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CHAPTER5
Leah
I realized suddenly that Mary had actually started to tell me the story. The spell I had felt before, and the story she said we—she and I—had to tell the men who saw my profile, had everything to do with one another. The spell came from the story, and the story had started inside me… when?
When Mary had told me to go to the living room and take my clothes off?No,I told myself,earlier than that.
When I had let her into the apartment? When I had scheduled the intimate photoshoot?
Earlier.
When I had opened the Selecta Arrangements app on my phone, in the Harristown New Modesty office?
Before that… before…
Maybe even before I had signed up for the New Modesty? Had Selecta somehow known…this… about me, even then?
My breathing had started to speed up. I felt the stretch of the elastic waistband of my gray cotton bikini panties against my thumbs.
You don’t want to show him, do you?
No—I didn’t want to show the man… the man who paid me a nice allowance, and took me to expensive restaurants. I didn’t want to show him the private places he had a right to see, for keeping me in such luxury.
But… something had happened. I had done something naughty. I tried to stop my mind from traveling that path, but the story just kept unfolding with the tiny nudge Mary had given it.
I did something naughty… I… I…
“That’s it,” Mary said, her voice encouraging, professional. Safe. Some rational part of me knew that this spacewasn’treally safe, at least for me. Selecta might keep all my secrets, give me full control of the mortifying pictures they made me have taken, but that wouldn’t keepmefrom thinking about them, and what they meant. “Nice and slow. Just down to your knees, so your sponsor can see the butt he’s going to spank.”
Oh, God.I bit my lip, looking straight at the camera. I heard a little whimper come from my mouth. The story took over, the story of my first punishment from my wealthy sponsor. I felt my thumbs pulling my panties down, and the air moving suddenly in places it shouldn’t. I wondered, suddenly, with a rush of heat in my face, whether the corresponding warmth down below my belly had left shameful evidence in the gusset of my bikini brief.
“Push that rear end out a little further, Leah,” Mary instructed. She seemed to have lowered her voice, as if she intended to sound like my imaginary sponsor. “There we go. Hmm. You’re not waxed, are you? You’ll want to make an appointment as soon as you can—there’s an aesthetician in the building, and you can schedule it in the app.”
I had thought my face was on fire a moment before, but the blazing blood that flowed into my cheeks at this matter-of-fact advice seemed to pose a risk of literally setting my skin alight.
“What?” I whispered, as if I hadn’t understood words whose meaning left no room for doubt.
“Don’t worry,” Mary told me, as she moved a little to the side, to take shots from a different angle. “Sponsors understand that these profile pics are from your first days in SA. You can schedule another shoot after you get yourself waxed, if you’re worried. No, keep your hands down there, sweetie. You look very hot like that. And some sponsors like a little bush—but generally the advice is to bare yourself completely down there, since that’s what most sponsors prefer.”
I had opened my lips a half-inch so that I could breathe a bit more easily as I followed the photographer with my eyes. I had my panties around my knees now in a tangle of cotton, and I felt terribly exposed. Mary made the feeling grow to nearly unbearable proportions as she squatted to get a lower angle, from right behind me.
“You were very naughty, weren’t you, Leah?” she asked in the deeper voice. I didn’t have any idea why it worked. The logical part of my brain begged the rest of me to reject it. The story and the spell took hold nonetheless. “What did you do? Did you touch yourself, you naughty girl?”
“No!” I said, as if the photographer had actually transformed herself into a wealthy man, a prospective boyfriend, who had made the accusation. I straightened up and put my hands in front of my privates. “I don’t! I never…”
Mary had stood up herself, but she never stopped taking pictures.
“Never?” she asked. “Turn around, now, sweetie. Just like that. So pretty. Take your hands away. He wants to see all of you.”
I shook my head. “Never… it’s…” My hands stayed where they were, fingers trembling.
The photographer’s voice switched into the pretend-sponsor voice again.
“I told you to take your hands away, Leah. Put them behind you, on your bottom.”
I felt my forehead crease hard. I swallowed. I obeyed. The story told me I had to defend my rear end from the punishment—the just punishment—my sponsor meant to bestow. I lowered my eyes as the shutter clicked.
“Gorgeous,” Mary said in her own voice. “Look at me. You’re hoping he won’t go through with it—that he believes you about not touching yourself. Beg him with your eyes.”
