This is a start from a while ago, never taken any further. Not very sophisticated, it has a certain something.
Heather has been here so many times — even more, if you count the times she has imagined it. But she has never gone in, never crossed the threshold. A discreet but elegant door, in a discreet office block, in an expensive side street off the highest rental square in the financial district; the equally discreet and elegant sign says simply; ‘Macadam Executive training. Originators of the Perfect PA programme’.
She is about to walk on past — again — when a man arrives, and checks, waiting for her to enter;
“Allow me!” he says, and opens the door, indicating politely but so confidently that she is to precede him, that, without knowing how, she is inside.
The man carries on down a softly lit corridor, leaving Heather to face the receptionist — gorgeous, immaculate, smiling beautifully — so warmly, so genuinely, that Heather immediately feels calmer;
“Good afternoon Madam, how may I please you?”
Taking a deep breath, Heather finds herself telling this pretty, attentive girl, with the soft, open expression, all about it; how she has been stuck in dead end jobs since she arrived in the city, how she knows her educational record isn’t good enough, how she had read about girls with Perfect PA training getting married to millionaires, how the highest paid jobs often mentioned that it would be an advantage, that she had done her research, and that Macadam was always rated the best, the most professional, although the most expensive.
What she didn’t say, was too embarrassed to say, was that the jobs she had had so far were obviously on the basis of her looks, her body, the way she dressed, and that the reasons she had left had all got something to do with some boss thinking he had the right to feel her tits or put his hand up her skirt.
She also said nothing about the most important aspect of Perfect PA Training, a fact which everyone knew, yet never talked about, unless they were among those waging a campaign against the very idea of PA training — the fact that girls who had graduated through the programme were known to be sexually compliant to an extraordinary degree, this characteristic being accompanied by extraordinary personal loyalty and discretion, not to mention high levels of social and sexual technique.
There had been several exposés of training agencies that purported to offer PPA training, but were in fact fronts for various exploitations — trafficking operations, prostitution, etc.
That was why Heather had decided that, if she was going to be groped by her superiors, she was, first; going to be well paid, second; only going to accept it in very classy surroundings, and third; enjoy it herself (which was supposedly the case for PPA girls), and so she would only consider the Macadam.
“So, you are interested in applying to us for training in PPA techniques, Madam?”
Heather flushes pink — although the sexual aspect is not explicit, no girl could possibly answer ‘yes’ to such a question without the thought arising — ‘high class whore’ — but the receptionist is so sincere, so obviously straightforward, so wonderful an advert for the result of the training, that she finds herself saying;
“Yes, yes, please — I mean, very interested. I mean; I do! I do … want to apply. Only..”
Here she blushes again, not from shame, but from a feeling of stupidity — how could she forget that she is almost sure she can’t afford the fees?
”.. only .. I’m not sure I can afford it.”
The girl is sympathetic, friendly, not at all judgemental, and smiles;
“The best training in the field does come at a price, you’re right, but I’m sure we’ll be able to find a way for you to get what you want. If you’ll hold on a minute, I’ll get Miss Darke to come through — she can look at all the options with you, and find out what will suit.”
Heather does not know that the receptionist has been advised to be as positive as she is on the basis of a discreet message on her screen. Not even her arrival today is an accident. The Macadam system’s success is at least partly due to its rigorous pre-assessment of candidates for training. Heather’s pattern, observed via CCTV, of repeated visits to the office, without ever entering, is a known and welcome one — many of Macadam’s most successful girls have started in the same way, so that when Heather had appeared, and been recognised, a junior had been dispatched via the back door — the very man who had so firmly ushered Heather into the office.
Further pre-assessment has been undertaken as she spoke to Libby, the receptionist, with a positive outcome, largely based on looks at this point, but also on her not exhibiting any behaviour at odds with the ‘hesitant, but ready’ type that she has been judged so far.
Heather’s looks go a long way. A little taller than average, she is slim, with long, long legs, pert buttocks and a petite midriff topped with noticeably lush breasts. Her elegantly shaped head sits on a slender neck, and her smile is open and generous, without being in the least assertive. Her hair is long, blonde and lustrous, although she has obviously applied bleach, as her eyebrows are enticingly darker. She is just on the delicate side of the all-american corn fed beauty from the mid-west. She is 22, and a peach, ripe for the plucking.
So Libby’s job is to keep Heather positive, and she has no problem with this. Quite the opposite, for Libby has had special training for her role. Training which, among other things, has left her with an intense appreciation of the sort of girls the Macadam is looking for. For Libby, meeting Heather has been a little like falling in love — no matter that three days ago she felt the same way about Carla, and last week about Lee-Anne.
Libby has love enough for all of them, and as they progress through their training she will often be their shoulder to cry on, to express their doubts and fears to — doubts and fears which the Macadam needs to understand to make their individually tailored course completely effective, and which Libby of course relates in great detail to her masters, who take care to leave the trainees with a clear sense that Libby has helped them to resolve these troubles, and that she is doubly worth of further confidences — even though the doubts are always resolved in one direction — the direction of increased compliance, submission and selfless service.
So that a girl who has told Libby she doubts she will ever be happy to even attempt deep throat, finds herself, a week later, on her knees, hands submissively locked around her high heels, pushing her face into the thick curls of her trainer’s pubic hair, getting a warm, fuzzy feeling about Libby’s encouraging words as she succeeds in suppressing her gag reflex.
And indeed, Heather is very appreciative of Libby’s warmth and gentle confidence, as Miss Darke approaches. No less beautiful, Miss Darke has a very different impact. She is older, more severely dressed, and obviously powerful. Libby visibly melts in her presence (a reaction not unconnected to the fact that, although Libby is very definitely company property — unseen, unimaginable, to Heather is the fact that Libby has the company logo branded into her belly, just above her pussy, and has signed a ten year indenture — it is Miss Darke who uses her outside office hours most regularly, and most thoroughly); so, too, does Heather. Miss Darke is just what she needs, she thinks — to give her a steer — help her make her mind up.
And so she does, but not before taking Heather on a little emotional journey; first, she outlines the fantastic benefits of Macadam training — statistics on salaries, fringe benefits (large clothes allowances are normal, luxury serviced apartments common — both, of course offer fringe benefits to the employer as well, in the form of control over apparel, and easy access to company apartments to which the girl very often does not even hold a key), consistent employment even through big downturns, successful marriages even.
Then, the shocking cost of full training, the awful realisation that ‘most girls who come here are sponsored by their employer’, and the utter impossibility of ever affording it.
Then the depressing trawl through minor course modules that she could, perhaps, afford (if she carries on putting up with the tit-grabbing), but which none of them include the ‘core training’ — which is, of course, the bit that matters.
So that Heather feels close to tears, and is wondering if she should just get up and go before she humiliates herself by crying, when Miss Darke springs the trap. The trap that is hardly a trap, by this point, so keenly does Heather want to find some way in.
“Of course, for some qualifying candidates, we can offer a deferred payment plan — with some conditions, of course. There is also the possibility of pairing you up with a sponsor who has no suitable candidate. Again, conditions apply, and there is the matter of, ah, chemistry between you and a sponsor to consider.”
This is the moment. Miss Darke is calm, but acutely aware of Heather’s every movement, reading her body language, knowing before the girl does that she is in;
“What .. what are the, the .. um conditions — for the deferred payment option?”
“Oh, for qualifying candidates, they are quite simple, really. Deferred payment is offered only on the full course programme, including deep behavioural and attitudinal modification training, and on the basis that the candidate agrees to accept a Macadam placement for the first two years after training is completed.”
A pause. Heather is prettily pink. Both she and Miss Darke know that ‘deep behavioural and attitudinal modification training’ means that Heather will be brainwashed to become a sweetly willing, enthusiastic and submissive sex toy for her employer. The difference is that, for Heather, this knowledge is very abstract, vague; rather a silly girl (frankly), she has never made herself consider in detail what this might actually mean for her life.
Miss Darke, on the other hand, knows exactly what it means — this very evening, she will be taking another Macadam company girl, Ellie, to a dinner party where two Russian mafia clients will be shown just how far a Macadam girl will go for them, on the basis of which they may sign a contract and immediately take the girl to the airport and onto the flight to Vladivostock, from where she will not return for at least 2 years (Ellie will giggle happily as she signs the papers that mean she will leave her whole life behind, even though there has been no warning that this might be expected of her); and if they want her longer, of course, they have only to ask her if she would like to please them by signing on for a few more years, and she’ll smile as if she’s been offered her heart’s delight and say she’d be grateful for the chance…
Heather has also failed to properly understand that ‘accept a Macadam placement’, will essentially mean that Macadam can lease her to anyone they want for two years — and that a ‘sponsor with no suitable candiate’ is a corporate type with a fat budget in the market for a secretary he (or she; Macadam is happy to supply to anyone with the right budget) can fuck at will, any way he likes.
“So, that’s — that’s the most, um expensive option, and I can defer payment on that until — until after I, um graduate?”
And it’s done; there is detail to come, of course, but Heather is hooked — seeing, as she is intended to see, that the deferred payment option is an incredible bargain, rather than what it really is; a one way ticket to life as a luxury sex-slave. She is looking at D, her face full of anxiety — anxiety that she has it wrong, that she will be denied this opportunity, rather than anxiety about the step she is about to take. Darke smiles, and, in her sweet responsiveness, Heather’s pretty face is lit up by her sweet, tender smile, so eager to please, to be accepted;
“That’s right, Heather. If we think you’re good enough for the highest level training, than we know you’ll do very well for yourself. We always have a queue of employers waiting for girls from our elite classes.”
A cloud passes over Heather’s pretty face;
“Oh! But you mentioned ‘qualifying’ — what — I mean, how do I qualify?”
“Well, it’s fairly simple, really, but we do need to run some tests to establish fundamental aptitude, as well as check some particulars. But you know, you have already passed several tests with flying colours.”
Heather flushes again;
“I .. I have?” — smiling hopefully, as Miss Darke continues;
“Presentation, comportment and attitude are extremely important, and of course, high levels of physical beauty. I’m pleased to say you score highly on all these counts.”
The pretty girl smiles, dimples, looks down in happy confusion, then steals a small, soft glance upward, checking that the approval is real.
With a perfectly serious face, Miss Darke says;
“I do need to see your breasts, though, before we can proceed to the next stage.”
It is a test, and Heather knows it, but she is not sure she can pass it — this blunt request, from someone she only met an hour ago, in a small, anonymous interview room, is shocking to her — even though she understands why it has been made. She pales, trembles a little, the smile fades on her lips;
“Um … Here? Now?”
“Exactly.” Miss Darke’s voice makes it clear that Heather is on the verge of failing. The girl’s face crumples, flushes pinker than ever;
“Sorry …it’s just …”, she falters.
A calm stare from Miss Darke, but no other response. Her eyes are deep, dark, unfathomable — is she angry? Bored? Sad?
Heather finds her fingers at her blouse buttons, shyly but obediently takes it off completely, to expose a pretty, lace brassiere. It appears Heather likes to wear expensive, sexy lingerie. Hesitantly, but never giving the impression she will not follow through, Heather reaches around behind her, and removes the bra. Her breasts are soft, firm cones, with well formed nipples on lush, tan aureoles. The nipples are stiffening noticeably. She is pink again, smiling briefly, then looks nervous as she lifts her shoulders with a slight theatrical flourish, acknowledging that she is making an effort to display herself to advantage. She holds herself well, wanting to be thought attractive, needing approval.
Her tits jiggle enticingly — she is clearly all natural.
Miss Darke lets the pause go on long enough for Heather to begin to tremble, tinily, for her lips to quiver.
“Good. You have lovely breasts, and you are keen to please. Both are important factors. You may put your blouse back on. No, not your brassiere, please. Just leave it here — Libby will have it for you when you leave.”
Heather is not to know, but her training has already begun. The water she has nervously sipped at came from the same cooler as Miss Darke’s, but the paper cup, apparently the only blue one left, has a cocktail of drugs impregnated into the paper — small doses, which will increase her receptiveness to new ideas, increase arousal, decrease inhibitions.
“Please follow me: the other tests are more straightforward, but perhaps less interesting.”
Walking down the corridor behind Miss Darke, she is terribly aware of the way her naked breasts move beneath her blouse. She is embarrassed, but she is also pleased, even proud. Mostly, she is exhilarated — she is here, at last — and they keep saying nice things to her!
The tests, as with all well designed psychological tests, are nothing to do with the questions, equipment and exercises they consist of. What is actually being tested is Heather’s susceptibility to hypnotism, suggestion, peer pressure; her attitudes to sexuality, her basic physical responsiveness, reaction to subconscious stimuli. At the same time, the several video cameras trained on her at all times (including those times when she is naked, having been asked to change into specified clothing — a maid’s uniform, with a particularly sexy cut — for a ‘role play’) are making recordings which will be used for many purposes — assessment of her body, obviously; also for inclusion in her sales showreel (she will be marketed as soon as practically possible — Macadam prides itself on never having had an unfunded recruit for more than thirty days without having ‘presold’ her), for assessment of likely augmentive surgery (Macadam girls all have big tits, expensively engineered, so that it is very difficult to tell they aren’t entirely natural. They also have cute pussies, as a result of expert and artistic labioplasty whenever necessary), and automatic calibration of clothing size.
Heather scores highly — an excellent mix of self knowledge and appreciation of her assets, coupled with some underlying fears and weaknesses, which will be ruthlessly exploited in opening her up for the installation of the thoroughgoing changes to her attitudes which will be required — all of these are in the upper percentiles, especially her performance in the role-play, which is rated as ‘Highly Satisfactory’.
It is clear that she is going to be easy to train to a very high degree; in other words, to a point where she will be pleased to do anything that is asked of her, in the prettiest and sexiest way she can, while worshipping her masters in a deep and simple way.
And, of course, the tests are not all that is going on. Heather’s training has already begun. With such a promising trainee, no chances are taken that she will get home and have second thoughts. So the indoctrination has started. By now, Heather has had several more doctored drinks, and is in a receptive mood for various sub- and semi-conscious methods to be applied. Nothing strong, just a suggestion that this is really what she has been looking for, a development of trust and confidence in the wisdom and professionalism of the whole Macadam approach, a deep-seated conviction that she needs this training, that she will enjoy it, that it will get her what she wants, and an understanding that she will get most out of it if she commits fully to the spirit of the training from the outset.
Several hours later, back in her own clothes (but still sans brassiere), Miss Darke leads her down another corridor; “To meet Mr Macadam, for your formal offer — yes, I’m glad to say that your tests managed to achieve the standard — if Mr Macadam likes you, you will qualify for full Macadam training, with fully deferred payment. So don’t slip up now, and with a bit of luck we’ll be able to squeeze you in.”
Heather finds Mr Macadam tremendously impressive. Tall, dark, serious, with a craggy face and eyes that burn into her. His voice is deep and smooth;
“You’re a very pretty girl, Heather — I’m pleased you’ve come to us.”
“Oh!” a giggle overcomes Heather; even to her own ears, it sounds weak and nervous, “Thank you, Sir!”
You wish to undertake the full Macadam training?”
“Yes .. yes, sir .. if .. if I can.”
“You understand what it involves? That your fundamental personality will not change, but that significant changes will occur in you — that you will find yourself wanting different things, doing different things. That you will find you have a strong need to identify with your employer, that your greatest pleasure will come from satisfying his every wish, however demanding?”
“Yes .. yes, Sir, I .. I do understand — at least I think I do.”
“And this is what you want? To be released from all the inhibitions that would stand in the way of being the perfect PA? Because, if you wish to register for our deferred payment programme, you will need to sign a release which indicates that you accept that Macadam will decide which training courses you will receive, and how far to take them, that you are willing to undertake the most extensive training programme that Macadam considers will be worth our while in respect of our considerable investment in you. Are you happy to do that?”
“Yes, yes .. I’m .. I’m so very, very grateful to you Sir, thank you! That will be wonderful. Thank you!”
“You are aware that the cost will be offset by your accepting a Macadam contract for two years after your graduation?”
“Yes, yes Miss Darke told me that.”
“Very good, very good indeed. There is only, then, the formality of the signing of the agreement and you will have become a Macadam student. Do you think you deserve this?”
It is a challenging question — one that she has not prepared for. Deep down, Heather is not sure that she deserves anything, and the question is, of course, judged so as to target exactly this insecurity. Frozen for a few seconds by doubt, by an inability to decide how to respond to this question, Heather feels panic rising. She can’t have come so far — done all this — and not be accepted now; it would be too, too mortifying — the end of her dreams of something better. She feels desperate, looks up at Miss Darke, hoping to see something in her face, some hint, but there is nothing but an expectant smile that holds no trace of friendliness.
A sudden thought comes to her — surprising her utterly, making her blush, but it feels right, and she can’t think of anything else to do, and something, something must be done, so, blushing and nervous, but with obvious sincerity and eagerness to please, she finds herself saying;
“Would .. would you like to see my breasts?”, looking up into Macadam’s eyes for the briefest moment only before she lowers her head in humble acceptance of her supplicant status.
Macadam looks gravely pleased. He glances briefly at Miss Darke. Earlier he had predicted that this girl would behave in this way. It is a rare, and highly encouraging, sign for a new student to progress so far on her qualifying day, but he had had a feeling, watching a little of the video, and looking over her charts, that she would do so, and here it is. Miss Darke smiles too, pleased that she has brought the girl on, knowing that Mr Macadam will be pleased with her.
For Miss Darke, too, is a graduate of the Macadam training. Miss Darke had been exceptional from the start — even more so than Heather, as she had prettily, shyly, demurely even, in this same room, asked a very similar question, offered herself to Macadam thus; ‘Would .. would it help if I said you could you fuck me now? I mean — I mean, that would be .. be wonderful, for me — um I .. I guess I mean, I’ll do — what .. whatever you want me to.’ And Macadam had pushed her down over the table and fucked her, roughly, in the ass, without ceremony, correctly assessing that what Miss Darke needed was to be conquered, completely, early on — that the refinements could be taught later, but that she needed to know she was in the firm control of someone decisive, powerful and confident.
After a successful career earning money for Macadam as a corporate sex-toy, Miss Darke has had significant further training and modification to become what she is today, but Mr Macadam remains her first and ultimate master.
Neither of them expect Heather to go as far as Miss Darke has (for a start, she has not the intellect), but Mr Macadam feels that it is appropriate to push her a little.
“Thank you, Heather, I would very much like to see your breasts. I would also appreciate it greatly if you would remove your skirt.”
Heather glances up, across to Miss Darke, a little startled, but quickly recovers, smiles, desperate to be judged worthy, and says;
“Oh! of course, yes. Yes, Sir”, and, standing in front of the large mahogany table, in the heart of that dark panelled, masculine room, she looks like a delicate, shapely porcelain figure as she strips for them (and of course, for the ever present cameras). Her panties are as pretty and sexy as her discarded brassiere, low cut and skimpy, with matching garter belt holding up her dark, sheer stockings.
Even after all the years, all the girls, Macadam enjoys these moments hugely, and his cock stirs, heavily.
All but naked, except for panties, stockings, suspender belt and heels, her hair still up as they had asked her to arrange it when she wore the maid’s outfit, she stands, blushing, stiff nipples suggesting she is not indifferent to the sexually charged implications of the scene.
“Lovely. You will be a very popular graduate of the Macadam programme. Please, Miss Darke, do you have the contract?”
The papers are arranged in front of Mr Macadam. He spreads them out, and beckons to Heather;
“Come and stand beside me, my dear. Use my pen.”
She is obliged to lean down beside him, and her breasts sway deliciously. She fights the urge to cringe, instead forcing herself to consider how to offer Mr Macadam just exactly the experience he wants from the situation, letting her breasts brush against the rough cloth of his suit shoulder, letting him feel the heavy softness of her, leaning across to sign the furthest paper, both breasts swaying enticingly in front of him, not even wondering what the documents commit her to, his hand on her bottom warm, dry and heavy with implication. It seems to take forever; half lost in a dream-like state, what is happening is so unlikely, she loses focus, so that she is shocked to hear him say;
“That’s the last of them, then. Congratulations, ah, er, girly — on becoming our newest recruit.”
The apparent failure to remember her name is deliberate. Playing on insecurities is a key aspect of the holistic technique developed by Mr Macadam during his years as a young psy-ops scientist and field agent. But his impatience is real — as soon as Miss Darke and Heather are gone, a recent graduate will be called in from the next room, to be vigorously fucked. The girl is ready and waiting, and has been told that this will be an aggressive, painful ass-fucking — that Mr Macadam will wish to see her distress, that as soon as he has finished with her, no matter how sore she is, she must immediately go to her knees and take his cock into her mouth, to gently, very gently clean it for him, that she should be aware that anything less than perfection will likely mean a severe thrashing. Although her lips are trembling, the girl is smiling and girlishly giggly at the thought of being used by Mr Macadam himself.
The effect of the absent-minded dismissal on Heather is visible. She blushes, becomes even less sure of herself, fumbles as she dresses herself after Miss Darke indicates she should do so. She is consumed with self doubt — no thought of irritation at Macadam crosses her mind, only fear that she had been less than memorable. In the corridor, outside, she cannot help saying to Miss Darke;
“Was .. was I alright — in there? Did I do anything wrong?”
Miss Darke’s answer is (deliberately) not totally reassuring;
“If you’re a good candidate — as we hope you can become — you’ll learn; that’s why you came here, isn’t it? Don’t worry too much, but do try as hard as you can at all times to be pleasing, and, with a little luck, you should graduate with a passing grade, I would think.”
“Now, I believe we decided that you could start your sessions on Wednesday, didn’t we? You can arrange the details with Libby. I’ll look forward to seeing your progress, Heather. Do remember the most important thing — commit yourself fully to the training — that way it will go quickly and well, and you’ll enjoy it too — as well as getting to earn the big bucks as soon as possible!”
When they get to reception, however, there is a problem (an entirely manufactured one, of course). It seems that Libby has had to book another girl in for the Wednesday slot which was to be Heather’s. As a deferred payment girl, she has to understand that she is not a priority customer.
Heather, feeling like crying, feeling terribly small and vulnerable, says that, of course, she understands. The further problem, Libby explains, ignoring Heather now, looking only at Miss Darke (and Heather understands that this makes sense — there is no point Libby explaining anything to Heather — she is now Miss Darke’s protege; it is Miss Darke who will arrange matters in respect of Heather from now on, not Heather herself) is that there isn’t a free slot for a low-priority girl for several weeks now. At this point, Heather cannot stop a tear from running down her cheek. She feels pathetic, ridiculous, but she can’t help herself. She does, though, manage to keep her face from crumpling. Showing how weak she is in front of these two is one thing — shaming but not somehow unacceptable. Allowing herself to look less than perfectly attractive is unthinkable though.
They both look at her. She smiles, weakly, blinking the tears away, and looks helplessly at Miss Darke, who smiles at her, extends a finger to lift her chin, and gently, playfully caresses her cheek. It is a confident, patronising thing to do, babying Heather, whom she hardly knows. But Heather accepts it without demur. More, she is grateful for the attention, even as it intensifies her feeling of weakness and dependence still further.
“But look how upset the pretty is! Is there nothing else for little Heather, Libby — nothing at all?”
“Well, there might be, but I didn’t .. ” L appears flustered, as Miss Darke frowns slightly at her, disapproving; “There is a residential slot available tonight, but I didn’t think.. “
Miss Darke smiles again; “But that’s perfect. I’m sure Heather will jump at the chance. Really, Libby, we’re going to have to have you spanked again if you don’t stop thinking!”
She speaks in a light tone, but Libby flushes pink (even though this whole conversation is a put-up job, the chances are that Miss Darke will spank her anyway; she usually does — and Miss Darke’s spankings are not at all playful), and Heather startles, before making herself straighten up — of course, Libby must have PPA training, and everyone knew PPA’s responded well to physical punishment. But .. but .. well .. if that was what Libby had signed up for… she suddenly wondered what exactly was in the document that she, Heather, had just put her name to — she certainly didn’t want anyone to spank her.. Doubts surface, fuzzily — what has she signed up for, anyway? She realises that she has no clear picture ..
But there is no time to think; Miss Darke is looking at her, all smiles;
“Heather dear, we have a priority place for you after all! And you don’t even have to wait until Wednesday. Of course, it’s a little bit sudden, but Libby will sort all the details out, won’t you, pretty?”
“But..” Heather says, weakly — “a .. a residential course? I .. I didn’t think that I had … I mean … I’m not sure I can .. tonight? Right .. right now? But what about ..” she falters, as Libby looks worried, and Miss Darke’s face becomes serious, maybe even angry;
“Heather, dear, that’s foolish talk. As you well know, you have chosen to have Macadams decide which training suits you, and when, so - assuming you want to stay with the programme — just go with the flow, and stop asking questions!”
And somehow, without Heather saying anything at all, the decision has been made, and there’s nothing to be done but details. Further, Heather understands that ‘go with the flow, and don’t ask question’ is general advice - which she receives with gratitude - Miss Darke is always so kind and helpful with her…
And indeed, Libby does sort everything out, radiating confidence and understanding as Heather worries about her flat, her job, all the details of a life. Libby has done this many times before and is full of reassurance; Macadam will handle all these issues on Heather’s behalf - it will all be taken care of in double-quick time.
Of course, the whole story has been a put-up job — there is no Wednesday slot, no other girl who has taken it. They have merely manipulated Heather into starting her training straight away. The sooner she starts, the less chance there is for a sensible friend to talk her out of throwing her life away. The sooner she starts, then the sooner she will be trained, and the sooner she will beg Mr Macadam to fuck her tight little ass (her graduation presentation), and after that, the sooner they can start selling access to her newly willing and obliging body to the highest bidder (Mr Macadam still does the initial anal training for most girls — indeed he is ploughing the new girl in the big room as they are talking. The soundproofing is excellent, so that her hurt, despairing squeals as he rams himself deeply into into her all but virgin backside are inaudible).
Within a couple of hours, then, Heather has been helped to inform her boss that she is taking leave; due with immediate effect, and told him she understands that she might be fired as a result; has handed over all sorts of details about her life, she has seen two months salary deposited into her bank account to cover all of her outgoings — told that this will all ‘come out in the wash’ of her deferred payment agreement (in fact, she has added an extra 6 months servitude to her time, without knowing it — but once she has had the training, she will accept it without question, even consider it a bargain).
She has also gratefully, wonderingly, accepted a lift from Miss Darke to the training centre. As they approach the impressive but very old-fashioned limousine, Miss Darke is explaining to her that a trained PPA would never think of occupying the seat, but would kneel on the floor, at her employer’s side. Darke asks her whether she would like to try this?
“Of course, you don’t have to — your training hasn’t started yet — it’s entirely up to you.”
Of course, Heather tells Miss Darke that she would like to kneel, please — she feels a keen need to show that she does indeed have promise as a PPA girl.
