After the first week, one afternoon Gunther called Lisa into his office. He was sitting at his desk, and motioned her to the chair in front of the desk. On the desktop before her was a white envelope.
"Open it," - said the man.
Lisa took the envelope and looked inside, then took out her first salary. She began to count the notes; a little less than a thousand euros.
She sat there with the cash in her hand, thinking that she had never seen so much money at one time.
Gunther seemed to anticipate her words, saying: "I know, it really is only a pittance, but it's just the beginning, and we can do much better for you."
The girl looked at him quizzically; he realized he had to explain it to her."You see, Lisa, the stage, the runway down there on which you girls perform every night, is not the store, as you might think. It's just the shop-window ..." Lisa still didn't comprehend.
"Behind the stage, next to the dressing rooms, there are four lounges where the girls welcome our most generous clients, between shows. No sex, only extremely clean private performances. You could triple your salary, as soon as next week.” He could see the uncertainty in the girl's eyes.
"Of course, you're under no obligation to do this ... "
Lisa looked around with a bewildered expression. Then she said, "No ... it’s not that I don’t want to. It ... it's just ...."
"Yes?" Gunther encouraged her.
"I don't want to be touched. By anyone."
The man said, as naturally as possible: "Well, that's a personal decision and I don’t see a problem with it. Nobody will touch you. "
"No, you see, mister, I have a real terror of being touched. I couldn't stand it ..."
Now it was Gunther who didn't understand, so he leaned forward, and patiently waited for an explanation.
Lisa liked Gunther; he had won her trust from the very beginning. He never said much, but his words were direct and full of meaning. She liked this, and even more she appreciated his detached attitude towards his work, and her, and the other girls. He was the only man she had ever known who, when he first met her, looked at her eyes and talked to her face.
Sometimes, strangely, it’s easier to discuss the most intimate things with people you don’t know; so she decided to tell him what she had never told anyone else.
She told him about a summer vacation, on a Danish island with the family of one of her girlfriends; and how the father had taken her by force, in a hut on the beach. She told him about the lust she had seen in his eyes; and the fear, the hurt, and the humiliation she had endured. In an adolescent confusion, afterwards she didn’t condemn the abuser, but cast the blame on how different she herself was, her body so blatantly female and so disproportionately overdeveloped, the full-blown breasts of a grown woman incongruous on the body of a thirteen-year-old girl. Since then she had tried in vain to hide her femininity, but, frighteningly, year after year her body kept growing substantially, making her a woman among adolescent schoolgirls. No one had so much as touched her since then, but even the thought of such contact made her physically uncomfortable to the point of nausea.
At the end of the story they both sat in silence, she with downcast eyes, he staring at her intently. Then Gunther said, “I'm sorry, and I understand. Life always has surprises in store for us, sometimes good, more often bad. I've learned, however, that it’s wrong to close the door on reality, if you don’t want your life to become a string of missed opportunities. The choice is yours, Lisa. I can assure you that no one can - or will be able - to touch you. "
Lisa looked at him. "Maybe I could try and … see if it works."
The next night, Lisa gave it a try, and the result was another experience that profoundly changed her.
She had her own dressing room now, a reward for the drawing power of her act. Alone, she prepared, looking at herself in the mirror. Over those few days in Hamburg, she had changed more than in the previous years; she had acquired a new awareness of herself, and what she saw, her body reflected in the full-length mirror, she liked, perhaps for the first time.
She was wearing a matching outfit of translucent black silk panties and bra, the garments drawing even more attention to her form, showing off everything underwear was supposed to cover. The wardrobe mistress had been forced to make the bra specially for Lisa, fitting it with custom cups big enough to hold her great bulk, but the flimsy material gave little support to the tremendous weight of her bosom. The girl was also bedecked in a garter belt, stockings, and shoes with exaggeratedly high heels - for her, who only wore military boots. To complete the look she slipped on a nightgown, of sheer transparent silk, cinched at the waist with black ribbon; the silk allowed a completely unobstructed view of the deep cleavage that the marvelous bra formed between her enormous breasts. She finished applying her makeup, twisted her hair up in a ponytail, and came out. Gunther, who was waiting in the corridor, smiled at her without speaking, escorted her up to the best lounge, and opened the door.
Lisa entered. The low-ceilinged room was submerged in widespread darkness; the only lights were two shaded lamps that gave the chamber an ambiance of warm, golden light. The walls seemed to be coated with an arabesque cloth, heavy dark red; to one side stood a small couch covered in velvet, also red, and a small wooden table. Phone, water bottle, ashtray.
Strangely, she took in all these details first; the last thing she noticed, in the center of the room, was a heavy wooden chair with a leather seat and back.
It was fixed to the floor with sturdy steel bolts, and seated in it was a man, Lisa could not tell whether young or old, with his arms, legs and chest bound to the chair with leather straps. She liked the situation. It felt to her, for some reason, like she was a huge feline, looking at her terrified prey.
Now, Lisa was already a tall girl, about 5-foot eight, and with the heels she was a good six feet tall.
Her presence, even more because of the dressing gown floating about her and billowing out as she moved, seemed to fill the entire room. She strode slowly towards him and stalked around the chair. Her presence was announced by the delicate scent of light perfume, and her deliberate, exaggerated stride imparted a continuous wobble and shake to her oversized breasts.
She stopped in front of the bound man, only a couple of feet from him, her legs spread, looking into his eyes; took a deep breath, arching her back, and slowly removed the robe, slipping it down over her shoulders. From his vantage point, seated in front of and below the towering and monumentally-protuberant woman, nothing was visible but a monstrous black bra that seemed to blot out the entire ceiling. Lisa then slowly leaned forward, offering him a close-up of the deep valley that separated her breasts.
The man opened his mouth, but made no sound. He seemed mesmerized, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her.
Lisa turned, presenting her back to the victim; she stood perfectly upright, her spine running in an absolutely straight line down her back to the slight indentations above her buttocks; she put her hands behind her back and slowly, caressingly, ran her fingers from her dimpled bottom up to her shoulder blades, feeling for the topmost of the seven hooks holding the huge bandeau closed. Lisa was always careful with the pendulous weights of her breasts, moving slowly, making sure the fat glands were jostled as little as possible; to her delight, as she took her time unharnessing herself, her chained prey writhed and moaned. She took her time undoing the closures, one at a time, unpinning each small hook precisely; the soft mountains of flesh wobbled and quivered freely in the silk cups as each jerk of her arms freed a hook. Lisa grimaced as she got down to the last two hooks; the burden of all that bosomweight was now pulling against only two fastenings, and she had to tug hard to get enough slack to release a hook. She now also had to keep her upper arms tight to her ribs, pinning the two side-bands so that the bra could not suddenly release her heavy mammaries to drop and jounce painfully. With a little gasp she got the last clasp undone. The bra went slack, and Lisa slid her arms to the front and cradled her now-unsupported bosom. Carefully, she eased the huge, heavy sacks of her breasts down and let them hang freely on her belly, wriggling her shoulders and sighing with pleasure at no longer being bound up. Then, crossing her arms over her chest, she shrugged the straps off, dropping the brassiere at her feet. She looked over her shoulder, turning her gaze toward the man to see what effect the display was having on him. She was now unbound, and the man who was paying for the night's pleasure was himself tightly bound. And even though he was completely bound, she could see him seized with uncontrollable tremors.
Lisa was at ease; everything felt natural, as if every move she now made was something she had always been able to do easily. And this feeling of being in control, a sensation she had never known until then, made her extremely sensual.
She walked to the couch and sat down, displaying herself in naked and sumptuous glory; she casually leaned back against the cushions and opened her legs, arms extended from her shoulders and stretched out on the back of the couch. She lazily brought an index finger to her mouth, sucked it, and then slowly slid her hand from her neck down the endless swell of her right breast to its tip, her eyes focused on the nipple.
She moistened the pink areola with her wet finger, then gently squeezed the uptilted nipple between her index and middle finger; she kept toying with the protuberance, until it began to swell with excitement. She furtively glanced at the man, seeing if this was getting a reaction. She smiled, pleased, because his reaction was to sweat and tremble like a trapped animal.
All this was happening, and Lisa could not explain it: she was as an actress who was playing to perfection a script already written, but at the same time she was a bystander struck dumb and unaware of what was happening.
When the nipple was fully erect and turgid, she leaned forward and sat up straight. She put both hands under the huge breast and lifted its great mass, bringing the nipple to her mouth. She began with quick strokes of her tongue and felt excitement slowly rise; she began to suck more and more eagerly, until the entire areola disappeared between her lips. She felt a warmth growing between her legs: her vagina was getting wet, responding to the thrill of excitement running down her spine. At that very moment, the nightclub actress and Lisa the spectator became one and the same person. She felt completely detached from reality, from that time and that place; all that existed was her sucking and moaning with pleasure.
When she looked over at the forgotten, fortunate spectator, she saw that he had lost consciousness.
Lisa would always be grateful to Gunther for suggesting that night, that she try a similar performance again; after the first time, the scene was repeated almost every night, and every night Lisa felt a unique pleasure in displaying herself naked and open, but to a completely powerless person, physically subdued and psychologically submissive to her.
Because these were the men in front of her - humans who in some way had challenged her, tried to dominate her, and had come out hopelessly beaten and enslaved to her body, in that room.
Each man was a new Ulysses tied to the mast in order to resist sorcery, but enchanted this time by Lisa's top-heavy body instead of the siren's song; they had challenged the precepts of the gods and failed miserably, proving themselves animal instead of human, trying with all their might to satisfy their instinctive urges, and failing.
At the end of every session Lisa would pick up her clothes and leave the room without a word, just one last look at the bound man to establish her superiority, and then the short walk to her dressing room, enjoying the feel of her ponderous bosom bouncing from side to side. Then she would stand in front of the mirror, looking herself over with satisfaction while lifting those monstrously fat breasts that nature had given her, weighing them with her hands and laughing with delight at how heavy they were, squeezing their softness into new shapes and bending over and letting them swing back and forth and slap together.
Not infrequently she found herself stretched out on the divan, with her hand inside her soaked panties, tracing the contours of her vagina and stimulating her clitoris, finishing what she had started in the other room.
No man would ever deserve to be able to do that to her.
