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off your top?"

"I didn't have a choice, Mr. Ericsson." My voice was cracking badly.

"And all of this, including when you slapped him, was recorded on video?"

"I think so."

Mr. Ericsson sighed.

"Let me make one thing clear, Lola. Connor Davenport did not sexually assault you. I do not want to hear another word about that. Do you understand me?"

I nodded silently. I was afraid that if I spoke, I might cry.

"It is possible," he continued, "that Connor was guilty of harassment. However, your evidence is extremely thin."

"But the video shows-"

"From what I understand, the video shows Connor asking you to take your top off, and you giving him what he wanted. That isn't harassment, Lola-that's flirting."

"So are you going to fire me, then?" I blinked back tears.

"I probably should," Mr. Ericsson said with an air of resignation. "Which is very disappointing, because you were doing such a good job up until Friday."

"Please, Mr. Ericsson, it was one mistake!"

He paused for a second. It gave me hope.

"You've only been with us for a few weeks, Lola, but you've become very popular among our members." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Between the two of us, you're certainly more popular than Connor Davenport. That boy is a prize asshole if ever there was one."

I laughed.

"Do you like working here, Lola?"

"Yes, sir, I do!" I sat straight up, pushing out my chest.

"You like serving our members?"

"Yes, Mr. Ericsson. I just lost my cool. It won't happen again."

"It had better not," he said sternly. "If I let you stay on, I need you to promise me that you'll be on your best behavior."

"I promise, Mr. Ericsson."

"This is a delicate situation, but I think I can manage it so that you keep your job."

"Thank you, Mr. Ericsson! Thank you!"

"I will handle Connor Davenport and his father. You focus on being your charming self and serving our members well."

"I will, I promise."

"Good," he said, standing up. "Go get changed."

"Thank you, Mr. Ericsson!"

Relief washed over me. Drunk with gratitude, I stood up and wrapped my arms around him in a hug, pushing my soft, pillowy chest against his taut, athletic frame. As I squeezed him, I felt his large hand stroking my hair.

"I won't let you down."

...

True to his word, Mr. Ericsson took care of things with Connor. When I checked my schedule the next day, I saw that all of Connor's lessons had been removed from my calendar.

But he wasn't able to take care of everything. A couple of weeks later, another picture turned up in my locker. This time, however, it wasn't a random woman in a hotel room. It was me.

Like the previous photo, this image was taken from the male point of view. It showed me, naked, riding on top of an anonymous man, his cock buried deep inside me. My expression was one of deep concentration, as if I were determined to fuck him better than any other woman ever had.

Of course, it wasn't a real photo. At the time, I had still only been with Cam, and he had taken from behind, not from below. Yet although I knew it to be fake, it had been produced with incredible skill and attention to detail. The body was a remarkable match for my own, both in terms of skin color and proportions, and my face showed little evidence of having been transplanted. I could only identify it as a fraud because of my limited sexual history at the time. If someone were to show me that photo today, I would likely accept it as the genuine article. It was surreal, terrifying, and weirdly exciting to see myself performing a sex act I knew hadn't happened.

This photo also had a watermark that led to a website. When I saw it, my heart nearly stopped: ConqueringLola.com.

The site featured half-a-dozen similar images: me on all fours with my hands between my legs, looking back at the camera as I played with myself; me kneeling in front of a masturbating man, preparing to receive a facial; me lying on a bed with my hand wrapped around a large cock, guiding towards my wet, ready pussy.

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