Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Quite small,” she murmured. “Your sponsor will definitely need to take his time with your initial anal training. But the muscle tone is good. You’ll accommodate him, with proper preparation.”
CHAPTER 3
Laura
Nurse Samuels withdrew the speculum and I couldn’t keep a sob from escaping my chest at the relief of my anus closing after the speculum’s invasion. Nor could I stop the trembling that racked my body as the awful woman made a few final notes on her tablet. The relief of having the horrible device removed warred with the lingering shame of what had just been done to me.
“Well, Laura,” she said, her tone taking on an almost congratulatory quality that made my stomach churn, “your examination is complete. I’m pleased to inform you that you’re approved for the premium offer.”
The words should have brought relief, but instead they only deepened the pit of dread in my stomach. Approved. Like I was a product that had passed quality control.
“Hank,” Nurse Samuels called, and the massive orderly stepped forward from where he’d been standing by the wall. “You can go ahead and release her and take her to the photography area.”
Photography area. Oh, god. What did that mean?
Hank’s large hands worked at the restraints, freeing my wrists first, then my knees from the stirrups. The strap around my waist came next, and finally the one around my neck. I lay there for a moment, not quite believing I was free to move, my muscles aching from being held in that exposed position for so long.
“Up,” Hank said, his voice flat and businesslike.
I sat up slowly, my whole body protesting. My freshly shaved privates felt strange, the air cool against my bare skin. I pressed my thighs together, trying to hide myself even though it was far too late for modesty.
“You can get dressed.” Nurse Samuels gestured to where my clothes sat in a neat pile on a chair. “Your photographer is waiting.”
My legs wobbled as I climbed down from the table. I grabbed my panties and pulled them on with shaking hands. The fabric felt different against my newly bare skin, more intimate in an undefinably embarrassing way. With my eyes fixed on the floor I donned my bra, then my jeans and hoodie. I shoved my feet into my sneakers without bothering to tie them properly.
“This way,” Hank said, already moving toward the door.
I followed him on trembling legs, my whole body feeling like it might collapse at any moment. We walked through more sterile corridors, then through a door that led outside into what appeared to be a courtyard. The sudden sunlight made me blink, disoriented after the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway.
A man in his mid-forties stood beside professional photography equipment, adjusting a large reflector. He had what seemed like prematurely silver hair and sharp features, dressed entirely in black. He looked up as we approached, his eyes assessing me with the same detachment I was starting to recognize as standard here.
“This is Mark Edorian,” Hank said. “He’ll be conducting your photoshoot.” Without another word, the orderly turned and left, leaving me alone with the photographer.
“Laura Martindale,” Mark said, glancing at a tablet similar to the one Nurse Samuels had used. “Right?”
“Yes,” I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Alright.” He gestured to a spot marked with tape on the floor. “Stand there and strip down to your underwear.”
The command made my stomach lurch. I’d just gotten dressed. I’d just endured that horrible examination, and now—
“What?” The word came out strangled.
“Your underwear. Bra and panties.” He said it like he was asking me to hand him a pen. “The photos for your profile need to show your body. Sponsors want to see what they’re getting.”
My arms wrapped around myself instinctively. “I can’t—”
The photographer frowned. He glanced at his watch. “I have three more shoots after you today. Let’s move this along.”
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t make my hands reach for the hem of my hoodie. Not again. Not out here in this courtyard where anyone might see. The examination room had been bad enough, but at least that had been private, clinical. This felt different. Worse.
“No,” I said, the word coming out firmer than I expected. “I’m not doing that.”
Mark’s expression didn’t change. He simply set down his tablet and picked up his phone. “I’m sorry,” he said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t sorry at all, “but I’m going to have to send you for correction.”
My stomach dropped. “Correction?”
“Disciplinary intervention. Don’t feel too bad. It happens with a lot of girls.” He was already typing something on his phone. “And honestly, given your profile—” he glanced at his tablet again “—some welts across your backside will actually help you find the right sponsor. There’s a subset of platinum-level men who specifically seek associates who require regular discipline. Fresh marks will signal your… needs… very clearly.”