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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/GrungeSeabunny on 2026-07-04 11:08:12+00:00.
It was three months into the school year, and I was already unravelling. The combination of admin being on my ass and my illiterate students caused icy bitterness to replace the blood in my veins. My wife, Wren, saw the stress slowly replacing my skin and suggested we take a day to go to the beach. Of course, I protested; I still had thirty worksheets to grade. She refused to take no for an answer, and before I knew it, we were at the beach in matching sage green bikinis.
I sat on my tattered beach chair while Wren tanned on a towel next to me. "Close your laptop," she said, "it'll overheat."
"I have to answer these emails," I replied as my fingers danced across my keyboard. I hit send and immediately opened my next unread message.
After catching my daughter reading an inappropriate book, I investigated the complete list of books you assigned your students. I am APPALLED at the blasphemous and borderline pornographic books you've suggested to your students. I will be contacting the administration about this to ensure you suffer the fullest consequences.
Sincerely,
Emma's mother.
I closed my laptop with a deep sigh.
"That bad?" Wren asked as she sat up and took off her tortoise-shell sunglasses.
"It's actually my fault for thinking The Picture of Dorian Gray was a suitable book for seventeen-year-olds." I scoffed.
"I thought this state loved the gays."
"Not anymore, it doesn't." I stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Wren pointed at the calm ocean waves. "Bathroom's that way."
Before I could walk to the nearest crab-shack, a man in a three-piece suit and a briefcase approached us.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm sorry to bother you ladies, but I couldn't help but notice how beautiful you both are."
Wren and I shared a quick look. "Thank you?" I said tentatively.
He put the palm of his hand on his chest. "My name is Howard. I run a local modeling company, and you ladies would be perfect models for our website."
"Modeling?" Wren questioned as she stood up.
"Modeling! Say, what size shoe do you ladies wear?"
"Um," I started, glancing at Wren again, trying to gauge if she was as weirded out as I was. "We both wear a seven and a half."
"PERFECT! My company could use girls like you. With compensation, obviously."
That made my ears perk up. "How much?"
"Our rates start at twelve hundred an hour, always paid in cash."
My jaw dropped. "And what would we be doing?"
"I run a website dedicated to highlighting the different aspects of beauty. We are currently focusing on legs and feet." Howard handed me a business card. "Give us a call if you're interested. We'll set up a date for us to pick you up and take you to the studio."
"You'll pick us up?"
"We send a car for all our models." With that, he walked away.
"There's no way we're doing it, right?" Wren asked.
I took out my phone to search for the website. It sounded like a twenty-year-old tech billionaire's failed AI project. "It has good reviews." I scrolled through the monochromatic interface, filled with women's arms in long latex gloves and feet in heels so high they looked like weapons. A tab for men was available, though with a significantly smaller supply. Below, the tab directing you to the about section was a password-protected 'exclusive' tab. "The website seems legit."
When we got home, I immediately called the number on the business card. A disembodied woman asked if I was buying or selling. "Selling?" I answered. "Howard approached my wife and me today."
I heard some typing on the other end of the line. "What's your address?"
As I told her, my wife looked at me from across our kitchen in utter disbelief.
More typing. "We'll send a car tomorrow at nine p.m."
She hung up before I could say anything else.
"You're not serious," Wren demanded.
"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine, but I'm not gonna pass up this opportunity."
She pressed her tongue on the inside of her cheek. "I don't like this."
"I don't like living off a teacher's salary." I took an energy drink out of the fridge to help me finish grading my class's worksheets while Wren left the kitchen with a huff of disapproval.
A black van stopped in front of our house. The back door opened, revealing two empty seats in the almost-full vehicle. "At least we aren't alone," I whispered.
After making sure I had my wallet and pepper spray, I stepped into the van.
"Fresh meat," the woman to my left said.
"Excuse me?" Wren barked at her.
I put my hand on my back to signal that maybe it wasn't the best time to get into a fight.
"You're new. Fresh. Meat."
I cleared my throat as the inside of the van began to close in. "What's your name?" I needed at least one friend there, and she was the first person to acknowledge me.
"Crystal. And you are?"
"Alice." I pointed my thumb at my partner. "Wren."
"Howie got a two-for-one deal with y'all," Crystal smiled. "Roommates or fruits? Or both?"
I pressed down on Wren's shoulder, keeping her from getting out of her seat. "I take it you've worked here for a while then."
She nodded. "We all have."
I looked at all the women in the back row—different ages, races, and sexes assigned at birth.
"So you like working here then?"
She shrugged. "It pays the bills. It pays for designer." She ran her fingertips across her chest, flaunting her Chanel necklace. "Can't complain."
We spent the rest of the ride in silence.
Howard greeted us as we entered the studio. "Welcome back, ladies. We have some new members joining us, so make sure to be welcoming." A short man in a black polo and khakis handed him a clipboard before walking away. "Let's see here." He put on thin-framed glasses, accentuating his beady little blue eyes. "Crystal, Daisy, and Amber, you're with Fred. Cherry and Jade, you're with George. Alice and Wren, you're with Dave." He clapped his hands and walked over to us. "Everyone to their places. Chop-chop."
Wren grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Where exactly are we going?" she asked as everyone dispersed.
Howard smiled. "Room 106! Depending on what we're shooting, you'll be either in a room or outside in the parking lot. Today we'll start simple. Follow me."
We followed him to a room with pretty standard photography equipment. Soft box lighting kits illuminated a grey leather couch that stood at the center of a white backdrop. "Dave, meet our new girls," Howard said while the photographer messed with his camera. "I'm going to check on the rest of our ladies. You kids, play nice now."
Dave looked at us with a sinister gleam in his eyes. "Nice," he laughed darkly. He crouched down to get a closer look at our legs. "You have a birthmark," he said as he poked the side of my right ankle. "Do you want us to cover it?"
"No, it's fine," I responded, not seeing the danger in such a small mark being visible.
He set his camera on the tripod and beckoned us over to the couch, where he handed us a pair of black thongs. "Put this on."
I did as directed; Wren begrudgingly followed. As a silent command, he handed us hot pink stilettos.
"Alright, let's get started. For now, just do what feels natural."
With no other direction, I crossed my legs. Blinding flashes of light erupted in the already bright room. Metallic clicks filled my ears as Dave took the photos.
"Niceeee."
As I tried a few other positions, I noticed Wren wasn't moving. I thought she just wasn't sure how to pose. "Just do what I do," I said, trying to be encouraging.
"Right, 'cause you're such an expert," she retorted.
With a sigh, I lay on my back and raised my legs so they were completely vertical, prompting Wren to do the same.
"Hold that. Don't move a fucking millimeter," he said as the camera shutter sang.
Finally, an hour had passed. Howard came back and gave us our payment—in cash as promised. "Same time tomorrow?"
The following gigs were pretty standard. After a long day of teaching and grading papers, I'd put on heels, ballet slippers, or Doc Martens and pose to show off my legs or feet, depending on the day. Sometimes we even shot close-ups of our knees. We wore fishnets or sheer tights here and there, but Howard said our viewers preferred to see as much of our skin as possible. I wasn't going to complain when we were getting free routine pedicures.
Crystal and I had begun getting close. After my first week, she invited me out for drinks after a shoot. "How's Howie treating you?" she asked before taking a sip of her Aperol spritz.
"Good," I answered. "Will that change?"
She shrugged. "How long have you and your wifey been together?"
"Five years."
"You're lucky you were recruited together. This job isn't something you can easily explain."
"It's just modeling."
"For now."
The money we were earning went to the typical bills, car payments, and student loans, leaving us enough to enjoy the quiet luxuries of a morning Starbucks coffee and brand-name groceries. Though I couldn't help but feel twinges of jealousy when Crystal would show me the new designer clothes and jewelry she bought.
I asked Howard about how Wren and I could increase our earnings, and as soon as the words left my mouth, a sinister smile spread across his face. He led us to the studio's parking lot, where our usual white backdrop was set up. "This is where we film our more exclusive content," Howard said as groups of what I had since learned were interns filled a plastic bin with a viscous red liquid.
"What's that?" I asked.
"That," Howard sa...
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