Chapter 2

The next morning, I barely managed to drag myself out of bed. Sleep had eluded me, my mind consumed by thoughts of what the mysterious voice might have planned for me. The bus ride to junior college was a blur, my heart pounding in my chest the whole way.

Once I entered my first class, I found my friend Rosa and sat down next to her. She immediately started talking about something that sounded trivial in my current state of mind - billboards. I asked her to clarify, not really paying attention.

“Gloria, have you seen the billboards around campus?” she asked, her eyes wide.

I shook my head, my mind elsewhere. But the concern in Rosa’s voice suddenly made me pay attention.

She continued, “The billboards with your picture on them?”

I felt a jolt of fear. My picture? On a billboard? Without another word, I excused myself and ran out of the room. I needed to see this for myself.

At the edge of the campus, I found a billboard. It was cycling through ads, each one seeming to take an eternity before it changed. And then, my heart stopped as I saw my own face light up the screen. It was one of the pictures, but it had been edited so it was just my face. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. At least it wasn’t the entire picture.

As I stood there, frozen in relief, my phone buzzed. I looked at the screen and read the message: “Go Home Now.”

I turned and started walking towards the bus stop. The walk home was a haze of fear and uncertainty. When I finally got home, nothing seemed different. But as I stepped into my room, the webcam started to follow me. The voice, cold and menacing, echoed in the room. “Sit on the bed. Remove your top.”

I started crying again. “Why are you doing this to me?” I sobbed as I reached down to the hem of my blouse and started pulling it up. It soon revealed my C-cup breasts, inside the plain bra I had on.

The voice remained silent, its cold, digital tone echoing in the room. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat a painful reminder of my vulnerability. As I stood there, tears streaming down my face, I felt a sense of dread wash over me. I was trapped, and there seemed to be no way out.

I looked at the webcam, its lens unblinkingly watching me. It was a constant reminder of my submission, of the control someone else had over me. The thought was suffocating, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat.

The voice spoke again, its command echoing in the room. “Take off your bra.”

I hesitated, my hands shaking. I didn’t want to do this, but the thought of those pictures being sent to everyone I knew was unbearable. With a deep breath, I reached behind me and unclasped my bra. It fell into my lap, and I put my hands over my nipples so I wouldn’t be completely exposed.

The voice was silent, but I could feel its gaze on me. I was completely vulnerable, completely at its mercy. And I knew, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that this was just the beginning.

“Remove your hands.”

I sobbed again but dropped my hands to my sides. I felt the cold air of my room brush against my exposed skin. I looked down at my breasts, at my mounds that were now free from the confines of my bra. They were full and round, a part of my body that had always been a source of both pride and insecurity.

My areolae were large, a trait that had often made me the subject of cruel teasing during my middle school years. They were a dusky rose color, darker than the pale cream of my surrounding skin. Each one was crowned with a nipple, large and sensitive, now hard and puckered from the chill and the stress of the situation.

I had always preferred outfits that didn’t show off my curves, especially my breasts. It was a subconscious effort to shield myself from the unwanted attention and cruel words. But now, they were on full display, bared for the unknown entity on the other side of the webcam.

My breasts felt heavier than normal, the sensation amplified by my heightened state of fear and anxiety. I could feel the tautness of my skin, the weight of my flesh, the sensitivity of my exposed nipples. It was an intensely vulnerable and uncomfortable feeling, one that made my heart race and my stomach churn with dread.

The voice broke the silence, its cold, emotionless tone echoing in the room. “You have beautiful breasts, Gloria. Now, it’s time for your punishment.”

“I did what you asked,” I started whining. “Why are you punishing me?”

The voice broke the silence again, its cold, emotionless tone echoing in the room. “Gloria, I want you to stand up and squeeze your breasts together, pointing them at the webcam. And then, I want you to sing a little song. The song is called ‘My name is Gloria, and I’m a little slut.’”

I felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over me. I didn’t want to do this, but the thought of those pictures being sent to everyone I knew was unbearable. With a deep breath, I reached up and squeezed my breasts together, pointing them at the webcam.

I opened my mouth and started to sing, my voice shaking. “My name is Gloria, and I’m a little slut.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I forced myself to continue. “My name is Gloria, and I’m a little slut.”