MasukI’m Kaylin, nineteen, still wearing the same cherry-flavored lip gloss I put on this morning for senior year pictures that never actually happened. My heart is hammering so hard I swear the tiny microphone clipped to my baby-pink bralette is picking it up. The living-room set is brighter than I expected—three softboxes blasting warm light, a cream sectional that smells like new leather, and two cameras on tripods pointed at me like they already know what I’m about to do.Joseph, the interviewer, sits across from me in a director’s chair, legs crossed, clipboard balanced on one knee. He’s wearing a black tee that says “Backroom Casting Couch” in small white letters, and he’s smiling like your favorite uncle who secretly isn’t.“So, Kaylin,” he starts, voice smooth, a little playful, “tell everybody at home how old you are and what brings a sweet little thing like you to our couch today.”I tuck a strand of my honey-blonde hair behind my ear, “I’m nineteen,” I say, trying not to squeak.
I’m at the ward… I’m kinda lost… where exactly are you? There’re lots of rooms here… I said, glancing around.“Oh, oh, you’re Angel, right? Just wait there; I’ll come get you.”“Okay,” I said, and the call ended.Sigh… What did Amber sign me up for? This is an old-ass motel… so smelly and ancient… I whispered, flinching from the cobweb in front of me.“Ewww…”“Hey, boy, I’m right here…”Oh, that should be the old man… bro looks so familiar… I’ve definitely seen him somewhere… I squinted my eyes, walking forward to him.“Hi… I’m Angel…” I said, giving a friendly smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.“Oh, nice name, but I already knew that. Anyway come in,” he said, widening the door for me. I went in, bowing my head a bit.“Oh, wow… you shouldn’t actually judge a book by its cover. The interiors here are actually lethal… giving old money vibes… the crystal chandelier should definitely cost a fortune…” I glanced around, surprise choking me.“What? You don’t like it?” he asked.“Oh, me
I’m Kaylin, nineteen, still wearing the same cherry-flavored lip gloss I put on this morning for senior year pictures that never actually happened. My heart is hammering so hard I swear the tiny microphone clipped to my baby-pink bralette is picking it up. The living-room set is brighter than I expected—three softboxes blasting warm light, a cream sectional that smells like new leather, and two cameras on tripods pointed at me like they already know what I’m about to do.Joseph, the interviewer, sits across from me in a director’s chair, legs crossed, clipboard balanced on one knee. He’s wearing a black tee that says “Backroom Casting Couch” in small white letters, and he’s smiling like your favorite uncle who secretly isn’t.“So, Kaylin,” he starts, voice smooth, a little playful, “tell everybody at home how old you are and what brings a sweet little thing like you to our couch today.”I tuck a strand of my honey-blonde hair behind my ear, “I’m nineteen,” I say, trying not to squeak.
“Amber, there’s a man in there, in the private room. He requested your ass specifically. Treat him real nice, baby girl, and bring in that good money,” Love murmured, her voice low and syrupy as she leaned in close.“But… I’m not done with these men here tonight,” I replied, my voice coming out thin.“Fuck them,” she hissed, eyes darting left and right like the walls really did have ears. “Do they look like they could drop a thousand bucks on one fuck? Rumor’s going around that man in there is Jules Empire. Real Jules Empire.”“Jules? I thought the Jules family moved out of LA years ago,” I said, frowning, arms folding tight across my chest.“That’s exactly what they want you to think, Amber. I know for a fact they’re still here, just deep undercover now,” Love whispered, her long acrylic nail pointing toward the curtain.“How do you even know that, Love? People spread rumors all the damn time just to ruin somebody’s name,” I dragged the words out, already tired of her conspiracy theo
My name’s Kaylin, and the moment that red light flares on, I drop to my knees on the cold hardwood like the obedient little slave I was born to be. The only things that exist are this camera, the steel collar locked tight around my throat, and the burning, dripping need between my clamped-open thighs. Black leather cuffs bite into my wrists, chained short to a spreader bar that forces my knees obscenely wide. My ankles are locked in matching cuffs, tethered to rings bolted into the floor so I can’t close my legs even if I beg. A thick black ball-gag stretches my jaw, drool already spilling in long silver strands onto my heaving tits. My nipples are crushed in vicious clover clamps, the connecting chain swaying with every shuddering breath, tugging painfully when I move. I stare straight into the lens, eyes glassy with submission, and wait for your silent command. You don’t speak, but I feel it anyway. I arch my back, presenting like a bitch in heat. My pussy is swollen, glistening,
“Nah… nah, I can’t listen to any more of this shit,” I whispered, voice cracking. I set his phone down on the coffee table, then collapsed sideways onto the couch, curling into the corner. My hands went straight into my hair, fingers twisting tight, pulling just enough to feel something other than the ache in my chest.Emma said all of that. Every single word. She made it up—every filthy lie. I’ve only had sex with one person in my entire life, my ex from two years ago. My dad literally owns Fashion Nova. I’m not chasing anything. I don’t have to. And she knows that. She knows all of it.Hot tears welled up faster than I could blink them away. One slipped down my cheek, then another.“It’s okay, Betty,” Noah murmured, sliding closer. His palm settled between my shoulder, warm, slow circles. “It’s okay to be pissed. It’s okay to cry. Now you know exactly who she is. The next move is yours.”I let out a shaky, wet laugh that turned into a sob. Zoey heard from across the room. She abando







