To Save My Dad, I Became a Delivery Doll I had to personally experience what he bought, right in front of him! It could be a mineral water bottle as thick as a forearm, or fruit covered in menacing barbs. But what truly broke me, what I couldn’t accept, was that fascia gun delivery… I was a Product Experience Provider for Deliveries. To put it plainly, beyond just dropping off the order, I also had to personally use the items as per the client’s request. Clients, though, preferred to call us 'The Curios'! My first order was to deliver a pack of sanitary pads to Willow Creek Apartments, Building A, Unit 706. That meant I’d have to demonstrate using them right in front of the client! I don’t know how long I stood at the base of Building A’s stairwell before I finally mustered the courage to step onto the landing. By the time I came to, Unit 706’s door was slowly opening. The client looked about forty, balding, with a bloated, pasty face stubbled with dark hairs. His thick-rimmed glasses completed the picture of a stereotypical creep from a movie. I instinctively recoiled a step, my knuckles tightening around the package of sanitary pads until they turned white. My best friend, Lily, had warned me not to take it. Willow Creek was a run-down complex on the city’s outskirts, mostly home to transient workers. That instability, she’d explained, meant they might do things well outside the order’s explicit terms! But I had no choice. My dad had been working construction recently and was in an accident; a steel rebar had pierced his kidney. Emergency surgery only pulled him from immediate danger. I had three months to scrounge up the funds for a kidney transplant. "Excuse me, is this for order number 5689, for..." My voice trailed off. Because his eyes, magnified behind the lenses, felt like twin headlights suddenly switched on in the dark, blinding and disorienting. That kind of gaze made sense. I was only wearing a flimsy, white floral slip dress, barely long enough to cover my upper thighs, giving the impression that one wrong move, and he’d get quite the view. Even though I’d braced myself countless times, having a strange man undress me with his eyes like that still made terror bloom in my chest. "That's me. Get in here, quickly." The client’s voice held a desperate, excited edge. The apartment reeked of stale cigarette smoke and an unidentifiable, musky odor. The whole place was a pigsty, but what really stood out were the crumpled wads of tissue paper piled high on the living room sofa. He snatched the sanitary pads from my hand as if claiming a prize. "Bathroom’s over there. Put it on, then come out and show me." He tore open the packaging with precise speed, clearly not his first time. A repeat customer? The thought flashed through my mind, and my stomach clenched. In our line of work, repeat customers were the most frightening. New clients were usually reserved; even if they had a particular interest, they rarely dared to cross the line during the product experience. But repeat customers were different. They knew the platform’s nature all too well. The client was king. As long as they didn’t do anything that explicitly crossed the bottom line, we had to obey their instructions. Otherwise, one bad review, and we’d lose 80% of our commission! I took a deep breath, forcing an official, polite smile, and pulled an overnight pad from the pack. "Of course." I chose the overnight pad because it was larger, less likely to reveal too much. "When you come out, just your underwear, got it?" My foot, already mid-step towards the bathroom door, froze in mid-air. 2 Gritting my teeth, I mumbled an acknowledgment and stepped inside. I stared at my reflection, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within me. I was beautiful. Long hair, an oval face, D-cup bust, and stood at a statuesque 5’7”. Thanks to my yoga practice, the rest of my figure was perfectly toned and proportionate. More importantly, my skin was porcelain-smooth and fair. Lily always said it was like tender tofu, begging to be bitten. Once, I'd felt privileged by my looks. Now, I wished I were ugly. Because I couldn’t guarantee that this almost flawless body, laid bare before a stranger, might tempt him to cross the line into something criminal! "Ready yet?" "Y-yes, almost!" No sooner had I changed than the bathroom door was pushed open. I jumped. Only then did I realize the lock on the bathroom door was broken! A loud gulp echoed in the small space, booming in my mind long after the sound faded. I kept my head down, not daring to meet his eyes. The burning sensation on every inch of my exposed skin told me he was staring at me like a wolf starving for three days, his eyes devouring me with raw desire. I was terrified that meeting his gaze would ignite the fuse of his desires. He directed me to the living room, telling me to sit right there, on top of those wads of tissue. "Spread your legs. I need to see the fit." In that instant, my gut screamed in protest. For a second, I thought about walking out. But if I pushed aside the dirtiest thoughts, his request was perfectly reasonable. He needed to check the pad’s coverage to ensure the product met his expectations. "Wonder what the material feels like?" I thought he was asking me, and was about to reply, when I suddenly felt something alien brush against the pad! I looked down to see his finger. He was crouched right between my legs, and as if noticing my gaze, he looked up at me, his eyes narrowed behind the frames, revealing two nicotine-stained front teeth. Even more humiliating, his finger began stroking back and forth on the sanitary pad… An electric jolt shot through me. Perhaps it was the sheer terror, but my body’s response was disturbingly strong. My breathing hitched, and my fingers involuntarily dug into the leather sofa. Suddenly, my entire body stiffened! His finger left the pad and brushed against my bare thigh, moving directly towards me! "Mr. Miller, that’s not part of the product experience scope!" I blurted out. His hand froze. He could have continued, of course, but the cost of the order would change dramatically. That was a rule established by the platform when I started. He finally didn't continue, pulling his hand back with a deflated sigh. "Take the pad off. I need to check its leak-proof effectiveness." I went back into the bathroom. Knowing the lock was broken, I moved quickly. When I came out, I placed the pad on the coffee table. The inside of the pad was now visibly damp. "Mr. Miller, please sign off on the order on the platform." My cheeks stiff, I offered a practiced, polite smile. He complied, signed off, gave a five-star rating, and even added a fifty-dollar tip. After the tip, he lifted the pad to his nose and took a long, deep inhale. Then he squinted, tilted his head back, a look of absolute ecstasy on his face! A wave of goosebumps erupted all over my skin. I spun around and hurried towards the door. As I pulled it shut, our eyes met through the narrowing gap. He stared back, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as he deliberately, slowly, licked the pad.
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