Page 26 of Innocence Tamed
“You’re not what?” Pierre prompted, a slight edge entering his voice. “Not aroused by the thought of submitting to a man’s authority? Not excited by the possibility of surrendering control? Your body suggests otherwise.”
“How can you possibly know what my body is doing?” I blurted out, immediately regretting the question.
A small smile curved Pierre’s lips. “I’ve spent many years studying women’s responses, Audrey. The signs are quite clear to an experienced observer.” He took another sip of his espresso. “Besides, the perineal sensor Selecta installed provides rather detailed data.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. “You can see that?”
“Not at this precise moment,” he admitted. “But I reviewed your response patterns before our meeting. They were quite illuminating.”
My stomach twisted with humiliation. The idea that this stranger had been given access to my most intimate physical responses, that he had studied them like data points in some medical experiment, made me want to sink through the floor.
“That’s invasive,” I protested weakly.
“It’s efficient,” Pierre countered. “And you consented to it when you enrolled in the program.”
He was right, of course. I had signed the forms, checked the boxes, agreed to the terms. I’d been desperate and overwhelmed, but I’d made the choice.
“I think,” Pierre continued, his voice growing even flintier, “that you need to decide whether you’re ready to provide a busy man like me with the kind of compliance I have the right to expect.”
I sat there, utterly exposed by his words. How could I argue? My body’s reactions were betraying me with every passing second. The evidence was there in my flushed skin, my shallow breathing, the dampness gathering between my thighs that I desperately, if irrationally, hoped wasn’t visible even through my dress.
“I…” My voice failed me, and I took a sip of my cooling coffee to buy time. “This is all happening very fast.”
Pierre’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is it? I would argue that you’ve been resisting what’s happening for quite some time. Perhaps your entire adult life.”
His assessment hit me like a physical blow. How could he possibly know that? Know about the fantasies I’d pushed away, the strange longings I’d dismissed as unhealthy, anti-feminist, wrong?
“I think,” Pierre said, his voice dropping to a timbre that seemed to resonate directly with something primal inside me, “that you actually need to learn a good deal more about the New Modesty, and I think I’m willing to spend a night trying to teach you that lesson.”
My heart began to race, pounding so hard I was certain he must be able to hear it across the small table.
“What exactly does that mean?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Pierre’s eyes never left mine as he replied, “It means I’m prepared to offer you a simple arrangement to start. I will give you a week’s allowance if you’ll give me a night. If that leads to me paying the First Intimacy Premium, as Selecta so delicately calls it, so be it—but that won’t be my principal motivation.”
“A night?” I repeated, my mind racing with implications, with images that made me burn with equal parts shame and desire. A night on which he might take my virginity—or might not?
“Yes, Audrey. One night in which I will introduce you to the principles of the New Modesty in a very… practical manner.” His lips curved into a smile that held no humor, only purpose. “I think you need to experience it rather than simply discuss it. Theory rarely illuminates as well as practice.”
My eyes went wide, and I felt a fluttering panic in my chest that somehow coexisted with the molten heat pooling between my legs. Pierre noted my expression and leaned forward slightly.
“I want to be certain you understand that Selecta’s monitoring services would never let me force you into anything you didn’t want,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “Every Selecta apartment is equipped with safety protocols. A simple voice command would summon assistance immediately.”
I hadn’t known that, and the information provided a strange sort of comfort even as it reinforced the reality of what I was considering.
“You will be safe from me, Audrey,” Pierre continued, reaching across the table to lightly touch my hand. The contact sent electricity racing up my arm. “The question is whether you’ll be safe from your own needs.”
I sat frozen as Pierre signaled for the check. The café suddenly felt too warm, the air too thick to breathe properly. I watched in a daze as he pulled out a sleek leather wallet and placed several large bills on the table—far more than our coffees had cost. The waitress’s eyes widened at the extravagant tip, and she thanked him profusely in rapid French.
Pierre stood, buttoning his impeccable gray suit jacket with a single fluid motion. He looked down at me, his hazel eyes unreadable.
“You have my offer, Audrey,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You can confirm my access through the SA app. I’ll receive the notification immediately.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My mind raced with objections, protests, questions—yet my voice failed me completely.
“If you grant me access,” he continued, seemingly untroubled by my silence, “I will authorize the transfer of a week’s allowance to your account. Eight thousand euros.”
The sum made me blink in surprise. Eight thousand euros for a single night? The amount was staggering—enough to live on for months if I were careful.
