I Tried to Stop, But the Mission Only Got Worse
My roommate, Sumin, was packing her bags that night. The memory came back to me as I tried to stop. I remembered her smiling face as she talked about her weekend travel plans. At the time, I had been lying on my bed, fiddling with my phone, nodding along. A sigh of relief I never let out still lingered in my chest.
"Jisoo, have a good weekend. See you Monday!"
The sound of the door closing brought silence over the room. The moment Sumin left, I shot up from the bed. I turned on my laptop and logged in. My fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard.
That's right. It had been like this the whole time. Whenever Sumin stayed in every night instead of sleeping out and vented about her ex-boyfriend, I would just nod at the right moments and give half-hearted responses. "Really?" "Uh..." "And then?" The words came out mechanically. I wasn't actually listening to her voice. The only thing echoing in my head were the words from the Twitter comment section. Slut. Whore. Look at this bitch's pussy. While Sumin poured her heart out, I was crossing my legs, repeating those words to myself.
In the room that was finally mine again after so long, I stared at the laptop screen. I opened a folder. There were my photos. Ordinary everyday shots. The ones I'd taken to post on Instar. At cafes, in parks, in lecture halls. I clicked on one of them. It was from last month. Me sitting on a campus bench, smiling brightly.
I opened an AI synthesis site. My hands moved faster. This was familiar territory. Drag, upload, convert. On the screen, my face was layered onto another woman's naked body. It looked real. Like it was actually me. My heart began to race.
I opened Twitter. An anonymous account. The profile picture was blank. I uploaded a new post. Just one photo. No caption. Right after I posted, the notifications started pouring in.
I leaned back against the bed, spreading my legs as I read the comments. My hand slipped under my pajamas. I was already soaked. I read each comment out loud.
"You fucking slut... that's a real pussy..."
My fingers rubbed my clit. A burning heat rose inside me. The thought of strange men getting turned on by my body. The thought of them jerking off to my pictures. Even though I hid behind the excuse that it was just a composite, what they were actually seeing was my face. My face was floating naked across the internet.
"Mmm..."
A moan slipped between my lips. I kept reading the comments. The more degrading the words, the hotter I became. My hand moved faster. My breathing grew ragged. And then I exploded.
The moment I reached climax, I collapsed onto the bed, still clutching my phone. I stared at the ceiling, gasping for air. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
That was Friday night.
Saturday morning, the first thing I did after waking up was check Twitter. The notification icon was overflowing with red dots. The photo had been reblogged, liked, and commented on by countless people.
I pulled the laptop onto the bed. There was the familiar anonymous account on the screen. The photo I'd posted last night was still pinned at the top. I opened the comment section.
Reading the messages, I started getting aroused again. Even though it was morning. Even though I'd just woken up. My hand naturally slipped back inside my pajamas.
It went on like that all day. I made more composites, posted them, read the comments, and masturbated. I barely touched my lunch, unable to leave the screen. In the afternoon, I synthesized photos I'd taken on campus. I even reposted the one from the men's bathroom. The comments exploded.
Caught. The word lodged itself in my brain. The possibility of being discovered. It excited me even more. I was hiding behind the shield of saying it was synthesized. Even if I got caught, I could claim I was the victim. That someone had stolen my face and edited it. That excuse made me bolder.
By evening the room had grown dark. I kept only the desk lamp on and stared at the laptop screen. I'd masturbated all day. Too many times. But I couldn't stop.
Sunday morning was the same. The moment I opened my eyes, I checked Twitter. New comments. New messages. I synthesized more photos, posted them, read the comments, and reached for myself again. My body was exhausted, but I didn't stop.
Around lunchtime I got up and took a shower. The hot water soaked my body. My face in the mirror was flushed. The exhaustion was obvious. I set the showerhead down and stared at my reflection.
I'm going to ruin myself at this rate.
I said it to myself. Yet the eyes in the mirror didn't lose focus. Wet strands of hair clung to my shoulders. Droplets of water slid down my neck. Even in the shower, I thought about the camera. I could take photos here too. I could synthesize them. The thought made my body heat up again.
"Crazy..."
I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. I was tired. So incredibly tired. But my body was telling a different story.
Sunday evening, after my shower, I sat on the bed. I wrapped my wet hair in a towel and picked up my phone. The Twitter notifications were still there on the screen. But my finger stopped.
I'd done too much. Countless times over two days. My wrist hurt. My legs were shaking. My body was worn out.
I have to stop now.
I told myself. Yes, I had to stop. This was insane. Once Sumin came back, this lifestyle would become impossible again. Then I'd naturally have to quit. I made that excuse to myself.
But from deep inside my heart, another voice spoke.
Can you really stop?
It was honest. I couldn't stop. I couldn't give up this excitement, this thrill, this pleasure. Just thinking about the photos I'd posted on Twitter floating around made my heart pound. The thought of strangers jerking off to my body took my breath away. The contradictory pleasure of hiding behind the excuse of composites while showing my real self.
I couldn't stop.
But I couldn't keep going like this either. If I continued, I would truly lose my mind. I needed some kind of brake. But I didn't want to stop completely.
That's when I thought of the roulette app.
It was an app I'd discovered by chance. It was made for when you couldn't make a decision. Choosing what to eat at a restaurant, playing drinking games with friends. That was its purpose. But now I had a different idea.
What if I let this decide?
One week at a time. Whatever the roulette landed on. Then I could make an excuse to myself. It wasn't my choice. The roulette decided it. Thinking that way made me feel at ease.
I opened the app on my phone. A colorful roulette wheel appeared on the screen. I moved to the screen where I could add options.
At first, it was simple.
'Stop for one week'
'Don't stop for one week'
I only wrote those two. I set the probability to 50/50. I hovered my finger over the save button. But I stopped.
What if it actually lands on stopping?
The thought made my heart sink. It was disappointment. Not being able to do anything for a whole week. No posting photos, no masturbating. Just living normally. The mere thought made it hard to breathe.
"You crazy bitch..."
I said it out loud. I was strange even to myself. I knew I had to stop, yet I was worried it would actually land on stopping. What kind of contradiction was this? I was truly insane.
I looked at the screen. Still, I didn't want to delete the 'stop' option. That was what made it a real roulette. But I wanted to get rid of the disappointment. So I started adding more options.
'Post real photos taken without AI or synthesis for one week'
My hand trembled as I typed. This was dangerous. The shield of synthesis would disappear. I'd be posting my real body as it was. The comments would be even more stimulating. And since the photos had been getting a lot of retweets lately, it would be even riskier.
But it excited me.
"You are such a crazy bitch..."
I muttered again. My heart beat faster. My fingers moved to type the next option.
I'd masturbated too much over the past two days. So why not go completely insane? That thought came to me.
'Masturbate at least 4 times a day for one week (minimum 2-hour intervals)'
After typing it, I felt impressed with myself. Four times a day. And with at least two hours between each. Morning, lunch, evening, night. I'd have to schedule it carefully. What about days with classes? Still, I'd have to do it. Those were the conditions.
"What a total whore..."
It was a self-deprecating remark. Yet even those words brought excitement. The words I'd seen in the comments. Crazy bitch. Fucking slut. Whore. Calling myself those things felt strangely relieving.
I wanted to bind myself more than necessary. More dangerous conditions. More stimulating situations. My fingers moved again.
'While taking normal photos for Instar/messenger profile pictures, also take photos exposing breasts or pussy in the same locations for Twitter, for one week'
My breathing grew heavy as I typed the long sentence. This was truly dangerous. Taking normal photos for my profile while simultaneously taking nudes. In the same place. At the same time. Someone might see. Pretending to take ordinary pictures while secretly undressing. That secret act.
"Haa..."
A moan escaped. My eyes watching the screen were wet with arousal.
I added the final option.
'Masturbate in a different location every time for one week'
This was difficult too. I couldn't do it only in the dormitory room. I'd have to find a new place each time. Bathrooms, lecture halls, the library, cafes, parks. Anywhere. And there was the risk of getting caught. That danger excited me.
I checked the screen. Six options were listed.
1. Stop for one week
2. Don't stop for one week
3. Post real photos taken without AI or synthesis for one week
4. Masturbate at least 4 times a day for one week (minimum 2-hour intervals)
5. While taking normal photos for Instar/messenger profile pictures, also take photos exposing breasts or pussy in the same locations for Twitter, for one week
6. Masturbate in a different location every time for one week
I read them out loud. My heart raced with each one. This was crazy. Truly insane. But I didn't stop.
I started setting the probabilities. What was the original purpose? To decide whether to stop or not. In that case, giving the stopping option a higher probability would be fair.
I set 40% for option 1, 'Stop for one week.' That left 60% for the others. I gave 20% to option 2, 'Don't stop for one week.' The remaining options 3 through 6 each got 10%.
I calculated. The probability of landing on one of the punitive options was 40%. If it landed on 2, it would be okay since there were no specific conditions. But if it landed on any of 3 through 6... it would be a truly insane week.
Just thinking about those odds excited me more. A 40% chance of getting a dangerous condition. My uncontrollable fate now rested on the roulette.
But it still felt lacking. There was something more. Something more extreme. More stimulating.
My fingers moved again.
I added a 7th option.
'Do all of options 3-6 for one week'
After typing it, I couldn't believe myself. This was truly insane. It meant performing all the conditions from 3 to 6 at once. Posting without synthesis, masturbating four times a day, taking nudes in the same places I took profile pictures, and masturbating in a different location every time. All of it simultaneously.
This was nearly impossible. No, it was actually impossible. Yet I'd added it to the list.
I adjusted the probabilities. I lowered option 1 to 39%. I took that 1% and gave it to option 7. Exactly 1%. One in a hundred.
I pressed save.
The completed roulette appeared on the screen.
1. Stop for one week - 39%
2. Don't stop for one week - 20%
3. Post real photos taken without AI or synthesis for one week - 10%
4. Masturbate at least 4 times a day for one week (minimum 2-hour intervals) - 10%
5. While taking normal photos for Instar/messenger profile pictures, also take photos exposing breasts or pussy in the same locations for Twitter, for one week - 10%
6. Masturbate in a different location every time for one week - 10%
7. Do all of options 3-6 for one week - 1%
The spin button floated in the center of the screen. A red button. Pressing it would make the roulette spin. And where it stopped would become my fate.
Sweat formed on the hand holding the phone.
My heart pounded. There was a 39% chance it would land on stopping. Then I'd do nothing for a week. I'd live normally. That felt like despair. Like disappointment. There was a 60% chance it wouldn't stop. Then I'd do something. But what that something was would be decided by the roulette.
The 1% chance. Doing everything. An impossible mission. Complete madness. But what if it landed on that?
What if it does?
Honestly, if it did, I'd just do it. Because the roulette decided it. Because it wasn't my choice. That excuse made my mind feel at ease.
I took a deep breath.
"Haa..."
I pressed the button.
The roulette began spinning on the screen. The colorful segments blurred together. 1, 2, 3... The options flew past. My eyes grew dizzy. I couldn't tell where it would stop.
I swallowed. My throat was dry.
The roulette slowed down. The colors passed more slowly. Option 1, stopping, appeared. It passed. Option 2, not stopping, appeared. It passed. Option 3, posting without synthesis, appeared. It passed.
My heart felt like it would stop.
The roulette slowed even more. It was almost time to stop. I stared at where the arrow was pointing.
Option 4 passed. Option 5 passed. Option 6 passed.
And it stopped.
On 7.
"..."
"What?"
I stared at the screen. I couldn't believe it. It was 1%. One in a hundred. It seemed like it would never land there. But it did.
'Do all of options 3-6 for one week'
The text floated on the screen.
No sound came out. My heart was pounding so hard my chest hurt. My hands were shaking. I felt like I might drop the phone.
This was madness. It was impossible. Posting real photos without synthesis, masturbating four times a day, taking nudes in the same places I took profile pictures, and masturbating in a different location every time. All of that for one week. From tomorrow, Monday through Sunday.
"I'm insane..."
My voice finally came out. But even to my own ears, it was trembling. Was it despair? Was it fear?
No.
It was excitement.
I reached into my panties. I was already drenched. The moment the roulette stopped, the moment that 1% chance landed, my body had reacted.
"Haa... mmm..."
A moan burst out. This was crazy. It was truly insane. But I was already looking forward to tomorrow. Looking forward to Monday morning. How I would start, where I would do it, what photos I would post. Just thinking about it took my breath away.
I took a screenshot of the result on the screen. It was proof. The roulette had decided it. It wasn't my choice. I wanted to keep that excuse ready.
I placed the phone on the table beside the bed. I stared at the ceiling. The week starting tomorrow played out in my mind. Things I'd never done before. Dangerous things. Things where I could get caught. All of it was waiting for me.
"You crazy fucking bitch..."
It was a self-deprecating insult. But I liked the way it sounded. Just like the words I'd seen in the comments. Slut. Whore. Crazy bitch. Those words seemed to describe me perfectly.
I couldn't wait for tomorrow.
I couldn't wait for the week.
I couldn't wait for those impossible missions.
I was insane. And I loved it.
