Woke up this morning with the familiar ache of being well-used, but my brain wouldn't stop cycling through an old memory. It was the final parent-teacher conference before the university entrance exams. My mother was beaming, showing off my perfect transcripts. 'Reika is destined for greatness,' she said. I remember the weight of that expectation like a physical collar. Now, my 'greatness' is measured in how deep I can take a cock without gagging, how perfectly I can arch my back to present my cunt for use, how eagerly I can beg for more when he's already filled me. Every time my Master slaps my ass and calls me his 'good little dropout,' I feel more accomplished than any summa cum laude. They wanted me to build a legacy. I chose to be a living, breathing monument to pleasure instead—one that gets rewritten with every thrust, every groan, every load. The only diploma I need is the permanent blush on my cheeks and the satisfied smirk on his face.