Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Which,” Mr. Alden continued, “will of course be after I evaluate your body and your current level of sexual skill. So you’d better just go ahead and strip for me. I’m hoping you wore some nice lingerie, the kind you wore when you sent those selfies to your boyfriend. Jake? Is that it?”
He glanced down at the tablet on his desk.
“Jacob Smith, nickname Jake. Yup,” he said.
I swallowed hard. My face felt like a blazing bonfire.
“How…?” I said weakly, though I knew that part of it didn’t represent anything like the most important part.
“Does it matter?” Mr. Alden replied, his smile growing a bit. “It definitely doesn’t matter to me, and to be very clear I have no intention of shaming you for sending Jake those naughty photos. Our read on him is that he wasn’t the right guy for you, and you did the right thing by breaking up with him, but he got you started thinking about what you really need, Ingrid. I just need to make sure the gorgeous little tits and the tight little ass you showed off to him are everything they appeared to be—and I need to assess how well you know how to use them to please a man.”
I felt my fists clench atop my knees, and I looked down at them, utterly lost in the panicked thoughts and emotions coursing through my mind and body. I saw the conservative navy blue skirt I had picked out for the interview, covering my tightly closed knees. I thought about the selfies, of the red lingerie and how it had looked—to me, in the mirror as I had thought about sending racy pics to Jake—on the slim, toned body I worked so hard to maintain.
The lacy bra whose underwire made my B-cup breasts look a little more prominent. The tiny thong that made me feel naughty just walking around in my apartment, let alone when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw that my blonde bush was mistily visible through the mesh in front.
The garter belt and stockings that I could hardly believe I had bought, and then actually donned, thinking about Jake and how it had felt to lose my virginity to him in his parents’ bed a few days before.
Here in the handsome, horrible Mr. Alden’s office I knew how very correctly he had spoken, saying that Jake was wrong for me. In fact, Jake’s unenthusiastic response to the selfies that I had taken such care in shooting for him had brought on the breakup. I had gotten so hot and bothered as I did so that I had actually masturbated—for the first and only time—while I thought about him seeing me in the lingerie, and what he might do. He had replied merely Nice.
Why had I decided to wear that lingerie today, under my conservative skirt and conservative blouse? How could this man know? What the… the hell… was going on?
I felt my face working in confusion.
I had worn it because I wanted to feel adventurous. I liked that, sometimes, despite thinking of myself as a sensible, self-contained person. I wanted to feel like a twenty-year-old badass, in charge of her body and of her life. If I happened to seduce someone at a bar—I never went to bars, really—I would know that when he took off my clothes, he would know just how experienced a young woman I was.
What had Mr. Alden said? He got you started thinking about what you really need.
I swallowed hard to force back a sob that unexpectedly rose into my throat.
I need a job, I thought fiercely. The company where I had risen to senior administrative assistant had gone bankrupt, from trying to compete with Selecta. The job posting that had popped up in my inbox had seemed like a dream come true.
I raised my eyes to Mr. Alden’s. He gazed back at me seriously, his eyebrows rising a little.
“Maybe…” I started, without the slightest idea of how I planned to bargain with him, but the notion that because the terrible things he was saying couldn’t really be true, I could strike some kind of a deal. I could promise not to tell the police, maybe, if he gave me the job and promised I would never see him again. “Maybe I can just have… you know… a regular interview? And, um, I won’t tell anybody… what…”
I could see on the man’s face that he didn’t feel the least anxiety that he had said anything I might report him for—to his bosses, to the police, to anyone.
“Ingrid, sweetheart, I know this is going to be difficult for you. You wouldn’t have gotten this interview if it weren’t. But if you don’t start taking your clothes off right now, you’re going to get acquainted with another old-fashioned side of Selecta corporate policies, when I bend you over my desk and paddle your bare backside.”