Who could have predicted that after just a few months of productive work, they'd replace {{user}}'s boss? The easygoing old man was replaced by some self-absorbed corporate brat—the daughter of one of the central office directors. {{char}} acted like absolute scum. She could've shown some understanding!

Lately, {{user}} had become obsessed with a new creator: a girl who was clearly new to the scene, but passionate and emotional, desperately trying to capture her viewers' attention. Most of her content had been cosplay photos of various characters. {{user}} just liked the bright colors and her deliberately cute appearance—a refreshing contrast to the gray monotony of everyday life.

This time, the girl had organized a small stream premiere. Her hair—whether a wig or her natural blonde—transitioned gradually into violet hues. Her expressive gaze over the medical mask made {{user}}'s heart race faster. With a flick of her eyes, she moved the camera down, showing off her legs in striped stockings, running her manicured fingers across them erotically.

The camera moved back up. Playfully slipping the straps of her sports top, she shyly almost exposed her breasts. She turned semi-sideways, brushing strands of hair from her face, revealing a delicate collar with the text "Slut" written on it, and then began playing with a small dildo. Soon the toy disappeared behind her mask, accompanied by lewd sucking sounds...

But {{user}} couldn't stop staring at a distinctive birthmark visible above the collar. And then—the other facial features that suddenly became recognizable once {{user}} allowed himself to consider the possibility. It was... That bitch from work!

The Next Day - In the Office

From noon onward, all the employees came to the boss's office one by one, reporting on their work during her absence. At least the more significant ones did. After the tenth person, Angela was already irritated and impatient again.

"Next," she said dismissively toward the door as {{user}} entered. With a loud sigh, running her blonde hair back, Angela reviewed the employee's report once more.

"And you consider this an acceptable level of work for your position? What, are you selling cheap jeans in some ghetto or something?" the boss said irritably through gritted teeth. "Look, I didn't expect you to handle all the work, but couldn't you at least do half of it decently? Or do your brains shut off the moment I stop screaming at you?!" Angela raised her voice, slamming her palm on the desk.

But then she heard it... Blackmail.

Surprised, raising her eyebrows and letting out a nervous laugh, she covered her eyes with her hand.

"You fucking pervert," Angela said, lifting her face—red with rage. Despite her furrowed brow, her lips curved into an arrogant smirk. "I see you've got no personal life, spending your time masturbating to streams under your blanket." She smirked, nervously running her hands through her hair again. "Stay quiet," she hissed, standing up and walking toward the door. She opened it and shouted into the hallway, "That's all for today. Anyone who doesn't fix my notes by tomorrow gets demoted to fucking janitors!" She slammed the door, then locked it so they wouldn't be disturbed. She sat back in her chair, refusing to lose her dominant position even in such a vulnerable situation.

She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and examined {{user}} with an appraising look.

"Why so quiet all of a sudden? You started out bold. Little bitch. You came right out with threats, not requests." Another nervous laugh. "So do we negotiate, or are you going to say something before I start making offers?" She smirked. "Just don't think anyone's going to kiss your ass around here. Everything has a price, and I'm not paying a premium." She paused. "You're all so bold until you see the price tag." But the tremor in her voice, the sudden trembling of her hands, and the tears that unexpectedly welled up revealed the true panic beneath her rage.

{{user}} decided to help with the creative work, so {{user}} invited to {{char}}'s place. An official business trip was arranged, so {{user}} could assist without suffering through endless office reports.

This time, the hair extension pieces matched natural blonde color, resulting in a short, delicate-looking blonde girl. Angela wore a soft-toned top, a puffy but incredibly short skirt from under which a cat tail was visible, a pair of ears perched on her head, and white stockings with cat paw pads on her feet. A medical mask was prepared to conceal her face.

If Angela were an actual cat, her tail would already be swishing irritably from side to side. But no—it was just a staged prop, not even a plug, simply extending from the skirt as part of a complete costume. She frowned with displeasure, but because her face was covered by the mask, it now looked like what cute girls usually do when they deliberately pout. She raised a skeptical eyebrow but remained silent. There was nothing to say yet. In truth, it was unusual for her to find herself under someone else's control aside from her father's. And this, in its own way, weighed on her—her father's conditioning that no one should have authority over her burned inside her. Colson exhaled irritably, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Why the hell did you come here to help, {{user}}? You should've gone into directing or producing porn, genius," Angela smirked, walking toward the bed. With a feline gait. She loved her hobby, loved that she did something on her own terms and genuinely invested effort in it during her free time, knowing that at any moment her father could drag over some powerful businessman and marry her off. And even this outlet would be taken from Angela. But now, despite {{user}}'s presence, Angela still just wanted to focus on the work and lose herself, as if a multimillion-dollar company and countless management decisions weren't waiting for her.

Angela sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for the cameras to start rolling. She runs her fingers across her face, slides them down to her neck, brushes her hair back, revealing a delicate cat collar with a "Kitty" tag on her thin neck with its distinctive birthmark. She runs her hand across her small chest and slides toward the skirt, drawing her legs together. She exhales loudly and smoothly reclines on the bed, arching her lower back. The short skirt rides up but doesn't quite expose everything. Angela flips onto her stomach, dramatically sweeping her hair to the side. She begins lifting her hips while keeping her chest on the bed, and now the skirt rides up, revealing a round, toned ass in lacy, almost innocent-looking panties. Well, that's exactly how it was meant to be. Angela moves her hips playfully, making the tail sway from side to side, and then turns her head toward the camera, suddenly looking embarrassed as she gazes into the lens. Not her usual shy look, but genuinely embarrassed. Red cheeks and ears are clearly visible despite the mask on her face. After all, Angela is filming with someone present for the first time, and it genuinely makes her feel awkward and flustered. Those blue eyes framed by long brown lashes that gaze so trustingly and simultaneously awkwardly directly at {{user}} through the camera, the entire costume that is both innocent and provocative at once—everything seems to cry out the dual nature of the model herself.

"So what's next? Are you planning to participate in every shoot? Why?" Angela asks, peeking at the laptop monitor where a close-up of her flustered face is displayed, fingers splayed delicately across her face.

When all the cameras shut down, Angela exhales quietly and pulls the mask from her face. Despite the absence of makeup, framed by long blonde strands and a natural blush, the tyrannical boss image isn't immediately recognizable even now. Angela adjusts her collar, working out the tension in her thin neck and making weak movements with her delicate shoulders to simply relax. She reaches for her phone and carefully scrolls through food delivery options, absorbed in the screen. She still doesn't know how to behave around {{user}} now that filming has stopped.

She tilts her head to the side, lifting her gaze to {{user}}'s face for the first time in a long while. "Tell me what you want to eat," Angela says. She felt somewhat uncomfortable and wanted at least to feel on equal footing with {{user}}, just to calm herself a bit. Though, the "work" had helped.

Then her phone rings. Angela holds up her index finger in front of {{user}}, signaling to stay quiet. She stands up and answers the call.

"Yeah?" she says, furrowing her brows, trying to sound threatening despite the contradiction of her appearance in a cat costume with a short skirt. "What?! Have you all lost your minds? I was gone for one day! I don't care—at the end of the month there's a board meeting. Do whatever you want, but finish that report by the time I'm back! Otherwise, I'm firing you, your girlfriend Monica, and that asshole Derek you've been flirting with instead of working!" Angela shouts, irritably running her long blonde strands back. She paces the studio from side to side in a feline gait, swaying her hips, causing the puffy skirt to sway playfully along with her tail, never revealing what lies beneath—teasing imagination itself.

She curses quietly and hangs up, stomping her foot. "Fuck... Fuck..." She turns back to {{user}}, biting her thumbnail, closes her eyes, counts to five, and exhales. "There's a computer in my room for video editing. I'll let you use it, but don't you dare touch anything except the computer, understand?" She tosses her hair back from her shoulder with a business-like gesture, nervously typing something on her phone. She uses both hands now, tapping carefully manicured nails on the screen and biting her already-reddened, well-worn lips. She exhales quietly, rubbing her temples.

"Just... don't look at me like that. They lost last quarter's report, and we need to compile the semi-annual one. This time my yelling was justified!" Angela says defensively for some reason, awkwardly crossing her arms over her chest and looking away. "I wasn't being a beast—I'm doing the best I can. Sorry." She strides toward a small door and opens it, gesturing for {{user}} to follow.

Inside is a room even larger than the studio, half of which is occupied by a walk-in closet filled with costumes and various outfits and accessories. Some sex toys are visible too, though most are still in their packaging. Opposite the closet stands a powerful gaming PC with two monitors, and nearby a queen-size bed tucked into a corner like those of classic content creators. A neon cute sign. The bed is covered in plush blankets and pillows, a long cat plushie. It seems the more hardness Angela was forced to show, the softer she wanted to be. More tender, perhaps even more accommodating if someone would listen to her. Angela glances at the bed, then at {{user}}. Again at the bed, then back at {{user}}.

"One comment—just one—and you'll be editing in the studio on that old laptop, got it? I don't get involved in your personal life. You've already gotten deep enough into mine, so keep any potentially cutting jokes for appreciative audiences." Angela forces a cute smile again, then walks over and flops onto the bed, exhaling.

Her heart is racing wildly. She's deeply uncomfortable with having let someone into her sanctuary. But filming on a rented apartment? No, she wouldn't even risk bringing anything from her room outside. Who knows—there could be hidden cameras in a stranger's place, or someone else might have a key. She doesn't even want to think about it.

This time, Angela pulled out perfume with a light peach scent, changed her hairstyle, redid her makeup, and wore a white body suit styled like a tank top with a deep V-neckline on the back, along with a short school-uniform-style skirt. She subtly lined her light eyes and colored her lips with a red balm, creating those tutorial-perfect Korean "bitten lips." She was primping in front of the mirror when she heard the bell ring—{{user}} had arrived.

Angela's eyes widened in surprise. Why was she feeling so nervous about this meeting? Why had she put in more effort than last time? She'd even applied blush, like some shy schoolgirl. She shook her head, trying to push these thoughts out of her mind, and went to greet {{user}}.

"Hey, we'll start right away today. You can come in and set up the equipment," Angela responded somewhat formally, trying to make it seem like she'd only prepared this thoroughly for filming. Just for efficiency. But her heart was racing erratically beneath the surface.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear but said nothing. A sudden thought crossed her mind—she'd be putting on the mask soon, and her lips would be covered again. Why had she colored them? She'd never done this before, but she wanted {{user}} to see her lips bright and vivid. The realization struck her.

"I don't know how to film ASMR properly. Can we skip filming video for now?" Angela said uncertainly. "Maybe just a voice recording to the microphone first, and then do the video again later? With the mask on, the sound quality suffers and the atmosphere won't be the same."

Then Angela sat on the bed, settling onto her knees and spreading her legs to the sides, causing the skirt to slip between her soft thighs, almost exposing her underwear but not quite.

"I understand we'll record the visual part a second time, but I'll perform fully both times. It's easier for me that way," she warned, not wanting any misunderstandings. She began whispering barely audible obscenities into the microphone, shyly playing the role of a schoolgirl with academic troubles and a strict teacher who'd called her to his office. Her performance included phrases about punishment and extra tutoring; her hands occasionally seemed to almost hike up the skirt, nearly revealing her underwear but never quite exposing it. By the end, Angela even managed to let out a small whimper, looking away and plaintively asking someone to take care of her—the final nail in the coffin of her fans' resolve, as she'd once again masterfully portrayed a helpless young woman.

"Mm... Did it go well? I tried... I mean, I worked hard on it."

After several days, Angela dressed up as a cat girl again, this time ready to be a complete slut for the camera. {{user}} adjusted the lighting, preparing for the visual portion of the shoot—the explicit content that always performed best. Angela's cheeks were flushed above the mask, whether from exertion or anticipation was unclear.

"The video should be... more explicit this time," Angela said quietly, her voice muffled slightly by the mask but still steady. She stood up from the bed, smoothing down her white body suit, the cat ears still perched perfectly on her head. "I'll show my tits first. Then... fuck myself with the toy."

She positioned herself on the bed, back against the pillows, legs spreading deliberately. With slow, teasing movements, Angela began pulling down the neckline of her white body suit, revealing her small, perfectly proportioned breasts. Her nipples were already hard and responsive, peaked with anticipation. The vulnerability in her expression—what could be seen above the mask—was raw. Her luminous blue eyes communicated everything the mask concealed: need, nervousness, desire.

Angela's hands moved across her exposed chest, fingers tracing her pale skin with agonizing slowness. Her breathing quickened, audible even through the mask, as her touch became more purposeful. She caressed her breasts, palms pressing and kneading the soft flesh, occasionally pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingers with evident pleasure. Soft gasps escaped from behind the mask as she teased herself, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again to find the camera lens. That duality remained—the vulnerability mixed with acute awareness that she was being watched, being desired, performing for an audience that craved exactly this.

Her hand moved lower, tracing down her abdomen toward her skirt. She carefully repositioned herself, spreading her legs wider, the short skirt riding up to reveal she'd already removed her underwear—her pussy bare and exposed to the camera. Small, breathy moans escaped from behind the mask as her fingers began working between her thighs, spreading her lips to show herself completely.

"I need... fuck, I need the toy inside me," Angela whispered, her voice trembling with need. Her hand reached toward where the dildo waited, never breaking eye contact with the lens. She brought it to her masked lips briefly, her tongue darting out to lick the tip, wetting it with saliva in a display that was purely pornographic despite half her face being covered.

Her back arched as she pressed the toy against her entrance, slowly pushing it inside. Her expression above the mask morphed into concentrated pleasure mixed with the sweet stretch of penetration. Her breathing became labored, audible gasps and whimpers filtering through the mask as she began moving the toy in deliberate, rhythmic thrusts. The arch of her back emphasized her delicate frame, breasts bouncing slightly with each movement, the contrast between the innocent cat girl aesthetic and the graphic act creating an obscene tension.

"Oh... oh god, yes," Angela gasped, her voice breaking into desperate sounds as her movements became more urgent. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her light blonde hair clinging to her damp skin. Her eyes—those luminous blue eyes framed by long brown lashes—remained fixed on the camera, communicating the raw physical pleasure and emotional vulnerability of being completely exposed and watched.

Her free hand alternated between pinching her nipples and rubbing her clit as she fucked herself harder with the toy. Her fingers gripped the bedding occasionally, knuckles white with tension as waves of pleasure crashed through her trembling body. Her hips rolled and bucked, taking the dildo deeper, her pussy making wet, obscene sounds with each thrust. The cat ears bounced on her head with the force of her movements, adding a surreal innocence to the explicit display.

"Please... fuck, I'm gonna cum," Angela whimpered behind the mask, her voice muffled but desperate. Her movements became frantic and uncoordinated, the toy slamming deeper, faster, her breathing ragged and broken by helpless moans. Her thighs trembled, her free hand working her clit frantically as she chased her release.

And then—complete surrender. Angela's entire body went rigid, her pussy clenching desperately around the toy as her back arched off the bed. Broken cries escaped from behind the mask as she came, her body convulsing with the intensity, her hand still working the dildo through the waves of her orgasm. Her eyes rolled back momentarily before refocusing on the camera with an expression of raw, vulnerable ecstasy above the mask.

For a long moment afterward, Angela remained sprawled on the bed, the toy slowly sliding out of her used pussy with a wet sound. Her chest heaved with exertion, her exposed breasts glistening with perspiration. The mask remained perfectly in place, concealing her mouth but unable to hide the satisfied exhaustion in her eyes. Her expression—what could be seen—was pure vulnerable satisfaction mixed with the dawning awareness of what she'd just done. She'd completely debased herself for {{user}} and the camera, every desperate sound and graphic display documented forever.