The computer screen glared angrily at Riya as she squinted through tired eyes. Even with her office blinds closed, it still felt like knives were being driven into her head. Background nausea still lingered despite vomiting twice before lunch. What was she thinking last night?
An email popped into her inbox. The title read:
We are Proud to announce our new partnership with the Femme Liberation Administration!
She opened the email and was immediately confronted by her recent past. Underneath the CEO's description of the new deal, was a group photo of her team arm-in-arm with Vicky and Wendy from the Department of Health.
It was the greatest moment of her career, but also her greatest shame. She prayed that the picture embedded in the company wide email wouldn't reveal where it was taken. She couldn't remember everything that had occurred the night before, but her memory of that moment was clear in her mind. Chastity, the hot young blonde, dropped to one knee to take the photo while completely naked, his magnificently curved manhood standing at full attention atop two freakishly large testicles that were a thing of fantasy. Her heart sunk when she saw herself in the picture, not quite looking into the camera, but slightly below it. Riya scanned across the row of faces in the image and took some consolation to find that she wasn't the only one to be distracted by the young stud's pleasing assets. But only somebody who was there would notice a subtle detail like that.
She was in the clear. At least she thought so until she looked past Eleanor's shoulder in the image. And there it was, undeniable evidence of her team's lecherous behaviour; an athletic brunette stripper in a tiny red g-string and matching collar around his neck. He was holding a tray of drinks. She could even see a subtle red hue on his rosy butt cheeks, which was only interrupted by a tattoo of the Femme Liberation Party logo on his left buttock.
She forgot all about the pain in her body for a moment. What would Dean think of her now? Would he even notice? And if he did, would he understand that she had no choice? As these thoughts flooded her mind, she started to wonder if the pain of her hangover was her just reward.
She decided to send a discrete email to her team, reminding them that what happens in Sky Queendom, stays in Sky Queendom.
--
One week later.
Dean made his way across the marble floor of the lobby towards the closing elevator door. He could do little to increase his pace, encumbered by a coffee tray in each hand.
A feminine hand wedged itself between the doors at the last moment. The steel tapped gently against the wrinkled skin before opening once again for him. He smiled in response to the polite gesture.
"Dean Johnson!" the lady exclaimed as she entered.
He was so startled that he almost spilled all twelve cups of coffee.
"I love your work! You are one of my favourites!" the raspy voice was still loud enough to be heard in the foyer before the doors shut.
"Can I get a selfie?!"
Dean nodded reluctantly. It had been several years since he left the porn business but he still ran into fans uncomfortably often.
She moved in to take a snap with her phone and held him closer than he would like, placing a confident hand on his buttock in the process. Her fingers conveyed entitlement to his flesh; as if all the hours that she had spent fixated on his pleasing nudity had earned her a firm grasp of his butt. There was an awkward pause as she took several snaps: first a smile, then a smile and wink, followed by a powerful smoulder with her chin raised. Her volatile expressions were a stark contrast to Dean's fake smile. All the while, she was firmly grasping a handful of his butt while the trays of coffee rendered him defenceless. She was obviously savouring every moment that her greedy fingers could possess his flesh.
Rage began to bubble to the surface of Dean's mind. He wanted to tell her to keep her hands to herself. More than that, he wanted to give her a piece of his mind. But he had learned from experience that it's easier to just smile and nod. Last year he had told a fan to put her phone away and leave him alone, only to have her post all about it on social media. For the next two days he was abused by thousands of ladies on social media. The incident prompted an investigation from the department of social etiquette. Upon examination of the footage of his 'outburst,' they fined him 500 social credit points.
Dean politely moved away and the lady reciprocated reluctantly. She obviously wanted to take more but didn't want to push her luck.
His fan was a particularly nerdy-looking lady in her sixties. She stood in the centre of the elevator, but instead of facing the door she was facing him with an enamoured grin. Her glasses were so thick that they made her eyes look bigger; amplifying each movement as she scanned his body. Her aged skin was pale and wrinkled with a smattering of blemishes that could have been fixed with some basic care.
She looked like an IT worker or accountant who had long been stuck in a low-level position. Her black dress almost touched the ground and her high neckline projected dignity and respect. Her sleeves weren't properly ironed, Dean assumed that she was single because most ladies would not bother to do ironing and much rather outsource the task to a boyfriend or husband.
The absence of a name brand on her dress gave away her lack of wealth. He wasn't surprised that she was still single given her meagre earnings. Current economic woes meant that only senior positions provided sufficient income to support a family. This lady had neither attractiveness nor wealth to offer; Dean found her repulsive.
Over the last couple of years he had begun to appreciate the security that money could bring. He had always dreamt of marrying an attractive young femme and continuing with his career. But it seemed that even the most traditional femme, who would still support the idea of her husband pursuing a career, wanted to have children immediately following marriage. With the enormous cost of childcare, Dean would need to forsake his career to become a stay-at-home husband.
As depressing as these thoughts were to him, they were still a welcome distraction in that moment.
Her jovial voice pulled him out of his thoughts, "You still look very firm! I can't wait to see your new scenes!"
Most ladies felt a modicum of shame while discussing their private viewing habits but she was clearly an exception. Something about her voice filled him with fear. It had a distinctly elderly characteristic combined with a confident entitlement. It reminded him of many of the ladies that he had performed with during his career. The sound of her voice triggered a memory of his first 'doublelingus' scene because the lady performing opposite him sounded similar.
Dean and another boy both wore collars around their necks.
"Come here my firm husbands," she said as she yanked their leashes to coax them to crawl across the room to her.
"Come and worship your wife and matriarch!"
"Thank you matriarch!" they responded in practiced unison.
Dean used to be able to drive such intrusive thoughts from his mind but they had become more persistent since his humiliating ordeal at the phalicologist.
