The Slave of Pleasure

Rachel

"Hello, I really liked your photos. I would like to invite you to dinner. We can discuss further details in person. What would be your price for dinner?"

I froze for a moment, processing the invitation. The idea of going out to dinner with a complete stranger made me a little nervous, but I also knew I needed the money. I took a deep breath and decided to respond with what I thought was fair. "Hello. The price for a dinner is one thousand dollars."

The answer didn't take long to arrive. Within minutes, the user responded, and what he said made my heart race.

"I'll pay you two thousand dollars if you'll come to dinner and talk to me. What do you think?"

I felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. The amount was significant and could help me cover some immediate expenses, but the thought of meeting this man in person still made me uneasy. However, the temptation of money and the need to solve my problems were stronger.

With a feeling of nervousness and determination, I accepted the proposal. I responded quickly:

"It's agreed. I'll be there."

The moment I sent the confirmation message, a wave of anxiety washed over me. I looked at the clock and realized I had a few hours to prepare. I got up from the couch and started getting ready for the date.

The first step was choosing the clothes. I ducked into my closet, sifting through my options. I wanted to look elegant and confident, but not overdone. I chose a black dress that I always found sophisticated and versatile. It was a tight dress, with a discreet neckline and a length that reached just above the knees. She accessorized with a pair of high heels that matched the dress. The look was simple but had a touch of class.

As I got dressed, my mind was full of thoughts about what might happen that night. I wondered if he really was who he said he was and what the purpose of the dinner was. The doubts and fear were present, but I needed to move forward. The need for money and my mother's situation drove me to face this challenge.

With my dress fitted and my hair carefully done, I looked at myself in the mirror. The reflection I saw looked confident, but anxiety was evident in my eyes. Makeup was the last step of preparation. I tried to keep the look natural, but with a touch of sophistication. It was important that I looked good, but not too flashy.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

Finally, it was ready. I grabbed my bag, took a deep breath and got ready to leave. The walk to the restaurant where he had arranged to meet seemed longer than usual, and every minute seemed to increase the tension I felt. The thought that this was all part of a process to secure the money my mother needed gave me a little strength, despite my nervousness.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, I entered and was greeted by a maître d' who guided me to a reserved table. The place was elegant, and I couldn't help but feel a little out of place. Sitting at the table, time seemed to pass slowly as I waited for him.

Finally, the sound of approaching footsteps brought a mixture of anxiety and expectation.

He was everything I had imagined and more. The restaurant's door opened, and the moment he entered, the surrounding atmosphere seemed to change. He was tall, very tall, and had a presence that immediately filled the room. His muscles were visible even under the impeccable suit he wore, the dark fabric accentuating his imposing, well-defined physique. His medium-length hair fell softly to his shoulders, and he shook it with a subtle movement as he walked toward me. I watched him approach, my heart racing, and I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. His gaze was piercing, but it also carried a gentleness that contrasted with his dominant appearance. When he finally stopped next to me, he smiled at me, and the warmth in his smile was almost enough to dissipate the tension I felt.

"Rachel, isn't it?" He said, his voice deep and controlled. "I'm Vincenzo Moretti."

"Yes, it's me," I replied, trying to remain calm. "Pleasure to meet you."

He sat across from me, adjusting his tie with an elegant, professional gesture. There was something enigmatic in his gaze, an intensity that made me feel a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Rachel," Vincenzo began, his voice firm. "I liked your profile. I'm here to make an offer."

My heart raced, and I sat up straighter, focusing all my attention on him. What could be so urgent for him to come here?

"I want to take you to Italy," he continued, his eyes fixed on mine. "I'm offering you a contract to live as my sex slave for a year."

His words hit me like a slap. I felt a wave of shock and outrage. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The insult, the humiliation, everything seemed to blend into one sickening sensation. It was as if I was in a nightmare, and Vincenzo Moretti's every word was etching itself into my mind.

"That...that's an insult," I said, voice shaking with the mixture of shock and anger. "You can't be serious."

He remained calm, gaze never wavering. "I understand this may seem shocking, but the proposal is serious. And the payment is also very serious. I'm offering half a million dollars."

His words echoed in my mind, half a million dollars. It was an amount that could solve all my financial problems, pay off my mother's hospital debt and much more. But at the same time, the price for my dignity seemed exorbitant. Silence dragged on between us, and I struggled to find words to express what I was feeling. "I... need to think about this."

Vincenzo nodded, his gaze assessing me with a mix of patience and expectation. "Of course. Think calmly. I will wait for your answer."

He stood up, his imposing presence still evident as he walked away. I stood there, paralyzed by confusion, struggling to process what had just happened. Half a million dollars. And the price of my dignity? The conversation was over, but the decision I had to make was just beginning.