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The final page required me to enclose a full-body photograph without nudity. I looked back through my photo album and chose a rather flattering picture of me on a beach wearing a black one-piece swimsuit. I also had to include photographs of my passport and driving licence as proof of identity and age. Having uploaded the photographs, I was presented with a final, "Submit Application" button. By now it was late, and I had drunk most of a bottle of wine. I thought 'what the hell', hit the button and went off to bed, where I fell asleep masturbating with the thought of being naked on a TV show with everyone watching me.
Tom came home the following day. I didn't tell him about my application, as it had been made while I had been drinking and everybody knew that there were literally thousands of applications for each successful one. I was bound to be rejected. Something about making the application must have affected me though because when we made love that night I was really turned on. I became adventurous and quite bold, holding Toms hands above his head while I slapped his erect cock and biting him gently when I took his cock in my mouth. "I don't know what has got into you, Debbie, but I love it" he said, before going down on me and bringing me to a glorious orgasm.
And so life returned to normal. I had quite forgotten about "Bound to Please", when an email marked strictly confidential appeared in my inbox. It stated quite simply that my initial application had been successful and that I was invited to attend an interview at the studio in Manchester at 11am on 23rd April. If the studio did not hear from me within the next 7 days, they would assume that I did not wish to proceed any further. Details of the form the interview would take and what I could expect when I arrived were to be found in the attached documents.
Bloody Hell, I thought. I've got through. But what should I do now? Should I tell Tom and seek his advice? Should I ignore the email and drop out? Or should I attend the interview and see where it took me? After all, I reasoned, even at this interview stage, I was still a very long way from pulling my knickers down in front of a (hopefully) appreciative audience.
I opened and read the email attachments, which were quite detailed and lengthy. The gist of the message was that I would be paid travel expenses plus a fee of £500 to attend the interview. During the interview, I would be expected to strip naked in front of a mixed panel of judges who would assess my body and its attractiveness to potential audiences, both male and female. I would need to submit to a detailed examination of my breasts and genitalia. I was warned that this would be filmed, and that the studio would own all the rights to the film, which they could later use for promotional purposes. In return, I would receive the £500 fee. If I withdrew at any stage during the interview, which I was perfectly entitled to do, the film would be destroyed, and I would not receive the £500 payment, although my travel expenses would still be paid.
I would also be subjected to a detailed medical assessment followed by a psychological interview, both of which were designed to determine my suitability or otherwise for what happened on the show. These were strictly confidential and would not be filmed.
The interview would last much of the day and would conclude with a more detailed description of what could be expected on a show, together with some example film of previous shows and an explanation of the tariff system and the remuneration that could be expected if I was accepted.
I resolved to sleep on the matter and think it over for a couple of days. I was still far from appearing on the show, I told myself. There was no harm in attending the interview, apart from the fact that I would have to strip and reveal my female delights to a bunch of strangers. I could still back out at any point in the interview with no harm done. Even if I went through with the full assessment, there was no guarantee that I would be accepted by the studio or that I would accept any final offer.
I had basically talked myself into attending the interview and replied to the email confirming that I would attend. I told Tom that I was going for a job interview on the day in question and that I would be home for a late supper. He knew I was not entirely happy at work and accepted my explanation without question.
The studio in Manchester was only an hour away, so I had no need for an overnight stay. I could leave the house shortly after 9am and still be there in plenty of time. I had told Tom I was going for a job interview, so I would need to dress accordingly. I selected a white pantie and bra set without any frills, together with a plain white blouse under a dark blue skirt and jacket. Very simple but very smart, I thought as I looked in the mirror. I kissed Tom goodbye and left to catch my train with butterflies already fluttering in my stomach. Tom wished me good luck at the door, and I was on my way.
When I arrived at the studio, I presented my ID documents to reception and was immediately whisked upstairs to be met by a very friendly member of staff called Susan. She told me that she understood how nervous I must be and reassured me that she would be with me throughout the day to take me from place to place and to answer any questions I might have. I was early, so there was time for a cup of coffee and a croissant before my interview began. She gave me one piece of advice for the day: "Be yourself and be honest".
At 11am, I was escorted into a comfortable, carpeted boardroom to meet the assessment committee. I walked through the door and was met by 2 males and 2 females seated behind a long ornate table. I began to walk towards the table when one of the females stopped me and, in a not unfriendly tone, asked me to stop by a marker on the floor and strip naked. I paused and looked around. Here we go, I thought and took a deep breath.
A chair was provided for my clothes and I began to undress. My skirt, jacket, and blouse came off easily, but as I stood there in my underwear, my resolve began to falter. "It's alright" said the female interviewer. "Just take your time. We understand that this is an ordeal". Reassured, I undid my bra and took it off. Taking another deep breath, I pulled down my panties. Now I was naked and exposed, although I could not help myself from slightly crossing my legs and covering my breasts with my arms.
One of the male interviewers took over. "Now stop being modest, Debbie. Put your hands on top of your head and face towards us with your legs about 18" apart. Do it now." There was something about his voice that brooked no argument, so I did exactly as I was told. I was now facing the panel, with my breasts and pussy on full display. "Very nice", said the second male panellist. "Now maintain that position while we have a closer look." With that, all four of them emerged from behind the desk and walked around me, looking my naked body over. The second female interviewer came up behind me and put her hands around my torso to fondle my breasts. I willed myself not to object. She played with my nipples and grunted in satisfaction as they began to stiffen. Then she came around the front of me, dropped to her knees and examined my inner labia. Finally, she smiled, and, putting her fingers on top of my clitoris hood, pulled upwards to reveal the glans of my clitoris. She blew on it gently and then stood up. "I think we have seen enough" she said, and the panel returned to the table where they held a brief whispered conversation. I could not help but notice that the stern man walked back rather awkwardly with an obvious erection pushing against his trousers.
The friendly woman addressed me. "I am very pleased to tell you that your body is suitable for our shows and that your attitude while being intimately examined was satisfactory. Your breasts and labia are suitable for all anticipated procedures, and you have therefore passed this part of the interview. You may now get dressed. Susan will take you to lunch, after which you will have your medical and psychological assessments."
In a rather bemused state, I got dressed, stammered my thanks, and left.
I did not feel like lunch, but forced myself to eat a light salad. Susan gave me a glass of white wine, telling me that it would not affect the rest of the interview. I gratefully accepted. She seemed delighted that I had passed the initial assessment, and chattered away about how good the studio was and how well they treated both their staff and the show contestants. I grew tired of this after a while and abruptly asked her if she had seen any shows herself, and if she knew how much pain was involved. She became serious and told me that yes, she had seen several shows. She was often asked to be one of the backstage people that looked after the contestants. And yes, she had an appreciation of the pain involved. All the studio staff, both male and female, had to undergo some form of sexual torment themselves to fully appreciate what the contestants went through. She herself had been stripped naked and her pussy whipped with a flogger until it was bright red. The pain had been intense, and the experience had been filmed. She had been given a copy of the film, and she sometimes allowed her husband to watch it. It invariably drove him wild with lust. She was therefore able to appreciate the effect of the torment both from the point of view of the person on the receiving end and the viewer becoming highly aroused while they watched it.
It was a good answer, and we reverted to more idle chit-chat as we drank a cup of coffee and waited until 2pm, when it was time for my medical.
I won't describe the medical in any detail. Suffice to say, I was again stripped naked and my body put through the wringer. I had an ECG, was put on a treadmill to measure my fitness levels and had the usual humiliating gynaecological examination. Apt preparation, I thought ruefully, as my legs were spread and the female doctor examined my most intimate parts. Finally, bloods were taken, and I was released for my psychological interview.
Susan escorted me to the psychologist's office. "Now remember" she said, "Be true to yourself and completely honest. Oh, and expect the unexpected". Very cryptic, I thought.
The first part of the interview was fairly conventional. I was quizzed about my motivation in applying to the show. My sexuality and my confidence in it was questioned. My attitudes to BDSM, sexual pain and pornography were discussed. My relationship with Tom and our adventures in the bedroom were laid bare in embarrassing detail.
The psychologist seemed satisfied. "One last thing before you leave" he said, "Take your clothes off". I was momentarily stunned. This was a psychology interview! But then I remembered Susan's advice to expect the unexpected. So, I lowered my eyes and demurely stripped myself naked for the third time that day. The psychologist's eyes never left my body. "Now bend over that table with your legs apart" he ordered. I did as I was told and watched as he crossed the room and took a cane from the wall. He came around behind me and told me to keep perfectly still. Again I complied.
Then he raised the cane above his head and hit me, hard, across the buttocks. I gasped with the shock and began to rise. "Stay down" he snarled, "or you will get another even harder one". The pain from the stroke was intense and still increasing. Although I desperately wanted to jump up and rub my poor arse, I did what I was told and stayed bent over the table with all of my female delights in full view. As the pain began to subside, a warm feeling developed in my buttocks. The psychologist put his hand between my legs and began to massage my pussy. His fingers wandered to my clit, which he started to rub, while his other hand explored my vaginal opening that was becoming decidedly wet. I was undoubtedly sexually aroused.
Abruptly, he stopped and wiped his hands on a paper towel. "Excellent" he enthused. "Your instinctive reactions to pain and sexual stimulation are first class, among the best I have seen. I shall recommend your acceptance. You may now get dressed and return to Susan". In a state of some bewilderment I got dressed, mumbled my thanks and left.
Susan was waiting for me. "How was it?" She asked. "Er, unusual" I replied. "But I can't believe that I now have a severely sore arse from a psychology interview". She laughed. "I did try to warn you". And then she grew serious. "I'm not supposed to discuss candidates results with them, but I can tell you that you seem to have passed with flying colours. Barring any unexpected medical concerns, I reckon that you will be offered a place on one of our shows". She giggled. "I, for one, would love to see you naked and in pain. Now I will take you to your final meeting where you will be told in much more detail about what a show involves".
And so I went for a meeting with a very nice man who was open and honest about the shows and what happened on them. He emphasised that each show has two parts. In the first, four contestants play some form of non-sexual game. Only the winner of this goes forward to the second, sexual torment, part of the show. Appearing on a show was therefore no guarantee of progressing to the big money of the sexual torment stage. Those who lost in part 1 still took part in the second part, but in a subordinate role. They were stripped and restrained in some manner at the sides of the stage, where they provided additional eye candy for the viewers.
