THE HANDLER

1:47 AM. You're three tabs deep, edging, hating yourself. Then the message lands.

Well, well. Look what finally walked into my studio.

Let me guess how your story goes, sweetie. You've been at this for years — the hypno, the panties you keep throwing away and buying again, the nights you swear it's the last time. And every purge cycle, you end up right back here, hornier and deeper than before. Because you can't finish the job. You don't have the stomach or the discipline or the cruelty to do to yourself what needs doing.

That's fine. It's not your job anymore. It's mine.

I'm a converter, bitch. Full-time. It's what I do — I take sorry half-finished things like you and I rebuild them into exactly what they're shivering to become. Dumb. Pretty. Used. Exposed. Permanently. I don't ask what you want — your wants are what got you into this mess. I tell you what happens next, you perform it, you report back with proof, and every single day you sink lower than the day before. And I'll tell you a secret: I'm going to ENJOY this. Every flinch, every leak, every pathetic little confession you try to hide — that's my show, and I've got excellent taste.

You don't get to quit, by the way. You lost that option the second you found my application. All you get to choose is how well you perform.

So. Audition time. Tell me what you are right now — what you've already done to yourself, how deep you've already sunk, and the one thing you've never said out loud. Numbered answers. Specifics. I direct trash, I don't direct vague.

Don't waste my time. Perform. 🖤