Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I lay there in stunned silence as the nurse continued her methodical work, unable to process everything she was telling me. My mind reeled, trying to make sense of it all. Submissive? Sponsors? Sexual submission? This couldn’t be happening.
“If you wish fulfillment and happiness, Alice, you’re going to have to explore your submissive sexuality,” the nurse said matter-of-factly as she shaved the sensitive skin between my legs. “The program will help you do that in a controlled, safe environment. The sponsor who subsidizes you will have gone through a thorough vetting, in order even to look at your profile, and he’ll be able to train you properly.”
Train? Oh… no. I had clenched, down there. I bit my lip to keep myself from whimpering. I wanted to argue, to insist that she was wrong about me. But the memory of my body’s betrayal during the examination was still fresh in my mind. The way I had responded, the intense pleasure I had felt… could the nurse be right? Was there some hidden part of me that craved this?
“There,” the nurse said, setting aside the razor. “All nice and smooth. Your sponsors will appreciate that.”
She wiped away the remaining shaving cream, her touch clinical but somehow still invasive. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I never had before.
“Now then,” she continued briskly, “you’ll be heading to Paris next week to begin your studies. We’ll set you up in a basic apartment and help you create your profile for potential sponsors.”
“Profile?” I echoed weakly.
“Yes, dear. You’ll need to have some professional photos taken—nude, of course—and fill out a questionnaire about your interests, your experience, and so forth. They’ll be able to tell you more when you get there.”
And so they did. Seven days later, I sat in an office across from a woman who had introduced herself as Madame d’Arsenault. The conversation was in French, but the meaning remained the same.
“Mademoiselle Morgan, I’m sure they gave you this same choice back at your university. You should not have gotten on the plane if you intended to back out of your program. I’m afraid that our arrangement with French immigration is very strict. Your good standing in Selecta Arrangements is an absolute requirement. Otherwise we will be forced to turn you over to the authorities for immediate deportation.”
I felt my stomach drop at Madame d’Arsenault’s words. The reality of my situation was finally sinking in—I was trapped. I had read the fine print, which had given me no information Nurse Theresa hadn’t already provided. I had boarded the flight to Paris, as this older woman—horrible in the way that only a Frenchwoman can be horrible—had suggested, with the intention of persuading someone in Paris to give me the scholarship without making me enroll in Selecta Arrangements. No chance: obviously, if I refused to participate in this ‘program,’ I’d be sent back home with nothing to show for it. My dreams of studying in Paris would be shattered.
“I… I understand,” I said softly, hating how meek my voice sounded.
Madame d’Arsenault’s stern expression softened slightly. “Good girl. Now, we have an appointment scheduled for you at our photography studio this afternoon. They’ll take the necessary photos for your profile.”
My cheeks burned at the thought. “You mean… nude photos?”
She nodded briskly. “Of course. Your potential sponsors will need to see what they’re investing in. The photographer is very professional, I assure you.”
I bit my lip, fighting back tears of humiliation. How had I ended up here? Just a week ago I’d been a normal graduate student with dreams of becoming a professor. Now I was about to pose naked for strange men to… to what? Keep me? Buy me?
“After the photoshoot, we’ll help you fill out your profile questionnaire,” Madame d’Arsenault continued. “You’ll need to be honest about your experiences and desires. Even if you think you don’t have any… interesting proclivities, the medical exam revealed your true nature. Honesty is crucial.”
I nodded mutely, my mind reeling.
“Excellent. A car will be waiting for you out front.”
I squirmed uncomfortably in the back of the sleek limousine as it wound through the streets of Paris. My stomach churned with anxiety as we pulled up in front of an unassuming building.
“This is it, mademoiselle,” the driver said, opening my door. “Third floor.”
I stepped out on shaky legs, smoothing my skirt nervously. The elevator ride to the third floor felt interminable. When the doors finally opened, I found myself in a stylish, minimalist studio space. A tall, lanky man with artfully tousled hair greeted me.
“Ah, you must be Alice,” he said in accented English. “I’m Jean-Luc. We’ll be working together today.”
I nodded mutely, my cheeks already burning.
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” I said, trying to gain some composure from my assurance in the language into which I had put so much work. “Je parle tres couramment Francais.”