CHAPTER 7 – PREPARING FOR THE BIG DAY #2
Finally, we stop in front of a large door. Sophia swings it open and gestures grandly. “Welcome to the studio of seduction!”
I step in, and my breath catches.
The dance studio is like something out of a ballerina’s fever dream: mirrored walls on all four sides, the floor a pale, slick wood polished to a shine.
The ceiling has twinkle lights embedded in gold leaf, so when you walk in, it’s like floating inside a jewelry box.
At one end of the room, a long window overlooks the pool where two women in tiny bikinis are doing slow, synchronized laps.
A man in a silk robe lounges by the water, watching them with the lazy focus of a cat.
I can’t stop staring. I don’t know if it’s the perfect bodies, or the way their hair flows underwater, or just the possibility that at any moment, I think the man’s going to claim both ladies at once. Something gives me that feeling, and my belly tingles as my nipples harden.
Sophia’s voice cuts brings me out of my reverie, however. “Okay, Daisy. The first rule of seduction is confidence. The second rule is rhythm. Most of the men at Sanctum have seen it all, but if you can walk like you’re the only thing worth watching? You win.”
She puts her gym bag down and pulls out a pair of heels, clear plastic, with an ankle strap. I laugh—actual stripper shoes.
“Put these on,” she says. “And don’t worry, we’ll start slow.”
I slide into them, and the world tilts in a new direction.
Sophia moves to the center of the studio, and for a second she just stands there, hands on hips, chin lifted.
The sunlight catches her, and she becomes all angles and shadows.
She snaps her fingers and starts to walk, slow, deliberate, hips moving in a smooth figure-eight.
When she turns, it’s like every muscle in her body is in on a joke I haven’t heard.
“Your turn,” she says.
I step forward, and immediately trip over my own feet.
“Dang stripper heels!”
Sophia bursts out laughing—not mean, just delighted. “Try again. Slower.”
I do. This time, I make it four steps before wobbling, but she comes over, steadies my hips with both hands, and guides me.
“Like this,” she murmurs, and moves my hips in the right direction, pressing against my waist.
Her hands are gentle but insistent as they steer me. I stare at my face in the mirror, and the girl there looks enchanting. A goddess in training. A beautiful blonde with the world’s secrets in her hands.
I try again. This time, I manage a full turn and a little hip pop at the end. Sophia claps, her smile wide. “Perfect! Now try it with the slip a little bit undone in the back.”
I freeze. OMG, really? My fingers tremble as I pull the zipper down. The fabric parts, showing the slope of my breast, the line of my bra.
Sophia watches, approving.
“Now sashay,” she says. “Pretend you’re on stage, and every step makes you more valuable. Drive those those guys wild.”
I try, and something clicks. The shoes force my hips to sway. The cool air makes my skin go tight, goosebumps everywhere, and in the mirror I see my own eyes go hungry.
We practice for what feels like hours, but can’t be more than forty minutes. Every time I mess up, Sophia shows me again. She’s patient. She teaches me to arch my back, to let my hands wander down my thighs, to touch the curve of my breast like I’m a gorgeous goddess, and proud of every inch.
“Don’t be shy,” she says. “If you’re going to strip, strip with purpose. Stop at every new layer, show it off, then move on.”
It’s embarrassing because I never thought of myself as a girl who’d take off her clothes for money, but after a while, it starts to feel fun. I spin, I strut, I flip my hair, and Sophia’s encouragement gets less clinical and more gushing.
“You’re a natural,” she says at one point, breathless and grinning. “You were made for this.”
At some point, she pulls out a feathered mask from the gym bag and hands it to me. “Try it on. It lends an air of mystery.”
I slip it over my eyes, and suddenly I’m not Daisy anymore—I’m someone else, someone mysterious, someone who can walk in and own a room.
With the mask on, I strut and pose. I tug the dress strap down, then up, teasing myself as much as the imagined audience. I run my hands over my body, slower and slower each time. The girl in the mirror is a stranger, but she looks like she’s in complete control.
When the lesson ends, I’m high on adrenaline, legs shaking, but I’m not afraid. If anything, I’m addicted to my own power.
Sophia pulls me into a hug.
“You’re ready,” she coos. “We’ll do this by the pool next. It’s a whole new level to have people watching, even if they’re more interested in their own shenanigans.”
I want to laugh, but my mouth is dry.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
She nods. “The pool is where things often get raunchy because of course, there’s a lot of nude womanflesh there, and our club members like to partake. But don’t worry, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
We head down to the pool level, my knees still weak.
OMG, OMG, is this really happening? Am I going to practice my sexy walk and take off my clothes in front of an audience?
I shiver hotly, my eyes going wide. Yes, because this is my life.
I’ve chosen to be auctioned, and god knows, I need the practice.
Sophia gives me a blue and white bikini, barely there, and tells me to change in the locker room.
The fabric is smooth, shiny, and when I tie it on, my tits look absolutely huge, my skin almost translucent under the harsh white lights.
The bikini bottoms aren’t much more than a string tied to a small patch of fabric, and my cunt lips are visible in outline because the material is so thin. Oh my god!
I step out, and Sophia is waiting in her own suit—black, cut high on the hips, and with a mesh panel over the stomach. She looks less like a coach now, and more like a swimsuit model on vacation.
Together, we walk to the water’s edge. The two girls from before are sitting on the steps, giggling with a pair of men who are godawful handsome, with rippling six packs and granite jaws.
The men are drinking and talking, but the second we approach, they turn before going back to their own conversation.
Sophia gestures for me to get in. I do, shivering at the cold, then warming as my body adjusts. The water feels so good, I want to melt into it.
Sophia joins me, and we swim to the middle, then float on our backs.
She speaks quietly. “Don’t look at them yet. Just enjoy the water.”
I do. It’s the first time I’ve felt weightless since the accident. I close my eyes and drift.
After a few minutes, Sophia nudges me. “Ready?”
I nod.
She stands, water streaming down her curves, and walks to the shallow end. I follow, matching her stride.
She motions for me to climb out first.
The world slows. I feel every droplet slide down my thighs, every inch of my skin tingling. I place a hand on the tile, arch my back, and rise from the pool, just as Sophia showed me. My big breasts seem to emerge on their own, luscious and streaming water.
I hear a low, appreciative whistle from behind, and my face goes hot.
Sophia is next to me, smiling. “See? They can’t look away.”
She hands me a towel, and as I dry off, whispers, “Ready for the last test?”
I nod, heart pounding.
She tells me to walk around the pool, slowly, turning at the corners.
I do, and each time I pass the men, their eyes track every movement.
At first I want to disappear, but then something wild and reckless bubbles up.
I flip my hair, let my hand wander up my hip, even give a little wiggle when I walk.
The girls in the pool watch, too. One of them smiles at me, and I feel a bolt of sisterhood—like we’re all in on the same cosmic joke. After all, they may have done this very walk themselves in the past.
At the far end, Sophia calls out, “Now stop, and untie your top. Just for a second.”
My heart is in my throat.
But I do it. I slip my fingers behind my neck, and the knot falls loose. The bikini slides down, and my breasts bounce free, nipples stiff and pink. My tits are huge and for a moment, I panic. Oh my god, what do I do now? I’m topless, and it feels like the whole world is staring at me in judgment.
For a moment, there’s silence.
Then the men clap, slow and appreciative.
Immediately, my nerves transform into glory, and I feel like I could fly.
Sophia tosses me a coverup, and I slip it on, giggling uncontrollably.
She hugs me in congratulations.
“You did it,” she says. “You’re ready for the auction.”
I look around, at the men, the girls, the water, and the sunlight streaming through the glass.
For the first time since waking up, I feel light-hearted and confident.
I feel like I can do this.
I sit on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, and let myself be happy.
Because if this is what it’s like to be Daisy, maybe I never want to remember who I was before.
The club’s garden is a time machine—one minute you’re in a modern building, and the next you’re drifting through an Italian giardina where every bush is sculpted, every flower optimized for the color “perfection.” It’s late afternoon and the sky is pink, cottony, and the air hums with the sounds of trickling fountains and ice clinking in crystal.
If you listen close, you can hear a violin sighing over the speakers, as if the plants require Vivaldi to reach their maximum potential.
I’m early to meet Hunter, but the second I step onto the flagstones, I see him. He’s already waiting, all in dark blue, leaning against a marble column like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial. He’s watching me. I feel it in the hot, shivery way my back tingles.