Scandal Inc.: For all your Sex-Crazed, Anal-loving, Nigger-fucking, Dick-sucking, Areola-sensitizing, Lust-invigorating needs.

You, a respectable lawyer at a law firm, was just about to make partner, the youngest partner really in almost all of history. Brains of a woman in her forties, actually approaching her thirties, and the looks of one in her twenties to boot. But obviously, some people couldn’t accept the possibility of a woman being in a higher position than you and that’s when you had to sue several of your co-workers for ‘indecent workplace behavior’ and publicize it. Obviously the higher-ups weren’t so pleased, but they congratulated you reluctantly with a vacation to a foreign, isolated resort island which was operated by Scandal Inc. So even though you were stuck at the airport, not sure where to go or even to head, you weren’t that bothered for the mean time.

Where is the girl I’m supposed to meet here? You wondered to yourself, scanning the arrivals terminal for the person holding up the welcome sign bearing your name. Your eyes flitted over the scene, scanning for the professional-looking secretary, skipping a platinum blonde with tits threatening to burst out of a pale tube top and jean shorts. However, as you made a second sweep of the area, you realized that the disgraceful girl was holding up a sign that read “Welcome to Scandal Inc. Ms. _____! We hope you enjoy your stay!”

You cautiously made your way over, tugging your luggage behind you until you stopped before the scantily clad lady. “Excuse me, are you Christy Larson?”

The blonde twirled around, gasping in joyous surprise. The sign clattered onto the floor as she enveloped you in a tight hug, pressing her enormous breasts (What the hell were the size of those things? Double D’s? F’s?) against you. “Oh! You must be _____! I’m like, so totally stoked that you’re here! Wait, ohmygod let’s take a selfie!” In one fell swoop she whipped out her iPhone, wrapped her left arm around your neck and yanked your face into the lens’ view. “Say slutty!” She squealed out loud, making sure to smile broadly for the camera as the shutter snapped.

“Say… slutty? What a second, are you actually Christy Larson?!” You snapped, pushing her away from you, surveying her with disgust and suspicion. Christy pouted at you, her glossy pink lips quivering.

“Of course I am! Well, I used to be. I don’t go by that name anymore. I go by Chrissy now, though usually I answer to Cumlicker.”

“Cum… Licker…?”

“C. L. Duh! My initials silly! We’ll come up with a new nickname for you that matches as well!”

“Hey, I came here for a relaxing vacation, not to hang around with some slutty bitch!” You argued, nearly shouting out loud for the entire airport to hear. This has to be a practical joke, it has to be. I’m so suing HR for making me put up with this shit. “Well fuck this shit. I’m taking the first flight back home.” You snapped, grabbing the handle of your luggage and starting to pull away.

“But you are home!” Chrissy, or Cumlicker protested before she blinked, a moment of awareness crossing her face. “Oh wait, the Man told me to make you wear this! Take… THAT!” She giggled, whipping out a platinum collar and tackling you to the ground. The two of you wrestled to the amusement of several onlookers, none of whom bothered to intervene as Chrissy slowly overpowered you and latched the silver bracelet around your neck. “Now stop fighting me! And stay still!”

Instantly, your arms fell to your side. Slowly, Chrissy moved away from you and stood up, observing her handiwork. “Well, I didn’t think that was going to work, but I guess you can never doubt the Man!” She giggled, whipping out her smartphone to take another picture of your embarrassed, yet frozen figure on the ground. “Oh, I guess I should tell you that whoever wears that bracelet has to take commands from people implanted with the right chips. Like me!” She stated proudly, puffing out her chest. “Oh, you can talk now.”

“Take this off me. Now.” You snarled, struggling to move your arms, but still finding that they were stuck to the ground as if superglue had formed between the fabric of your pantsuit and the floor.

“No. Um…. Let’s see. One, don’t hurt anyone. Two, don’t call me a slut. Actually, I take that back.” Chrissy giggled, twirling a lock of her blonde hair around her fingers as she hummed and tutted. “Uh, two, what should I order? Two, be polite. Bracelet’s not very smart, but if you’re naughtyyyyy, I will make it hurt. I like second chances, and you definitely need a second chance, what do you think?”

You glowered at her, unwilling to take the risk of ‘make it hurt’ but nodded firmly. Perhaps by playing along you could get out of this. “Excellent! We’re going to be really good friends you and I! You’ll come around, you’ll see!” Chrissy clapped her hands. “Okay, you can get up now! Now, let’s go do some shopping. We won’t need this anymore.” She grabbed your suitcase by the handle and pushed it aside. “After all, you’re getting all new clothes for your vacation! All new everything really!” She smiled, pushing up her breasts and pouting at you in a mocking manner.

And with that, she reached out, groped your groin, then your right breast, tweaking your nipple through the fabric, blew you a kiss, winked, then pranced out of the airport terminal into a waiting limousine, you cautiously following from behind, but with no other choice.

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