"That was fucking awful." I spit out as I enter the living room, kicking my shoes to a corner of the room. Vivienne is occupying the couch like a beautiful elegant exotic potato. It's only 10 am and she's still in her bathrobe, but there's a drink in her hand. Not a bad idea. She looks up at me, her eyes going over me studiously.

"Never again!" I say. "I've had it up to here with that guy and his ideas of 'innocent fun.' You should blacklist him."

Vivienne bursts out laughing as I find my way to the liquor cabinet and pour myself vodka on the rocks.

"I don't get what's so funny." I say as I take a sip. The alcohol burns down my throat and I cough. I'm not exactly used to drinking. Mostly because I'm not allowed to do so at all.

"That's hysterical."Vivienne blurts out as she's finally stopped laughing. "I actually thought I heard you say I should blacklist Mr. M."

"You should. I'm not meeting him again." I straighten up my spine and try not to taste anything when I down the rest of the vodka.

"Don't be daft Lola." I hate it when she calls me that, yet she seems to do it all the time. I pour more vodka into my glass without looking at her. She takes my glass from me. I never even heard her get off the couch but she grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. My anger is slowly evaporating as I watch her run the tap to fill up the bathtub. Maybe it's the vodka, my head is feeling fuzzy and the room seems to be spinning.

"You know you're not supposed to be drinking." She says as she runs her fingers through my hair. I suddenly feel even more wobbly.

"I know." I whisper. "I just felt really shitty." Her hand moves to the back of my neck and I kneel down in front of the toilet as I feel her push me down. The tiles of the bathroom floor are smooth but hard against my bare knees.

"You'll feel a lot better once you get that out of your system, baby." She pulls my hair back as I lean over the toilet bowl. I'm not really nauseous but looking into the bowl is all I need to make myself throw up nowadays. It's a huge improvement over having Vivienne shoving her fingers down my throat. I barf till my stomach is empty, gurgle with a sip from the bottle of mouth water she hands me, and get back up.

The tub is full, and after adding some bath oils to the water, Vivienne helps me take off my dress and underwear. I spin around for her as her eyes inspect me, then I hop into the water.

"So tell me what happened that was so horrible." She says as she sits down on the little bathroom stool we specifically have for this daily recurring ritual.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"He didn't hit you very hard."

"He didn't hit me at all."

For a moment she just looks at me. It's like I literally feel myself shrink under her stare. She's not very pleased with me. Finally she speaks up, her voice filled with fake surprise.

"Are you sure? It seem like not too long ago you asked me to blacklist Mr. M. And I'm pretty certain violence is the only reason we ever consider banning anyone." Vivienne likes to pretend that I have a say but in this case her use of the word 'we' is more like the royal 'we.' I sink deeper into the water, letting it cover my face completely. The soapy bubbles sting my eyes but I keep looking at Vivienne's face. The water makes her face look distorted. She's not so pretty now, and it really hurts to look at her. The thought that this is the way she really looks shoots through my mind and nestles itself into my head. I shake the thought as I rise out of the water and wipe the bubbles from my eyes.

"I really hate that guy. Please don't make me see him again." Now she looks at me like I'm a wounded animal or something. Her hands move into my bathwater and start to rub my belly. I can feel myself relax.

"You may never have to see him again." Her voice sounds sweet now and I melt a little inside.


"Yes really. You have an interview tonight." Interviews are rare. Usually clients contact Vivienne through the website, but every now and then there's an interview. Usually those interviews are for really well paying more long term jobs. Very rarely it's short term. If it is for a short term thing, it's usually for a very rich client who's either really picky or just gets a kick out of having over twenty girls line up in a big meat parade.

"What for?" Her hands are moving all over my body. I'm not sure if she's groping or washing me but it feels pretty damn good anyway.

"A few months in the company of someone very wealthy, possibly even a few years. Imagine living in luxury while making a ton, pretending to be someone's girlfriend, potentially becoming his future wife. It's a great opportunity for you." I don't know what to say. In the last two years I've had an opportunity to get three of these types of jobs. Thankfully I didn't land any of them. Clients who want you to move in and pretend to be their girlfriend are mostly very old or really perverted. I don't want a fulltime job. I don't want to be Lola every minute of the day. I don't want to be away from Vivienne for months.

"I have no interest in a job like that."

"Don't be stupid, Lola. Of course you want a job like that. Any girl in your position would jump at the chance." I highly doubt it but I can tell she thinks it's the truth.

"I don't want that. I want to stay here with you."

"You're such a sweet girl but you know you have to think about your future."

"I know." Her eyes are scorching all of a sudden. "I really do know. I just don't think any amount of money is worth moving in with an 80 year old to be at his beck and call 24/7."

She leans in and kisses me just below my ear. Her hands are now running over my thighs. I shiver.

"You are wrong. In fact he could have you for a lot less and he's only 38."

"Great. That means he's either a sick pervert or Frankenstein's twin."

"Don't you see baby. You're a tough girl and you're going to make us both very rich."

"I'm not really tough enough to suffer through something like that 24/7."

"There's really no need to be so insecure, darling. You can be very addictive if you apply yourself." She smiles sweetly.

"I don't want to…" She kisses me just to shut me up and as usual it works. My heart is beating furiously, and my body wakes up. I can hardly remember what we were talking about by the time she lets go of my mouth.

"This is exactly the type of opportunity we've been working for." There's that royal we again. But I'm feeling increasingly weak and tingly so I just let it slide.

"The interview is at eight so you can still get a few hours of sleep before we'll have to get you ready."

She starts toweling me off as I get out of the bath. Her hands on me are gentle and thorough. When I'm all dry she takes me to my room and tucks me in. She tucks me in everyday and wakes me up most of the time. I start to feel guilty for thinking the worst of her again. Vivienne really does everything for me. She takes care of me. She arranges my schedule, makes sure I eat well, sleep enough and am well groomed. She's my agent, my manager, my accountant and my P.A. She's always there for me and I'm all she's got. She's all I have too. Aside from work she is my world and I don't want that to end. I want to stay with her as long as possible.

When I crawl in bed she cuddles up with me, wrapping her arms around me as she pushes herself against my backside. I'm the inner spoon. I fall asleep to the sound of her breathing and the sensation of her warm breath in my neck. I'm as happy as I'll ever be.

The girl next to me gets up. I say girl but really she looks more like a very pretty blow up doll. She has a tiny waist, impossibly long legs and her boobs are so large I'm surprised she doesn't topple over. In her defense she does have a very pretty face. She looks much better than the girl to my left, who has a face that looks like it was raped by giant bees.

I feel like I'm at an audition for the role of some Barbie movie. Who knows, living dolls might be this guy's thing. Either way I stand out like a rotten tooth amongst the twenty or so freakishly surreal bimbos that are in this room with me. Overall when you stand out it's not a very good sign. Clients have their preferences when it comes to looks. When someone's looking for a long legged busty blonde, they're not very likely to pick me.

Yes I'm a real blonde but neither busty nor leggy. I'm 22 but people hardly ever give me that. Don't get me wrong, my looks bring in plenty of clients. I'm Lolita, funsized and innocent looking. I'm in serious doubt about meeting this particular pervert's requirements, given the Barbie convention going on around me.

My phone buzzes but I don't need to look at the screen to know that it's Vivienne texting me to 'go get them tiger,' or something along those lines. I'm pretty sure I don't have a chance in hell at landing this job and that's perfectly okay with me.

The blow up doll returns and my number is up. A very pretty lady leads me into an office and sits down behind a desk. She rummages through some papers. It's very easy to imagine I'm actually applying for a real job. I smile inwardly at the thought. I take the other chair and her hand as she reaches it out to me.

"Stephanie Lorensen." She introduces herself. "So you are Lola. Is that your real name?"

"It's more of a working title. Descriptive and functional." I smile sheepishly when I answer.

"If you are hired I will need a copy of your passport or driver's license. There will be a background check and you will need to see a physician."

"Of course, my agent will provide whatever is needed." I try to smile a little more convincingly. Vivienne often tells me my smile could cause a pile-up. But this woman doesn't seem very impressed. She just sits back and looks at me in silence.

"Could you stand up, please?"

I get up out of the chair, sucking in my stomach as I stand before this woman who is only here to judge me. I'm pretty much as used to being treated like a piece of meat as anyone is ever likely to get but I still feel uncomfortable.

"Take off your shoes."

I kick off my shoes and fight the urge to stand on my toes. Even if I don't want the job I still prefer to be liked.

"Wow. You are tiny!"

I step back into my heels.

"I know. Vivienne likes to call it funsized, but me, I'd call it height-impaired."

"I actually agree with Vivienne. You are a very beautiful funsized girl, Lola."

I blink. Is she flirting with me? I sit down again although she hasn't told me I could do so.

"So tell me something about yourself. Do you have any hobbies, interests, special talents?"

I really don't know what to say, I didn't exactly prepare myself for this interview. I know what Vivienne wants me to say but somehow that also refuses to come out of my mouth. I love yoga, sex and watching sports. I'm very flexible, bisexual and like role playing. Nope. Don't say any of that.

"So what's this guy like? He isn't old so he's probably very ugly. Am I right?"

The woman whose name I've forgotten as soon as she told me what it was doesn't even smile, but I don't let that stop me.

"I'm assuming there's a large list of kinks that have to be matched? So what's Frankenstein's brother into? Spanking? Diapers? Feet? Humiliation? Full body covering nylons? Maybe toilet play?"

"You've already send us a list of your limits. Nothing on that list will be required of you." The brunette says without so much as batting an eyelash.

"You mean to tell me there's actually something on my limits list?"

"You didn't write that list yourself?" She shuffles through some papers on her desk.

"Vivienne, my agent has filled out the application for me. She likes to consider me limitless but let's be honest. She's mostly motivated by the size of her commission. Now if she was the one doing all the nasty shit, she'd probably change her tune."

She pushes a paper in front of me with just a single line on it.

"It says here that you've finished you're A-levels, but could you read this out loud for me?"

"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog." I read. "I take it a lot of the other girls don't know how to read?"

"Are you familiar with that sentence?"

"Yes. It contains all the letters of the alphabet. It's called a pangram. How vexingly quick daft zebras jump, is another one. Those things are handy when you're picking a font or designing one."

"You really are a schoolgirl." She finally smiles and it lights up her entire face. She's actually beautiful.

"I've been playing that role for a couple of years now. Honestly, I'm really good at it, but I'm open to new roles."

"So role play is your talent?"

"I guess." I pick a couple of stray hairs of my dress as she silently lets her eyes flow over my body like she's looking for something.

"Are you into girls, Lola?"

Her interruption of my total lack of thoughts is so sudden I swallow and manage to nearly choke on my own spit. I sit there coughing for what feels like ten minutes while the stranger opposite me is looking at me. If I ever had any chance of being picked, I just managed to move myself to the back of the line. I'm certain of it. When I've successfully put out the fire in my lungs I watch her get up and leave her desk. I can feel the warmth of her body against my practically naked shoulders when she stands behind me. I get that feeling you get when someone is invading your space. Like when a teacher sneaks up behind you while you're trying to copy your neighbor's answers onto your own test paper. Only this is not a teacher and the only thing being tested is me.

She puts her hands on my shoulders.

"You never answered my question." I feel a ripple run down my spine when she leans forward and almost touches my right ear with her lips.

"Are you into girls?" She smells flowery sweet and meadow fresh at the same time. Her lips, this close to my skin, are really very distracting. I fail to answer her question for a second time.

"None of the other girls seemed to have such difficulty answering a simple question. And a lot of them were really dim." She kisses my neck. Is she trying to pick me up or am I just being paranoid?

"Are you the person looking for company? You don't look 38."

She chuckles and her breath on my skin makes me weak but I try not to shiver.

"Close, but no. I am just a mediator. I don't think you are just also into girls. I think you actually prefer women." I get up

"I'm bisexual. Are we done here?"

"You don't really want this position, do you?"

"Sure I do. I'm obviously not what you or whomever you're working for are looking for."


"I'm not like the other Barbies and there's probably a reason for that."

"They're all blonde, just like you. You have plenty in common."

"Well. You have my contact information."

"I do. It was a pleasure meeting you, Lola."

She shakes my hand and I leave her office and all the living mannequins waiting to grab their opportunity.