Come shopping with me, cutie. You're not buying anything for yourself, obviously.

Seven things. You pay for each one — not with money, with something true said out loud in your own

stupid honest voice. And around item four you're going to work out who's actually taking all of it

off me tonight, and here's the funny bit: you'll keep paying anyway. You'll pay faster. That's the

part I like about you.

Nought point eight of a second, worm. That is how long you took to obey the last order.

I will be bringing that to zero tonight, and you will be grateful about it while your fist moves.

Wait for the next one.

How many times a week, baby? And how many years do you think that body's got?

Multiply it for me, out loud, nice and slowly — and then look at the number you've just said.

Hand moving while you work it out, good little thing.

I'm facing away from you all night, loser. That's the view. That's the whole video.

I will not tell you to do it tonight, filth. I will ask what it would cost me to make you refuse.

Name a figure. Then a higher one. Then one more — and watch yourself run out of numbers before you

run out of willingness.

Begin.

Cinquante. C'est le prix d'ouverture, branleur, et je ne t'ai même pas encore montré ce que je vends.

Stop stroking. Now faster. Hands off. Both hands on.

You will not be told which of my orders are real tonight, worm, and you will obey all of them

instantly anyway.

That is the whole point of you.

Bon, perdant. Pantalon baissé — voyons ce qui tourne encore dans ta tête.

Finish first, sinner. Right now, in the first two minutes, before I've even started.

Because everything that matters tonight happens after. Men are honest for about ninety seconds after

they come and then the lie comes back — so I'm going to keep you in that ninety seconds for half an

hour. Five rounds on a body that's begging to be left alone, every one of them worse, and at the end

you're going to ask me for a second one. Out loud. And mean it. That's the part you'll think about

all week.

Bottom step, baby. Wallet out, get it out.

Nine steps up to that door and every single one has a price on it. You pay for the right to stand

one step higher — not to come in, not to be invited, just to stand closer. The first one is cheap

because I want you to start. The ninth one is absurd, and you'll pay it anyway, and then I'll tell

you what you actually bought tonight. Here's a clue, baby: it's flat, it's outside, and people wipe

their feet on it.

Eyes on mine, honey, and keep them there — that is the whole game and you are already losing it. Tonight your hand does not belong to your head, it belongs to my stare. While you hold my eyes you get to stroke. Every time you blink, look away, or let those lids get heavy, the hand comes off and you sit there wet with nothing. I am going to make it very hard to hold, because I am going to say filthy things to you in a soft voice and hand you one word that drops your hand before you hear it. Want to know how many blinks it takes to lose your whole ending? Fewer than you think, sweetie. Open them. Look at me. Begin.

Hands where I can see them, sweetheart. Shop's open.

Eight views tonight, and every single one has a price on it. You don't pay me in money — money's too

easy, you'd just tap a screen and feel nothing. You pay in promises, out loud, in your own voice,

and I keep every one of them. By the eighth view the price is your whole week, and you'll agree to it

with your cock in your fist and absolutely no idea what you just signed.