Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“That’s the other intriguing thing about you, isn’t it, Grace?” Sharon asked. “You were a porn star, really, but—”
“No!” I said. “I… no, I was…” I didn’t know what to say, except no. I wasn’t a porn star at all. I… well, I had been featured on a streaming service, yes. Getting spanked and fucked, yes. But… Jacob had done those things to me. Even when he had made me kneel down and I had had to worship his rigid penis while the cameras watched, he had made me do that. I was his wife, and I had to, or he would spank me harder, the way he should because he had the responsibility of disciplining me and keeping me in line.
“I was a… you know, a wife,” I whispered, my hands going in front of me to cover my pussy as I belatedly realized that my panties had remained around my knees.
“Yes, you were,” Sharon said, her voice taking on an almost clinical tone. “And that’s exactly what assessment finds so fascinating about you, Grace. Despite having appeared on NMB, despite being watched by thousands of subscribers while your husband disciplined and used you, you’re still genuinely modest and embarrassed about nudity.”
I felt my face burn even hotter as she spoke so matter-of-factly about the strange but also strangely welcome course my life with Jacob had taken for two years. My hands remained pressed protectively over myself, and I could feel fresh tears threatening to spill over.
“You’ll probably never lose that modesty completely,” Sharon continued, and something in her tone suggested she found this satisfactory rather than problematic. “Which is actually a good thing. It makes you… authentic. Genuine in a way that’s quite valuable.”
She leaned back in her chair, studying me with those sharp eyes. “Nevertheless, now that you’re interviewing for the Selecta Business University program, you’ll have to learn a different kind of obedience. Hands at your sides, Grace.”
The command was delivered so casually that I almost obeyed without thinking. Then I caught myself, my arms tightening across my body. “I… please, Ms. Fagan…”
“Do you want more paddling?” she asked, her hand already moving toward the drawer where she’d replaced that terrible implement.
“No!” The word came out as a strangled gasp. Trembling, I forced my arms down to my sides, every instinct screaming at me to cover myself again. The air conditioning seemed suddenly arctic against my exposed skin.
Sharon’s gaze swept over me with professional assessment. “You’ve done a good job keeping your pussy groomed,” she observed, and I wanted to die of mortification. “Even though Jacob left two weeks ago, you’ve maintained your shaving routine. Very disciplined of you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to bear the clinical way she discussed my most private areas. It was true—even in my despair and anger over Jacob’s abandonment, some deeply ingrained habit had kept me maintaining the grooming standards he had demanded.
“Your pussy will look quite sweet and sexy in the pink panties,” Sharon continued, her tone as businesslike as if she were discussing quarterly reports. “Much more appropriate for a Selecta candidate than those dreadful beige things you came in wearing.”
The conflicting emotions churning through me were almost unbearable. Part of me—the part that had been trained so thoroughly by Jacob and the New Modesty program—responded to her authoritative tone with that familiar flutter of arousal. But another part recoiled from the humiliation, from being discussed and evaluated like a piece of merchandise.
“Now,” Sharon said, tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk. “Are you going to put on the lingerie I selected for you, or shall I retrieve the paddle?”
My hands shook as I finally pushed my panties down the rest of the way and stepped out of them. The bra followed, and I stood completely naked before her, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee. The pink lingerie lay on the desk like a taunt, those delicate scraps of lace that I knew would make me feel more exposed than nudity itself.
“Much better,” Sharon said, picking up the bra and holding it out to me. “Put this on first.”
I took it with trembling fingers, the lace impossibly soft against my skin as I slipped my arms through the straps. The cups barely contained me, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide my nipples, which had hardened from the cold air and all the stuff I didn’t want to acknowledge. The tiny rosettes along the edges seemed to mock the severity of this supposed business interview.
“Now the panties,” Sharon instructed, watching me with that same clinical detachment.
I stepped into them, pulling the delicate lace up my thighs. They sat low on my hips, the ribbons at the sides making me feel like a present waiting to be unwrapped. The back provided minimal coverage, and I could feel the cool air against the still-burning skin of my punished bottom.