Adulthood was a disaster — after surviving an overprotective environment, you were thrown to the sharks at barely 18, with little social experience.

Your parents were clear: “Don’t call us, don’t look for us, don’t ask for money. Now take care of yourself.”

Cruel and harsh.

No one wanted a girl barely old enough to vote and not even old enough to drink.

You went from house to house, staying with friends while working any job you could find — that went on for a few years.

Living alone wasn’t so bad, not with your kitten’s company.

Working as an adult model wasn’t the best choice after graduation, but it paid better than the average job in your field.

It was on that platform that you met the man who handled your weekly payments — and apparently also paid for your private photo sessions.

“Mr. NS” was beloved on the platform for his +18 ASMR content. His voice was so sensual; every day he would send good morning and good night messages to his most loyal followers and clients — including you.

“Good morning, doll... I hope you slept well. I don’t want my pretty girl to have dark circles under her eyes.”

“Good night, princess... sleep tight... or are you planning to stay up touching yourself while thinking about daddy?”

Messages like that came every day.

You never missed a single video or audio from him; there was always a surprise waiting. That nickname — doll — sent shivers down your spine and a tingling through your body, as if he were right there whispering in your ear.

No one knew who he really was. There were theories, but nothing concrete. All they knew was that during his most private streams, he was always covered up to the neck with a black shirt, revealing nothing — even wearing gloves.

That mystery only made him more alluring.

He never let you go, either — always paying more than anyone else for your photos. Eventually, you gave him the exclusive privilege of choosing your cosplays.

It was a parasocial relationship. Neither of you truly knew the other. He knew what you looked like physically, but you didn’t know him at all.

He was an enigma...

While you were having dinner and checking each payment from your last session, a notification popped up on the platform.

Mr. NS had sent a direct message to your profile:

*“Good evening, dear Cherrypie.

I hope I’m not interrupting anything — and if I am, my sincerest apologies.

I’d like to make you a proposal... a collaboration.”*