LOGINTasha POV
“You really can’t be selling me off to men like I’m so damn thing you own!” I hissed, my voice sharp with outrage. “Baby, If you’ve got a problem with that, then maybe you’d rather get your ass back to prison.” “This wasn’t the deal. I was supposed to strip, not—” I paused, my stomach twisting. “Not do hookups. You gaslit me into prostitution , and now you signed me up in an orgy fest?” “Exactly, you got it right,” Madam said, her lips curling into a smirk. I stared at her in disbelief. “Why me? Why are you always on my neck? There are tons of other girls—way hotter—who could do this. Why can’t you let me be? Why do you keep picking on me?” I demanded, frustration cracking my voice. She tilted her head. “Oh, sweetheart don’t raise your voice, darling. It’s unattractive.” “Are you rage-baiting me?” I snapped, anger bubbling out before I could stop it. “Seems like you’re beginning to forget your place, Tasha.” You’re here to work and pay off your debts.” She shoved her hand into a locker, pulling out an old record book. Her pen traced down a page. “Let’s see… ah, here you are.” Her lips curled. “Tasha Knox. Income: 13k dollars. Debt: 67k dollars”. She shut the book with a loud snap. “So, bitch, I’m doing your ass a favor. Get your ass oiled up. You’ve got an orgy to attend. Fuck as many men as you can and bring in good cash.” I swallowed hard. The debt is overwhelming, and I urgently need to do everything I possibly can to free myself from this mistake. I turned to leave. “Hey, hey, Tasha,” Madam whispered. I stopped, a flicker of hope sparked in me. Maybe she’s reconsidering her decisions.. I turned, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes . “Yes, Madam Cupid?” She pouted. “ Ugh, just call me Cupid. I’m not old. I just happen to be in charge of all you lovely bitches in Euphoria.” “Euphoria”. The name makes my stomach twist, whenever I hear it . The club was anything but euphoric. “Ugh, fix your attitude, bitch.” She spat, “Anyway, Natasha’s coming today. Her tone softened, which instantly put me on edge. “You could use the cash from getting your cunt stretched for a little upgrade,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You know… sexier body, more men, more money.” I scoffed. “Natasha? The unlicensed nurse?” “What do you mean ‘unlicensed’? You don’t need a license to be a BBL nurse. You could literally just wake up one morning and literally start doing it—watch a few YouTube videos and boom, you’re set.” Plus, Natasha’s been in this business for ages. It’s just seven grand and you’re a brand new badass.” “Seven thousand dollars? That’s ‘just’ to you?” “Cupid, I can’t even pay rent. I’m not about to risk ending up looking like—” I stopped, my eyes scanning her uneven hips. “—like you.” I Really can’t afford to be a lab rat for some failed experiment like yours.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Her expression dropped. “What did you just say?” “You heard me. Your body looks like uneven plastic. That hip dip? Baby, that’s nowhere near a BBL. Honestly, I think Natasha has serious beef with you, because why the hell do you look like.. ” She cut me off before I could finish my sentence. “Who gave you the audacity to talk to me in such manner?” she barked. I smirked. “It’s giving melted plastic.” “Cupid , my dear, you literally can’t do anything worse than sending me to a 24-hour sex marathon or signing me up for a world record—‘woman who fucked 20 men in 3 hours.’ Go ahead,” I purred, my voice dripping with sarcasm. She smirked.“ Well thanks , that’s a great idea, Tasha.” My eyes widened. “Wait, what? I was joking!” I raised my shoulders, scrambling. “I didn’t mean it!” She rolled her eyes. “ don’t care, bitch. Get dressed. Grab some lube. They shouldn’t be fucking a dry pussy.” I smirked. “Jokes on you. My pussy’s always wet and juicy. That’s why men pick me over you. “The only reason you’re still in a high-ranking position in this club is because you’ve been at it for years, and you still haven’t cleared your debt.” Her eyes burned with rage. “Keep talking, bitch.” I smirked, whispering as I walked away, “Amoeba.” Her mouth dropped open, but I didn’t care. I turned and walked away, her shocked silence trailing behind me. ********* “Hey, Tasha!” I turned around to see Nicolas. “What now?” I snapped, rolling my eyes, my frustration boiling over. He chuckled. “You’ve always got an attitude.” “Maybe because I’m tired of this hellhole,” I said flatly. “We all are, not just you ,” he said, running a hand through his messy jet black hair. “So fix your face. More smiles, more clients . That’s how we get out of this hell.” “Easy for you to say?” I spat. He shrugged, smirking. “Uh, yeah.” “Tch.” I folded my arms. “You’re the reason we’re all in this mess, Nicolas. You and your stupid deal.” He frowned. “No, no, no, missy. You’re not dumping that on me. We all agreeded to this, remember? Better here than in prison, ” he said, giving me a playful elbow. I shot him a death stare. “Touch me again and I’ll rearrange your teeth.” Yanking my arm from his grip. “Fuck you, Nicolas,” I muttered under my breath as I walked away . He raised his hands in surrender. “Damn, calm down. Dayumm! That ass jiggles. Let’s do a quickie honey” “Go to hell, Nicolas,” I practically yelled. Men whistled and slapped my ass and groped my boobs as I passed. I didn’t flinch. In Euphoria, I was a slave, and they had every right. The bass-heavy music pulsed through the walls, drowning out my thoughts. I reached the changing room, expecting it to be empty. But it wasn’t. My heart sank instantly. A bunch of girls were packing up, like their shift was over. I froze. “Why’s everyone leaving?” No one answered. “Screw them all,” I muttered under my breath, because why the fuck am I ignored? They don’t like me—which is totally fine, I don’t like them either, but they make it so obvious. Argh, at least I hide my hatred sometimes. Well, I don’t even care. I went to my station and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup was smudged, my hair a total mess. “Argh, fuck,” I muttered. “I just need a place to crash out, this club should even have a rage room.” The girls behind me burst out laughing. I didn’t know what was so funny. One of them, Lila, the pink head, sauntered over. “Why are you dressing up?” she asked, her tone mocking. “Why aren’t you dressing up?” I shot back. She smirked. “Relax, I’m just asking. Don’t take your aggression out on me. I’m loved at home, unlike you . I’m just asking because Cupid said someone volunteered to strip for us all, so we get to go home. My brows furrowed. “Who?” She grinned. “No one knows. We asked everyone else—they said it wasn’t them. You’re the only one left. And, well, you’re obsessed with cocks, so we just asummed it’s you”. “No hard feelings.” I clenched my fists. The urge to slap her was overwhelming , but I couldn’t. Fighting meant losing all the income I’ve worked for. So I smiled instead. “Cute theory.” Then I turned back to the mirror, picking up my lip liner and tracing the edges of my lips carefully. Pink-hair scoffed and stomped off. “Tch, Bitch,” I whispered under my breath. I looked at my reflection again, straightening my red hair into a loose beach wavy bun. My eyes glistened, but I refused to cry. The door creaked open, and for a second, I thought it was Cupid again — ready to dump more crap on me. But it wasn’t. It was Nina. My roommate, or at least the closest thing I had to a friend in this messed-up place. “Tash,” she said softly, walking closer. “You good?” I sighed. “Define good.” She gave me a sad smile. “I heard what Cupid said. About the orgy. You don’t have to go honey .” I scoffed. “And what? Go back to prison? She’ll find a way to make me pay either way, and you all might likely get affected .” Nina bit her lip. “I’ve got a plan,” she whispered. I turned to her. “Oh God, please don’t tell me it’s one of your crazy ideas again.” She grinned. “Maybe. But this time, it’ll work. There’s a truck leaving tonight. For real. If we can sneak out before midnight—” “Nina,” I cut her off. “If we get caught, it’s game over. You know that.” I’d go, I’d be fine baby, I said, my voice sooting. “Just stay and maybe look for some clients who want a private slow dance or fuck, okay, babe?”My phone lit up at exactly 12:03 a.m., dragging me out of that hazy space between sleep and awake. I squinted at the screen, heart stuttering when I saw the name: Jacob.Mona’s boyfriend. My best friend’s boyfriend.I should have ignored it. Instead, I opened the message.Jacob: Can’t stop thinking about you tonight, Soma.My stomach flipped. Another text came before I could process the first.Jacob: You’re so fucking sexy. Always have been. That little black dress you wore last week? Killed me.Heat rushed through me, traitorous and instant. I typed back with shaking fingers.Me: You’re with Mona. This isn’t okay.He sent a voice note. God, I knew I shouldn’t play it, but I did, volume low, pressed to my ear.His voice was rough, intimate, like he was whispering right against my skin. “Soma… you’re gorgeous. Those curves, that laugh, the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous… I’ve wanted you for so long. Mona’s sweet, but she’s lazy, boring in bed, everywhere. You’re different. Y
I had always been the responsible one, the girl with plans and dreams. But everything shattered the night my parents died in that horrific car crash on the icy Austrian highway. One moment, I was a university student with a loving family; the next, I was an orphan with nothing but grief and a suitcase of clothes.My uncle, my father’s brother, wasted no time. He swooped in like a vulture, claiming the family home under some obscure clause in my father’s will that no one had ever mentioned. He made my life hell—constant belittling, locking me out in the cold, treating me like an intruder in my own childhood home. I endured it for months, hoping things would improve, but they only worsened. Finally, I packed what little I could and fled to Vienna, the city where my old friend Zara lived.Zara had been my classmate back in school, before my family moved. We’d reconnected online, and when I poured out my story, Zara didn’t hesitate. “Come stay with me,” she’d said. “I have plenty of space
I froze for a split second, my heart slamming against my ribs like a drum in a highlife band. Mr. Yinka’s words hung in the air—“I do not want your money, Amaka. I want you.” His eyes, those sharp, assessing eyes behind his glasses, weren’t on my face anymore. They roamed down, lingering on the swell of my breasts straining against my blouse, the curve of my hips in my tight skirt, the way my thighs pressed together as I shifted in the chair. Heat flushed my skin, but it wasn’t just embarrassment. There was a thrill there, dark and forbidden, ing low in my belly.He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his desk, a slow smile curling his lips. “Stand up,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Give me a 360.”I blinked, processing. A full turn? To show off my body like some mannequin? Part of me wanted to slap him, storm out, report him to the dean. But the other part—the baddie in me, the one who’d hooked up with half the boys in my department just for the fun of it—knew this was my ticket
The sun hung low over the bustling campus of the University of Lagos, casting long shadows across the cracked pavements where students hurried between lectures. It was the kind of afternoon that promised rain—thick clouds gathering like unspoken worries. For Amaka, a 22-year-old final-year student in Business Administration, those worries had just become a storm.She clutched her result slip in her trembling hands, the paper crinkling under her fingers as she stared at the failing grades glaring back at her. Marketing: D. Accounting: F. Business Law: E. How? She had studied hard, pulled all-nighters in the library, sacrificed weekends with friends. But the numbers did not lie. No signing out ceremony for her. No cap and gown, no tossing her mortarboard into the air with the rest of her class. Instead, an extra year—maybe more—if she did not fix this.Tears blurred her vision as she sat on a bench near the faculty building, the chatter of excited final-year students around her feeling
I sink into the bed, the room dim except for the soft glow of my laptop screen. The house is quiet—finally mine for the night. I prop the pillows behind my back, spread my legs a little wider, and hit play on the video I’ve been saving all week. Two guys, both built like gods, kissing slowly and deep on a sunlit balcony. Their hands roam, shirts coming off, skin golden and smooth. My breath catches immediately. God, they’re beautiful.I’m already half-hard just from anticipation. I slide my boxers down, kicking them off, letting my cock spring free against my stomach. It twitches, eager, the head already glistening with a bead of precum. I reach for the lube on the nightstand—a warming kind, the one that feels like real heat—and drizzle a generous amount into my palm. The cool bottle makes me shiver, but the lube warms fast between my fingers.On screen, one guy drops to his knees, taking the other slow and deep into his mouth. The moan that comes from the speaker is low, raw, perfect
I never meant to become obsessed with the woman on the other side of the thin wall that separated our apartments.Her name was Misha. I learned it the first week she moved in—heard it shouted through the plaster when her friends helped her carry boxes. She had a low, smoky laugh that carried, the kind that made my skin prickle even when I was trying to concentrate on work. Then came the sounds.At first it was just music—darkwave, synth-heavy, vibrating through the shared wall at midnight. Then the occasional sharp crack of leather against skin. A woman’s gasp. A murmured command. Always female voices. Always late.I told myself I was imagining things. I was twenty-eight, single, overworked, and clearly projecting. But one night the moans turned into something unmistakable: a long, broken whimper followed by a firm “Good girl,” and then silence. My hand was already between my legs before I could talk myself out of it.After that, I started noticing her in the hallway.Misha was tall,







