Freedom of Trade
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Advertisements of one kind or another were all Lance could see 
wherever he looked around him. They dominated the supermarket 
aisles, were suspended above the shelves and plastered all over the 
store’s windows.  But how could it ever be different? A man needed 
help when he went shopping. And at the moment, he was browsing in 
the pharmaceuticals section where the dominant ads paraded images of 
infeasibly muscular men and seductively desirable naked women,
      What Lance was looking for wasn’t really a performance 
enhancing drug as used by the world’s best sportsmen whose stamina, 
strength and endurance improved every year, if at some expense to 
their future health (as explained in detail in the small print). What state 
would international sporting records be without the open and public 
consumption of steroids, growth hormones, Beta-2 Agonists and 
Corticotrophins? The world would surely be a poorer place. There’d be 
no three-minute mile, no one and a half hour marathon and no 850 
pound weight lift. 
      Neither was Lance looking for narcotics, although he dropped a 
packet of cocaine wraps and ready-rolled reefers into his shopping 
basket. He’d once tried harder stuff, like the heroin and LSD on full 
display on the top shelf, but he decided that a packet of MDMA was 
what suited him best at the moment.
      The pharmaceuticals Lance had primarily driven across town to 
buy were primarily for the enhancement of sexual pleasure. Those 
were what he needed tonight. But as always he walked out of the store 
with considerably more in his shopping basket than he’d originally 
intended. He’d filled his shopping basket with goodies from the 
shelves, fully aware that many would be thrown away without him 
even tackling the fiendishly difficult packaging. Into the basket went 
fizzy drinks, sweets, cigarettes, processed meat snacks, a penis 
stimulator, a pornographic DVD (promising bizarre and extreme 
erotica), a luxury car magazine, chocolate biscuits, ear-warmers (even 
though it was summer) and a tabloid newspaper whose headlines, as 
usual, highlighted the threat to civilised life from open immigration, 
radical extremism and depravity (but mostly the last).
      Lance hesitated by the gun counter which was adjacent to the 
check-out tills and prominently displayed an alluring selection of the 
latest semi-automatics, lady’s pistols and hand guns. Although Lance 
already had a good arsenal at home, as so often he was tempted to buy 
more. A man could always do with the latest fast-loading, repeat-
action piece. Even so, Lance held firm against temptation. There was 
still a week or so until his next pay cheque, so all he bought were 
cartons of bullets for the high velocity semi-automatic pistol he was 
carrying. Safety was of paramount concern for Lance, as it was for all 
men, women and children. It was wise to be properly armed at all 
times. Gun fights and massacres were such common events these days, 
especially in malls, cinemas, high schools and, of course, 
supermarkets. 
      Even at such a reputable chain as SteinMart. 
      Lance flashed his credit card at the automatic check-out reader 
under the watchful eye of a battery of security cameras that would 
detect whether he tried to walk off with something he hadn’t paid for. 
Lance didn’t want to be frisked by one of the heavily armed security 
guards, who were trained to sort out even the bloodiest of supermarket 
shoot-outs. As always, Lance had only himself to blame when he 
realised that a shopping trip ostensibly to buy only a few dollars’ 
worth of aphrodisiacs and performance enhancers had resulted in a bill 
of nearly a hundred bucks for stuff he didn’t really need.
      But that was the power of advertising for you.
      Lance waddled across the supermarket car-park to his SUV 
where he tipped the security guard who’d kept it secure from 
vandalism and theft and then loaded the boot with countless free 
plastic bags bulging with sugary snacks and trinkets. He squeezed his 
considerable bulk into the driving seat and drove out the supermarket 
car park to the first of many toll-booths between the Retail Park and 
home. Even though he’d bought an annual pass which allowed him 
almost unlimited access to the country’s roads, there were enough 
drivers who paid for every individual car trip to slow his progress. As 
it was, the four mile journey across town took nearly an hour, as Lance 
crawled along congested suburban streets where it was too dangerous 
to wind down the windows. Thank goodness for bullet-proof glass and 
air-conditioning. It might burn off gasoline that in turn blackened 
pedestrians’ lungs, but it kept Lance safe and sound.
      And so it should. His car hadn’t come cheap. The in-car 
entertainment, the military-grade chassis, the navigation aids and 
climate control all cost a pretty penny, but they were of the highest 
quality. Lance could survive a World War in relative comfort, as long 
as he didn’t have to wind down the windows or refuel the engine.
      Today, Lance was in a state of excited anticipation, which was 
reflected by his choice of loud electronic swing music on the car radio, 
interspersed every two minutes or so by an ad for loan companies, 
insurance firms, realtors and pharmaceuticals. And these were often 
louder and more intense than even the heaviest brass and organ 
rhythms.
      And this eagerness was because, waiting for him at home, was 
Lance’s latest high value procurement: an indentured sex worker he’d 
purchased online at GirlsULike. 
      Although such women were informally known as sex slaves, 
she wasn’t really a slave as such. The institution of slavery had been 
outlawed long ago when the weight of lawsuits and civil actions 
overwhelmed the arguments in its legal defence. For once, the law had 
triumphed over the freedom of commerce and the result was a more 
carefully circumscribed trade in human traffic which benefited all 
concerned. Very stringent legal restrictions had to be observed, 
primarily with respect to the inheritance of indentured status and the 
terms by which indenture was bound by mutual agreement. And, so, in 
this much more agreeable environment, the trade of sex workers was 
protected by consumer rights and quality control. To be on the safe 
side, Lance had taken out Liability Insurance that protected him if, in 
the pursuit of sexual satisfaction, he should accidentally damage the 
goods he’d purchased. So, if he should accidentally impregnate her, 
pass on a venereal disease or break any of her limbs, Lance was fully 
covered for his first million dollars of liability.
      Lance’s home was a four bedroomed detached house in a gated 
community which had been on the edge of town when he’d bought it 
with his ex-wife ten years earlier, but was now surrounded on all sides 
by a mix of other gated communities and squalid high-rise apartments. 
The house which had cost so much when Lance had bought it, but now 
worth several multiples of its original cost, seemed rather too large 
these days for just one man. But when Betty left him, taking with her 
as much as her solicitor could squeeze out of him, Lance became the 
sole owner of a house with three more bedrooms than he could sleep in 
at one time.
      But now, in one of them, almost certainly watching television, 
was Candy, the indentured sex worker for whom Lance had paid 
almost as much as the price of an estate car or a time-share in a beach 
apartment in the subtropical south.
      Candy was Lance’s treat for himself. And by heck he deserved 
it after all those years in middle management at Rothberg Utilities. No 
longer did he need to invest in VR porn or the occasional visit to the 
flop house. From now on, it was pussy every night and exclusively for 
himself. No more sharing with strangers.
      Candy was unlikely to be the girl’s real name. Judging from the 
hue of her skin, the girl came from a southern country—possibly one 
of those where Lance’s colleagues bought time-shares—so her name 
was probably something like Juanita or Fatima or Francesca. 
      She wasn’t quite the best flesh that money could buy. She 
wasn’t exactly slim, although no one could describe her as fat. She was 
just above five foot tall. One eye was slightly squinted. Her bosom was 
no better than B-cup and the thickness of her waist was a natural 
complement to her womanly thighs. Her long black hair wasn’t quite 
straight and it wasn’t really curly, but there was a lot of it, which she 
liked to tie back but Lance preferred she let hang loose.
      So, she wasn’t perfect. But at the price Lance paid for her, what 
girl could be? 
      But what was most important of all was that Candy belonged to 
Lance. And what’s more Lance could do with the girl whatever the 
heck he liked.
      And what could be more perfect than that?
      Lance drove through the gates of the community, up the 
driveway of his house and into his garage. A series of security locks 
later, he was able to carry the many plastic bags into the kitchen where 
he emptied the contents and arranged them in the cupboards where 
they belonged. Lance felt a need to keep his house tidy now a woman 
was living there. He’d recently extended the hours that the maids 
would service his house each month and thrown out some of the more 
shabby items of furniture. He’d also, perhaps reluctantly, disposed of 
the last few remaining signs that he’d once shared the house with 
Betty. 
      Lance knew it didn’t really matter what he did to make life 
comfortable for Candy. She would serve his sexual needs in whatever 
state he kept the house or whatever opinion of him she might privately 
hold. But it was into a life of sexual service that either she’d sold 
herself or, more likely, her indebted family had sold her, and Lance 
had no intention of not taking full advantage of what was on offer. But 
it was surely best to treat the girl with some respect. 
      After all, you don’t want the girl to hate you when you fuck her 
up the backside or ask her to suck your dick.
      Lance climbed the stairs to the second bedroom which was 
furnished with a double bed, a 58-inch TV and a wardrobe-full of 
lingerie, lace, leather and chains. He pushed open the door and greeted 
Candy while carrying a tray laid out with glasses of brandy and nuts. 
She returned his greeting with a smile of weary resignation and 
accepted the brandy which she cupped in the palms of her hands as if it 
was a bowl of hot soup. She was wearing black lacy knickers and bra 
that were designed to accentuate her bosom and show off as much skin 
as possible. Candy might have wanted to wear less obviously 
provocative clothes, but this was quite simply not an option open to 
her.
      The attempts at conversation that Lance initiated with Candy 
were not especially successful. It wasn’t that Candy had difficulty 
speaking English, although she wasn’t a native speaker and frowned 
quizzically at some of Lance’s more colloquial expressions. It was 
rather that Lance’s conversational skills had never been particularly 
good, especially not with women, and Candy was clearly apprehensive 
about what would happen once the talking stopped and the action 
began.
      Lance had visited many prostitutes in his life and, of course, 
he’d lived with Betty for several years, so he knew his own pace well 
enough, although it was obviously far from being in tune with 
Candy’s. In fact, it was apparent that she wasn’t looking forward at all 
to having sex with Lance. It was with an expression of surrender to 
impending doom that she divested herself of her few clothes when 
Lance stripped himself down to his socks and underpants.
      And then bolstered by his purchases from SteinMart’s 
pharmaceutical shelves, specifically a StiffenYou tablet and a shot of 
Upnatem, Lance was ready for the sex he’d been fantasising about all 
day ever since an already naked Candy was delivered to him along 
with a selection of chains, bolts and keys. She’d looked fearful, 
helpless and submissive. From the moment Lance had signed the 
delivery receipt, he wanted to fuck the whore so hard that his main 
worry was that he’d fail to last more than two minutes before 
embarrassing himself on a girl who was indentured to him for the next 
ten years of her life. 
      After which, she’d no longer be Lance’s responsibility. 
      But then who’d want a sex slave approaching her thirtieth 
birthday?
      Lance needn’t have worried. Modern medicine was a 
wonderful thing. It provided drugs to help you pass exams, compete in 
the most arduous cycle race, fend off the symptoms of lung cancer and 
diabetes, relieve the worst kind of constipation, and, of course, 
perform in bed when it mattered most. Indeed, Lance’s lovemaking 
took so much more than two minutes that after an hour or so he was 
almost becoming bored of it, while Candy was showing no more 
evidence of enjoying it than she did on his first furtive fingering of her 
shaven vagina.
      Lance made sure to tick off all the sexual activities he’d been 
missing for so long. Fucking in the vagina, up the buttocks, in the 
mouth. Slapping his dick on her cheeks, both on the face and behind. 
Back and forth and in and out and on and on and on. But eventually all 
that thrusting into a vagina and anus artificially lubricated by 
SteinMart’s own brands had to some to a climax otherwise the entire 
exercise would be wasted. And when he did so, Lance’s semen was 
copious and splattered all over Candy’s face and bosom.
      While Candy wiped off the fluids with the tissues he’d 
thoughtfully left for her on the bedside cabinet, Lance contemplated 
how he might improve on his sexual pleasure next time they had sex. 
Perhaps he’d get her to swallow. Perhaps he’d hire a whore from 
Milly’s Pleasure Palace and make it a threesome. Perhaps he’d tie her 
up while he slapped her on the buttocks. 
      There was so much to do with her and he’d barely got started. 
      Lance lay naked on his back on the bed, his penis limp over his 
thigh and his socks still on. He smiled at Candy whose mouth dutifully 
returned his smile, but whose eyes remained unamused and almost 
hostile. She continued to wipe down her bosom and the corners of her 
lips even though there was little evidence of there being any more 
semen to clean up.
      Perhaps Lance could have a second go later that evening. But 
to do so he’d have to consult the guidance printed with his 
pharmaceutical purchases. He didn’t want to get penis rash or a 
ruptured testicle. You heard such stories.
      For the next few weeks, Lance spent as much time as he could 
with his fresh purchase. He slept with her at night, enjoying the 
pleasures of an early morning fuck that he’d not savoured since his 
early years with Betty. He spent his hours at work, when not poring 
over spreadsheets and workflow diagrams, daydreaming about Candy 
and how he would fuck her seven ways to heaven. Or at least give 
himself a taste of paradise. He browsed online not only to buy sex 
toys, sex pills, lubricants and erotic lingerie, but also to get advice on 
sex games, sexual postures and tips on how a man could achieve the 
very best ejaculation. He deliberately glossed over the sections in the 
literature that described how a man’s sexual gratification was often 
exactly reciprocal to that enjoyed by the woman. There was no point in 
concerning himself with Candy’s sexual pleasure in the sex they had 
together. She was Lance’s to do with whatever he wished. Her own 
needs were really neither here nor there. 
      Nevertheless, Lance did take the precaution of reading the 
terms of his purchase agreement with regards to sale and return. The 
conditions by which he could return his purchase and get a full or even 
partial refund were very stringent. Unless Candy attacked him with a 
steak knife or burnt down his house, and that within the first week of 
her indentured service, Lance really had no recourse to return the 
goods. 
      On the other hand, GirlsULike did offer attractive rates for the 
training courses they provided for indentured sex workers should their 
services not be wholly satisfactory, although it did emphasise that such 
training should also be followed by a strict regime to reinforce the 
lessons learnt. And these, naturally, included restraint, regular 
discipline and a prescribed course of libido-enhancing pills.
      When at last free from the demands of working and 
commuting, Lance climbed into the bed he shared with Candy, the 
sheets freshly washed every day, and ploughed into her lubricated 
orifices while regaling her with his complaints about colleagues, 
bosses, road-hogs, scroungers and, worst of all, fanatical, scrounging, 
bad-smelling foreigners. There was so much to complain about. 
      Although Lance was proud to live in a country that respected 
the freedom of business, commerce and the individual (as long as it 
didn’t stretch to heresy, treason or dissidence), there was too much 
tolerance for the kind of scum who wanted to spoil it all with their 
fraudulent sympathy for the environment, diversity, foreigners and 
pacifism. If the bastards had their way, Lance would have to cycle to 
work, surrender his guns, cut back on the calories, give up smoking, 
and, worst of all, let Candy loose with no likelihood of even a penny of 
compensation for the considerable sum she’d cost him.
      And then, his prick stiffened by HardWood or DeepThrust, 
Lance would turn over to Candy, who visibly shivered whenever he 
mentioned the training courses provided by GirlsULike, and take her 
doggy style, pushing his hard penis as deep inside her as he could, 
sploshing around in a lubricated hole that would otherwise be rather 
rough and resistant.
      And then, one evening, not long after Lance had become 
accustomed to his new way of life, his prick still deeply embedded in 
Candy’s arse, he heard the doorbell ring.
      At first he ignored it. The only thing it could be was a fund-
raiser for a minority political candidate, so unlikely to win that he 
couldn’t attract backing from the nation’s millionaires, or, if not that, a 
fanatical religious cult or a charity for the poor and needy, who Lance 
believed didn’t deserve a penny more than they could earn for 
themselves.
      However, the doorbell was so insistent that Lance reluctantly 
withdrew from inside Candy and with his penis still stiff, he wrapped a 
dressing gown around his ample body and left Candy to wipe herself 
clean of Lance’s perspiration.
      “What is it?” Lance asked the two men in smart suits who 
stood at his front door. He knew they must have provided some kind of 
credentials to be allowed into the gated community, but it could still be 
that they were insurance salesmen or canvassers of one kind or 
another. And, in any case, it was possible that the credentials they’d 
presented were in the form of dollar notes. 
      Both men wore dark grey suits with white striped shirts and 
black shoes, but one had deep blue eyes and blond hair, whereas the 
other was well-built: the menace of his muscular frame accentuated by 
a totally bald head and expressionless dark eyes.
      “You are Lance Apfelbaum of 58 Aspidistra Gardens, are you 
not?” asked the blond-haired man.
      “Well, yes,” said Lance, while the man’s larger colleague made 
a note of this on his hand-held tablet.
      “And I believe that on the fourteenth of last month you were in 
receipt of an indentured sex worker with the trade name of Candy. Is 
this true, Mr Apfelbaum?”
      “Yes,” said Lance with a strange sinking feeling. This 
conversation wasn’t boding well.
      “I am here to inform you that there are complications with your 
purchase that are in contravention with the legal requirements for 
commerce of this nature.”
      “You what? Are you from GirlsULike?”
      “GirlsULike? That’s the name of the company from which you 
made your purchase, isn’t that so, Mr Apfelbaum?”
      “Yes, it is. There must be a mistake of some kind. I have all the 
paperwork if you need to see it,” said Lance. And then, thinking that 
maybe he was acting too hastily. “But first of all I need to see proof of 
who you are.”
      “Of course, Mr Apfelbaum. A wise precaution. You can’t be 
too careful these days, can you? We’re from Holden, Merriweather & 
Buchner. The stock reclamation company. You may have heard of us.”
      Lance gulped as he examined the documents presented to him. 
Yes, he had heard of them. There were several well renowned stock 
reclamation companies, whose reputation for ruthlessness and 
unwillingness to compromise in pursuit of their clients’ interests was 
second only to that of debt collectors. And Holden, Merriweather & 
Buchner represented only those wealthier clients who had no time for 
complicated pleas of innocence and were indifferent to what methods 
might be employed. Like debt collectors, they were literally above the 
law, but only in the sense that the law of the land was deliberately 
framed in such a way that just as the wealthiest citizens were never 
liable for tax and no serving politician could be charged with 
corruption, those employed to serve the interests of free trade and 
enforcing debt liability could do almost anything they liked to serve 
their clients’ needs.
      “I don’t understand,” said Lance, aware that no argument he 
made could possibly persuade these gentlemen to relent. “I did 
everything correctly. I even took out Liability Insurance…”
      “Well, that’s no use to you in the present circumstances, sir.”
      “Can you at least tell me what mistake I made?”
      “Well,” said the blond man as he consulted his notes. “We’re 
most certainly not obliged to tell you anything of course. However, I 
can see that there was an irregularity not so much with your purchase 
but with the one made by GirlsULike. As you must be aware there is a 
chain of suppliers between you and the ultimate source, whose identity 
is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Somewhere along the line, 
Candy was purchased by my client but was also sold on to another 
supplier. Very irregular, you must agree.”
      “Yes, I suppose so. Do you know who the client is?”
      The larger man snorted angrily. “That isn’t the kind of 
information we’re at liberty to divulge,” he said. “Let’s stop wasting 
our time, sir. We want to collect the goods and leave.”
      “Certainly. Of course,” said Lance nervously. “Am I entitled to 
any compensation for my loss?”
      “Not from us, sir,” said the blond man. “You’ll have to take 
that up with GirlsULike. Unless of course you’re insured against this 
kind of thing.”
      “Errm…”
      “Just let us in, sir,” said the larger man. “Yours isn’t the only 
house we’re scheduled to visit tonight.”
      Lance had no choice but to let the two representatives from 
Holden, Merriweather & Buchner in through his front door.
      “We would prefer that you didn’t accompany us while we 
collect the goods, sir,” said the blond haired man. “First of all, where is 
the girl?”
      Lance gestured up the stairs. “Second door on the left,” he said. 
“Candy will be on the bed. She won’t have any clothes on, I’m afraid.”
      “Don’t worry about that, sir,” said the blond man as his larger 
colleague thundered up the stairs. “We have no interest in reclaiming 
subsidiary items that you’ve paid for either yourself or as part of the 
service provided by GirlsULike. We’re only interested in the girl. In 
fact, we prefer them naked. It makes our job easier. Now, if you could 
excuse me, sir.”
      The blond man followed his colleague up the stairs, while 
Lance hovered around in the hallway, feeling both impotent and 
strangely violated. His main concern was what compensation, if any, 
he’d get from GirlsULike, especially now he’d been told that his 
Liability Insurance didn’t cover the current situation. 
      From upstairs, he first heard some startled screaming, followed 
by the blond man’s more measured reassuring words. For a moment, 
there was almost silence from upstairs. Then came a series of more 
screams accompanied by angry shouts that must have come from the 
bald muscular gentleman. This continued for several minutes while 
Lance continued to stand alone, uncertain whether to stay where he 
was or pretend to busy himself elsewhere. Perhaps he could raid the 
fridge and put together a sandwich. But as it was he maintained his 
ground while letting his imagination wander as sounds came from his 
second bedroom that could have been almost anything. 
      It was nearly half an hour later that Candy was dragged 
downstairs, totally naked and in handcuffs and chains. One of her eyes 
was bruised and swelling, and from both eyes there was a stream of 
tears over her cheeks and onto her bare bosom. Lance caught a last 
glimpse of Candy’s face before the representatives from Holden, 
Merriweather & Buchner dragged her out of his house and into the 
white van they had parked outside with the company’s impressive 
Royal Crest and Latin motto adorning the bonnet and sides. 
      And Lance had never in his entire life before seen so much 
misery, dread and fear etched on a person’s terrified face as he did on 
Candy’s in that brief glimpse.
      It was so unlike the image of a smiling, acquiescent and 
enthusiastic sex worker that GirlsULike had advertised and, in a sense, 
promised.
      “Yes, we understand your problem, sir,” said the call centre 
operator from GirlsULike when Lance made the phone call and 
navigated his way through all the options to the one most like his case. 
The woman on the other end of the phone had a weary patient voice 
very different from the enthusiastic upbeat voice of the salesman from 
which he’d originally purchased Candy. “However, your insurance 
doesn’t fully cover your loss and the compensation we are legally 
obliged to offer you is only 40% of your original purchase price.”
      “Only 40%!” Lance wailed.
      “You’ve had possession of your purchase for more than the 28 
days trial period and the terms by which you lost possession do not 
meet any of the prescribed conditions,” the call-centre voice continued. 
“However, we can offer you several options, sir.”
      “And what are they?”
      “Well, the first and simplest is to provide you with another 
indentured sex worker who is worth rather less than the original cost 
price. As a special offer to a loyal customer, we can offer a girl worth 
up to 55% of the price you paid. However, she isn’t going to be even 
nearly the same quality as your original purchase who was 
called…erm…Candy. She won’t be as much to your satisfaction as 
Candy was.”
      “What would such a girl be like?”
      “It’s unlikely she’d be a girl as such, unless she’s damaged in 
some way…”
      “Damaged?”
      “Disabled. Amputated limbs. Facial or genital injuries. 
Somewhat worse than plain. Nonetheless, GirlsULike prides itself on 
the quality of its merchandise, so she’s unlikely to be a girl and more 
likely to be a woman. And at that price she’s unlikely to be much 
younger than you are, sir.”
      Lance didn’t like the idea of that at all. What was the point in 
buying an indentured sex worker who was about the same age as his 
wife would be? Or, worse, some kind of deformed freak?
      “What are the other options?”
      “Well, the next easiest option is that we simply reimburse you 
for 40% of the cost of the original procurement. You’ll have nothing 
else to show for it except the memory of your initial purchase.”
      “And the other options?”
      “There’s only one other, sir, and that is that we take the 
compensation cost of 55% and you can pay extra on top of that to 
choose another girl. Perhaps another ‘Candy’, sir, if that’s a name you 
particularly like.”
      “And can I insure against similar problems in the future if I do 
so?”
      “It’s funny you should say that, sir,” said the call-centre voice. 
“We do have a new Platinum Premium Insurance Scheme that bundles 
Liability Insurance in with other products that will protect you in 
future.”
      “And if I pay 45% of the original price plus the extra insurance, 
I can have a girl just like Candy?”
      “Subject to availability, of course, sir. Shall I pass you over to a 
Sales Representative?”
      “Yes, of course,” said Lance, who realised once again that he’d 
agreed to pay substantially more than he’d originally anticipated.
      But such was the penalty of living in a free society and one 
which Lance would rather face any day than any of the altogether 
unpalatable alternatives.