A new client arrives.

Charles looked around nervously as he stepped out of the elevator. He wasn't sure how long he'd spent in transit or where he was. He remembered agreeing to take tour of the facility and making a wire transfer for the deposit, then suddenly he was on an elevator. He didn't remember passing out or being moved; he had simply blacked out.

The elevator opened to a tastefully furnished lobby. It made him think of a high-end law office. There were a few overstuffed couches and a coffee table to the right and a reception desk directly ahead where the entrance ended in a T-intersection. Women wearing white collars and glasses were bustling past and the receptionist gave him a warm smile as he approached. She was a mousy thing, with a round face and shoulder-length brown hair. She too was wearing a collar and glasses.

"Hello, sir. We've been waiting for you. I trust you had a pleasant trip?"

He looked warily around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "To be honest, I don't remember it."

She laughed in a rehearsed manner. "No one ever does." She stepped around the desk and reached out to shake his hand. As he took it, she continued politely.

"My name is Jenn, and I'll show you to your customer liaison. Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

"Um, what do you have?" he asked awkwardly. He was still disoriented.

She laughed again. It was a sparkling, warm sound that invited the listener to join in. "What don't we have? You'll find that all of the amenities here are world-class. We have the best chefs, bartenders, and baristas on the planet. Everyone here is literally perfect at their jobs. Including, of course, yours truly."

He nodded. "Because of the desires thing. So if I wanted you to change, would you have to?"

She put her arm in his and began walking with him down the corridor to the left. It was padded with plush carpet and the wall-mounted lamps washed everything in a warm orange light. "We don't have to do anything, and right now I can't change." She tugged at the collar around her neck. "I'm currently collared. These devices control how we change and prevent us from being subject to the whims of others nearby."

As they turned a corner, Jenn continued. "Even if I wasn't collared, though, I wouldn't 'have to' do anything. I would simply change to what you wanted without any conscious effort on my part. It's how us objets work - we transform to fit the desires of anyone nearby. Or, when we're collared, we fit the profile programmed into the collar."

They reached an office and she opened the door, where a beautiful woman sat behind a desk smiling. Charles wondered how long she'd been sitting there with a smile on her face. She had a striking face, regal and imperious, framed by raven hair and adorned with a slim pair of glasses.

"Welcome," she said broadly. "Thank you, Jenn. You may go now." Charles was shocked when the receptionist lightly kissed his cheek before sauntering out of the room, closing the door behind her. The liaison waited till she was gone, then spoke.

"Hello, sir. My name is Joy. For confidentiality purposes, we don't use guests' real names while they're here. Outside of sessions, of course. When you're in a session your objet or objets will call you whatever you'd like. For you... let's call you Sorbonne. How does that sound?"

Charles was taken aback. "Isn't that like a university in Paris? Why Sorbonne?"

She smiled and patted his arm. "It just seemed to fit you. Would you like a different name?"

"No, no, Sorbonne's fine. So, I have to ask-"

She cut him off. "Everyone does their first time. No, I'm not a ****. No, I'm not here against my will. Yes, I'm aware of what's happening to me. No, I don't know anything about my past or what brought me here. And most importantly: yes, I will happily service you in any way you'd like as long as you pay for the deluxe package."

He coughed. "Yeah, um, I think that's the one I wanna do. If the prices that were quoted to me still stand."

"They do," Joy replied mildly. "Would you like to learn more before you pay? I can help you understand what you're paying for if you'd like."

She stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of him. She took him by the hand and led him to a nearby couch, where she sat next to him. He had still not said a word, wondering what she meant.

"Our organization is run almost entirely by objets. We're not slaves and it's not **** labor. You see, there's nothing in the world I want more than to be an excellent liaison. I want to serve you and our other clients flawlessly and I'm equipped to do it. This collar has a built-in persona that it 'wants'. My body and mind respond to that by matching that persona. That persona is here for you and whatever you need."

"So have you always been a liaison?" he asked. She put her hand on his knee and noticed his member stiffening through his slacks.

"No, sir. Very few of us stay in any given role for long. Tomorrow I may be a mindless fuck-doll, or a payroll manager, or a sales representative. The major distinguishing marker here are the glasses. If an objet is wearing glasses, they are staff. If they're not, they're product. Of course, if you get the deluxe package, we're all product."

"And that doesn't bother you? The fact that you're being manipulated?" Charles was genuinely curious, although his horniness was starting to become more urgent.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Joy began to unbutton her shirt. As she worked, she smiled slyly at him. "Mr. Sorbonne, would it bother you if I exposed my breasts to you? I suspect it wouldn't. I'd be manipulating you in a way, using external pressures to make you want something and change your behavior to get it." She removed her shirt and folded it neatly, setting it aside.

"I don't worry about being manipulated because this device doesn't 'want' me to, and frankly it would hamper my enjoyment of my job. I love doing this because I'm supposed to, but I still love it. Concerns about free will and ethics are above my pay grade, Mr. Sorbonne." She unclasped her bra and let her round, firm breasts swing free.

He gawked at them and her. The scene was surreal - he was sitting in an opulent office, speaking to a professionally dressed woman who could be a supermodel and she was politely stripping in front of him.

"Now," she said with practiced courtesy, her nipples hardening in the cool air, "would you like a demonstration?"