"Mr. Sutherland, recovery from that kind of trauma takes years. Therapy. Support. It's not something that can be rushed."
"I understand. But I want to start. I want to show her that pleasure isn't shameful. That her body can feel good. I want to do it right. Carefully. Without causing more harm."
A pause. "Is she willing?"
The question stops me.
"Not yet," I admit. "But I think she could be. Eventually. If I approach it correctly."
"Mr. Sutherland, consent is?—"
"I know what consent is," I interrupt. "I'm not going to force her. I'm asking for guidance on how to help her understand that she has a choice. That pleasure is possible. That her body belongs to her, not to me or anyone else."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Send me her background," Dr. Caldwell says finally. "Everything you know about her religious upbringing. I'll put together some recommendations. Reading materials. Approaches. But Mr. Sutherland, I need to be clear: if at any point she says no, you stop. Immediately. No matter how far you've gotten. No matter how close you think she is. Consent can be withdrawn at any time."
"I understand."
"Good. I'll have recommendations for you by tomorrow."
She hangs up.
I sit there, staring at my phone.
This is insane. I know it's insane.
I bought a woman at an auction and now I'm consulting a sex therapist on how to seduce her without traumatizing her.
But I can't stop.
Can't let this go.
Can't accept that she'll never want me.
I need her to want me. Need her to choose me.
Even if that choice is made in a cage.
That afternoon, I go shopping.
Not personally. I never shop personally.
But I call my usual vendor.
A woman who specializes in high-end, discreet purchases for clients who value privacy.
"Mr. Sutherland," she greets me. Professional. No-nonsense. "How can I help you?"
"I need items delivered. Discreetly. By tomorrow morning."
"Of course. What are you looking for?"
I think about Eden.
About her complete innocence. Her fear.
The way she was taught that her body is shameful.
