Page 7 of Bought and Enjoyed

But Dr. Smith continued relentlessly, his movements becoming more forceful. “Remember, Alice, you’re encouraged to orgasm if you feel the urge. Don’t fight it.”

I bit my lip hard, desperately trying to resist the growing tension in my core. But when Dr. Smith crooked his finger inside me, brushing against some secret spot, a cry escaped my throat.

“Nurse,” he said, “her anal cavity is showing excellent elasticity and responsiveness. I believe she’s ready for sexual penetration.”

At his clinical assessment of my most intimate parts, something inside me snapped. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over me, overwhelmed me, spiraling outward from my core in electric thrills I’d never experienced before. My back arched involuntarily as my body tensed, every muscle clenching. A cry tore from my throat as the orgasm took hold of me, leaving me trembling and gasping.

“Excellent response,” Dr. Smith said clinically, though I thought I detected a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “A good, powerful climax, just as your profile predicts.”

I lay there panting, my mind reeling. What had just happened? How had my body betrayed me so completely? Shame and confusion warred with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

“Alice is fully qualified,” Dr. Smith told the nurse. “She can move on to her final preparations. Theresa, you can go ahead and shave her vulva.”

My eyes flew open in shock. “What? No, you can’t?—”

But Dr. Smith was already striding out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The nurse patted my arm in a way that felt brusque. “Alice, you’re going to have to stop fussing. I understand this is new to you, and clearly unexpected, but at this point you’re committed. I’ll tell you more about the expectations of your program as I get you nice and smooth for your sponsors.”

She wheeled over a small cart laden with supplies: shaving cream, a razor, a pair of scissors. I tugged futilely at my restraints, mortification burning through me.

Sponsors?

CHAPTER 3

Alice

“What…” I started, hardly able to compose my thoughts into a question. “What is this… this program?”

The nurse began expertly trimming the chestnut curls between my legs with small scissors. I squirmed at the unfamiliar sensation, my cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “if you’d looked closely at the website for the Selecta scholarship program, you would have seen that recipients are required to register for an associate membership in Selecta Arrangements.”

She set aside the scissors and began lathering my most intimate areas with warm shaving cream. I shivered at her clinical touch.

“Selecta Arrangements is a way for submissive young women to live a lifestyle they wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford,” she continued, picking up a razor. “Which is exactly what a doctorate in the humanities represents for you, isn’t it, Alice?”

The nurse began carefully shaving my pubic area, her movements swift and practiced. I bit my lip, fighting back tears of mortification.

“The truth is, if you want to study in Paris, you’ll have to earn your keep in Selecta Arrangements,” she said bluntly. “Now, some sponsors don’t expect to have dominant sex with the associate members they sponsor, but let’s be realistic—you should make up your mind that if you want a sponsor, you’ll have to submit to him sexually.”

I gasped as the razor glided over my most sensitive flesh. “But I’m not… I don’t want…”

“Alice,” the nurse interrupted, her tone stern. “You’re going to have to stop saying you don’t want the things you obviouslydowant. The medical exam has verified that despite your repression, you are sexually submissive.”

I felt my face go as hot as an oven and screw up into what I was sure was a ridiculous expression of denial. Down where the horrid nurse kept moving her awful razor, and in a place deep down in my mind, one that I had not the slightest desire to acknowledge, something stirred, and it made me want to scream, or sob, or—really—just vanish from the earth.

I lay there in stunned silence as the nurse continued her methodical work, unable to process everything she was telling me. My mind reeled, trying to make sense of it all. Submissive? Sponsors? Sexual submission? This couldn’t be happening.

“If you wish fulfillment and happiness, Alice, you’re going to have to explore your submissive sexuality,” the nurse said matter-of-factly as she shaved the sensitive skin between my legs. “The program will help you do that in a controlled, safeenvironment. The sponsor who subsidizes you will have gone through a thorough vetting, in order even to look at your profile, and he’ll be able to train you properly.”

Train? Oh… no.I had clenched, down there. I bit my lip to keep myself from whimpering. I wanted to argue, to insist that she was wrong about me. But the memory of my body’s betrayal during the examination was still fresh in my mind. The way I had responded, the intense pleasure I had felt… could the nurse be right? Was there some hidden part of me that craved this?

“There,” the nurse said, setting aside the razor. “All nice and smooth. Your sponsors will appreciate that.”

She wiped away the remaining shaving cream, her touch clinical but somehow still invasive. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I never had before.

“Now then,” she continued briskly, “you’ll be heading to Paris next week to begin your studies. We’ll set you up in a basic apartment and help you create your profile for potential sponsors.”

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