Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Theodore’s hand paused, resting on my burning flesh. I felt his fingers shift slightly, moving down to where my thighs met, dangerously close to my exposed sex.
“Indeed,” he murmured. “And she’s quite wet. The perineal sensor must be picking up some interesting readings right now.”
I whimpered at his words, squeezing my eyes shut. The perineal sensor. I’d almost forgotten about the tiny thing Nurse Georges had installed, silently monitoring my body’s responses. Was someone watching those readings somewhere? Could they see how my traitorous body was reacting?
“Please,” I whispered again, my voice breaking. “I’ll change. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Theodore delivered one final, stinging slap before releasing my wrists. “Stand up,” he commanded.
I scrambled to my feet, yanking up my panties and pushing down my skirt, desperate to cover myself. My face felt as hot as my throbbing bottom, tears streaming down my cheeks as I struggled to regain some semblance of dignity.
“Now,” Theodore said, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just spanked me like a child, “let’s try again. Mona has selected some appropriate lingerie for your shoot. You will put it on here, without argument.”
I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “Yes, sir,” I whispered, the honorific slipping out unbidden, an artifact from a midwestern childhood.
A small smile curved Theodore’s lips. “Good girl. Now we’re making progress.”
Mona approached with the white lingerie set, holding it out to me. “Let’s get you changed, darling. Your bottom will look very fetching against the white lace.”
Trying hard not to think about what I was doing, I began to unbutton my blouse. I got it off and dropped it on a chair Mona showed me. I stood there shaking in just my bra and skirt, acutely aware of both Theodore and Mona watching me with what seemed more than professional interest.
“The skirt next, darling,” Mona prompted, with a scornful half-smile when I hesitated.
I unzipped the garment and let it fall, stepping out with trembling legs. Now in just my plain cotton bra and panties, I felt horribly exposed. The smooth, freshly waxed skin between my legs felt hypersensitive against the cotton of my underwear.
Bared for my sponsor’s pleasure. I swallowed hard.
“Those too, Audrey,” Mona said, gesturing to my underwear and shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe she had to tell me to take off each article.
My hands shook as I unhooked my bra and slipped it off, then pushed my panties down my legs. I stood naked before them, my arms instinctively crossing over my breasts, my thighs pressed tightly together.
“Arms at your sides,” Theodore instructed.
I dropped my arms slowly, blinking back fresh tears as I stood completely exposed. The air-conditioning raised goosebumps across my skin, my nipples hardening in response—a reaction I prayed they would attribute to the cold rather than the confusing arousal still pulsing through me.
“Very nice,” Mona assessed, circling me. “Small breasts, but nicely shaped. Elegant lines. Good hip-to-waist ratio. And the Brazilian was well done—your pussy looks delightfully innocent. The sponsors will be quite pleased.”
Her casual appraisal of my naked body sent another wave of heat through me—embarrassment mingled with that unwanted, inexplicable arousal. I hated how my body was responding, how some part of me seemed to crave this objectification even as my conscious mind recoiled from it.
“Let’s get you into the garter belt,” she continued, wrapping the lacy band around my waist and fastening it at the back. “This sits here, just above your hips.”
Next came the stockings—sheer white nylon that Mona guided up my legs with practiced hands. I stood motionless as she attached each stocking to the dangling garters, her fingers occasionally brushing against my inner thighs in a way that made me flinch.
“Remember,” she instructed, “when your sponsor gives you a garter belt, which I’m sure he will… the panties go on over the suspenders.”
I almost asked why—but then with a hot blush I figured it out. The realization hit me like a physical blow. The panties go on over the garter straps so they can be removed without taking off the stockings. So a man can pull them down or aside to… to use me… while keeping me dressed in the lingerie he finds arousing.
My face blazed with fresh heat as Mona handed me the white lace thong. I stepped into it with trembling legs, pulling it up over the thin straps of the garter belt as instructed. The unfamiliar sensation of the thong between my newly bare bottom cheeks made me shift uncomfortably.
“Good girl,” Mona murmured, her tone carrying that same condescending approval I was beginning to recognize from everyone at Selecta. “Now the bra.”
The bra matched the thong—delicate white lace that seemed designed more for display than support. It cupped my small breasts, pushing them up and together to create the illusion of more cleavage than I naturally possessed. The lace was scratchy against my sensitive nipples, which remained traitorously hard in spite of my discomfort.