The Prema Society

by Cate Troyer

  She looked at me, surprised. “Whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t involve the Prema Society or the father of the baby. Tell them you’re a surrogate. It is the truth after all.”

  The week passed quickly. It helped that I was practically in a daze with my decision. It wasn’t just a check-up, I also got impromptu modeling lessons, filled out miles of paperwork, and received pre-natal lessons. There were five of us total being auctioned off. We came from all different backgrounds, but I soon understood that I was the piece de resistance. A college co-ed virgin breeder.

  I can’t lie, the idea of being claimed and seeded definitely turned me on. This job had revealed to me a side of myself that I was unaware even existed. I had watched some porn with Cassie, trying to prepare myself for the nights to come. The ones I most enjoyed were the scenes where the girl was taken from behind, doggy-style, or pinned down by her partner.

  One night, after we bid each other goodnight, I had gone to my room and stripped down in the mirror, allowing my hands to wander my body, teasing my perky nipples into hardness, wandering over my taut belly, before dipping into the fur covered crevice hiding my womanhood. Those breasts will soon be filled with milk, I thought, and that belly will swell. I could already feel the slick, warm arousal dampening my thighs as I used a finger to tease the engorged little nub.

  I lay down on my bed, sprawled out so I could see myself in the mirror on my closet and spread my legs. The cool air caressed my glistening pink folds, causing a contraction of longing in my body. My channel practically ached to be filled. I thought of the girls I had seen in the movies, legs spread for the thick meat that pounded their tight bodies, filling and stretching them. I wasn’t entirely a prude, I knew how biology worked, but it still seemed impossible that a dick that long and thick would fit inside my body. My fingers traveled up and down, spreading my juices across my petals, before I daringly slid a finger inside my virgin hole.

  This is my cunt, I thought boldly. I wanted to acclimate myself to words I wouldn’t normally use. Cunt, pussy, snatch, beaver. I played the words over and over in my mind, allowing my fingers to twist and tease my clit. As I watched the pale pink of my quim flushed redder, the sticky juice of my arousal allowing free movement of my fingers until I fell over the edge of orgasm. My thighs spasmed wider and I watched the entry to my vagina pulse, slipping a finger inside to feel my pussy walls grip it as it soon would a real dick.

  The night before the auction, they had the five of us come to the club. We would be spending the night there and then spend the next day getting primped and preened, ready for the billionaires to lay down wads of cash for our baby boxes.

  The next day was essentially a spa day. I received a manicure and pedicure, a facial and body scrub, a massage where I was slicked down with fragrant and exotic oils, and then they completely denuded everything below the neck of hair. I was told that until I received word otherwise, I would be doing this once a week from now until my contract was completed. There were worse things, I supposed.

  I think the no-hair was the most shocking to me. I stared at myself in the mirror for a quarter hour afterward, twisting and turning, examining every inch of smooth flesh. My labia felt odd. I lightly ran a finger along the completely smooth, puffy lips. It was almost erotic and I could feel the blood flow rush to my loins. My body already seemed eager to fulfill its biological imperative. I had spent the last week on the edge of arousal, waiting to finally be filled.

  We learned to walk, stand, and present ourselves on stage. The dresses assigned to us were essentially easy-to-remove togas that tied at the shoulders. Our stylist explained we were to wear nothing underneath them, and at some point the ties would be undone, leaving us nude on the stage. My nipples tingled and hardened at the thought of being naked in front of a group of rich men. I felt the heat rising in my face as I realized how turned on I was. I imagined being laid out across the stage with a group of older men pawing at my body, pinching my nipples, spreading my thighs, before one of them plunged their thick shaft into my virgin hole, stretching and piercing the remnants of my maidenhead.

  That night, though, the second thoughts began. Tossing and turning in the cool sheets, I let the them flicker through my head like wildfire. I was a girl raised on the literature of the ages - princesses, true love, romance. I was, instead, renting out my womb. I was going to let a man who paid for me, a man with whom I had no previous relationship, take my virginity and knock me up. Could I do this? Even more importantly, could I give up my child? When I slept, I dreamed of a swollen belly, a crying infant, and the terror of being alone.

  When I woke up to a knock on my door the next morning, my eyes felt gritty and burned with tiredness. There was no chance for a nap for me, though. I let in the servant bearing my breakfast tray and a stiff sheet of paper with my schedule. I nibbled at the toast and sipped my coffee as I perused the next 12 hours laid out for me. An hour for breakfast, final fittings, individual rehearsals, lunch, dress rehearsal, and then make-up until dinner leading up to the main event. Soon, I would be bought and paid for. As the fluttering of nerves began in my stomach, I started chewing on a nail as I looked out the window, the morning light slipping through the misty fall morning. I finished the remains of breakfast, and then hurried to my first event.

  I spent the rest of the day being poked and prodded, pushed and tugged. That evening, I sat in a chair, awestruck as they made up every part of my body. As someone carefully applied lipstick to my mouth, someone else was carefully rouging my nipples. I was powdered and primped, every inch checked for flaws. I fought a giggle as they airbrushed me with make-up and wondered if I could get away with diva behavior since I was being made-up like a supermodel. Someone applied a creme to my nipples that tingled slightly. I could feel them pull into tight, taut nubs.

  As they slipped the toga over my head, I stared at the creature in the mirror. Whoever she was seemed ephemeral and otherworldly with big doe eyes, a rosebud mouth, and perky breasts with the pink of the nipples slightly tinting the light fabric. The rubbery nubs peaked underneath the pale cloth and it was clear that my nipples were incredibly hard. I wanted to reach up and touch them, but I knew that would only smear the make-up on them. Soon, we were lined up for our initial presentation. I was last, the final prize for a roomful of men eager to spread their seed.

  We walked out on stage in a single line, and I could hear the low murmur of male voices still as we entered. A hush filled the room as we turned to face them in one single movement. My heart pounded, my breath caught in my throat, and I struggle not to squint in the bright lights. I kept my hands folded neatly in front of me and plastered on a smile, bright and cheerful.

  I could hear the emcee talking but I was too focused on not passing out under the heat of the lights. I was pretty sure that passing out might lower my price. I held on to the thought of $1.5 million dollars and ten percent of the auction price. If I could fetch a good price, I could pay for college and pretty much set myself up for a successful future. I could take my time, find a good job, buy a house. My head filled with the thoughts of being a grown-up, but the sound of applause pulled me back. The emcee had stopped talking and the other girls were looking at me impatiently, waiting for me to lead the line off-stage.

  As we exited the stage, I embraced the cool darkness of the backstage, fighting the urge to fidget and mess with my hair or touch my face. The five of us sat in the make-up area in silence as the procession of women began. One by one, they left for their debut on stage. Having been through the rehearsals, I knew the process very well. The girl would enter the stage, face the audience, turn slowly as the emcee read the pertinent facts and opened bidding, smile and model as the bidding began. When bidding slowed, the emcee would come over and untie the straps on the toga, allowing the men a look at “the goods.” After it slowed again, he would bring the auction to a close and the girl would be escorted off-stage and back to her room. From there she could shower, redress, and wait for the end of the a
uction to finalize her deal with her purchaser.

  Finally, it was my turn. I stood and placed one foot in front of the other as I entered the blinding lights of the stage again.

  “JANE SYKES,” the emcee’s voice boomed through the speakers, heralding my arrival.

  I plastered a smile on my face and did my dance on stage as he rattled off my achievements. Finally, he opened bidding at $500,000. I hid the shock with a smile. I would have been happy if that had been the final bid, but I apparently lowballed myself as the numbers rapidly climbed to a million, and then 2 million. When it slowed at 2.5, the emcee walked over to me. I was surprised to see he had make-up on as well and the fine beads of sweat that covered his upper lip glistened in the bright lights. He’d been up here for two hours, so I guess it wasn’t any surprise the lights were getting to him. He tugged on one strap and then the other and I fought the urge to grab the fabric as it slithered down my body to pool around my feet.

  “TURN AROUND AND SHOW THEM WHAT THEY ARE BIDDING ON, JANE,” the booming voice rattled my teeth.

  I smiled and turned, feeling a mingling of embarrassment and arousal. How could this turn me on? I was a good girl! But there was no denying the slick dampness between my thighs. My breasts jutted out, perky and proud. My body was slender and willowy, the recipient of great genetics. I drew a long breath, my mind back on my fantasies of being bent and claimed by the watching men right here and now. The bidding started up again in earnest as the auctioneer praised my taut belly and firm thighs.When the bidding finally ended, my selling price was 5 million dollars. I was led back to my room in a daze and showered in silence turning that price over in my head.

  Of that 5 million, I would received $500,000, bringing my “rental fee” to a cool $2 million. I dressed swiftly, towel drying my long hair and running a brush through it. As the last girl auctioned, I would be the last one visited, but that didn’t stop my mind from trying to picture the man who bought me. Would he be old or young? Tall or short? Would he even have hair? I pictured a Daddy Warbucks type with a shiny bald head and giggled. A knock at the door made me start, and I stood and hurried to answer it.

  “Ms. DeForrest,” I said by way of greeting. My voice sounded pitchy and nervous. I stood aside to let the older woman and her companion in.

  “Jane,” she smiled. “It is a pleasure to introduce you to Edward Fairton. Edward, this is Jane Sykes.” She gestured to the man next to her, and I got a look at the man who would father my first child.

  He was not what I entirely expected. Edward was well built, from what I could see, and very tall, easily towering over my 5’6” frame. His hair was dark, but he had distinguished sweeps of gray at his temples. His dark eyes, deep and fathomless, looked into mine as he took my hand and raised it to his lips.

  “Jane,” he turned my name over in his mouth. “A rather old-fashioned name. Are you an old-fashioned girl?”

  “Apparently not as much as I thought I was,” I quipped. “Or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  His laughter rolled over my body like warm chocolate, and he smiled down at me. “Feisty, witty, intelligent… I spent my money wisely.”

  “I am glad you think so,” I shifted uncomfortably at the reminder and fought the urge to imagine him naked. “When did you want to do this?”

  “A good question,” his eyes flicked over to the older woman. “When will she be ready?”

  Ms. DeForrest flipped open a file she carried and consulted the paperwork inside. “Dr. Ashe gave her a clean bill of health, and her next fertile cycle will begin next week.” She closed the file and smiled at me. “So as soon as you decide, Mr. Fairton. I know Jane is eager to get started.”

  “Really,” his voice took an a new note and he looked me over closely. I felt my nipples tighten under his intense gaze, a reaction he noted from the narrowing of his eyes. I suddenly got the idea that he would take me now if I indicated a readiness, company be damned.

  “I want to give birth during the summer,” I said quickly, dropping my eyes. “While school is out.”

  “And not at all out of desire itself,” he asked, hooking a finger under my chin and forcing my eyes to meet his.

  I knew I was a terrible liar, so I remained quiet.

  “Interesting,” he studied me. “Very interesting. My wife would like to join us for the first night of our breeding session. She is interested in meeting the woman who will carry our child. Is that all right?”

  “Wife?” Of course he was married. “Of course. Will she….want to take part?” I felt my the heat of my blush creep up my cheeks and into my face.

  His bemused look said it all. “She may. Is that a problem?”

  “I just… I’m not… I’ve never…” God, get it together, Jane, I thought to myself. “Yes… I mean, no… I mean… It’s fine.”

  He grinned and turned to Ms. DeForrest. “Please send me the address of where we can meet her as soon as she’s set up. Maritza and I are greatly looking forward to this.” He turned back to me and kissed my hand in that old-world European way. “And my dear Jane, I am truly looking forward to our partnership. You seem like a very intriguing young woman.”

  He exited the room, leaving Ms. DeForrest and I alone. She faced me with a smile. “Excellent, Jane! Excellent! Well done! You looked delicious on stage, and it obviously paid off!” She opened up the folder again and led me to a little table in the room. “I have a few more sheets of paperwork for you to sign, and tomorrow, we will deposit half of your earnings. The other half will be delivered when you deliver.”

  Seeing the $2 million in black and white made me feel a little woozy, but I gripped the pen tight and signed on the dotted line. In less than a year, I would have another million in the bank, I drew a deep breath. Things would be all right.

  I had a couple days of peace and normalcy after that. I attended class, talked to Cassie, and behaved like a normal college student in general. I did feel the weight of the change coming upon me though. It was almost as though the waiting made it ten times worse. I started wishing I had just let him fuck me then and there. At least then the waiting would be over with. When I finally packed my stuff to move, Cassie stood in my doorway, eying me worriedly.

  “You know, you’ll always have a place to go,” she said, folding her arms over her ample chest.

  “I know,” I smiled.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she burst out.

  “Cas,” I sighed and stood. “It will be fine. I promise. After they inseminate me, I have a cushy place to stay for nine months. I give birth, hand the baby over, and get paid. No fuss, no muss.”

  “Have you told your mom?”

  “No.” There was a sticky conversation I definitely wasn’t looking forward to. “I’m not going to until after the insemination.”

  “What do I do if she calls here?’ Worry crept into Cassie’s voice.

  “Tell her to call my cell.” I folded another piece of laundry and stuck it in my suitcase. “She won’t call though. She’s so detached I might as well be on another planet. Plus, she has a new boyfriend according to her last e-mail. They’re off in Canada or Italy or someplace like that.” I shut the case with a snap and gave Cassie a steady look. “I promise, it will be fine. After I’m settled in, I’ll invite you over, OK?”

  She nodded silently and grabbed my other duffel bag. We walked in comfortable silence to the black sedan waiting for me outside. The Prema Society was escorting me in style. We waited while the driver loaded the bags and then I turned to her.

  Cassie swept her arms around my neck unexpectedly. I let out a small choked noise as her shoulder cut off my breath.

  “Everything will be awesome,” she squeaked. “I’ll try not to worry!”

  “Thanks, Cassie,” I choked out, patting her gently on the back. “I promise I’ll invite you over in a couple weeks.”

  She nodded and then released me. “Call me.”

  I climbed in the car and waved good-bye. The soft pur
r of the vehicle as we drove down the tree-lined street was almost comforting as it took me to my new life.

  When we finally pulled up to the steel and glass high-rise, I felt the first fluttering of nerves. The driver grabbed my bags and escorted me inside. We were greeted at the desk by a very cheerful brunette named Jessica who had my picture taken and a security card made for me. She explained that the entire 62nd floor, where my apartment was located, was owned by the Prema Society. There were amenities just for the women of the society to use in the building, from the salon and spa to a high-class restaurant. A cleaning service would also attend to the apartment once a week, and I could fill out a list and send out for groceries via the building’s intranet. Essentially, I gathered that for the next ten months, I would essentially be living in an extremely high-class hotel.

  She pressed a set of keys in my hand and escorted the driver and I to the elevator. “Just wave your card in front of the panel and the elevator will be here shortly! Your apartment number is 6204 on the left. If you have any questions, the button marked Halstaff is the one to press. Someone will be with you immediately!” Then, with a nod, she left us to attend to another new arrival. I exchanged a look with the driver.

  “She was rather cheerful,” I said. He grunted in response. Apparently, he was not a big talker.

  We rode up the elevator in silence. It was made of glass and looked out over the city, the buildings around us dipping away as we climbed higher. I gnawed on my lower lip as we zipped up the side of the building. I was further away from campus than I had ever been. Luckily, I had a week off due to Fall Break to devote to getting knocked up. But, I also knew that as my pregnancy progressed, taking a taxi to and from school was going to be difficult. I made a note to ask Jessica about car service availability. The soft ding and whoosh of the doors indicated our arrival. I stepped off the elevator into a small sitting area. There were leather sofas flanked by potted ferns on either side of the small alcove. The view was even more spectacular in a panorama. I paused for a moment, the taciturn driver next to me, and just stared at the city. The driver cleared his throat and I blushed as we headed down the long, well-lit, cream colored hall to the left, our footfalls muffled to silence by the thick, dark green carpet beneath our feet.