Chapter 5
Audrey
I hesitated, then slowly complied, exposing myself completely to this stranger. It felt like yet another surrender in a day full of them. How many more would there be?
“First time can be a bit uncomfortable,” Simone warned as she pulled on latex gloves. “But most girls find it gets easier each time.”
I nodded mutely, staring fixedly at the ceiling as I felt her apply something warm and sticky to my pubic area.
“So, what brought you to Selecta Arrangements?” Simone asked conversationally, as if we were chatting at a café rather than while she prepared to rip hair from my most intimate parts.
“I lost my internship,” I said quietly. “My visa’s about to expire. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Ah,” she said knowingly. “That happens a lot. Selecta’s good at finding girls when their situations mean they’re willing to face up to their needs.”
Before I could respond to that disturbing observation, she pressed a cloth strip firmly against the warm wax and then, without warning, ripped it away.
I gasped at the sharp sting, my body jerking involuntarily.
“Sorry,” Simone said, not sounding particularly sorry. “First strip is always the worst.”
She continued working methodically, applying wax, pressing the cloth strips, and ripping them away.
Each pull sent a jolt of pain through me, though I had to admit it wasn’t as terrible as I’d feared.
What was worse was the casual way Simone manipulated my body—pulling my labia taut, instructing me to hold positions that left me completely exposed, even having me draw my knees up to my chest so she could reach the sensitive skin between my buttocks.
“Almost done,” she said after what felt like an eternity. “Just need to get the rest of your bottom. Turn over for me.”
I rolled onto my stomach, then followed her instructions to get onto my knees and elbows, my bottom raised high. The position was mortifyingly exposed, but I was beyond protesting at this point.
“You’ve got a very pretty little hole,” Simone commented casually as she applied wax between my cheeks. “Your sponsor will appreciate that.”
I buried my face in my arms, unable to respond. Simone ripped a strip away, and I whimpered, biting my lip, as I thought again about the man Nurse Georges had conjured up—the sponsor who would pay the premium to claim me… conquer me… master me…
“You’re all set,” Simone told me. “You’ll want to put lotion on tonight to soothe the area a bit. You should make an appointment for two weeks out—SA covers all your waxes, and sponsors can be particular.”
I scrambled to turn and looked around for my underwear and my skirt. Just that movement felt strange, between my legs, and I felt my mouth twist to the side at the distracting new sensation.
“That’s…” I said, with no idea of what kind of adjective I meant to finish the thought with. My cheeks flushed as I contemplated the idea of being held to such an embarrassing standard of hygiene.
“I’m serious,” Simone continued, as if she thought I might be in denial about the importance of the matter. “Some of them will report you if they think you’re letting yourself go down there. Or… you know… a lot of them will just take the matter into their own hands and whip you.”
The blush in my face turned into a whole-body surge of heat. I had seen the vague references to traditional discipline, but I supposed now that I had thought that meant simply following a sponsor’s lead, or something like that.
I stared at Simone, as she put the things on her cart in order. She glanced up at me, clearly noticing my confusion, how I had stopped in the middle of putting my panties on.
“Here’s the thing,” she said. “Selecta made you the offer when they did because you need help—but their specialty isn’t really that kind of need.”
“What?” I asked, as I raised my underwear hastily, then had to bite my lip as I became aware of how strange my pussy felt, bare and smooth against the cotton.
“I know it’s hard to think about, especially at the start,” Simone said with a wry smile that made me think she had first-hand knowledge of the subject.
“And I don’t want to distress you, because you’re going to be upset enough without me adding to it.
But… think hard about what you really, really need. ”
I realized that my breathing and my heart rate had both sped up wildly. Simone could clearly see my physical distress. She gave me a sympathetic smile.
“You should get going,” she said gently. “I bet your photoshoot is starting soon.”
Room 1650 was across the hall and two doors down.
On the door, the sign said Photography. I stepped into the studio, still trying to adjust to the unfamiliar feeling between my legs.
The freshly waxed skin felt impossibly smooth and extremely vulnerable, as if a layer of protection had been stripped away from me—as it literally had been, though I had never thought of my pubic curls as any sort of shield.
The reception area looked sleek and minimalist, with black leather chairs and large framed photographs on the walls.
I couldn’t help but notice that all the photos featured beautiful young women in various states of undress, though they were tasteful enough that they might have appeared in upscale fashion magazines.
The lighting was soft and flattering, making each subject look ethereal and desirable.
A perfectly groomed receptionist looked up as I entered. She wore a fitted black dress and had brown hair up in a ponytail that somehow made her sharp features look even more intimidating.
“Name?” she asked, her fingers poised over a tablet.
“Audrey Campbell,” I replied, my voice small. “I have an appointment for… for photos.”
Her eyes flicked up and down my body in a quick assessment that made me feel like a horse at auction. “Ah yes. First Intimacy Program.” She tapped something on her tablet. “Theodore is ready for you. Go right in.”
As she gestured toward a door at the back of the reception area, the door opened and a young woman emerged.
She looked to be about my age, maybe a year or two older, with dark hair and olive skin.
Her clothes seemed to be in disarray—her blouse half-buttoned and her skirt slightly askew—and her face was flushed deep red.
She kept her eyes downcast as she hurried past me toward the exit.
The sight of her disheveled state and obvious embarrassment made my stomach clench with anxiety. What exactly happened in these photo sessions?
I approached the door with leaden feet, each step feeling like I was walking deeper into a trap I’d set for myself. But what choice did I have? Thirty days until deportation. No money. No future.
I pushed open the door and stepped into a large studio space. One area was set up as a bedroom, with a large four-poster bed draped in white linens. Another corner held a more minimalist setting with a simple white backdrop. Professional lighting equipment surrounded both areas.
“Ah, you must be Audrey,” a man’s voice called out.
I turned to see a tall, lean man approaching me.
He appeared to be in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and designer glasses.
He wore black jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that emphasized his wiry frame.
There was something about the way he moved—confident, deliberate—that immediately made me nervous.
“I’m Theodore,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll be your photographer today.”
I shook his hand, noting how firm his grip was. “Nice to meet you,” I murmured, though nothing about this situation felt nice.
“And this is my assistant, Mona,” Theodore said, gesturing to the side of the studio.
A woman who had been adjusting a light near the bed straightened up and turned toward me.
She was petite and curvy, with a sleek bob of dark hair and striking green eyes heavily lined with kohl.
She wore a fitted black dress that hugged her generous curves, and her full lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she assessed me.
“Hello, darling,” she said, her voice carrying a slight accent I couldn’t place. “First time doing a shoot?”
I nodded, clutching my purse like a shield. “Yes.”
“She’s here for the First Intimacy bonus package,” Theodore said to Mona, his tone casual as if discussing the weather rather than my virginity.
Mona’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah, I see.” She circled me slowly, her gaze traveling up and down my body in a way that made me feel naked, even fully clothed as I was. “Fresh from the farm, aren’t you? We don’t get many genuinely innocent girls these days.”
I felt my face flush hot at her assessment. “I’m from Illinois,” I said defensively. “I was working on an international energy program before—”
“Before life happened,” Theodore interrupted smoothly. “We understand. But today isn’t about your past—it’s about your future. Your SA profile needs to showcase your appeal to potential sponsors.” He gestured toward Mona. “Mona will help you select some appropriate outfits.”
The elegant woman beckoned me to follow her to a rack of clothing at the far side of the studio. As we walked, she spoke in a low voice. “The First Intimacy package means we need to emphasize your innocence while still conveying sexual availability. It’s a delicate balance.”
I stared at the rack of lingerie she led me to. There were dozens of pieces, ranging from relatively modest silk nightgowns to things that seemed to be made entirely of straps and tiny scraps of lace. My heart began to race as I realized what was expected.
“I thought… I thought this would be more like headshots,” I said weakly. “You know, for a professional profile.”
Mona laughed, the sound tinkling and somehow unkind.
“Oh, darling. SA isn’t a work sort of a thing.
Your sponsors aren’t looking for your résumé—they’re looking for a beautiful, obedient young woman to enjoy.
” She began sorting through the rack. “For you, I think we’ll start with something classic. ”
She pulled out a white lace bra and matching thong, along with a garter belt and sheer white stockings.
“This will emphasize your virginal status while still showing enough to interest potential sponsors.” Next came a sheer white babydoll nightgown that would barely reach my thighs. “And this for the second look.”
I stared at the tiny scraps of fabric, my stomach churning. “I can’t… I can’t wear those for photos. I’ve never even worn a garter belt.”
Mona’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Of course you can, darling. It’s quite simple.” She held up the garter belt. “This goes around your waist, then you attach the stockings. Even a virgin can manage that.” Her tone had an edge that made me flinch.
I glanced toward the door, wondering if I could just walk out. But then what? The same questions that had kept me moving forward all day haunted me still. Thirty days until deportation. No money. No future.
“Where…” I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Where am I supposed to change?”
Mona laughed again, that tinkling sound that somehow managed to be both musical and mocking. “Right here, of course. Theodore and I need to make sure everything fits properly.”
I shook my head, taking a step back. “No. I can’t do that. I’m not comfortable changing in front of strangers.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mona sighed, turning toward Theodore who was adjusting his camera nearby. “Theodore, we have another shy one.”
The photographer straightened up, his expression hardening as he looked at me. He set his camera down with deliberate care and strode over to where we stood.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.
“She’s refusing to change,” Mona reported, crossing her arms.
Theodore regarded me coolly. “Ms. Campbell, I don’t have time for this. My schedule is very tight today, and I have three more shoots after yours. Either you cooperate, or we’ll have to terminate your session.”
“I just want some privacy to change,” I insisted, trying to keep my voice steady. “That’s not unreasonable.”
Something in Theodore’s expression shifted, a flicker of impatience that made my heart race.
“What’s unreasonable is wasting my time.
Do you understand what the Selecta Arrangements program entails?
You’ll be expected to obey your sponsor in all things, especially regarding your body and your sexuality. ”
“I know, but—”
“No buts,” he interrupted sharply. “This is your first lesson in obedience, and you’re failing spectacularly.”
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward a nearby stool. In one fluid motion, he sat down and tugged me across his lap. I gasped in shock, my purse falling to the floor as I found myself bent over his knees, my bottom raised in the air.
“What are you doing?” I cried, struggling to right myself.
His hand pressed firmly against the small of my back, keeping me in place. “Teaching you that actions have consequences. I’m going to spank you until you agree to follow instructions without argument.”