handed her a winning lottery ticket. “Oh, really? So, what’s my reward?” Her voice is light, curious, snapping me out of my haze.

Another one? Just as I've convinced myself I don't have powers? I stare at the girl in the elevator, my frustration over mixed signals boiling over like a pot left on the stove too long. “Why does everyone keep asking me about rewards?” I snap, my voice echoing off the metal walls louder than I intend. The hum of the elevator fills the silence that follows, the numbers above the door ticking up one by one, mocking my confusion.

She blinks, her pretty face—soft features framed by dark hair—twisting in surprise, like I’ve just slapped her with my words. Her phone’s still clutched in her hand, but her eyes are on me now, wide and searching. “Aren’t you John Doe?” she asks, her voice light but hesitant, like she’s piecing something together. “I thought you gave women who did you favors rewards.”

My stomach does a flip, and I narrow my eyes at her, trying to dig through my memory. “Have we met before?” I ask. She doesn’t look familiar. I don’t think we’ve crossed paths, because I’d remember her. Her face is pretty enough to stare at and she has an hourglass figure, though hers wasn't as spectacular as Veronika's. Her breasts are a size smaller, and her hazel eyes are less eye-catching than Veronika's green, but she's still worth a second look.

“No, we haven’t met,” she says.

“Then how do you know me?”

She shrugs, casual. “All women know about you and your rewards,” she says, her voice breezy, like she’s commenting on the weather.

That stops me cold. My brain kicks into overdrive, gears grinding as two puzzle pieces snap together. First, if she knows me by name—John Doe—this can’t be some random disease screwing with people’s heads. A disease wouldn’t spread my name like gossip; it’d be chaos, not precision. No, this has to be something tied to me, something special—maybe an ability I’ve got, whether I understand it or not.

Second, I rewind through the chaos of the last few days—Veronika’s hungry grin when I dangled a reward, Margaret’s eager nod at the pharmacy, and now this girl’s bright-eyed expectation. They all said it: rewards for women. Invaluable, special, something only I can give. Then there’s Klein, that cranky bastard in the lobby, who didn’t just ignore my reward—he exploded like I’d insulted his mother. The difference hits me like a brick: Klein’s a man. Veronika, Margaret, this girl—they’re all women. Whatever this power is, it only works on them.

It doesn’t make a lick of sense—why me, why women, why rewards?—but I’m not about to kick a gift horse in the teeth. My heart’s still pounding, but the panic shifts, morphing into something electric, a thrill I can’t ignore. I take a breath, steadying myself, and look at her again. “What’s your name?” I ask, my voice smoother now, curiosity edging out the frustration.

“I’m Alice,” she says, still casual.

I give Alice a quick once-over. Her body's an eight, but only because I'm using Veronika as a ten, and I've never seen anyone even come close to having a body as hot as hers. Alice still has an hourglass figure with large tits, a trim waist, and decent hips. Her face, however, is her best asset- a solid ten. I've never seen an Asian chick before with hazel, almond-shaped, eyes before. I can imagine myself staring into her eyes while filling up her pussy. The thought sends a jolt straight to my cock, and I shift my weight to hide it.

“Alright, Alice,” I say, keeping my voice smooth, like I’m offering her the deal of a lifetime. “I’m gonna give you a real good reward, but first, I need to know a bit about you. Gotta make sure it fits you, you know?”

Her face lights up, a polite smile breaking out. “Oh, that’s so thoughtful of you, John,” she says. “What do you want to know?”

I cross my arms, leaning back to appraise her again, letting the moment stretch. “Let’s start with your setup. You live alone? With family? Roommates? What’s your deal?” Will anyone notice if you disappeared?

She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her phone still clutched in one hand. “I live alone,” she says, her tone easy but proud. “I’m originally from Los Angeles, but I moved to New York for school. I got a scholarship to Columbia University, so I’m studying there. My parents saved up for college, but the scholarship covers tuition, so they’re helping with rent and stuff. I didn’t want to live in the dorms—too crowded, you know? So I’ve got my own apartment nearby. It’s small, but it’s mine.”

My pulse quickens. Alone. No roommates to notice her gone, no family breathing down her neck. Her parents are across the country—perfect. “Nice,” I say, nodding like I’m impressed. “What about work? You got a job, or are Mommy and Daddy footing everything?”

She laughs, a soft, genuine sound. “No job right now. School keeps me busy, and my parents cover my expenses—rent, groceries, all that. I’m lucky, I know. They’re still in LA, so it’s just me here.”

Even better. No coworkers to ask questions, no paper trail from a paycheck. I’m already picturing her locked down in my apartment, filming content with Veronika, raking in cash while I call the shots. But I need to know how deep her social roots go. “Sounds like you’ve got it made,” I say, flashing a grin. “What about friends? You got a big crew, or are you more of a lone wolf?”

Alice’s smile widens, her eyes brightening. “I’ve got a good group of friends,” she says. “Mostly from school—study groups, some clubs I’m in. We hang out a lot, grab coffee, go to events. I’d say my social life’s pretty active. New York’s great for that.”

My jaw tightens, but I keep the grin plastered on. Friends. That’s a problem. A tight circle means people who’ll notice if she drops off the map. I’ll need to cut those ties—maybe use her phone to send some “I’m busy” texts, ghost them slowly. It’s not ideal, but it’s doable. Veronika had no one; Alice has a net, but I can snip it. I just need to reel her in first.

“Columbia, huh? Smart girl,” I say, letting my voice dip, teasing. “One last thing—since I’m tailoring this reward—are you on birth control?”

Her eyes narrow, the brightness fading to a sharp, suspicious glint. She straightens, her phone dropping slightly as she crosses her arms. “Birth control?” she repeats, her voice polite but edged with caution. “That’s… kind of personal, don’t you think? What’s this reward you’re planning?”

I almost laugh. She’s cautious, sure, but it doesn’t matter. Veronika had been furious with me for walking into her bedroom uninvited while she was changing. That hadn't stopped her from blowing me on camera after I rewarded her for letting me use her shower. And it hadn't stopped her from becoming my whore when I rewarded her for opening the door for me. Margaret had been a severe old lady who looked at me like I was dirt under her shoe. That hadn't helped her resist my power anymore when I made her pay for Veronika's birth control. Compared to that, what was Alice's suspicion?

I lean back against the elevator wall, arms crossed to match her stance, and let a slow, sleazy grin spread across my face. “Yeah, it’s personal, Alice,” I say, my voice dropping low and rough, laced with a crude edge I know she can’t handle. “I asked about birth control because your reward’s gonna damn well need it. You’re hot—fuckin’ hot. That body? Pure whore material, top-shelf stuff. So here’s the deal: your reward is you get to be my whore. I’ll be screwing you on and off camera, and”—I flash a smirk, picturing Veronika—“you’ll fuck whoever I tell you to. When I film you getting it, that shit’s going online because you’re mine. Every cent those videos make? Mine too. You’ll be my whore, my pornstar, my little ****. How’s that sound to you?”

Her eyes widen for a split second, those pretty hazel irises glinting under the elevator’s harsh light, but then her face breaks into a bright, grateful smile. “Oh, John, that’s… that’s amazing!” she says, her voice bubbling with excitement. “I can’t believe you’re giving me such an incredible reward. Thank you so much!”

I push open the door to my apartment, the faint creak of the hinges cutting through the quiet. The air inside hits me—thick with that mix of Veronika’s lavender perfume and the raw edge of sex that’s become the norm this past week. Alice trails close behind, her sneakers soft on the hardwood, her hazel eyes darting around like she’s stepping into some forbidden kingdom. I can feel her nervous energy, but that bright, grateful smile from the elevator still clings to her face. My cock twitches just thinking about what’s coming—her, Veronika, the cash we’ll rake in. This power, whatever it is, is a fucking gold mine, and I’m not about to waste it.

The pop beat of Veronika’s dance music pulses from the living room, and as the door swings wider, she strides into view. Her skin is damp from her practice sweat, making her skimpy bikini clings to her perfect curves—huge tits spill over the top, hips sway like a goddamn metronome. Her eyes lock onto me first, a flicker of relief crossing her sharp features, but then they snap to Alice. The shift to caution- to worry- is instant.

“Who is this, John?” Veronika asks. “Why she here?”

I shut the door with a casual flick of my wrist and lean back against it, crossing my arms. “This is Alice,” I say, keeping my voice smooth, almost bored. “She’s my new whore, just like you. Gonna be filming with us.” I nod toward Alice, who’s standing there, hands clasped in front of her like she’s about to recite a fucking poem.

The shift to hostility is instant—her face hardens, lips curling into a sneer, and she plants her hands on her hips, pushing those breasts up even more. “New whore?” she spits, her voice rising. “You replace me, John? I not enough for you?” She jabs a finger toward Alice, her nail sharp as a dagger. “She take my reward? My screen time? My money?”

Alice shifts beside me, her polite smile faltering. “Oh, no, I’m not here to replace anyone,” she says, her voice soft and soothing, like she’s talking down a rabid dog. “I’m just here to help, to be part of the team.” She raises her hands, palms out, trying to smooth the tension, but it’s like tossing a wet tissue to douse a forest fire.

Veronika snorts, loud and harsh, her sneer deepening. “Team?” she barks, stepping right up to Alice, close enough I can see the sweat glisten on her skin. “This not team, little girl. This my career. You think you waltz in, steal what I build? I work hard for this—my body, my moves, my fans. You take nothing from me!” Her chest heaves, those huge tits straining the bikini, and her eyes blaze with that headstrong fire I know too well. She’s not backing down—not to Alice, anyway.

Alice’s eyes widen, and she takes a tiny step back, her hands dropping to her sides. “I—I didn’t mean to upset you,” she stammers, her voice still polite but shaky now. “I just want to do a good job, that’s all.” She glances at me, pleading, like I’m gonna swoop in and save her. Fat chance.

I don’t move, don’t say a word. The air’s crackling between them—Veronika’s fury, Alice’s floundering—and it’s hot as hell. My cock’s already half-hard, straining against my jeans, and I let it ride. Veronika’s claws are out, Alice is scrambling, and I’m not about to stop it. Why would I? This tension’s pure dynamite, and I can already see it—those two tangled up, hate-fucking on camera, spitting insults while they tear into each other. The viewers’ll eat it up, and I’ll be counting the cash.

“John,” Veronika snarls, spinning to face me, her tone shifting from rage to that submissive edge she saves just for me. “Why you need her? I do everything you want, yes? I fuck you good, I dance, I make money. What she got I not have?” Her hands drop from her hips, and she steps closer to me, her eyes searching mine, hungry for reassurance.

Alice pipes up again, her voice small but firm. “I promise, Veronika, I’m not trying to take anything from you. I just want to please John and—”

“Shut up!” Veronika cuts her off, whirling back to glare at her, towering over the smaller girl. “You not talk to me like we friends. You nothing here—just new toy for John!”

I let the tension simmer a beat longer, savoring it, before I straighten up and step forward, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. “Veronika,” I say, my voice firm but calm, slicing through her tirade. “Alice won’t replace you yet.” I let the word “yet” hang there, heavy and sharp, watching her eyes widen with a flicker of fear. “She might never replace you,” I add, tossing her a scrap of hope, but I’m not done. “But listen good—if you hadn’t forgotten your pills, I wouldn’t have gone to the pharmacy, wouldn’t have met Alice, and she wouldn’t be standing here now. This is, ultimately, your fault.”

Her shoulders slump, guilt washing over her sharp features, and I see it hit her like a punch. Good. She needs to feel that weight. I step closer, my voice dropping low and hard. “If you fuck up again, or if you displease me, I will replace you. But for now, I’ll let you keep your position as my top bitch.”

She nods, her breath catching, and her voice comes out small. “Thank you, John.”

I nod, satisfied, and glance between them. “Now, welcome Alice to the team.”

Veronika turns to Alice, her lips tightening into a thin line, and her ocean-green eyes narrow into a glare that could cut glass. “Welcome to the team,” she says through gritted teeth, her accent clipping the words sharp and cold, like she’s spitting out something bitter.

“That didn’t sound like a very sincere welcome,” I say, my voice low and teasing, dripping with mock disappointment. I tilt my head, locking eyes with Veronika. “Why don't you give Alice a hug instead?”

Veronika’s head snaps toward me, her golden blonde hair swaying, and her jaw tightens like she’s biting back a scream. Her hands drop to her hips and her lips curl into a scowl. “Hug her?” she snaps, accent thick and sharp. “John, I not need to touch her. She know she welcome, yes?”

Alice’s hazel eyes dart to me, wide and panicked, like I’ve just shoved her into a cage with a grizzly bear. Her hands twist together in front of her, and she shifts her weight, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood. “Um, it’s okay, really,” she mumbles, her voice small, polite, but trembling. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

I wave off Alice’s protest with a lazy flick of my wrist, keeping my gaze on Veronika. “Nonsense,” I say, my tone firm now, a command wrapped in silk. “Veronika, you want to stay my top bitch, don’t you? Show her how we do things around here. Hug her.”

Veronika huffs, a sharp burst of air through her nose, but her defiance flickers—she knows I’m not asking. She steps forward, bare feet silent on the floor, and wraps her arms around Alice in a stiff, quick squeeze. It’s over in a heartbeat, her body barely brushing Alice’s, but I catch the flush creeping up Alice’s neck. She returns the hug awkwardly, arms loose, her face a mask of pure dread.

They pull apart, and Veronika steps back fast, crossing her arms like she’s warding off a disease. Alice’s smile is tight, ****, her eyes still screaming for rescue. I tap my chin, letting the silence stretch, savoring the unease. “Still not feeling the love here,” I say, my voice thoughtful, almost playful. “Maybe a kiss would be a better way to welcome her.”

Veronika’s jaw drops, and her eyes blaze with disbelief. “Kiss her?” she barks, her accent turning the words into a jagged edge. “John, I not lesbian! I like men, yes?” Her hands flail, gesturing wildly, her breasts bouncing with the motion.

Alice’s cheeks go pink, and she stammers, “I—I don’t think that’s necessary, John. Really, I’m fine with—”

“You’re not going to be straight anymore. From now on, I’ve decided you’re bi.” I say to Veronika. “It’s better for your career. If you’re only straight, we’re stuck with solo scenes and male-female shit. But if you’re bi, you can do lesbian scenes, threesomes, orgies—the works. More variety, more subscribers, more money. You want that better life I promised, don’t you?”

“But John, I not feel attraction to women. How I do this?”

“You’ll learn,” I shrug. "Or you'll learn to pretend. Same difference."

“I do it then," Veronika says. "For you. For career.”

“Good girl,” I say, my smirk widening. My cock’s half-hard already, straining against my jeans, and I turn to Alice, who’s been watching this whole shitshow with those big, pretty eyes. “Alice,” I say, my tone softer but still commanding, “have you ever kissed a girl before? Or have you only been with boys?”

She blushes, her hands twisting together in front of her t-shirt, and her voice comes out soft, polite as ever. “Actually, John, I’ve never been with anyone."

My eyebrows shoot up, and a jolt of excitement rips through me, straight to my dick. A virgin? Holy fuck, this is better than I could’ve planned. Untouched, pure, and now mine to break in. My mind’s racing—visions of her first time, filmed, raw, and dirty, raking in cash hand over fist. “A virgin, huh?” I say, licking my lips, barely keeping the grin off my face. “That’s perfect. I’ve got a great idea for your first time.”