The image crystallized in my mind with devastating clarity—bent over some wealthy stranger’s lap, my bottom already sore from his hand, pleading with him to take me there just to make the spanking stop. The humiliation of it, the surrender, the complete loss of control?—
My orgasm crashed over me before I could stop it. I cried out, my whole body convulsing as pleasure ripped through me in waves. My fingers kept moving, drawing it out, making it last until I was trembling and gasping against the rough bark of the tree branch.
The camera never stopped clicking.
“Excellent,” Mark said after a moment. “That footage is going to get you a top-tier sponsor, no question.”
I stayed bent over the branch, my chest heaving, my face burning with the aftermath of what I’d just done. The welts on my bottom throbbed in time with my racing pulse. My pussy still clenched with aftershocks.
“You can get dressed,” Mark said, already checking his tablet as if to prepare for the next girl. “You need to see Ann, the intake counselor. She’s in Building C, second floor. Reception will direct you.”
I straightened slowly, every muscle protesting. My panties were still around my knees, and I had to bend down to pull them up—a movement that sent fresh pain radiating across my welted bottom. My bra lay in the grass where I’d dropped it. I picked it up with shaking hands and fastened it, then pulled on my jeans and hoodie.
Mark was already walking away toward his camera bag in a shady corner, like I was just another item checked off his to-do list.
I stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. What I’d just done. I’d masturbated to orgasm in front of a stranger’s camera. I’d gotten aroused from being caned. The evidence of my shame was all captured on video, ready to be viewed by wealthy men shopping for a submissive girl to use.
My legs felt unsteady as I made my way back inside. The receptionist looked up as I approached.
“Building C,” I managed to say. “Second floor. Ann?”
She studied me for a moment, and I wondered what she saw. Could she tell what I’d just done? Could she see it written on my flushed face?
“Down that corridor to the left. Elevator on your right.”
CHAPTER 5
Laura
The door with the nameplate,Ann Tolliver,Selecta Arrangements Intake,was ajar. I poked my head inside, my heart beating faster though the office on the other side seemed perfectly normal.
“Come in, Laura.” The voice was warm, professional. Condescendingly soothing in a way that immediately put me back on edge after everything I’d been through today.
I stepped inside. Ann Tolliver sat behind a sleek desk, her ash-blonde hair perfectly styled, her green eyes assessing me with the frankness everyone here seemed to use. She wore a tailored blazer in a muted gray, and her fingers touched a pearl necklace at her throat as she gestured to the chair across from her.
“Please, sit down.”
I lowered myself into the chair, trying not to wince as my welted bottom made contact with the cushion. The pain sent a sharp reminder of the caning through my body, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
Ann’s eyes flickered with what might have been sympathy. Or maybe just acknowledgement. “I understand you’ve had quite an afternoon. But you’re approved for premium placement, which is excellent news. Now we just need to get you set up in the system.” She turned her tablet toward me. “This is the Selecta Arrangements app. It will be the primary way you interact with the program—and with your sponsor, once you have one.”
The screen showed a sleek interface with my name at the top.Laura Martindale. Associate Member. Status: Pending.
“First, we need to complete your profile,” Ann said, tapping the screen. “The photos from your shoot will be uploaded automatically, along with your medical examination data. But you’ll need to add some personal information. Interests, hobbies, what you’re looking for in an arrangement.”
My throat felt tight. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Be honest. Sponsors appreciate authenticity. Just put your phone near the tablet for a moment?”
I fetched it out of my pocket and reached it toward the device. A notification popped up:InstallSelecta Arrangements?I tappedYes.
Ann continued. “Great. Your credentials will be transferred automatically, and you’ll be synced up with the system at all times. You have twelve hours to finish the setup. If it’s not complete by then, your application will be automatically declined and you’ll forfeit your placement.”
Twelve hours. I held my phone with shaky hands, staring at the blank fields of my profile that had just appeared on the screen, waiting to be filled.Describe yourself in three words. What are you passionate about? What do you hope to gain from this arrangement?
“While you’re thinking about that,” Ann continued, “let me show you something else.” She tapped the tablet to navigate to a different section of the app. “This is your apartment control panel.”
My eyes widened as the screen loaded. A floor plan appeared, showing a small studio layout. And at the top, an address that made my heart skip a beat.
