For the first time in my life, I could actually imagine being part of this world. With Mike’s help.
CHAPTER 17
Laura
The thought should have felt mercenary—like I was using Mike for his money—but it didn’t. It felt more like… partnership. Like he was investing in me the way he’d invest in any promising venture. Except the returns he wanted weren’t financial, or not only. What this wealthy man wanted was my obedience. My submission.My body.
My face burned as I rounded a corner on the trail, and I pushed myself to run faster, trying to outpace the confused tangle of emotions in my chest.
By the time I got back to the apartment, I was exhausted in the best way. My muscles ached pleasantly, and my mind felt clearer than it had in months. I stripped off my sweaty clothes as soon as I got inside, heading straight for the bathroom. Only as I turned on the shower did it hit me—I’d been running for over an hour and hadn’t thought about the seal once. Not once.
The realization made me freeze with my hand under the spray, testing the temperature. Nurse Samuels had said it would help me focus. That sealing my pussy would make me less distracted, more productive. And I’d dismissed it as manipulative bullshit, another way for Selecta to justify their cruel procedures.
But she’d been right.
A wave of resentment crashed over me, so intense it made my hands shake. I hated that they’d been right. Hated that closing up the most intimate part of my body had somehow made me more functional. Hated that I’d just spent hours being productive and clear-headed because some corporate doctor had decided I needed to be sealed like a package.
I stepped into the hot spray, letting the water cascade over my sore muscles. My hand drifted down between my legs almost unconsciously, my fingers finding the smooth, unnatural line where my labia had been pressed together.
I could touch myself right now, squeezing to give myself the pleasure it seemed they’d wanted to deny. Just to spite the nurse. Just to prove that the seal didn’t control me, that I could still?—
The thought of Mike stopped me cold.
He might be watching. Right now. Through whatever surveillance system monitored this apartment. He’d see the biometric data spike. He’d know exactly what I was doing.
And suddenly, instead of making me want to stop, the thought made it almost impossible not to start.
My fingers pressed harder against the seal, and I felt my thighs clench involuntarily. I thought about the medium plug waiting in the cabinet. About how it would feel stretching me tonight, bigger than the small one, training me for something even larger.
I thought about the big plug. The impossibly huge one that had terrified me when I’d first seen it. About what Mike had said—that when I could take it, it would be time for him to fuck my ass.
My core muscles flexed hard, and I felt that familiar building sensation that Mike had taught me. The technique he’d shown me over his lap, when he’d made me come from a spanking. I could do it right now. I could squeeze and clench and rock my hips until?—
No.
I practically threw myself out of the shower, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The cool air hit my wet skin and I stood there dripping on the bath mat, my whole body trembling with frustrated need.
This was insane. The seal had become bizarrely normal—I could go hours without thinking about it now, could function like a regular person. But the moment I remembered what Mike had taught me, the moment I thought about him watching or touching me or training me, I became a desperate mess all over again.
I dried off quickly and grabbed clean clothes, trying to calm my racing heart. The contradiction was maddening.
I pulled on yoga pants and a t-shirt, my hands still shaking slightly. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty without Mike’s presence. I tried to settle back at my laptop, determined to make more progress on the proposal.
The cursor blinked at me like an accusation. My brain felt like mush, every attempt to focus sliding away into thoughts of the medium plug, of Friday, of Mike’s hands on me. After twenty minutes of staring at the same paragraph without comprehending a single word, I gave up.
I needed a distraction. Something mindless.
I moved to the couch and pulled up Selecta Streaming on the TV, scrolling through options without really seeing them. Finally I settled on some romantic comedy I’d seen before, something that wouldn’t require actual thought. The familiar dialogue washed over me as I curled into the corner of the couch, trying to ignore the constant awareness of my sealed pussy.
By the time the credits rolled, my stomach was growling again. I wandered to the kitchen and opened the fridge, the display lighting up with helpful suggestions. Grilled chicken with roasted vegetables, 427 calories. Pasta primavera, 612 calories. I grabbed chicken breast and asparagus, following the recipe instructions that appeared on the screen with mechanical precision.
I was halfway through eating when I heard it—a soft beep that made me freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth.
Then the unmistakable sound of a latch clicking open.
My head whipped toward the sound. The sponsor’s cabinet. The door had swung open on its own, revealing the contents inside.
Seven o’clock. He’d said seven o’clock, and I’d completely lost track of time.
