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)
She started pacing, back and forth across the micro-apartment’s living room, clutching her phone as if the message might vanish if she looked away. The biometric overlay showed her heart rate had jumped by twenty BPM; the overall arousal line coming from her perineal sensor, naturally, spiked in tandem. I wondered how she would spend the money. Would she splurge on something extravagant, or try to impress me with thrift? The nice thing about Laura was that, despite her apparently middle-of-the road style—Sacramento as the Midwest, she’d called it, hadn’t she?—her responses never seemed quite what I expected.
I had sponsored two girls before Laura through SA. I had thought myself quite interested in them—in their bodies, of course, but also in doing things to help them and make them happy. I realized now, however, as I began to explore the full extent of the surveillance features in the app, that what I’d started to feel for Laura Martindale represented a different order of magnitude.
To my surprise I found that when I tapped Laura’s icon a dialogue popped up, asking whether I wanted to pay a surcharge to follow her through Selecta’s main security feed—the one that covered the entire city, including public transit, cabs, and rideshare vehicles. I didn’t hesitate.
So, a few minutes later, I had the ability to watch her in the backseat of a rideshare headed to Union Square. The camera feed from the car showed her studying fashion blogs and TikToks the whole way, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt. The moment she stepped onto the sidewalk, she transformed—her body language became purposeful, her stride almost predatory as she made for the enormous bulk of the Nordstrom flagship.
I had to turn off Wi-Fi for landing then, but by the time my jet had landed Laura had started to try on bathing suits. I couldn’t stop watching much of the way across the country; ensconced in a boutique fitting room my adorable naughty girl aimed for ‘cute and modest’ at first, but quickly caving to curiosity about the more revealing options. She settled on three: a simple black one-piece that fit her like a glove, a blush pink bikini with ties that played up her petite build, and, for reasons I instantly understood, a white microkini so minimal it could barely be called clothing. The feed from the perineal sensor lit up like a Christmas tree when she tried on the last one. She bought all three, along with a pair of tiny denim shorts and an oversized straw hat.
After a quick detour for designer sunglasses and sandals, she stopped back at Nordstrom for a white sundress, three sets of matching lacy underwear, and a bottle of floral perfume. The shopping total came to $973, which I could only interpret as a deliberate attempt to please me: a little discipline, a little indulgence, all within the boundaries I’d set.
By the time the valet had brought my Porsche to the curb, Laura had returned to the apartment and packed her new things in a small roller bag. She seemed to be spending the rest of the afternoon alternating between compulsive cleaning and staring at her phone. The dominant in me wondered if I should deliberately keep her waiting past the agreed pickup time, just to watch her squirm. Instead, I stopped briefly at home to restock my suitcase and headed over to pick her up. Just before I started the car I messaged her in the app.
Ready to go? I’ll be there in ten. Put the medium plug in your adorable little bottom.
Laura
I couldn’t keep still as I waited for Mike. I kept checking the time on my phone, even though I’d already set the SA app—on the app’s advice—to send a notification when my sponsor got within a block of the building. My roller bag was packed and sitting at the door, the new sundress I’d bought for the trip fluttering nervously around my legs each time I paced past the window. I’d changed outfits three times—first the denim shorts and cropped tee, then the black one-piece swimsuit under a sheer coverup, before finally settling on the white dress with my new sandals. The label was still in the pocket. The thought that Mike would see it, know I’d bought it for him, made my face go hot.
I checked myself in the mirror for the tenth time. The dress was tight enough to show the curve of my hips, but long in the skirt, hitting just below my knees. My arms looked thin and pale, but the neckline was flattering. My straight hair was behaving for once, tucked behind my ears with a little extra shine from the leave-in conditioner I’d splurged on at Nordstrom. Even my face, with only a little makeup, looked fresher than it had in weeks.