Advertisements of one kind or
another were all Lance could see wherever he looked around him. They dominated
the supermarket aisles, were suspended above the shelves and plastered all over
the store’s windows. But how could it
ever be different? A man needed help when he went shopping. And at the moment,
he was browsing in the pharmaceuticals section where the dominant ads paraded
images of infeasibly muscular men and seductively desirable naked women,
What Lance was
looking for wasn’t really a performance enhancing drug as used by the world’s
best sportsmen whose stamina, strength and endurance improved every year, if at
some expense to their future health (as explained in detail in the small print).
What state would international sporting records be without the open and public
consumption of steroids, growth hormones, Beta-2 Agonists and Corticotrophins? The
world would surely be a poorer place. There’d be no three-minute mile, no one
and a half hour marathon and no 850 pound weight lift.
Neither was
Lance looking for narcotics, although he dropped a packet of cocaine wraps and
ready-rolled reefers into his shopping basket. He’d once tried harder stuff, like
the heroin and LSD on full display on the top shelf, but he decided that a
packet of MDMA was what suited him best at the moment.
The
pharmaceuticals Lance had primarily driven across town to buy were primarily
for the enhancement of sexual pleasure. Those were what he needed tonight. But
as always he walked out of the store with considerably more in his shopping
basket than he’d originally intended. He’d filled his shopping basket with
goodies from the shelves, fully aware that many would be thrown away without
him even tackling the fiendishly difficult packaging. Into the basket went
fizzy drinks, sweets, cigarettes, processed meat snacks, a penis stimulator, a
pornographic DVD (promising bizarre and extreme erotica), a luxury car
magazine, chocolate biscuits, ear-warmers (even though it was summer) and a
tabloid newspaper whose headlines, as usual, highlighted the threat to
civilised life from open immigration, radical extremism and depravity (but
mostly the last).
Lance hesitated
by the gun counter which was adjacent to the check-out tills and prominently displayed
an alluring selection of the latest semi-automatics, lady’s pistols and hand
guns. Although Lance already had a good arsenal at home, as so often he was
tempted to buy more. A man could always do with the latest fast-loading,
repeat-action piece. Even so, Lance held firm against temptation. There was
still a week or so until his next pay cheque, so all he bought were cartons of
bullets for the high velocity semi-automatic pistol he was carrying. Safety was
of paramount concern for Lance, as it was for all men, women and children. It
was wise to be properly armed at all times. Gun fights and massacres were such
common events these days, especially in malls, cinemas, high schools and, of
course, supermarkets.
Even at such a
reputable chain as SteinMart.
Lance flashed
his credit card at the automatic check-out reader under the watchful eye of a
battery of security cameras that would detect whether he tried to walk off with
something he hadn’t paid for. Lance didn’t want to be frisked by one of the
heavily armed security guards, who were trained to sort out even the bloodiest
of supermarket shoot-outs. As always, Lance had only himself to blame when he
realised that a shopping trip ostensibly to buy only a few dollars’ worth of aphrodisiacs
and performance enhancers had resulted in a bill of nearly a hundred bucks for
stuff he didn’t really need.
But that was
the power of advertising for you.
Lance waddled across
the supermarket car-park to his SUV where he tipped the security guard who’d
kept it secure from vandalism and theft and then loaded the boot with countless
free plastic bags bulging with sugary snacks and trinkets. He squeezed his
considerable bulk into the driving seat and drove out the supermarket car park
to the first of many toll-booths between the Retail Park and home. Even though
he’d bought an annual pass which allowed him almost unlimited access to the
country’s roads, there were enough drivers who paid for every individual car
trip to slow his progress. As it was, the four mile journey across town took
nearly an hour, as Lance crawled along congested suburban streets where it was
too dangerous to wind down the windows. Thank goodness for bullet-proof glass
and air-conditioning. It might burn off gasoline that in turn blackened pedestrians’
lungs, but it kept Lance safe and sound.
And so it
should. His car hadn’t come cheap. The in-car entertainment, the military-grade
chassis, the navigation aids and climate control all cost a pretty penny, but they
were of the highest quality. Lance could survive a World War in relative
comfort, as long as he didn’t have to wind down the windows or refuel the
engine.
Today, Lance
was in a state of excited anticipation, which was reflected by his choice of
loud electronic swing music on the car radio, interspersed every two minutes or
so by an ad for loan companies, insurance firms, realtors and pharmaceuticals.
And these were often louder and more intense than even the heaviest brass and
organ rhythms.
And this
eagerness was because, waiting for him at home, was Lance’s latest high value procurement:
an indentured sex worker he’d purchased online at GirlsULike.
Although such
women were informally known as sex slaves, she wasn’t really a slave as such.
The institution of slavery had been outlawed long ago when the weight of
lawsuits and civil actions overwhelmed the arguments in its legal defence. For
once, the law had triumphed over the freedom of commerce and the result was a
more carefully circumscribed trade in human traffic which benefited all
concerned. Very stringent legal restrictions had to be observed, primarily with
respect to the inheritance of indentured status and the terms by which
indenture was bound by mutual agreement. And, so, in this much more agreeable
environment, the trade of sex workers was protected by consumer rights and quality
control. To be on the safe side, Lance had taken out Liability Insurance that
protected him if, in the pursuit of sexual satisfaction, he should accidentally
damage the goods he’d purchased. So, if he should accidentally impregnate her, pass
on a venereal disease or break any of her limbs, Lance was fully covered for
his first million dollars of liability.
Lance’s home
was a four bedroomed detached house in a gated community which had been on the
edge of town when he’d bought it with his ex-wife ten years earlier, but was
now surrounded on all sides by a mix of other gated communities and squalid high-rise
apartments. The house which had cost so much when Lance had bought it, but now
worth several multiples of its original cost, seemed rather too large these
days for just one man. But when Betty left him, taking with her as much as her
solicitor could squeeze out of him, Lance became the sole owner of a house with
three more bedrooms than he could sleep in at one time.
But now, in one
of them, almost certainly watching television, was Candy, the indentured sex
worker for whom Lance had paid almost as much as the price of an estate car or
a time-share in a beach apartment in the subtropical south.
Candy was
Lance’s treat for himself. And by heck he deserved it after all those years in
middle management at Rothberg Utilities. No longer did he need to invest in VR
porn or the occasional visit to the flop house. From now on, it was pussy every
night and exclusively for himself. No more sharing with strangers.
Candy was unlikely
to be the girl’s real name. Judging from the hue of her skin, the girl came
from a southern country—possibly one of those where Lance’s colleagues bought
time-shares—so her name was probably something like Juanita or Fatima or Francesca.
She wasn’t
quite the best flesh that money could buy. She wasn’t exactly slim, although no
one could describe her as fat. She was just above five foot tall. One eye was
slightly squinted. Her bosom was no better than B-cup and the thickness of her
waist was a natural complement to her womanly thighs. Her long black hair
wasn’t quite straight and it wasn’t really curly, but there was a lot of it,
which she liked to tie back but Lance preferred she let hang loose.
So, she wasn’t
perfect. But at the price Lance paid for her, what girl could be?
But what was
most important of all was that Candy belonged to Lance. And what’s more Lance
could do with the girl whatever the heck he liked.
And what could
be more perfect than that?
Lance drove
through the gates of the community, up the driveway of his house and into his
garage. A series of security locks later, he was able to carry the many plastic
bags into the kitchen where he emptied the contents and arranged them in the
cupboards where they belonged. Lance felt a need to keep his house tidy now a
woman was living there. He’d recently extended the hours that the maids would service
his house each month and thrown out some of the more shabby items of furniture.
He’d also, perhaps reluctantly, disposed of the last few remaining signs that he’d
once shared the house with Betty.
Lance knew it
didn’t really matter what he did to make life comfortable for Candy. She would
serve his sexual needs in whatever state he kept the house or whatever opinion of
him she might privately hold. But it was into a life of sexual service that
either she’d sold herself or, more likely, her indebted family had sold her,
and Lance had no intention of not taking full advantage of what was on offer.
But it was surely best to treat the girl with some respect.
After all, you
don’t want the girl to hate you when you fuck her up the backside or ask her to
suck your dick.
Lance climbed
the stairs to the second bedroom which was furnished with a double bed, a
58-inch TV and a wardrobe-full of lingerie, lace, leather and chains. He pushed
open the door and greeted Candy while carrying a tray laid out with glasses of
brandy and nuts. She returned his greeting with a smile of weary resignation
and accepted the brandy which she cupped in the palms of her hands as if it was
a bowl of hot soup. She was wearing black lacy knickers and bra that were
designed to accentuate her bosom and show off as much skin as possible. Candy
might have wanted to wear less obviously provocative clothes, but this was
quite simply not an option open to her.
The attempts at
conversation that Lance initiated with Candy were not especially successful. It
wasn’t that Candy had difficulty speaking English, although she wasn’t a native
speaker and frowned quizzically at some of Lance’s more colloquial expressions.
It was rather that Lance’s conversational skills had never been particularly
good, especially not with women, and Candy was clearly apprehensive about what
would happen once the talking stopped and the action began.
Lance had
visited many prostitutes in his life and, of course, he’d lived with Betty for
several years, so he knew his own pace well enough, although it was obviously far
from being in tune with Candy’s. In fact, it was apparent that she wasn’t looking
forward at all to having sex with Lance. It was with an expression of surrender
to impending doom that she divested herself of her few clothes when Lance
stripped himself down to his socks and underpants.
And then
bolstered by his purchases from SteinMart’s pharmaceutical shelves,
specifically a StiffenYou tablet and a shot of Upnatem, Lance was ready for the
sex he’d been fantasising about all day ever since an already naked Candy was
delivered to him along with a selection of chains, bolts and keys. She’d looked
fearful, helpless and submissive. From the moment Lance had signed the delivery
receipt, he wanted to fuck the whore so hard that his main worry was that he’d
fail to last more than two minutes before embarrassing himself on a girl who
was indentured to him for the next ten years of her life.
After which,
she’d no longer be Lance’s responsibility.
But then who’d
want a sex slave approaching her thirtieth birthday?
Lance needn’t
have worried. Modern medicine was a wonderful thing. It provided drugs to help
you pass exams, compete in the most arduous cycle race, fend off the symptoms
of lung cancer and diabetes, relieve the worst kind of constipation, and, of
course, perform in bed when it mattered most. Indeed, Lance’s lovemaking took
so much more than two minutes that after an hour or so he was almost becoming
bored of it, while Candy was showing no more evidence of enjoying it than she
did on his first furtive fingering of her shaven vagina.
Lance made sure
to tick off all the sexual activities he’d been missing for so long. Fucking in
the vagina, up the buttocks, in the mouth. Slapping his dick on her cheeks,
both on the face and behind. Back and forth and in and out and on and on and
on. But eventually all that thrusting into a vagina and anus artificially
lubricated by SteinMart’s own brands had to some to a climax otherwise the entire
exercise would be wasted. And when he did so, Lance’s semen was copious and
splattered all over Candy’s face and bosom.
While Candy
wiped off the fluids with the tissues he’d thoughtfully left for her on the
bedside cabinet, Lance contemplated how he might improve on his sexual pleasure
next time they had sex. Perhaps he’d get her to swallow. Perhaps he’d hire a
whore from Milly’s Pleasure Palace and make it a threesome. Perhaps he’d tie
her up while he slapped her on the buttocks.
There was so
much to do with her and he’d barely got started.
Lance lay naked
on his back on the bed, his penis limp over his thigh and his socks still on.
He smiled at Candy whose mouth dutifully returned his smile, but whose eyes
remained unamused and almost hostile. She continued to wipe down her bosom and
the corners of her lips even though there was little evidence of there being
any more semen to clean up.
Perhaps Lance
could have a second go later that evening. But to do so he’d have to consult
the guidance printed with his pharmaceutical purchases. He didn’t want to get
penis rash or a ruptured testicle. You heard such stories.
For the next
few weeks, Lance spent as much time as he could with his fresh purchase. He
slept with her at night, enjoying the pleasures of an early morning fuck that
he’d not savoured since his early years with Betty. He spent his hours at work,
when not poring over spreadsheets and workflow diagrams, daydreaming about
Candy and how he would fuck her seven ways to heaven. Or at least give himself
a taste of paradise. He browsed online not only to buy sex toys, sex pills,
lubricants and erotic lingerie, but also to get advice on sex games, sexual
postures and tips on how a man could achieve the very best ejaculation. He
deliberately glossed over the sections in the literature that described how a
man’s sexual gratification was often exactly reciprocal to that enjoyed by the
woman. There was no point in concerning himself with Candy’s sexual pleasure in
the sex they had together. She was Lance’s to do with whatever he wished. Her
own needs were really neither here nor there.
Nevertheless,
Lance did take the precaution of reading the terms of his purchase agreement
with regards to sale and return. The conditions by which he could return his
purchase and get a full or even partial refund were very stringent. Unless
Candy attacked him with a steak knife or burnt down his house, and that within
the first week of her indentured service, Lance really had no recourse to
return the goods.
On the other
hand, GirlsULike did offer attractive rates for the training courses they
provided for indentured sex workers should their services not be wholly satisfactory,
although it did emphasise that such training should also be followed by a
strict regime to reinforce the lessons learnt. And these, naturally, included
restraint, regular discipline and a prescribed course of libido-enhancing
pills.
When at last free
from the demands of working and commuting, Lance climbed into the bed he shared
with Candy, the sheets freshly washed every day, and ploughed into her
lubricated orifices while regaling her with his complaints about colleagues,
bosses, road-hogs, scroungers and, worst of all, fanatical, scrounging, bad-smelling
foreigners. There was so much to complain about.
Although Lance
was proud to live in a country that respected the freedom of business, commerce
and the individual (as long as it didn’t stretch to heresy, treason or
dissidence), there was too much tolerance for the kind of scum who wanted to
spoil it all with their fraudulent sympathy for the environment, diversity, foreigners
and pacifism. If the bastards had their way, Lance would have to cycle to work,
surrender his guns, cut back on the calories, give up smoking, and, worst of
all, let Candy loose with no likelihood of even a penny of compensation for the
considerable sum she’d cost him.
And then, his
prick stiffened by HardWood or DeepThrust, Lance would turn over to Candy, who
visibly shivered whenever he mentioned the training courses provided by
GirlsULike, and take her doggy style, pushing his hard penis as deep inside her
as he could, sploshing around in a lubricated hole that would otherwise be
rather rough and resistant.
And then, one
evening, not long after Lance had become accustomed to his new way of life, his
prick still deeply embedded in Candy’s arse, he heard the doorbell ring.
At first he
ignored it. The only thing it could be was a fund-raiser for a minority
political candidate, so unlikely to win that he couldn’t attract backing from
the nation’s millionaires, or, if not that, a fanatical religious cult or a
charity for the poor and needy, who Lance believed didn’t deserve a penny more
than they could earn for themselves.
However, the
doorbell was so insistent that Lance reluctantly withdrew from inside Candy and
with his penis still stiff, he wrapped a dressing gown around his ample body and
left Candy to wipe herself clean of Lance’s perspiration.
“What is it?”
Lance asked the two men in smart suits who stood at his front door. He knew
they must have provided some kind of credentials to be allowed into the gated
community, but it could still be that they were insurance salesmen or
canvassers of one kind or another. And, in any case, it was possible that the
credentials they’d presented were in the form of dollar notes.
Both men wore
dark grey suits with white striped shirts and black shoes, but one had deep
blue eyes and blond hair, whereas the other was well-built: the menace of his
muscular frame accentuated by a totally bald head and expressionless dark eyes.
“You are Lance Apfelbaum
of 58 Aspidistra Gardens, are you not?” asked the blond-haired man.
“Well, yes,”
said Lance, while the man’s larger colleague made a note of this on his
hand-held tablet.
“And I believe
that on the fourteenth of last month you were in receipt of an indentured sex
worker with the trade name of Candy. Is this true, Mr Apfelbaum?”
“Yes,” said
Lance with a strange sinking feeling. This conversation wasn’t boding well.
“I am here to
inform you that there are complications with your purchase that are in
contravention with the legal requirements for commerce of this nature.”
“You what? Are
you from GirlsULike?”
“GirlsULike? That’s
the name of the company from which you made your purchase, isn’t that so, Mr Apfelbaum?”
“Yes, it is.
There must be a mistake of some kind. I have all the paperwork if you need to
see it,” said Lance. And then, thinking that maybe he was acting too hastily.
“But first of all I need to see proof of who you are.”
“Of course, Mr Apfelbaum.
A wise precaution. You can’t be too careful these days, can you? We’re from Holden,
Merriweather & Buchner. The stock reclamation company. You may have heard
of us.”
Lance gulped as
he examined the documents presented to him. Yes, he had heard of them. There
were several well renowned stock reclamation companies, whose reputation for
ruthlessness and unwillingness to compromise in pursuit of their clients’
interests was second only to that of debt collectors. And Holden, Merriweather
& Buchner represented only those wealthier clients who had no time for complicated
pleas of innocence and were indifferent to what methods might be employed. Like
debt collectors, they were literally above the law, but only in the sense that
the law of the land was deliberately framed in such a way that just as the
wealthiest citizens were never liable for tax and no serving politician could
be charged with corruption, those employed to serve the interests of free trade
and enforcing debt liability could do almost anything they liked to serve their
clients’ needs.
“I don’t
understand,” said Lance, aware that no argument he made could possibly persuade
these gentlemen to relent. “I did everything correctly. I even took out
Liability Insurance…”
“Well, that’s
no use to you in the present circumstances, sir.”
“Can you at
least tell me what mistake I made?”
“Well,” said
the blond man as he consulted his notes. “We’re most certainly not obliged to tell
you anything of course. However, I can see that there was an irregularity not
so much with your purchase but with the one made by GirlsULike. As you must be
aware there is a chain of suppliers between you and the ultimate source, whose
identity is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Somewhere along the line,
Candy was purchased by my client but was also sold on to another supplier. Very
irregular, you must agree.”
“Yes, I suppose
so. Do you know who the client is?”
The larger man
snorted angrily. “That isn’t the kind of information we’re at liberty to
divulge,” he said. “Let’s stop wasting our time, sir. We want to collect the
goods and leave.”
“Certainly. Of
course,” said Lance nervously. “Am I entitled to any compensation for my loss?”
“Not from us,
sir,” said the blond man. “You’ll have to take that up with GirlsULike. Unless
of course you’re insured against this kind of thing.”
“Errm…”
“Just let us
in, sir,” said the larger man. “Yours isn’t the only house we’re scheduled to
visit tonight.”
Lance had no
choice but to let the two representatives from Holden, Merriweather &
Buchner in through his front door.
“We would
prefer that you didn’t accompany us while we collect the goods, sir,” said the
blond haired man. “First of all, where is the girl?”
Lance gestured
up the stairs. “Second door on the left,” he said. “Candy will be on the bed.
She won’t have any clothes on, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry
about that, sir,” said the blond man as his larger colleague thundered up the
stairs. “We have no interest in reclaiming subsidiary items that you’ve paid
for either yourself or as part of the service provided by GirlsULike. We’re
only interested in the girl. In fact, we prefer them naked. It makes our job
easier. Now, if you could excuse me, sir.”
The blond man
followed his colleague up the stairs, while Lance hovered around in the
hallway, feeling both impotent and strangely violated. His main concern was
what compensation, if any, he’d get from GirlsULike, especially now he’d been
told that his Liability Insurance didn’t cover the current situation.
From upstairs,
he first heard some startled screaming, followed by the blond man’s more
measured reassuring words. For a moment, there was almost silence from
upstairs. Then came a series of more screams accompanied by angry shouts that
must have come from the bald muscular gentleman. This continued for several
minutes while Lance continued to stand alone, uncertain whether to stay where
he was or pretend to busy himself elsewhere. Perhaps he could raid the fridge and
put together a sandwich. But as it was he maintained his ground while letting
his imagination wander as sounds came from his second bedroom that could have
been almost anything.
It was nearly
half an hour later that Candy was dragged downstairs, totally naked and in
handcuffs and chains. One of her eyes was bruised and swelling, and from both
eyes there was a stream of tears over her cheeks and onto her bare bosom. Lance
caught a last glimpse of Candy’s face before the representatives from Holden, Merriweather
& Buchner dragged her out of his house and into the white van they had
parked outside with the company’s impressive Royal Crest and Latin motto
adorning the bonnet and sides.
And Lance had
never in his entire life before seen so much misery, dread and fear etched on a
person’s terrified face as he did on Candy’s in that brief glimpse.
It was so
unlike the image of a smiling, acquiescent and enthusiastic sex worker that
GirlsULike had advertised and, in a sense, promised.
“Yes, we
understand your problem, sir,” said the call centre operator from GirlsULike
when Lance made the phone call and navigated his way through all the options to
the one most like his case. The woman on the other end of the phone had a weary
patient voice very different from the enthusiastic upbeat voice of the salesman
from which he’d originally purchased Candy. “However, your insurance doesn’t
fully cover your loss and the compensation we are legally obliged to offer you
is only 40% of your original purchase price.”
“Only 40%!”
Lance wailed.
“You’ve had
possession of your purchase for more than the 28 days trial period and the
terms by which you lost possession do not meet any of the prescribed
conditions,” the call-centre voice continued. “However, we can offer you
several options, sir.”
“And what are
they?”
“Well, the
first and simplest is to provide you with another indentured sex worker who is
worth rather less than the original cost price. As a special offer to a loyal
customer, we can offer a girl worth up to 55% of the price you paid. However,
she isn’t going to be even nearly the same quality as your original purchase
who was called…erm…Candy. She won’t be as much to your satisfaction as Candy
was.”
“What would
such a girl be like?”
“It’s unlikely
she’d be a girl as such, unless she’s damaged in some way…”
“Damaged?”
“Disabled.
Amputated limbs. Facial or genital injuries. Somewhat worse than plain. Nonetheless,
GirlsULike prides itself on the quality of its merchandise, so she’s unlikely
to be a girl and more likely to be a woman. And at that price she’s unlikely to
be much younger than you are, sir.”
Lance didn’t
like the idea of that at all. What was the point in buying an indentured sex
worker who was about the same age as his wife would be? Or, worse, some kind of
deformed freak?
“What are the
other options?”
“Well, the next
easiest option is that we simply reimburse you for 40% of the cost of the
original procurement. You’ll have nothing else to show for it except the memory
of your initial purchase.”
“And the other
options?”
“There’s only
one other, sir, and that is that we take the compensation cost of 55% and you
can pay extra on top of that to choose another girl. Perhaps another ‘Candy’,
sir, if that’s a name you particularly like.”
“And can I
insure against similar problems in the future if I do so?”
“It’s funny you
should say that, sir,” said the call-centre voice. “We do have a new Platinum
Premium Insurance Scheme that bundles Liability Insurance in with other
products that will protect you in future.”
“And if I pay
45% of the original price plus the extra insurance, I can have a girl just like
Candy?”
“Subject to
availability, of course, sir. Shall I pass you over to a Sales Representative?”
“Yes, of
course,” said Lance, who realised once again that he’d agreed to pay
substantially more than he’d originally anticipated.
But such was
the penalty of living in a free society and one which Lance would rather face
any day than any of the altogether unpalatable alternatives.
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