Rambling On
Retiredchef's picture

The showroom tiled floor glistened, reflecting the brightness of the florescent lamps mounted in the high ceiling as he walked in through the glass double doors. Several tables and chairs were [filtered word]tered about the room among the displays of the regional distribution wholesaler’s promotional signage. A client, Steve recognized him as the buyer for one of the larger training stables, was sitting at a table scanning through a brochure while a salesman perched across from him extolled the virtues within the pamphlets.
Steve grunted, ‘Damned vultures…’
He paused at the reception desk and a woman, dressed modestly in office attire, smiled at him from behind the desk, “May I serve you?”
“Yeah,” Steve placed his business card on the desk and slid it towards the woman with one finger, “I have an appointment and I don’t want a salesman dogging me.”
“Of course,” The receptionist picked up the business card, “We have an escort for you, Mr. Browning, if you care to wait. We don’t allow sampling…”
“Not after a free test drive and I know the rules.” Steve cut her off.
She smiled at him and picked up the phone, spoke quietly into the handset and hung up. “It will be just one moment, Mr. Browning.”
“Thanks.” He wandered away from the desk towards a poster of a woman cheerfully cooking dinner with the caption, ‘We have only the Best!’
It wasn’t long before he heard a pair of high heels clicking on the floor and halt at his side, “Mr. Browning?” He turned. A woman in a tailored blazer and skirt stood next to him, holding a folder in the crook of her arm. A short handled electric prod dangled from her skirt’s belt. She said, “I’m Liz, I will be your escort. I am married and have my husband’s permission to work, do you care to see my employment permit?”
He said with a wave of his hand, “Won’t be necessary.”
“Excellent. If you will come with me?”

She led him along a corridor saying, “I’ve culled a few girls that meet your specifications for you. Light-skinned hour-glass sluts, I believe? We have a large selection of Asian girls right now if you decide to browse. If you see something you like I will arrange for you to meet with a salesman.”
Liz entered a code into a keypad on the wall. A buzzer sounded and she opened a door. Steve stepped into a glass ceiling atrium, decorated with potted plants and trees. A miniature waterfall fed into a small pool of water. Girls clothed in open-sided and belted tunics of varying ethnicities with yellow ear tags standing about in small groups or singly turned to look as he entered.
Steve commented, “I’m expected.”
Liz told him, “I’m afraid so. Rumors run wild in the pens and they know your specialty. I must say the girls I picked out are very excited. They know you’re contracting with a very exclusive marriage agency and they all want to be the wife of a rich man. There’re about a hundred and thirty girls in this pen. As you know, all girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one are required to report to a wholesaler, and this particular pen has the top of the line that we currently offer. This way, please.”
Nodding, Steve followed Liz over to a dozen girls huddled in a corner of the pen. As they approached the girls giggled and smiled at him. Handing Steve the folder Liz said sharply, “Girls! Get in a line and off with your tunics! Mr. Browning will want to inspect your forms!”
Hurriedly re-arranging themselves the girls undid their belts and removed their tunics, all except one girl. With her arms crossed she huffed, “You can’t be serious! He can see plenty! This tunic barely covers anything!”
Unclipping the electric prod, Liz touched the recalcitrant girl with the twin prongs and pulled the trigger in one fluid motion. The girl shrieked and fell to the floor.
“I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Browning,” Liz apologized as she sent another charge into the body of the now terrified girl, “She’s a new arrival and hasn’t quite got with the program yet. How she ever was placed in this pen is beyond me.”
“No problem,” Steve opened the folder and began scanning through the information packets while Liz shocked the girl a third time.
Looking up, Steve said, “Pamela.” A brunette stepped forward with a covert, sideways glance at the twitching, prostrate girl, and he asked, “What are the duties of a wife?”
Clearing her throat, Pamela responded, “A wife always looks her best, sees to the needs and wishes of her husband first…”
Steve, listening to Pamela’s modulation, reminded himself he was running a business and not a rescue mission as Liz dragged the disobedient girl away by her hair. Pamela’s ‘C’ cup tits were firm, her hips flared nicely from her medium sized waist. Not a perfect hourglass but passable. Her Bio said she was nineteen, graduated with a B+ average and was on the varsity volleyball team. Her health report indicated she was sexually active and in good health. He stopped her monologue with a grunt, “Put your tunic on and take your place on my left,” He turned over a page in the folder, “Rebecca.” A girl stepped forward while Pamela eagerly gathered her tunic and he said, “Same question.”
Standing next to Steve, Pamela tied the belt around her waist and adjusted her tunic as Rebecca recited the duties of a wife, ‘Oh my God! I can’t believe it! I’m finally getting out of here!’

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