Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I appreciate a proud girl if she knows when not to argue.
The second wanted to know whether I had ‘natural breasts and an unpierced pink mouth.’
The third was somehow worse because he tried to sound civilized.
Your reserve is appealing. I suspect you would look especially beautiful after a well-deserved spanking.
I dropped the phone onto the bedspread, then snatched it back up a second later because disgust apparently did not preclude curiosity. Or desperation. I scrolled farther.
One man asked if I would relocate ‘without fuss.’ One wanted to know my exact weight. One wrote only:
You’ll do.
Another had attached a prewritten list of expectations that included nightly photographs in sleepwear and ‘no ideological hostility to traditional domestic correction.’
I laughed once, in disbelief, and then hated the laugh because it sounded strained. Things stirred inside me as I read the awful messages. I wished those things had remained as deeply repressed as they apparently had been before a senator had told me to take my clothes off.
The sponsor tiers sat beside their names in little metallic labels.
Economy.
Moderate.
Premium.
Luxury.
Green, bronze, silver, gold.
I found I had started checking those before I read the messages themselves, which might have been the ugliest thing of all. I remembered the figures almost involuntarily.
Economy: one thousand a month.
Moderate: two thousand.
Premium: three thousand.
Luxury: five thousand and up.
Numbers that would once have seemed like abstractions and now translated instantly into rent, debt, groceries, the possibility of continuing to breathe.
Then I saw a picture that made the room go colder.
Under the name Jay G.
The profile picture showed only a jaw and a tie knot, no more revealing than half the men on the app. But the message said:
I think we’d suit each other. You already know I prefer ambition to innocence.
I felt heat and revulsion break over me together.
Only one man in Washington would have written that way to me. He had expected me to hear the private smirk underneath the words, I felt absolutely sure.
I clicked into the profile with a kind of horrified compulsion. Economy sponsor. Of course he was. Senator Jason Gowry, with all his money and appetite and swagger, had listed himself as economy. The cheapness of it somehow disgusted me more than if he had priced himself high. It made the whole thing feel dirtier, pettier, meaner. He wanted women to come cheap because he thought they should.
I backed out at once, my face hot.
For a moment I considered deleting the app on the spot. Then I remembered the stack of bills on my counter, the balance in my checking account, the humiliating arithmetic of my life, and I kept scrolling.
Message nineteen was from Porter B.
I knew before I opened it that I might be in trouble: my stomach turned over in a way that suggested my masturbating my pussy raw to a mental image of him training me as his fuck toy didn’t represent a one-time thing that I could just push back into the depths of memory.
His note was brief.
I’m interested. Before you reply, review my member profile closely. If you still want to meet, let me know.
That was all.
No smiling cruelty. No pseudo-gallant filth. No immediate demand for measurements or nude photos. The restraint of it affected me more than any of the vulgar messages had. I sat with my thumb hovering over his name for several seconds, then opened the full profile again as if I had not already memorized too much of it.
Luxury sponsor.
I read the rest despite the heat that had already filled my face, because he had told me to, and because some part of me had already taken the fact of that instruction too much to heart.
Established, discreet, demanding.
I felt that same hot, humiliating awareness gather low in me at the familiar words.
I prefer an associate who is intelligent, feminine, and honest about her need for structure. I am generous with a woman who pleases me and consistent with one who requires correction. Defiance, dishonesty, and carelessness will be disciplined firmly. I do not bluff, negotiate consequences after the fact, or repeat myself.
I swallowed hard.
There were more specifics beneath that. Dress standards. Availability expectations. Prompt communication. Sexual exclusivity. Travel. Discipline at the sponsor’s discretion within agreed terms. The private note remained there too, cool and impossible to mistake.
Anal training, discipline, and intercourse will be an important part of your life, if you accept a sponsorship offer from me. I believe a submissive young woman learns her most important lessons that way.
I shut my eyes.
Luxury. Five thousand and up.
I clung to that number like it might cleanse the rest of it. Five thousand was practical. Five thousand was not fantasy. Five thousand was enough money that a woman could rebuild herself, save, think, leave when she wanted. That last thought was probably the least honest of all, but I let it stand.