Page 20 of Innocence Tamed
I should throw this away, I thought. I should delete the app, pack my things, and find another solution.
But what solution? The questions that had haunted me all day returned with crushing force.
Thirty days until deportation. No money. No future.
I picked up the smallest plug, surprised by its weight in my hand. It didn’t look too intimidating—about the size of my thumb, with a flared base to prevent it from going too far inside. The first page of the pamphlet recommended starting with this size for at least three days before progressing to the next.
“Beginning tonight,” Nurse Georges had said. I glanced at my watch. It was already after nine.
With trembling hands, I opened the pamphlet, skimming the step-by-step instructions for insertion and care. The plain language—apply lubricant liberally to both the plug and your anus,bear down gently to help the sphincter relax—made this seem like just another medical procedure, not the deeply intimate, taboo act it actually appeared from my perspective.
I set the plug back in the box and closed it, my heart racing. Not tonight. I couldn’t bring myself to do this tonight. Maybe tomorrow, after meeting Pierre. If he even wanted to pursue this arrangement after meeting me in person.
My phone chimed again from the kitchen. I hurried back, my heart racing. Another notification from the SA app.
Your profile performance metrics are now available.
Profile performance metrics? I tapped the notification with trepidation, and a screen of statistics appeared.
Profile Views: 124 (Last two hours)
Interest Rating: 98.7%
Potential Sponsor Inquiries: 17
First Intimacy Premium Bids: 3
My mouth went dry. One hundred and twenty-four men had viewed those photos of me in just two hours? Seventeen hadalready expressed interest in ‘sponsoring’ me? And three were willing to pay the premium price for my virginity?
I scrolled down further, seeing a chart labeledMost Engaging Images. The top-ranked photo was one from the end of my session—me lying back on the bed, panties pulled down, fingers between my legs, face flushed with unwanted pleasure. The caption read:98.2% positive response rate.
I felt sick. Nearly a hundred men had looked at that image of me—my most private, vulnerable moment—and found it arousing enough to consider paying for the privilege of using my body.
The app chimed again.
Potential sponsor Pierre Lemieux has scheduled a meeting with you for tomorrow, 3:00 p.m., Le Petit Jardin. Would you like to confirm this appointment?
I tappedConfirmmechanically, my mind reeling. This was really happening. Tomorrow I would meet a man who might become my sponsor—a euphemism that barely disguised the reality of what I was agreeing to.
I moved to the bedroom, suddenly exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster of the day. The bed looked invitingly comfortable, with crisp white sheets and a plush duvet that seemed to promise a good night’s sleep. But as I approached, I wondered about something the app had mentioned in its ‘welcome to your new home’ message.
Surveillance on your apartment is 24/7, to ensure your safety and to provide you and your sponsor with the rich datathat will help your relationship grow into a truly mutually beneficial arrangement.
CHAPTER 9
Audrey
What did it mean? Surveillance for my safety with the men who apparently would expect to have their every whim obeyed, sure… but what about therich data?
The app, too, had mentionedsurveillance protocolsduring the orientation screens I’d had to tap the check boxes on, but I’d been too overwhelmed to fully process what that meant. Did it mean that the guy I’d responded to—Pierre—could see me right now?
As I changed into my sleep tee I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I hurried through my bedtime routine and slipped under the covers, pulling them up to my chin as if they could shield me from whatever surveillance Selecta saw fit to do.
I lay there in the dark, trying to quiet my racing thoughts: the humiliating, terribly arousing photo shoot… Pierre… coffee… cameras watching here in my new home, like Theodore’s camera… Pierre, looking at my lewd photos.
I realized suddenly that my hand had drifted involuntarily between my legs, as if one part of me were trying to comfort another part, soothe me to sleep that naughty way. The memory of the photo shoot—of Mona’s whispered words, especially—rose again, much too vividly.
“He’s going to take your virginity tonight. He’s going to push his thick cock into your tight little pussy and make you his.”
