Chapter 1: The Video

The link was buried in a forum thread titled "Best club sessions of 2024," and Tiffany only clicked it because the thumbnail looked like her.

Not sort of like her. Not one of those "she looks familiar" things she'd gotten used to since stumbling onto possession.com months ago. It was her. Her auburn hair, her waist-length waves, the little beauty mark under her left eye. The video was titled "RENTAL #4471 - Curvy ravenette in HEAT at The Club" and it had forty thousand views.

She shouldn't have pressed play.

She pressed play.

The camera opened on a stage under purple lights, and there she was, in a black dress three sizes tighter than anything she owned, hips swaying to a beat only she could hear. Except it wasn't her. The walk was wrong. The posture was wrong. She moved like a guy who'd just won the lottery, shoulders rolling, giggling at her own hands as she raised them over her head.

"Ohhh man," her own voice said, breathy and dreamy, stretched out like syrup. "Ohhh, this body is amazing. Best rental of my life. Look at these."

Her hands came up and grabbed her own tits through the dress, squeezing, weighing them like produce at a market. The crowd cheered.

"Tits for days, bro," she purred, and Tiffany's stomach dropped, because whoever was in there was talking in a lazy, drawn-out frat-boy drawl that she would never, ever use. "Mmm. Everything's so soft. You guys should feel this. No? Okay, fine, more for me."

The announcer's voice cut in, smooth and professional, like a golf commentator at an orgy. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's featured rental. Thirty years old, five-foot-six, natural D-cups with a seventeen-hundred CC enhancement, thirty-eight inch hips, and a rate of sexual proficiency she earned herself before she ever hit the market, if you catch my meaning. Bidders, note she has been upgraded since her last appearance. Ass training sessions, three. Deep-throat certification, complete. This rental has serviced forty-one clients across twenty-nine bookings, and her reviews are, well, see for yourself."

Forty-one clients? Tiffany's mouth went dry. Then her eyes went somewhere much, much lower, because heat had just bloomed between her legs like someone had flipped a switch.

On screen, her body grabbed the hem of the dress and peeled it off in one practiced motion, to a wall …