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Two hours later, as I was relaxing in the bathtub, staring at the ceiling and brooding for the umpteenth time about how I’d ended up in such a shithole of a life, my phone rang. I saw my boss’s name: Mr. Jun Ragu.

"Storm, calling with good news," he said, sounding excited. "Mr. Johansson spoke very highly of you—and even threw in a nice bonus! Plus, he wants to keep using our services. So, excellent job as always. Congrats."

I immediately grabbed my phone, which was laying dangerously close to the water on the edge of the tub. A text message notification from my bank popped up. Ten grand had just landed in my account. Hell yeah! One step closer to freedom.

But my elation didn’t last long, Mr. Ragu wasn’t done.

"For the next scenario, he’s asking for you to take things further: a good fuck."

Wait, what? For a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

"I’m sorry? He wants to have sex with me?"

"Yes, that’s what fuck means, Storm." Mr. Ragu sounded amused, but I was far from laughing along.

"You can’t be serious—" I started, still having trouble believing what I heard.

"I’m quite serious."

A shiver ran down my spine and a wave of revulsion hit me, as the reality of what he’d just said sank in. No, no, no… Anything but that!

Fighting against my jaw clenching involuntarily, I replied, "Well, I hope he knows that I'm still a newbie, on my probationary period—I can’t offer that kind of service."

Mr. Ragu’s laugh had a bit of a villainous edge to it. "Not yet! You’re still in the… protective phase, but that’ll change very soon. Mr. Johansson will patiently wait—he wants only you for his first time, and nobody else. Romantic, huh? You’ve made quite an impression!"

Fuck! There was no wiggling out of this. I squeezed my eyelids shut as my breath sped up. My whole body was resisting the idea, and I had to work hard to stop myself from outright snapping.

"Well, boss… I would rather avoid it, if possible. Could maybe Harry do it?" I tried hard to sound as calm as possible.

"Sorry, Storm. Harry’s not a purple. If you’re in our company, you need to play by our rules, or you’re out. But don’t worry, there are good pills. You’ll be ready for him. And Johansson offered quite a lot of money for it, you’ll be happy when you see the amount."

Certainly, no amount of money could convince me that this was a pleasant prospect. But what could I do? The repossession agents were breathing down my neck.

"I’ll see what I can do—when the time comes," I said, practically choking on the words. I hated the idea with everything I had, but I still had a few last installments to pay off. And no regular job could bring in this kind of money.

"Well, I hope it won’t be a problem. The guy has mild kinks compared to what others might demand. It won’t be that bad," he said, probably striving for a reassuring tone—but it fell flat.

"I hope no more of the dick humiliation part. I hate it," I muttered, just to say something and end the convo.

"Remember!" said Mr. Ragu in his fake-preaching tone, "in our company, we don’t judge anyone!"

After he hung up, I let my head rest on the side of the tub. Fuck. My innocent days at Dark Dreams were slipping away. The realization made me sick to my stomach, and I just knew it—I was about to sink even deeper into the depression that had been dragging on for nearly six months.

Me, Storm Nolan—once a proud and successful matchmaker—had, more than half a year ago, landed myself in this mess. A job that involved getting paid to assault people—or at least do weird things to them.

As strange as it sounded, it wasn’t some cheap marketing gimmick—it was an accurate job description. And, of course, it wasn’t exactly my dream career, despite the ironic name, Dark Dreams . Still, working in a place this controversial was the only way I could claw my way out of my dreadful financial shithole.

My story was pretty grim.

I ended up here after my life took a bizarre turn: I was falsely accused of rape by my own ex-husband and hit rock bottom because of it.

Before the shit hit the fan and everything spectacularly fell apart, I had a pretty good, stable life. I worked at a matchmaking agency called Fate’s Choice and genuinely took pride in what I did. Despite having a background in both law and psychology—a pretty promising combo—I’d chosen a path where I could actually make people happy by helping them find their perfect matches. Pairing people up was my favorite thing, and honestly, I was pretty good at it, getting better with each passing month. On top of that, I had a very attractive husband and felt like Fate had been kind to me.

Some could say this job was boring for a purple alpha. A matchmaker? Sounded like something an old, gray-haired beta uncle would do on his nephews’ birthdays to the annoyance of everyone.

During college, I’d worked part-time as a security guard at Fate’s Choice. Once a week, they held marital contract auctions and fairs. I used to work at these events and enjoyed watching the glass booths where omegas, betas, and alphas sat, waiting for their marriage contracts to be bought. I felt a strange thrill whenever someone found their Half or High Mate.

Of course, that was just one part of Fate's Choice’s services. Their main business was something more traditional: a classic matchmaking agency where people filled out lengthy forms detailing their preferences. From there, specialist matchmakers worked diligently to help them find their ideal contract husbands.

Over the years, I got to know the company and grew fond of the idea of working there, watching happy couples come together, paired by skilled matchmakers. So, when a junior client assistant role opened up, I jumped at the chance.

Right after graduating from college, I started there full-time. For the first year, I just helped with the selection process for senior client assistants. Eventually, I began handling my own cases and making matches myself, with a few impressive successes—even finding High Mates within our client base. Unfortunately, that winning streak didn’t last long.

Everything crashed down three months after my promotion when my husband started an affair. I caught him with his lover, and things escalated quickly. I confronted Tom, but I didn’t touch him; still, he thought he could gain from the situation by filing a false accusation against me.

Even though I defended myself and cleared my name, my reputation took a major hit. Because of my husband’s somewhat celebrity status as a model, it became public. Most of my family distanced themselves from me, and even my then-boss—Mr. Ren Ragu—explained that he couldn’t keep an employee with a ‘damaged reputation’. In his opinion, a scandal surrounding me could be detrimental to the public image of his young company.

Then he kindly suggested an alternative.

His own husband, Mr. Jun Ragu, owned a well-established venture called Dark Dreams, which offered a very different set of services. Mr. Ren assured me I could smoothly switch to his husband’s company, where my reputation wouldn’t be as much of a liability—after all, Dark Dreams dealt in some rather controversial activities.

They specialized in role-playing services for people with all kinds of kinks. Dark Dreams offered stalker scenarios, home-invasion setups, fulfillment of consensual-non-consent and BDSM fantasies.

Most of my friends and family were shocked; the only one who really got it was my cousin Nathaniel, but he was one of a kind. For most people, assault—whether consensual or not—just felt… wrong. And that’s precisely why Dark Dreams’ clients sought discretion; they feared they’d be criticized for their unusual kinks.

The company didn’t look down on them; it didn’t ask why. It just asked, "What would you like, sir?" and handed them a bill.

To be fair, they didn’t deal with anything extreme like life-threatening torture, killing, or minors. But almost everything else? Fair game.

And… the job paid well! Since I was too proud to ask my parents for help—Mr. Jun Ragu’s offer came at just the right time to change the course of my life.

Despite being innocent of the main thing—I got off on the false rape charge—I couldn’t avoid the consequences of other things: destruction of property and ‘emotional abuse’. True—when I saw Tom fucking that guy, I trashed his car, smashed a few windows, and—my biggest mistake—I threw his nest out the balcony… So, Tom seized the opportunity and claimed I’d caused him ‘enormous suffering’, even saying that the violence was a daily occurrence. The fucker showed up at the police station covered in bruises!

That's how I became the villain… or rather, the victim of his lies, manipulation, and defamation. There was nothing I could do, his lawyer was smooth, and the jury ate it up. The settlement took all my savings—and more, leaving my finances in ruins.

Being a purple alpha didn’t help either—most of the jury were betas or omegas, so I had even less sympathy. They looked at me as if to say, "Purple alphas are violent and brutal". My twisted ex knew how to play it; he hunched over and sobbed right there, creating a believable, Oscar-worthy performance, easily convincing them I was the ‘cruel rapist’ he made me out to be.

And really, the worst thing I did to Tom was throw his fucking nest on the lawn. But they blew it all out of proportion, calling it a ‘disgusting assault on sacred omegan nature, a brutish and primitive act by a feral alpha’. I remembered the jury’s horrified faces so vividly.

But what about him impaling himself on a cock of some employee from his modeling agency?! They didn’t care about what I felt, for sure.

At one point during the trial, there was a real danger that the Omega Red Line Agency would take over my case. If that had happened, not only would my ex have been able to take everything I owned, but I would have ended up in jail. So, in the final phase, I agreed to settle. My pricey downtown apartment, my savings—all of it went to Tom. I’d always been a saver (which he hated, preferring a more lavish lifestyle), working through college and living frugally, so losing it all was a brutal blow.

Tom was quite disappointed in our marriage, mainly because of that one thing—me being thrifty. He’d expected that marrying a purple alpha would mean a grand life of adventure, maybe even a boost to his modeling and acting career. Instead, he got me: a guy who chose a modest job as a junior assistant matchmaker. That mismatch led to endless arguments. He wanted me to be a stuntman in movies or take some big supporting role. He even dragged me to meet a stuntman manager once, but I wasn’t into it.

So, when Tom decided to end it, he made sure to grab as much as he could—basically, everything I had.

The only reason I was able to save my suburban house was that I took out a large short-term loan. I had bought the place at a bargain price, literally just days before Tom’s betrayal. Sure, it needed some work, but it was still an amazing deal. Tom demanded to take it as well, so I had to give him an equivalent amount in cash. Also, my cousin Nathaniel chipped in some money so I could at least buy a car—because Tom took my Jeep.

At the time I joined Dark Dreams, I was broke, surviving on cheap pizza, and deep in my full-on rebellion mode

Part of me knew exactly how this could ruin me—and my chances of finding a stable relationship or a decent love life in the future. But at that point, I didn’t care. Everyone was already calling me a rapist or, at best, a criminal, so I figured—why not lean into it? Maybe it was sick, but I was desperate, and this was how I coped.

So, I started there.

At first, I didn’t realize then that my subconscious had gone rogue. Deep down, I was revolting against my own choice, craving my old life back. Slowly, as the weeks passed, depression crept into my life, like a gray, never-ending fall rain, wearing me down bit by bit. I was sinking deeper into bitterness, endlessly replaying how unfair it all was, while secretly longing to have someone I could actually love—someone who wasn’t a selfish, backstabbing asshole.

The emptiness was a tenacious bastard and became my constant companion, even though the start of my six-month probationary period at Dark Dreams wasn’t exactly grueling. Some of the early assignments were even kind of funny, and yet, I was still slowly sinking.

Mr. Ragu gave me VIP access to the internal commission board. Every day, new client scenarios popped up there, and I got first pick of the lot before the other employees even got a look.

Assignment after assignment, I was making decent money, keeping the repossession agents at bay, and even working on renovations for my precious suburban house. The place was right next to a small, peaceful grove where I could sit for hours, feeling numb and lifeless after ‘assaulting’ one rich client or another—always strictly consensual, of course.

From the very first day, I knew that once my six months were up, I’d start getting assignments that leaned more into the actual ‘sex work’ territory. But I wasn’t ready then to even think about that. I pushed the thought to the fringes of my mind and left it there, hoping it would stay out of sight for as long as possible.

Of course, we weren't slaves in Dark Dreams. I had to consent too; I could set some of my own terms, and I did. But it was clear from the get-go, no matter how much I wanted to avoid it—that I would eventually end up in a scenario involving sex with a client, and that weighed heavily on me.

My rules were: if things got sexual, it would be condom-only; no blowjobs, no rimming. I told my boss that I could work with young alphas, but I preferred betas and omegas. Mr. Ragu didn't mind at the time, saying that they had enough staff, so the rest of the commissions could just go to someone else. The Johansson job, however, proved that if the money was big, I would be forced to comply even beyond what I had discussed with Ragu at the beginning.

By the final stage of my six-month probation, most of my assignments already involved some form of consensual assault, more or less sexual in nature, and could get quite creative. I had to learn proper bondage techniques, sometimes spoon-feed or even overfeed clients until they, well, lost it, diaper them, hang them naked upside down in their offices, make them relieve themselves in front of me or in public (sometimes with the help of a ‘bowel stimulant’), give them an enema and wait it out, humiliate them in all sorts of ways, spank them, put chastity cages on their dicks, or use vibrating toys in their ass—preferably in public places.

Only because the pay was so good, I forced myself to push through and try to do the best job I could—always on-script, with every detail memorized and carried out perfectly.

My clients left glowing reviews, and by the end of my six-month probation period, I was close to fully paying off my debts to both the agents and Nathaniel, with only two installments left.

Each job usually took a few days to complete, so it wasn't overly demanding, but each one could bring in five to ten thousand dollars for the longer scenarios. In my best month, I made close to $ 60,000.

In the more expensive gigs, clients wanted scenarios that went a little deeper into the pain-pleasure side of things —whipping instead of spanking, gagging with toys, erotic asphyxiation, and forced penetration with random objects, like the case with Johansson. I even gained one ‘regular’ client, which was rare. Once a week, I’d take a ‘dog’ out for a walk—really just a guy in leather and a plastic muzzle, crawling around on all fours.

However, these scenarios didn't require me to use my own dick, and I wanted to keep it that way.

But in the end, there was no avoiding the inevitable.

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