Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
And then, underneath all of that rational consideration, there was the other thing. The thing I didn’t want to acknowledge, but couldn’t ignore. The way my body had responded to him. The way his words had made me clench and ache even beneath the horrid seal.
The thought I’d been trying not to have for the past twenty-four hours finally surfaced, breaking through all my careful rationalizations. Maybe I deserved this. Maybe I deserved to be punished the old-fashioned way for what I’d done.
In one important sense the cheating hadn’t been a mistake. It had been a choice. A series of choices, actually. I’d looked at that exam, known I wasn’t prepared, and instead of accepting the consequences of my own laziness, I’d pulled up the answers on my phone. I’d copied them down. I’d turned in work that wasn’t mine and pretended it was.
And when I got caught, I’d tried to lie my way out of it.
My thumb moved before I could second-guess myself anymore. I pressed Accept.
The app loaded for a moment, then a cascade of notifications appeared on my screen.
Congratulations! You’ve accepted a sponsorship offer from Mike G.
Sponsor Access Granted: Mike G. now has full access to your apartment entry system, surveillance feeds, and profile data.
New Event: Dinner Date, Tonight, 7:00 p.m. at your apartment.
My heart hammered as I stared at the words. Full access. He could see everything now. The cameras in my bedroom, my bathroom, everywhere. He could watch me right now—virtually, at least—if he wanted to, through the awful sensor they’d put between my legs. Even if he couldn’t literally see me standing on this street corner, he could pull up a data feed that probably told him my face was flushed and my hands were trembling.
Another notification popped up, this one with a cheerful tone that felt bizarrely out of place.
ProTip! Selecta has delivered a starter wardrobe to your apartment, including several lingerie options. First impressions matter! Consider wearing something that shows your sponsor you’re excited to meet him.
I felt my face go even hotter. They wanted me to wear lingerie. To dress up for him like… like what? Like the submissive associate member I’d agreed to become? Like a naughty girl ready to serve a wealthy man’s pleasure?
My feet carried me back to the apartment on autopilot. The doorman nodded at me as I entered, and I wondered if he knew. If he could see it written on my face that I’d just sold myself for ten thousand dollars. That in a few hours, a man would be coming to my apartment to punish me and take my virginity.
The elevator ride felt endless. When I finally let myself into the apartment, I found boxes stacked neatly on the bed. Selecta’s logo adorned each one, and my stomach clenched as I approached them.
I opened the first box with shaking hands. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was lingerie. A white lace bra with matching panties, delicate and expensive-looking. The kind of thing I’d never bought for myself because what was the point when no one was going to see it?
But someone would see it now. Mike would see it. Would probably take it off me.
The second box held a dress. Red, simple but elegant, with a fitted waist and a skirt that would fall just above my knees.
I closed the box quickly and shoved both of them into the closet, slamming the door like that would somehow make them disappear. My hands were shaking so badly I had to press them flat against my thighs to steady them.
I couldn’t think about this. I couldn’t sit here for the next four hours dwelling on what was going to happen at seven o’clock. I needed to do something, anything, to distract myself.
I changed into my running clothes—old leggings and a sports bra that had seen better days—and headed out. The Presidio had trails, I knew. I’d seen them on the map. Maybe if I exhausted myself physically, my mind would quiet down.
The run helped, at first. The rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement, the burn in my lungs, the simple physicality of pushing my body—it all forced my thoughts into the background. But I could only run for so long. After forty minutes, my legs were trembling and I had to stop, bent over with my hands on my knees, gasping for air.
Back at the apartment, I stripped off my sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt incredible against my sore muscles, and I closed my eyes, letting it cascade over my face.
That’s when the thoughts came flooding back.
Mike would be here in two hours. He would bring dinner. We would eat, probably make small talk, and then… then what? Would he just tell me to take my clothes off? Would he bend me over right away? My bottom clenched at the memory of the cane, the welts that were only now starting to fade.