The philosophy of the W.A.R.M.T.H. convention is that "incels" would feel empowered and hopeful after having had the chance to touch, hug and kiss a woman. But myself, I felt OBSESSED after my encounter with Natasha. The fact that I had met her before, that I knew that tall proud girl, surely played a role. I was thinking about her all the time.

W.A.R.M.T.H. is two weeks per year, and during those two weeks you can visit only once. You are given a ticket to a random girl in a random room. Still, I tried to buy another ticket to room 23 online, from other men. But that turned out to be impossible: all tickets were associated with a name and ID.

While trying to do that, I learned some interesting things about the dark side of W.A.R.M.T.H. Apparently the women there were not exactly volunteers. They were paid, and not little. It sounded like initially the idea was to really recruit just unpaid volunteers, but too few women showed up, unsurprisingly.

I read speculations about how the organizers of WARMTH abandoned more of their initial ideals. Apparently now the convention was being used as a front by the porn industry, recruiting both new starlets and well-paying customers at it. That made a lot of sense, and explained where all the money was coming from. Ah, Natasha, what mess did you get yourself into!

One supposed ex-employee was claiming that the girls were strongly discouraged from using the panic button. They were told to find solutions on their own because every use of the panic button would create noise, controversy, scandal. For a day on which they use the panic button they do not get paid. Harsh.

That made sense to me, having in mind Natasha's reactions. She was frustrated with me every time I broke one of the rules, but she did not really seem to intend to use the panic button.

When I was at work, I was still thinking about Natasha. Approving her scholarship extension should have been a formality. Her grades from last year were great. And she said all the right things at the interview a month ago.

But now we had two big problems. One was of moral nature. The other was financial - receiving a large payment from a side hussle - something that the scholarship did not allow. The moral aspect I could prove with the pictures I had taken. But the financial aspect was another story.

I waited for a week after the end of the WARMTH annual convention. Then I went to Natasha's bank. I knew which one because her scholarship was paid to it.

After repeated explanations, I was invited to the office of an account manager. She was in her 50s, conservative, and did not seem to have any love for international students who earn large amounts of money without a work permit by doing immoral things of sexual nature with American men.

After ten minutes of her verifying my data and Natasha's data, I was holding in my hands a printout of Natasha's bank transactions from the past month. And sure enough, there was in there a very large sum from a company with a very suspicious name.

Then the account manager went as far as to apologize for not being able to do anything more without court order. She would have been happy to suspend Natasha's bank account there and then. I explained to the bitter middle-aged lady that with the paper she had given me the scholarship committee would surely stop Natasha's scholarship, sending her back to her country. The account manager seemed satisfied with that scenario. We live in a cruel world!

Back in my office, I wrote an email to Natasha summoning her. I wrote it in a very vague and positive manner, so that it could be interpreted as simply a formality to announce to her in person the extension of her scholarship. I did not want her to worry before our meeting. Me, on the other hand, I was very apprehensive about it.

"Come in," I say loudly when I hear a knock on the door. She enters wearing a nice black trouser suit with a gray top underneath. Probably her most official attire. She is tall and thin, superbly elegant, emanating confidence and strength. Now her big brown eyes are not covered with a blindfold, and in spite of her posture I can see a hint of worry in them. The memories of touching her everywhere flood my brain, but I clear my throat and say:

"Thank you for coming. Please take a seat. Your grades from last year are excellent. I would like to congratulate you for that success... But something else has been brought to my attention, and I need to discuss it with you. I have received a report that you were involved with the W.A.R.M.T.H. convention. Is that true?"

As I say that, I admire the strong features of her face, accentuated by the serious black suit. Like a greek goddess, I think to myself. She has just a little bit of make-up around the eyes. For a moment her complexion turns red and she loses her composure. But she immediately recovers from that.

"Uhm, yes, I did. I participated as a volunteer. I felt that... it was my duty to do that, as a single Christian woman. The W.A.R.M.T.H. convention helps single men feel better, gives them hope. It is a very... selfless institution. It spreads love and helps people. People who might otherwise come to depserate measures..."

I cannot help but admire her confidence and her nice subtle accent as she is saying all that. She definitely is worried though.

"Unfortunately that is not true. It has been brought to my attention that WARMTH has deviated from its original ideals, and is now a front for the porn industry. You have received a large payment for work that would be classified as sex work. That goes so strongly against the rules of your scholarship, the rules of your visa, the moral principles of this institution, and those of your university, and many other rules that I am not even beginning to think about! I was sent this."

I place on my desk a copy of her bank statement with the large suspicious payment circled in red. Now her face becomes red again, and stays that way. She freezes, and is just looking at the paper. I use her confusion and take out my phone, and start unceremoniously taking photos of her face.

"Uhm... Sorry... What are you doing?"

"Collecting evidence. Your two beauty spots, the one on your cheek and the other one on your neck. They can be removed. And you are not on any social media."

There is now bewilderment in her eyes, as she is staring at me, not understanding. I take out prints of some of the close ups of her face that I took when she was blindfolded.

"I am sure that these photos that were sent to me are of you, but the blindfold makes it a bit harder to recognize you. But the two beauty spots make it 100% unambiguous that this is you."

"I am very confused... What does this evidence prove?"

"On its own, maybe not so much, but there are also some more photos that I was sent."

And now I place on the table the photos I took of her entire body, tied up, with her yoga pants and panties pulled down, shaved pussy out in the air.

Natasha's face continues to be very red, and she stares at the pictures with wide eyes without touching them. She is sitting on the chair in a very stiff posture, which, by the way, looks very good on her.

I can imagine that she is trying to remember on which day or days she was wearing these clothes, and which customer or customers pulled down her pants and panties. Then she looks at me, probably wondering if I really received the pictures from somebody, or took them myself.

We are both quiet for a long moment. Eventually she clears her throat and says with a shaky voice:

"Is there something I can do to fix this?"

"Well, if the Grace Foundation committee learns about it, your scholarship will be cancelled immediately. Also your university would probably expel you, and you might even get into trouble with the ICE. I have already included all of this information and proof into your file, as that is my duty. But! There are several things that I can potentially do. First of all, if I don't escalate this, nobody will learn about it. Secondly, if somebody does come across it somehow, I can say that you had consulted with me before going to WARMTH, and that we were both fooled by their supposed ideals. And finally, maybe one day in the future I can remove all of this from your file. But that will require that I really trust you and trust that you have improved a lot."

I give her some time to process all this. Her face is still scarlet, and she looks shaken, but she is keeping it together somehow.

"Thank you very much for your immense understanding and help," she says eventually.

There is another long pause. Her posture remains very stiff, her long neck upright and rigid. She must be focusing on keeping her breathing calm and quiet. Her face is slowly returning to its usual nice white color.

"May I hug you to thank you for your understanding and help?" she eventually asks, to my surprise.

"Yes, of course," I answer, my heart beating fast.

She stands up and walks around my desk approaching my chair, and leans over, allowing me to hug her. I feel her breasts against my chest, and the sweet scent of her hair that I recognized back at WARMTH.

"Sorry, it's difficult with this coat, let me take it off."

And she does, and places it on my desk, covering the incriminating document and photos. I can recognize the symbolism of her gesture. She is standing very close, and I can feel the smell of her perfume mixed with a bit of her natural scent. Such a wonderful combination! She has sweated a bit during our conversation, probably because it was very stressful for her.

Her gray top is thin and tight. She bends over again, letting me hug her. So warm and vibrant in my arms. Since our encounter at WARMTH, I have been yearning so much for more physical contact with her. And I have been very much hoping for some physical contact today, but I was not sure how she would react to my blackmail.

Eventually I let her go, and she straightens up, but continues standing right next to my chair, very close to me. Since I am still standing, my face is at the level of her crotch covered with her elegant black trousers.

"It was very stupid of me to participate in WARMTH. It was such a tough and draining experience... it was awful, really... not worth the money. And the money was not worth breaking the rules of the scholarship. But I was very stupid and made a very bad decision. Honestly, I should be in handcuffs now. I am only 19, and I might have some scholar success, but I am very stupid when it comes to life. And I am all alone here, in the US. I should have really consulted with you, before applying to WARMTH. You would have told me the truth about it. I guess you are very busy, but maybe you could be my guide and put me on some sort of guidance program made by you to improve me?"

By the end of her little speech, which she delivers with a somewhat emotionless voice, I am so hard that it hurts. And I know very well that that is her goal. She knows how obsessed I am with her. She knows what I like and dream of. She reads me like an open book. And even in her situation of being blackmailed, she is using her charm and her fearlessness to play me like a little boy. As that song that they often play on the radio says: she's a little bit dangerous. She's armed and she's extremely dangerous.