Page 8 of Bought and Enjoyed

“Profile?” I echoed weakly.

“Yes, dear. You’ll need to have some professional photos taken—nude, of course—and fill out a questionnaire about your interests, your experience, and so forth. They’ll be able to tell you more when you get there.”

And so they did. Seven days later, I sat in an office across from a woman who had introduced herself as Madame d’Arsenault. The conversation was in French, but the meaning remained the same.

“Mademoiselle Morgan, I’m sure they gave you this same choice back at your university. You should not have gotten on the plane if you intended to back out of your program. I’m afraid that our arrangement with French immigration is very strict. Your good standing in Selecta Arrangements is an absolute requirement. Otherwise we will be forced to turn you over to the authorities for immediate deportation.”

I felt my stomach drop at Madame d’Arsenault’s words. The reality of my situation was finally sinking in—I was trapped. I had read the fine print, which had given me no information Nurse Theresa hadn’t already provided. I had boarded the flight to Paris, as this older woman—horrible in the way that only a Frenchwoman can be horrible—had suggested, with the intention of persuading someone in Paris to give me the scholarship without making me enroll in Selecta Arrangements. No chance: obviously, if I refused to participate in this ‘program,’ I’d be sent back home with nothing to show for it. My dreams of studying in Paris would be shattered.

“I… I understand,” I said softly, hating how meek my voice sounded.

Madame d’Arsenault’s stern expression softened slightly. “Good girl. Now, we have an appointment scheduled for you at our photography studio this afternoon. They’ll take the necessary photos for your profile.”

My cheeks burned at the thought. “You mean… nude photos?”

She nodded briskly. “Of course. Your potential sponsors will need to see what they’re investing in. The photographer is very professional, I assure you.”

I bit my lip, fighting back tears of humiliation. How had I ended up here? Just a week ago I’d been a normal graduate student with dreams of becoming a professor. Now I was about to pose naked for strange men to… to what? Keep me? Buy me?

“After the photoshoot, we’ll help you fill out your profile questionnaire,” Madame d’Arsenault continued. “You’ll need to be honest about your experiences and desires. Even if you think you don’t have any… interesting proclivities, the medical exam revealed your true nature. Honesty is crucial.”

I nodded mutely, my mind reeling.

“Excellent. A car will be waiting for you out front.”

I squirmed uncomfortably in the back of the sleek limousine as it wound through the streets of Paris. My stomach churned with anxiety as we pulled up in front of an unassuming building.

“This is it,mademoiselle,” the driver said, opening my door. “Third floor.”

I stepped out on shaky legs, smoothing my skirt nervously. The elevator ride to the third floor felt interminable. When the doors finally opened, I found myself in a stylish, minimalist studio space. A tall, lanky man with artfully tousled hair greeted me.

“Ah, you must be Alice,” he said in accented English. “I’m Jean-Luc. We’ll be working together today.”

I nodded mutely, my cheeks already burning.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” I said, trying to gain some composure from my assurance in the language into which I had put so much work. “Je parle tres couramment Francais.”

“Tout a fait,” the man said with a smile, and continued in French, “Fine. No need to be shy. I’ve worked with many Selecta girls. Now, why don’t you get undressed and we’ll begin?”

My hands trembled as I slowly removed my clothing. Jean-Luc busied himself with his camera equipment, giving me a semblance of privacy. When I was finally naked, I stood there awkwardly, arms crossed over my chest.

“Relax,chérie,” Jean-Luc said. “You have a lovely figure. Now, let’s start with some simple poses.”

He directed me into various positions—standing, sitting, reclining on a chair. I tried to follow Jean-Luc’s instructions, my face burning with embarrassment as I posed naked before his camera. The flash kept going off, capturing my nudity from every angle.

“Good, good,” Jean-Luc murmured. “Now, let’s try something a bit more… provocative. Spread your legs for me,chérie. Show off that pretty cunt we worked so hard to prepare.”

I hesitated, shame flooding through me.Con…the French word—not quite as taboo in this language as its literal translation in English, but I realized suddenly that as expert as I had become in French culture, I couldn’t think of it as anything but the c-word: the most degrading possible way to talk about that part of a girl’s body.

“I… I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that,” I said softly.

Jean-Luc lowered his camera, fixing me with a stern look. “Alice, if you want a chance at attracting a luxury sponsor, you need to show that you’re ready to submit to his every sexual whim. That you’re a naughty girl who needs regular sexual discipline.”

His words sent an unwelcome thrill through me. I bit my lip, torn between mortification and a strange, growing excitement.

“Remember,” Jean-Luc continued, “the more… willing, shall we say, you appear in these photos, the better your chances of securing a high-status sponsor. Someone who can truly further your academic pursuits.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. This was for my future, I reminded myself. For my dreams. Slowly, I spread my legs, exposing my most intimate parts to Jean-Luc’s camera.

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