Without Remorse

Spontaneous dance break time.

She swung her hips and lifted her arms up. She threw her head back and danced the fuck out of the rest of the song.

Fuck yeah.

She finished the dance with a wonder woman power pose.

She held it for a few long seconds before collapsing in a fit of laughter. Ramona meowed, busy licking her bowl since she’d finished all the food.

“It’s not going to magically produce more food, babe,” Sloane laughed. She picked up the laser pointer from the counter and started pointing it at the wall. Ramona abandoned the bowl of food and started jumping excitedly after the moving red dot.

“If only everyone was as easy to please as you. All right, enough with the fun and games,” she said, even though she continued to point the laser to different spots as she heated up a burrito for herself.

Sloane bopped her head along to another Kesha song as Mona kept leaping for the light dot. Once the microwave pinged, she carried her plate into the den/Ramona’s room where she had her big office desk set up by the front window.

Time to continue the business of growing her empire. Okay, okay, so maybe she was just one little measly cam girl. But some girls out there had used camming as a platform to launch whole businesses. They marketed videos, photographs, swag, had huge followings on OnlyFans—some even sold 3D silicone replicas of their vaginas. It was a brave new frickin’ world. While Sloane didn’t think she’d go so far as to sell pocket pussies of her vag, she was game for other creative ways to bring in income.

She clicked on her email. Oh, good. Her groceries had been delivered. She glanced toward the front door. She’d turned off the doorbell while she worked but it was below freezing out there, so it wasn’t like anything would spoil. She’d go get them in a minute.

She printed out yesterday’s paystub from her cam site—she was paid bimonthly—and then clicked over to her bank’s website.

She loved this time of the month. She liked to pay all her bills early, then split the rest of her paycheck into neat little columns on her spreadsheet. Forty percent went into savings. Twenty percent went into long term investment accounts and ten percent she put back into the business. Buying new toys or camera equipment or lingerie. It was always good to keep it fresh and change things up.

The last twenty percent she allowed herself to spend however she wanted. She’d been saving up for a new elliptical. Her old one had started up with an unholy creaking noise that was so loud it almost drowned out her workout music.

She signed into her bank, still humming along to Kesha. She had a couple hours until her shower show was scheduled. She thought about the elliptical again. Technically, she could argue it was a work expense. If she—

“What the fuck?” She jerked upright in her office chair

Her checking balance was in the red. -$13.48.

She clicked on it to look at the detailed balance sheet. What was going on?

Her eyes skipped across the screen in disbelief as she saw the line that said Wire Transfer made this morning for $-7,467.

Sloane couldn’t breathe. Literally. Her mouth kept opening and closing, but no air was getting in. Her hand shook as she went to click back to the main page. She went to her Savings account and coughed like she’d just been smashed in the chest with a baseball bat.

Available Balance………..$0.00

Sloane shook her head back and forth. No. No. There was some sort of mistake. She had thirty thousand dollars saved up. Thirty thousand dollars.

She stood up, shoving the chair back and stumbling over her feet. She fell hard on one knee but barely even let it slow her down, scrambling back to her feet and racing for her cell phone in the kitchen.

Phone, phone, fuck, where’d she put her stupid phone?

There. It was by the microwave. She ran over, snatched it up and then ran back to the computer. She clicked around furiously until she found the Contact Us button. She ended the session with Oliver, too. Being frantic was not a good on-camera look and she couldn’t keep her cool while she tried to figure out where all her money had gone!

“Oh thank God,” she breathed out when she saw the twenty-four hour 1-800 number. She dialed the number and put the phone to her ear, pacing anxiously back and forth.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she murmured, waving her hand as the automated voice went through all the this call may be recorded for quality and training purposes yada yada.

“Hello, this is Mason, how can I help you?” a real voice finally came over the line.

She explained what happened and he asked for her name and account number. She gave them to him.