Availability for work auction part one

Availability for Work Acution. 2010 London England.

“Order, Order,” The speaker of the House of Commons, the Palace of Westminster, the mother of Parliaments, the British Legislature spoke the words in the time honoured way as he gave the name of the next member of Parliament he would allow to speak. “The Prime Minister.”

The Prime Minister rose slowly from his seat and the whole chamber went quiet, more than six hundred elected members crammed into the chamber with barely room for half that number in comfort, it’s timeless grandeur only slightly sullied by the presence of TV cameras and dangling microphones.

“Thank you Mr Speaker, I shall be brief,” the Prime Minister lied in his plummy upper class accent, “Among all the measures proposed in the Queen’s speech this has proved perhaps the most controversial, apart perhaps for the compulsory tattooing of all benefits claimants, which as we have seen has already reduced considerably the dependence upon our Social Services, but the years of Labour’s mismanagement of the economy has left us with even more awkward decisions to make, and we have been opposed every step of the way by that very party that got us into this mess.”

He paused for the jeering and cat calls to subside, “But in the Availability for Work Act’ and the ‘Indentured Service’ regulations we have outlined an equitable and fair means to alleviate much of the present deprivation and hopelessness which many of our countrymen and women are experiencing, day after day, the unending drudgery of unemployment, the soul destroying.”

The cat calls and jeering became more strident, a red missile hit the Prime Minister’s shoulder and slid downwards “Order Order” the Speaker ordered, “The Prime Minister,”

“Thank you Mr Speaker,” The Prime minister intoned as he carefully removed part of a very rotten tomato from his shirt, “The inequality that imprisons millions in inner city squalor whilst in the countryside gardens remain un-tended, cleaners cannot be found and accommodation goes spare often in the most desirable areas just because of our archaic and outdated employment and minimum wage laws is an abomination that cannot be allowed to continue so Mr Speaker I propose that,” another tomato narrowly missed the Prime minister and splashed the Foreign Secretary’s bald head.

” Order, Order, Remove the Member for Wetherfield East if you please Sergeant at Arms,” the Speaker intoned, “Prime Minister.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr Speaker,” The Prime Minister continued, “If I may, from Monday the first of April I propose that all new benefit claimants shall attend a monthly services auction, whereby employers may bid for their services, and from August the first this shall extend to all benefits claimants including those on incapacity benefits.” There was uproar but he continued.

“Yes they will attend, and if there is a job offer then those benefits will cease forthwith,” he explained, “Subject only to the job paying a minimum wage of two hundred pounds per week and the work being within cycling distance of ten miles or sixteen kilometers,” A ripple of laughter from his supporters contrasted with the jeers from the opposition benches, he continued “Or one hundred pounds per week if accommodation is provided, this is of course for single people, married couples will of course have an option to refuse the plus accommodation offer if only one partner is offered a position.”

“What about single parents?” the member for Walford asked.

“Yes child care will be expanded, to continuous, that is twenty four hours per day and seven days per week provision if required, it’s all in the report,” the Prime Minister explained, “And together with the introduction of Indentured Service Regulation whereby people who need domestic servants and gardeners and similar can obtain the benefit of the services of these classes of people by providing accommodation at or near the workplace and shouldering responsibility for their well being, Mr Speaker, this has the potential to reduce the social security budget by millions if not billions of pounds per annum and I am hopeful that this too can be implemented as from the first of April.”

“You could be forcing people into prostitution!” someone shouted.

“Not necessarily but the recently introduced ‘Regulation of sex workers and workplaces’ provisions do provide a framework whereby sex workers can be protected from the sort of exploitation which they suffered under Labour,” the Prime Minister insisted, “Working the streets with inadequate health care, but Mr Speaker only a tiny fraction of these placements are likely to concern sex workers although as you see the regulations do for the sake of clarity outline the level of contact which servants and masters, and indeed ‘Mistresses’ shall be expected to ah, enjoy.”

A ripple of laughter again sounded from the government benches, “But the regulations provide safeguards,” he continued, “The contracts are binding on both parties and can only be varied with the agreement of both parties so I really don’t see a problem,” he added, “And let us not forget that the initial projected savings will be equivalent to one hundred and seventeen new hospitals, a new aircraft carrier and seventy five new Eurofighter FW190 stealth fighter bomber aircraft.”

The Prime Minister mopped his brow and sat down.

“Leader of the Opposition,” The Speaker called. She stood, anger etched into her ebony features.

“When my father came here from Trinidad and Tobago, he came for a decent wage, a council house and a chance for his children to better themselves, what we propose today is a return to a situation worse than he escaped from.” she spoke carefully in measured tones, “Why must we always follow the American lead, are we spineless? are we lap-dogs?” she asked, “And why do we go so far beyond the Americans proposals, almost to the ‘Don’t Work, Don’t Eat’ policy of the far right?”

She stared around the chamber, “And the withdrawal of student loan facility beyond the end if their education will inevitably drive our young people, into poverty, to the auctions or to the slavery of Indentured Service,” there was a ripple of agreement from the opposition benches, “Furthermore,” she continued.

Lord Barchester watched the live broadcast on the BBC Parliament channel on the wide screen TV in the lounge of his London home, and as the Labour party leader spoke he turned the TV off with the remote control, “I suppose I had better get back to London in case they have an all nighter to discuss it in the Lords.”

“Must you Daddy?” Kitty his slender eighteen year old daughter asked plaintively as she fiddled with her i phone, “Why must you always go, why not someone else?”

“Because I’m one of the few remaining hereditary peers as you well know darling,” he said fondly, “Now be good and if you can’t be good.”

“Be careful,” she finished the sentence for him, “I know,” she sighed, she always was careful, she lived with two sensible girls and a sensible boy sharing a student house in term time, she was very careful to avoid scandal, she didn’t have a boyfriend and she was bored to tears.

“You could try ringing Paul if you’re at a loose end?” he suggested. Paul her geeky housemate from Salford, it was father’s standing joke that Paul was infatuated with her when in fact Paul’s interests began and ended with microelectronics.

“No, I think I’ll watch some paint dry instead,” she laughed,”Goodbye!”

The House of Lords was indeed presented with the draft bill that very evening, and Lord Barchester had the unenviable task of presenting the government bill to a hostile upper chamber.

“What if it was your daughter?” Menzies of the Democrats demanded.

“I should rather she earned her benefits fairly than allow her to be a drain on the public purse, yes.” Barchester agreed.

“So we’ll see her at auction will we?” Menzies challenged.

“Should the circumstances require, yes.” Barchester agreed, “Of course!”

The debate dragged on as debates do but finally as the Whips did their work so the government peers came in and the vote was taken, and with a slender Government majority the bill was approved and returned to the House of Commons for the final reading.

It was several months later in her student house in Salford that Kitty woke to the sound of one of her housemates Paul knocking on her door, “Sorry but there’s someone on the phone for you,” he said.

“Just fuck off ok.” she said and then when he shut the door she grabbed her dressing gown and leapt from her bed before followed him downstairs to grab the ancient black BT land line telephone, “Hello?” she answered.

“Ken Decaid News of the Word,” he announced as he herd her voice, “It’s about your availability for work,” he paused and then continued,v “Your father said he’d be happy for you to auction yourself,” he suggested, “Back when they debated the Availability for Work Act back last Autumn.”.

“Oh, well, yes, I expect he said that,” she said, “Why?”

“Have you got a job then?” he asked, “Being as you will have had a whole three weeks holiday with no holiday job?”

“What?” Kitty asked, “The law doesn’t mean I have to attend an auction just to find a job for the holiday”

“Then you’re refusing?” he asked.

“No, but I don’t need to work, I don’t claim benefits, I have the money for my course, already,” she said, “Sorry.”

Kitty simply didn’t think any more about the conversation until next Sunday morning when as she relaxed in bed at their London home in Kensington Gardens her father knocked on the door and strode in. “We have a crisis Kitty, do you see,” and he handed her a copy of the New News of the World on Sunday, “Page five,” he added.

“Senior Tory’s daughter rejects new ‘Work Auction’ regulations.” she read, “But Daddy!”

“There’s a ‘Work Auction,’ tomorrow, Monday, Kitty,” he said. “Kingsmead auction rooms, the PM thinks you should be there.”

“But Daddy!” Kitty protested, “That’s ridiculous, great aunt Sarah’s trust pays my fees, I don’t need to work, are you asking me to be in it?” she said.

“I’m rather afraid it is the perception, but Kingsmead is the nearest to our house, and well, really it’s my job on the line,” he admitted, “You don’t have to accept anything of course, you’re not on benefits.”

“Then I’ll do it!” she agreed, “Tell Mr Decaid!”

“It will be wonderful PR even if it’s only symbolic as you don’t actually receive benefits,” her father continued.

“Well, I’ll do it,” Kitty agreed, “Just make sure you get plenty of publicity, and if I do get an offer I’m sure a week working in Subway won’t kill me.”

He smiled, “Yes, Subway,” he agreed, hoping it would a prestigious high profile organisation PR company who would employ her and not a fast food chain that offered her a job, “I’ll have a word with a few people,” he promised.

Kitty was annoyed, she was looking forward to spending the last week of her holiday just relaxing in London after a week at daddy’ house in the Cotswolds and a week in Salford but now quite suddenly she was being asked to take part in an employment auction in London of all places, and she would probably find herself waiting tables for the week.

Lord Barchester picked up his address book and dialled the newsroom at the New News Of the World (2013) plc, “Barchester,” he announced, “Is Decaid there?” he enquired.

“Look Decaid,” Lord Barchester explained as he was transferred to Decaids desk. “Barchester here, Kitty has graciously agreed to take part in tomorrows Auction at the Kingsmead Auction Rooms so can we please have an end to this nonsense.”

“If she takes a proper job,” Decaid said, “I’ll report it, if she chickens out, I’ll report it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Lord Barchester agreed, “I expect I will see you tomorrow.”

Ken Decaid thought all his Christ-masses had come at once, a real chance to stuff it to the Tories, all he needed was for Kitty to get offered a job in a brothel, so he he immediately rang Tim Raymond.

Tim was the new king of Soho, he lobbied furiously for the change in the law which resulted in the ‘Regulation of sex workers and workplaces’ provisions in the 2018 Local Government (Miscellaneous Provisions) Act and as soon as it was passed he pressed ruthlessly ahead with his putative “Sex Village.” Tim spoke with a slightly americanised mid atlantic accent which hid his origins east European origins as he was born as Boris Illanovitch Litvenko in Lithania in 1990.

Soho was the first borough to approve new ‘Sex Establishments,’ under the new regulations and Raymond the first developer to get approval for the new legalised brothel or ‘Sex Village,’ eighteen units on two floors selling everything from a dildo to anal sex with an additional basement level ready in case the bestiality laws changed. Armed guards checked ID at the Wardour Street entrance and then there were rows of units, on the ground floor and display windows and cubicle suites on the upper floor.

Tim Raymond was a great believer in showing the merchandise, “They want to see the merchandise, not the faces. Tits and ass,” he ordered and so the six foot wide individual display windows had a step four feet high where the girls sat and a silvered screen which stopped punter’s from seeing the girl’s face, but conversely the screen allowed the girls to see the men who sought their favours.

When the sex village opened in February the girls had displayed themselves in sexy lingerie but since then things had become more competitive and now if they were serious the girls displayed themselves topless or even naked, and on occasions as they became more adventurous the girls tried fingering themselves and squatting with legs wide apart and even reaching through from behind to hold their sex open with their fingers as they squatted in their high heels.

Kitty was unaware of this development, she knew her father had ‘Had a word,’ and she planned on doing some admin work or at the worst waiting tables for a week but as she dined with her father at an upmarket west end bistro Ken Decaid was already working on his “Peers daughter works in Brothel” headline, which he hoped to sell on to the Sun if only Tim Raymond could manage to get her to sign an agreement which included sex work.

Kitty took the whole auction scenario philosophically she dressed in a heavy sweater and jeans and caught the bus to Kingsmead where she slipped unnoticed into the auction house under the very noses of the press sent to photograph her.

Kitty waited, until finally she took her turn on the stage, “I’m Katherine Edmonds, I’ve ten O levels an four A levels and I’m looking for a weeks temporary work.” she said hopefully.

Ken Decaid waited with Tim Raymond and swore as he recognised the girl on stage was Kitty, and that the photographers had missed her, he prodded his assistant Rodney Mortimer “Ask he if she will you do general work?” he said, “Sales and admin?”

“Miss Edmonds, will you do general work, sales admin?” Rodney asked

“I suppose so,” Kitty said.

“Four A levels eh, how about five hundred for the rest of today through Saturday?” Rodney asked.

“I’ve a bid of five hundred pounds, do I hear more!” the auctioneer asked, and with barely a pause he said, “Sold, to?” he asked.

“Ah 314, Tim Raymond,” Tim announced to a gasp from the crowd.

“This way miss, sign here,” an auctioneers assistant asked politely and Kitty signed the form, “Mr Raymond is waiting for you,” he said.

“This Raymond?” Kitty asked, “Who is he?”

“Why the photographer miss,” he explained.

Kitty waited a few moments for Tim to pay the auctioneers fee before he came to collect her, she expected to shake his hand but he merely said,”Miss Barchester, shall we go?”

“What work do you expect me to do?” she asked.

“Oh yes general work, you are Lord Barchester’s daughter are you not?” he asked, and he draped his arm around her and said “Smile,” as the New News of the World photographer snapped away at them, and added, “Enough let’s get out of here.”

He hailed a Taxi and ordered, “Wardour Street.”

Kitty sat opposite Tim in the Taxi as they drove through the heavy lunchtime traffic, “Are you Tim Raymond the photographer?” she asked.

“I think you mean pornographer,” he said “I own Raymond’s” he agreed, “The soho sex village, Mr Decaid wants some pictures of you working.”

“What? oh for gods sake!” Kitty exclaimed, “You’ve got to be joking.”

But he wasn’t,

The Taxi arrived at the sex village which was only partially open but a ‘New News of the World’ photographer was waiting and he snapped Tim Raymond and Kitty as they went inside and followed them past the boutiques which were open for business, and photographed them going past the security staff to the upper floor where the girls sold sex in the afternoons and evenings.

He took her past the rows of windows, “There’s where the girls display,” Tim said, “The private rooms are behind the display area and on the floor above.”

“Oh my god!” Kitty exclaimed as she stared at the six foot wide segment of window forming a display area with a floor four feet above floor level and a screen coming down to hide the girl’s head and upper body., “So the girls, display their bodies but the men, the punters, can’t see the girl’s faces?” she asked.

“Not until they get them in the rooms, no.” he agreed, “The screen hides their faces but the girls can see the punters through the mirror glass panels.”

“But why do the girls do it?” Kitty asked innocently.

“They need work, and some find it exciting and some find it very profitable,” Tim assured her.

“I can’t believe anyone would do it willingly.” Kitty said sadly, “What did you want me to do?” she asked.

“This,” he said gesturing, “Or are you too grand to work like an ordinary girl?” he asked.

“Oh no, no way!” Kitty insisted.

“Well I can’t make you,” he replied, “But at least have a look round first, I’ll take you through,” he said and he led her through the staff only door and into the office suite.

The office was strangely ordinary, and after she ate a sandwich in the company canteen and met Mrs Francombe the office manager Kitty was able to relax.

“Raymonds are hoping to become the number one venue for corporate hospitality within five years,” Miss Francombe explained,”Our charges start from one hundred pounds for a short time,” she intoned, “Up to, well the sky is the limit really.”

“It’s a serious business then?” Kitty asked.

“Oh yes, but of course all our staff have to start at the bottom.” Miss Francombe said, “To learn the ropes and understand the girls fears and aspirations.”

“Look if you think I’m displaying myself in a window you are very much mistaken,” Kitty insisted.

“Then I’ll wish you good day, Miss Barchester,” Tim Raymond suggested, “Obviously ordinary employment is beneath you.”

“But this is prostitution!” Kitty protested.

“Which your father’s party legalised,” Tim pointed out, “It’s your call but even a business studies graduate is expected to do a week on the windows when she starts work here.”

“I am not a prostitute!” Kitty insisted.

“No, an Admin assistant learning the ropes, I am not particularly concerned whether you do the job or not, ‘Peer’s Daughter refuses Admin post’ is as good a headline as any for me, but disastrous for your father and his friends perhaps?”

“I need to speak to Daddy,” Kitty explained

“Feel free,” Tim motioned towards the telephone which Kitty picked up and dialled her father.

“I have a job at Raymonds,” she said, “Admin.”

“Right,” her father said, “The sex village?”

“Yes, they say I’ve to learn the ropes like a prostitute!” she said awkwardly.

“No Kitty, they can’t force you to have sex,” he said, “That’s rape, you can always refuse sex, at any time even after the man has paid Kitty,” her father said.

“I thought you would say no!” Kitty protested, “They want me to pose naked!”

“It’s you decision Kitty but I’m fighting for my political life here Kitty,” he said, “Sorry!”

“Oh Christ.” Kitty said and put the phone down, “He said I’m to refuse sex,” she said, “He’s fine with me working in a brothel, can you believe that?”

“It’s something a lot of fathers have to come to terms with, their little girl making three times the wages they make in a week just for a few hours lying on their back,” Tim reassured her, “And Lord Barchester will be proud, or at least grateful if he hangs on to his job in the House of lords.”

“What if I do the display but don’t do sex?” Kitty asked.

“That’s fine, you don’t get any bonus,” Tim agreed, “But usually it’s a thousand pounds, thats five hundred pounds bonus for you and the rest for me, I mean the company,” he explained, “But yes, you could refuse and we can always find another girl who is willing, we often have more girls than windows anyway, it’s not a problem.”

“So its ok if I just do the window thing?”Kitty asked.

“Absolutely but no bonus.” he agreed.

“I expect all the journalists would want sex with me if I were put on display,” Kitty said wistfully, “Not because I’m anything special but for the story.”

“Absolutely,” Tim agreed, “What are you suggesting?”

“So if you charged, shall we say, three hundred pounds for half an hour with me with sex extra which I would refuse?” Kitty suggested.

“I’m sure we would be inundated with press to begin with when the word got round,” but Tim reminded her,”They wouldn’t know which was you.”

“Then charge two thousand pounds for each girl, that’s one thousand for me and the rest for you, we could clean up,” Kitty said, “But it wouldn’t help Daddy.”

“No,” Tim agreed, “It would make it ten times worse when you refused sex.”

“No, it wouldn’t get any worse, just put the fee up to two thousand pounds for every girl,” Kitty said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, some are,” he said, “Not worth that.”

“But they won’t know which is me!” Kitty pointed out.

“There would be hell to pay when they found you weren’t doing sex,” Tim pointed out.

“That depends,” Kitty said.

“Are you saying you’ll actually sleep with punters?” he asked.

Kitty thought a moment, but only a moment for the mere thought of having safe sex with a stranger was making her uncomfortably moist around her sex.

“No, but how will they find out,” Kitty asked naively, “After all Newspapermen always claim the never sleep with the girls when they do an expose, so how will they know?”

“But why bump the prices?” he asked.

“Because they won’t know which one is me!” Kitty said delightedly, “And you said we can have a girl that looks like me on stand by to swap.”

“Did you plan this,” Tim asked.

“No, I’m thinking on my feet,” Kitty suggested, “I expected Daddy to be incandescent with rage, but he seemed ok, what do you think?”

“I’ll put for one night only Miss Kitty Harcourt,” Tim said, “On the website and main bill board.”

“Make that ‘The Honourble,’ and two thousand pounds,” Kitty suggested, “And put out a press release and I’ll take half the difference between the girls usual rates and the two thousand premium I’ll attract,” Kitty joked.

“So you get five hundred pounds per girl?” he said, “Per customer?” he asked.

“Yes” Kitty agreed.

“Make it a third, split it with the girl and the company and we have a deal, did you get that Miss
Francombe?” Tim Raymond asked.

“Oh yes, I’m drawing up the agreement now,” Miss Francombe agreed as she fiddled with her computer, “I’ll just change the figures to thirty three per cent and print them off.”

“Do we have a deal?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Kitty gulped in surprise, “I think we do!”

Tim stared at her, “You wouldn’t consider a proper job here, when you graduate would you?” he asked.

“No, but I’d be a wonderful consultant!” she laughed, “You can pay me retainer!”

Kitty read the agreement and signed three copies as did Tim.

“I’ll get Miss Lloyd to show you the ropes,” Tim suggested, “I have a feeling we’re going to make some serious money here.”

Tim showed Kitty into the changing room where Rebecca Lloyd held court like a sergeant major she checked her girls were all ready for parade.

“This is Kitty Harcourt, she’s going on display later,” Tim explained.

“Right the famous Kitty Harcourt,” Miss Lloyd observed sarcastically.

“Only on display, we’ll have another girl do the back room stuff, but Kitty says she’ll help out in the display,” Tim explained.

“Not if she don’t measure up she won’t, have you had an enema?” Miss Lloyd demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Kitty explained, “Why?”

“Anal dearie,” she replied, “You do anal don’t you?”

“Ugh, I, I don’t know,” Kitty replied awkwardly,” I only agreed to display.”

“Better get one then,” Miss Lloyd suggested, “Blokes don’t like shitty assholes.”

“Rebecca please,” Tim suggested, “Display only.”

“You are going nude right?” Miss Lloyd asked, “In the display window?”

“Nude, gosh!” Kitty gasped, “I thought they wore lingerie?”

“Hardly, they’ll all be nude, pawing at their own breasts, holding their labias open,” Miss Lloyd added, “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh hell,” Kitty exclaimed, “You never said nude!”

“You never asked, are you backing out.” Tim asked.

“Oh hell, oh bloody hell,” Kitty said uncertainly, as she thought of the humilliation of being naked in public and then thought of the money she might make.

“You’re behind glass,” Tim reassured her, “And they can’t see your face.”

“All right, I’ll do it,” Kitty agreed reluctantly.

“Good girl,” Tim reassured her and added “We think every journo is going to want to screw Kitty,” he explained, “So we’ll charge two thousand a girl and make it as difficult as possible for them to guess which one is Kitty!”

“You devious little so an so!” Miss Lloyd agreed, “Is this your idea?”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Tim suggested and he slipped away.

“Do the girls shave,” Kitty asked, “Down below.”

“Wax mainly.” Miss Lloyd added, “Why don’t you?”

“No, only if I’m going to pull this off, ” Kitty explained, “And not get much attention I think I ought to try and look you know, well used, bruised like a prostitute, if I can.”

“I don’t see why?” Miss Lloyd queried.

“Because they have to pay for the other girls anyway, so the longer it takes before they realise which one is me the better,” Kitty explained.

“So we can shave you a bit rough, maybe use a vacuum pump to puff your puss a bit,” Miss Lloyd suggested, “Make you look a right slag, are you all right with a butt plug?”

“I’ve never tried,” Kitty replied honestly.

“Just a little one.” Miss Lloyd explained, “Shall we do it.”

“Ok, but I only do the display and you get someone else to do the sex?” she asked.

“Fine with me,” Miss Lloyd agreed,

“Yes, ok, I suppose you need me to help you get ready?” Miss Lloyd asked.

“Yes, and for god’s sake don’t tell daddy!” Kitty demanded.

“Come to my office then,” Miss Lloyd suggested, “Lets get you ready.”

The office had a birthing chair as its centrepiece among lockers which lines the walls, and tiled walls and floor more like an operating theatre than an office “Hang your clothes up over there and I’ll sort you out a locker,” Miss Lloyd suggested as Kitty walked into the room.

Kitty felt very stupid as she stripped off her dowdy clothes and slipped on the skimpy bath robe Miss Lloyd handed her, “No fake tan then?” Miss Lloyd asked.

“No,” Kitty replied.

“I’ll just shave your bush then,” she suggested, and she took the clippers.

“Ok,” Kitty gulped as she sat in the chair and allowed Miss Lloyd to swing the stirrups round spreading her legs before starting to cleave away Kitty’s soft blonde pubic hair with the electric shaver.

“It tickles!” Kitty complained.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she replied, and she took a shaving brush and a can of spray shaving foam and lathered up Kitty’s sex and lower belly before she took a rather blunt razor and shaved the remaining hair to a short irregular stubble.

The door opened and a woman walked in, younger than the forty something Miss Lloyd and dark haired not brown like Miss Lloyd, “Ah Jackie, put Miss Edmonds things in the locker in 12 B and then give me a hand would you?” Miss Lloyd asked.

Kitty watched Jackie scoop up her things and disappear to return with a locker key, “Twelve B,” she said, “Are you done?”

“Just the E,” Miss Lloyd said.

“I don’t do drugs,” Kitty said.

“E for enema,” Miss Lloyd said, “Just relax,” and she pulled a belt across between Kitty’s waist band her breasts holding her firmly to the chair as she tilted it right back, still with the stirrups spread wide, back and further back until Kitty was on her back head down and Jackie was able to get the slim chromium fitting on the warm water pipe against and then into Kittys ass hole.

“No, no way!” Kitty protested but Jackie turned the tap and soon Kittys belly was swelling with warm water.

“No!” Kitty protested, and Miss Lloyd pushed the chair back level.

“The can’s in the corner,” Miss Lloyd explained and Kitty awkwardly waddled over and sat down.

“For god’s sake you’re not going to watch are you?” she asked but it was too late and her bowels opened involuntarily.

“That’s better isn’t it?” Jackie asked jokingly but Kitty realised she did indeed feel better, “One more for luck?” she said and handed the chromium nozzle to Kitty.

“You do it,” Kitty said and she stood up and waited for Jackie to push the tube inside her and fill her tummy with hot water again.

“It’s addictive,” Jackie said, “I love it.”

“That’s enough, dry yourself and choose a butt plug Kitty, they’re all the same style but different sizes, ok?” Miss Lloyd explained.

Kitty chose the smallest butt plug and popped it in her fresh clean anus, “Now you want to look well used do you?” Jackie asked, “Most girls want the opposite but if you hop back in the chair I’ll have a go.”

Kitty did as she asked, and Jackie first got out a set of makeup brushes and various colours of blusher and then she found a vacuum pump and cup which she placed over Kitty’s sex and began to pump.”

“It feels funny,” Kitty exclaimed as her whole sex was drawn out into the cup, puffing up her vagina’s outer lips and the releasing them.

“All right?” Jackie asked.

“It feels funny,” Kitty said again.

“Nice funny?” Jackie asked, “I’ll pump them again, leave it for ten minutes then I’ll do the makeup, make you look like a real slapper!” she joked.

Kitty sat and reflected, it was surreal, she should be at home or in the country not in a brothel wearing a butt plug with her vagina sucked into a plastic cup but when she pinched herself it hurt, it wasn’t a dream and then Jackie came back and started to apply makeup to Kitty’s most private parts, “Is that nice?” Jackie asked as she easily pushed three fingers into Kitty’s puffy vagina.

“I’m not gay,” Kitty insisted.

“Then why are you squeezing my fingers?” Jackie said, “But you’ll do, I’ll get you a robe then we can get you started.”

Kitty sat and waited for Jackie to fetch a robe and for the first time realised there were voices from the next room. excited girlish voices as the regular girls arrived and changed for their shifts.

The sound ebbed and flowed as the door opened and shut until Miss Lloyd walked in and drew her attention to a large box full of worn black high heeled shoes “What shoe size are you Kitty” she asked.

“Five,” Kitty said and after a briefly rummaging among the footwear Miss Lloyd handed her a slightly worn pair of black stilettos with four inch heels.

“Better wear these,” she suggested.

Kitty pulled them on, they were uncomfortably high for walking but she stood up, took a few faltering steps,” They’ll be fine!” Miss Lloyd suggested as Jackie brought a white ‘Raymonds’ bath robe and Kitty slipped it on.

Kitty looked at Miss Lloyd, “Time to face the music dear,” she said and with a sigh and a nervous smile Kitty pulled her robe around her and followed Miss Lloyd along the corridor towards the display window and her new job as a shop window whore.

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