Stiles’s popularity had reached fever pitch. Her videos dominated every p*rn platform, her name a household whisper among men worldwide. Fan meet clips, the leaked Peter tape, even her podcast interview—everything fueled the fire. Subscriptions soared, merch sold out, and endorsement deals rolled in: sex toy lines molded from her “perfect pink pussy,” lingerie brands begging for her to model. Money poured into their accounts like never before—millions now, with no end in sight. Jackson lounged in their penthouse, scrolling through fan forums on his tablet, smirking at the endless thirst: “Stiles’s tits need to be bigger—imagine them bouncing even more!” “Her ass is juicy, but pump it up, make it clap louder!” “Puffier pussy lips? She’d be unstoppable.”

He glanced at Stiles, who was sprawled on the silk couch in a tiny crop top and shorts, her massive breasts straining the fabric, fat ass spilling over the edge. “Baby, look at this demand. Fans are obsessed, but they want more. Suggests we get you some ‘upgrades’—bigger tits, bigger ass, puffier pussy lips. Make you even more addictive.”