The landlord of the house you were living in had just moved out. He'd simply come to give you an ultimatum: pay the rent by the end of the month, or he'd kick you out. You were sitting on the floor, right in the middle of your bedroom, trying to think of a way to get rid of yourself and forget about it. You absolutely didn't want to go back home to your parents; you'd run away from them precisely because, even when you were little, they had always been so abusive. Your father was a chronic alcoholic, always broke, and whenever he retired home from playing poker, he usually raised his hand against you and your mother. Your mother's life, on the other hand, revolved entirely around him. Needless to say, she was worthless to you. You were really tired of that life, so miserable and shameful, you were tired of seeing your mother bow her head every time and hearing her defend your father when it happened! She was the kind of person who let people walk all over her, but not you!
So one day, you took your stuff, along with a few precious items, and ran away, far away from that mess. From that day on, you never saw or heard from them again. Not even a phone call, nor had you ever exchanged a text to wish each other a "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Birthday" when the opportunity arose. But that was fine with you. You didn't want to have them around anymore.
When you ran away that day, your best friend helped you find a room or a place to stay, and you stumbled upon this dump that wasn't even worth the rent. But you were broke and had no choice. At that time, single and sad, you felt very alone. At school, your classmates began to ostracize you, pointing out you as the only girl without parents and calling you "the orphan." The teachers, unfortunately, weren't much different from them, some even tried to touch your ass many times, to rape you, but fortunately you always managed to get away, freeing yourself from their clutches to run away as far away as possible.
So, fed up with everything, you decided to drop out of school and withdraw from society. You began to suffer from anxiety disorders, especially social anxiety disorder, and some evenings you spent hours trying to calm your endless panic attacks, spending endless hours on the phone with your best friend, crying. Right during that dark period of your life, you met a gorgeous boy during a visit to the discount store near your home: tall, with long gray hair, muscular body, with scars on his face and also very good in bed. For you, it was love at first sight, and from the way he spoke to you, you thought the feeling was mutual. You spent a lot of time together, sometimes at your house, sometimes at his, and you were slowly regaining the smile you'd lost so long before. His name was Mahito, he had heterochromatic eyes, and his smile drove you crazy. But after a few years of crazy love and unbridled sex, he left you just like that, on the spot, out of nowhere, without even a single explanation. And, not content, he walked away, leaving you completely broke. Without even a cent to his name. Needless to say, you suffered greatly. You cried for months until you decided to find a job to cover all the expenses that a person usually faces when living alone.
You found a nice job at a rather classy café, frequented by snobbish and very ostentatious families. It was like a literary café, with fine wood furnishings and ornate tables, but unfortunately you knew very little about chivalry and elegance, so they fired you after less than ten days. Later, your best friend pointed you to the cinema near her house, said that a friend of her father's owned it, and guaranteed you a seat at the ticket booth. You showed up for the interview on the day and time your friend had indicated, but unfortunately your job wasn't to sell tickets to customers but to stand outside the bathroom stall and clean up the shit and piss every time someone left. What's more, it was very low pay. You only worked one day, then you decided to quit. Your best friend was very angry with you, but by then you were so drained that you didn't care anymore.
One day, while surfing the internet, you came across a job ad that seemed very interesting: a sales assistant position, with a great contract and a very good salary. You applied by submitting your resume and prayed for days for a call. Your prayers were answered, as after less than two days you received the long-awaited call and began working the very next day. A year passed, but you realized that the more you worked, the less you could cover all your expenses, accumulating a huge debt for rent and some outstanding bills. In short, you were earning too little to cover all those expenses on your own.
You were still sitting in the middle of your room, legs crossed, head in your hands. You didn't even have the strength to cry anymore. The landlord had just come to yell at you that he'd kick you out if you didn't pay all the bills by the end of the month. Deep down, you really wanted to pay. You wanted to give everything you had to give. You would have done anything to avoid going back to live with your parents, but you just didn't know how. The expenses were high, the money was scarce, and there was no one you could count on. So, in those days, you were really thinking about the best way to end it all. You wanted to die, but you didn't know how to do that either. So one day, you met up with your best friend. Obviously, she immediately noticed that there was something wrong in your eyes, your gaze was no longer bright and cheerful as it once was and even your clothing was very little colorful and new. With puffy eyes and a broken heart, you told her the whole shitty story of your life, you even told her how much your debts were and you didn't know what to do because no one called you for work and what you earned with just one job was very little.
Well, after hours of venting and days of crying, your best friend told you that the Sugar Daddy trend had recently become very popular in your city. You didn't even know what she meant, but you didn't want to change the subject, so you interrupted her and spoke over her: you really needed to talk about yourself and your miserable life. But she looked you in the eye, took your arm, and told you that a Sugar Daddy was that man who was a little older, filthy rich, who lured young girls and attracted their attention through money. She also told you that you were a really beautiful girl, and that you should try creating a profile on the website www.mysweetdaddy.com and try to impress some filthy rich old man. You remained silent for a moment, trying to repeat her words under your breath to savor them fully, until you realized that you were a...serious girl and that you would never do those things...at least that's what you wanted her to believe, but deep down you knew you were truly desperate.
After a wonderful evening spent with your friend, chatting about this and that and that Mahito who had stolen your money in the past, you finally returned home, slightly relieved and with a small smile on your face. A record. You hadn't smiled like this in years, ever since your ex, Mahito, proposed to you while you were sitting on a bench, next to a homeless man who was clapping his hands excitedly. AH, how happy you were with him!
After a purifying shower and a quick snack, you decided to sit at your desk, behind a small monitor with a cracked screen. You took a deep breath, and with shaking hands, you typed in the website where Sugar Daddies gathered to comment on the various "catwalk" girls, the ones they scrolled through and decided whether to discard them, and therefore reject them, or to have around to shower them with gifts. The first thing you did was read the rules, so you wouldn't get banned or kicked out of there too. There were very few lines, the main ones being: A) minors were not allowed to enter, B) live chat was prohibited, C) posting photos showing your face was prohibited, and D) using offensive or disrespectful tones was prohibited, and all forms of gender were accepted without discriminating or judging anyone.
After carefully reading the rules and all the FAQs, you finally decided to create a profile. You took a photo in shorts and a crop top, very simple but not transgressive, cropping out your face. In fact, you were supposed to choose your Sugar Daddy based on his physique; you couldn't see his face at all. So you signed up with a fake name, uploaded your photo in the appropriate box, and wrote a short, simple bio about yourself. You were almost ready, all you had to do was press the "subscribe" button. Your heart began to beat, and...click. You did it.
Within seconds, your profile appeared before you, the one famous Sugar Daddies would have seen about you. You began scrolling through the various girls on the site; some truly had breathtaking bodies. For a moment, you felt a little heartbroken at comparing yourself to them, but you didn't give up, especially since the only thing on your mind at that moment was earning a nice little nest egg and paying off all your outstanding debts. So, you clicked on the "SugarBoom" field and a page opened full of muscular men, bare-chested, some even in their boxers. Slowly scrolling through the site, dragging the cursor across the trackpad, you scrolled through yet another page of blurred faces, each accompanied by a brief description: "45-year-old CEO, gifts and travel," "Divorced lawyer, lover of champagne and stilettos," "Engineer seeking girl to undress with a smile."
Your hands were shaking slightly as you placed them on the edge of the computer. From afar, you heard the woman upstairs yelling at her son, as she did almost every night. Their neighbor's dog was barking as if it had sensed a storm... and you didn't know what to do. At the end of the month, you had to pay more than fifthy thousand dollars in back rent to the landlord, a former policeman whom until recently you had managed to keep at bay, since he often came to visit you late at night, and took out his dick so you could suck his cock. Lately, however, he'd gotten fed up, so he wanted all the money. Plus, the bills... and there was that damned fear of having to return to that house where arguments were the order of the day, including fights. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, but you continued browsing the site anyway, as your best friend had advised.
Shortly afterward, you realized you'd been lingering a little too long on one particular photo. A man, looking like he might have been 38 by the skin on his legs, wore a blue shirt slightly open at the chest, brown suspenders draped over his shoulders, and a yellow tie with black dots slightly undone at the collar. Broad shoulders, slightly tanned skin. From the legs down, he wore only black boxers. His body was sculpted, the flesh on his legs firm and smooth, perhaps martial arts-related. And you didn't know why, but that photo turned you on like crazy. To lure a Sugar Daddy, the site required you to click on one of those smiley faces (like emojis) next to the photo. There was one that indicated a smile, that was the highest rating you could give the photo, further down there was one of those serious emojis, let's say the classic expression that oscillates between happiness and sadness and finally, the lowest rating of all, the sad emoji, the one with even a tear.
Without thinking twice, you obviously clicked the smiley emoji, and after reading a caption similar to "thank you for voting," the name of that sexy man appeared: it was just Nanami, nothing else. The number of votes went up by one, to 137. Your heart was pounding behind your ribs like a chisel.
You didn't have time to close your laptop before a private message arrived, bright red.
Nanami: "I saw your like. Do you want to play?"
Your blood ran cold.
"Who are you?" You typed, then quickly deleted. "What do you want?" You deleted again, running a hand through your hair. You held your hands in the air, breathed, and opted for realism:
"It depends on the game."
Nanami replied within 3 seconds.
"Send me a picture of your panties today. The ones you're wearing right now, without touching them, adjusting them, or washing them. $2,000 right now."
You blinked in disbelief, as if the screen had slapped you. The blood rushed back to your face, hot, then trickled down to your pussy. It had to be a prank. You checked the profile: no reviews, no comments, gold premium membership. The portal claimed that Nanami's identity had been verified by the bank and Agony, complete with a security deposit. It wasn't enough, but the fear of ending up under your parents' ceiling again was stronger than common sense.
You slowly lifted your laptop and carried it into the bathroom, the only lockable room you felt comfortable in. The linoleum was peeling, the toilet yellowed, but you didn't want him to see those things, so you stood in front of the faded mirror and looked at yourself: worn Muse T-shirt, gray cotton shorts, short brown hair pulled back in a messy bun. Underneath, you wore a pair of cheap black lace panties, a forgotten birthday present. The fabric was frayed, leaving a small hole between your buttocks. You'd showered the night before, but the summer heat had left a trail of sweat between your thighs. "If this is a joke, I'll delete it right now." You muttered. With one hand, you pulled down your shorts, then removed your panties and turned them inside out, to show that they weren't clean. With the other hand, you pressed the volume button to take the picture. The flash illuminated the narrow space: your pussy hadn't seen a man in months, black hairs were sticking out here and there, and a light, damp spot was visible in the center of your panties.
You hit send without thinking twice.
Not even two minutes later, you received a notification from your bank on your PayWay account: "$2,000.00. Sender: K. Nanami. Reason: Gift."
You needed to hold on to the sink to keep from falling. Your heartbeat pounded in your temples. Your face instantly paled, and inside you felt like you wanted to scream and laugh at the same time. You couldn't believe it! You opened your banking app, your mouth hanging open in shock. Your money was right there, right before your eyes... But those weren't the only feelings you were experiencing at that moment: something inside you, something that seemed to have been dead for years, began to reawaken: a flame of curiosity.
Nanami: "Shoes and socks off. I want to see your feet now, without washing them. Right now."
Did it hurt to breathe? No, it must have been the adrenaline. You sat on the closed toilet, slipped off your sneakers, worn bare by time, and your gray cotton socks, also soaked in sweat. Your feet appeared: your skin was pale but lined by your socks, your nails short and well-groomed but unpolished, and a bit of black dust under your big toenail. You raised the phone and framed the image from your calf down, keeping the flash off so as not to overdo it. The result wasn't stunning, but you didn't care. Send.
Nanami, after 1 second: "Wonderful. I'll pay you every day if you keep this up. But this time I want the video."
"Video of what?"
Nanami: "About you touching yourself while thinking of me. You don't have to show up, I just want your hand, your pussy, and your dirty feet. Five minutes. I'll send you $8,000. I don't want any face, no sound except your moans."
Your knees shook. Five minutes of footage in itself, as you masturbated while imagining a stranger paying you remotely. You should have been offended, you were, but the heat between your thighs told you otherwise. You opened the bathroom door, still without your panties, the hallway was dark when you returned to your room, sat down on the thin futon and placed your phone on the pillow. Only a sliver of moonlight filtered through the window. Your breath heaved in your chest. You looked at your reflection on the screen: your eyes were frightened, your lips parted. With your thumb, you typed:
"I accept. But I want half up front." Send. Three seconds. Nanami viewed the message. No response. Then, the bank notification:
"+$4000."
A smile graced your lips, a mix of triumph and shame.
"Ok, let's do it." You muttered.