James stared at the website for a long moment, skepticism warring with curiosity. Part of him was convinced it was a joke—maybe some kind of elaborate prank, or at worst, a scam designed to harvest desperate fantasies and empty wallets. He exhaled heavily, glancing at his credit card where it rested on the desk, then muttered under his breath, “Fuck it.”

Resigned, he typed in his card details, fingers trembling slightly from adrenaline and disbelief. The form prompted him to enter the names of the women he wanted “trained.” A pang of guilt twisted in his chest, but the surreal unreality of the moment dulled his hesitation. He let out a low groan as he copied and pasted their Facebook profile links—his mum first, then his sister, his grandmother, his cousin, and even her grandmother and aunt. Each name, each face, another boundary crossed with a few clicks.

He paused for a second, his heart thudding, then hit send.

More options unfolded. Preferences, specifics, personal requests—the site asked for everything. He filled them in with a mixture of embarrassment and boldness, typing out every fantasy and desire the anonymous form demanded.

When he was finished, James stared at the “submit” button for a final heartbeat. The cursor hovered, his breath caught somewhere between fear and anticipation. Then, without letting himself think too hard, he clicked submit.

The screen flashed, confirming his order. James sat back, heart pounding, uncertain whether he’d just thrown money away—or set something much darker in motion.

One week passed in total silence. No emails, no strange charges—nothing. James had almost forgotten about the entire ordeal, chalking it up as a weird, impulsive mistake that would probably amount to nothing.

But then, early on a gray Saturday morning, a long black limousine eased up to his curb. The engine purred softly as it came to a stop, and a sharply dressed man stepped out, smoothing his tailored suit with practiced precision. The man approached James’s front door and extended his hand with a confident, measured smile.

“Mr. Smith?” the stranger asked, his voice crisp and assured.

James blinked, caught off guard. “Yes? That’s me.”

The man’s handshake was firm, his gaze steady. “I’m Conrad Ellery, a representative of Perseus Personal Enhancement Group. You recently submitted an application through our exclusive website, yes?”

James’s heart skipped a beat as memories of the late-night submission rushed back. “Uh, yeah, I think I did. But I assumed it was, you know ... fake. A scam.”

Conrad smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Oh, it’s very real, Mr. Smith. You selected our Platinum Immersive Training Package, including comprehensive programming for the women you listed, and personal training for yourself. Everything is in place, just as you requested.”

James looked past Conrad to the sleek limousine. “Wait, so ... what happens now?”

“What happens now,” Conrad said smoothly, “is that your personalized experience is ready to begin. If you’ll come with me, we’ll escort you to our private training facility. There, everything you asked for—and perhaps a bit more—will be prepared to your exact specifications.”

James hesitated, adrenaline humming through his veins. “And the women I ... submitted? They’re...?”

Conrad’s smile never faltered. “Already at our retreat, fully acclimated and programmed according to your instructions. All that remains is for you to receive your training and begin your new journey. Shall we?”

He gestured toward the open car door, its interior dark and inviting.

James swallowed, nerves tingling, but curiosity outweighed his fear. He stepped forward, heart racing, and slipped into the cool, perfumed darkness of the limousine, the door closing softly behind him as his world changed forever.

“Oh shit ... Mum?”

Panic stabbed through him. He grabbed his phone and dialed her number, pressing it tight to his ear. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again, then texted—no reply. He opened WhatsApp, desperate for the familiar double-check marks, and called through the app. Nothing. He scrolled through every contact he had—his mum, his sister, his aunt, even his grandmother. No one responded. His stomach clenched.

He turned to the suited man, voice rising with a mixture of fear and accusation. “Where is she? Where’s my mum?”

Conrad remained calm, hands folded in front of him, his tone smooth and measured. “Your mother is perfectly safe, Mr. Smith. She’s ready and waiting in the field. In fact, as part of our final compliance testing, she’s been standing beside the rest of your family—Sharon and Emma included—for the last four hours.”

James stared at him, uncomprehending. “In a field? For four hours? Doing what?”

“Standing,” Conrad replied simply. “Exactly as programmed. All of the participants you registered are there, waiting for you, completely compliant and under our supervision.”

James’s fingers tightened around his phone. “You mean she can’t move unless you say so? She can’t answer me?”

“Correct. No movement, no response—unless permitted. The programming is very thorough. Full obedience, no matter the request.”

He struggled to keep his voice steady, images flashing through his mind. “Can I talk to her now? Can I ... see her?”

Conrad nodded. “Of course. That’s the next step. Once you arrive at our facility, you’ll have full access. You’ll be able to interact, give commands, and observe the results for yourself. Shall we?”

James hesitated, glancing once more at the phone, still hoping for a message, a call, anything. Nothing. The only option left was to follow Conrad and see for himself.

“Okay,” he said finally, voice tight. “Let’s go.”

They climbed into the limo, the interior cool and softly lit, smelling faintly of leather and expensive cologne. James sank back against the seat, still reeling from the strange reality closing in around him. Conrad sat across from him, exuding calm professionalism, his phone silent and face unreadable as the city slipped away outside their tinted windows.

James’s mind drifted back to the online forms. Adding Sharon and Emma had been an afterthought—a reckless flourish, almost daring the site to take him seriously. The two women, mother and daughter, had haunted his fantasies for years. Sharon’s breasts were heavy and generous, the kind that strained against fabric, while Emma’s were smaller, high and perky, topped with puffy, pink nipples that he’d only glimpsed once through a thin, damp T-shirt. Just the memory sent a wave of heat through him, his cock aching in anticipation. The brief stab of guilt over what he’d done had already faded, replaced by hunger and an electric curiosity.