Chapter 5
Scarletta
The form is organized into sections with clinical precision. Each one more invasive than the last.
Part I: Psychological Profile
Answer all questions honestly and completely. Your responses will be shared with potential buyers to ensure compatible matching.
My stomach drops.
Shared with buyers. Plural.
Which means multiple people will read whatever I write here. Multiple strangers will know things about me I've never told anyone. Things I barely admit to myself.
You write about this stuff online, I remind myself. Thousands of people have read your darkest fantasies.
But that's different. Those are stories. Fiction. Characters who aren't me.
This is... this is me.
Question 1: Describe your darkest sexual fantasy in detail. What about it arouses you?
I stare at the text box. Cursor blinking. Waiting.
The smart thing would be to lie. Give them something generic. Something that doesn't expose the twisted parts of my brain.
But they're paying me twenty thousand dollars minimum. They want honesty.
And maybe—maybe I want someone to finally know.
I start typing.
I read it back.
Delete it.
Retype almost the exact same thing.
Delete it again.
Just fucking write it. They already have your bank account information. What's a little soul-baring compared to that?
I type it a third time and force myself to move on before I can second-guess.
Question 2: What is your relationship with shame regarding your sexual desires?
Oh, we're just diving right into the deep end, aren't we?
Question 3: Have you ever wanted to be watched without your knowledge or permission? Why does this appeal to you?
Question 4: Describe a time you felt most vulnerable during a sexual or intimate experience. What made it significant?
My vision blurs.
I'm not crying. I'm just tired.
Liar.
Question 5: What role does fear play in your arousal? Be specific.
Be specific. As if the general answer wouldn't be damning enough.
I'm a therapist's wet dream at this point.
Or nightmare. Probably nightmare.
Question 6: Have you ever fantasized about someone manipulating circumstances to get close to you? Describe this fantasy.
What the fuck kind of question—
I stare at it.
Read it again.
Someone manipulating circumstances.
This is either the most insightful psychological profiling I've ever seen, or whoever wrote this questionnaire has access to my brain.
Neither option is comforting.
Question 7: What is your experience level with BDSM practices? What have you tried? What have you only imagined?
Finally, a straightforward question.
Question 8: Describe your ideal dominant partner. What qualities matter most?
I could write a dissertation on this.
I write a paragraph instead. Essentially describing a fictional character. Because men like that don't exist in real life.
You're about to find out if they do.
Shut up, brain.
Question 9: What are you hoping to gain from this experience? Be honest.
They keep saying "be honest" like I might be tempted to lie.
I'm past lying at this point. I've already confessed to wanting to be manipulated and watched without consent. What's a little financial desperation on top of that?
There.
The pathetic truth in all its glory.
Question 10: What is your greatest fear about participating in this auction?
I almost laugh.
My greatest fear?
How much time do they have?
I hit enter before I can delete it.
The form advances to the next section.
Part II: Experience & Availability Menu
Select all activities you consent to during your contracted period. Compensation is cumulative based on selections. All activities are optional.
Holy shit, it's a menu.
A literal menu of sex acts with price tags attached.
Base Compensation (Mandatory): $20,000 ? Agreed
And below that, categories. Tiers. Like I'm ordering appetizers at a restaurant except the appetizers are various forms of sexual degradation.
Tier 1: Foundational Activities ($500 each)
The list includes things I've already tried. Things that seem almost quaint compared to what I've written about.
Light bondage. Spanking. Blindfolds. Orgasm control. Temperature play.
I check them all.
Five hundred dollars each.
That's... that's twenty-five hundred dollars for things I've fantasized about anyway.
You're selling yourself.
I'm selling my time. And my consent. Which is mine to sell.
The justification sounds hollow even in my own head.
847-Sk-2847 Tier 1 Total: $2,500
The number appears at the bottom of the section, updating automatically.
Twenty-two thousand five hundred total now.
Tier 2: Intermediate Activities ($1,000 Each)
This is where it gets more intense.
Heavy bondage. Moderate impact play—marks allowed, the description specifies, like someone might want proof afterward that this happened.
Complete sensory deprivation.
Objectification.
Total Power Exchange - 24 hours.
My cursor hovers over that last one.
All autonomy relinquished for contract duration.
That's what I want, isn't it? What I write about constantly? Complete surrender to someone who knows what to do with it?
I check the box.
And the others.
Because I'm already here. Already doing this. Might as well commit.
847-SK-2847 Tier 2 Total: $5,000
Twenty-seven thousand five hundred total.
Enough to pay off my eviction and have money left over for... what? First and last month's rent somewhere new? Food? Basic survival?
Keep going.
Tier 3: Advanced Activities ($2,500-$5,000 Each)
I read through the list.
Psychological dominance. Mind games. Gaslighting desires. Using participant's own fantasies/writing against them.
My breath catches.
Using participant's own fantasies/writing against them.
They know.
They know I write. They know I have a forum account. They know my darkest fantasies are documented in forty-seven stories for anyone to read.
And they're offering twenty-five hundred dollars for permission to weaponize that knowledge against me.
I check the box.
Forced confession. Verbalization of shameful desires under duress.
Check.
Mirror work. Forced observation of own submission.
Check.
I skip the severe impact play. The breath play. The knife play, needle play, and fire play.
There's a difference between fantasy and having someone actually put a knife to my skin, and I'm not ready to cross that line for any amount of money.
847-SK-2847 Tier 3 Total: $7,500
Thirty-five thousand total.
I'm shaking.
Tier 4: Extreme Activities ($10,000-$50,000 each)
Consensual non-consent.
Public humiliation.
Recording.
Sharing—multiple partners.
Extended captivity beyond twenty-four hours.
Permanent marking.
Watersports.
Scat play.
I don't check any of them.
Fifty thousand dollars for a rape fantasy means someone out there is willing to pay fifty thousand dollars for a rape fantasy, and that level of desire terrifies me more than the act itself.
847-SK-2847 Tier 4 Total: $0
Still thirty-five thousand.
Tier 5: Additional Considerations ($1,500-$3,000 each)
The list is longer here. More specific.
Exhibitionism—scenes performed in front of mirrors, windows, or buyer's observation. Fifteen hundred dollars to be watched.
I check it.
Verbal degradation. Name-calling. Humiliation through language.
Check.
Servitude. Domestic tasks while naked or restrained.
Check.
Sleep deprivation. Food control. Bathroom control.
I hesitate on bathroom control.
Permission required. Door open. Buyer may observe.
That's... that's humiliating in a way that has nothing to do with sex.
That's control over basic bodily functions.
That's reducing me to something less than human.
Fifteen hundred dollars.
I check the box.
I skip anal play, deep throat training, orgasm prohibition, but then…
Forced orgasms until unconsciousness?
I mean…
Check.
847-SK-2847 Tier 5 Total: $9,000
The grand total appears at the bottom of the screen.
Total Compensation: $44,000
Forty-four thousand dollars.
For twenty-four hours of complete surrender to a stranger who will have access to my psychological profile, my writing, my darkest fears and desires.
A stranger who will tie me up, and blindfold me, and control when I eat, and sleep, and piss.
Who will call me degrading names and make me confess things I've never said out loud.
Who will use my own words against me.
Who will make me watch myself in mirrors as I submit to everything I've only ever written about.
Who will make me come until I pass out.
Forty-four thousand dollars.
I can pay off my eviction. All my bills, gone. Instant new life. Get a new apartment. Something bigger. With an office, or at least a bedroom. Have a safety net while I figure shit out. Maybe even hire a cover designer and publish one of my stories for real on instead of DarkDesires Forum.
All I have to do is click submit.
My cursor hovers over the button.
This is insane. You're insane. You're going to get trafficked or murdered or—
The timer at the top of the screen shows seven minutes remaining.
Seven minutes to decide if I'm the kind of person who does this.
If I'm desperate enough.
Broken enough.
Brave enough.
You're none of those things. You're just scared, and alone, and out of options.
My finger hovers over the touchpad.
What would your mother say?
That question should stop me.
It doesn't.
Because my mother married a man she didn't love to avoid being alone college. Then did it again after my daddy died. She's got stepsons now. Stepsons she treats far better than she ever did me.
It doesn't even bother me though. Her life sounds like Hell. She performed a version of herself for thirty years until she forgot who she really was.
She disappeared into safety and called it good.
I refuse to disappear.
Even if it means doing something reckless. Even if it means selling myself to a stranger. Even if it means confronting every fear and fantasy I've spent years hiding from.
At least I'll be seen.
I click submit.
The screen goes black.
For one horrible second I think the browser has crashed. That I've lost everything. That the whole thing was a scam and I've just confessed my darkest secrets to the void for nothing.
Or worse—that it was real and I just lost three ours of work and won't be able to fill the form out again in the six minutes I have left.
Then a message appears.
Submission Received.
Thank You, Participant 847-Sk-2847.
Further Instructions Will Be Provided Shortly.
The timer disappears.
I sit back.
It's two-fifty-five in the morning now. I've been staring at this screen for three hours, excavating my psyche and assigning dollar values to my boundaries.
My phone vibrates.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
A text message. Unknown number.
Take nothing with you but your phone and go downstairs to the lobby. A car is waiting.
I read it again.
Now?
Right now?
My apartment is a disaster. Dirty dishes, blanket for catastrophe, and I'm wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt I've been in for two days. I haven't showered. Haven't brushed my teeth. Haven't—
My phone vibrates again.
Now, Scarletta.
They know my name.
Of course they know my name. They have my bank account. My psychological profile. Forty-seven stories worth of my deepest fantasies.
They know everything.
Take nothing but your phone.
I stand on shaking legs.
Look around my apartment one last time.
The blanket fort. The laptop. The eviction notice on the floor.
One-thousand forty-seven dollars in my checking account.
Forty-four thousand waiting for me downstairs.
I pick up my phone.
And I leave.