Page 10 of Bought and Enjoyed

“And who gave them my?—”

Pierre interrupted me again.

“Data like the way you walk, the way you speak, even the way you decide to pass or shoot on the pitch.”

So nothing private, really—except that they could draw a very private conclusion. They would never have reached out to Pierre unless they knew that in the bedroom I preferred to dominate. That I expected my sexual partners to submit, and to accept my firm hand’s discipline when they misbehaved.

“What’s the offer?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

“They’ve started a program in Paris, a version of something they’ve been doing in American cities.”

I felt my eyebrows go up. I knew exactly what Pierre was talking about. Selecta Arrangements. I had gotten an email—in fact, I had signed up to get that email, when I had received an earlier email saying that Selecta Arrangements would open in Paris soon and did I want to be one of the first to know.

“It’s called Selecta Arrangements,” Pierre went on.

“I’ve heard of it,” I said, trying not to let the beginnings of excitement in my chest—and, to be frank, below my belt—creep into my voice. “It’s not the kind of thing one accepts a sponsorship for, though, no? I’m not going to wear an advertisement for a service that provides wealthy men with obedient fuck toys on my jersey.”

“Not publicly, no, of course,” Pierre said, laughing. “But their offer is simply that you use the service. They promise no formal publicity. Word of mouth only.”

“And what do I get?”

“They provide the membership, and they give the girl you sponsor a luxury allowance, plus a thousand euro per week subsidy for you to buy her gifts.”

“Merde,” I said, exhaling in a whistle. I didn’t even have to think about it. “Tell them yes.”

Pierre laughed. “Very well. I thought you might be interested. I even have a code for you to redeem the offer on the app today.”

A few moments later I hung up the phone, my mind racing with the possibilities. Selecta Arrangements. Yes, I’d heard about the program—usually in whispers—but I’d never imagined I’d have the opportunity to participate, even when I’d signed up for the notification when they brought it to Paris. And now, notonly was I being offered membership, but they were practically paying me to join.

I opened my laptop and navigated to the Selecta website, curiosity getting the better of me. The homepage was sleek and professional, with subtle hints of luxury and exclusivity. I clicked on the ‘Arrangements’ tab and was prompted to enter a special access code.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I typed in the code Pierre had given me. The screen refreshed, revealing a new set of options. My eyes were immediately drawn to a button labeled ‘Browse Associates.’

With a mix of excitement and trepidation, I clicked it. A grid of photos appeared, each showcasing a beautiful young woman. Some were demurely posed, while others were more provocative. But all had a certain vulnerability in their eyes that stirred something primal within me.

I scrolled through the profiles, reading snippets of information about each woman. Their interests, their academic pursuits, their… proclivities. It was intoxicating, having access to such intimate details about these potential submissives.

Then, when I was about to close the app, I noticed her. One profile in particular that I found I couldn’t look away from.

I clicked. Her name was Alice Morgan. Her photo showed a young woman with wavy chestnut hair and striking green eyes. There was an intelligence in her gaze that intrigued me, and I found I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her profile.

Truly, something simply captivated me about her—the innocence in her eyes, I told myself: it contrasted so piquantly with the provocative poses in her photos, which to be sure mademy cock leap against my thigh, inside my trousers. I’d seen a great many photos of beautiful, naked young women—and seen a great many of them in the flesh, before, during, and after enjoying them in my dominant fashion.

The lewd poses into which Alice had put herself for these photos—forme,I couldn’t help feeling—aroused me more than I’d experienced in a good while. Above all, the picture of her playing with her thrillingly bare, charmingly pink cunt, looking down at her naughtiness as her cheeks blushed a color to rival those sweet, wrinkly inner lips… the image brought fire to my blood and stiffness to my cock.

On the other hand, though… I couldn’t decide, really, if I preferred that one to the even franker picture of innocent Alice Morgan looking back over her shoulder in clear dismay as her fingers did so obscene a thing… as she, like the bad girl she so clearly had inside, spread her rear end… parted the firm apples of her bottom… showed her prospective sponsor—me—the lovely, tiny bud of her puckered, obviously virginal anus.

I knew immediately that if I had the luck to claim her as my own, that adorable little hole would get a good deal of attention. Alice Morgan would find her bottom regularly stretched to the fullest around the thickness of my rigid shaft, if I were her sponsor.

I almost took that now-very-hard shaft out so that I could enjoy myself fully as I read about Alice. I prided myself on my self-control, though. I forced myself to turn to the text of her profile.

Alice was a graduate student in French history, it seemed. That piqued my interest. I’d always had a fondness for intelligent women. But it was her personal statement that truly drew me in.

I never imagined I’d find myself here, but my passion for history has led me down an unexpected path. I’m both terrified and thrilled by the possibilities that lie ahead. I hope to find a sponsor who will nurture my academic pursuits while guiding me toward a happy life.

I felt an even more urgent surge of arousal. The hint of reluctance in her words, combined with her obvious curiosity, was intoxicating. I could already imagine guiding her, molding her into the perfect submissive.

Message Alice.The button was at the bottom of her profile. I hesitated for a moment. Selecta Arrangements, I knew, was designed for busy men like me. If I did sponsor Alice Morgan, I would be able to give her as much or as little attention as I saw fit. The only doubt in my mind lay in the question of whether I would be able to maintain my self-control when I had not Alice’s sexy photos to look at but Alice herself, body and heart, to train, to discipline, and to enjoy as I chose.

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