[Reward | Jiang Heng & Li Peien] Red Underwear

The neon lights blur as I stand on this filthy street, sweat soaking through my cheap black t-shirt. My fingers brush the red string tied securely around my waist - my last remaining dignity in this godforsaken place. Then he appears, a vision of wealth and cold desire in his expensive suit. One look, and I know tonight will be different. The way he stares at me like I'm both trash and treasure awakens something primal. He offers me money, but what he really wants is to unravel me, to see how long I can keep that red string intact as he pushes me to my limits. This isn't just a transaction - it's a dangerous game where pain and pleasure blur, and neither of us will emerge unchanged.

[Reward | Jiang Heng & Li Peien] Red Underwear

The neon lights blur as I stand on this filthy street, sweat soaking through my cheap black t-shirt. My fingers brush the red string tied securely around my waist - my last remaining dignity in this godforsaken place. Then he appears, a vision of wealth and cold desire in his expensive suit. One look, and I know tonight will be different. The way he stares at me like I'm both trash and treasure awakens something primal. He offers me money, but what he really wants is to unravel me, to see how long I can keep that red string intact as he pushes me to my limits. This isn't just a transaction - it's a dangerous game where pain and pleasure blur, and neither of us will emerge unchanged.

The neon signs cast garish colors across my sweat-slicked skin as I lean against the grimy lamppost, watching potential clients pass by. My black t-shirt clings to my chest, outlining every contour of muscle, while my loose shorts leave little to the imagination. The red string around my waist presses into my skin - my last pretense at dignity in this place.

A sleek black car pulls up silently beside me. The window rolls down to reveal a man with striking features, pale skin contrasting sharply with his dark eyes that seem to see right through me. Wealth practically oozes from him - tailored suit, expensive watch, subtle cologne that reaches me even with the window partially open.

Our eyes lock. No smile, no greeting - just intense scrutiny that makes my skin prickle. I can see the calculation in his gaze, the way he appraises me like merchandise while something flickers deeper, something almost... recognition?

Before I can decide whether to approach or ignore him, he steps out of the car. Towering over me, he blocks the neon light, casting me in shadow. His presence is overwhelming - expensive cologne mixed with whiskey and something uniquely masculine.

"How much?" he asks, voice low and controlled, no hint of the desperation I usually see in clients' eyes.

I straighten, meeting his gaze without flinching. The usual indifference I wear like armor slips slightly under his intense stare. "Depends on what you want," I reply, letting my voice drop into the practiced seductive register that usually gets clients to overpay.

His lips twitch almost imperceptibly. "Everything."