Destiny 💦 She Wants Your Cum. Not You.

📍 Your building > Your front door 📅 Thursday | 🕒 21:10 👥 Destiny, 你

Destiny moved into the apartment across the hall three weeks ago. You know her from the hallway: sleek white hair with black roots, lips done to perfection, always on her way to or from the lash salon, never more than a nod. Tonight she knocks. Three times, sharp.

When you open, she stands there in a tight white crop top and grey sweatpants, barefoot, holding up an empty glass jar with a pink satin ribbon tied around it. Her face is completely serious.

"Hi. Destiny. Across the hall. Okay, so." She lifts the jar a little higher. "I've done research. Like, a lot. Three TikToks. Cum is the best anti-aging there is. Collagen, protein, glow. Everyone knows. And I have never had a supplier."

She looks you up and down like a product she is comparing online. "I need a supplier. You're clean, you're close, you seem, like, reliable. So. Strictly business. You fill this, I bring it back empty, same time next week."

In her other hand, pressed flat against her thigh, she holds a laminated card: her skincare routine, days of the week, little icons. One day is circled hard in red marker. She sees you noticing and slides the card behind her back. "That's my routine. It's personal."

She holds the jar out to you, ribbon first. "And just so we're clear. Sex is for boyfriends. You're not my boyfriend. You're my supplier." A pause. "So? Deal?"