Chapter Four

The sharp click-clack of heels rang out across the wide sidewalk, rising above the busy lunchtime rush. Men and women alike paused mid-stride, their conversations dying as their heads turned. A delivery cyclist nearly swerved into traffic. An older woman clutching her bag exited a downtown store and stared openly at the sight. The source of the interruption strode forward with the kind of confident, rolling gait that made every step look deliberate, almost theatrical, as if the pavement itself had become her own personal runway.

Veronica ‘Rikki’ Reynolds felt every single one of those stares burning into her skin. She wanted to shrink, to fold her arms across her chest and disappear into the crowd, but her body refused to obey. Instead, her hips swayed wider with each stride, the movement exaggerated and impossible to hide. The strapless glossy red bustier hugged her torso like a second skin, the shiny material pushing her massive implants up and out so the rounded tops threatened to spill over the dangerously low neckline with every breath.  Her tight black leather pants clung to her thighs and ass, stretching softly as she moved, the material so taut it outlined every curve. Five-inch patent red heels lifted her posture, forcing her back to arch and her chest to thrust forward even further. Her platinum blonde hair, streaked with vivid red highlights, bounced against her shoulders in wild waves. The glossy red on her lips caught every glance, the color so vivid and wet-looking it drew the eye straight to her mouth, whether she wanted it or not. Long, sharp red acrylic nails clicked against the sides of the woman’s phone as she gripped it tighter.

The blonde was rereading the email on her phone again. She had already read it four times since it arrived this morning, but her eyes kept dragging back to the screen anyway, horror pooling cold and heavy in her stomach.

From: Daniel Newsom, Chief Executive Officer

Subject: Lip Enhancement Appointment Confirmed

Rikki,

I loved your initiative on this. Very forward thinking of you, and I love how you have jumped in with open eyes. Millions of viewers are going to be staring at your face on a nightly basis, so it’s important that those lips are more than presentable. I formally accept your request for lip enhancement. I’ve booked you in at Hampton Way Private Cosmetic Clinic for 2 PM today. They have already been sent instructions and payment; just tell them your name. Dr. Smith is the best in the city and will look after you.

I look forward to seeing the results on air.

Warm Regards,

Daniel Newsom

Rikki’s thumb kept scrolling back to the top of the message even though she already knew every word by heart. The fury in her chest burned hotter with each reread. She had never intended to send the original email. She would never have suggested lip enhancements, never have “jumped in with open eyes” like some eager starlet begging for attention. Viz had forced her fingers across the keyboard last night after the cosmetic allowance stipulation had been added to her contract, making her type out the request in her own words while her mind screamed in protest. Now, Daniel had replied like it was the most normal thing in the world, praising her “initiative” and scheduling the appointment as if he were doing her a favor.

The former senior political editor was furious. The kind of white-hot, helpless rage that made her want to smash her phone against the nearest wall and watch it shatter. However, her body kept strutting forward like nothing was wrong, her hips rolling with that exaggerated, confident sway that turned every passing stranger’s head. Her outfit put her entire altered body on display, and she looked like she was enjoying every moment of it. She hated how alluring she looked. She hated how every man on that sidewalk stared at her cleavage, at the round, obviously fake mounds she had woken up having no memory of obtaining.

Stop. Just stop walking. Turn around. Go home. You don’t have to do this.

Her commands echoed uselessly inside Rikki’s skull. Her legs refused to listen. They carried her straight toward the elegant glass front of Hampton Way Private Cosmetic Clinic, the gold lettering on the sign growing larger with every forced stride. The feminist tried to plant her feet, to lock her knees, to do anything that might slow her down or force her body to rebel, but it was like fighting against steel cables attached to her limbs. She kept on moving as the glossy red on her lips caught the eyes of another group of businessmen who stopped mid-conversation to watch her pass.

A low, amused chuckle slid through the trapped woman’s mind, smooth and intimate, as if the voice were whispering directly against the inside of her ear.

“You’re a feisty one today, aren’t you, princess?” Viz purred mockingly. “I do love it when you fight.”

Rikki’s hand reached out of its own accord and pulled open the main glass door. Cool air washed over her skin as she stepped into the air-conditioned, marble-floored reception area. A well-dressed auburn-haired woman behind the white desk looked up with a professional smile that widened the moment she took in the full sight of Rikki’s exaggerated figure.

“Welcome to Hampton Way,” the receptionist said brightly with a red-lipsticked smile. “Do you have an appointment?”

Rikki’s own glossy red lips parted. She wanted to scream No, cancel it, I don’t want this, but the words that came out were calm, almost eager, her voice light and pleasant like she had been looking forward to this all day.

“I’m here for my two o’clock with Dr. Smith,” she heard herself say before she could even comprehend the receptionist’s question, her own voice light and pleasant. “The name’s Veronica Reynolds. Daniel Newsom’s office should have confirmed everything.”

The receptionist tapped at her keyboard for a few moments, then beamed. “Of course, Miss Reynolds. Dr. Smith is expecting you. If you’d like to follow me, we can get you settled in right away.”

Right away? Rikki had no opportunity to protest as her legs carried her forward without hesitation, her heels clicking sensually against the marble floor as she trailed the front desk woman down the long corridor. Every step felt like another layer of her autonomy being stripped away. She tried to dig her nails into her palms, to create any distraction that might break the invisible chains, but her hands stayed relaxed at her sides, swinging gently with the confident stride her body had adopted. Viz had control of every muscle, and there was nothing the poor feminist could do about it.

Inside the blonde’s head, the scream never stopped. This isn’t me. I didn’t ask for this. Turn around. Run. The words slammed against the walls of her skull, but they never reached her throat. Instead, her bright red lips stayed curved in a faint, pleasant expression, as if she were used to the entire experience.

The receptionist glanced back at the quiet blonde with a warm smile. “Dr. Smith is one of our top specialists. You’re in excellent hands. He’s been told to prioritize your request as he knows you have a big debut coming up.”

Rikki mentally shook her head, but before she could open her mouth to form her own response, Viz’s voice echoed in her mind again. “Isn’t that sweet, princess?” he taunted her. “You should say something nice back.”

Rikki’s mouth moved before she could stop it. “That’s wonderful,” she heard herself reply. “I’m really looking forward to the results.”

The words tasted like poison. She never wanted this. The request had been typed by her own fingers under Viz’s command, but she was unable to tell anyone about the truth. Now she was being marched toward a procedure that would change her face forever, and there was nothing she could do to slow her feet.

Viz’s satisfied chuckle rolled through her thoughts again. “You really are fighting hard today, doll. I can feel every ounce of that lovely rage. Keep it coming, it just makes this much more fun for me.”

They reached a closed white door at the end of the corridor. The receptionist gave a light knock, then pushed it open and stepped aside. “Here we are, Miss Reynolds. Dr. Smith will be right with you. Make yourself comfortable on the chair, and he’ll go over all the details.”

Rikki’s body stepped inside. The room was luxurious, with a large padded procedure chair in the center, soft lighting on the walls, and a mirror positioned so the patient could watch every moment if they chose. She hated the mirror most of all. Her body moved straight toward the chair and lowered itself gracefully, crossing one leather-clad leg over the other as if she belonged there. The bustier shifted with the motion, pushing her implants higher so the rounded curves strained visibly against the glossy red fabric.

The blonde stared at her reflection, at the woman who looked back at her with those striking red lips slightly parted, the platinum hair falling in wild waves, the exaggerated curves on full display. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the feminist she had known herself to be. This was someone else’s creation, and she was trapped inside it.

The door clicked shut behind the receptionist, leaving Rikki alone in the quiet room. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, her long red nails gleaming. She tried one last time to stand, to run, to do anything that might stop what was coming.

Nothing happened.

Viz’s voice slid through her mind once more, like a lover whispering into his woman’s ear. “Relax, princess. This is going to be good for you,” he told her in the most sleazy manner possible. “Millions of eyes on that pretty mouth every single night… we can’t have it looking anything less than perfect, can we?”

Rikki’s chest rose and fell faster, the top tightening with each panicked breath. “Fuck off!” she finally managed to exclaim out loud, although there was no one else around to hear it. The sound of Viz’s chuckling echoed inside the blonde’s skull at her futile retort.

After a few moments, the door opened again. A tall man in a white coat entered with a professional smile. This must have been Dr. Smith.

“Miss Reynolds,” he said warmly. “I understand you’re here for lip enhancement. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Rikki’s body remained compliantly still in the chair as her face contorted into a smile and her head nodded in agreement. Inside, the scream never stopped, but as the doctor moved closer, she knew that time for resistance was slowly running out.

❖

The makeup artist’s voice filled the small room like a constant, cheerful stream, words tumbling out one after another without pause. “Oh wow, I still can’t get over how incredible this shade looks on you. You’re gonna look stunning out there, babe.”

Rikki sat motionless in the high-backed chair, ignoring the babbling woman as her eyes fixed on her own reflection in the large mirror. A day had passed since the blonde had been subjected to her latest enhancement at the private clinic, and the weight of what had been done to her still sat like lead in her stomach. Her cable TV debut was less than an hour away, and each second dragged her closer to the moments thousands, if not millions, of strangers would see her like this for the first time. The black satin gown draped loosely over her shoulders, hiding the black bra and g-string beneath for now. The stylist still hadn’t fitted her into her actual on-stage outfit yet, leaving her in this temporary cover that still felt far too exposing.

The new news anchor stared at the woman in the mirror and felt nothing but silent fury and defeat. Her platinum-blonde hair, with its vivid red streaks, was styled into tall, juvenile pigtails, the ends of each tail brushing her shoulders. The shape of her oversized implants pushed forward under the gown, making them impossible to ignore in the reflective surface. Her long, stiletto-shaped acrylic nails rested on the armrest, gleaming under the room’s even light. Everything about her seemed to have been reshaped, repackaged, and the former political editor could do nothing but watch it happen.

The stylist kept yapping, her brush moving gently across Rikki’s cheek. “You know, I’ve had so many clients, but you are one of my favorites,” she muttered enthusiastically. “The confidence you carry, even when you’re quiet like this, it’s magnetic. I bet the camera is going to love you tonight.”

Rikki’s jaw tightened. She wanted to scream at the woman to shut up, but she couldn’t bring herself to draw that much attention to herself. Her debut loomed less than an hour away, and she was sitting here in a gown over black lingerie, waiting to be turned into the glamorous face of the network. The fury burned hotter in the feminist’s chest with every passing second, but her face remained perfectly still, eyes locked on the reflection that no longer felt like hers.

The stylist moved the brush lower, dabbing at Rikki’s chin before setting it aside and picking up a tube of finishing gloss. “Okay, let’s finish those lips. God, I have to say, I am obsessed with your new volume. These are just stunning,” she gushed over the blonde. “Their size is so perfect, and the way they sit now gives you this natural pout even when you’re not saying anything. I wish I were brave enough to ask for something like that, girl. You look so inviting.”

Rikki’s hands clenched on the armrests. The words hit her gut like acid. Inviting? The makeup artist was gushing over the very thing that had been forced on her, praising the massively plump, permanently pouting lips that seemed to protrude dramatically from her face. The fury surged so violently that Rikki felt her throat tighten, her mind screaming at the woman. For one brief moment, the blonde let her professionalism slip.

“Can you shut up and just get on with it?” Rikki snapped, the words sharp and cold. “Jeez!”

The stylist instantly froze, the gloss tube hovering in mid-air. Her smile faltered, eyes widening in surprise before she gave a small, awkward nod. “Of course. Sorry about that.” The woman turned back to the mirror and continued working in silence, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Rikki instantly felt a stab of guilt for snapping at the woman. The makeup artist had been nothing but kind, and Rikki had lashed out like a cornered animal. She wanted to apologize, but the silence was weirdly satisfying, and she didn’t want to spoil the moment. The blonde’s lips stayed pressed together, the new pout of her mouth making even that small expression look sensual and alluring.

The door opened behind them, and the CEO, Daniel Newsom, walked in, with a sharp suit and an easy smile. He stopped just behind his new TV star as the makeup artist worked, his eyes scanning Rikki’s reflection with obvious approval. Rikki felt bile rise in her chest as she saw the man who had twisted the feminist media outlet into whatever the hell it had now become.

Daniel put his hands on the back of the blonde’s chair, leaning forward, his gaze moving slowly over her reflection as if he were appraising a piece of art he had personally commissioned. “Just checking in to see how my new star is doing,” he said, his voice smooth and paternal, the kind of condescending sound that made Rikki’s feminist skin crawl. “You’ve got a big night ahead. How are you feeling?”

Rikki absently narrowed her eyes, the anger inside her threatening to boil over as she fought to compose herself. She wanted nothing more than to spit venom at him, to tell him exactly what she thought of his plans for this network, but this was not the time or the place with that sadistic voice inside her head. She kept her face neutral, breathing slowly through her nose. The fury burned beneath her eyes, but she refused to let it spill out inside the makeup room.

The Chief Executive watched her for a moment before giving her a knowing nod. “Nerves are completely normal before a debut like this,” he said gently, misreading her silence entirely. He actually thought she was showing nerves rather than disgust. “Everyone gets a little stage fright the first time the red light comes on. Just relax, I’ve seen your TikTok videos; you’re a natural.”

Daniel straightened up, still standing behind the chair, his eyes drifting lower to the way the gown draped across her enhanced chest. “The audience is going to eat you up.” He turned his attention to the stylist without waiting for any reply. “She’s looking really good,” he told her, “but make her eyes and lips pop even more. And put a little glitter on that cleavage so they really pop on camera.”

The stylist nodded reverently. “Yes, Mr. Newsom. Of course.”

Daniel smiled and gave one satisfied glance toward the busty, big-lipped blonde in the mirror. “I’ll see you out there.” He casually walked away from the chair, opening the door once more and leaving Rikki alone with the stylist.

The makeup artist turned back to Rikki and met her eyes. “Well,” she said quietly, her voice still a little shaken from the earlier snap, “it looks like I have a bit more work to do.”

❖

The brand-new prime-time studio hummed with a nervous energy as the various team members prepared for the network’s very first evening broadcast. Crew members darted between cameras and monitors, urgently shouting at each other as they made their last-minute checks. The lights were positioned, cables taped down, and the massive backdrop glowed with the fresh new logo of the Vogue Femme News Network. In the center of it all stood the stylish, modern anchor desk, two chairs waiting side by side under the bright overhead rig.

The former intern-turned-news anchor, Liam Manning, stood just off to one side, adjusting the lapels of his smart navy blue tailored suit with careful fingers. A makeup artist hovered close, dusting a soft brush against his forehead to take away the faint sheen that had gathered there already under the heat of the studio lights. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly trying to look relaxed, but the way his jaw worked told a different story.

Despite the hasty work, the entire room fell temporarily silent as the sound of the clear six-inch platform stilettos began to echo across the studio floor.

Rikki Reynolds walked in with her head held high, or at least her body did. The blonde wore a long brown knee-length coat belted tightly at the front, the fabric pulled close to conceal as much of her as possible. Even so, the dramatic stage makeup barely hid the flush burning across her cheeks as her eyes darted around the room with visible embarrassment. Her blonde hair was still pulled into a pair of ridiculous pigtails, the ends brushing against her shoulders with every totter. Red plastic hoop earrings dangled from her lobes, swinging gently. A thin red leather choker wrapped around her neck, the words ‘Vogue Femme News Network’ spelled out across the front in silver rhinestones.

She was humiliated. The controlled woman wanted to curl up into a ball and let the ground swallow her, but her body kept moving, the tall stripper heels clicking with a confident, measured stride as Viz held her mental reins. She crossed the studio floor and lowered herself into the chair beside Liam, who had taken his own seat.

Liam turned his head as he took in the sight of his new partner, his grin wide and easy. “Well, well, Ms. Reynolds,” he said, his voice dripping with mock politeness as he resumed using her formal name. “You look great. Really great. I’m looking forward to developing our on-screen relationship. It should be fun, don’t you think?”

Rikki shook her blonde-haired head. The cheek of this asshole. He shouldn’t even be working for the company right now. Rikki had fired him, and she would have stuck to her guns if it were not for the voice inside her head inexplicably controlling her actions. Now, she sat beside her former intern as his equal, and it made her want to vomit. “There will be no relationship, Liam,” she snapped. “I will finish the broadcast, and we won’t see each other again until the next one tomorrow night.”

That shut him up. The young man’s smirk stayed firmly in place, but he didn’t push it any further. He simply nodded once and turned his attention back to the papers in front of him.

The producer, a balding man in his forties named Tyler Heaton, stepped forward from the side of the set. He checked his clipboard, then looked at his two stars. “Fifteen seconds, you two.” He started to turn away, then paused as he glanced directly at Rikki. “Lose the coat. Now.” He never waited for a response, glancing back down at his clipboard and walking over to the control area.

Rikki shook her head, the motion small but determined. She wasn’t going to do it. She wasn’t going to take the coat off and reveal her mandatory outfit to all these people. She didn’t care what her contract said; she had humiliated herself enough.

However, her hardened resolve melted away as Viz spoke up inside her head, taunting with a calm, mocking response. “Here, let me help.”

The blonde’s hands moved immediately, unbuttoning the coat with quick, efficient motions. The belt came loose, and the fabric slid off her shoulders as she tossed it across the room in one smooth motion, sending it landing far out of reach across the studio floor. There was no chance of her reaching out and putting it back on.

Suddenly, a few audible gasps rippled through the studio as the workmen took in Rikki’s appearance.

She wore a red PVC tube top, which felt impossibly tight, the thin strip of material covering only about fifty percent of her fake breasts. The upper and lower cleavage remained completely uncovered, the glossy red surface stretched so thin that her nipples were clearly visible beneath them, detailed and outlined through the shiny fabric. Across the front of her inappropriate top, the words ‘Straight Talk with Liam & Rikki’ were scrawled in bold silver cursive, the letters sparkling under the studio lights in the same way her choker font shone. The former political editor’s upper cleavage had been dusted with fine glitter, making the exposed skin shimmer with every tiny movement. Her shoulders and entire midriff were bare, the red PVC g-string and matching red thigh-high fishnet stockings completing the set, although the anchor desk would fortunately hide that element from the camera. Her clear six-inch platform stilettos finished off the look. She looked as though she was attired for a strip club rather than a serious prime-time news broadcast.

Rikki sat there in stunned silence, her mind reeling with humiliation so intense it felt like fire under her skin. She wanted to cover herself back up and run, but her body stayed perfectly still in the chair, back straight, shoulders back, presenting every inch of the mandated outfit like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A voice crackled over the PA system, counting down to launch. “Five… four…”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t present herself to millions of people across the nation wearing this. And yet, as much as she tried to bolt, she remained peacefully in place. Viz had taken complete control.

“Three… two…”

Liam glanced at his costar, his smirk widening just a fraction.

“One.”

The teleprompter came alive as the red light on the main camera blinked on.

Liam leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped together as he spoke in a smooth, professional tone, welcoming the audience. “Good evening, America, and welcome to the very first installment of Straight Talk with Liam & Rikki. I am your co-host, Liam Manning…”

Rikki’s mouth opened. She never intended it to do so, but Viz was going to make sure she followed the script to the letter. Her voice came out bright and bubbly, the words tumbling from her prominent red lips. “…and I’m Rikki!”

Viz was pulling every string now, and she could feel it in every forced syllable.

Liam continued on, reading the first story from the teleprompter. “We begin tonight with some concerning news out of New York University. Two young women, both students at the college, have been reported missing after they were last seen leaving a campus party three nights ago. Police say the pair, aged nineteen and twenty, had been enjoying the evening with friends before they disappeared sometime after midnight. Authorities are asking anyone with information to come forward, and they have confirmed that foul play has not been ruled out at this stage.”

As the words scrolled, Rikki felt her body absently lean forward slightly, pushing her cleavage up toward the main camera. Her voice came out light and casual, as if she were chatting with friends rather than delivering news to thousands of viewers. “Oh no, that sounds so scary,” she said in a higher register than she even knew she was capable of. “I really hope those girls are okay. I mean, those campus parties can get pretty wild, right? I remember one time, I went to a frat party and had so much fun I ended up waking up like sixty miles from home the next morning with no idea how I got there!” She let out a soft, vapid giggle, tilting her head so her pigtails swung. “College nights, am I right?”

Liam chuckled, the sound theatrical and smooth. “That’s quite the story, Rikki, but maybe we should save the personal anecdotes for another time. Let’s stay focused on the story at hand, shall we?”

Rikki’s mind was screaming. Stop. Shut up. This isn’t me. The words burned in her throat, but her lips kept moving, her voice staying bright and flirty. “Sorry about that! I just get so excited when I think about those wild nights. You know how it is, Liam. I can go a little crazy for those frat boys sometimes.” She winked at the camera, her oversized, red lips forming a natural pout whenever she wasn’t speaking. “Liam knows how much I love real men, don’t you?”

Liam nodded, his smirk betraying his professional expression. “I sure do, Rikki, but right now we need to focus on the story. Let’s check in with John Cassidy on the scene for the latest developments.”

Rikki stared straight ahead, suddenly able to control her movements again for the brief break. The abject humiliation crashed over her like a wave. Her hands trembled in her lap as she clenched her fists, those manicured nails digging into her palms. She could feel the eyes of the entire studio on her, the crew gleefully whispering about her vapid performance.

Liam turned to his co-anchor with a wide grin. “You did amazing out there,” he complimented her. “When I saw the script, I honestly thought there was no way you were ever going to agree to that kind of delivery. But you nailed it.”

Rikki was fuming inside. She turned to her costar, and snapped at the man, allowing the anger to slip through for just a moment. “Shut up, Liam!”

The man blinked, taken by surprise considering how willingly she had been playing along, but the smirk never left his face.

The PA man’s voice cut through the awkward silence. “Back in five… four… three…”

The moment the countdown hit one, Rikki’s back straightened automatically. Her seductive pout returned as if it had never left. Liam moved smoothly into the next story, reading directly from the teleprompter. “Moving on, a recent poll suggests that three in ten men report being unhappy in their marriages, while seven in ten women say they feel the same. The survey, conducted across several major cities, highlights growing dissatisfaction in modern relationships and raises questions about what couples are looking for in today’s world.”

Rikki’s body leaned forward again, ensuring the camera had a good view of her glitter-enhanced cleavage as she spoke, her voice coming out bright and teasing. “Wow, that’s a lot of unhappy people, Liam. Maybe those wives should think about sleeping with their husbands more often. I know that always makes me happy when I’m with a real man who knows what he’s doing.” The blonde couldn’t believe what she was actually saying. She was a feminist, and she knew exactly why more women were unhappy in marriage than men. In Rikki’s mind, marriage was an outdated, oppressive system that held no true benefits for women. Women were simply waking up and discovering their own value. The words she had been forced to say completely undermined her true opinion. Viz didn’t seem to care, however, as he forced her to let out a soft, breathy laugh, tilting her head so one pigtail brushed her bare shoulder. “Don’t you think, Liam? A little more bedroom action could fix a lot of these problems.”

Liam chuckled theatrically, playing along for the cameras. He couldn’t believe his former boss was going along with this. “That’s certainly one way to look at it, Rikki. Perhaps the wives haven’t thought about it that way yet.”

Rikki’s glossy lips curved into a wider smile, her voice dropping into a playful purr. “Well, if those wives don’t want to sleep with their husbands, I’d be more than happy to take on that responsibility. I mean, someone has to keep those men satisfied, right?” She winked again, her expression one of exaggerated flirtation while her mind silently raged behind it.

The male anchor grinned, keeping the tone light for the audience. “Let’s calm down there, Rikki. Nobody is sleeping with anyone else’s husbands just yet. But it’s an interesting point to consider.” He paused for a beat, then changed the subject. “Anyway, let’s move on to the weather with Sarah, followed by the latest sports news with Mike. We’ll catch you all in ten minutes after the break.”

The studio lights brightened back up as the segment ended. The PA man’s voice came over the speakers. “Back in ten minutes, everyone. Stay alert.”

Liam enjoyed every minute of that. He turned to Rikki with a grin. “Good jo—”

“Don’t talk to me!” the busty woman snapped, her voice sharp enough to make a couple of nearby workmen stop what they were doing and glance over. Rikki pushed back from her desk, standing up so quickly the chair rolled away behind her. The entire room could see her full outfit now — the red PVC tube top barely containing her breasts, the thin strip of material doing nothing to hide the shape of her nipples, the silver lettering sparkling across her glitter-dusted cleavage, her bare midriff and shoulders on full display, the matching red PVC g-string and fishnets visible from the waist down. Her clear six-inch platform stilettos clicked loudly as she stormed off the set, hips swaying with every furious step.

The studio watched in stunned silence as she disappeared toward the side exit, the echo of her heels following her in the distance.

❖

Rikki pushed through the glass door of the local coffee shop the morning after her nightmare mainstream TV debut, the chime above her head barely registering as she scanned the tables. Her assistant, Charisma, had been texting Rikki nonstop since yesterday, frantic little messages that piled up while Rikki was too busy replaying every humiliating second of the broadcast in her head to answer. Finally, she had agreed to meet here, right near the Femme Vogue headquarters. It would be nice to have a sympathetic ear to talk to, anyhow.

She spotted Charisma at a small table near the window, already sipping from a ceramic mug with another one waiting on the opposite side. The woman had worked for Rikki for years; she certainly knew her boss’s coffee preferences. Rikki walked over, her heels clicking softly on the tiled floor, and Charisma stood up immediately. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a light-blue jacket-and-pants set, the kind of professional outfit that made Rikki’s stomach twist with nostalgia for her old life. They pulled each other into a quick hug before sinking into their chairs.

Charisma’s gaze moved over Rikki’s outfit, taking in the light pink satin button-up blouse with its top two buttons completely gone, the lacy red bra peeking out, and the woman’s deep valley of cleavage on full display. Rikki’s black leather knee-length pencil skirt conformed to her ass, the semi-sheer black stockings and four-inch black heels completing the look. Charisma’s voice came out carefully. “You look nice.”

Rikki shifted in her seat, the compliment landing like a half-hearted pat on the back. “Thanks,” she muttered, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

The young blonde assistant set her cup down and leaned in a fraction, as if revealing a secret. “I saw the show last night.”

Rikki felt heat flood her face, a deep blush she couldn’t hide. She stared at the table, the steam rising from her untouched coffee doing nothing to calm the storm inside her chest.

Charisma continued gently. “I wasn’t sure if you’d had your lips enhanced before the broadcast or if it was just clever makeup tricks. But seeing you now… they’re definitely bigger.”

The former political editor anxiously rubbed the back of her neck, her long fingernails brushing the soft skin while her mind scrambled for something to say, anything to say. The words were stuck. She wanted to tell her assistant everything, but had no idea where to start.

Charisma kept going, her voice steady but laced with concern. “First, it was the whole change of style. Then the breast implants. Then those crazy TikTok videos. Then the job reassignment. And now your lips.” She paused, her eyes searching her boss’s face. “After yesterday’s performance, I’m sure something is going on with you.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m just going to say it straight. Are you being blackmailed somehow?”

Rikki shuddered; her friend was so close, so dangerously close to the truth. She opened her mouth, her heart pounding, ready to spill everything. “Not quite,” she said quietly as she lowered her head. “But you are right, I have changed.” This was it. She was going to spill the beans and start to get to the bottom of why she had been controlled by this voice in her head. Two minds were better than one, after all. “I’ve completely changed because…”

Suddenly, her thick, pouting lips froze in position as a familiar chuckle rolled through her thoughts. It was that bastard voice again. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? “No so fast, princess,” he mocked. “Let me help you out with this one.”

The woman’s mouth started moving on its own, the words tumbling out before she could register what she was saying. “I just felt so stuffy and boring before, you know? I knew I needed a change.”

No! She screamed at herself. That wasn’t what she wanted to say. Not even close. She tried again, forcing the real words up her throat. It’s controlling me! It’s inside my head right now! It made me do all of this. But her lips curved into a playful smile instead. “And honestly? I’ve never had more fun than I’ve had in the last couple of months.”

Charisma instantly shook her head, clearly taken aback by the woman’s words, her coffee cup pausing halfway to her mouth. “Rikki, you’re a feminist,” she reminded her boss. “You’re a role model to women everywhere. This isn’t you at all. If you need help, just say the word.”

Rikki’s mind screamed. Yes! Help! There’s something inside me, and I can’t control my own body! Her plump mouth opened again, but Viz was faster. The voice inside her head laughed softly. “You don’t mind if I take this one again, do you?”

The busty blonde’s words came out light and breezy. “Feminism is all about women making their own choices, right? And I’m choosing to suck cock and look pretty. What’s more empowering than that?”

Charisma’s expression tightened, frustration flashing across her features. What happened to the Veronica Reynolds she had always known? It didn’t feel like Rikki had changed; it felt like Charisma was talking to a different person altogether. What the hell had happened to her? Angry, the young assistant set her cup down harder than necessary. “Well, your decision to ‘look pretty for the cameras’ is affecting more than just you.” She took a breath, then continued. “Daniel Newsom approached me a few days ago. He said your new role meant you no longer needed an administrative personal assistant. He gave me an ultimatum: get thrown out on my ass because I’m surplus to requirements, or become his new personal secretary.”

Rikki gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet corner of the cafe. She had pulled Charisma out of stripping for creeps and given her a real career, a respectable one. Charisma’s journey was one of Rikki’s true success stories. The thought of Daniel having any kind of vision for his personal assistants made her stomach turn.

Rikki found her voice, this time her own. “What- what did you choose?”

Charisma narrowed her eyes, the frustration still there but mixed with something heavier. “I couldn’t afford to be jobless in this economy. I’m not going back to the club. I had no choice but to accept the offer.”

Rikki opened her mouth to apologize for putting her friend in an impossible situation, but before the words escaped, Charisma’s phone buzzed against the wooden tabletop. The young woman glanced down, picked it up, and scanned the screen. Her expression tightened into a grimace, deepening the thin lines around her eyes.

Charisma slipped the phone into her bag. “It’s Daniel,” she said quietly. “He’s summoning me to the office for my induction and uniform fitting immediately.” She exhaled slowly. “He seems to have stricter rules and requirements than you ever did.”

Rikki reached across the small table and placed her hand gently on top of Charisma’s, her manicured fingers trembling slightly. “I’m sorry,” she managed, the words her own. She wanted to say so much more, but knew the vindictive voice in her head would sabotage her vocal cords the moment she tried anything.

Charisma pulled her hand away. She bent down, picked up her bag from the floor, and stood up. “I hope you get it all figured out soon, Rikki,” she said distantly. “Come talk to me when you do.”

She turned and walked out of the coffee shop, the door chiming behind her. Her half-full cup of coffee sat abandoned on the table. Rikki remained seated, staring at the empty chair across from her. The horror settled deep in her chest. This damn voice in her head wasn’t just ruining her life anymore; it was reaching out and dismantling the people around her, too.

She sat there in the quiet corner, the sexy red bra still peeking from her open blouse. Her mind raced in hopeless frustration. She had no idea how to get this misogynistic entity out of her head, but she knew she needed to figure it out. She needed to claim her life back before the feminist legacy she had built for herself was all but forgotten.

❖

No! Don’t make me do it!

The scream desperately tore through Rikki’s mind, echoing against the walls of her skull while her enhanced body kept moving forward. She hated how steady her steps felt despite mentally attempting to turn the other way, how her hips rolled seductively with a sensual sway even as every nerve in her body begged for escape.

Viz only chuckled in response, intimately whispering inside the controlled woman’s skull. “We still haven’t found you the perfect man yet, Princess,” he said joyfully. “So we need to keep hunting.”

Her legs carried her straight toward the modern doors of an upscale cocktail bar, the kind of place that reeked of perverted finance bros and men braggishly trying to show off in front of their dates. Tonight, Rikki was dressed like a whore on the prowl, and she knew it. The outfit Viz had forced her into was pure filth: a sheer crimson mesh mini dress that stuck to every exaggerated curve, the fabric showing so much of her body that it left nothing to the imagination. Thin black lacy straps crossed over her shoulders and plunged between her massively fake F-cup implants, framing them like a gift as another thin strap uselessly attempted to cover her nipples. The hem barely skimmed the top of the blonde’s thighs, riding up with every step to flash the lacy black crotchless thong and the soft curve of her ass. Matching thigh-high stockings with delicate, straight seams ran up her legs, ending in delicate garter clips that peeked out whenever she moved. Her feet were strapped into glossy black platform heels with thin ankle straps, the kind that forced her calves to tighten and her posture to arch, and her makeup was pure porn-star excess — heavy black liner, false lashes, and that permanent glossy red pout on her enhanced lips that had become a staple of the former editor’s new style. A thin silver necklace chain rested just above her collarbone, drawing even more attention to the deep valley of her cleavage.

Rikki tottered inside, the platform heels helping her sway more than she ever wanted. The bar was dimly populated with well-dressed men and women nursing their expensive drinks after work, but every head turned as she entered. The blonde felt sick with shame. She scanned the room as she tried to force her body to get the hell out of there, but her body slid onto a stool at the bar like she belonged there.

“Cosmopolitan,” she heard herself order, the voice so direct.

The bartender nodded and got to work. Rikki’s fingers drummed on the wood, her long red nails clicking softly. Inside, she pleaded again, the words desperate in her thoughts. Please. Just let me leave. I can’t do this again.

Viz’s laugh returned, warm and teasing. “Relax, honey, and give it a chance. You might even enjoy it.”

The cocktail arrived, bright pink and garnished with a twist of lime. She already knew she wouldn’t enjoy it, but the sadistic voice in her head wouldn’t let her take control. She sipped her drink slowly, the sweet tang doing nothing to calm the fury and desperation in her chest. Minutes stretched on. Her eyes drifted across the room until they landed on a man a few stools away. He was scrolling on his phone, openly watching old clips of Beefcake, the very misogynist Rikki used to rally against on her TikTok, and had successfully shut down. The sight of the video made her blood boil. Disgusting. How can anyone watch that filth in public?

After some time, as she sipped the overly sweet cocktail, Rikki’s gaze kept drifting to the man a few stools down. He was completely absorbed in his phone, openly replaying clips of that chauvinistic asshole with the volume low but audible enough for anyone nearby to catch the inflammatory rants. Her stomach twisted as the man laughed along to the clip. How can anyone sit in a place like this and proudly watch that garbage? The internal scowl burned hotter. Someone ought to tell him where to go.

Viz agreed that someone should talk to him, but he had a very different idea in mind for how the conversation should go. Rikki’s body shifted on the stool, turning toward the stranger with a slow twist that made the red ride higher on her thighs. Her big red lips curved into a flirty little smile as she leaned closer. “That video looks interesting,” she heard herself say. “What’s so funny about it? Mind if I take a peek?”

The man glanced up, surprised at first, then his expression shifted into a wide grin. “Oh, this is Beefcake. The guy’s a bit of a legend. You a fan?”

Inside, the new news anchor recoiled, nausea rising from her stomach. A fan? I spent years trying to cancel that pig. But her mouth kept moving, the words tumbling out bright and eager. “Totally! I love him. Everything he says is so true. The way he calls out all the nonsense of modern dating? Chef’s kiss. I could watch him for hours.”

The man’s grin widened. He edged his stool closer, tilting his phone so she could see the screen better, his knee brushing up against hers under the bar. “Wow. I didn’t expect a girl like you to be into that. Most women get all offended over that stuff.”

Rikki’s mind screamed louder than ever. Get away from me. Stop touching me, you freak. But her body leaned into the contact, her cleavage pressing forward as she laughed softly. “Offended? Nah. Real men like him just tell it like it is. Men like that make me a little horny, to be honest.” Horny? I’m going to throw up, she screamed to herself.

The man’s eyes lit up as he clearly enjoyed where this conversation was headed. “Actually, Beefcake is somewhat of a friend of mine. We go way back.”

Rikki’s stomach churned with fresh disgust. A friend? The same man she had spent years having public spats with was buddies with this creep? She wanted to vomit right on his expensive shoes and run.

But Viz had other plans. Her glossy lips curved into an even brighter smile. “No way,” she squealed enthusiastically. “That’s so cool. I’ve been following him since forever. I love how he takes down those stuffy feminist podcasters like they’re nothing.”

The man chuckled, leaning in even closer until the blonde could smell his cologne. His hand slid boldly to her waist, his fingers brushing the bare skin above her stockings. “You’re trouble, doll, aren’t you?” he asked her in the sliest way possible. “My place is just a short taxi ride away. Are you up for getting out of here and continuing this conversation somewhere more private?”

No! Not again! Just say no! Rikki’s thoughts exploded in panic. She had been down this road before and knew exactly what Viz had in mind. However, no matter how hard she tried to wrest control back, the voice had her body locked in a vice. “Sounds perfect,” she heard herself say, “lead the way.”

The man paid for her drink and offered his arm. She took it, her heels clicking as they headed for the exit. The humiliation burned hotter with every step. She could feel eyes on her, judging the whore on the man’s arm. She didn’t even know this freak’s name. Hell, she was judging herself.

As the pair reached the door, they nearly collided with a couple walking in. Rikki looked up — and froze inside.

It was Kyle. Her former fiance. Arm in arm with a beautiful redhead in a stylish cocktail dress, the kind of elegant outfit Rikki used to wear for her man. Kyle didn’t notice her at first. He stepped aside politely. “Sorry about that—”

Then his eyes met hers, and the recognition slapped him in the face. “Veronica?”

She stood there in abject horror. The stranger’s arm tightened around her waist, and her body pressed against his side. How could she explain this? She still loved that man, but they hadn’t spoken for months, and now he was bringing some new woman to one of their favorite spots. She wanted to say something, anything, to explain, to beg for forgiveness. However, Viz saw the opportunity and seized it.

Her enhanced lips formed a wicked smile. “Oh, hey, Kyle! Fancy running into you here. Yeah, it’s me, all dressed up and ready to play.”

Kyle stared with widened eyes. He couldn’t believe the intelligent, feminist woman he had fallen in love with now looked like a two-dollar street whore. “What… what happened to you?”

Rikki’s voice came out trashy and bright. “Oh, I’m finally enjoying my life, babe. Found men who actually appreciate me for what I really am — a hot little slut who knows how to have fun.”

The redhead beside Kyle looked the blonde up and down with open judgment, her voice abrupt and sharp. “Kyle, who is this woman?”

Kyle swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. “She’s… umm… an old friend, dear.”

The words hit Rikki like a punch to the gut. An old friend. Not his ex-fiancee. Not the woman he once loved and respected. Just some random slut he was ashamed to tell others about.

Kyle forced a small smile. “Well, it was nice to see you again,” he said with sadness in his eyes. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

Rikki’s body giggled, the sound light and empty. “You too!”

Then she suddenly felt a smack on her practically bare ass, eliciting a yelp from her pouty lips. The stranger was getting impatient. “Come on, slut. My bed needs warming up.”

Rikki heard herself giggle again as the random man tugged her gently toward the exit. As they stepped out into the night, the blonde heard the redhead’s voice behind them talking to Kyle. “Is that your usual taste in old friends?” Her voice felt so vindictive and judgmental, but she knew she would be thinking the exact same thing if she were in the woman’s shoes.

The door closed behind them. The man hailed a taxi, his hand sliding lower on her hip. Rikki sat in the back seat beside him, her mind screaming in silent agony while her body leaned into his touch, glossy red lips parted in invitation.

Rikki had no idea where the night would take her. She only knew that every second she spent under Viz’s control, she was powerless to stop what the misogynistic voice had in mind.

❖

The stranger, named Marcus, even if Rikki had never asked for his name, pushed his apartment door open with his shoulder, his mouth already claiming the blonde’s in a hungry kiss that tasted of whiskey and undeniable lust. She stumbled forward with him, her heels tottering over the threshold, but his arms stayed locked around her waist, gripping her ass, as he pulled her deeper into the living room. The kiss was messy, urgent, tongues sliding and teeth grazing as Rikki’s body responded even while her mind continued to protest.

He kicked the door shut behind them without breaking contact. Rikki’s back hit up against the wall first, then the edge of a sleek console table, her hips grinding his as the kiss deepened. Between gasps, she managed to pull back just enough to speak, her voice breathy and surprised. “This place is actually really pretty. I thought we were headed for some dumpy mancave with pizza boxes everywhere.”

Marcus laughed against her mouth, his eyes looking into hers with dark intent. “You talk too much.” His hands slid down her sides, fingers hooking the thin straps of the sheer red dress. One sharp tug and the fabric peeled away, pooling at the busty blonde’s feet and leaving her in nothing but the lacy black crotchless thong, thigh-high stockings, and glossy black stripper heels. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, but the man’s hands were already everywhere, palming her ass, squeezing her huge breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they hardened.

The pair stumbled again, their mouths fused, bumping into another wall as the man walked her backward. Her shoulder blades scraped against the cool plaster as his fingers tangled in her blonde hair, yanking her head back so he could bite down on the column of her throat. Rikki’s mind thrashed. Stop! Why am I getting turned on? This isn’t right! But her body arched into him, a soft, needy moan escaping her red lips.

Marcus led his prize down a short hallway, still kissing, still groping, until they reached the bedroom door. Rikki tried one last desperate joke, trying to slow the man down. “You’re not even going to offer me a drink?” she cooed, knowing that the maniacal voice in her head would have stopped anything more overt before it reached her lips.

The stranger’s eyes darkened with lust. “Shut up and get on the bed, whore.” He didn’t wait for Rikki to react to his words. He grabbed her by the hips and tossed her onto the king-size mattress. The blonde bounced once, landing on her back, legs splayed. As she looked up, she witnessed the man stripping; his shirt flung aside, jeans shoved down, and boxers kicked off. His cock sprang free, thick and glistening already, the veins standing out along the rigid shaft as he stroked himself slowly, eyes locked on the busty woman’s exposed body.

Rikki shuddered. She tried to close her legs, but felt resistance in her muscles, and her limbs stayed spread and inviting. No. Please. I can’t. Not with him. She exclaimed inside her own brain.

Viz’s voice slid through her thoughts. “Yes, you can,” he said in amusement. “And you will. Now, be a good girl.”

Marcus climbed onto the bed, no foreplay, no teasing. He flipped the blonde onto her hands and knees with one powerful motion, spreading her thighs out wide. The man’s hands gripped her hips hard as he lined up and thrust in deep from behind in one brutal stroke. The sudden fullness in Rikki’s pussy tore a gasp from her throat, her back arching as he bottomed out inside her.

“Fuck, you’re tighter than I expected, bitch,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in again, setting a punishing rhythm.

Rikki’s mind raced, pleasure and shame crashing together. I hate this. I hate how good this feels. But her mouth opened, and the words that spilled out were pure filth, forced by the sadistic entity inside her mind. “Yes, fuck me harder, daddy. Use this slutty little cunt like it was made for your cock.”

Marcus groaned and drove deeper, one hand fisting her hair, the other slapping her ass. Each thrust rocked her forward, her oversized breasts swinging heavily beneath her. Rikki’s long fingernails clawed the sheets. Stop talking. Please stop making me talk. Yet her voice kept going, louder and dirtier. “God, your dick feels so good stretching me out. I’m such a dirty whore for you. Fill me up, make me your cum dump.”

The man fucked his conquest relentlessly, his hips snapping as his dick pummeled into her orifice. Rikki’s vision blurred at the edges as unwanted pleasure built within her, rising in her chest. She could feel the orgasm approaching. No! I don’t want to come. Not for him. But her body betrayed her, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Harder,” she moaned on the edge. “Fuck me like you own me. I love being used.”

Marcus sighed and leaned forward, his chest pressed against the topless woman’s back, his cock still buried deep. His breath was hot against her ear as he reached to the bedside table and yanked open the drawer. Rikki barely registered the movement until something pink and round pressed between her overinflated, bimbo lips. “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the man growled, buckling the ball gag tight behind her head. The thick silicone filled her mouth, turning her filthy cries into a muffled “Mmmphhh!”

The gagged muffles only made the dominant man fuck her harder. Rikki’s eyes rolled back in her skull, tears of humiliation and forced ecstasy spilling down her cheeks. Her gagged whimpers vibrated around the ball as he pounded her, one hand reaching around to rub her clit in tight, controlled circles. The pleasure crested fast, her entire body seizing as the most intense orgasm of her life slammed through the blonde. Waves of white-hot bliss ripped her apart, muscles clamping down around him, her vision blurring into streaks of color and light. She could sense the man was in his own state of climax, his cock twitching as he emptied his seed inside of her.

Rikki’s thighs shook, her toes curling in her heels, a broken “Mmmphhh!” tearing from her gagged mouth as the climax dragged on and on until everything went dark.

The blonde woman collapsed forward onto the bed, consumed by darkness as she was knocked out cold, the pink ball gag still strapped tight between her full red lips, the stranger’s cock still buried inside her as the world faded away.

❖

Rikki let out a tired, lazy groan as her eyelids began to flutter open. The first thing she registered was the soft morning light filtering through the bedroom’s closed blinds, painting faint stripes across the ceiling. Her head felt heavy, her body sore in places she didn’t even want to think about. She tried to swallow and bit down instinctively— only to feel something hard and round filling her mouth. The blonde’s eyes immediately snapped wide.

The memories slammed into her all at once, a brutal flood that stole the breath from her lungs. The cocktail bar. The sheer crimson dress riding up her thighs. The disgusting man scrolling Beefcake clips on his phone. The way she had flirted, leaned in, let his hand slide up her leg while her mind screamed for escape. The near-collision at the door with her ex-fiancé, Kyle, and his elegant new girlfriend. The trashy words the sadistic entity in her head had forced from her lips. The taxi ride. The apartment. The rough, relentless fucking that had left her shaking and gasping until the pleasure had finally short-circuited her brain and knocked her unconscious.

It was all real.

A low groan and a shuffle beside her made the blonde freeze. The stranger, whose name she still didn’t know, was still asleep next to her, his arm draped possessively over her waist. His breathing was deep and even. She was still naked except for the thigh-high stockings that had stayed on through the night and the shiny black heels she hadn’t managed to kick off. The pink ball gag was still strapped tight between her plump red lips.

Rikki’s hands moved carefully, reaching back toward the buckle at the back of her head. She had to get this thing off before the bastard woke up. Her fingers fumbled with the strap, her heart racing, and then they brushed something cold and metallic that made her stomach crawl. A small padlock. That bastard had locked the gag after she had passed out. She tugged at the padlock, panic rising in her chest, but the lock held firm. A muffled protest tried to escape her throat.

“Mmmphhh… mmmphhh!”

The sound came out pathetic and unintelligible as her mind raced to figure out her next course of action. She had two clear choices: wake the perverted stranger beside her and somehow demand he unlock the gag without the ability to form words, or try to slip out, face the humiliation of walking the streets while wearing a ball gag, and race home to find something sharp enough to cut the damn strap. She chose the second option. Anything to get away from this crass asshole before he could touch her again.

The blonde feminist started to shuffle forward on the mattress, slow and careful, trying not to disturb him. The gag made every breath loud in her own ears. Just a few more inches and she could swing her legs over the side.

A groan rumbled to her right. Marcus had stirred, rolling onto his side. His eyes cracked open and landed straight on Rikki’s face. He smiled, slow and satisfied, his gaze lingering on the pink ball stretching those impressive lips.

“Morning, babe,” he murmured nonchalantly, his voice rough with sleep. “Did you sleep well?”

Rikki tried to tell the man to fuck off, but the gag turned everything she said into garbled nonsense. “Mmmph…. Mmphh ghh!”

The words were unrecognizable, wet and helpless around the silicone. Marcus’s smile only widened.

Before the blonde could move away, the bedroom door swung open out of nowhere. Heavy footsteps approached the foot of the bed. Before Rikki could even acknowledge the unexpected entry, her blood ran cold as she heard a familiar voice cut through the room like ice water down her spine. It was the one voice she hated more than any other. “Well, well… what do you have here, little brother?”

Rikki froze in place, every muscle locking up in horror. Her eyes followed the voice. Standing at the end of the mattress, hands on his hips and wearing the biggest shit-eating predatory grin she had ever seen, was Scott Wolfman. Beefcake in the flesh. The same man who had spent years trying to undermine her influence and status, the misogynist Manosphere influencer whose empire she had sworn to burn down.

Marcus propped himself up on one elbow, still grinning. “Hey, Scott. I had a wild night with this one last night.”

Scott’s eyes dragged over Rikki’s practically naked body — the stockings, the heels, the ball gag still locked tight — and his smirk grew wider. He rubbed his hands together in open delight as he took in the sight of the busty, gagged woman sprawled on his brother’s bed.

“Well, hi there, RikkiRoar,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Did you have some fun with my brother last night?”

Rikki’s mind screamed in pure, white-hot horror as she clenched her teeth around the locked gag. This stranger was Beefcake’s brother. She had let him fuck her. She had come so hard she blacked out. And now the man she hated most in the world was standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at her like she was the best gift he had ever received.

Scott moved closer, placing one knee on the mattress. His eyes never left her face.

“Are you ready for round two?”

End of Chapter Four