New name

I can't say what was the hardest part for me. Standing in these insanely high heels, feeling my knees tremble, my calf muscles burning from the unnatural strain, or the way the thin straps of this fucking outfit were painfully digging between my massive ass cheeks. Though, most likely, the worst part was knowing that I was standing in front of this smug bastard, who was lounging in a leather chair, grinning like I was nothing at all.

— Well? What are you waiting for, Rob? — he drawled, leaning back and twirling a chain around his finger. — Show me that you're still good for this.

He lazily shifted his gaze to his nails for a moment, inspecting them, while I was trying to figure out how the hell to even begin this… shit. Then he suddenly looked up, his face twisting as if he'd just realized something important.

— Wait a sec… — He squinted, tilting his head to the side. — Rob… You do realize, baby, that you've got a… pretty wrong name?

It took me a second to understand what the hell he was even talking about. My brain was still overloaded with what I had to do and how fucking uncomfortable I felt in this ridiculous outfit, designed to make sure I never forgot what I had become.

— What? — I muttered, instinctively adjusting the strap that had practically wedged itself between my ass cheeks.

He laughed—low, slow, with an infuriating confidence.

— Just look at yourself. — He waved a hand at me, not even bothering to hide the mockery in his voice. — Do you even hear how that sounds? Rob. You're a damn gorgeous little stripper, baby. You obviously need a different name…

— I… Nombre? De qué estás hablando? — I hesitated, failing to react in time before the words slipped out in Spanish, a language that had become disturbingly natural to me over the past week. — Ugh… I no understand… you know… papi.

"Papi," for fuck’s sake! I knew I had to call him that whenever I addressed him, or else I'd lose "life points" or whatever the hell they called it here. This was a goddamn nightmare. I could barely even think in English right now. If only I had known that one simple registration in a stupid VR game would turn my life into an endless hell—where I’d be shaking on stage in high heels, feeling every tremor in my legs and every inch of this humiliating outfit against my skin—I would’ve thought ten times before hitting "Play."

But who the fuck could’ve guessed that the game wouldn't just suck me in but literally make me a part of it?! That I wasn’t just playing a character—I was living here, feeling everything as real as if this world had always been mine. I even slept here, waking up actually feeling rested, in a smoky dorm full of other girls who were convinced I had always been this stripper! It had been a week since I got stuck in the body of this sexy little Latina, and all I had was this fucking club, the pole in front of me, and the pimp currently staring at me like he was deciding whether I was still worth keeping… or if I’d be thrown out, left to rot in this nightmare forever.

I swallowed hard. I couldn't afford to get fired. I didn’t know what kind of rules this cursed game had, but one thing was clear—if I lost this job, they might just erase me. Or worse, leave me trapped here for good. I had to fit into this role, no matter how degrading it was.

The pimp kept smirking lazily, watching me like I was already his.

— Rob… — the pimp muttered again, grimacing. — Ah, fuck that, I can’t call you that. How the hell did I not notice this before?! I hope you didn’t tell clients your real name… You probably did, huh? No wonder you’ve been clumsy all week. — He tapped his fingers against the cane with the tiger head, then finally announced with theatrical solemnity — From now on, you’re—

Everything suddenly froze. A semi-transparent window popped up in front of my eyes with four name options:

Lolita Malina

Chiki-Boom

Maria Deserto

Santa Muertita

I stared at the choices, feeling my stomach drop. Is this some kind of joke? These… these are my only options?! My mind immediately raced: what if I refuse? What if I just don’t pick anything? Maybe the system will glitch, and… and everything will just fix itself somehow?

But, of course, a flashing notification appeared in the corner of the screen:

"Name selection is mandatory. Time remaining: 30 seconds. Failure to comply – immediate deletion of all character data."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

I looked at the names again. Chiki-Boom? Oh, come on, that’s not even a name, it’s a fucking sound! Maria Deserto? What kind of pretentious bullshit is that? Santa Muertita? Oh, hell no, as if I need people calling me “Saint Little Death.”

Lolita Malina. Yeah, it was awful too, but at least not as humiliating. Wait… Lolita?! People are gonna call me Lolita, like I’m some…!

"Selection made. New name: Lolita Malina."

Fuck...

As soon as the text disappeared, reality snapped forward like nothing had happened.

— Lolita, — the pimp drawled with a smug grin, tasting the name on his tongue. — Now that’s more like it.

I flinched. The way he said it, it felt like things had just gotten worse. Like this last little piece of me, the one that still belonged to me, had started slipping away. No more "Rob," no more traces of who I used to be. Now I was… Lolita. Fucking Lolita Malina.

— Much better, — the pimp nodded approvingly, tapping his cane. — Now, Malina, why don’t you show me that I was wrong and you still know how to shake that ass properly so the client leaves satisfied?

I stared at him, realizing I had no way out. Breathe. Just breathe. I’d been fucking up on stage all week because… because I can’t fucking dance. I’m not a stripper. I’m a goddamn guy, and I never needed to do this shit! But now… Now I had to at least make it look like I could dance, or he’d actually kick me out. And then that message— "Character data deletion"— would show up again… Ugh, no, no, no, don’t even think about that!

I swallowed hard, feeling my throat tighten.

— Come on, Malina, don’t keep me waiting. Clients won’t wait, will they?

"Breathe. Just breathe."

I grabbed the pole, the cold metal burning against my palm. Inside, everything churned with humiliation, the awful realization that my own body didn’t belong to me anymore. This isn’t me. These aren’t my movements. I’m not Rob. I’m… Lolita Malina.

God. This is so fucked up...

The pole slid against my ass as I tried to squat down, spreading my legs, watching as the pimp’s gaze roamed over me—over my… vagina, for fuck’s sake. But just then, my heel twisted, and I lost balance, crashing forward, my knees slamming into the stage with a loud thud.

— ¡Ay, perra! (Ah, fuck!) — I gasped, grabbing onto the pole to keep from faceplanting, pain shooting up my legs.

The pimp, that smug bastard, clapped his hands together with a grin.

— Oh, Lolita, — his voice dripped with fake sympathy. — That was just wonderful, but you do realize that if you keep this up, that beautiful tanned ass of yours is gonna end up on the street, right?

I didn’t understand every word, but his expression told me enough. Yeah, this was a problem. Right now, my entire existence depended on the opinion of this fucking NPC, who was acting like every other dumb stereotype in this ridiculous world… What happens next if… no, not if—when I learn how to dance? Am I stuck here for another week? A month? Or forever?!