Page 12 of Innocence Tamed
A perfectly groomed receptionist looked up as I entered. She wore a fitted black dress and had brown hair up in a ponytail that somehow made her sharp features look even more intimidating.
“Name?” she asked, her fingers poised over a tablet.
“Audrey Campbell,” I replied, my voice small. “I have an appointment for… for photos.”
Her eyes flicked up and down my body in a quick assessment that made me feel like a horse at auction. “Ah yes. First Intimacy Program.” She tapped something on her tablet. “Theodore is ready for you. Go right in.”
As she gestured toward a door at the back of the reception area, the door opened and a young woman emerged. She looked to be about my age, maybe a year or two older, with dark hair and olive skin. Her clothes seemed to be in disarray—her blouse half-buttoned and her skirt slightly askew—and her face was flushed deep red. She kept her eyes downcast as she hurried past me toward the exit.
The sight of her disheveled state and obvious embarrassment made my stomach clench with anxiety. What exactly happened in these photo sessions?
I approached the door with leaden feet, each step feeling like I was walking deeper into a trap I’d set for myself. But what choice did I have?Thirty days until deportation. No money. No future.
I pushed open the door and stepped into a large studio space. One area was set up as a bedroom, with a large four-poster bed draped in white linens. Another corner held a more minimalist setting with a simple white backdrop. Professional lighting equipment surrounded both areas.
“Ah, you must be Audrey,” a man’s voice called out.
I turned to see a tall, lean man approaching me. He appeared to be in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and designer glasses. He wore black jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that emphasized his wiry frame. There was something about the way he moved—confident, deliberate—that immediately made me nervous.
“I’m Theodore,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll be your photographer today.”
I shook his hand, noting how firm his grip was. “Nice to meet you,” I murmured, though nothing about this situation felt nice.
“And this is my assistant, Mona,” Theodore said, gesturing to the side of the studio.
A woman who had been adjusting a light near the bed straightened up and turned toward me. She was petite and curvy, with a sleek bob of dark hair and striking green eyes heavily lined with kohl. She wore a fitted black dress that hugged her generous curves, and her full lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she assessed me.
“Hello, darling,” she said, her voice carrying a slight accent I couldn’t place. “First time doing a shoot?”
I nodded, clutching my purse like a shield. “Yes.”
“She’s here for the First Intimacy bonus package,” Theodore said to Mona, his tone casual as if discussing the weather rather than my virginity.
Mona’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah, I see.” She circled me slowly, her gaze traveling up and down my body in a way that made me feel naked, even fully clothed as I was.“Fresh from the farm, aren’t you? We don’t get many genuinely innocent girls these days.”
I felt my face flush hot at her assessment. “I’m from Illinois,” I said defensively. “I was working on an international energy program before?—”
“Before life happened,” Theodore interrupted smoothly. “We understand. But today isn’t about your past—it’s about your future. Your SA profile needs to showcase your appeal to potential sponsors.” He gestured toward Mona. “Mona will help you select some appropriate outfits.”
The elegant woman beckoned me to follow her to a rack of clothing at the far side of the studio. As we walked, she spoke in a low voice. “The First Intimacy package means we need to emphasize your innocence while still conveying sexual availability. It’s a delicate balance.”
I stared at the rack of lingerie she led me to. There were dozens of pieces, ranging from relatively modest silk nightgowns to things that seemed to be made entirely of straps and tiny scraps of lace. My heart began to race as I realized what was expected.
“I thought… I thought this would be more like headshots,” I said weakly. “You know, for a professional profile.”
Mona laughed, the sound tinkling and somehow unkind. “Oh, darling. SA isn’t a work sort of a thing. Your sponsors aren’t looking for your résumé—they’re looking for a beautiful, obedient young woman to enjoy.” She began sorting through the rack. “For you, I think we’ll start with something classic.”
She pulled out a white lace bra and matching thong, along with a garter belt and sheer white stockings. “This will emphasize your virginal status while still showing enough to interest potentialsponsors.” Next came a sheer white babydoll nightgown that would barely reach my thighs. “And this for the second look.”
I stared at the tiny scraps of fabric, my stomach churning. “I can’t… I can’t wear those for photos. I’ve never even worn a garter belt.”
Mona’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Of course you can, darling. It’s quite simple.” She held up the garter belt. “This goes around your waist, then you attach the stockings. Even a virgin can manage that.” Her tone had an edge that made me flinch.
I glanced toward the door, wondering if I could just walk out. But then what? The same questions that had kept me moving forward all day haunted me still.Thirty days until deportation. No money. No future.
“Where…” I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Where am I supposed to change?”
Mona laughed again, that tinkling sound that somehow managed to be both musical and mocking. “Right here, of course. Theodore and I need to make sure everything fits properly.”
