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With each passing day, it grew more and more difficult to keep my painful attempts at an erection under control. I woke up multiple times each night to painful semi’s. Pre-cum was constantly oozing out of my confined cock and leaking through my panties. It got so bad at one point that you started making me wear panty liners to catch my juices and keep me clean.
I was learning to hold my tongue and defer my bodily needs without complaining, which obviously didn’t come naturally. I comported myself so well one week that you dressed me in a sharp-looking pencil skirt and silk blouse as a reward, praising me for my sophistication and excellent behavior. That didn’t last long, of course, and I was quickly demoted to “bimbo slut” and then “five-dollar whore” the next two days for leveraging my good behavior into an opportunity to ask you to let me cum. My desperation grew every day, yes, but so did my devotion to you and my desire to make you proud. I was determined that the latter side of me would win out.
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30 painstaking days later, I had completed my first task. It was now 60 days since my last orgasm, and I started my day full of hope and optimism that I would finally be permitted to cum.
“Good morning, Madam!” I said in a far-too-chipper tone for 6 AM.
“Good morning, slut,” you quipped back. “Your first number is 2. I think. Hmmm… I seem to have forgotten it actually. Oh well. Now leave me alone.”
It was 2. You were just kidding around. Surely.
I remained standing silently in the kitchen while you poured your coffee, expectantly waiting for my next task.
“Can I help you with something?”
You were toying with me. You knew what I wanted. What I NEEDED. “Ohhhh yes, your next task,” you teased.
I smiled brightly, listening intently to detect any sly tricks or short timelines like I fell victim to last time.
“It’s time you started contributing some money to this household again,” you said stoically. “I was racking my brain last night thinking of something you could do that would earn us a good income while not interfering with your service to me. And I came up with just the thing! Can you guess what it is?”
Annoyed, I shrugged and waited for you to continue.
“What do all useless bimbos like you turn to when they need some cash these days?” you asked.
I could guess where this was headed, but I just shrugged again.
“That’s right, you’re going to start an OnlyFans,” you announced matter-of-factly. “Your second task is to earn your first $1000 on OnlyFans. Bring me your statement with $1000 in earnings, and you’ll have completed your second task.”
I stood incredulous with my mouth gaping open trying to formulate a response as you walked confidently out of the room. It had been 60 days since my last orgasm. 30 days since my last infinitesimally brief release from my cage. And now, who knows how long it will take to earn $1000 as a new performer on OnlyFans?
“Here, you’ll need this,” you said as you walked back into the kitchen and handed me the phone that you had locked away a month ago. “The good news is that you’ve built up some good content to share – the videos you’ve created for me will be real crowd-pleasers. The bad news is that you’ll still need to drum up some business. Better get busy posting those thirst traps to Instagram and Tinder!”
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I setup my new OnlyFans profile and uploaded a set of my best videos. Videos of you fucking my ass and my throat, videos of you whipping me, videos of me fucking myself with your dildos. I set my price at $5/month and published my page.
I guess I really was a five-dollar whore after all.
Next, I went searching for paying customers. I would need 200 of them to hit my $1000 goal. I downloaded Instagram and created a new profile. I followed a few female celebrities, as well as a number of men who commented with fire emojis on their photos. My target audience made themselves incredibly easy to identify. I added a link to my OnlyFans in my profile and uploaded a cute selfie giving a sexy, sultry look. The caption read, “Want to see more? Link in bio”. That should do it, right?
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6 hours later, no likes, no subscribers.
I uploaded another photo, this time showing my full body in a cute skirt and blouse combo, bending over and blowing a kiss. “I’ve been a bad girl. Punish me. Link in bio.” I followed and messaged more horny-looking middle-aged men.
6 more hours later, one like, no subscribers. Shit.
Desperate for some traction, I put on my schoolgirl outfit, lifted up the back of my skirt, and posted a pic of my ass in a thong while looking coyly over my shoulder. Frustrated, I locked my phone and called it a night.
The next morning, I woke up and immediately checked IG. 30 likes! I logged into OnlyFans. 2 subscribers! Now we were getting somewhere! After my initial wave of excitement wore off, however, reality set in and I realized that I was still only 1% of the way to my goal. It would take me forever finish my second task at this rate.
Reluctantly, I became the very thing I hated when I was using the dating apps years ago: an OnlyFans slut fishing for subscribers on Tinder. But desperate times called for desperate measures. I downloaded the app and used my most recent IG post as my photo. I added the cringiest Swipebait profile text I could think of: “I won’t bite… unless you ask me too ;)” I swiped for a bit then set my phone down.
10 minutes later, the matches were rolling in. Was it really this easy for girls to get laid? I had experienced many of the hard things women have to endure this month, so it was nice when something actually came easily for once.
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Seven days and three private video sessions later, I had earned my first $1000 on OF. I couldn’t believe it! I could easily make more doing this than I made at my old marketing job. I finally understood the allure of the platform for attractive young girls. I also felt that I had anonymity because of my carefully crafted disguise. I was elated.
Triumphantly, I announced the completion of my second task to you the moment you returned from work later that day.
“Good girl. But that’s no way to greet your Madam when she gets home from a long day. I’m adding 3 more days to your sentence. I’ll give you your number and your final task on Saturday.”
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