Photography area.Oh, god. What did that mean?
Hank’s large hands worked at the restraints, freeing my wrists first, then my knees from the stirrups. The strap around my waist came next, and finally the one around my neck. I lay there for a moment, not quite believing I was free to move, my muscles aching from being held in that exposed position for so long.
“Up,” Hank said, his voice flat and businesslike.
I sat up slowly, my whole body protesting. My freshly shaved privates felt strange, the air cool against my bare skin. I pressed my thighs together, trying to hide myself even though it was far too late for modesty.
“You can get dressed.” Nurse Samuels gestured to where my clothes sat in a neat pile on a chair. “Your photographer is waiting.”
My legs wobbled as I climbed down from the table. I grabbed my panties and pulled them on with shaking hands. The fabric felt different against my newly bare skin, more intimate in an undefinably embarrassing way. With my eyes fixed on the floor I donned my bra, then my jeans and hoodie. I shoved my feet into my sneakers without bothering to tie them properly.
“This way,” Hank said, already moving toward the door.
I followed him on trembling legs, my whole body feeling like it might collapse at any moment. We walked through more sterile corridors, then through a door that led outside into what appeared to be a courtyard. The sudden sunlight made me blink, disoriented after the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway.
A man in his mid-forties stood beside professional photography equipment, adjusting a large reflector. He had what seemed like prematurely silver hair and sharp features, dressed entirely in black. He looked up as we approached, his eyes assessing me with the same detachment I was starting to recognize as standard here.
“This is Mark Edorian,” Hank said. “He’ll be conducting your photoshoot.” Without another word, the orderly turned and left, leaving me alone with the photographer.
“Laura Martindale,” Mark said, glancing at a tablet similar to the one Nurse Samuels had used. “Right?”
“Yes,” I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Alright.” He gestured to a spot marked with tape on the floor. “Stand there and strip down to your underwear.”
The command made my stomach lurch. I’d just gotten dressed. I’d just endured that horrible examination, and now?—
“What?” The word came out strangled.
“Your underwear. Bra and panties.” He said it like he was asking me to hand him a pen. “The photos for your profile need to show your body. Sponsors want to see what they’re getting.”
My arms wrapped around myself instinctively. “I can’t?—”
The photographer frowned. He glanced at his watch. “I have three more shoots after you today. Let’s move this along.”
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t make my hands reach for the hem of my hoodie. Not again. Not out here in this courtyard where anyone might see. The examination room had been bad enough, but at least that had been private, clinical. This felt different. Worse.
“No,” I said, the word coming out firmer than I expected. “I’m not doing that.”
Mark’s expression didn’t change. He simply set down his tablet and picked up his phone. “I’m sorry,” he said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t sorry at all, “but I’m going to have to send you for correction.”
My stomach dropped. “Correction?”
“Disciplinary intervention. Don’t feel too bad. It happens with a lot of girls.” He was already typing something on his phone. “And honestly, given your profile—” he glanced at his tablet again “—some welts across your backside will actually help you find the right sponsor. There’s a subset of platinum-level men who specifically seek associates who require regular discipline. Fresh marks will signal your… needs… very clearly.”
The words made my knees weak.Welts. Marks. Regular discipline.
Before I could process what was happening, Hank reappeared from wherever he’d been waiting. “She needs correction?” he asked Mark.
“Refused to cooperate with the photoshoot.”
Hank’s expression hardened as he looked at me. “Come with me.”
“No, wait—” I backed up a step. “I’ll do it, I’ll?—”
“Too late.” Hank’s large hand closed around my upper arm, not painful but absolutely unyielding. “You had your chance.”
He led me back inside, but this time we turned down a different corridor. My heart hammered against my ribs as we walked past door after door until finally stopping at one labeledDiscipline Room 2.
