Page 21 of Innocence Tamed
My fingers slid beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts, finding the smooth, freshly waxed skin between my thighs. The unfamiliar sensation still startled me—the directness of the touch against bare flesh, smooth and, well, virginal. My breathing quickened as I imagined Pierre Lemieux looking at those photos of me, his elegant hands unfastening his expensive trousers, his cock hardening as he studied my exposed body.
Would he touch himself while looking at me? Part of me felt sure the thought should have disgusted me, but instead it sent a surge of wet heat between my legs. My fingers slid lower, finding slick evidence of my helpless arousal.
Your sponsor will have the right to observe and direct all aspects of your sexual response.
Had Nurse Georges really said that, in her dispassionate voice? Or was I making that up, part of this unwelcome fantasy? The words echoed in my mind as if the frightening older woman were here, in my apartment, standing over me and watching me play with myself. I swallowed hard, letting out a little whimper as I remembered the presence of the perineal sensor, silently monitoring my body’s every response. Was it active now? Were my responses being recorded, analyzed, added to my profile data?
The thought should have made me stop, should have horrified me. Instead, it intensified the heat building between my thighs. My fingers circled my clitoris, pleasure spiraling outward from that sensitive little bud. It seemed impossibly shameful that I could be playing with myself for the third time today, but everything about my life felt unmoored, and things I would never have contemplated suddenly seemed to force themselves upon me as necessities.
He’s going to fuck you in all your holes. He’s going to train you to please him in every way a woman can please a man.
Mona’s voice again, sultry and knowing. I gasped softly as my fingers moved faster, my hips rising slightly off the mattress to meet my own touch.
The image of Pierre Lemieux formed in my mind—those knowing hazel eyes, the elegant hands I imagined would be firm yet precise in their movements. What would it feel like to have those hands on my body? Would he be gentle with me, or would he expect immediate submission? My fingers moved more urgently now, pleasure building inside me like an ocean swell about to break.
Just as I felt myself approaching the edge of climax, my phone chimed loudly from the nightstand. I froze, my hand still between my legs, my breath coming in short gasps. The distinctive tone belonged to the SA app.
Reluctantly, I withdrew my hand from my shorts and reached for the phone. The screen glowed brightly in the darkness of the bedroom, making me squint.
Selecta Arrangements Notice: Masturbation Detected
My heart nearly stopped. They really were monitoring me, even now, in my bed. The message continued:
Based on extensive research data from successful SA pairings, we recommend edging rather than orgasm at this time. Orgasm denial has been shown to increase submissive response patterns by 78% during initial sponsor meetings.
For optimal results, please proceed to your bathroom and edge yourself while watching in the mirror. Visualization of your own submission significantly enhances preparedness for first sponsor contact.
I stared at the screen in disbelief, my face burning with mortification. Not only had they detected what I was doing, but they were now giving me instructions on how to masturbate? The clinical tone of the message somehow made it even more humiliating.
I should ignore it, I told myself. I should turn off the phone, finish what I’d started, and try to get some sleep before tomorrow’s coffee date.
And yet…
A part of me wondered if the advice might be helpful. If I wanted to make a good impression on Pierre Lemieux—and I did, I realized with a start, though I wasn’t sure why it suddenly mattered so much to me—perhaps I should follow the app’s suggestion. If Selecta had data showing this would help me appear more submissive…
Before I could talk myself out of it, I slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. The lights came on automatically at adim setting, just bright enough to see without being harsh. The large mirror above the double sink reflected my flushed face and tousled hair back at me.
I looked… different somehow. My eyes seemed wider, my lips fuller, my cheeks perpetually flushed with the mix of embarrassment and arousal that had become my constant state since entering the Selecta building this morning.
Tentatively and self-consciously, half-looking at my reflection as I told myself that I didn’tmeanto look, I pulled my shorts and panties down to mid-thigh. I lifted the hem of my sleep tee, exposing my lower body to the mirror. The sight of my newly bare mound, smooth and pink in the soft lighting, made me shiver. I hardly recognized myself—this exposed, vulnerable version of Audrey seemed like a stranger.
I leaned against the counter, spreading my legs slightly as I slid my hand back between my thighs, hardly believing I was following the app’s instructions… part of me thinking I must have fallen asleep, and this lewd scene represented a disordered, embarrassing dream.
My fingers found my slick folds again, sliding through the wetness that had gathered there. Without the barrier of my pubic hair, every sensation felt magnified, electric. I gasped at the intensity, my eyes locked on the reflection of my hand moving between my legs.
This is crazy, the rational part of me protested, but I couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop touching. There was something hypnotic about seeing myself this way—revealed and shamefully aroused. My other hand crept up under my sleep tee to cup my breast, thumb brushing over the hardened nipple.
The sensations built quickly, heat spreading through my lower belly as my fingers circled my clit with increasing urgency. I leaned closer to the mirror, strangely fascinated by the sight of my flushed face, my parted lips, my glazed eyes. Was this what Pierre would see when he touched me? This helpless, needy expression that I barely recognized as my own?
The thought of him watching me like this—of him instructing me to touch myself while he observed—sent a fresh surge of wetness between my legs. My fingers moved faster, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as pleasure coiled tighter inside me.
I imagined Pierre sitting in an elegant chair, fully clothed in one of those impeccable suits, watching me with those intense hazel eyes as I stood before him, naked and trembling. “Touch yourself, Audrey,” he would say, his voice deep and commanding. “Show me how wet you are for me.”
My hips bucked against my hand as the fantasy took hold. I was close now, so close, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. I slipped one finger inside myself, feeling the tight resistance, the barrier of my virginity as I curled it forward.
Just as I teetered on the brink of orgasm, the app chimed loudly from where I’d set it on the counter.
I jumped, startled by the intrusion, but my arousal was too intense to be completely derailed. I glanced at the screen with unfocused eyes.
