Yes

You did it. You found a black Sharpie, the acrid smell filling the small space of your room. You stood in front of the mirror, your reflection a stranger's. A pale, skinny guy with red, swollen balls and a dazed, vacant look in his eyes. You uncapped the marker, the felt tip cool against your skin. You pressed it to your chest, just above your heart, and began to write.

'D... a... r... k... d... i... c... k... 3... 7...'

The ink was dark and permanent. A brand. A mark of ownership. You finished the last word, the 'B... i... t... c... h,' and stepped back to look at your work. The words stared back at you, a bold, black declaration of your submission.

You picked up your phone, your heart pounding in your chest. You aimed the camera, your hand trembling slightly. You took the picture, the flash illuminating the words on your chest. You sent it to him, the image uploading with agonizing slowness.

'Done,' you typed, the words feeling heavy and final.

He didn't reply with a thumbs up this time. He sent a single word.

'Good. I like my white sluts branded.' Then, a new message. 'Now, I have a choice. I can end this here. I can declare myself the winner, and you can be my bitch. Or, I can give you one last chance. One last picture. One last chance to beat me. What's it gonna be, my little white bitch? You gonna be a good boy and submit? Or you gonna try to win?'

The choice was yours. You could submit and accept your fate. Or you could fight, one last time, for a chance to reclaim your honor.

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