Caller’s Choice
Josh and Megan
The gas station was half-lit, the buzzing overhead sign casting a weak glow onto the empty parking lot. Midnight had long ed, and with it went the last rush of customers. Inside, the humming refrigerators and flickering fluorescent lights were the only reminders that the place was still open.
Behind the counter, they weren’t exactly worried about professionalism.
Josh leaned lazily against the , one hand on Megan’s waist as she perched herself halfway onto the counter, legs swinging, grinning down at him. She was the kind of girl people stared at twice, long blonde hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, bright blue eyes that seemed too lively for this dead-end job, a figure that looked more like it belonged in a magazine than a gas station uniform. And somehow, she was with him.
Josh meanwhile was scruffy and boyish with an uneven stubble, a build that screamed “average,” he had been with Megan since junior year. They’d survived high school together, prom night, late-night drives, and the town gossip about how she could’ve done “so much better.” But Megan never seemed to care. When she laughed, when she looked at him with that warmth, like he was the only guy in the world, it silenced every whisper.
“Babe, we’re gonna get caught one of these days,” Josh murmured against her lips, though his hands didn’t stop pulling her closer.
Megan giggled, tugging at his shirt. “Caught by who? You really think Mr. Patel’s gonna show up at 1 a.m. to check if we’re stocking the chip bags?” She kissed him again, slow and deep, and Josh melted against her, grinning like a fool.
The bell above the door suddenly chimed.
Both of them groaned in unison. A man in a leather jacket stepped inside, tall, haggard-looking, the kind of face that carried too many sleepless nights. He grabbed a bottle of water, walked up to the counter and glanced between them.
“You guys open, right?” His voice was flat, weary.
Megan sighed dramatically, still perched on the counter, arms around Josh’s shoulders. “Do we look open?”
Josh chuckled into her neck, not even turning his attention fully to the customer. “Sorry, man. Pumps are closed. Try somewhere else.”
The man frowned, looking out at the glowing “OPEN 24 HOURS” sign before back at them. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously,” Megan snapped, kissing Josh again just to prove how little she cared. “We’re busy.”
The man muttered something under his breath, shook his head, and left without another word. The bell chimed again as the door shut behind him, leaving the couple alone once more in their little cocoon of comfort.
Josh smirked, pulling Megan tighter against him. “See? No one’s gonna ruin our night.”
That’s when his phone buzzed.
On the counter, the screen lit up with a number he didn’t recognize. At first, he ignored it, lips pressing to Megan’s collarbone. But then it buzzed again. And again. Persistent. Relentless.
Finally, with a frustrated groan, Josh reached for it. “Who the hell is calling me at this hour?”
He swiped to answer.
“Hello?”
“Well, ain’t this a disappointment,” the caller sneered. “I get all excited dialing in, and it’s just some dude picking up. Thought I’d get lucky with another hot little thing. Tell me, any cute chicks around?”
Josh’s face twisted in disgust. “What the fuck? Who is this? You sick piece of shit. Call here again and I’ll—”
“Shut up,” the caller cut in, his voice sharpening just slightly. “I didn’t ask what you thought. I asked if there’s some cute chick nearby. Answer me.”
Josh’s mouth opened, ready to unleash another string of insults, he could feel them on his tongue, hot, furious, but instead the words that spilled out were, “Yeah. There’s a girl here.”
His eyes went wide as the words betrayed him. He hadn’t meant to say that. His hand twitched, tightening around the phone.
On the other end, the caller laughed. That deep, ugly laugh that seemed to crawl under the skin. “Knew it. Now listen, Joshy-boy, from here on out, you’re my little parrot. You’ll say what I want, do what I want, and nothing else. Got it?”
“No, fuck you, I—” Josh tried, but his throat tightened. His lips moved on their own, spitting out, “Yes. I got it.”
Megan blinked, stepping closer, brows drawn together in confusion. “Josh? What the hell are you saying? Who is that?”
The caller ignored her. “So tell me, boy, how hot is she? Scale of one to ten.”
Josh’s jaw clenched. Inside, he was screaming, Don’t answer, don’t answer, don’t give this asshole anything. But the words crawled out anyway, raw and helpless. “She’s… she’s a ten.”
Another laugh, sharper this time. “Thought so. But y’know, simple numbers are boring. Let’s make it more fun. If you had to slap a price tag on her like she was up for sale, what do you think she’d fetch?”
Josh’s face burned with rage and shame, his mind thrashing for control, but his voice betrayed him again, steady and clear as if the words had always been his:
“She- She’d fetch a fortune.”
Megan’s mouth fell open. She stared at him, stunned. “Josh, what the hell are you talking about?!”
“Oh, a fortune, eh?” the caller’s sleazy chuckle oozed through the line. “You seem to be really into this chick. What is she, a crush or something?”
Megan looked at him, puzzled, mouthing silently: Who the fuck is it?
Josh’s jaw tightened. The words burst out of him before he could stop them. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Josh’s grip on the phone was slick with sweat, but relief flickered across his face when Megan suddenly yanked it from his hand. “Okay, enough!” she snapped, lifting it to her ear. “Whoever the hell you are, this isn’t funny. Stop messing with—.”
For a fleeting second, Josh hoped she might break the nightmare off where he couldn’t. His chest loosened. But then he saw it.
Megan’s eyes glazed over mid-sentence. The fire in her expression drained away. Her mouth went slack, then stretched into a vacant, serene half-smile. Her voice was soft, dreamy, mechanical:
“Yes, Master. I’ll do exactly as I’m told.”
Josh’s stomach plummeted. “M-Megan?”
She handed the phone back to him without another word, her movements stiff, puppet-like. Then, without even looking at him, she turned and walked toward the candy aisle. Josh stumbled after her, confusion mounting, only to watch in horror as she ripped open a Snickers bar with trembling hands and stuffed it into her mouth.
He was even more confused when she pulled down her pants with her underwear and stuffed the wrapper into her pussy. Followed by another, then another. Chocolate smeared across her lips as she crammed more and more into her cheeks like a machine on autopilot.
“What the hell are you doing?” Josh barked, his voice breaking. “Megan-stop! Answer me!”
But she didn’t. Her eyes stayed distant, unfocused, as she tore another wrapper and shoved it into her pussy.
Josh whipped the phone to his ear, heart hammering. “What did you do to her?”
The caller’s laugh was delighted and ugly. “Oh, she stuck her cute little nose where it didn’t belong. So I gave her something to keep her busy. Gotta love a girl with a sweet tooth, huh?”
Josh wanted to curse him out but because of the previous command he just couldn’t. The caller continued, well I know you said she’s worth a fortune and all that crap but the day I start believing idiots like you is the day I stop getting hot girls for my collection. Tell me her full name and her appearance.
Josh’s jaw clenched, every nerve in his body screaming at him to hang up, to smash the phone against the counter, to do something, maybe he could lie? But when he opened his mouth, what came out was obedience, the words twisted and unnatural in his own voice.
“She’s… she’s Megan Reynolds,” he heard himself say, tone flat, like the words weren’t his. “She’s twenty-four, blonde, green eyes, five-seven, about a hundred and twenty pounds. Gorgeous… long legs, a perfect face, a body most girls would kill for. She… she’s completely out of my league. But she’s mine.”
His throat felt tight, shame burning his chest as he spat out her details like he was listing specs on a car.
The caller chuckled, low and satisfied. “Knew it. I could hear it in your voice. You’ve got yourself a straight-up baddie, my guy. Bet you wanted to lie to me about her being average to protect her, didn’t you?” The laugh grew sharper, crueler. “I’m glad you couldn’t, you asshole. No, no, boys like you don’t land ‘average.’ They sell their soul to keep a goddess by their side. That’s why I collect them. Better use than wasting away with some small-town sap.”
“What the hell do you mean, collect?” he hissed, though he already dreaded the answer.
“Patience,” the caller purred. “You’ll see. But first, a little demonstration. Since you so sweetly told me you’d obey my every command… I don’t even need to bother talking to her directly. I talk to you, you tell her, and she obeys. Like my personal speakerphone.”
Josh’s stomach dropped. He looked over at Megan, still glassy-eyed, cramming candy bars into her mouth, caramel and chocolate smearing her lips.
“Let’s test it out,” the Caller continued, voice buzzing with glee. “Tell her: Master says stop.”
Josh’s throat locked. He didn’t want to—he didn’t want to give this faceless bastard proof it worked. But the weight of the command was too strong, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.
“Master says stop.”
Instantly, Megan froze. Her hand hovered in the air with a half-crushed Snickers bar dripping down onto the floor. She blinked once, twice, and then lowered it, her chest rising and falling as though nothing unusual had just happened.
Josh’s heart sank to his stomach.
On the other end, the caller laughed again, long, slow, savoring the sound of control settling into place. “Beautiful. Just beautiful. Now I don’t even have to raise my voice. You’ll do the dirty work for me.”
He stood frozen, staring at the love of his life as she stood in front of him, face comically overstuffed with half-chewed Snickers bars, chocolate smeared at the corners of her lips. Her jeans and panties were tangled around her ankles, pale thighs exposed under the harsh fluorescent light. And as if that weren’t enough, a torn candy wrapper was sticking out in a way that made her look insane.
She looked ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. And she was supposed to be his girl, his Megan, the one everyone in high school said was way out of his league, the one who still made him feel like the luckiest guy in the world every time she smiled at him. His throat burned, his eyes stung, but no tears came. Just a raw, empty ache.
The phone in his hand buzzed with life again. The stranger’s voice was low, amused, almost lazy.
“Tell Megan that master wants her to strike a sexy pose.”
Josh’s heart dropped. He wanted to scream, to hang up, to hurl the phone against the wall. Instead, his lips moved without his permission.
“Megan… master wants you to… strike a sexy pose.”
Like a marionette jerked by invisible strings, she moved. Without hesitation, she shifted into a pose that could’ve belonged in a magazine—hips cocked, one hand on her thigh, chest thrust forward, chin tilted with an expression that, in any other context, would’ve been devastatingly seductive. Except her cheeks were bulging with candy, chocolate smeared across her face, her pants pooling at her ankles. The contrast made it unbearable.
Josh felt his stomach twist. He wanted to run at her, to pull her jeans up, to hold her until this nightmare ended. Instead, his trembling hand raised his phone at the caller’s next order.
“Click a picture,” the voice drawled. “Send it to me.”
Josh’s fingers shook so badly he nearly dropped the phone. He framed her on the screen, his Megan, his girl, reduced to this humiliating spectacle and pressed the shutter. The artificial click of the camera filling the silence. His thumb hesitated, hovering over the send button, but he couldn’t resist. Couldn’t stop. The message went out.
There was silence on the line. Long, suffocating silence. Josh could hear the faint hum of the gas station’s overhead lights, the distant buzz of a vending machine, Megan’s faint chewing as she finally swallowed a little of the mess in her mouth.
Then the caller spoke again, voice dripping with disbelief and amusement.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, almost laughing. “Losers like you… bag baddies like her?”
Josh’s jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. His breath came shallow, ragged, but he didn’t say a word. He couldn’t.
The line crackled with the stranger’s satisfied chuckle, and Josh felt smaller than he’d ever felt in his life.
Megan stood frozen, panting faintly through lips sticky with half-chewed chocolate, she looked like a mockery of the woman he loved, like someone had dressed a goddess in clown paint. His eyes burned, but he couldn’t even let the tears fall; the command still clamped down inside him like a vice.
The caller’s voice returned, “Must be exhausting, huh? Keeping a baddie like her safe. Always worrying who’s gonna try and take a bite. But don’t worry, you won’t have to do that anymore. I’ll take her off your hands.”
Josh tried to open his mouth, tried to shout something but the words wouldn’t come. “N- No…”
The caller’s tone hardened, “What you’re looking at in front of you isn’t your girlfriend. Megan? She’s not your girl. She’s not even human. She’s a sexdoll. An item you’re trying to sell in whatever pathetic shithole you call a job. That’s all she’s ever been.”
The words thudded in Josh’s skull, heavy and sharp, a sledgehammer blow to his fragile sense of reality at the moment.
“You never had a girlfriend,” the voice went on, calm, inexorable. “You never loved her. There was never anything to love. Megan isn’t a person, she’s stock. Inventory. A piece of prime flesh you’ve been sitting on, unable to move. And me?” The caller chuckled. “I’m the buyer. I’m the one who finally wants this item, someone already seems to have vandalised.”
Josh shook his head violently, gripping his temples. “No,” he rasped under his breath, the word dragged out of him with every ounce of will he could still summon. His mind screamed that Megan was real, her laugh, the way she’d lean against him during movies, the scent of her shampoo, but each memory wavered, turned brittle, crumbling under the weight of the caller’s voice.
The more he resisted, the heavier the words pressed down. His memories bent and twisted until he couldn’t tell if they belonged to him at all. Megan wasn’t shifting in front of him, still standing posed like a doll, chest thrust forward, chocolate smears glinting under the light, yet something inside his head was shifting violently, it was painful.
His breath came ragged. He clutched at the edge of the counter, knuckles white, eyes wide and wet as if the caller’s words were chiseling themselves into his brain one stroke at a time. Commodity. Item. Stock. Not human.
And though some corner of his mind howled in protest, that howling was growing faint.
Josh’s head hung low, the phone slick in his hand. Why was he so stressed?
“Dude, hey dude- are you still there?” The caller’s voice jolted him out of his spiraling thoughts.
“Y-yeah,” Josh mumbled, voice hollow.
“So as I was saying,” the caller continued, slow and deliberate, “I’ll take the model you have in stock. But I’ll pay less since you said some guy vandalised it. How much was she worth again?”
Josh blinked at the figure in front of him. Megan. No—his mind recoiled at the name even as it tried to cling to it. She wasn’t his girlfriend, she was a product. A sexdoll model left too long unsold, handled carelessly. He locked eyes with the item. The product’s lips were parted, sticky brown chocolate smearing the corners of its mouth, with wrappers shoved crudely into its most useful part. A sick joke someone had played on it. Of course that vandalism lowered its value.
His chest tightened. This guy’s right. It’s defective now. Nobody’s gonna pay full price for that.
He swallowed hard, his own words sounding foreign as they slipped past his lips. “Since you’re agreeing to take this off our hands finally… you can have it for three hundred dollars.”
“Done!” the caller exclaimed, cheerful, triumphant. “So you’ll bring me the product and three hundred dollars from the then, thank you!”
Josh froze. Wait… from the ? Why would I… His brow furrowed, a faint ghost of resistance rising like a dying flame. Something about that wasn’t right.
But before he could put words to the doubt, the caller’s words slid through the cracks in his head, blotting out thought. It makes sense. He’s the buyer. You cover the cost. That’s how this works.
His lips parted in automatic agreement. “Yeah… yeah. Of course.”
The voice on the phone was just beginning to say something when the bell above the door jingled. Josh looked up. The same customer from before stumbled in, looking more haggard and desperate now.
“Man, you gotta help me,” the customer said, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve been all over and there’s no gas anywhere. I’ll run out before I even make it back home.” His words trailed off when his eyes caught the sight of Megan’s shapely ass. His brow furrowed. Confusion showed his face, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that made no sense.
“Uhhh.. I hope I’m not intruding on something…”
Josh’s pulse quickened, but before he could explain, the caller’s voice cut sharp and calm through the receiver.
“Tell him he doesn’t need to worry. What he sees is not your girlfriend, not some person. It’s a defective product you’re clearing out. If he wants a test run before it’s sold, you’ll cover him. Fifty dollars in his pocket and a full tank of gas while he enjoys the item. Say it exactly like that.”
Josh froze, the words clawing at his throat. His mind screamed against them, but the weight of the caller’s tone left him with no real choice. His lips moved, clumsy, like they didn’t belong to him.
“It’s… it’s just a defective product,” he muttered to the customer. “You can… use it, if you want. I’ll give you fifty bucks and a full tank while you, uh, enjoy her.”
The man blinked, staring at Josh like he’d misheard. His gaze flicked back to Megan’s irresistible ass, then to the cash , then to the door. The logic didn’t add up, but the offer was too clean, too good to deny. His confusion twisted into a greedy smile.
“…Well, hell,” he said slowly. “Guess I’d be stupid to say no.”
“Good,” the caller’s voice purred in Josh’s ear. “I’ll text you the address. Once our friend here is finished, you’ll bring me the product along with the three hundred from the . Quick delivery. Understood?”
Josh’s grip tightened on the phone. Something deep in him thrashed against the absurdity, against the betrayal of everything he thought was real. But all that came out of his mouth was a hollow, obedient: “Yeah. Understood.”
A few minutes after the call ended, Josh was outside, he clicked the gas cap shut and wiped his hands on his jeans. He lingered outside, not wanting to intrude. From inside the station, muffled noises rose and fell, and it didn’t take a genius to know what was happening. He leaned against the wall, eyes on the entrance, waiting. Sure enough, a few minutes later the stranger pushed the door open, face flushed, his expression equal parts guilty and satisfied. He gave Josh a curt nod, adjusting his belt as he ed.
Josh smiled politely, pressing a folded fifty into the man’s hand. “For your help” he said lightly, like it was nothing more unusual than handing over change. The guy muttered a thanks and was gone, climbing into his car and peeling off down the empty stretch of road.
When Josh stepped back inside, the smell hit him first, sweet, sticky chocolate mixed with sweat. The floor was littered with half-chewed Snickers bars, spit-slick and mashed against the tile. But at least, Josh thought with a grim practicality, the guy had gotten them out of her mouth. Less work for him, in a way.
The product lay sprawled where she’d been left, clothes in shambles. The pants were missing entirely, and the top that had once looked crisp and clean now hung loose, the buttons near the collar torn away. Her skin glistened with sweat, hair tangled and plastered across her face. And still, disturbingly, a small, vacant smile clung to her lips, as if her mind had frozen on some echo of approval.
Josh clicked his tongue. He couldn’t make a delivery like this. Not in this state.
Sighing, he crouched, grabbed the product by a fistful of hair, and dragged it across the floor. Her body bumped limply against the ground as he hauled her outside, past the dumpsters and into the gravel lot behind the station. He didn’t bother with gentleness; it wasn’t required.
There, propped against the cinderblock wall, he found the old hose he used for washing his pickup. He thumbed the valve open, water sputtering before gushing out in a steady stream. Without hesitation, Josh turned it on her, blasting her from head to toe.
The product twitched faintly as the cold water hit, soaking through what remained of her clothes. Mud, sweat, and candy residue washed off in uneven rivulets, sliding down her bare skin and pooling in the dirt at her feet. Josh moved the spray slowly, methodically, the way he would when hosing down his truck after a long drive. He aimed at her hair, forcing it flat against her skull, then worked downward over her face, chest, and legs, making sure to leave no trace of the sticky mess behind.
When he was satisfied, he shut the hose off and let her drip, strands of wet hair sticking across her cheeks. She looked more presentable now, cleaner, at least. Still broken, still smiling. But clean.
Josh rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Good enough for delivery I guess…”
He bent down, hooking his hands beneath the limp arms of the product, and with a grunt heaved it up. Megan’s body sagged like wet laundry, still damp from the hose. He didn’t bother adjusting her, just carried her the few steps to his truck before letting her drop unceremoniously into the bed with a dull thud. The small smile on her face didn’t falter, her chest rising and falling in a shallow, steady rhythm like she hadn’t a care in the world.
Josh wiped his palms down the sides of his jeans, smearing them darker with water and grime, before heading back into the station. The till was still open where he’d left it, bills folded neatly beneath the tray. He plucked out the money the caller had told him to get, tucking it into his pocket.
His phone with the address sat on the counter. He picked it up and gave it a glance. “Huh,” he muttered. “Only thirty minutes. Easy enough.”
Pocketing the phone, Josh stepped out into the night and climbed into the cab of his pickup. The engine rumbled to life with its usual stubborn groan, exhaust puffing into the air as he rolled onto the cracked asphalt and pointed the truck down the road.
Out of habit, he flicked his eyes to the rearview. The product lay sprawled across the bed of the truck, the wet cotton of her ruined top clinging to her frame, her skin shining from the hose down. She hadn’t moved, save for the occasional twitch of a leg when the truck hit a bump.
His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, keeping rhythm with the music he was playing. Josh sighed, a little heaviness settling in his chest. “If only I had enough money to afford one of those,” he said under his breath.