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Vivian

I worked a double Monday and another on Tuesday. By the end of my afternoon shift on Wednesday, I could barely feel my legs, but I worked the night shift anyway.

It wasn’t about the money; it was about being too busy to think.

If I stayed moving, there was no room to even consider I might have fucked up and fallen in love with the man who’d bought me at an auction.

No room to remember how he’d helped that little boy at the festival like some kind of hero, or how afterward, he’d bent me over the trunk of his Porsche like a villain and fucked me until I came so hard, I forgot my own name.

So, I worked, shaking my tits and ass onstage, then grinding on strangers’ laps until their twenty dollars’ worth of time was up, I felt wetness in their pants, or they handed me another twenty bucks.

Backstage, a girl named Fallon asked why I was working so much this week. I told her rent was due. It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth.

Yeah, the money was great, but if my phone was in my locker, I couldn’t check it to see if he’d texted. Or be disappointed that he hadn’t. I was silly enough to think maybe he would, that’s why he’d insisted we exchange numbers.

Then Thursday afternoon, as I lay on my couch listening to a true crime podcast on my tablet, my phone dinged. I practically tripped over the coffee table as I lunged for it.

Jeff: You better be wearing your collar.

Six freaking words, and I was as giddy as a schoolgirl.

Me: Of course, Sir.

Jeff: Good whore.

My stupid toes curled.

I never expected to miss someone who treated me like property.

But I did.

Friday morning, I gave myself a pep talk. I needed to get my head on straight.

He wasn’t my boyfriend. He was my temporary owner .

On the ride to his house, I got wet thinking about how I hoped he proved just that when I arrived.

****

Jeff

I told myself I didn’t care she hadn’t texted. She didn’t owe me that—I hadn’t bought her time during the week.

Still, Thursday afternoon, I opened the app tied to the chip in her collar, just to check that she was wearing it.

The location signal blinked steady at her building. She hadn’t taken it off.

Good girl.

I closed the app, then reopened it five minutes later. Just to be sure.

Pathetic.

The whole point of this arrangement was control over her. She gave me her body, her obedience, her holes, and in return, I gave her protection and a fucking payout.

Nothing more.

So why did I keep thinking about her mouth around my cock? Or the way she’d smiled at that damn Harvest Festival? Or how she’d looked curled up in my bed, wearing my collar like it meant something?

I should’ve had someone else picked by now. Another girl to keep me busy until Friday. Instead, I was watching her dot on a map like some obsessed freak with a GPS fetish.

I finally gave in and typed a message, even though I already knew the answer.

Me: You better be wearing your collar.

Three dots appeared.

Vivian: Of course, Sir.

Me: Good girl .

I backspaced and tried again.

Me: Good whore.

I didn’t send anything else. I didn’t need to.

She was wearing her collar and answering my texts right away. She was still mine.

For now.

And it was starting to piss me off that I cared that it wasn’t longer.