Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
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’t mean to 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.
Selecta Arrangements Notice: Excellent progress detected. For optimal submissive conditioning, we recommend using this opportunity to begin your anal training regimen. The small plug from your training kit will enhance your edging experience while preparing your body for your sponsor’s eventual use of this intimate area.
I stared at the message, mortification washing over me in waves. But instead of dampening my arousal, the embarrassment somehow intensified it, making me throb with need. My eyes darted to the black box sitting on the counter—the training kit from Nurse Georges.
“No,” I whispered, but even as I said it, my free hand was reaching for the box. “This is too much.”
But it wasn’t, was it? Not really. If I was going to go through with this arrangement, if I was going to meet Pierre tomorrow and potentially accept his sponsorship, then wouldn’t I need to be prepared for whatever he might want from me?
With trembling fingers, I opened the box and removed the smallest plug—the pink one—along with the bottle of lubricant. I set them on the counter, my heart racing as I contemplated what I was about to do.
I’d never touched myself there before today, not until Nurse Georges had instructed me to during my examination. The memory of that clinical violation, and the unexpected pleasure that had accompanied it, made me shiver.
Following the pamphlet’s instructions, I squeezed a generous amount of lubricant onto my fingers, then reached behind myself. The position was awkward, requiring me to bend forward slightly and twist my arm back.
My slick finger found the tight pucker of my anus, circling it gently as the pamphlet had suggested. The sensation was still strange—forbidden yet undeniably stimulating. I pressed slightly, feeling the tight ring of muscle resist before giving way just enough to allow the tip of my finger inside.
“Oh,” I gasped, surprised by the jolt of pleasure that accompanied the intrusion.
I worked my finger gently, adding more lubricant as needed, gradually relaxing the tight muscle. After a few minutes, I withdrew my finger and picked up the small plug, coating it liberally with the slippery gel.