Chapter 7
Mike
“The technical challenges really are surmountable, Mr. Gallagher,” the hapless, if brilliant, guy across my desk from me was saying.
“They totally are,” agreed his equally intelligent, equally clueless partner.
I leaned back in my leather chair, barely suppressing a sigh.
“Gentlemen, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but the fundamental problem remains. The liability issues alone would sink this project before you got a prototype to market. Every homeowner in America would need to sign a waiver the size of a phone book before you could send a robot plumber into their home.”
“But if we—”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, cutting off whatever objection the first entrepreneur was about to make.
I almost ignored it—I made it a point never to check my phone during meetings—but the vibration pattern was distinctive.
Three short pulses. That was the Selecta Arrangements alert I’d configured for high-match profiles.
“Excuse me one moment,” I said, pulling out my phone. The two young men across from me exchanged glances, probably thinking I was being rude. They weren’t entirely wrong.
The notification glowed on my screen: New Premium Associate Member—98% Match.
Ninety-eight percent. I’d been on the platform for six months and never seen a match above eighty-five.
I opened the app, and the first thing I saw was her face. Even in the cropped profile photo, she was stunning—delicate features, hazel eyes that held something vulnerable and defiant at the same time, light brown hair falling past her shoulders.
Laura M.
I scrolled down to her bio, written in a voice that tried for sophistication, but revealed her inexperience in every word choice.
I know I’ve made mistakes. Like, serious ones.
I’m not going to pretend I’m perfect or that I have everything figured out because I obviously don’t.
I got expelled from college for cheating and I’m not proud of that.
But I’m looking for someone who can help me be better?
Someone who can give me structure and help me figure out who I’m supposed to be.
I’m interested in software development (I was a CS major before…
well, before). I like reading, hiking when I actually motivate myself to do it, and honestly I spend way too much time on my phone.
I’m looking for a second chance and someone patient enough to deal with how much I need that.
For my first time, I’m hoping it’s someone who knows how to teach me.
Christ. A virgin, too. She was perfect. The honesty, the admission of her failures, the implicit plea for guidance—it was exactly what I’d been looking for. A young woman who needed a firm hand, but also tenderness. Someone intelligent enough to challenge me, but lost enough to need direction.
“Mr. Gallagher?” One of the entrepreneurs cleared his throat.
“Right. Yes.” I looked up at them, making a quick decision. “Look, I think you both have real talent. The plumber robot idea isn’t viable, but I like how you think. Take some time, come up with something better, and reach out to my assistant for another meeting. Sound good?”
They looked confused but hopeful as they gathered their materials. “Thank you, Mr. Gallagher. We really appreciate—”
“My assistant will show you out,” I told them.
I stood and ushered them toward the door, barely registering their continued thanks. The moment it closed behind them, I was back at my desk, phone in hand, clicking through to Laura’s full gallery.
The first photo nearly made me drop the device.
She stood in what looked like an outdoor courtyard, stripped down to plain cotton panties and a simple bra.
Nothing fancy, nothing designed to seduce, which somehow made it more arousing.
Her body was petite but curved in all the right places, her skin pale and smooth.
But it was her expression that got me—vulnerable, embarrassed, like she was forcing herself to be there.
I swiped to the next image. This one showed her bent over a tree branch, her face turned back toward the camera. Across her bottom, visible even through her panties, were what could only be welts from a cane: six parallel lines of reddened, raised flesh. Fresh marks. Very fresh.
My cock stirred in my pants.
The third photo made me inhale sharply. Same position, but now her panties were pulled down to her knees.
Her pussy was completely bare—freshly shaved, by the look of it, the sweet pink petals of her inner lips enticingly visible—and I could see the welts more clearly now, angry red stripes that had to hurt like hell.
The next several photos showed her in various poses, all designed to display the evidence of the discipline they’d apparently had to use to keep Laura in line. Then came a video thumbnail. I hesitated only a second before tapping it.
The footage showed her bent over that same tree branch, her hand moving between her legs.
I could hear her breathing, ragged and desperate, as her fingers worked against her clit.
The camera angle was perfect—I could see everything.
Her face twisted with need and shame. Her hips rocking.
And then the moment she came, crying out, her whole body shuddering.
My cock was rock hard now, straining against the front of my pants. I set the phone down on my desk and adjusted myself, trying to think clearly through the haze of arousal. When was the last time I’d had this kind of immediate, visceral reaction to anyone?
Never. The answer was never.
I scrolled down further and found myself staring at an explanatory note at the bottom of the gallery, positioned above several additional photos.
Special intake note: This associate member displayed significant resistance during her initial evaluation and required additional corrective measures.
Selecta administered a temporary labia seal—a safe, medical-grade adhesive procedure that glues the outer labia together, leaving a small opening for urination.
While this may appear extreme, it has proven highly beneficial for both associates and sponsors.
The seal helps resistant young women reflect on their behavior and often accelerates their acceptance of the structure they need.
Additionally, sponsors should note that for approximately three to five days following seal removal, the associate’s vaginal canal will be noticeably tighter, enhancing the sponsor’s pleasure during initial intercourse.
Christ. My hand moved to my cock almost involuntarily, pressing against the rigid length straining beneath my suit pants. They’d sealed her pussy. Actually sealed it closed because she’d been too defiant during intake.
I clicked on the first photo beneath the note.
Laura lay on an exam table, her legs spread wide in stirrups, restrained at the waist, neck, wrists, and thighs.
Between her spread legs, I could see what they’d done—her outer lips pressed together in a seamless line, the flesh adhering unnaturally.
A nurse’s gloved hands held her labia in position, and Laura’s face was visible in the shot, twisted with humiliation and something else. Arousal, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
The next photo showed the completed seal from a closer angle.
Her pussy looked almost… pristine in its closure.
Untouched. Inaccessible. The thought of her walking around right now with her most intimate parts sealed shut, unable to touch herself no matter how desperately she needed to, made my cock throb painfully.
I thought about jerking off right there at my desk. It wouldn’t take long—I was already so hard it almost hurt. My hand hovered over my belt buckle for a long moment.
No. Not like this.
Instead, I opened the messaging feature in the app and started typing, forcing my breathing to steady, my fingers to move deliberately across the screen.
Simple. Non-threatening. The kind of message that wouldn’t scare off a twenty-year-old virgin who’d just been through what had clearly been a traumatic intake process.
Hi Laura! I really love your profile. Take a look at mine and see if you’d like to meet up for coffee to explore the possibilities.
Laura
I got sixty-three direct messages in the first two hours. I sat cross-legged on the pristine white bed in my new apartment, my phone clutched in trembling hands, watching the notifications pile up faster than I could process them.
Sixty-three messages. Sixty-three men who had looked at my photos—at me bent over that tree branch, at my welted bottom, at the seal between my legs—and decided they wanted me.
Most of the messages turned my stomach.
Hey baby, love those marks on your ass. Can’t wait to add more.
Virgin pussy sealed tight? That’s hot as fuck. I’d keep you that way for weeks just to hear you beg.
You look like you need a real man to break you in properly.
I deleted those without responding, my face burning hotter with each crude proposition. These weren’t men, it seemed to me—they were predators shopping for prey. The app let me block them with a single tap, and I did, over and over until my thumb ached.
But scattered among the garbage were messages that seemed different. A bit more encouraging, and definitely a little more thoughtful. Less like I was just a body for sale.
Laura, I appreciate your honesty in your profile. I’ve worked with several young women who needed structure and guidance. I’d like to discuss what an arrangement might look like.—David K.
That one wasn’t terrible. I flagged it to respond to later.
Your academic background in CS is impressive. I run a tech startup and could potentially offer mentorship alongside our arrangement. Let’s talk.—Jason M.
Better. Maybe. I flagged that one too.
Then I saw it. A message that struck me so differently from the others—even the nice ones—that I had to read it twice to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.
Hi Laura! I really love your profile. Take a look at mine and see if you’d like to meet up for coffee to explore the possibilities.
That was it. No crude comments about my body. No mention of the seal or the welts or what he wanted to do to me. Just… normal. A compliment for my profile and an invitation to look at his. Like he was asking me on an actual date instead of shopping for a sex toy.
I clicked on his profile before I could second-guess myself.
Mike G. 42. Tech entrepreneur. Net worth: $2.1B.
Two point one billion. The number made my head spin. I’d hardly even conceived of that much money existing in one real person’s bank account.
His profile photo showed a man in his late thirties with dark hair graying very slightly at the temples.
He wore a perfectly tailored suit and had the kind of confident posture that came from always being the most powerful person in the room.
Handsome in a mature, distinguished way that made the boys at my college look like children by comparison.
I scrolled down to his bio, my heart hammering.
I’m looking for an intelligent young woman who needs guidance and structure.
I value honesty, effort, and genuine connection.
While I maintain high standards and expect obedience, I also believe in patience and teaching.
I’m experienced with first-time associates and understand the importance of building trust.
I stared at those words—first-time associates—and felt something shift in my chest. Not the crude hunger of the other messages, but something that felt almost… safe. Or at least safer than the alternatives.
My thumb hovered over the reply button. What was I supposed to say? How did you respond to a billionaire who’d just seen videos of you masturbating?
I started typing before I could overthink it.
Hi Mike, I’d really like to meet for coffee. Where would…
Before I could finish, a blue box popped up over the keyboard.
ProTip: Premium sponsors are extremely busy managing their business interests. Associates who demonstrate consideration for their sponsor’s schedule and location preferences are significantly more likely to establish successful long-term arrangements!
Below the tip, a list of suggested meeting locations appeared, each with a little map pin showing distance from what I assumed was Mike’s office or home.
Caffé Trieste, Pacific Heights (0.3 miles… Blue Bottle Coffee, Presidio (0.8 miles)… Andytown Coffee, Outer Sunset (4.2 miles)
The message was clear. Make it easy for him. Come to his neighborhood. Prove you’re willing to accommodate his needs.
My hand had moved between my legs without conscious thought, pressing against the cotton of my panties.
The seal beneath felt firm, unyielding, but the pressure sent a dull throb of frustrated need through my core.
I thought about Mike reading my message and appreciating that I’d made things convenient for him.
About him noting that I was the kind of girl who understood her place.
God, what’s wrong with me?
But I couldn’t stop my fingers from pressing harder, trying uselessly to find some friction through the sealed flesh. The thought of being accommodating, of being available to this powerful man whenever and wherever he wanted—it sent shameful heat flooding through my body.
I forced my hand away and finished typing with shaking fingers.
Hi Mike, I’d really like to meet for coffee. I can come to wherever is most convenient for you. Where would you like to meet?
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
The response came within seconds. Literally seconds, like he’d been waiting for my reply.
Perfect. Caffé Trieste in Pacific Heights, tomorrow at one p.m. Looking forward to meeting you, Laura.
Tomorrow. Oh, god, tomorrow. I had less than twenty-four hours to prepare myself to meet a billionaire who’d seen me sealed shut and wanted to own me… to be the one to open me so that he could use me however… whenever… wherever he chose.