He circled her slowly, then began rearranging her. Arms lifted high overhead. One hand came down hard on her own ass with a sharp smack. Finger pointed. Finger directed at her own breasts. He folded her down onto the edge of the bed, crossed her legs neatly, and pressed her hands against her chest until she was squeezing herself.

Adam snapped his fingers.

The smile never left her face as she began speaking in a clear, cheerful voice:

“I am Adam’s personal slut. My boobies will be on display for Adam.”

While she repeated the line, her hands moved on their own—sliding over her body, then drifting into his lap, rubbing slowly and deliberately.

Another snap.

Victoria blinked hard. The smile collapsed. She jerked upright, eyes wide.

“Adam—did you put me in a trance again?” Her voice cracked with irritation. “You’re so fucking weird.”

Snap.

The irritation melted instantly. She looked up at him through her lashes, voice soft and hungry.

“I just want to be your personal slut…”

She shifted on the bed, stretching one leg out, then the other, rotating her ankles so he could see the arches of her feet. Her hands trailed slowly up her calves and thighs as she posed for him, offering every angle.

One final snap.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She went limp.

Adam took her hands and guided them over her own body again—starting at her feet, dragging upward over legs, stomach, breasts, throat, then back down into his lap. He slipped a pair of sunglasses onto her face, laid her flat, and curled her fingers around a phone so it looked like she was mid-text.

Later, the closet door stood half-open. Victoria’s arm hung out into the hallway, wrist limp, a folded note resting in her open palm:

Return to Adam’s room

He plucked the note, slid it deep into her cleavage, and shut the door.

Only her empty hand remained, fingers slightly curled, still reaching out into the quiet hall.