The two crisp dollar bills felt bizarrely heavy in Fia’s hand. She stared at them for a long moment, the absurdity of the transaction humming through her veins. She had just given a complete stranger the most intense oral experience of his life, swallowed his seed, and walked away with less cash than it cost to buy a cup of coffee.
Yet, as she looked at the money, a strange, dark thrill curled in her stomach. It wasn't about the currency; it was about the utter reduction of her worth to a rigid, degrading price list dictated by her master.
Fia dropped the bills onto her art desk, right next to the high-end markers and digital tablet she usually used to command hundreds of dollars per commission. The contrast was staggering.
She picked up her phone and fired off the text to George:
Tim
