I froze, my heart stopping. With shaking hands, I reached for it and saw the notification from the SA app.
Alert: Your sponsor can view your surveillance feed and biometric data in real-time.
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He could see what I was doing. He could watch me hump the bed like a naughty slut. He knew exactly how aroused I was, how needy, how pathetic.
My face went nuclear. I stumbled back from the bed, my whole body trembling with mortification. Mike was probably sitting in his office right now, watching the scene, seeing the evidence of my shameful desperation spike across whatever screen he was looking at.
I grabbed the lingerie with shaking hands and pulled on the panties, then the bra. My fingers fumbled with the clasp, taking three tries to get it fastened. I yanked the red dress over my head, smoothing it down over my hips. I caught sight of myself in the mirror—flushed, wild-eyed, my hair still damp from the shower—and tried to calm down.
He knew. He knew what I’d been doing, what I needed, how desperate I was.
The thought should have made me want to die. Instead, underneath the mortification, I felt something else. A dark thrill at being caught. At being watched. At having someone know my shameful secrets.
I spent the next hour trying to compose myself. I dried my hair, applied a little makeup with trembling hands, paced the apartment until my feet hurt. At exactly seven an alert popped up in the app:Mike G is on his way up. Good luck!
CHAPTER 10
Mike
When I got to the door of Laura’s apartment, I found it open. I stood there for a moment, my hand on the doorframe, considering what the open door meant.
She’d left it open deliberately, I felt certain. She didn’t want to think about the fact that I could open it myself now, that I had access to her apartment—and to her—whenever I chose. Leaving her door ajar was my new naughty girl’s way of maintaining some illusion of control, of inviting me in rather than having me exercise my right to enter.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, engaging the lock with a soft click. The apartment was exactly as it looked through the surveillance feed—pristine, barely lived in, the furniture still arranged in the showroom configuration that Selecta used for all their associate member units. I’d seen it before, when visiting the previous associates I’d sponsored. But seeing it this time in person seemed different, and I knew it must have something to do with how I’d already started to feel about Laura. The space felt charged somehow, heavy with anticipation.
“Laura?” I called out, setting the bag of Italian takeout on the kitchen counter.
She emerged from the bedroom, and the sight of her made something tighten in my chest. The red dress hugged her petite frame perfectly, modest but undeniably feminine. Her light brown hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, still slightly damp at the ends. She’d put on makeup—not much, just enough to highlight those hazel eyes that had captivated me in her photos.
But it was her expression that got me. Nervous, yes. Frightened, definitely. But underneath it all, I could see the same desperate need I’d witnessed through the surveillance feed an hour ago.
“Hi,” she said, her voice small. Then, after a pause where I could see her working up the courage, “Hi, sir.”
“Good girl,” I said, and watched the flush spread across her cheeks. “You look beautiful.”
She bit her lower lip, that nervous habit I’d already noticed, and looked down at the floor. “Thank you.”
I moved to the kitchen and began unpacking the food, giving her a moment to compose herself. I’d brought all my favorites from Tosca—fresh pasta, chicken marsala, a caprese salad, tiramisu for dessert. The kind of meal that said this was special, that she mattered, that I wasn’t just here to use her and leave.
Despite what I knew she felt sure was going to happen tonight. Her unsealing. Her defloration.
Not so fast, sweetheart, I thought, unable to keep a smile from playing on my lips.This is worth savoring… even at the possible risk that I’m out $10,000 for a single night of your company—and a spanking you’ve most definitely got coming.
“Come help me with this,” I said, pulling plates from the cabinet. The layout of the apartment was second nature to me, including where Selecta put the tableware.
She moved to my side, and I could feel the heat radiating from her body, could smell whatever light perfume she’d put on. Something floral and youthful and utterly intoxicating. We worked in silence for a few minutes, setting the table, pouring water into glasses. Normal, domestic motions that felt surreal given what I knew about her—the seal between her legs, the welts probably still visible on her bottom, the desperate way she’d ground against the bed corner earlier.
When everything was ready, I pulled out a chair for her. She looked surprised by the gesture, like she’d expected a lack of courtesy—rudeness, even, of the kind men who call themselves dominant often mistake for authority.
“I think you’re going to love this meal,” I told her. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Laura
Mike hadn’t lied. The chicken marsala tasted so good I thought they must have put drugs in it or something. I savored another bite, letting the rich flavors melt on my tongue. “This is incredible,” I said, and I meant it.
“I’m glad you like it.” Mike smiled at me across the table, and something in his expression was so warm, so genuinely pleased, that I felt myself start to relax fractionally.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I kept waiting for him to bring it up—the seal, the punishment he’d promised, what was going to happen after dinner. But he didn’t. He just ate his pasta, occasionally glancing up at me with those dark eyes that made my stomach flutter.
