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)
My hand drifted down between my legs without conscious thought, pressing against the seal through the steam and water. The need had been building all day, that constant aching throb that never quite went away. I tried rubbing in small circles, but it was useless. The seal held firm, keeping me from accessing anything that might bring relief.
I thought about Mike’s hands on me. About him finally removing the seal, opening me up. Would it hurt when he took my virginity? Nurse Samuels had said it would be painful, that I’d be uncomfortable the first few times. But underneath the fear was something else—anticipation.
Want. The desperate need to finally be touched properly, to have this awful aching need satisfied. To my distress, even the thought of my new sponsor’s rigid penis causing discomfort—pain, even—seemed only to inflame my desperation.
I finished my shower in a daze and dried off, wrapping myself in a towel. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my face was flushed, my pupils dilated. I looked like I was already aroused, already ready for my new owner.
God, what was happening to me?
I went to the bedroom, telling myself I was just going to lie down for a bit. Rest before he arrived. But my eyes kept drifting to the closet where I’d hidden the boxes. Finally, I gave in and retrieved them, pulling out the white lace lingerie and laying it carefully on the bed.
It was beautiful. Delicate. The kind of thing girls wore in the movies for dates with handsome men.
I stood there in just my towel, staring at the lingerie laid out on the pristine white comforter. My hand moved to touch the delicate lace, tracing the pattern with trembling fingers. The fabric was so soft, so expensive. So completely unlike anything I’d ever owned before.
The towel slipped from my grip, pooling at my feet. I stood there naked, my skin still damp from the shower, and the ache between my legs intensified to something unbearable. I needed relief. I needed something, anything to take the edge off this desperate, building need.
Without thinking, I pressed myself against the corner of the bed. The firm edge made contact with my sealed pussy, and I gasped at the sensation. It wasn’t much—the seal prevented any real friction where I needed it most—but the pressure was something. I ground against the corner, my breath coming faster, my hands gripping the comforter.
The pressure felt good. Not good enough, not nearly good enough, but better than nothing. I moved my hips in slow circles, trying to find an angle that would give me more sensation. My eyes squeezed shut as I humped the corner of the bed like a desperate animal, shame and need warring in my chest.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I froze, my heart stopping. With shaking hands, I reached for it and saw the notification from the SA app.
Alert: Your sponsor can view your surveillance feed and biometric data in real-time.
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He could see what I was doing. He could watch me hump the bed like a naughty slut. He knew exactly how aroused I was, how needy, how pathetic.
My face went nuclear. I stumbled back from the bed, my whole body trembling with mortification. Mike was probably sitting in his office right now, watching the scene, seeing the evidence of my shameful desperation spike across whatever screen he was looking at.
I grabbed the lingerie with shaking hands and pulled on the panties, then the bra. My fingers fumbled with the clasp, taking three tries to get it fastened. I yanked the red dress over my head, smoothing it down over my hips. I caught sight of myself in the mirror—flushed, wild-eyed, my hair still damp from the shower—and tried to calm down.
He knew. He knew what I’d been doing, what I needed, how desperate I was.
The thought should have made me want to die. Instead, underneath the mortification, I felt something else. A dark thrill at being caught. At being watched. At having someone know my shameful secrets.
I spent the next hour trying to compose myself. I dried my hair, applied a little makeup with trembling hands, paced the apartment until my feet hurt. At exactly seven an alert popped up in the app: Mike G is on his way up. Good luck!
CHAPTER 10
Mike
When I got to the door of Laura’s apartment, I found it open. I stood there for a moment, my hand on the doorframe, considering what the open door meant.
She’d left it open deliberately, I felt certain. She didn’t want to think about the fact that I could open it myself now, that I had access to her apartment—and to her—whenever I chose. Leaving her door ajar was my new naughty girl’s way of maintaining some illusion of control, of inviting me in rather than having me exercise my right to enter.