Chapter 4
Pierre
The news about the threat to the Parisian power grid—thankfully foiled, it appeared—had absorbed me all morning. I’d been deep in conference calls with energy ministers and security officials, using the clout granted by my heavy investment in Selecta’s European expansion to good effect.
The megacorp, for its own part, seemed to have decided to wield its considerable influence to ensure stability and continuity.
Energy represented one of their core businesses, after all, and disruptions were bad for profits.
I had taken some heat from my peers, after placing such a large bet on the American company’s foray into France, but this averted crisis seemed to have proven me correct.
I was reviewing the preliminary cybersecurity report concerning the virus that had almost taken down the grid when my Selecta Arrangements app, of all things, pinged with an alert.
Usually, I ignored these during business hours—the constant notifications about potential matches could wait until evening—but in what I supposed was a slightly Pavlovian way, I always felt my cock stir a little at the distinctive chime the SA app employed.
This time, my manhood practically jumped along my thigh.
Something about the intellectual arousal I’d felt with regard to the idea that Paris had almost been brought to her knees by a cyberattack seemed to have primed me for excitement in a more pleasurable direction.
The security report could wait; I glanced at the screen.
First Intimacy Qualification Examination in Progress. Subject: Audrey Campbell.
My finger hovered over the notification.
First Intimacy candidates were rare enough to warrant attention, especially ones who had passed the initial screening algorithms. The app included a live feed option for examinations—a feature I rarely utilized, finding most medical procedures rather tedious.
But something about the name triggered my curiosity. Audrey Campbell. American, by the sound of it. I tapped the notification, and my screen filled with the live feed from one of Selecta’s medical examination rooms.
The sight that greeted me made my breath catch.
A young woman was positioned on the examination table, facing away from the camera, her slender body bent forward in perfect submission, her rounded bottom elevated.
One hand worked between her legs while the other…
I leaned forward slightly, my interest immediately piqued.
Her delicate finger was pressing against her anus as a woman captioned with the name Nurse Georges observed clinically.
“Imagine your sponsor’s penis there,” the nurse was saying. “Thick and demanding, stretching you open. You have a very attractive bottom, Audrey. He will have sex with you there as soon as he can, I imagine.”
I felt my own rush of heat at the nurse’s words and the girl’s visible response—a shudder that ran through her entire body, the way her hips moved against her hand.
Even from this mid-range camera angle, I could see she was beautifully formed—small, firm breasts, a narrow waist, and a perfectly rounded bottom now on display as she pleasured herself under instruction.
The biometric data scrolling along the side of my screen confirmed what was visually apparent: this young woman had an exceptionally strong submissive response pattern. Her arousal metrics were nearly off the chart, despite—or perhaps because of—the clinical humiliation of the examination.
I found myself leaning closer to the screen, watching as her movements became more urgent, her breathing more ragged. The camera caught the flush spreading across her skin, the trembling in her thighs as she approached climax.
“You may orgasm now,” Nurse Georges instructed dispassionately.
As if her body had been waiting for permission, the girl shuddered violently, a muffled cry escaping her as pleasure overwhelmed her. The biometric readings spiked dramatically, confirming the intensity of her response.
“Monsieur?” my secretary said, from the doorway of my office. “You have a call from the energy minister.”
“Thank you, Yves,” I told him. I glanced at my handheld again and saw that a banner had appeared at the bottom of the screen.
Receive alerts about Audrey?
I tapped Yes.
Audrey
“You’ve qualified for the First Intimacy Premium Program,” Nurse Georges told me.
Her voice carried a strange mixture of satisfaction and disgust that made my face go blazing hot yet again—as if the woman had tried to remain professional, but the idea of a girl accepting money for the privilege of taking her virginity violated her principles. “You may get dressed.”
“What…” I started to ask, as I scrambled to get off the exam table and to fetch my clothes. Surges of mortified heat traveled through my upper body as I grabbed my panties. “What happens next?”
My hands trembled as I pulled on my underwear, unable to look Nurse Georges in the eye.
I felt dazed and disoriented as I tried to process what had just happened.
The examination room seemed to spin slightly around me, my body still tingling from the helpless pleasure that had coursed through me only moments before.
“The SA app will guide you through the next steps,” Nurse Georges replied, her tone returning to its earlier detachment.
She was entering data into her tablet, as if what had just occurred was nothing more unusual than checking a patient’s blood pressure.
“You have some tasks to complete before you can activate your profile in the system. Then potential sponsors will be able to view your information.”
My fingers fumbled with the clasp of my bra. “Tasks?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like what?”
“Elements of your profile that will help you get noticed,” she replied without looking up. “First Intimacy candidates are highly sought after, but the wealthy men who’ll be looking at you want to be sure you’re interested in pleasing them the way they have a right to expect.”
My stomach clenched at the thought. Powerful men, looking at me in the app, trying to determine whether I would… what?
Whether I’d be a good girl for them. The kind of good girl who’ll obediently take their cocks when they decide to enjoy her.
I swallowed hard as I pulled my blouse on, buttoning it with clumsy fingers.
“What about… what you said earlier?” I ventured hesitantly, utterly unsure why I was reminding the woman about this humiliating detail. “About the… the plugs?”
Nurse Georges finally looked up from her tablet, her expression unreadable behind her glasses. “Yes, of course.” She crossed to a cabinet and removed a small black box, which she handed to me. “The initial training set. Instructions are included. I recommend beginning tonight.”
I took the box with burning cheeks, unable to believe I was accepting such a thing. It felt surprisingly heavy in my hands—a tangible reminder of what I was agreeing to.
“You’ll also need these,” she continued, handing me a bottle of pills. “Contraceptives. Take one daily, beginning today. While some sponsors may choose to use condoms, most prefer not to. The pill ensures no unwanted complications arise.”
I nodded mutely, slipping the bottle into my purse alongside the black box. I finished dressing, smoothing my skirt with hands that still quivered slightly. My phone beeped, and I glanced down at it. Two notifications from the Selecta Arrangements app.
Appointment: Esthetician. In five minutes, Room 1643.
Appointment: Photography. In thirty-five minutes, Room 1650.
“Good luck, Audrey,” Nurse Georges said from the door as she left with her cart. Her voice seemed a little strained—as if she were doing her best not to sound disdainful. “The exit is just down the hall.”
The sixteenth floor looked just as corporate as the fifteenth, which seemed confusing given what the app had told me about the appointments I had here, which seemed a good deal less businesslike.
The door of Room 1643 did have a sign that said Esthetician Suite, though, so I knew I’d come to the right place.
Inside, the receptionist said from her desk, “Audrey?”
I nodded. “Yes… I… do you know what this is… you know, for?”
She gave me a patient smile.
“Just joined SA?” she asked.
I nodded again.
“You’re here to have a Brazilian wax, honey,” the receptionist told me. “Before your photoshoot for your profile.”
I blinked at her, swallowing hard. I felt heat creep up my neck. Brazilian wax? I’d heard of them, of course, but had never considered getting one myself. The idea of having all the hair removed from… down there… made my stomach flutter with anxiety.
“I’ve… I’ve never had one before,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
The receptionist gave me a knowing smile. “First timers are our specialty, honey. Simone will take good care of you.” She gestured toward a door on the right. “Go on in. She’s waiting for you.”
I walked toward the door on legs that felt suddenly wooden.
What was happening to my life? Just yesterday, I’d been worried about energy efficiency models.
Now I was about to have a complete stranger remove all my pubic hair before I got photographed for…
what, exactly? For men to browse through like some kind of catalog?
The room beyond the door was softly lit, with a padded table in the center that looked similar to the examination table I’d just left, though somewhat less clinical. Gentle music played from hidden speakers, and the air smelled faintly of lavender.
A woman with sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail turned as I entered. She appeared to be in her thirties, with an athletic build and a professional smile.
“Audrey?” she asked. When I nodded, her smile widened. “I’m Simone. First Brazilian?”
I nodded again, clutching my purse tightly against my stomach as if it could shield me from what was about to happen.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her tone reassuring. “Everyone’s nervous their first time, but I promise I’ll make it as quick and painless as possible.” She gestured to the table. “You’ll need to remove your skirt and underwear. You can leave your top on if you prefer.”
I hesitated, then set my purse down on a small side table. “Do I… do I really have to do this?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
Simone’s expression softened slightly. “It’s standard procedure for all SA associates,” she explained. “Sponsors expect it. But more important, it’s required for your profile photos.”
Profile photos. The words made my stomach clench. “What kind of photos?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
“Just some tasteful lingerie shots,” Simone said, her tone casual as she began preparing her supplies. “Nothing too explicit for the initial profile. Theodore is excellent—he’ll make you look beautiful.”
I gulped, remembering the notification about the photography appointment that would follow this one. Lingerie. I’d be posing in lingerie for photos that strange men would look at while deciding if they wanted to… to purchase my virginity.
The thought made me dizzy with a confusing mix of humiliation and that strange, unwanted arousal it seemed like this whole bizarre process had forced upon me.
Forced? Even as I tried to tell myself that the feeling came from outside, something deep down quietly refused to acknowledge the truth of that idea. No. Not forced.
I frowned, trying to push away the word that nevertheless floated inexorably into my brain.
Awakened.
“Go ahead and take off your skirt and your panties, Audrey,” Simone said, her voice becoming a little exasperated, as if at my reluctance. “The app has us both on a schedule.”
I unzipped my skirt with trembling fingers, letting it fall to the floor. I wondered if I had heard in Simone’s voice something like the threat of… something.
Consequences, maybe. The idea brought even more heat to my face.
My panties followed my skirt, leaving me exposed from the waist down. The cool air against my most private parts made me shiver—or perhaps it was nerves.
“Hop up on the table and lie back,” Simone instructed, gesturing to the padded surface.
I climbed onto the table, my face burning. The paper covering crinkled beneath me, reminding me too much of the examination room I’d just left. I lay back, keeping my knees pressed tightly together.
“You’ll need to open your legs, honey,” Simone said, her tone dispassionate. “And bend your knees up toward your chest.”