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Supply & Demand

By: Anyport



Craig had enjoyed the party so far, he was a guest at a friend's wedding and although he hadn't met any women he fancied, he was still having a good time. A good-looking man, he was rarely short of female company, though he was always on the lookout for new conquests. The meal over, it was time for speeches, not a part of weddings Craig enjoyed, but he settled himself in for a boring half-hour or so.

It was then that he noticed Pamela for the first time, how had he missed her all night, she was after all, the compere for the evening. She began introducing the speakers and Craig took the opportunity to study her in detail. He guessed her age at 40, since he was 42 that was more than acceptable. She wore a loose fitting black evening gown but his practised eye could tell that beneath the dress was a very shapely body. Possibly a little overweight, but still quite athletic. He decided to make a play for her at the earliest opportunity.

His chance came about five minutes after the speeches ended. Pamela was taking a quick break in the garden at the rear of the function rooms and it was necessary to pass her on the way to the men's room. Craig stopped beside her and congratulated her on her efforts. She smiled slightly and thanked him. "I wouldn't mind learning to speak in public, do you give private lessons?"

"You can get them anywhere, try your local toastmasters."

"I doubt there would be anyone there with your...talent." He said suggestively.

Pamela understood his thinly veiled suggestion and smiled, "Exactly what sort of lessons did you have in mind?"

"Whatever you're offering," He took her hand gently and added, "I'm a very willing pupil."

She looked down at her hand and said, "You're very sure of yourself aren't you, maybe someone should teach you a lesson or two at that."

Craig grinned, "I'm completely at your mercy, when do we start?"

"Not yet you aren't, but I have a feeling you will be later," She said cryptically, "Meet me in the car park at eleven, I think I might enjoy teaching you a few things." She walked back into the hall and Craig went to the men's room. He was feeling quite pleased with himself and was looking forward to getting Pamela alone. He watched her going about her duties for the rest of the night, she showed no sign of having any interest in him and by eleven he was worried that she may well have changed her mind.

He arrived at the car park about ten minutes early, and two minutes after eleven Pamela arrived. She walked over to her car without speaking, and opened the passenger door for Craig, then walked round the other side and waited for him to unlock her door. Climbing into the car she moved straight toward him and kissed him deeply. Craig was caught a little off guard but quickly recovered and returned her kiss. "Very good," she commented as she pulled away, "I think I'm going to enjoy tonight after all." She started the car and was about to drive away when, "Damn, I've forgotten the wine." She moved to open her door then turned to Craig and said, "You won't go away, will you?" "Absolutely not." Craig assured her. "Maybe I'd better make sure, I'd hate to let a catch like you slip through my fingers." She reached over and took a length of cord from the glove box, and then turning him around she deftly secured his hands behind his back. Before leaving the car, she fitted his seat belt in place, 'Just to make sure.' Then she kissed him lightly and left.

By the time she returned Craig was becoming quite nervous. He didn't know it at the time, but Pamela had purposely accepted the offer of a cup of coffee from one of her colleagues before returning and she knew that the longer she stayed away, the more edgy Craig would become. "You took your time didn't you?" He snapped as she climbed into the car. Pamela smiled at him, she'd expected a reaction similar to this, and was ready for it.

Before returning to the car, she'd visited the ladies room where she'd removed her panties and pantyhose. After balling them up and tying them in the form of a ball gag, she'd covered them with her urine. As she reached over to Craig, he opened his mouth to continue his prepared speech, in which he had intended to demand immediate release. But before he could utter a word, Pamela stuffed the soaking garments into his mouth, and despite his struggles, easily succeeded in tying the gag behind his head.

Ignoring his muffled protests she calmly started the car and began to drive out of the car park. Craig paused briefly in his struggles, then redoubled his efforts to escape. Pamela smiled knowingly; he'd obviously just guessed what the wetness was on the gag. Turning on the radio to drown out his complaining, she congratulated herself on her choice of victim. This one had a lot of spirit, it would be a real challenge to break him, but she knew she'd win in the end, she always did.

Once home, after driving into the garage and closing the automatic doors behind them, Pamela left the car and entered without a word or glance in Craig's direction. He no longer bothered to struggle, he'd already discovered Pamela was no novice at tying ropes and he was wasting his effort to try and free his arms. He sat quietly for about five minutes, then the door to the house opened and a tall blonde woman walked over to the car. As he watched her approach, Craig realised that she was in fact wearing a maids uniform, the skirt of which was ridiculously short causing every step to expose an expanse of stocking top and bare thigh.

In the eternity it took for her to reach the car, Craig had time to consider the fact that Pamela's job must pay a lot better than he'd thought for her to be able to afford a maid. Then as the maid neared the car, his mind turned to other, less practical, thoughts. She was very attractive although her face was a little too heavily made up for Craig's taste. Despite his predicament, Craig found himself aroused by this beautiful woman. As she reached over to release his seat belt her musky perfume assailed his nostrils and he could feel his groin responding to the stimulus. Her ample cleavage was inches from his face as she assisted him from the car. Her surprising strength making any resistance Craig may have considered, useless. He tried to speak to her through the gag, but she simply ignored him as he was steered toward the door and into the house. After pushing him onto a chair, the maid began to secure a dog collar round his neck, a hard slap across the face bringing Craig's token resistance to an abrupt halt. A lead was attached to the collar and the other end was tied to the back of the chair, then Craig was once again left alone to consider his plight.

It was quite a while before the maid returned, Craig's brief admiration of her ceased abruptly as he caught sight of the person behind her. At first he wasn't sure it was Pamela, she bore little resemblance to the woman he'd met at the wedding. In her place was someone dressed entirely in black leather.

Her outfit comprised, a short tight black leather dress, which as with the maid, exposed stocking tops and bare thigh. Black leather thigh boots with four-inch stiletto heels, elbow length black leather gloves and to complete the outfit, a wide black belt with silver studs circled her waist. Its smaller twins circled her neck and wrists. Her face was even more heavily made up than the maids, and her shoulder length black hair was pulled tight and tied at the back of her head in a pony tail.

Craig had seen photographs of women like this in magazines. He'd always dismissed as nonsense, the idea that a woman could dominate a man physically and as a result he found the stories in the so-called dominance magazines too ridiculous to be a turn on. Now suddenly he was confronted by one of those very women and he had serious doubts as to his chances of escape.

Pamela sat opposite him and crossed her shapely legs, She stared at him for a while, and then without averting her eyes she said, "Strip him Alice." Craig looked up nervously as the maid approached. The lead was removed and he was lifted effortlessly to his feet. After unbuttoning his shirt, she slid it down his arms; Craig prepared himself for a bid for freedom as she walked behind him. He was expecting her to release his hands but instead she simply ripped the material from him. The trousers, underpants, shoes and socks followed quickly and he found himself standing stark naked in front of two beautiful, but obviously dangerous women.

Pamela pointed to the floor at her feet, "Kneel." She commanded. A moment's hesitation brought a kick to the back of the knees from Alice and Craig's legs buckled under him as he fell to the floor. With snake like speed Pamela reached forward and grabbed his cock and balls in her hand. "Do you want to keep these?" She spat twisting them painfully. Craig nodded frantically, at the same time shouting a muffled 'YES,' from behind the gag. "Then in future, when I give you an order you'll obey instantly. IS THAT CLEAR?" Another twist emphasised her words bringing a repeat of the earlier response from Craig. Satisfied, Pamela resumed her cross-legged position and once again stared at Craig.

He tried to return her glare, but within seconds he found himself staring at her feet, the floor, anywhere except those piercing eyes. Pamela smiled slightly at her first victory; she always enjoyed these opening moments, particularly the expressions of her victims when they first saw her in her leather. A slight nod to Alice and the gag was removed. After a few seconds gasping in the fresh air, Craig began to protest, but a savage kick from Pamela and a barked, "SHUT UP." Sent Craig sprawling, where he lay silently awaiting her next order. "From now on you'll speak ONLY when I give you permission, is that clear?" Craig nodded silently

Pamela watched him for a while then grinned; "When you said you were completely at my mercy, I'll bet you never expected this did you?" Craig remained motionless glaring at his captor. "Now don't look at me like that, it was you who said you wanted to learn, well now I'm going to teach you. It may not be quite what you had in mind, but believe me you're really going to learn something tonight, isn't he Alice?" The maid remained silent.

"Well now, where should we start," Pamela continued, "I'll tell you what, why don't you come over here and show me what a willing pupil you're going to be." Craig still didn't move. "Alice, would you help him up please." Craig was pulled to his knees and almost dragged to within inches of Pamela's feet. She raised her crossed leg, Craig flinched at the expected kick but instead she ordered him to lick. He hesitated and Pamela glanced at the maid, "Bring my persuader please Alice, I think I'm going to need it."

Moments later Alice handed Pamela a riding crop, "You wouldn't..." Before Craig could say anymore, Pamela grabbed his hair pulling his head back painfully. "I warned you about speaking without permission didn't I?" "Aaarrggghhh, yeees." Craig whined. She sat back and began tapping the crop on the palm of her hand. "There's something you should know about me Craig, I love pain, back in the bad old days I used to love playing games with my husband. He used to spank me when I misbehaved, and I enjoyed it so much, I actually used to play up on purpose to ensure a spanking."

"Unfortunately things got a little, shall we say, out of hand, instead of spankings, my husband began to actually beat me. One day I decided I'd like to be on the other end of the beatings for a change. Shortly after that I got rid of my husband and found Alice, didn't I dear, and now she's my loyal servant and any beatings that happen under this roof, happen to her, or to my regular visitors like you Craig. I'm much happier now, and I'm sure Alice enjoys the arrangement as well, don't you dear?" Craig thought he saw a fleeting expression of something other than total agreement, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared and Alice nodded her head.

"Anyway," Pamela continued after giving Alice a strange look, "I discovered that much as I enjoyed receiving pain, I enjoy inflicting it far more. You have no idea what a turn on it is to have all that power." As she spoke she stroked the crop suggestively. "So you see Craig, not only would I use this on you, but I guarantee I will, the only thing you can control is how severe your punishment will be. Now are you going to do as you're told, or would you like a small sample of my powers of persuasion."

After the briefest hesitation, Craig fell forward and began licking her boot. For the next 20 minutes he licked every inch of both boots as Pamela relaxed over a glass of wine. The mixture of Alice's perfume, which he could smell even at this distance, the smell of leather which filled his nostrils, and the odd feeling of excitement which comes from total submission, all combined to make Craig feel quite horny. Particularly as he neared the top of Pamela's boot and caught a glimpse of her naked thigh and darkness above that promised so much more.

He snapped out of his reverie as Pamela spoke, "My, my, would you look at that Alice, I do believe Craig's beginning to enjoy himself." She indicated his erection with the crop. "Alice, since Craig seems to like licking boots, why don't you sit over there and we'll see how he performs on your legs."

Craig looked up at Pamela as she spoke. He thought he heard Alice moan and he caught a glimpse of the glare Pamela gave her, then he heard Alice sit down behind him and he was instructed to lick her legs. He found this task to be even more exciting since he was now licking her stockinged legs rather than the boots Pamela wore. He was a little disappointed when he was told to stop at the top of the first stocking and begin on the other foot, however, when he neared the top of the second leg, Pamela asked him if he'd like to continue. He could feel Alice tense up as Pamela spoke, even more so when he replied that he would.

"Oh dear, I do believe Alice is shy Craig. I'll tell you what, while she removes her panties, I think I'll blindfold you so you can't see her naughty bits." This done, Craig returned to the top of her stocking and began slowly licking and nibbling his way up. To make it easier for him Pamela had made Alice pull her skirt around her waist and lay on her back. This gave Craig the freedom to tease his way round the outside of her legs as well as the inside.

Finally he was ready to taste her juices and he slid his practiced tongue across the top of her leg. Hearing her groan in what he assumed was pleasure Craig became even more aroused, then suddenly everything changed. In the same instant that his tongue reached Alice's intimate parts, Pamela whipped the blindfold away, and there, resting against his face, was six inches of rampant cock. Craig jumped away in fright and horror, "You're a...but that's not..." "Whatever is the matter Craig dear?" Pamela asked in her sweetest tone, "Don't you want to please Alice?" "You don't expect me to aaarrggghhh." Before he could utter another word, Pamela brought the crop across his upraised behind. "I expect you to do whatever I tell you, is that clear?" She emphasised each word with a stroke from the crop. Craig was cringing in fear and pain as she waited for his reply. "Well?" "Yes...that's clear." He whimpered. "Good, then get on with it."

Craig lowered his head slowly over the rampant prick, never before had he seen one so close up and he stared transfixed, much as a mouse would when confronted by a snake. Hearing Pamela move behind him, he snapped out of his trance and finally took the tip of the cock between his lips. He had no idea what he'd expected, but he was surprised to find that there was no nasty taste, in fact very little taste at all. The main stimulation to his senses came from the overwhelming scent of the same musky perfume that had so aroused him in the car.

He licked the tip and sucked slightly, at that moment Alice groaned loudly. It was the first real sound he'd heard from the 'maid' since he'd met 'her'. He wasn't sure whether the groan was one of excitement or misery, but he was aware of an increasing feeling of pity for Alice.

He made up his mind that if he was going to do this, he could at least give Alice a little pleasure in what must otherwise have been a humiliating experience. Many years of womanising had taught Craig what was and was not pleasurable when it came to having your cock sucked. He now applied himself to giving Alice the best head job she'd ever had. He sucked, licked and nibbled his way around the genitals for ten minutes or more, before deciding to allow Alice release. By now she was moaning loudly, and all those present knew it was nothing to do with humiliation.

As the final gasps escaped from her lips, Craig prepared to move his head quickly to avoid the inevitable. As if reading his mind, Pamela gave him a sharp rap with the crop and growled, "Don't you dare take your head away." It was Craig's turn to groan as he prepared himself to receive a mouthful of cum. Alice arched her back and yelled as the first spurt shot from the tip of her throbbing member. At that instant Pamela grabbed Craig's collar from behind almost choking him. "Don't swallow any of that, I have other plans for it."

Craig, unable to do much else, held the slimy fluid in his mouth. He seriously doubted he would be able to keep it all in as Alice continued to pump it into him. Finally she slumped back on the floor, the juices of her ardour spent. Pamela dragged Craig to his feet and pointed to Alice. "Give your lover a nice big wet kiss." As Craig moved toward Alice, he saw tears of humiliation forming in the corners of her eyes. Had he not just learned first hand the true sex of Alice, he doubted he could have seen it in that lovely face. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen and his kiss quickly became one of genuine lust. As they kissed, the juices were transferred from Craig to Alice, and once more she moaned in humiliation. Had Craig's hands been free, he would have thrown his arms around her to comfort her.

Pamela soon tired of their passion and grabbing Craig by the collar, she dragged him away from Alice. "That's enough of that," she declared, "Alice, I want you to take Craig into your room and find him some suitable clothing to wear." Alice stood up and smoothed down her dress, all signs of her recent arousal were totally hidden and once again she became the perfect maid. After attaching the lead to Craig's collar once more, she led him into another room.

The bedroom was very feminine; all lace and pretty colours it was just the sort of room you'd expect a young girl to live in. Once more Craig's heart went out to Alice. "How long have you known Pamela?" Alice answered in what sounded more like a deep sexy female voice than that of a male. "Just over six years." As she spoke she attached the lead to the bed rail and began sorting through her drawers and selecting suitable garments for Craig to wear. Craig paid little attention to what was happening, he was far more interested in Alice's story. "You mean you've been her maid for six years?" He asked incredulously.

Alice paused and looked over at him in surprise, "No of course not, I've only been her maid for a year and a half, before that I was her husband."

Craig suddenly realised how naive he'd been, he should have guessed long ago, but he'd been too stupid to put two and two together. "How could you let her do this to you?" Alice sighed, then resigned herself to telling the full story as she'd done before to several of Pamela's other victims.

"Pamela told you about my beating her didn't she. That all came about because I was so involved in my work; I hardly had time for her. I owned my own business; well actually I was in partnership. It was very successful, but became quite demanding, some nights I didn't finish until after midnight. I'd get home and Pamela would play up, as she said, she enjoyed being spanked. Well I was rarely in the mood for games and one night I slapped her across the face, just to quieten her down you understand I had no intention of hurting her. As it turned out, it worked very well, she made no more sexual demands of me for a couple of days, which suited me fine, I was always tired anyway.


Supply and Demand



Brian sat at his kitchen table, reading the morning paper. A feature article on health and relationships mentioned that oft-sited statistic about most men daydreaming about sex about 2,000 times a day. Brian sniffed. Not him. His experience with women was so limited, he dreamed about merely TALKING to a woman about 2,000 times a day. Brian was twenty-six, and he only just moved out of his parents' house last week. He had a decent job, a nice apartment, a reliable but not flashy car. And he wasn't that bad-looking, he thought. He could stand to drop a few pounds, but if he could only meet the right girl, that wouldn't matter. 

Who was he kidding? Meet the right girl? He never grew out of that fear that every boy has in high school... the fear of calling a girl on the telephone. When you're sixteen, dialing a girl's entire phone number except for the last digit, and then hanging up in a panic is normal. Even endearing. For a twenty-six year old, it's pathetic.

Brian sighed. He met girls at work now and then. Sometimes he even braved a few lines of conversation. But he always knew they thought of him as pleasant enough, but harmless. Non-threatening. A friend. He'd give anything to be a little threatening. HarmFUL, even. Okay, not harmful, really, but you get the idea.

Brian allowed these bothersome thoughts to drift from his mind. He set aside his personal problems and went back to concentrating on the mixture of entertainment news and smarmy columns in the feature section of his newspaper. But then, an advertisement caught his eye. Look at this, he thought. It's as if someone has been reading my thoughts... as if this ad is talking right to me.

MEN- DO YOU HAVE TROUBLE WITH WOMEN? Or do you have no trouble with women because you have no contact with women? Shyness is not terminal. Your problem could be a simple disorder. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and could easily be taken care of through therapy. Our two-week program, consisting of one-on-one work with medical personnel as well as trained relationship surrogates, may be all you need. Call DR. EVELYN SWELL at 555 - 2710

Brian raced for the phone and began dialing. And this time, damn it... he dialed all SEVEN digits.

* * *

Allison woke up on her living room couch, still in her short, tight, out-on-the-town dress. She stared at the TV set, which was playing the pre-dawn news for early risers and insomniacs. She groped for the remote and turned down the volume. The chirpy voice of the anchorwoman was bugging her. Allison had been out the night before, but she ended up going home early and falling asleep on the couch. Another night of getting dressed up and going to clubs. Another night of looking for single and available guys. And another night of watching all the guys drift toward the busty girls-- leaving average girls like Allison high and dry... and alone. Shit, she thought! Do all guys have this selective eyesight that only allows them to see a girl's bustline? That's so unfair, Allison thought. She knew the rest of body was pretty okay. She had long legs that looked great in heels. Curvy hips, a slim waist. Her pixie face was framed by long auburn hair. But between the shoulders and the waist? Not much going on there at all. God, if only there was something she could do about that.  But surgery was expensive. And maybe even unsafe. Oh, well, thought Allison. Another evening wasted.

She rose from the couch and headed toward the front door of her apartment to fetch the morning paper, teetering on her heels. Should have taken them off before she fell asleep, she thought. The paper lay on the mat outside the door. Allison brought it in and sat at the kitchen table, stopping at the fridge to open her usual morning Diet Coke. She opened the paper to the features and fluff section. A small understated ad caught her eye. My god, she thought. This is exactly what I was just thinking about. It's almost as if this ad is talking directly to me.

WOMEN--DO YOU FEEL THAT SOME GIRLS HAVE ALL THE LUCK? THE BIG GIRLS--RIGHT? There's hope. Call us. We're specialists. We don't do nose jobs, face lifts, or cellulite scraping. Our clinic does breast augmentation, and breast augmentation only-- so nobody knows it better. AND WE'RE NOT PLASTIC SURGEONS! Our technique combines nutritional supplements with psychological conditioning, climaxed by our Exclusive Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy. Call now-- you owe it to yourself. Call DR. EVELYN SWELL at 555 - 2710

Allison reached for her cell phone and began to dial.

* * * 

Brian approached the huge but nondescript building where Dr. Swell's clinic was supposed to be on 43rd Street. No sign-- no markings of any kind. Just the address. He walked in. A glass door immediately to his right was stenciled with "DR. EVELYN SWELL/THERAPIST". He walked in. It looked like any doctor's waiting room. Brian walked up to the receptionist's desk. He was startled to see no receptionist there. In the seat was a cardboard sign, hand-lettered in magic marker. PLEASE BE SEATED. THE DOCTOR WILL BE WITH YOU SOON. Brian did as he was told-- he sat down. He picked up an old women's magazine. Automatically, he paged to the end, looking for one of those ads about realistic falsies "just like they wear on BAYWATCH!" Or maybe even one of those old, unbelievable bust increasing formula ads. He'd always looked for those... even in his mom's magazines. After a moment, Brian had the odd feeling he was being watched. He hurriedly shut the magazine, and looked up just in time to see the doctor come into the room.  "You're Brian?" she said, peering at some notes on a clipboard. Brian stood up. "Yes, ma'am."

"Come right on back. We're all ready for you."

She turned on her heels and began walking down the hall. Brian followed. The encounter was so quick and businesslike, he barely had a chance to see what the doctor looked like. Brian wondered why there was no receptionist. A little odd.

The doctor turned into a room that looked more like a den or rec room than an examining room. She turned to face Brian and invited him to sit down in one of the comfortable-looking armchairs there.

Now Brian could get a look at Dr. Evelyn Swell. He began his look by examining her white high heels-- a little higher than he expected to see on a doctor. And they weren't the thick, clunky heels you see nurses and the like wearing. They were thin-- spikes? Is that what they were called? Brian wasn't sure. They led into long, smooth legs clad in smoky black stockings. The stockings were held by garters that Brian was surprised to be able to see. Her white skirt was much shorter than you ordinarily would see in this kind of professional setting. She wore a white lab coat that clearly was designed to hang down past her skirt's hemline. But Dr. Swell had the kind of figure that tended to foil whatever her clothes had in mind. She posessed the kind of prodigious bust that pointed right out at you and dominated her whole upper body-- hell, her whole body, for that matter. Apparently in an attempt to downplay her bust size (as if it were possible), the doctor had pulled the lab coat closed-- or as closed as was physically possible. This pulled the bottom of the coat so far up that rather than hanging to just above the knee-- the coat ended just above her waist. When Brian managed to pull his eyes away from her... her... well, the front of her upper body, he got a glimpse of her mouth. That mouth crinkled into a sly smile. Brian immediately averted his gaze in embarassment.

"Well, Brian, I don't have to ask you why you're here. I know. I know the ad you responded to. And I don't think I have to subject you to any elaborate psychological evaluation to get to the root of your problem. It's obvious," said the doctor.

"Obvious? You mean you can tell WHY I can't talk to women?" Brian asked, startled.

"Sure. Tell me," she challenged, turning her head away from him. "What color are my eyes?"

"I--I'm sorry, doctor. I don't know."

"Do I wear glasses?"

"Um... yes. No! I'm sorry."

"Color of my lip gloss?"

"D-don't know," Brian stammered, nervously.

"How about the color of my hair? Do I wear it short or long?" asked Dr. Swell.

"I... I really have no idea." Brian hung his head in shame. "I didn't do very well, did I?"

"Oh, no. You did beautifully. You fit the profile perfectly!"

Brian didn't know exactly what she was talking about, but he was pleased. He did SOMETHING perfectly.

"I know how to treat you," the doctor said, hurriedly making some notes.

"How? I mean, what's my problem?" asked Brian.

"No problem," said Dr. Evelyn Swell, cheerfully. "You are what some therapists would call a mild fetishist. I prefer the term partialist."

"What does that mean?" Brian wanted to know. "Is it bad?"

"It simply means you are PARTIAL to one part of a woman's body more than others. You couldn't describe any part of me north of my bustline. Am I right?"

Brian looked nervously to either side of the doctor's face. "I... I guess so. I'm... I'm ashamed. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be ashamed of! Nothing to be sorry for! You can't talk to women because you've been trying to talk to the WRONG women! You need to concentrate on the kind of woman you're really physically attracted to!" said Dr. Swell, scribbling some more notes. "I want you to begin your therapy right away. It will be structured a little like the driver education courses you remember from your teenage days."

"How so?" Brian wanted to know.

"Theory, lecture, classroom-- followed by on-the-road training," smiled Dr. Swell. "You'll work with me to learn how to please a woman of real substance. Large-breasted women like a man who can appreciate their special gifts. Tit women attract tit men! And you're a tit man."

Brian scowled. "A... tit man? It sounds awful."

"It's not awful. It's wonderful. So far, you've just been unable or unwilling to admit it."

"But don't women resent being reduced to body parts?" Brian asked.

"Oh, my goodness." Dr. Swell shook her head. "Sounds like well-intentioned gender-based propaganda has worked too well on you. That's a misconception, put forth by people with an agenda. The truth is this.  You might be surprised to hear this, but large-breasted women are often shunned by women and men alike. They're called fat-- cow-like. Naturally, it's not true. Women act out of jealousy... and I believe men sometimes act that way out of fear of what their buddies will think. I want to make you into a man who knows what he wants and what he likes-- and doesn't give a rat's ass what another man thinks about it!"

She made her speech in such a stirring manner, Brian wanted to cheer. "Great! But how?"

Dr. Swell put her arm around Brian's shoulder, which brought her marvelous bust into yummy proximity. "The way tit women can tell the tit men is this: you must concentrate in every way on the woman's breasts. In your gaze, your attention, in the way you have sex... we'll begin tomorrow at six. I'll give you quiz questions on how to pay attention to a woman. All your answers must be breast-centered."

The very idea turned Brian on. "But... does that mean I can never do anything else with a woman? Wouldn't she like me to pay attention to her other parts?"

"Of course, but not right away," counseled Dr. Swell. "That comes with time. The important thing in initial encounters is to signal to her that you LOVE TITS! Are you with me?"

"Yeah!" shouted Brian, scaring himself a little. "But doctor... one thing confuses me. Why was this office so hard to find?"

Dr. Swell fidgeted uncomfortably. Brian went on.

"Why don't you have a receptionist? Why does it seem that you're the only person in this entire medical complex?"

She grabbed his face forcefully and spoke in a low whisper.

"OK, Brian, listen up and listen good. I provide a valuable service for men like you. You can't get this help anywhere else. But medical authorities and even law enforcement officials aren't too sure about me. This is an underground operation."

"Underground?"

"Yes. You will pay me in cash. You will tell no one. It's been my experience that men like you are so desperate they don't mind. Am I wrong?"

"No," agreed Brian. "In my case, you're not wrong."

"Good. Then we understand each other. The problem the law has with my practice is the 'on-the-road' training I referred to before. The 'trained relationship surrogates' you read about in the ad."

"Ohhhhh," said Brian, trying to signal that he understood-- even though he didn't understand at all. "What does that mean?"

"It means sexual surrogates. I employ trained professionals. Medical people-- women who will meet with you at the end of your two weeks training. You'll get to practice what you've learned!" she beamed.

"Wow."

"Police hear 'sexual surrogates' and immediately assume it's prostitution. But of course, you realize it's not," said the doctor.

"Of course," nodded Brian, now so turned on he could hardly speak.

"So tell me," the doctor continued, confident her secret was safe with Brian. "Describe your ideal woman."

"Oh, I don't think I have an ideal. I'm more of a 'total package' kind of guy," he answered.

"Brian!" snapped Dr. Swell. "That's bullshit! Consider your answer to this question the beginning of your therapy."

He sighed... a sigh that shook off a lifetime of hangups and rationalizations. "All right," he began. "My ideal woman has enormous jugs. That's the first, and probably the only thing you notice about her. She could, and probably does, have great legs, curvy hips, a creamy complexion, and long auburn hair, but still-- the first thing you say when you see her is 'My god, look at those enormous jugs!'"

Dr. Evelyn Swell smiled. This one was going to be easy.

* * *

Allison clutched the scrap of paper that she'd written the address of Dr. Swell's clinic on. 44th street. This must be it. It was a huge building... at least a full city block square. But there were no signs... nothing to indicate what was inside. Allison pushed open the lobby door and looked around. It sure didn't look like much. A glass door immediately to her left caught her eye. It read "DR. EVELYN SWELL/TOP BODY IMAGING". "Top". Pretty clever. She must mean to say it's the best AND that's the part of the body we image. The "top"! She walked through the door into the lobby. No receptionist. Just a hand lettered sign, saying something about how the doctor will be right there. From down the corridor, Allison heard the click of high heels. Dr. Evelyn Swell entered, a little winded.

"Hi," offered Allison. "Are you the doctor?"

"Yes," said Evelyn, breathless from rushing all the way to the other side of the building. "You must be Allison. Take your shirt off."

"Right here? Shouldn't we go into an examining room?"

"As you wish," shrugged Dr. Swell, as she led the prospective patient into an antiseptic looking area. "Now--strip!"

Allison went along gamely. If this doctor could help, Allison would have to cooperate. Dr. Swell examined her medium-sized breasts. "It's not that they're that small. But I would just love to have... more! Can you really do it without surgery?"

"Certainly. Our treatment is centered around a nutritional supplement that turns your metabolism on its ear. It totally changes the way your body processes nutrients-- especially fat and carbohydrates."

"How does it work?" asked Allison.

"It works beautifully! Just about everything you eat goes right to your bust. The rest of you remains unchanged," claimed Dr. Swell. "If you eat right, after two weeks, you'll have the breasts of a 300 pound woman-- on your frame!"

"My god, that sounds perfect! Is it safe?" Allison wanted to know.

"So far," said Dr. Swell.

"Is it... you know-- approved by the drug people?" the patient prodded.

"Not a drug. A nutritional supplement. The drug people can't even be bothered to test it."

"And that's the whole treatment? Isn't there some awful exercise program?" asked Allison, making a face.

"No exercise. But I like to enhance the supplement with sexual fantasy," advised the doc.

"What kind of fantasy?" Allison seemed dubious.

"You center thoughts on your breasts and how men react to them," said Evelyn. "Even before the changes in them start occurring, you imagine that every man you meet is fixated on your breasts-- and the mere sight of them makes him involuntarily ejaculate. You smile proudly and mischieviously at the way he just ruined his pants!"

Allison giggled. "And that helps?"

"Probably not, but doesn't it sound like fun?" laughed Dr. Swell. 

"Yes," Allison agreed. 

"Oh," said the doctor. "I almost forgot! We won't reshape your body and then just throw you to the wolves. Ours is the only program around that includes Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy. You'll work with a professional sex surrogate. He'll teach you to perform with your new equipment, and you'll learn what true tit-men like in bed."

"That sounds thrilling, doctor," considered Allison. "But... well, it's kind of... you know-- unconventional. Even a little suspicious. I mean no disrespect, but can I... talk to some former patients? May I see your credentials?"

The affable specialist turned combatative. "Now, Allison-- listen up and listen good. I have the training, I have the M.D. But medical authorities aren't too crazy about me. They say my methods haven't been tested in controlled environments, and I have no proof that they work. But they do! You have to believe me! And besides... you're willing to try anything, aren't you?"

Allison admitted she was. "I'll give it a go, doctor. When do we start?"

Dr. Swell smiled. "Thanks for the confidence. We'll start right now. Here's your first dose--two tablets and a glass of water. Take them and after a minute, begin telling me a fantasy. What's the first thing you'll do with the breasts you've always wanted?"

As Allison swallowed the pills, the doctor went on. "The medical authorities always said it wasn't ethical for a doctor to try a new technique on herself."

Allison swallowed hard. "You gave yourself... those? With this treatment? Wow! Doctor, never mind what I said before. Shit, doc, I'm your girl!"

"Glad to hear that," said the doctor. "And that fantasy--?"

Allison exhaled. Her eyes took on a farway look just before she began talking.

"Before I even let a man look at them, I want to lift my titties to my own mouth and taste the nipples. I want to feel them hardening between my lips..."

* * * 

Brian came to the clinic every day for his therapy session with Dr. Swell. He'd sit and concentrate on her questions, trying to come up with every possible big boob answer. They'd work long and hard. And the estimatable Dr. Evelyn Swell provided a tantilzing combination of inspiration and distraction. She would sit NEXT to Brian, rather than across from him, undoubtedly to encourage the young man to sneak peeks down her blouse. The undulating cleavage spurred him on.

"Now-- how does a tit man greet his woman?"

"Uh--with a kiss?"

"Wrong. He takes his two strong hands and covers as much boob as he possibly can, and hefts them up, giving the nipples a good 'honk'," said the doctor. "It not only tells her what he has in mind for later, it tells every envious man in the vicinity that 'these juggies belong to me'!"

"Got it," said Brian. "Give me another."

"When a tit man is out with his big-titted woman... and he sees another woman with big boobs, what should he expect of his woman?" the doctor continued.

"An introduction?" guessed Brian.

"I'll accept that," agreed Dr. Swell. "In a perfect world, your woman would notice this new pair of biggies herself, and approach her without your asking. By the end of the evening, you should have your happy face surrounded with four big soft tits. Let's continue..."




Supply and Demand



* * *

Allison sat in Dr. Swell's waiting room, smiling at the way she had to hold her magazine at eye level in order to read it. Her naturally built-up bust prevented her from holding it in her lap the way she might have just a week and a half ago. The nutritional supplement had worked beyond Allison's wildest expectations. It sent every gram of fat right to her chest, stacking and molding piles of buoyant flesh where there had been nothing. And the pills seemed to increase her appetite, too... so happily, her boobies were now bouncing out of control and pleasantly dominating about every aspect of her life.

Allison started getting impatient waiting for Dr. Swell. Spinning her rack-related sexual fantasies had become her favorite part of the therapy. Not only because they were fun, but Allison thought they had an effect on these two gorgeous and gargantuan specimens on her chest. They truly were as big as the breasts of a 300 pound woman... but the intense sexual concentration of both doctor and patient took two big burlap sacks of fat and flesh, and turned them into enormous guided missiles of sex appeal. 

"Allison!" beamed Dr. Swell, as she walked into the waiting room. "How are they?" she asked, probing and pulling on Allison's new big cans.

"Big, heavy, and wonderful," smiled back Allison. "I can't wait to tell you more. I don't have to fantasize about men's attention anymore. It's become a reality!"

"Isn't that a turn-on?" giggled the doctor.

"Yeah!" agreed the patient. "I like to time their dicks, to see how long it takes them to get hard once they see these big babies bouncing around."

"How long does it take, usually?" Evelyn wanted to know.

"Well, I count one-one thousand... two-one thousand-- and that's usually it! If it takes longer, that just means there's more there to GET hard!"

"What do you do then?" asked Dr. Swell.

"Depends on my mood. Ask for a phone number. Or reach for their balls and just squeeze!" Both woman laughed heartily.

"Allison, I'm proud of you. You'll be ready for your first Post-Procedure Relationship Therapy session by the end of the week. Is Friday at 8:00 all right with you?"

"Sure!"

Dr. Swell gave Allison's boobs a lingering once-over. "And to think-- you've still got a few days' worth of growing left. God, you're going to be every tit-man's dream, sweetie!"

"Just one would be fine, doctor," said Allison, shyly.

"One other thing, Allison. You'll want to show off how gorgeous your boobies are bra-less... but don't. Wear a bra. It's important."

"Really? Okay... I'll have to buy one. I haven't worn one once since the growth. But if it's that important..."

"It is," the doctor said seriously. "Get one that fits and holds them high. Send me the bill. I'll consider it a gift."

"All right doctor! I'll be there," said Allison, "ready to play... and BE played with! So will these!"

She reached in front of her and gave her nipples a hearty "honk" as she bounced into the doctor's examining room.

Dr. Swell followed her in. "Now! Let's hear your latest titty fantasy--!"

* * * 

Brian sat nervously in one of the doctor's easy chairs. It was time for his Sexual Surrogate session. He'd reviewed the material over and over, and was pretty sure he was ready. Dr. Swell had briefed him on the format. He was to pretend the surrogate was his girlfriend, who'd invited him over for a casual evening of snacks and TV. He was to treat her as Dr. Swell had instructed him... both to force himself to face up to his true desires and to learn how to please what the doctor called "the tit-woman". If at any time he made an error, the session would be halted. Brian would have to figure out what he'd done wrong, and correct it at the next session.

Dr. Swell poked her head through the door. "Ready, Brian?"

"Ready, doctor," he answered, standing up and walking toward the door.

"You can do it, Brian. I know you can. Come with me. I'll take you to where the session will take place."

"All right," said Brian, as Dr. Swell led him to a part of the medical complex he'd never seen before. Suddenly, he panicked. "Wait! What's her name?"

"Brian, you know I can't tell you her name. She's a professional, and she's playing a role."

"I know," said Brian. "But she's supposed to be my girlfriend. What do I call her?"

Dr. Swell turned around and gave Brian a reassuring smile. "You can call her... Allison."

"Allison. Allison. I like that," muttered Brian as he stepped toward the mock "apartment door" where the session was to begin. Brian looked around to say one more thing to Dr. Swell. She had vanished. He knocked on the door.

The door opened to reveal a vision so lovely, and so dripping with pure unadulterated sex, that Brian had a hard time taking it all in at once. The sexual surrogate--"Allison" was dressed in ridiculously high heels that turned and bent her gorgeous legs, womanly hips, and jutting curvy ass into an unnatural but arousing '50s pinup girl pose without even trying. She wore denim shorts that seemed to be at least one size too small, so tightly did they fit. Her face had a playful and pixie-like quality, but her eyes showed a smoky sexuality that openly argued with the innocence of that smile. The lush hair framing that desirable face was auburn-- Brian's favorite color.

But no matter how hard Brian tried to look her in the eye, his own eyes involuntarily kept returning to that delicious vision a little further south. Her bust, her bosom... her tits, for Christ sake! Brian had never seen anything like them. The girl wore a tight white cotton number that clung to her like a second skin, tucked in at the waist to empasize the vast difference between those two measurements, and cut low in the front to properly adertise the merchandise. My god, they looked like the tits of a 300 pound woman. But not fat and shapeless. These were full, sleek, and yet bouyant and bouncy. The way they overflowed at the cleavage showed Brian that no matter the size of the garment, it was a struggle for both of these tits to occupy the same space. And the nipples. Even though it was clear this girl was wearing an industrial strength bra, those two pointer sisters were doing their best to announce their presence through all that fabric and engineering. Not only were they announcing their presence-- they were pointing at Brian, seeming to say, "Him. Yes, he's the one." 

Her low, throaty chuckle showed she appreciated all this appreciation. She helpfully did a full turn, like a runway model. Through her tight blouse, Brian got to see that there were at least eight hooks on the back of that boulder holder... bras don't need eight hooks unless they've got a lot of work to do.

Remembering his training, Brian stepped forward and pawed the girl's breasts. Allison responded with a sharp intake of breath. Brian lifted, gauging their heft. He was impressed. So impressed that he lowered his mouth onto the visible cleavage. It wasn't a kiss, a lick, or even a suck... this was a slobber.

"Ooooh, baby, it's good to see you, too!" Allison finally said.

"Hello, Allison," said Brian, coming up for air. Brian tightened his grip on the undersides of her breasts and spun her around in the doorway. "Come on in," he laughed, leading her inside the apartment by her considerable casabas.

Allison shut the door behind her. She reached to untuck her blouse and pull it over her head. "Here, let me get all this out of the way--" she began.

"Don't -- you -- dare," warned Brian, lowering her bulk onto a nearby couch. Brian stripped, holding up a hand to show her that he meant for her to remain clothed. "I've always wanted to this," he smiled.

Allison looked up at his member with anticipation. "Watch carefully," said Brian, as he held its bloated head in his hands, and proceeded to poke and probe until his maleness had worked its way between her two big boobies... with her blouse and bra still on!

"Push those busters together to keep me warm and safe," he said, and Allison quickly obeyed. "Oh, my god," said the girl, completely turned on by the idea of him depositing a load between her boobs and into her bra.

"I want them to squeeze it out of you...I want these titties to take care of you and your big friend... I want you to make your deposit...in the bank of my boobies!" she sang out in ecstasy.

Brian felt his overfilled balls empty out. A little early, but that was understandable. Allison was still looking up at him lovingly, pushing and pulling her breasts about as though using them as a mixmaster on the potion he'd just placed in her enormous bra cups.

"Now you can take off that shirt and bra. The shorts and panties, too," Brian grinned.

"What panties?" smiled Allison in mock innocence. "Oh, baby, you bet," she said, springing into action. Brian smiled at the way her boobilicious bra busters jumped and danced at nothing more than the action of her tearing off her clothes. She endearingly placed the bra on the floor so as not to lose any of Brian's still-fresh juices. With the cups turned up like that, it looked like two chef's salad bowls sitting there.

Brian stepped down onto the ottoman and sat. "Let me play with them," he said. Allison eagerly moved herself in front of Brian. "No, no," he admonished. "Behind."

She grinned devilishly as she carried out his instructions. Standing behind the sitting tit-man, she seperated her knockout knockers by hand and pushed the back of his head into the resulting space. When she dropped her hands, Brian's head was warmly and lovingly surrounded by Allison's lovely tits.

"That's it," he said, his voice strangely distant. He reached forward, groping for her nipples. When he found them, he played... gripping, releasing, toying, even twisting. Allison let loose with what sounded for all the world like purring.

This is what Brian had dreamed of his entire life. Reaching forward to play with the nipples of a beautiful woman who was standing BEHIND him. After several minutes, he pulled himself free. There was an audible 'pop'.

"Now I want those lovely things to caress my cock between them all night long. But I want your tongue licking my balls, too. Lie down on the couch!"     "Okay, baby! Here-- watch how they stand up a little and flop and slope a little when I lie down. Those little girls' little tits can't do that!" Allison almost squealed.

"No, they can't," Brian agreed. He knelt over her beautiful face. His balls dangled on her lips while he waved the length of his cock toward her cleavage.

Slurping both balls into her mouth, Allison grabbed her tits with both hands and used them to clamp around the head of Brian's cock. The resulting friction was so arousing to both parties that Brian hunched his head forward to kiss the lips of Allison's private parts.

At that moment, a blinding light was turned on. Dr. Evelyn Swell's voice was heard over a public address system.  "The session is over for the evening! Please return to the room."

Brian and his lovely auburn-haired partner both beat a hasty retreat, barely looking at each other.

When he finally, made it back to the doctor's den, holding his clothes in his hands, he was met by Dr. Swell. There was both pride and disapproval in her expression.

"Not too bad for a first session, Brian. You know what you did wrong, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes. I shouldn't have tried to lick her... her... you know," Brian mumbled.

"Cunt. It's called a cunt. And yes. You're right. Maybe on the fifth date, but here and now, it must be tits, tits, tits. Will you be able to start again tomorrow evening at 6:30?"

"Yes!" Brian spoke up, pleased he'd be getting another chance. "I want to try the standing tit-fuck in the shower! I want to probe her hard nipples with the head of my cock! I'll try..."

"That's the spirit! Make your plans! See you then," said Dr. Swell, hurrying out.

Allison was furiously pulling at her nipples, having made no attempt to get dressed again when the doctor came into her examining room.

"He's wonderful!" exclaimed the beautiful patient. "Where did you find him? He behaves JUST like a tit-man! And he stayed in character as "Brian", too! He's a gem."

"I know," said Dr. Swell. "You know what needs to be corrected don't you?"

"Shouldn't have let him suck my cunt. Sure. I'll get it next time," Allison said, hefting the weight of her boobs herself.

"Would you mind working with this one again tomorrow? At 6:30?" the doctor asked.

"Mind? Look at these nipples and tell me if you think I'd MIND," challenged Allison, shoving them in the doctor's face.

"God, I could hand my lab coat on those," wondered Dr. Evelyn out loud. "All right. See you then. Here-- don't forget your bra."

"Oooh! Right! Any more still in there?" Alison wanted to know. She reached into one cup, her entire forearm dissappearing from view. When her hand reappeared, four fingers were glistening with creamy and gooey essence of Brian. Allison swirled it around her left nipple.

"Just let yourself out when you're done, Allison. Well done. See you at 6:30," said Dr. Swell, walking down the corridor that went from one lobby to the other.

She wondered if maybe she should take out a THIRD ad in the daily paper. "DR. EVELYN SWELL... UNCONVENTIONAL MATCHMAKER." Enticing as the idea was, she decided against it. There must be a Society of Professional Matchmakers out there, she thought. That's all I'd need...someone else mad at me.



Supply and Demand Pt. 01



Jennifer Carrington ran a nervous hand through her blonde hair, trying not to ruin the simple ponytail in which she had it pulled back. She looked up again at the building in front of her, the light of the sun reflecting off its gleaming glass and steel exterior, her eyes narrowing in the glare even with the protective shade of her hand. The tower looked to her as if it was forcing its way through the crowd of neighbouring office blocks, pushing them aside, announcing itself as a home of corporate success. It radiated confidence and arrogance almost as much as it reflected the heat of the summer sun. 

The same sun that was causing a small trickle of sweat to run down Jennifer's back, even in the simple cotton dress she wore. Terrific, she thought, just what I need, to look completely frazzled. She still wasn't sure that being here was a good idea. But if she was going to do this she wanted to look decent. It wasn't going to be easy and she didn't want to give Danton any clues about how nervous she felt. He had enough legitimate businesses to justify offices in the corporate monument in front of her. Jennifer wondered if its owners knew about his less savoury enterprises. Probably she thought, even though they and Danton would deny it. The man hid behind his public companies. Jennifer knew it was sham, but her group hadn't been able to prove anything, not yet. After today that might all change. 

To say that she was surprised when the invitation to a meeting came was putting it mildly. As the convenor of WFP - Women Fighting Prostitution - she hardly expected the owner of the largest number of brothels in the state to be asking her to a meeting. The only time she'd ever seen Eugene Danton was over a protest line at some of his more legitimate businesses. WFP picketed outside the brothels as well, but she'd never seen Danton there. "As if he'd sully himself like that," Jennifer muttered to herself. 

But here she was, for a one-on-one meeting with the enemy himself. It was supposed to be just the two of them. Jennifer had wanted to bring someone, maybe a lawyer, but Danton had insisted that the meeting be on his terms. She'd thought about turning him down. Betty and Sally, her deputies, had both told her that they thought she shouldn't go. Betty, 25 years older than Jennifer's 22, had been especially insistent. But Jennifer had over-ruled her. Jennifer might be younger, but she was the leader. Betty had held the position, but happily stood aside for the younger woman's drive and enthusiasm, her ability to inspire others. Danton's invitation had said he wanted to negotiate. Jennifer wasn't going to give an inch, but she hoped that she might be able to glean some useful information from whatever Danton had to say. And if there was a possibility that he actually intended giving in, then she had to take it. 

Nervously she checked her purse, the third time she'd done that while standing outside the building, reassuring herself that her mobile phone was there. Danton had to say something incriminating in the meeting. Given what he had asked to discuss he could hardly do anything but. Jennifer was going use her mobile phone to record the meeting. Well, at least try to, she suspected that Danton might realise the possibility and take steps to prevent it. She had to at least try, damning him with his own words would be poetic justice as far Jennifer was concerned. 

Even if all that came out of this meeting was some opening, some opportunity, to advance their cause, now was the time to seize that chance. Jennifer had just graduated from university. She had a little time to decide between the jobs offers she'd received. But she couldn't wait for ever. There were two offers already on the table based on her internships and more interviews lined up. She needed to start getting the work experience that entry to an MBA required, she was already in contact with good business schools. Sure, she wasn't going to abandon the WFP cause. Jennifer genuinely believed in it. But in a little while she wouldn't have as much time on her hands as she did now, probably would have to pass the leadership back to Betty. So if today presented a chance to make some real gains, well, she wasn't about to pass that up. 

Shaking her head Jennifer decided that she had better enter the building before she ended up a stinking, sweaty, mess. Inside the cool air was almost freezing, she couldn't begin to imagine how much it cost to keep the cavernous foyer cool. The sweat was now cold against her body, tiny goosebumps spreading over her flesh. Her one-inch heels made an echoing, tapping, sound as she crossed the tiled floor heading for the elevators. The muzak in the lift was typical generic rubbish, obviously the soundtrack hadn't had as much money lavished on it as the rest of the building. It might have been meant to soothe the passengers, but all it did was irritate Jennifer. It didn't matter what Danton had to say. Jennifer wasn't going to be letting up on her, or her group's, opposition to what she saw as a blight on the community. 

The lift deposited her in a sleek, soulless, corridor. The walls were faintly reflective, the light diffused by their grey sheen. Together with the carpet that deadened her footfalls Jennifer felt that she had entered a shadow of the world outside. She hurried in the direction that the signs said led to Danton's office. Reaching it, she knocked, then cautiously opened the door when there was no answer. Peering inside she saw that the room held a desk. One where there should have been a receptionist, or an administrative assistant, but was currently unoccupied. It looked like Danton was keeping his word about the meeting being just for the two of them. Jennifer looked further on and through an interior door could see Danton himself, thumb dancing over the screen of a mobile phone as he sat at another desk, the quality of its expensive wood finish obvious even from where Jennifer stood. Perhaps that was the intention. She couldn't see anyone else as Danton looked up from the device. 

"Good afternoon Miss Carrington," Danton called to her, his voice a dark rumbling bass. "I'm glad that you could make it." Entering Danton's office Jennifer grudgingly admitted to herself that it was well-appointed, the sleek, modern aspects of its furnishing, the glass and metal shelves and a low slung table, a surprisingly good match for the polished wooden desk and leather chairs. It didn't impress her though, she knew where some of the money that had paid for it came from. 

As Jennifer hesitated just inside in the doorway Danton added, "Shut the door if you please, we both want to keep this private don't we?" Jennifer hesitated a moment. Did she want to be alone in a room with this man? Angrily she gave her head a slight shake. She had nothing to be afraid of. Her friends and colleagues knew where she was. And what could he do anyway? 

Turning from shutting the door Jennifer saw that Danton had risen from his seat. He was walking towards her, hand outstretched. She had to admit that he was well dressed, his suit designer-made, maybe Hugo Boss. He wore it well, the clothes defining has tall, fit, frame and broad shoulders. The colours matched his dark, greying, hair and Mediterranean complexion. But then Jennifer reminded herself what businesses he used to support his image. She kept her hands to herself, one by her side, the other holding the purse strap where it was slung over her shoulder. 

Danton hesitated for a moment then shrugged. "Please, take a seat." He indicated the low, comfortable chairs in the middle of the office. The upholstery was white, probably leather, although just maybe it was fake, Jennifer thought derisively, before grudgingly admitting to herself that it looked expensive either way and Danton was unlikely to settle for second best. 

Jennifer took the opportunity to step away from Danton and examine the office. She hoped that it might give her some understanding of its owner, perhaps some advantage in dealing with him. The furnishings themselves were expensive, understated. She could see a drinks cabinet, its wood finish matching that of the desk, perhaps Danton had a weakness for alcohol, or maybe he tried to ply his guests with drinks, dull their wits. The walls of the office held nothing but some generic corporate artwork, none of the awards or prizes or qualifications another successful man might display. But then, Jennifer thought, Danton was scarcely the sort to qualify for an award. Even the shelves of the room were sparsely occupied, just the odd, expensive looking, ornament. Danton obviously wasn't much for display or baggage, but what he did have was obviously valuable. She could detect more than a hint of pride, hubris even, in the lavishly stark office. 

One thing she did notice was the lack of formal chairs beside the one behind the desk. There were the expensive lounge chairs on either side of the low table, but that was it. Jennifer chose the chair furthest from where Danton stood, her back now to his desk, hoping that he wouldn't sit too close to her. Instead of sitting he asked "Would you like something to drink?" Jennifer smiled, her supposition about Danton using alcohol to his advantage at least possibly correct. 

"No thank you." Danton probably wasn't stupid enough to try anything, but Jennifer didn't want to give him the chance. The man owned brothels, so slipping something into her drink to get her to agree to things she shouldn't was probably well within his capabilities. She needed to keep her wits about her, not fuddle them with alcohol. 

"Suit yourself," Danton replied as he poured himself a drink. Jennifer could tell that it was alcoholic. Was it expensive? She suspected that it was. Taking advantage of Danton's turned back, Jennifer reached into her purse, lying on the low table where she'd put it as she sat down, and nervously started the recording app on her phone. She yanked her hand out of her purse as Danton turned back to face her. 

To Jennifer's relief Danton seemed unperturbed as he took a seat opposite her, across the low table. Above him, sharing the wall with the door through which she had entered his inner office, was a large mirror. In the chair Danton sat low enough that Jennifer had a clear view of the mirror's surface, although she had to raise her head, look up, to see it properly. Jennifer could see herself and the back of Danton's head in the reflection. But the man himself was out of her direct view if she looked at the mirror. He was there, at the bottom of her vision, but she couldn't focus on him. Maybe that was the point. Look at the mirror or look at the person opposite. Danton probably usually sat in the chair she was in if not his desk and didn't want to be distracted by the mirror when he spoke to someone. But why have it at all then? 

"You're probably wondering why I brought you all here today," Danton smiled. "Sorry, couldn't resist the joke. But you're not laughing. Pity." He tilted his head and looked at Jennifer, his eyes dark under greying hair. 

"So, serious then." Danton sighed, and sat back in his chair, nursing his glass, "First of all I want to say I admire your dedication." 

"W-what?" Jennifer let slip before she could stop herself. She hadn't expected compliments. Whatever Danton's intent they only made her more suspicious. 

"Oh yes. You put a lot of effort into your cause. All in your own time, no recompense. Admirable dedication, if misguided." A slight smile curved his lips, like a parent with an over-eager child. 

Jennifer made herself take a long breath before replying. She could so easily have snapped back but instead she forced herself to stay calm. She didn't need the condescension of this poor excuse for a human being. "I don't think it's misguided. Your, ..., establishments are a blight on the community, even if the police ignore them. It's well worth it for us to be rid of them." With some difficulty she kept her tone even, struggling to restrain the anger she felt at Danton's 'businesses'. 

"Ah, but that's just it isn't it?" His right hand still held his glass, but the ring finger pointed in Jennifer's direction. "You haven't made me close down a single one. As I said, admirable dedication, but not terribly productive." He took another sip from his glass then smiled at her over the top of it. 

Jennifer shot Danton a glare. "We knew this wasn't going to be easy, that it would take time. We'll get you in the end." 

She could see the light of humour twinkling in Danton's eyes "Really? Will you? And if you do, what then? I'm not the only one in this business you know. You're entitled to your opinions but..." 

Jennifer took the chance offered by the slight pause. "Oh, how gracious of you," she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. Danton's patronising manner was beginning to infuriate her. Firmly she reminded herself to stay calm. She smoothed her dress over her thighs. She didn't want to hand him any advantage. 

Danton blinked, seemingly genuinely surprised by her rancour. "As you wish. But if you are going to be successful in opposing my business I think you need to understand it a little better." 

Jennifer allowed more of her anger to seep into her voice. "Oh, I understand it well enough. You degrade women, cater to men's basest instincts. I know all I need to know about your business." 

Danton leant back, a frown creasing his features. He gave his head a slight shake. "But do you really understand what it means that it is a business?" 

Jennifer frowned in return. She couldn't understand what the man was on about "I'm sorry, what?" 

Danton gave a half smile and placed his glass on the table that separated them. "No, I should apologise. I've let this conversation grow too heated." Jennifer tried to interrupt but Danton held up a hand. "No, please, let me explain. I do admire your dedication and tenacity. And it is a free country. So if you are going to follow the course that you think is right then I should at least help you do it without any misconceptions. You see, prostitution," Jennifer shivered at the word, "is, whatever else you may think of it, a business." 

Jennifer felt her frown deepening. She couldn't work out what Danton was trying to get out of all this. Why would he be offering to help her? Something told her that she needed to be careful. "So?" she asked, caution tinging her voice. 

"So," Danton echoed, his hands spread towards her, palms up, "like any business it works on the rules of supply and demand. What you're trying to do is cut the supply. But every time someone tries that, be it alcohol with prohibition, or the more recent war on drugs, it doesn't work. Shut down one avenue of supply and another will take up the slack. As long as the demand persists, that is." 

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. She wasn't about to let some business for eight year olds speech fool her. "So? Even if it doesn't work it puts the prices up. And we have a moral obligation to oppose your dirty trade," she sniffed. 

Danton shook his head, "You have to be very careful when you mix morals and business." 

"I'll leave that to you and your tax accountant," Jennifer shot back. 

"Now you're talking ethics." The hint of condescension in Danton's voice grated across Jennifer's nerves. "But we're not here to argue semantics. Or at least I hope we're not." 

"Well, you'll have to tell me." Jennifer glared at him, her voice tight, "you asked for this meeting." 

"All right then," Danton smiled, "As I said, you shut down one avenue of supply another will spring up. You'd be better looking at the demand." 

That didn't make any sense to Jennifer. Yes, she knew about the basics of an economy. She was educated. But even if she accepted what Danton was saying, how did that help? Sure, she knew that there was demand for prostitutes. But that was never going away. 

"Some men will always want that," she said out loud. 

Danton appeared to have followed her reasoning. "Yes, but is the demand for prostitutes or just for sex?" 

Jennifer shivered at his coarseness, then stopped herself. She wasn't going to let herself be defeated by Danton's language, even if she would never be so vulgar. "Well," she started, then paused. She wanted to get this right, "Most men are too sensible to go anywhere near your dirty trade." 

Danton leant back in his chair. He stared into his glass, a thoughtful look on his face. "And the ones that do? Why do they need the services my girls offer?" 

Jennifer frowned at the demeaning reference to the women that worked for him. Adding to her disappointment was Danton's lack of reaction to her description of his business. She'd been hoping to unbalance him. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was all too easy. She knew the sort of men that used Danton's 'services'. "Single, I suppose. Not able to manage a relationship. Or cheating on their wives or girlfriends. Not valuing what they've got." 

Danton made an amused sound. "Let's leave aside the gratuitous insults of my clients. And just say they come to my establishments for what they can't get elsewhere." 

"Well, I suppose." Jennifer begrudged having to agree with Danton, but she had to admit that he was correct. She looked up at her image in the mirror behind him. Was there a faint sparkle there? She hadn't noticed it before, where was it coming from? 

"Really? Come on Miss Carrington, I thought you were an intelligent woman." Jennifer squirmed. She should say something. She shouldn't let Danton insult her like that. Why didn't she say something? 

"If someone can get something for free then why would they pay for it? Do you agree?" 

Danton hadn't moved from his seat across from her, but Jennifer could feel his physical presence. It made her feel small, and not just because of the difference in their physical sizes. She looked up into the mirror again, hoping to relieve the pressure that she felt. Her image seemed to flicker, the sparkle still present. 

She swallowed, "Yes." She had to agree. Why pay for something if you can get it for free? 

"So," Danton continued, not letting her add anything else, "if the men who come to my, 'establishments'," his smile was predatory now. Jennifer didn't know when she had stopped looking at her image and her eyes had returned to Danton, "could get sex for free, then they wouldn't need my girls and I'd be out of business." 

Jennifer relaxed. She liked that thought. Danton out of business. That was her aim, the aim of WFP. Well, Danton and all the others like him. But Danton would be a good start. 

"I can see you agree with me." Why was she letting him do all the talking? Jennifer couldn't understand that. Uneasy, she shifted in the chair, feeling the leather where it touched her bare legs. Still, she agreed with what he was saying, so why bother adding anything? 

"I fill a need. It makes sense that it could be filled in other ways." Jennifer simply nodded. She stole a glance at her image in the mirror. It was nodding as well. 

"But how do you find the people with that need? What, do you think, Jennifer?" Danton paused, leant back. 

Jennifer swallowed. Obviously he wanted her to say something. He wanted an answer from her. But what answer could she give? How do you find the men who wanted the services of a brothel, of prostitutes? 

"I, well, ..." She trailed off, hopelessly. She didn't have any answer. She felt small again. She knew that there must be an answer. She looked at her reflection, her eyes not leaving it this time. The sparkle was still there, she couldn't work out exactly where, or what was causing it, but it was there. Her image gave her no help finding the answer she wanted to give Danton. 

"Really, Jennifer? I'd have thought the answer obvious." Feelings of insignificance were creeping through Jennifer. If the answer was obvious then she should have known it. "They might be anyone. Sons, brothers, husbands, workers, businessmen, anyone. The only place you will know who they are is in a brothel, or cruising past the streetwalkers." 




Supply and Demand Pt. 01



Jennifer nodded. That made sense. It wasn't like the men wore a badge. There wasn't anything distinctive about them. But if a man came to a brothel, then it was clear what he wanted. 

"At the point of sale you might say." Danton chuckled. The sound cut through her and she dragged her gaze away from the image in the mirror. 

"But," Jennifer struggled. It felt like surfacing from dark, cold, water as her thoughts broke free of whatever sluggishness had gripped them. "What about men who get prostitutes to visit them? Or women who work from home? Or if they meet up in a hotel?" Jennifer might have hated the business, but she'd made sure that she knew enough. 

Danton smiled. Jennifer felt pleased that she'd earnt his approval. Then wondered why his opinion mattered. The thought blew away with his words. "That's true, very good. But let's not get too ambitious. Brothels will account for a large percentage, don't you agree?" 

Jennifer was nodding again. It felt good to agree. To agree with Danton. And why not?, when he was only telling the truth. She snuck another glance at her reflection. It seemed to agree too. 

"Right. So we know where those men can be found. Hmm? You can say yes Jennifer." 

"Yes." Saying yes was easy. 

"And," Danton paused before continuing, leaning back in his chair. Jennifer wasn't watching him. She was watching her reflection. It seemed almost as large as her, suspended in the mirror. How big was that sheet of glass? Where were the lights dancing around her image coming from? How hard had it been to hoist the sheet of glass up there, fix it in place? How many workers had it taken? Jennifer's thoughts trailed off into inconsequentialities. She looked into the eyes of her reflection. Its eyes were wide. Were her eyes that wide? They must be, she supposed. It was only her reflection, after all. 

"And we know what would stop them using a prostitute, don't we Jennifer?" Had Danton waited for her while her thoughts meandered? Had her daydreaming about the mirror taken so little time? Jennifer wasn't sure. It didn't matter, because he wanted an answer. 

"Yes." She knew that was right answer. It was so easy to agree with Danton. Her image looked pleased with her. Or was it just reflecting her own happiness at being able to give the answer? 

"And what would it take to stop them, Jennifer?," Danton coaxed. 

"If, if they could g-get, umm have s-sex with, with someone else." Jennifer was embarrassed. She didn't like talking that bluntly. It made her sound crude and she didn't like it. But she knew that she had to answer. She could see the movements of her image's mouth as she spoke. 

"That's right, Jennifer, you are very clever." Danton sounded pleased with her. That made her feel good. Then she wondered again why she should care what Danton thought. She saw creases form on the brow of her image. She didn't like that. With an effort Jennifer relaxed and was rewarded with the creases disappearing. If anything, the sparkle around her reflection seemed brighter. That was good too. 

"If a woman was there who would have sex with them without them having to pay, they wouldn't need the prostitutes, would they?" 

Jennifer shook her head. She could see the ponytail of her image whipping from side to side. She liked that. Her answer made sense. Of course if a man found a woman who would have sex with him without paying, then why would he need a prostitute? 

"Of course," and there was a tinge of regret in Danton's voice, whether real or faked Jennifer couldn't tell, "it's not that simple." 

That wasn't fair. It should be simple. "Isn't it?," she asked, not able to hide her distress. 

"I'm afraid not. Most prostitutes are at least reasonably attractive, and they're definitely willing. So what would the other woman need to be?" 

Danton waited. Jennifer thought for a moment. Her image seemed to be urging her to answer, "Umm, pretty and willing as well?" Her image smiled. Of course it was, Jennifer was happy, so she was smiling. She'd been able to answer. 

"Very good, Jennifer, very good. It makes sense, if you think about it. If prostitution is supplying a demand, then any alternate supply will need to provide as good a product, don't you agree?" 

Jennifer nodded. 

"Now," Jennifer could hear Danton draw breath, "a woman who was willing to be in a brothel, to offer sex to the men there, without getting paid by them. All, I hasten to add, in the interests of removing the demand for the prostitutes. Well, she'd have to be a very brave and determined woman, wouldn't she?" 

"Yes," Jennifer was nodding. She knew that it was the right answer. Her image told her so. 

"Do you know anyone like that, Jennifer? Pretty, determined, brave, willing?" Danton's voice was calm, but Jennifer could hear the emphasis on the last word. 

"Um, well." Jennifer wasn't sure. Her image gave her no help, simply looking at her, wide-eyed. She squirmed in the seat, heard the soft rustle as her skin moved over the leather. 

"Oh come now. Don't be so shy," Danton chided. Jennifer could see the back of his head in the mirror, even though her attention was fixed on her reflection. She saw him tilt his head to one side. "Doesn't that describe you? Pretty, determined, brave, willing to do anything for your cause?" 

"I," Jennifer hesitated, panicked. But her image just sat there. She couldn't see any sign of panic on its face. She relaxed, felt a wave of calm wash over her as lights sparkled around her image. She was brave and determined, she had to admit. And, well, yes, she had often been called pretty. And she was devoted to her cause. But this? Was Danton right? Was this the way to succeed? To cut-off the whole horrible business by drying up its demand? 

"You could be an alternate source of supply. Are you willing to do that? To win in business you have to be willing to do whatever it takes. Are you ready for that?" 

"But," Jennifer's thoughts whirled, she felt lost, small, "I'd, I'd have to, to, with, with.' Her voice fluttered away. 

"Have sex with men. With men you don't know? Offer yourself when they came looking for prostitutes? Yes Jennifer, yes you would. It would take someone very special and very brave to do that. I think you could do it, what do you think?" 

Jennifer swallowed. She saw the slight movement of her throat echoed in her image. Could she do that? Give her body over to those men? Just have, have, sex, with them. Casual, meaningless sex. She'd never done that before. She was no virgin, but sex for her had always been something special. This would degrade it, degrade her. She looked at her reflection. Jennifer could tell her reflection wanted her to say yes, was urging her to say yes. The lights danced and flickered around the girl in the mirror. 

"Yes," she said, determined, "I can do that." 

Her eyes slipped down from her reflection. How long had she been looking at it? She could see Danton smile. 

"I'm impressed Jennifer. I wasn't sure you had it in you. Not many women would. You realise, of course, that one woman won't make that much difference." 

"I know," Jennifer said, "but it has to start somewhere, and if this is what it takes." She'd do whatever it took to support her cause. She was determined. Danton had said so. 

"I admire you, I really do. And just to prove what a good sport I am, here's what I'll do. I'll pay you a retainer. That way you'll be able to spend as much time on-site as possible. You don't want to let any chance go by, do you?" Jennifer shook her head. Danton was right. She'd need to be there as much as possible, be as available as possible, to cut the demand for the prostitutes. 

"And if, after three months, you are making a dent in my business, I'll shut the place down." 

Jennifer only just managed to stop herself crying out in delight. This was it. This was the way to beat Danton. And the fool was going to pay for it himself. She knew it wouldn't be an easy three months. She'd have to delay starting her career. But it would be worth it. She knew that she was taking a risk and that the other women in WFP wouldn't understand. The idea of having sex with all those men made her shiver. And if word got out, about her having casual sex with any man she could divert from the prostitutes, well, she knew it wouldn't do her reputation any good. But she could do this. It was in a good cause. They'd win. 

"Ok," she said, "ok, three months. I'll give it three months." She could do it, she told herself. 

"You'll be there with the prostitutes, but you won't be one of them. No need to get them offside though is there?" Jennifer nodded. Her argument wasn't with the women. She felt sorry for them. It was Danton she hated. And getting the prostitutes offside would make it harder for Jennifer to divert the men, as the other women would try to stop her. "I'll tell them to leave you alone. And no need to mention money to the men. It would just upset the other girls. I'll make sure the men know what the deal is." Jennifer was nodding again. It all made sense to her. All she had to do was attract the men, make them choose her over the prostitutes. They'd know she wasn't charging. 

"Well," Danton leant back in his chair, "when do you want to start? How about this afternoon?" 

Jennifer froze in the chair. It was one thing to consider Danton's proposition. Even agree to it. That was only talk, intellectual. But his last statement made it real. She could be having sex, with men she didn't know, this afternoon, in a couple of hours. Could she really do this? 

She looked back up at her reflection. It was silent, solemn. But Jennifer could sense that it was urging her on. This was the right thing to do. I can do this, she told herself, as she watched the lights dance and flicker around her image. 

"Ok, yes, why not." There, it was said. She was committed. No going back now. 

"Good," said Danton, "Oh, and if you were recording this meeting I'd erase it if I were you. I doubt you want our agreement public just yet." 

Jennifer swallowed nervously, feeling the colour drain from her face. She couldn't play the recording to anyone, couldn't think how'd she explain it to Betty and Sally. Maybe she'd eventually be able to explain her decision to them, when she'd beaten Danton, but not now, not yet. Hastily she reached into her purse, stopping the recording then deleting it. She'd just have to tell her friends that the recording hadn't worked. With a relieved sigh Jennifer sank back into her padded lounge, her secret safe. 

Danton rose from his side of the table, headed to his desk. "I'll call someone to take you one of my 'establishments'. You should come back here in a few days, let me know how you're getting on, I'm sure we'd find more to talk about." 

Jennifer looked up at her reflection. She was happy. She was going to achieve what she'd set out to do. She could see that her reflection was happy, too. 

Continued in Part 2



Supply and Demand Pt. 02



Six months later... 

Jenny strolled down the grey gleaming corridor leading to Danton's office. She couldn't do much else in the four inch heels that she now routinely wore. She could feel how they made her arse sway, as she put one foot in front of the other. She knew, now, how to walk in real heels. But she was impatient. She wanted to get to the meeting with Danton. She was sure that today he'd have to admit defeat. She'd hoped the same three months ago. But they'd gone over the records together and she'd had to agree that she'd made no noticeable difference at all to his business. If anything, Danton's take was better than when she'd started. Jenny was sure that he wasn't lying. She knew enough accounting, together with her observations from the brothel, to know that she hadn't won. It was frustrating. But he'd been generous about it, and said she could have another three months. He even suggested that she bring in a partner to help, offered to pay them both an allowance. 

It was a good idea and Jenny had happily agreed. Her friend Sally had been eager to help. At least, Sally was eager after Jenny had taken her friend to see Danton and left them to have a private chat. And in return for another three months all Jennifer had had to do was agree to keep visiting Danton for regular talks. Apparently Sally did too, but that wasn't any of Jenny's business. Jenny had hesitated at first. To take another three months meant delaying the start of her career again, and keeping on having sex with all those men. She'd lost count of how many. But she was determined to beat Danton, and somehow the idea of all that sex hadn't seemed as bad as it had at the start. A little part of her admitted it was fun, that she liked the sex. She tried not to acknowledge that part of her mind, or how her arousal would spark whenever she as much thought about what she was doing with the men, how she was always wet and ready for them. The thoughts simmered just below the level of her consciousness, secrets she wouldn't admit, even to herself. They didn't matter. It was all about defeating Danton. So she'd agreed to another three months. She was going to win. 

Danton was already seated in the chair under the mirror when she entered the room. He smiled, indicating the seat for her to sit in. Jenny knew. It was the one in which she always sat. She removed the coat she wore against the winter cold and took the offered seat. She glanced up at her reflection and smiled. It smiled back, lights sparkling around it as they always did. 

Danton looked at the woman across from him. He wondered if anyone who saw her today would recognise her as the same determined young campaigner who had come to see him six months ago. Oh, the determination was still there, just a little, re-directed. But the simple pony tail was gone. Jenny's blonde hair was longer now, not tied back, bleached a lighter shade, teased out and falling in waves. Her make-up was much heavier. She no longer wore simple dresses. Today her skirt, pink, was so obscenely short that it was little better than a belt. Even before she sat down it did nothing to hide the tops of her stockings and the ends of the garters that held them up. Her top was hardly more than straps over her shoulders and a narrow strip of cloth around her breasts, just barely covering her nipples, the tops and bottoms of her breasts clearly exposed. It hadn't taken many conversations to convince Jenny that she needed to display her wares to good effect if she was to direct any custom her way. It was just as well that she'd worn a thick coat, Danton mused, warm, even if it was pink and reached no lower than her skirt. That is, just grazing the bottom of her crotch. Her clothes offered no protection against the cold. Or anything else. 

"Hello Jenny," he began. Danton knew that she thought of herself as Jenny now, not Jennifer. Another conversation had been devoted to customer relations. How taking a more relaxed attitude would help. And how she needed to really take that attitude to heart. After that she had never referred to or thought of herself as Jennifer again. 

"Hello," she replied, brightly. Jenny always tried to keep a smile on her face, the product of another conversation, that one devoted to how a happy attitude rubbed off on a customer. 

"OK, to business. I'm sorry," Danton continued without a break, "even with Sally's help, you haven't made any difference." Danton smiled, remembering how he convinced Jenny to bring her friend Sally along to see him, after her first three months of 'effort' had failed. All it had taken was a short discussion about how having partners in a business often helped. Sally was a cute little thing, barely five foot two, with short dark hair that framed an angelic face. It had only taken a couple of private discussions with her before Sally had broken easily. The innocent ones usually do, Danton reflected. He'd been pleased to discover that Sally was a virgin before being convinced to join Jenny's efforts. Now she was a no-pay, no-play kind of girl. Danton doubted that Sally would ever have sex that didn't involve her getting paid. He'd managed more with the cute brunette in three months then he had with Jenny in six. Sally knew exactly what she was now, was just playing along with Jenny, had been for weeks. Danton intended to rectify Jenny's misconceptions today. 

"Shit," the exclamation by Jenny accompanied by her smile slipping before quickly reappearing, "I really thought we'd get you this time." Convincing her to adopt a more relaxed attitude to swearing, so that the men she dealt with weren't put off by her mode of speech, had taken a few meetings. Another couple to make her willing to give them the verbal encouragement they expected. All up, more meetings than it took to have Jenny changing her clothing style, Danton mused. But all achievable, as would more be today. Danton could see that Jenny's eyes were already held by her reflection, above and behind him. Good, he thought. And this time Jenny had accepted his word about her failure in their competition without asking to see proof. 

"I think we may need a little reconsideration to see where we are." 

"Umm, ok," Danton could see the distant look in Jenny's eyes. 

"Now, you're trying to drive me out of business, aren't you?" From Danton's tone he may have been discussing something of little importance, polite questions, would a guest prefer scotch or bourbon, ice or straight, but his eyes were fixed on the pretty blonde. 

"Yes." Jenny's eyes were wide. Danton could see her smile and knew that she was thinking about winning their competition. She could hold that thought for now. Very soon she'd have no more use for it. 

"In fact, Jenny, we're competing. You might call us competitors." Danton allowed his smile to become predatory. He knew that the girl wouldn't see it, wouldn't know what to think about it if she did. 

"If you say so," Jenny's words were slightly slurred, as if she was in the middle of a dream. 

"Now, competitors might use different language and words. But if they're competing, then they have to be doing the same thing, or how can they be competitors?" 

"Umm, I, I don't know." Danton could see the frown form and disappear on Jenny's face. She never liked frowning for long these days. He suspected that the thought that had caused her unhappy expression had vanished with the frown. 

"And competitors, whatever terms they use to refer to their activities, have to be in the same business, don't they Jenny?" 

Jenny's eyes were wide, fixed on her reflection "Umm, I." 

Danton pressed the point, carefully watching the girl's eyes, fixed as they were on her reflection "So if we're competitors, Jenny, we must be in the same business." 

Her eyes didn't move, continuing to be locked on her reflection, but Danton could see something stirring in them. Some hint of the old Jennifer. "No, that's, that's not right, I'm not." 

"Don't be silly, Jenny," Danton chided. "We offer the same services, so we must be in the same business." It had taken more meetings than Danton had wanted to convince Jennifer that simply offering vanilla sex wasn't going to prise many customers away from the prostitutes. If she was going to compete with the whores who worked for him then she had to provide an attractive range of services. Slowly Jenny had been convinced to widen her offering, until it rivalled any of the girls working for him. Her range was now more than competitive. 

Jenny nodded, her eyes wide, fearful. 

"Stand up." Danton snapped. Jenny had no choice but to obey. She stood, suddenly unsteady on her heels where before she'd been confident. She wobbled, like a teenager trying on her first pair of heels before a school dance. All the time her eyes remained fixed on the image in the mirror. 

"What do you see, Jenny, don't think of it as a mirror, what do you see?" Danton's tone was more demanding now, the words sharper, coming quicker, he needed to keep the girl focussed on what he wanted. 

"A, a girl?" Jenny was swaying slightly. 

"And what's she wearing?" 

"A, a skirt?" 

Danton allowed himself a smile "That's right Jenny, a skirt so short that she flashes everyone as she walks by. And what about her tits, how much of them can you see?" 

He could see her shaking now. "Almost, almost all of them." 

"That's right, you can see almost all of her tits. Can you say that, Jenny?" Danton calmed his voice, allowing hints of reassurance to creep in, coaxing her like a child. 

"You can see almost all of her tits," the blonde replied, automatically. 

Danton paused, letting Jenny dwell on her reflection. Giving her time for the image seep into her mind. "And that girl, what does she spend her time doing?" 

Jenny's tone changed, sounding more like Jennifer, "She, she stops men." 

Danton cut her off, firmly, he wasn't going to allow any evasion on her part, "That might be her objective, what she actually does is have sex, isn't it Jenny?" 

"Yes." He could see a small tear run down Jenny's left cheek. 

"She gets fucked. A lot. Say that Jenny." 

"She, she gets fucked." Her voice was low, halting. 

"And I pay her, and all she does is get fucked. In business you get paid for what you do, not what you want. So she gets paid to be fucked." Danton knew that he could have left Jenny as she was before today. Letting her continue to believe that she was still trying to drive him out of business by offering everything his other whores did. But he wanted her to realise what she really was. His other girls didn't like it that Jenny got paid less than them. It made them worry about their incomes. He could have put them all in front of the mirror, but that wasn't worth the effort. There were limits and using the mirror had a price. So today was going to cost him a little money as Jenny's income improved, but he considered it money well spent. "So tell me what she does." 

"She, she gets paid to be fucked." Jenny's voice was only a whisper now. 

"And what do we call girls that get paid to be fucked?" 

"I, no." Danton could see more of Jennifer in Jenny's expression. Her resistance was feeble, and pointless, but it was there, he could see it in her eyes. It had to be there if he was to break it. 

"Come now Jenny, you know the answer. Don't be silly. What do we call girls that get paid to be fucked?" Danton's tone was insistent now, relentless. 

The girl in front of him quailed, "P-prostitutes?" 

"Good girl," Danton replied, not bothering to hide the condescension, "prostitutes, whores, hookers. That girl's a whore. Look at her Jenny. She looks like a whore, she acts like a whore, she gets fucked like a whore, paid like a whore. She's just a little fucking whore. Say it, Jenny." 

The girl shook her head, feebly, never taking her eyes off the image in the mirror. The image of a pretty, made-up, whore. 

"Say it," Danton snapped. Jenny bent a leg at the knee, one foot lifted off the floor. It made her look unsteady, in a cute sort of way. Danton watched as the foot slowly returned to the floor. He could see her mouth moving, but no words came out. 

"Say it," he barked, like a drill sergeant to a tardy recruit. 

"She, she, she's just a little fucking whore." He could see Jenny's breathing, deep and ragged, after she rushed to the end of the sentence. 

Danton relaxed, allowed some warmth back into his voice, "And who is it in the mirror, Jenny. Who is it who dresses like a whore? Acts like a whore? Gets fucked like a whore? Paid like a whore? Who is nothing but a little fucking whore?" 

"N, no." Danton could hear the choke in Jenny's voice. She was trying to shake her head, but she couldn't as much as she wanted to, not with her eyes glued to the image in the mirror. 

"You can say it Jenny." 

"No, please, don't make me, please." Jennifer pleaded with him. Definitely Jennifer now, not Jenny, a last, desperate attempt to break free. Danton could see more tears forming in her eyes. 

Danton wasn't intending to give her any relief. Jennifer the crusader, the would-be career woman, was done. She would only be Jenny the whore when she walked out of this room. 

"Say it, Jenny." His voice was patient now, like a parent coaxing a child, "Say it." Danton waited. He could afford to wait. 

Jennifer's mouth moved again, soundlessly. The tears were running down both her cheeks. And then, her shoulders sagging, Danton heard her say "Me." He saw Jennifer splinter and disappear in Jenny's eyes. 

"That's right Jenny, good girl. Tell me that you're a whore." 

"I, I'm a whore." He could see her shoulders straighten, just a little. 

"You're just a little fucking whore. Isn't that right Jenny?" 

Jenny's smile was back now. Her resistance was broken. "I'm just a little fucking whore." 

"You're just a whore. And I pay you, so you work for me." Danton allowed himself a smile in return. 

"Sure, I'm a whore, I work for you." 

"You're tits are for sale, your pussy's for sale." Danton knew that it wasn't necessary to keep going. The girl was broken. She'd happily whore for him now. But it was fun. Jennifer had never seriously inconvenienced him, her and her stupid little protest group. But they'd irritated him. So he was going to draw this out. 

Jenny stuck her chest out. "My tits are for sale, my pussy is for sale." 

"You love being a whore, you love being fucked for money." It was cruel, she was putty now. Would be until she looked away from the mirror. 

Jenny's smile grew wider, "I love being a whore. I love being fucked for money." 

"Do you want to be anything other than a whore?" 

Jenny paused. All she'd had to do for the last few minutes was repeat what Danton had said to her. That had been easy. She couldn't have done anything else. But now he'd asked her a question. Sure, she loved being a whore, getting paid to be fucked. She could admit now how hot it was, how aroused she was right now, thinking about it, how wet it made her. She knew that she she'd been silly, had pretended that she'd been doing something else for six months. But now she realised that she'd been a whore all along. Had been a whore since her first fucking six months ago, just hours after her first conversation with Danton in this room. And that was okay by her. But was that all she wanted? Hadn't she wanted more, once, sometime? A career? Something other than selling herself to any man? She knew that she had to answer Danton. 

"No, I love being a whore, I never want to be anything else." Even Jenny could hear the distant, happy, tone of her voice as any other dreams of the future splintered and died. 

"Good girl." Jenny could hear the praise in Danton's voice. It made her happy. She'd given the right answer. 

"And you're just a girl aren't you? A silly little girl who's a whore. A piece of arse, a prostitute. Not a woman." 

Was that right? Jenny wondered. She was 22. Didn't that make her a woman? But Danton was right, Danton was always right. She could join the dots, she might be a silly whore, but that didn't mean she was stupid. Self-respecting women weren't whores. They didn't do what she did. Let themselves be used as she allowed. Their pussies wouldn't be wet and ready and eager for any man with the money to pay them. So she wasn't a woman. She'd never think of herself as a woman again. Only a girl. A silly little girl. 

"I'm just a whore, a silly little girl, a prostitute." 

Danton was leaning forward in his chair. Jenny could see that in the mirror. She couldn't see his face, of course, but she thought that there was an air of eagerness, of focus, about him. 

"And whores, prostitutes, they don't have breasts or a vagina, do they Jenny? Those are things women have." 

Jenny nodded. Danton was right. He was always right. 

"So what do you have Jenny, what words do you use?" 

The words came easily to her. She thought that maybe once they wouldn't have but that made no sense now. "Tits, boobs, jugs, funbags. Pussy, cunt, slit, fuckhole." They were words for what she had. What a prostitute had. She could have said more, there were lots more fun words for what she had, but she thought that what she'd said was enough, for now. She didn't want to waste Danton's time. She'd heard those words, heard them used by the men who paid her. Hell, she'd even used a couple herself. But not all of them, not before today. 

"That's right Jenny, good girl." Jenny smiled. She knew which words to use now, which were the right words for her, for a whore. The words women could use didn't apply to her anymore, if they ever had. 

"Are you a good girl Jenny? Do you use contraception?" 

"Um, yeah?" Jenny wasn't sure what the proper answer was. She thought she had it right. Falling pregnant would take time away from whoring. 

"Good girl, good girl," Danton reassured her. Jenny was relieved, she had found the right answer. 

"But," he added, almost an afterthought "nothing's perfect, so what would you do if you ever did get knocked up?" 

Jenny thought she knew the answer to the question. Being pregnant would take time away from whoring. She didn't want that. She loved being a whore. But she wasn't sure, and she didn't want to give a wrong answer. She didn't want to disappoint Danton, she thought, as a half answer tumbled from her lips. "Umm, uh, get an, an ab," 

"No Jenny," Danton cut her off. Jenny felt sick, her answer had been wrong. Giving Danton the wrong answer brought an almost physical pain. 

"Jenny, Jenny, it's all right. You're only a silly little girl." Relief swept through Jenny. Danton wasn't angry at her. "Let me tell you what you'll do. If you ever get knocked up, you'll have the baby. If it's a boy, you'll give it to me and I'll see that he gets a good home, if it's a girl, you'll keep it. Do you know why?" 

"Umm, no," Jenny ventured, cautious. She really didn't know the answer. She'd absorbed every word, would do what she was told. But Danton hadn't told her why. Her reflection was no help, either. And she didn't want to guess, in case she was wrong. She didn't want the pain to come back. 

"Because, Jenny, if you have any daughters then you will raise them to be just like you, They'll grow up to be little fucking whores, just like their mother. I'll help make sure of that. Tell me what you'll do Jenny." 

It was easy now, Danton had told her the right answer. "If I have any daughters, I'll raise them to be little fucking whores, just like me. You'll help me. Mother and daughter whores." Jenny smiled. The idea of being a knocked-up whore wasn't so bad now. It was almost attractive. She wouldn't go looking for it, well, not right away, but she wouldn't mind if it happened. She liked the idea of having a daughter or two, and raising them to be prostitutes, little fucking whores, just like her. Yeah, she'd do that someday. Definitely. And Danton would help make sure that her daughters turned out right, little fucking whores just like their mother. 




Supply and Demand Pt. 02



"You never went to college, did you Jenny?" Danton asked, leaning back in his chair. Jenny could she he was relaxing, that made her feel good. "You just bummed around after high school, waiting for your chance to start turning tricks." 

Wait, Jenny thought, no, that wasn't right. Hadn't she? Memories wavered as she groped for them. She remembered something, study? Success? But Danton was always right. And she didn't want the pain to come back. So she must never have done anything much after high school except waiting to be a whore. What had she done? Cheap, dead-end, jobs? She remembered those. Yeah, that's what a whore in waiting would do. Waiting for her chance to prostitute herself. So it must be what she'd done. It was what she'd done. Jenny felt strange, as if her head was rearranging itself. She remembered school, remembered wanting to go to college. She remembered how different she'd been, how she'd hated prostitution, despised the men, pitied the women, what a fool she'd been. But something had changed, made her realise that she'd been wrong, so wrong. Made her want this. It had taken years, for her to summon up the courage to do what she really wanted, come to Danton, beg for the chance to work for him, whoring herself. She remembered how he'd helped her, agreed to her request, all the talks, as he'd helped her learn what she needed to know to be a good whore. Someday she might remember what it was that had changed her mind, but it didn't matter, she had what she wanted now. Her mind reeled again, as she remembered her life, then the world righted. 

"No, I never went to college. What would a silly little girl like me want with college?" Her reflection beamed at her, the lights dancing. Jenny knew that it was right answer. Of course it was. If she'd gone to college she would remember it. 

"Does WFP mean anything to you Jenny? I don't think it does, but I'd like to know for sure." 

Jenny frowned. She was sure that those letters had meant something to her. But then Danton had said he didn't think that they did, and the hint of memory had slithered away and vanished. 

"No, should it?" Jenny shrugged. 

"Oh, I don't know," Danton seemed to be thinking out loud, "maybe we could start something. Whores for prostitution. Well-fucked prostitutes? What do you think? You could be the spokeswoman. Oh, sorry, you're not a woman. How about spokeswhore?" 

"Sure." Jenny wasn't really sure what Danton as on about. But she could do anything. As long as it involved whoring. 

"So, Jenny, much as I'm enjoying our talk, we both have things to do. So let's wrap this up. You're a whore, a prostitute. You sell your tits, your pussy, your whole body, you get fucked for money. You love it and you never want to do anything else. You're just a little fucking whore." 

Jenny couldn't help but agree. It was true. Deep down, at the core of her being, she was a whore. Right alongside the concepts of being human, female, of self, of identity, wound around all that, infusing it, was the utter certainty that she was a whore. "Sure, I sell myself, I love it, I get fucked for money and I never want to be anything other than a little fucking whore." 

"Jenny, look at me." How long had she been looking at the mirror? She didn't want to look away. She loved the lights that sparkled around her image. And she loved her reflection. How her image in the mirror made it clear that she was nothing but a whore, a prostitute. But Danton had said look at him, so she did. 

"I think we can look on this as a takeover or may be the end of an internship." Danton smiled at what Jenny thought was some private joke. "You'll be on the same rates as the other girls from now on, paid by the trick. They'd be angry if you kept undercutting them. And if you're part of the business we can't have that." 

"Sure." Jenny didn't care too much. But more money would be useful for keeping herself looking good. The type of outfits that she wore certainly weren't priced by the amount of cloth that was in them. And then there was make-up and getting her hair done and manicures and exfoliation (where had she learnt such a big word?) and... 

Danton idly gestured for her to leave, his attention now on other things. "Well, run along, I'm sure there's some demand you want to supply." 

Jenny couldn't agree more. There were always men out there demanding the services of a little fucking whore like her. And she wanted to supply as much of that demand as she could. She couldn't think of anything better. 

The End



Supply & Demand



"So next time she played up I hit her again, this time a little harder. Then, as these things do, it became a habit. If I was annoyed about anything I took it out on her, it was easier than brooding over problems, she became a sort of punching bag. Not that I'm excusing my behaviour you understand, just explaining it. Anyway, one night I came home from work and she was gone. She left a note saying she'd collect her things the following day while I was at work, and that she never wanted to see me again.

"I was devastated, believe me, despite my unforgivable treatment of her, I really did worship her. So the next day I stayed home and waited for her. To cut a long story short, I promised to do anything she asked if she'd just come back home. She sort of agreed, but insisted I take a month off work and that we spend the time at our cottage in the country. I agreed right away, I thought I was getting off lightly but as you can see, I was wrong. Once we got down there, she refused to let me sleep in the same room as her, this went on for three days then finally I forced a showdown. I asked her what it would take to patch things up between us. She said she wanted to hurt me the way I'd hurt her.

"I jumped at the chance, well I mean, what harm could a frail little thing like her do to a big butch he man like me. That was when she played her ace, she said she was too scared to hit me because I might hit her back, so I allowed her to tie my hands behind me. Before I knew it, I was bound hand and foot in the cellar and she was laying into me with a cane. But that was only the start of it, for the next week I was left tied up in the cellar. Pamela paid me very regular visits, each time finding some new way to torture me. She found several pairs of old knickers in a drawer and they were the only clothes I was allowed to wear. I know what you're thinking, what about the toilet, well she even took charge of that. Once a day she gave me a soapy enema and permitted me to release it into a bucket. As for pissing, I had to do that in my knickers, and every time I did she stuffed the wet ones in my mouth and replaced them with another pair.

"That week was easily the worst of my life. She had me begging for mercy, pleading with her to untie me and promising her anything she wanted. I know a lot of people would say why didn't I get my own back once she released me, but I guarantee that there is not a man alive who could have gone through what I did with his spirit intact. By the time she freed me, I was her absolute slave, there was nothing she couldn't do to me, and so I remain. What sort of life do you think I would have if I ever decided to leave her? And oddly enough, I love her more now than I ever did."

Craig listened to the story; amazed at the indignities this poor wretch had suffered at the evil Pamela's hands. He was so intent on Alice's every word; he took little notice of the clothing Alice had been fitting to his body. He looked down for the first time and was shocked to see he was wearing a padded black lace bra, black lace suspender belt and fishnet stockings. His feet had been forced into a pair of black high-heeled pumps. Alice untied the lead and led him back to the other room.

"Excellent Alice, stand him over there will you." Alice did so, then removed the lead. Craig stared open mouthed as Pamela took several Polaroid photographs of him. Then ignoring him completely she went through them with Alice, selecting several and arranging them in a thick album. "Would you like to see our family album Craig?" She showed him page after page of photo's of men dressed in various women's clothes, each one looking bewildered and humiliated in much the same way as he had looked. There were at least fifty different men, Craig was astounded that none of them had ever reported this evil bitch to the authorities, but then he considered the consequences and realised that he himself would tell no-one of this night, if he was allowed to leave, that was.

Pamela watched him intently as he studied the album, then said, "I'll bet you're wondering what happened to them all aren't you?" Somewhat surprised Craig admitted he was. "Most of them are living very happy lives in much the same way as Alice does. I can usually find a home for them, naturally I get a suitable reward for my efforts, in fact, if it wasn't for the fact that the conference business is such a fruitful source of subjects, I wouldn't need to work there at all." Glancing back at the album she sighed, "Sadly, even I don't have a 100% record, this one for instance," she indicated a sour looking redheaded man. "Despite all my efforts, he refused to comply with my simple demands." She shook her head and closed the album.

Craig couldn't help himself; he could see a glimmer of hope and grabbed at it, "What happened to him, did you let him go?" He asked hopefully. Pamela laughed, "Of course not, you don't imagine I'd allow a mere man to beat me do you. No, the last I heard he was living in a sort of harem in Turkey, though I believe it was necessary to remove certain parts of his anatomy. Apparently it's true, you do put on lots of weight when it's done so his duties these days are, well shall we say he provides entertainment for the guests of his master who have more unusual tastes. One thing I can tell you, he doesn't enjoy life the way Alice and most of my other 'boys' do."

By now Craig was turning pale as he considered the fate of the poor wretch who'd crossed Pamela. "Don't look so worried Craig, I'm sure you won't be stupid enough to join any of my failures, will you?" He glanced at the album and shook his head no. "Good, in that case I think it's time we started your training in earnest."

"Over the next few weeks you'll be taught many new talents. How to satisfy a woman, oh I'm sure you think you're pretty hot stuff right now, but you'll learn the art of pleasing women, not just fucking them. Every evening at six sharp you'll be beaten with various whips and canes. The degree and duration of punishment will depend on your progress on the previous day. These first two, particularly the latter," She smiled as she said this, "I shall take care of. Alice, on the other hand, will teach you the art of making love to a man." Seeing the expression on Craig's face she added, "And don't think Alice will take it easy on a soul mate, the consequences of such an act far outweigh any sympathy she may have for you. Isn't that so Alice?" Alice nodded gravely.

"You will also be taught grooming, the feminine way naturally, cooking, deportment and dress sense. Though this last one isn't usually too difficult, most of my selected victims already know what looks sexy on women. Oh, I almost forgot, you'll be given daily injections of a cocktail of hormones, female naturally, and other helpful chemicals. They are usually sufficient to grow a reasonable cleavage and rid you of any unsightly facial hair. Though on a couple of occasions it has been necessary to enhance the growth with silicon. Then again, one of these was for a specific customer who wanted his slave to be well endowed. You'll be delighted to hear that there is an interesting side effect of the injections, apparently they make you feel quite horny, which is just as well since you'll be called on to perform several times a day. Now, have you any questions." He had hundreds, but knew he would be wasting his time asking any of them, so he shook his head then lowered it in misery. "Good, in that case, Alice get him ready for his first beating." Alice produced a ball gag from somewhere and effortlessly forced it into Craig's mouth. Then pulling him over a chair she secured the lead over the back. Pamela was almost childlike in her enthusiasm as she quickly approached his side and prepared to administer the first stroke of a beating, which Craig would remember for the rest of his life. "Oh by the way, if you're hoping someone saw you with me, and will come looking for you, I should remind you my car has tinted windows, and as you will recall, I ignored you all night so no-one will connect us."

Craig had indeed been holding on to that last vestige of hope, and Pamela grinned knowingly as she drew back to deliver the first blow. God she enjoyed this moment.