Becoming His Expensive Plaything (2/11)

Jacob glared at the little white card on his nightstand, its corners slightly curled from the number of times he'd picked it up and put it back down. He had spent weeks searching for another way to make some extra money—anything that didn’t involve Victor—but nothing came close. Next month’s rent was due, his credit card debt was still piling up, and he had no choice.

His fingers trembled as he finally dialed the number.

The moment Victor answered, his voice was smooth, almost amused, as if he had been expecting the call. "Jacob," he greeted warmly. "I was beginning to think you'd never call. I assume you need some cash? Come over tomorrow, same time."

Jacob swallowed hard, forcing down his pride. "Yeah... I'll be there."

The next day, Jacob arrived at Victor’s house, and just like before, the first thing handed to him was a razor. There was no discussion, no hesitation—just a silent expectation. With a quiet sigh, he took it and headed straight to the bathroom.

When Jacob stepped out, Victor wasted no time helping him into the outfit, fastening the skirt at his waist and adjusting the sleeves of the top before guiding him to the chair. As soon as he sat, Victor crouched down, sliding the heels onto Jacob’s feet and securing the straps in place. Then, he got to work, the familiar sensation of brushes and powders sweeping over Jacob’s skin. He stayed still, letting Victor do whatever he wanted, waiting for it to be over.

When he stood, the first thing he noticed was how much easier it was to balance in the blocky heels compared to the stilettos from last time. He took a cautious step, relieved that he didn’t immediately stumble. Then his eyes flickered to the mirror.

Soft waves framed his face, cascading neatly over his shoulders. His makeup was precise—his skin smoothed with foundation, a soft pink blush adding just a hint of color to his cheeks. His eyes were lined with a delicate touch of brown eyeliner, just enough to define them without looking heavy, and his lashes were darkened and lengthened with mascara. A muted rose lipstick coated his lips, subtle but undeniably feminine. The long-sleeved blue top clung lightly to his torso, and the burgundy skirt flared just enough to feel playful without being too flashy. The matching burgundy heels strapped securely around his ankles, completing the look.

Jacob exhaled, his stomach twisting at the sight in the mirror. He still cringed at how undeniably feminine he looked, but at least this time, it wasn’t as bad. The outfit felt a little more casual, not as overwhelming as before. It was still embarrassing, but at least it was easier to deal with.

Or at least, that’s what he thought—until Victor spoke up.

“Ready to head out for lunch?” he asked, handing Jacob a jacket and purse.

Jacob froze as the words sank in, his throat tightening. “I—uh—wait, what? I don’t think—” He stammered, scrambling for an excuse, any reason to get out of this.

Victor just smiled, completely unfazed. “Relax. As long as you let me do the talking, no one will mistake you for a man.”

Jacob blushed in embarrassment, too stunned to protest further, letting Victor smoothly lead him to the car.

The restaurant was packed, the hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the air. Jacob’s heart pounded as he slid into the booth, gripping his purse with white-knuckled fingers.

No one stared. No one pointed. No one realized.

And somehow, that was almost worse.

When the waitress came to take their order, she gushed over how cute her outfit was. Jacob’s face burned as he gave a stiff, nervous nod, unable to muster a response. Victor, clearly enjoying the moment, ordered for both of them without hesitation.

Jacob barely heard what was being said, too distracted by the surreal, humiliating realization that everyone around them saw nothing but a pretty young woman out with an older man. His pulse hammered in his ears, every small gesture feeling scrutinized, even if no one was actually watching.

By the time the meal was over, Jacob felt exhausted, the weight of the experience settling over him as Victor paid the bill and led him back to the car.

Back at Victor’s house, Jacob sat stiffly as his makeup was wiped away before being helped out of the outfit and back into his own clothes. The moment he was dressed, Victor handed him the familiar envelope, his smirk just a little too knowing.

“Don’t wait so long to call next time,” he said coyly.

Jacob’s cheeks burned as he muttered a quick, awkward thank you before heading for the door. This was it. The last time.

But when he got to his car and opened the envelope, his breath caught—nearly double what he had been paid last time. His fingers tightened around the cash as his stomach twisted.

One more time wouldn’t hurt… right?