Becoming His Expensive Plaything (4/11)

Jacob stopped going to work. He couldn’t show up looking like this—blonde hair, perfectly arched brows—how the hell was he supposed to explain that? He didn’t even know how to explain it to himself. The idea of facing his coworkers, seeing their reactions, was too much.

It was fine, though. Now that he wasn’t going to work, he could go to Victor’s more often, make money even faster. A few weeks, and this would all be over. His brows would grow back, he’d dye his hair, and things would go back to normal.

The next day, Jacob returned to Victor’s house. Not long after arriving, he found himself in the shower again, carefully shaving his legs until they were smooth and bare. It was becoming familiar, even if he still hated how natural it was starting to feel. When he stepped out, towel wrapped low around his waist, Victor was already in the bedroom, laying out something a little different: a delicate, floral pajama set and white stockings. “No need for anything extravagant today,” he said casually, not even turning around. “We’re just relaxing.”

Jacob swallowed hard as he dressed, pulling the high-cut shorts up his legs. The fabric stretched snugly over his ass, hugging every curve before settling into place, so tight that the bottom of his cheeks peeked out while the fabric itself wedged between them, leaving his thighs entirely exposed. He pulled on the matching top next, the long sleeves stretching snugly over his arms while the cropped hem rode just above his waist, exposing a sliver of his stomach. The delicate floral pattern and lace trim only made it feel daintier, more intimate. He sat down to roll the stockings up one leg at a time, the sheer fabric stretching snugly over his calves and thighs, smoothing against his freshly shaved skin. They hugged him tightly, leaving no room to forget what he was wearing.

Victor, however, barely seemed to notice Jacob’s discomfort. He simply patted the chair in front of his vanity, beckoning him over. “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s get your makeup done.”

Jacob obeyed, sitting stiffly as Victor worked with practiced ease, dusting foundation over his skin, blending in blush, delicately shaping his lips with soft pink lipstick. With each stroke of the brush, his features grew softer, prettier—exactly the way Victor wanted him to look.

And then, with an almost casual ease, Victor said it. “I think we should start calling you Samantha from now on.”

Jacob stiffened. His breath caught.

Victor made it sound simple, like ‘Samantha’ was just the natural next step. “It suits you, don’t you think?” he continued, tilting Jacob’s chin up with a smile. “Jacob doesn’t quite fit anymore.”

Jacob’s lips parted, but no protest came. He turned his gaze to the mirror instead, staring at the reflection of the woman seated before him. The blonde waves, the perfectly sculpted brows, the soft, painted lips—he couldn’t deny it—the reflection looked a lot more like a woman than a man.

His throat tightened. Defeated, he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. “…Alright.”

Victor’s smile widened. “Good girl.”

The rest of the day passed in a strange, quiet blur. They didn’t do much—just sat around the house, watching TV, flipping through magazines, talking about nothing. But every time Victor said Samantha, Jacob tensed. He didn’t react, didn’t say a word. He’d agreed to it. That didn’t make it any easier to hear.

By evening, Victor suggested a movie. He chose a romantic one—of course he did—and pulled Jacob onto the couch beside him. “Why don’t you sit with me, Samantha?” he said gently, wrapping an arm around Jacob’s waist and drawing him in close.

Jacob stiffened at first, but as the movie progressed, his body gradually eased into the warmth of Victor’s embrace. His head found a place against Victor’s shoulder, his legs tucked neatly beside him. It should have felt wrong. He should have been counting down the minutes until he could get dressed and go home.

But as the characters on screen leaned in, their lips meeting in a deep, passionate kiss, Jacob’s mind drifted. His eyes flickered to Victor, his breath unsteady, heart hammering as he realized, too late, where his thoughts were going.

The scent of Victor’s cologne. The firm hold of his arm. The way his fingers idly traced along Jacob’s waist, so gentle, so casual. What would it be like to kiss him?

Heat rushed to Jacob’s cheeks, mortified by his own thoughts. He barely registered the ending credits rolling until Victor finally released him. The absence of warmth was almost jarring.

And yet, as he stood to change back into his clothes, something deep inside him ached.

Victor handed him an envelope of crisp bills with an easy smile, but this time, his voice carried something softer. “See you soon, Samantha.”

Jacob nodded absently, clutching the money as he left, his thoughts still lingering on that kiss.