My 18th birthday was an exciting day. I had scheduled my interview for the brothel, as so many 18 year old girls do. I was nervous, and my mother reassured me I had nothing to worry about, I would definitely be accepted.
In order to go into certain lines of work, young women had to do a commitment of a minimum of eight years in the Brothel. It was also my only way of earning citizenship in my country. Men had military service, women had the brothel. It was a fair and just system that had helped women to rise into power, and then the system was upheld to avoid any rebellion from the men.
When I arrived at my state's brothel office, I asked to speak with the admissions officer. I had worn a pink cotton dress, matching bra and panties, and flats. My hear and makeup were done simply. My mother had explained that sex workers didn't need to dress as a slutty character with pigtails or stilettos for the interview. This was a much different than the sex work of the 21st century.
Three other girls waited in the waiting room, each getting called into the admissions officer's office before me. When it was my turn, I stood, shook her hand followed into her office.
"Hadley, welcome. Can I get you any water or anything?" She offered me a seat with a hand gesture.
"No thank you." I felt butterflies in my stomach. I had dreamt of this for a long time, being an upstanding member of society, and eventually a citizen, and someday President. All Presidents for two hundred years had been required to earn citizenship, and we hadn't had a man in over 100 years.
I sat across the desk from her, and crossed my legs.
"So, Hadley, what makes you want to join the sex work corps?" Her eyes locked on mine, and didn't wander to assess me. My mother said they wouldn't but this was a recruitment evaluation, how could They not?
"Well, Ma'am. I want citizenship, an education, and maybe when I retire from sex work, to go into politics. My mother served from 18-35 when she got picked for the maternity program, but maintained an active worklife, having gone through medical school as a sex worker. She taught me, and my sister that with the SWC we could acheive anything."
She smiled and nodded. "Yes, I was enlisted until 40, and realized what amazing opportunities were in the SWC and when I retired two years ago, realized I wanted to help young women make the most for themselves."
I smiled, and broke eye contact to look down at her large breasts which were to prominent to be hidden, but were tastefully covered. When I looked back up I blushed at her catching me.
"What is your sexual orientation?" she asked a moment later looking down at a questionaire.
"Heterosexual." I knew that bisexuality in practice was a must for the SWC, but that many straight and lesbian women managed to be successful.
"As today is your 18th, I assume you're a virgin?" There was a matter of fact tone in her voice, devoid of judgment.
"Yes, Ma'am. But I am looking forward to correcting that."
"You understand that our training process will mean you won't lose your virginity, with a man at least, for probably a month?"
"Yes ma'am." I had masturbated and orgasmed before getting out of bed this morning, so my appetite was temporarily sated.
"Are there any sex work aspects you're hesitant to participate in?"
I gulped, this wasnt a question I had prepped for. My mother hadn't faced this question, or maybe she hadn't remembered.
"Rape row..." I looked down at my hands.
"Rape row is really only for women who want to go into intelligence. It can be helpful for politics, but it isn't necessary. Most women never work rape row. I did not."
Rape row was a neighborhood in which sex workers lived and worked for periods if time, and men with rape fantasies could come in and live out those fantasies. It had managed to keep rape rates down in the rest of the city, and each major city had one.
"Alright, I have your paperwork filled out. We do need to have a panel inspection, and photograph documentation for your file. Do you understand that process?"
I shook my head. Another thing that must be different from my mom's time in the corps.
"Myself, a lesbian recruiter, and a male volunteer will need to inspect your naked body, give recommendations, take photographs, and if we agree you can sign the SWC contract and begin today."
I nodded. I had brought a bag, knowing if I was accepted I would begin immediately.
"During the inspection, there will be a couple of responsiveness tests which will require physical touch. You may pick which of the three of us administer thise, but we will all remain present. Do you consent?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Please undress, I will go get my colleagues."
She stood up, and walked out, and I slowly, undressed folding my clothes as I did. I had just finished when the three inspectors came in.
The man was handsome, about my father's age, the other woman was gorgeous, early fifties.
They all greeted me with handshakes, and their eyes began to look me over. First my face. The lesbian woman asked me to bare my teeth, the recruiter snapped a picture as I did.
Soon they focused on my breasts. Which were C-Cups, with a slight upturn before the nipple, and perky.
"We need to see how your nipples respond to touch. Who would you like to administer that?" The recruiter asked after snapping a pic.
"The gentleman, please." My voice was small and timid compared to normal.
He reached out and as softly as possible grazed my nipples with his fingertips, and they went erect immediately. The recruiter snapped a photo, and the man smiled at my responsiveness.
He then took each nipple between his fingers and using just enough strength to not let them slip out, lifted my breasts by them--snap-- and let them drop with a light bounce.
All three sat in chairs, and the examination moved to my pussy, which was naturally covered in coarse strawberry blonde hair. My mother had told me to not shave in preparation.
"Can you part your bush a bit, so we can see your vulva?" the lesbian woman asked. I blushed and did as requested.
"May I check the moisture level?" the man asked. "Or would you prefer one of my colleagues?"
"I'd prefer you to, sir." He was visibly erect in his pants, but ignored it perfectly.
He slid just his middle finger through the folds of my slit, not properly entering me. He was slow then removed his finger, held it up, and it glistened with my wet.
"Lovely..." the recruiter said, before adding, "please turn around, bend at the waist and separate your buttocks for us."
I looked at the desk, as I bent and spread. I had to hold the position for longer than I expected, finally heard a snap.
They inspected my hands and feet last, and left to confer. I redressed, and waited. Finally, just the recruiter returned with a contract in hand.
"Hadley, we want to accept you, but before we do that, there is one condition we need you to agree to."
