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Darren learns how to let go.

"

I shrugged "I'd never thought about it. I guess that'd be nice,"

"No diseases? Drugs?" she continued.

I had been asked stranger at interviews and answered without hesitation.

"No, not really,"

"Not really?"

I blushed. "Weed, a little. And a touch of asthma"

She shook her head, "Bad for you, but I hardly care about that,"

"Before we go any further, I need you to sign this non-disclosure agreement," she said, pushing a paper across the desk, "stating that you will not disclose any information you may uncover in this interview to any person, publication or other media entity."

A member of the digital agreement generation, I signed, without reading a word.

"Quite good," she said, not even glancing at my name.

"Now, as for what this organization does," she leaned forward, fingers tented, "we protect the education interests of certain young men,"

"Like, tutoring?"

She smirked.

"Somewhat like that. You see, our organization hosts the sons of some of the wealthiest families in the world. Oil magnates, sons of CEOs, minor princes. The odd American political son. They are, quite literally, the future of the global economy. The weight of this is quite the burden, as you could imagine."

I could not imagine. My bra was held together with duct tape and I only still had internet at home because my roommate had forgotten to cancel it before she went to Tibet or Tuscon or wherever.

"The problem then, is that they are boys, rich boys, but boys nonetheless. And young men, they think with their cocks," she said, not dropping her gaze from mine.

I laughed, "Am I right, ladies?"

She did not laugh.

"Ok, then what does that mean for your organization? Is this some kind of Christian abstinence thing?"

She did laugh then.

"I am glad you asked. You see, these silly boys' parents pay us quite well to keep their sons out of trouble. Do you understand me, miss?"

I pressed my lips together. It was an urban legend, of course, it had to be, but back in college, somebody's cousin had a Chinese roommate whose International Jet-Line owning parents bought him one of those creepy sex dolls that look like lobotomized Lara Crofts. Maybe it wasn't an urban legend?

"I believe I may understand."

"Excellent. It's so crass when I have to spell it out for younger women. The problem we are currently experiencing is a lack of young women. You may be aware that young ladies are the largest demographic of people with Masters' degrees? It's a brave new world out there, with so much opportunity and debt to 'lean in' to.

Mme Ann clucked her tongue in disapproval, and I could only imagine other things her tongue would be good at...

" But no matter. You see, they are very exacting, these boys, and there are just certain things that a young woman can do that a mature one cannot. I am also their Matron, after all. It would hardly do to let some of these young scamps ass-fuck their Matron, would it?"

"I..." I knew I should leave, and never speak of this again, but I was frozen to the spot, my panties growing wet.

"The healthcare and compensation are quite fair, though, for your duties," she said, pushing a piece of paper across the desk. I tried not to gasp at the number.

"Tax-free, as well," she added, "we are a non-profit, you are technically a volunteer."

I looked up, shocked.

"Is this...legal?"

"I should hope, given the amount of senator's sons here," she smiled then, a genuine smile, and intentional crack in her ice-queen presentation.

"Health, 401k...dental?"

There was a knock at the door just then.

She smiled again.

"Ah, you're in luck," one of our young men is here now for his appointment with me. Come in," she called.

A tall, blonde boy entered the room, looking startled at me. He could not have been a year younger than me, but looked more mature, healthier, glowing with wealth and health in his pressed blazer-the type I'd only ever seen on actors who play rich assholes in movies, that I had not known existed in real life until that second.

"If yo

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