Tollia in Vonderland Ch. 01

Tollia in Vonderland Ch. 01

---Premise---

*This is the sequel to Holly's Sales Training and Tia's Bucket List. It combines both characters and the blogs become a podcast. Central themes are male dominance and female submission with a focus on erotic humiliation, exhibitionism, and rough sex. It's set in a heightened reality with over-the-top characters. This story plays with clichés and stereotypes in a satirical, ironic way. It shouldn't be taken too seriously or extrapolated to real life. The characters' actions and statements don't reflect the author's opinion. They're not intended as generalizations for any group of people. Always remember to keep it safe, sane, and consensual in real life.*

---The Boomer Buzzkill: Viva Las Vonders---

Alright, all you hot dolls and sharp dressers, welcome to the Vonderland! This is Frank von Stein, laying down the skinny on the latest in the world of fashion and floozies. And when I say floozies, I'm talking about our very own Holly DeLuca and Tia Blake. I bet you're intimately familiar with Tollia as I like to call them. You see, I simply lump them together for convenience, 'cause in the end, they're the same kinda snowflakes melting in the same store, if you know what I mean.

Let's be real, everyone, on your hunt for the gals' next 'sexcapades', you've been digging through their blogs -- or whatever these new, fancy-pants online diaries are called. So, how do I say this without hurting any feelings? I got bad news for you! The fine foxes wrapped up their gap semester, packed their bags and hightailed it back to their cushy, little college town to hit the books again. Would you believe it? That was the curtain call for their digital journals - the 'Trés Chic Tales' and the 'Breastie and the Blog'. As always, you just can't count on these young'uns. So, take a wild guess who's taking over the mantle? You got that right: yours truly!

Now, I know you were hoping for those horny, young hotshots to serve you the inside scoop, but instead you're stuck with a crusty old coot. Gotta sting, huh? I get it! I'm not exactly the first pick to run a blog and tell everyone what they need to think. But you gotta go with the times. It's all about viral marketing and all that hoopla these days! But don't sweat it, I'll give you a fresh take and you got a front row seat to all the action. So, stick around! My brand of commentary will be right up your alley. No more mindless jibber-jabber and dumb speak, just facts and blunt talk!

Before I give you the hot scoop, though, let me take you down memory lane for a quick reminder. I'm the big cheese at Vonderstone, and the ditzy duo worked as interns at my fashion company. Last year, they took a little detour and crash-landed in one of my stores to get some 'hands-on' experience as sales gals. But who's a stickler for details, right?

Speaking of details, we're already knee-deep in the gals' resumes. Over the course of their internship, they picked up a few more 'skills' than the company handbook covers. Let's just say, they broadened their horizons on a personal level, if you know what I mean.

First up, we got Tia. She's a 21-year-old fashion design major with a minor in journalism who discovered a taste for wild rides when she got involved with the store manager, otherwise known as my son Matt. Not gonna sugarcoat it, she's not into basic sex. She's into the whole shebang -- objectification and exhibitionism with a side of taboo. You name it, she does it, that's her jam!

Next up, we got Holly. She's 22, same major but with a minor in sales management. She used the time at the store to snag herself the top prize: again, yours truly! And she's just as freaky as her 'best bae' with a habit of throwing fits like nobody's business. Whenever she gets her hackles up, she wants a real man to lay down the law and set her straight. Bottom line, she's a brat who wants a Dom to keep her grounded. And who am I to turn down a dame when she's pleading so sweetly? Of course, I'm on hand as the brat tamer.

But enough with the college drama! Let's dive into the juicy parts: the ladies' looks - no holds barred. Tia's a pint-sized princess at 5'2" with long blonde locks and eyes as blue as the summer sky. She's flaunting natural 32DDs and enough pink to make the '60s blush. Everybody knows the type, right? The dame who's all smiles and hugs. That's Tia for you, the type of tart who shoves her tits in every man's face as a greeting. Sure as shooting, she's got that whole 'bubbly blonde' bit down pat. It earned her the title of billboard barbie around the company and it's more than deserved. No two ways about it!

But here's the kicker: she acts like she's above it all, rolling her eyes at pink outfits and scoffing at the word bimbo. Like she's fooling anyone! Guess she's taking this whole denial doll thing a bit too literal. But the best part? It's a real knee-slapper watching her go on and on about feminism like a broken record when you know her true feelings and actual smarts. What a riot!

Okay, time to take a closer look at Holly - a sassy siren at 5'7" with an athletic frame, jet-black hair, and silky olive skin. When it comes to tits, she's totally outclassed, rocking only B-cups. On the flip side, though, she's packing a killer caboose. And that bubble booty's not just for show. She's all about that 'PAWG life', which is dumb speak for 'junk in the trunk'. Sure as taxes, she loves the butt stuff, whether it's a good spanking or parking in the rear. When Tia's mad about pink, Holly's going hog-wild for glitz. Picture a mob wife strutting around like a walking disco ball in animal prints and flashy bling. She actually fancies herself a high-class glamour queen and makes it a point to call herself a 'fierce fashionista'. That shit always cracks me up!

Gee whiz! Now that I think about it, there's more differences than meets the eye, though they're still both fashion floozies to the core. And they've got another thing in common. After their 'sexperiences' during their gap semester that college town turned out to be as dull as dishwater - a real bumfuck backwoods place -- far too small and boring for the horny hussies. They couldn't stick it out for more than a couple of months before they came slinking back, tails between their legs. Looks like they weren't done exploring the art of allure, if catch my drift.

So, they showed a rare flash of smarts and figured out a workaround. They switched universities and enrolled in a distance learning program. Apparently, they can transfer all their credits and wrap up their senior year with online courses. And the cherry on top? Those online courses are in the evenings, so they can keep earning money.

And where do you think they applied for jobs? Right again, folks! They wanted to rack up more hours at Vonderstone. So, who am I to throw a wrench in their plans? But you know what they say: Once bitten, twice shy! So, I set some conditions before hiring back those snowflake slackers.

When they get that permanent gig, they're no longer interns, they're pulling in a steady paycheck. But it's no small feat paying these money-grubbing selfie addicts the sky-high fat cat salaries they're demanding, otherwise known as minimum wage. The dough gotta come from somewhere, right? So, the dizzy dames gotta do their part to earn their keep, and you know how flakey these clout chasers can be nowadays. The key to success is simple: keep them on their toes, make sure they stay sharp!

Now, take a wild guess what happened. Even with these stiff terms, the fine foxes were dead set on landing the job, so I figured I'd milk that drive for all it's worth. After all, they were willing to 'literally' work their asses off. That's some hustle you don't see often in their generation. Fat chance!

I guess I'm not bursting anyone's bubble when I tell you the most solid part of their internship was their blogs. These online diaries weren't just a hoot, they were a smash hit for the company, pulling in loads of traffic. Of course, our spoiled snowflakes used aliases -- they're not that stupid! So now, there's a full-blown online hunt to track down the real store and find the actual gals. And ever since, our customer base has grown, though almost exclusively among gents. But who am I to complain? As the top dog around here, I'd be a fool not to cash in on that, right? So, here's the first condition: the Tollia tart's gotta crank out a new Vonderblog to keep the brand buzzing.

But wouldn't you know it, that's where the trouble started. Looks like the broads are in their 'we're-too-cool-for-blogs' era now. Our instant gratification junkies wanna upgrade to a podcast, 'cause apparently, typing's for chumps now. They've got 'important stuff' to say, unlike all those other wannabe fashion influencers out there.

Naturally, I'm not bellyaching about it. Let's face it, the double dose of pointless fashion ramblings gave us all a headache, right? We all know the fashion floozies can gap until your ears fall off, so I figured it'll be a riot hearing them go toe-to-toe, squabbling over who's wearing sluttier outfits or who's the bigger sub. There's gonna be some hilarious hot takes! So, who am I to deny this wish if it stirs up even more hoopla? But of course, I had to wrangle two more concessions for granting our fancy flappers this favor. You'll see, and I promise you'll dig it!

So, here we go! It's after hours and the Tollia tarts are sitting in the Vonderstore office. Apparently, you need all these fancy gadgets these days. Back when I was young, we just had a soapbox and a bit of elbow grease. But have it your way! Matt's set them up, so the hotshots are ready to roll. Sure as death, they look a tad nervous, but I'd bet they'll get right into the groove the second they start jabbering.

---Chic & Freak: How to combine fashion, freaks, and fun---

Tia: Hey, everyone! It's Tia, your fierce fashion reporter, taking you deep inside the world of fashion. I know, it's been a hot minute since my last report. In my defense, though, a lot has happened. And guess what? I've got some backup for this new format -- no more flying solo!

Holly: Ciao, fashion fam! Guess who's back? You heard that right! It's me, Holly, your fierce fashionista. I'm the new sidekick, and let's be real, I'm so much more than that. I'm a top-tier addition who takes this podcast to the next level. I actually think this tag team thing is fire! Instead of boring essays, we bring you juicy banter - that's what baddies do!

Tia: Exactly! And I swear our life's way more thrilling and exciting now. We've learned so much about ourselves over the past year and we're still discovering more and more about our personal preferences and fashion styles. Promise!

Holly: You're so right, sis! Let's start hot and get the big news outta the way: We got our jobs back. Yay! I can't even say how good it felt to step back onto the sales floor. But this time, I'm not just a salesgirl, I got bigger plans. I wanna design the next winter collection for Vonderstone. The current style is hella basic. But 'moda feroce' is legit fire! Like a fresh shot to the arm! Exactly what the brand needs. Real soon, it's gonna be the main line in the store. Wait and see!

Tia: As if I'm gonna settle for being a simple salesgirl. Not gonna happen! I got big plans, too! I'm gonna be the face of this place. I'm talking about being the chick they put on all the posters and in all the marketing campaigns. I'm gonna be the best billboard barbie ever. Period!

Holly: You do you, Tia! But me? I'm not about being a promo puppet, I'm a serious designer now!

Tia: Oh, come on, girl, you're just mad Mr. von Stein picked me for his marketing campaign and not you. Sounds like you're just jealous! Plus, as the billboard barbie, I get to hit up all those style expos and fashion galas, so I can snag all the juicy gossip and report on it. That's how I'm gonna become a famous fashion critic. Bet!

Holly: Whatevs! You can do all the modeling stuff you like, it was my situationship with the Vonderboss that got us our jobs back. It's not my fault I'm not satisfied with some flea-market cashier captain. I've got higher standards, so I went for the head honcho. And now, I'm the boss bitch at the Vonderpitch. No cap!

Tia: OK, Miss Sugar Baby, whatever helps you sleep at night. Let's just focus on the big picture here. A lot has changed in Vonderland. Remember when the brand expanded, guys? One store became two. The first went full business casual, and the second one became all about fast fashion.

Holly: Yeah, and the new lingerie line became a legit success -- just as I predicted! Now, the big boss has taking things a step further and transformed the second store into a full-blown temptation temple. My feels when I found out! Even the name got changed. While the pro style place kept its name, the seduction shop got rebranded to 'Vonderbone'. And Mr. Head Honcho said we're just the right kind of boutique babes to bring out the luster of this spot. I can't even!

Tia: Not gonna lie, I don't know how to think about these changes yet. Let's be honest here, these outfits are nothing more than exotic dancewear. The whole women's section is basically just stripperwear and swimsuits. Meanwhile, the men's department ain't much better. It gives total midlife-crisis vibes now.

Holly: I know! And that's why my designs are needed more than ever! But somehow, the concept is working 'cause there's more dudes in the store than ever. If it sells, it sells, right?

Tia: That's all nice and well, but there's a problem: Mr. von Stein! We're full-time salesgirls now, so he needs to pay us. And the old-ass owner slapped a bunch of ridiculous conditions on us. Like, seriously, can you believe it?

Holly: Oh, chill, sis! It's not that deep - just a little test from my sweet old sack. He's trying to see if we're really down to hustle and put in the work. I swear, he won't be able to get the cash outta the vault fast enough when he sees my first designs. Mr. Head Honcho is old-school, so he hates looking like a beggar. He just wants us to come crawling and pleading. No cap!

Tia: Ain't that just fan-fucking-tastic! In the end, it's just another brat-taming thing between you and your sugar daddy while I'm left stuck in the crossfire. Seriously, why does this stuff always end up on my plate?

Holly: Oh, come on, hate to break it to you, but it's pretty clear. You're a total bimbo, always thinking with your baby factory instead of your brain. Sorry, not sorry!

Tia: Oh, thanks! That's so nice of you... not! As if you're any different! You're just as horny as me, any time, any place, you little subslut. But honestly, the brash old boomer and his demands, they're way outta line. Period!

Holly: Ugh, you're so right! Sometimes, I can't even with the filthy swine. He's gotta stick his nose into everything - our contracts, our work fits, even this podcast. It's supposed to be a bougie fashion thing, not some tracky soap drama. I mean, bratty? Okay! But trashy? Nah, this ain't it, chief!

---Boomer Buzzkill: Decoding Clout Chasers and Their Hashtag Hustle---

And that's where I gotta cut in, 'cause our Tollia tarts are way off the beaten path. They're flapping their gums so much, they don't even realize no one can follow their drivel anymore. So, here's the 'translation' for normal people who don't understand slut speak from hashtag hustlers. I set up some ground rules for the podcast. First, I loved the old comment section on Holly's blog and I wasn't the only one, so we're bringing that fan favorite over to the podcast. Feel free to slide into the gals' DMs if you wanna drop your two cents. Whatever that mumbo-jumbo means! If you ask me, it's just a fancy way of saying 'let's go to the submarine races'.

Now, about the second rule. A new podcast needs a new name, right? So, I gave our influencer wannabes two options: 'The Bimbo and the Brat' or 'The Trash Chick Tales'. Guess how they reacted? Our snotty snowflakes think both options are offensive, so they gave them the ole brush-off. And that's where you come in! Vonderland needs you to vote on the name. So do your worst, everyone!

---Chic & Freak: How to return like the goats of glam---

Holly: Oh, my fashion fam, we're back and I'm totally hyped! Just got the first comment in. You think it's gonna be something positive or one of those toxic trolls? Whatevs! I'm gonna read it out loud for all our followers to hear.

*LayDeeFyre: Oh, sweeties! You claim to #StandForSomething but every action proves you #KneelForAnyDick! You can't get down on your knees fast enough whenever a man gives you choices. I bet your knees are sore from all the sucking you did to get your jobs back. #SlutSisters*

Holly: Oh, let me answer that straight away. I've got the perfect reply! Actually, I said it before and I'm saying it again. For me, feminism is all about giving women equal opportunities without slapping labels on them. It so ain't about telling women what they should do with those choices. Freedom to choose, that's the goal! So, we can make our own decisions without being judged for them. And I'm hella here for it! But here's another comment about the same thing.

*PATriarchPAT: Ha feminism. The only thing feminism did was make you cock goblins bad at making sandwiches. I agree with the last comment. Holly? Until you get a boob job you need to be walking backwards so men get a nice view of your value. And Tia? Tits without inflated lips is truly a crime.*

Tia:: Jesus! I'm not even gonna get into the whole inflated lips shit. But damn, I totally back you up on this feminism thing, Holly! You've seen that commercial where they show men and women at work? They act the same way, but the male leader is seen as a boss, while the female leader is called bossy. That's the kind of labeling we need to get rid of, not our personal kinks or natural bodies. So, stop it with the kink- and body-shaming, y'all!

Holly: Thank you, next! And just like that, another comment dropped. See? We're already super popular in the podisphere. This time, it's coming from an anonymous follower. Someone scared to own their opinion? Too bad, 'cause we're really good at shutting down dumb comments from clueless haters.

*Anonymous: Now, I'm confused. What's the deal with your relationships? How's it working exactly? Is Holly still with Mr. von Stein and Tia with Matt or not? Are you two on a one-dick diet now or are you still slutting it around town?*

Holly: And here I thought we were super obvious about it. So, for the people in the back: Mr. von Stein is my Daddy Dom. Mosdef! But that doesn't mean I've changed. I'm the same untamed wildcat I've always been -- as fiery as ever. That's why Mr. Head Honcho calls me his Bratcat. Ever since I've been with him, I'm way more balanced. He gives me rules and keeps me in check. You know how I can throw a hissy fit from time to time. Every now and then, it's not the right situation, and that's when he calms me down and helps me learn.

Tia: Same here. I'm still with Matt. But he ain't my Dom, he's more like my partner in crime. He takes care of me and creates a safe space while I explore my kinks. And of course, he always gets a piece of the action - 'cause duh! Technically, it's called ethical non-monogamy or ENM or whatever. But yeah, just like his father, he laid down some strict-ass rules. I bet you still remember the house rules, don't deny it! And now, I've got an 'edging routine' on top. Gotta do it once before and once after my shift - every day, every week. Climax only granted on the weekend. And damn, it leaves me bubbly as hell and needy as fuck. Promise!

Holly: Not gonna lie, I'm not exactly on a one-dick diet either. But Don Stein has a strict rule. My pussy belongs to Daddy Dom, while my ass and mouth are his to share. But only he decides who gets to tap those holes. You know, Mr. Head Honcho likes to put it this way: my breedhole is for his use only, but my suckhole and pleasurehole are open for the general public. By the way, another comment just came in. And this time, it's for you, Tia.

*Anonymous: you think you're too good to be called a bimbo? From what I can tell you're more blow up doll than barbie. You and your exhaust pipe bae. Of course your boss treats you the same. Are you skanks a set?*

Tia: Sweet jeez! Let me shut it down real quick. Of course, I'm not a blow-up doll - 'cause duh! There's nothing plastic about me. All natural, baby! But wait! How do you know the bossman calls us Tollia tarts? Are you a member of the golf gang? Anyway, we're no set. Definitely not! We're totally individual. We look different, talk different, got different relationships. We don't think...

Holly:... too much about toxic trolls. So, let's wrap this up before Tia talks herself into a rage. Forget the negativity, we'll have you swooning in no time, fashion fam. No cap!

Tia: You're right Holly! Some cancel creep is the least of our worries. Those podcast guidelines are just the tiniest of Mr. von Stein's demands. The biggest thing on his list is still ahead of us. We've gotta nail it if we wanna land a full-time contract. Believe it or not, but right now, we're still on probation.

Holly: Yep! This ain't cool, so we gotta hit those requirements asap. Seriously, having to prove our sales skills all over again is such a joke! Like, what's that sour old sack thinking? We've already shown we're top tier sales girls. That's what the internship was all about. We know the Vonderstore inside out. Deadass!

Tia: You're so right, girl, but don't forget the latest changes in the store. Our uniform's gotten a makeover. Again! But don't sweat it, guys, we're still rocking those black, wet-look booty shorts. No changes there. What's new is the footgear. After my promo stunt in the parking lot, Mr. von Stein decided we gotta wear platform boots -- all the girls, all the time. No kidding!

Holly: Oh, boo-hoo! No biggie for me! And honestly, it shouldn't be for you either. You wanna be the promo puppet, you gotta strut in any kinda heels. For my part, I felt fire stepping back onto the shop floor in my Vonderfit. Advising customers was so much fun! No matter if the top was up or down.

Tia: Oh, the top! How could I ever forget about that? It's still a tight, button-down tank that turns into a crop top for the guys. But get this: it's baby pink now. Dead honest!

Holly: And that's what you love most about it, sis. The color straight-up plays into your think-pink mindset - the bimbo in you is real. Admit it!

Tia: You wish! There's only one reason why I'm wearing that pink top - 'cause it's the official work outfit. In my personal life, it's a whole different story. But whatever! The outfit ain't the big deal. Here's what's actually on the line: during our probation period, we can get fired without any reason. To avoid that, we gotta hit a specific sales quota, and we've got a month to do it. Nail it, and our positions become permanent. Fail it, and the game's over. So yeah, we gotta grind hard and crush those sales targets. Can you believe it?

Holly: Ugh, this is so messed up! My sweet old sack is such a hardass with all his outdated lessons. This sales quota is total bullshit! It's pushing it way too far. Like, seriously, who needs this stress? I so can't deal with this. It legit gets me in a tizzy. I could literally flip out right now.

---The Boomer Buzzkill: All Hail the Temper Tantrums---

And there it is! We got ourselves the first hissy fit on the airwaves. But there'll be plenty more where that came from. You can bank on that, everybody! Still, let's give the bratty broad a big ole round of applause. I bet she rolled those light blue eyes and clenched her fists for added effect. 'Drama, baby!'

And now, let's focus on the important stuff. The month was winding down, so our fashion floozies could see the light at the end of the tunnel. No reason to get comfy, though. The fancy flappers had their hands full hitting that quota. And that's exactly why I put it in place. No participation trophies at Vonderstone. That's as sure as the day is long!

At least, Tia had her reasons. Her Dom-mandated 'edging routine' left her flat-out touchy-feely. But the bubbly blonde found a way to handle it, using a strategy that's as simple as it is effective: upselling like a pro. 'Chin up, tits out, giggle on' - that's her sales secret. And wouldn't you know it? She hit her quota with flying colors. Well done, sugar tits! You've earned that grab to the pussy!

And then we've got our Bratcat. She was struggling something fierce. For whatever reason, her sales were only lackluster. My best guess? She was too busy daydreaming about her own fancy fashion line to sell the actual fashion in the store. It was plain to see that falling short of expectations rubbed her the wrong way. But you wanna know what really got her goat? The fact that the self-proclaimed fierce fashionista got bested by a billboard barbie. What a soap opera!

Naturally, our bratty broad quickly found someone to blame, 'cause apparently, all these cranky Karens wouldn't know style if it hit them upside the head. Must be a real hardship, being an undiscovered fashion queen! But our poor passionista was desperate to keep the job. And for good reason! As her Daddy Dom, I'd put her on a 'probation rule'. Until she'd earned her permanent position, I was keeping her on a dry spell. And that drought was going on for three long weeks already. You should've seen Miss Sassy Pants, all wound up like a spring! The more she struggled, the more she acted out. It was a hoot to watch, but it put our drama diva in a real pickle. The probation period was wrapping up on Friday, and she was about as stuck as a jukebox with a busted needle.

But then, wouldn't you know it, Wednesday rolled around and outta the blue, our resident primadonna pulled a rabbit outta her hat. Somehow, she landed this sale with a fella who snatched up enough pants and flannels to last him till the next decade. Guess that cat needed a serious wardrobe overhaul - or maybe, he got another kinda compensation. Who knows? Mighty fishy, if you ask me. But just like that, our sassy siren hit her quota. What a coincidence! And what a pipe dream to think I wouldn't notice! But hey, let's listen to our filthy followers! What's your take on the sluts' so-called sales skills?

---Chick & Freak: How to Pull Off the Ultimate Handout Hustle---

Tia: Oh wow! The messages are rolling in fast. Not all these comments are game-changing sales strategies, but whatever, here's the first idea.

*DominantDave: Man! Holly, you're a lazy bitch! Just whore out your holes at the mall and you earn enough money to reach any fucking quota. But I forgot! While Tia is a fierce fellationista, you still can't throat a dick. I bet you can't earn 10 bucks on the parking lot. You know why? No throat, no tits.*

Holly: Oh, come on, Dave! I remember you -- definitely not a casual! You were always popping up on my 'trés chic' blog, so I'll cut you some slack, but only once. I've legit proven that I make up for my lack of deepthroating with a solid hummer, like seriously vibrating my lips when I'm working the shaft. But your parking lot idea? No way! Playing lot lizard? That's Tia's vibe. Thanks, but no thanks!

Tia: Hey, that parking lot parade was a one-time thing, swear to god! But can you see what's happening? You make guys happy, and they'll throw around sweet nicknames like 'fierce fellationista'. Definitely flattering! Thanks for that! But let's keep it moving -- we've got more messages to dive into.

* PATriarchPAT: Of course you can't make the quota. Dial back the fierce feminism and turn up the empty headed good time. They're sending you away because your ass is the only thing worth looking at. You should be serving that shitter on a silver platter.*

*Jizznificent: Hoelly fuck! Face it, fashion fuckpet, you suck... as a cocksucker. It's not gonna be enough to earn you big bucks. Know what? The solution is right in front of you. Your claim to fame is your gaping game. Why you think you got a bad-ass moneymaker? Just promise every customer a buttfuck when they buy some stuff.*

Holly: Oh, yuck, this is hella nasty! And wrong! I can suck a mean dick, I'm just not a throat thot, like someone else I know. And anal? That's up to my Daddy Dom to decide, not some toxic trolls. Speaking of, there's another one.

*SloppyMoJoe: Oh hollow head holly you need to listen to the comments. No throat and no tits equals anal adventure. If it's your money maker than you have to be pretty stupid not to use it to make money right?

Holly: Ugh, bold words from someone who's moneymaker is probably parked in your mom's basement. I've met the sales quota and I didn't need any of that dirty stuff. Say less!

Tia: Alright, what a ton of suggestions! We appreciate every single one of them. Goes to show that our podcast is a real learning experience! Fortunately, we didn't have to resort to any of your ideas. We made it on our own and just in time! The day was finally here, so we were on edge. Mr. von Stein showed up around noon and totally ignored us. Just strutted through the store and headed straight to the manager's office. Didn't even bother to nod at us. That's a yikes!

Holly: Yeah, Matt and his dad took forever to review the sales figures. With every minute ticking by, I got more salty. The tension was next level! Just before I turned into a full-on salty mess, we finally got called into the office. About time! I was so ready for that promotion! So, we bougie baddies legit stormed into the office like it was game time.

Tia: But damn, the two Vonderdudes totally ignored us! They just made us wait right there in the middle of the room. No congrats, no confetti, nothing! We stood there, glammed up and confused, staring at each other. Too stunned to say a word! Meanwhile, the two guys kept droning on about those boring-ass sales figures like we'd understand that statistical stuff. Jesus!

Holly: Yeah, the struggle was real! I can't even with these Vonderdudes.

Tia: The longer we waited, the more my nerves skyrocketed. The old-ass owner kept droning on and on about those damn sales figures, breaking them down by department like anyone gave a shit. Exciting stuff... not! I swear, I actually started thinking this could go either way - positive or negative. I had no clue!

Holly: You tell me. I was just as nervous. I seriously wasn't vibing with the whole situation. And then my sweet old sack was finally done. Thank god! But what did he do? He lit up a cigar while we just stood there in front of his big-ass desk. My face when I watched him smoke that Havana!

Tia: As if it got any better when Matt took over. Unlike his dad, he's not much of an analyst - at least not in the literal sense, if you know what I mean. So, he kept it short and crisp. Period!

Holly: Breaking news! We both smashed our quotas. Yasss, queen!

Tia: But guess what? It wasn't enough for a permanent spot. My jaw hit the floor when our mean-ass manager dropped that bomb on us. Vondestone ran a customer survey about all salesclerks! Hard to believe, but both us bad-ass bitches got rated as incompetent. Un-fucking-believable!

Holly: Yeah, it couldn't be legit, it had to be rigged. We're about to get our bachelor's in fashion design, so we're hella overqualified. But Mr. Head Honcho didn't care. My face when he said he couldn't justify giving us a contract, not with those survey scores. Thank god, the Vonderdudes weren't bailing on us bougie baddies. They had a glimmer of hope for us. My feels when they told us we gotta turn tomorrow into 'Freebie Friday'. I'm so here for it!

Tia: But I'm not! This is some real sexist shit! Just another tired-ass gimmick to pander to men when the actual power players in shopping are women. Period!

Holly: Oh, sis, I legit get your anger. But let's explain the 'Freebie Friday' first.

Tia: Okay, I'll try to chill! But this shit pisses me off! So, here's the deal: I gotta tell all those hubbies tagging along as mall mules they get a free gift if their wifey buys five items. Can you believe it? This is so unfair! The 'freebie' goes to the men when in reality it's the women making the decisions, spending the cash, and keeping Vonderstone alive. Period!

Holly: Oh, sis, I'm so with you! It's beyond dumb to reward the dudes. Can someone explain the logic to me? But then again, I'm just happy I didn't draw the short end of the stick for once. Legit the opposite! My sweet old sack gave me the chance to sell my own designs. My feels when I found out? Straight-up fire! My actual task? A duo deal: if you buy two pieces from my line, you get an accessory for free. Major win, chief!

Tia: Oh, come on, girl! Don't act like there's no downside for you. Don't paint that filthy old fart as some fucking saint. He's just toying with us, like he always does. Bet!

Holly: Alright, fine, you got me! I'll admit, there's a downside. I can only sell my designs to dudes. Like, seriously? That's lowkey terrible, especially since my 'moda feroce' is all about empowering women. But whatevs! My task is still way better than yours. No cap!

Tia: Oh, I'm not so sure about that! You gotta sell your stuff to three dudes when I gotta give three guys their own personal runway show as a freebie. What's easier to find? Buyers or spectators?

Holly: Okay, let's agree to disagree! But one thing's for sure: there's pros and cons for both us baddies.

Tia: Yeah, that's probably true. But hey, here's an idea: why don't we ask our loyal listeners? Who got the better deal for 'Freebie Friday'? The fierce fashionista or the billboard barbie?

---Boomer Buzzkill: Office500 - Cruisin' for a Paperwork Bruisin'---

Alright, hot dolls and sharp dressers, time to step in again and set the record straight. As the big cheese around here, it's my duty to keep things in line 'cause the Tollia tarts left out a few key details.

So, here's the truth and nothing but the truth: when I entered the store, I basically ran into our bubbly blonde. Ever since hanging a B. A. on the parking lot, she's flashing a bright smile whenever she sees me. I guess she's jonesing for a repeat, though she's always quick to point out that she ain't got a thing for filthy old farts. And that's exactly why I figured I'd have a gas with her. Hell yeah!

On my way to the office, I drew designs on the pink princess and I gotta say the color suits her. Now, she looks like the ditzy doll she's always been deep down in her heart. How I know? Cause she lets it snow down south. You know, her slip is showing above the shorts and it's fucking pink. Of course, that's an offer I can't refuse. But first, I had the fine foxes waiting for a while before I called them into the office. We all know how much it gets them worked up when they're not the center of attention. Puts them in a right submissive mood! So, I held off until they were ripe and ready. You betcha!

There's nothing worse for our Bratcat than playing second fiddle. That's why I focused on the bootleg bombshell after our fashion floozies waltzed into the office. Right off the bat, I tested if the snow could turn into rain. Gave the titty tramp a bunch of old-school wedgies and she panted like a horny hussy when I pulled her off her feet. At least, you finally got to see those fat fuck flaps 'cause they slipped right outta those shiny shorts -- left and right. A couple of wedgies later, it was a whole cloud burst when those fuckjuices started running down her legs.

Man, it must've been embarrassing to be standing in the office, leaking like a damn faucet in front of your boss. Though, I bet it was even more of a punch to the gut for our poor passionista to be left out and ignored. Sure as the dickens, she was giving me the ole chill stare with her crystal blue eyes. And I hadn't even started talking about the sales figures yet. Slap me silly!

Like a well-oiled machine, Matt and I started spouting those statistics until we'd bored those clout chasers to tears. You could see them starting to get squirmy and fidgety on their feet. Let me tell you, these dumb belles got their own brand of ADHD -- 'Attention-seeking Dolls Hyperfocused on Dick'. Damn straight!

Anyway, their ears perked up when I said I was proud of them for achieving the necessary sales. Told them I didn't expect it, so they deserved a reward. And you know how the rat race works. When you show you're capable, you get a bigger gig. And I got the perfect idea how to use their unique talents to boost sales. The name of the game? 'Freebie Friday'!

You've already heard the gist of it --if you managed to understand the hashtag hustlers and their dumb speak, that is. So, let me spell it out for you: Tia's gotta tell every hubby that he gets a free gift if his wife picks up five or more pieces. Simple as pie, right? On the flip side, Holly's gotta peddle her designs to three guys. This is her chance to prove she's more than a fabric fiddler who can't stitch together anything worth a damn. Even better than pie, right? You'd think so, but wouldn't you know it, the dizzy dames started arguing. It's like they caught a case of that activism fever when they returned to campus. Had to pull myself together to stop cracking up, but the tacky tandem was really serious about it. You don't say!

Whatever 'bimbo bubble' the dumb belles are living in, this is the real world. And here, women make the calls, while the guys hold the purse strings, so you gotta give the men a little something. When the hubby gets a freebie, it makes him feel like a big shot, and guess what? He'll be coming back, spending more dough. Simple as that!

As amusing as it was to watch the fancy flappers raking their brains trying to come up with solid arguments, it was downright unexpected. The bratty broad throwing a temper tantrum? That's part of the deal. But the big-tit blondie debating us? That was new! And sure as the world turns, it didn't suit Miss Buzzerfly. We gotta cure the pouty princess of these woke ideas, and quick. Can't have my billboard barbie arguing with potential customers, not if she's ever hoping to be the promo puppet on another marketing tour. Damn right!

My time's precious, so I hopped off my chair and made my way over to the sales gals. They stared right at me, the sassy siren firing icy daggers and the bubbly blonde sporting a huge pout. But then I slipped a cigar through their lips and their gazes went dumbstruck. Time to shut up and kick off the celebration. Hell to the yes!

You wanna know how to smoke a cigar like a pro? Blow a load before you blow some smoke. Figures, right? As a reward for hitting their sales goals, we made the fashion floozies hold the stogies while we fucked them good -- a bone in the big trap and a boner in the meat flap. That tracks! It was the ultimate sign of submission, and the effect was immediate, taming the bitches faster than greased lightning.

The first step was made. Naturally, though, we needed to keep the trophy tarts on their toes, so we swapped our pets. Can't let the spoiled snowflakes start to slack! While I focused on the pint-sized princess, Matt set his sights on the drama diva. Acting like a proper gentleman, I let the dimestore doll open that top and pull out those fat fleshcans. You could see how proud she was to flaunt those mammary mounds. No surprise there! This was her shot to show her real skills after losing that silly debate about sales strategies. Damn straight!

But here's the kicker: Matt's still green and full of pep, so he didn't waste any time fussing with the brat's top. He went straight for the honey pot at the end of those long legs. And who could blame the boy? That booty bitch was suffering from a severe case of hungry cameltoe.

While junior was still playing with that plump cunt, I let the titty tramp take a seat, but I didn't let her ride shotgun. She had to kneel on the chair with those milkbags hanging over the backrest. A few well-placed swats to the ass were enough to guide her into place until she let that juicy tushy hang over the edge. No need for further instructions -- she was quick to unzip those hot pants and spread her firm buns open. Now, it was blondie's turn to show off her dirty drapes. Gotta say, I dig the way those fuck flaps fluttered in the breeze. Real eye-catchers!

My boy didn't need much convincing and imitated the position straight away. But there were no dairy pillows hanging over the backrest, 'cause the bratty broad is still a member of the 'Itty Bitty Titty Committee'. What a shame! On the bright side, her killer caboose got a chance to shine. Gotta admit, that kneeling position is one of my personal favorites, 'cause it leaves those fuckholes fully exposed. With their juice tubes open, the gals get a real taste of a dick's real size. In my experience, it's a surefire way to turn a woke vegan into a carniwhore. But I'm no expert on slut feelings. Who knows, who cares?

It was time to shift into high gear, so I took the blonde's hands and brought them behind her back. I grabbed hold of her arms like they were the reins on a wild mustang and gave them a good yank, pulling that swivel chair back like I was reining in a runaway stagecoach. I kept pulling till my cock was knocking on heaven's door, but didn't slip it in. Looked like the titty tramp was expecting some quick plug-and-play, but I made her wait. With the stogy in her yap, it was more of a muffled murmur, but the bootleg bombshell started begging. She pleaded with me to fuck her any way I liked. So at least, she's got her priorities straight!

It's always good to see a plan work out, so I gave the ditz-with-tits what she asked for. Laying some serious scratch, I tore that beef curtain apart and dug the bitch a new ditch while those milkbags fluttered around like two fireflies in a jar. In hindsight, holding her hands turned out to be a stroke of genius. Every time I pulled the ditzy doll back, I slammed into her cunt till she got to feel every inch of the ole guardrail. What's the saying again? Old brooms sweep well. Right on the money!

And the hashtag whorenalist chimed in with each thrust, yapping every variation of 'Oh my god, fuck me' like she was hunting for the headline of her first article in a real fashion magazine. Nice confirmation! But it was clear that the busty bopper hadn't expected me to lay down the law with such a hard-nosed approach. After some griping and groaning, she finally got with the program and started embracing the tough love. Good thing, that big trap was still stuffed, 'cause that joy jabber sounded even sillier than the gal's usual dumb speak. No ifs, ands, or buts!

Meanwhile, on the other side of the office, Matt followed suit, holding Miss Sassy Pants in place with her arms behind her back while giving her the business like a young buck. The difference? Instead of pushing a milktruck out front, the Bratcat's towing a double-wide deluxe behind her. And my boy had the perfect view! He couldn't contain himself, splitting those twin trailers wide open and drilling a skylight right through them. I heard some shrieks - probably a storm of protest - but it was smothered by the stogy. Aw, what a drag!

Alrighty then, let's check out the standings. It's a madhouse out there! You got me and my boy squaring off on opposite sides of the office, right in front of the desk. The big-tit blonde's kneeling on a swivel chair, getting banged up the breedbox by the big boss. Meanwhile, the booty bitch is in the same spot getting her bunghole battered by the baby boss.

We spent some time exploring those guzzle spouts. When we knew those load chutes inside out, I nodded at my son and he nodded right back. Next thing you know, those fine foxes were flipping their wigs, shrieking like they were on fire, almost spitting their stogies out. You wanna know why the broads were blowing a gasket? Simple! With that last thrust, we let go of their arms and we did it at the same time. The swivel chairs shot forward like cannonballs fired from opposing artillery. As a result, the sassy siren rolled from left to right, while the bubbly blonde shot from right to left. They could've practically shaken hands as they zipped past each other, but they were too busy flailing like coupling rods in motion. There was a long black train coming down the rails of sin, grounding to a screeching halt right in front of the old stationmaster, while a golden train arrived at its destination to take on a young engine driver. Looks like a poet got lost in me, huh?

With a grin, I snatched the stogy from the brat's lips and took a few puffs while letting her polish my gearshift. From the sound of it, the booty bitch was digging it more than the titty tramp. But no surprise there! Blondie's got Matt's meat straight from ass to mouth. Shit happens!

Before long, we popped the Cubans back in the broads' kissers and gave the swivel chairs a whirl. The dimestore doll's sweater stretchers swayed while the spicy stunner's bubble butt wiggled in horny harmony. Now, it was my turn to take the dirt road while Matt got busy carving out a fucktrench. Before you knew it, the Tollia tarts were sighing like women in a romance novel. And the cherry on top? We got them shrieking again when we cut them loose. For the second time, those swivel chairs barreled down the tracks like two freight trains crossing paths in the night. A helluva humbler for the gals, but hilarious for the guys!

And before you knew it, this turned into a real desk derby, like the 'Office 500'! A couple of chair chases later, it was time for something fresh. Remember? We gotta keep the snowflakes stepping, so they ain't get lazy. Told you, I love watching those fat funbags flop around, so I sent the bootleg bombshell spinning before plowing her fuckfurrow. A bunch of strokes up the steam seam later, I sent her whirling again, like it was the wheel of whoredom.

Slamming -- spinning -- slamming -- spinning. Call it the whirl wars! Ain't that a kick?

Full disclosure, the titty tramp's not a wet rag. Whenever the chair swiveled, her cunt shriveled, clamping down on my boss boner so hard I could barely keep it together. So, it was time to switch gears again. Using her arms like a steering wheel, I guided the big-tit blonde across the office, fucking her from one end to the other. Every time, I slammed into her squeezebox, her pussy pulsed like a strobe light, milking my member for all it's worth. The pint-sized princess was so wrapped up in her hoe throes, she didn't even notice her bratty bestie cruising on by.

You could say, we were filling those empty holes with intimate office knowledge! And it got the dimestore doll close to cumming. Whenever I sensed the climax on the horizon, I gave her a good pair of butt slaps. It worked! Making the denial doll edge till we finished our tour de force through the office. When we reached the finish line, I was ready to blow my load, so I asked for the spot to mark the billboard barbie as a Vondervixen.

And once again, the busty bopper was free to pick any place, but she was too 'dickdrunk'. She only had one thing on her mind. Her eyes glazed over when she begged me to blast her breeding hole. No wonder! Who wouldn't want a little Vonderbastard, right? Especially when you're nothing more than a trophy tart. Wouldn't be the first one, either! So, I took her up on her plea and flooded her babybox with my balls batter. Guess I was filling a void there. Damn straight!

But it got better! When the ditz-with-tits cheered on my seasoned soldiers storming her womb, my son heard her loud and clear. He didn't need a second invitation, filling his dunce-with-buns. The flood of frosting made her purr like a cat in a sunbeam - must've been a whole platoon of young recruits invading her hole! But he didn't give our sassy siren a nice insemination. Instead, he loaded that booty with so much cream it turned into a full-blown twinkie. Golly gee!

After the cum is before the cigar. So, we swiped those stogies from the dames' kissers and started puffing away. Meanwhile, the Tollia tarts provided the entertainment. Playing dirty director, I called the shots and guided the gals into position. The titty tramp splayed her legs and grabbed her butterfly wings to open up that sloppy pink slit. Meanwhile, the fierce fashionista knelt down in front of her bestie and opened her trap. Gotta say, it took a lot more squeezing and pressing than expected. Guess the bubbly blonde wasn't too keen on letting go of my baby gravy. No shocker there! Not every slut gets the gift of my virile wanderers.

When the man jam finally oozed out in a thick, gooey trickle, our resident primadonna pulled a face like she was getting hit with another month of no-cumming. She didn't seem all too jazzed about her pearly present, but she dutifully kept her trap open all the same. That's the Bratcat for you! Always making a huge stir outta the tiniest task. The drama never ends!

When the blonde's cunt was as empty as her head, it was time to change positions. So, I steered the bootleg bombshell over to the desk. Once she was laid out on her back, the sassy siren clambered onto the tabletop and squatted above her head. The busty bopper started to mewl and pout when she saw her bestie's butt hovering over her face. She knew what was on the menu and she didn't like it one bit. Still, she kept that mug in position. My hunch? The drive to keep our attention outweighed her revulsion. But your guess is as good as mine!

What happened next knocked our socks off. The cream filling spurted from the butt like a soda fountain gone haywire. It bubbled up like a gooey geyser from a hot spring and splattered all over the blonde's face. Looked like someone dumped a whole box of cream puffs on the ditz-with-tits! Her cheeks got streaked with butt butter, her smacker ended up sporting a milk mustache, and her kisser got filled with enough cock chowder to feed her for a week.

What made us choke on our cigars, though, was the wet sound that tagged along with the jizz burst. It was so loud it almost brought down the walls of Vonderco! The biggest cumfart I'd ever seen and heard. What a barnburner!

Man, we really had a blast with the fashion floozies! But our clout chasers had a big day ahead of them. 'Freebie Friday' was coming up and it would decide their future as Vondervixens. So, I sent them home to get refreshed and ready for the big finale. But let's listen in on what the tacky tag team got to say about their decision day.

---Chic & Freak: How to handle all the buzz at work without losing your chill---

Holly: Hey, my fellow fashionistas! Turns out you guys weren't just rooting for us - you were legit blowing up the comments. Gotta say our follower interaction is straight-up fire!

*Anonymous: Now that's a Cunt-ucky derby, lmao. You dumb sluts probably haven't moved that fast since you misread a flyer for 'Free lessons from a pianist'. I hope you reusable blow up dolls thanked your bosses for the training. That's the problem with this new generation of whores. They want all the erections without any of the effort.*

Tia: Cunt-ucky derby? What the fuck? No idea what you're talking about. But you're right. Sorta! It was a straight-up race to see who got the new contract first. Took a lotta effort, but no erections. Definitely not! You and your fantasies, guys. Unbelievable!

Holly: And not just effort, but hella nerves, too. When the big day finally arrived, I was lowkey freaking out. I can't even tell how nervous I was. This was the opportunity of a lifetime to launch my fashion brand. It had to be a success. No cap! That's why I didn't sleep a single second that night. Instead, I spent the whole time picking the perfect designs. Does anyone else feel like everything hits different when you're on a deadline? The stress was real!

Tia: Don't fall for it, guys! Holly's just too damn modest. She had a full bag of clothes ready. Enough outfits to deck out the whole store. She was ready for business. Definitely so!

Holly: Speaking of business, we had a bit of a situation in the Vonderstore. Matt decided to drop some new gadget on us. It's like a smartwatch that vibrates when a customer's looking for help. No jokes! It's literally like a digital service bell. We told him he should wait till Monday to roll it out, but of course, Dickhead Matt was having none of it. He insisted. Today of all days! I can't even with the douchebro!

Tia: But that wasn't even the worst part. At first, our skeevy supervisor carried the remote around. But then I saw the damn thing just sitting there on a bargain table, out in the open for anyone to grab. I wanted to snatch it up and give it back to our mean-ass manager, but I came too late. Fuck a duck!

Holly: You and your damn hesitation! It legit cost us 'cause the shift turned into a horror movie. And this was the worst possible day for it! We had important stuff to do! My face when I noticed a dude hanging around the store, bored outta his mind, while his girlfriend was shopping. My feels when he found the control and started messing with it 'cause he had nothing better to do. He was actually trying to figure out what it was switching on and off, so he kept changing the levels. Does anybody else know how distracting that constant buzz can be when you're trying to make a sale? It was a full-on disaster!

Tia: Damn, I feel you, girl! But I didn't really fare any better. There I was in the middle of the store, trying to help this soccer mom, and all I can think about is that buzzing driving me mad. While I'm talking sales, my mind's stuck on that gadget. While I was trying to focus, my breath just stopped mid-sentence. I couldn't even speak! I had to do everything not to groan out loud. I was fidgeting so damn much, the woman was giving me that look, like she was asking if I was high or something. And then the buzzing hit max, and my crotch shot forward like a slingshot letting loose! I stumbled over to the next shelf like I was getting yanked by my loins. And that was the end of the sales talk. Soccer mom bounced, pissed as fuck!

Holly: Nooo! My face when I saw that! You were literally doing the 'pop your hip' dance, and this basic customer just dipped. So rude! But that's what happens when you wear your gadgets the wrong way. You're not supposed to carry it in your fanny pack like a self-care tool, sis!

Tia: Oh gawd! Did I really just spill that secret? And I oops! But you're right, I just can't stand feeling those heavy-ass gadgets on my arm, you know? So, I wore it in my fanny... pack. For real!

Holly: Uh-uh, sure thing! We all got our little quirks and kinks, ain't we?

Tia: Whatever! That wasn't even the worst part! Soccer mom had her hubby with her, playing shopping sherpa, and she already had four items picked out. That was about to become my first freebie. Damnit!

Holly: That's tragic! But it's not like I fared any better! While you were over there fighting for your life, I was just standing in the men's department, all alone and bored outta my mind. Today of all days, not a single guy came into the store. I was about to give up hope when the first dude walked in. I basically jumped at him and started my sales pitch before he knew what was happening. It was going real well until Dickhead Matt decided to join us. That's when it became a total trainwreck 'cause I mixed up two styles when I compared them to my designs. As if it mattered!

Tia: Oh gosh! I'm holding my breath. What happened? You never know with our mean-ass manager.

Holly: Hard to believe, but he swooped in to 'save the day.' The douchebro said something like, 'Sorry, sir, you'll have to excuse my assistant. She's as candy-brained as her pink top suggests.' Like, what the heck? I was shook! So shook, I couldn't even hit him with my trademark icy stare. It was a legit nightmare!

Tia: Jesus, that's rough! But there you see it - I was so distracted by that stupid gadget buzzing in my fanny pack, I didn't even catch it. I only noticed when you were gone from the sales floor. Sorry, girl!

Holly: For real, that was even worse than the public disgrace! Dickhead Matt literally sidelined me. Hijacking the whole sales talk, he dragged me to the stockroom where he had me stand in a corner. When I faced the wall, he put a timer on the shelf right next to me. Does anyone else know how hard it is to stand in silence for 15 minutes? The wait was torture!

Tia: Don't lie, girl, that's the kinda discipline you're always asking for with your hissy fits. It totally gets you going! You're just mad it was the junior boss and not the old-ass owner. Bet, you still wanted to jump Matt's bone. Admit it!

Holly: Okay, fine! I was lowkey impressed by his firm Dom hand. Didn't expect that from the lazy slacker. Guess he's picking up some tricks from his old man. But my sweet old sack is still way stricter and more authentic. You can keep your fratboy, I'll stick with the original. Word!

Tia: Oh wow! You just can't get away from your filthy fossil, can you? Newsflash! This ain't the 80s anymore! Your boomer boyfriend's old news, Matt's the future! Not just as the heir to the company, but also as a Dom. Period!

Holly: Maybe, but the future ain't here yet. Right now, your Dom-in-Training is just a showoff. You know what happened when the 15 minutes were over? The douchebro came back, bragging about making the sale. And of course, he sold none of my designs. What an asshole! So, I legit dragged his ass, cursing and cussing him out. And his response? He reset the timer and made me face the wall for another 15 minutes. I can't even with this toxic troll!

Tia: Bet your mind was candy-brained after that.

Holly: Oh, for sure! That second time-out? Straight-up hell! I could barely stand still! My whole body was on edge. And it got worse when that stupid gadget started buzzing hella fierce. My feels when the timer finally went off. I was so dazed and distracted, it was next level! And I hadn't made a single sale of my fashion line yet. What a cringefest!

Tia: There you see it, guys, our task wasn't as easy as it sounded. It really was a final exam! We'd reached lunchtime and hadn't given out a single freebie yet. Fuck me sideways!

Holly: This whole thing was about to turn into an epic fail. No way, I could let that happen, so I had to step in and save the day. During lunch break, I made our skeevy supervisor an offer to good to pass up. A mannequin in the shop window had broken, so guess what? I offered to take its place. But only if I could wear one of my own designs. That was my move to get a foot in the door. My actual goal was something else: I got to dress the other dummies in my clothes! Does anyone else think that's the perfect way to get my brand out there? My feels when it all clicked. So lit!

Tia: Seriously? You were out there barging in on my territory! I'm the billboard barbie at Vonderstone, not you! I can't believe you'd do that to me. You're selfish as sin. Period!

Holly: Oh, don't worry, I've never wanted to be the display dummy. No way! Promo puppet? That's your gig. A hundo p! It was just a one-time thing, like a total desperation move, I swear! Not gonna happen again!

Tia: I hope that's true. If not, I'm really gonna be pissed. Remember? You've lied to me before when you didn't tell me you were watching me and Matt like a pervy voyeur. Don't do it again! Like never!

Holly: Trust me, sis, I did enough modeling in the shop window to last me a lifetime. No need for a repeat! Especially since our mean manager tricked me. He let me dress the other mannequins in my brand-new outfits, but he didn't let me put on one of my designs. Instead, I had to model the trend of this summer - animal prints! Believe it or not, I had to rock a red zebra swimsuit. The kitsch was so extra, it was unreal! I'm a fierce fashionista, not some glitter guidette! But nope, no arguing with the douchebro. So, I was stuck in the display window, standing still like a mindless mannequin, presenting that tacky zebra trend. What a nightmare!

Tia: Oh, girl, that sounds like you bit off more than you could chew! But hey, I wasn't done either! And unlike you, it wasn't even my fault. Finally, another married couple rolled into the store, and I instantly recognized the hubby. It was Mr. Midlife Crisis! Remember him from the coupon campaign where I'd cleaned his car? The dude with the dadbod and dyed hair! He looked like he was trying to cosplay as a teenager, even though he was pushing fifty. Telling him about the 'Freebie Friday' felt super cringe. Yikes!

Holly: Oh, come on, sis! This was light work compared to what I went through. There were two black dudes peeking at my zebra-clad ass in the shop window. When they entered the store, they found the control and started tossing it back and forth like playing catch. The vibrations started changing so fast it was hella unpredictable. They basically switched up and down every other second, making me jerk around in the display window. I was fidgeting so hard I might as well have been twerking. The whole damn mall could see me squirming like a worm on hot pavement. I was dying! People were strolling by, pointing and laughing. The degradation was real!

Tia: Like it was smooth sailing for me. As if! Turns out, the freebie offer got Mr. Midlife Crisis motivated as hell. He bought his wifey five pieces before sending her off to the beauty shop. He actually told her she could buy some cosmetics while he was taking the shopping bags to their car. What a douche! Of course, he didn't do any of that. Instead, he strolled over to me with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. The swellhead told me he was looking to buy some sexy outfits as a present for his wife. And he didn't even ask about the free gift. He flat-out demanded I model the outfit he picked for her. Jesus!

Holly: Stop playing, sis! The audacity of that dadbod dude. Unbelievable! Meanwhile, I was over in the shop window twerking in front of half the town. It's like the universe decided to put us bougie baddies on blast, just for kicks. I was praying for a blackout or something, anything to get me outta that window. But nope, just me and my jiggly ass on full display. Urgh!

Tia: Sometimes, I'd wish I had your icy stare, girl. But nope! I just giggled when that damn gadget hit me. It started buzzing the moment Mr. Midlife Crisis made his outrageous demand. I got caught off guard and simply rolled with it, letting the bleached bloke pick the outfit. Imagine this, guys! He had the nerve to choose a sexy schoolgirl costume in pink and white, complete with scarf and loose socks. And on top of that, he even threw in some kinky-ass stripper heels. Apparently, his wife's two sizes smaller than me, so the outfit barely covered anything. My assets spilled out everywhere, making me feel slutty as sin! But here's the real disgrace: with that gadget buzzing in my fanny pack, my nipples got rock-hard in record time. Bet!

Holly: Look at that! Suddenly, we both sported outfits that are the opposite of our character -- unless you're ready to admit you love being pretty-in-pink!

Tia: Forget about it, girl! Never gonna happen!

Holly: Okay, you do you, sis! If it's any consolation, you weren't the only one spilling the goods. Those dudes finally figured out what the control was doing. Coming to the front of the store, they watched me dance in the shop window. My face when they literally controlled my moves like a puppet on a string. My feels when they fought over the control, randomly switching the level up and down. They were playing me like a character in a button-mashing dance sim and I moved so fast that my swimsuit slipped outta position exposing more than I like to admit. Hella cringe!

Tia: Oh, girl, cringe is the perfect word for what the swellhead pulled off next. After making me model that skimpy-ass schoolgirl uniform, he got bored. Outta nowhere, he decided to buy something else for his wifey, like a necklace or whatever. So, he hauled ass outta the store, leaving me standing there, looking like a damn joke. I was so staggered I didn't even know if I should be happy or sad. Facts!

Holly: Hey, at least, you handed out your first freebie. One down, two more to go! That's a major win, and I'm hella hyped. No cap!

Tia: You're right, there was an upside, but there was also a downside -- aka Matt! When our skeevy supervisor saw me rocking that pink costume, he decided to make me wear it for the rest of the shift. What a douchey move! It was degrading as hell! My awesome assets were spilling out, literally everywhere. And to top it off, there were no more boots or tights left, so my tattoos were on full display. Period!

Holly: Oh my god! We straight-up forgot to spill the tea on our latest upgrades. What an epic fail! Especially since you've got a whole-ass glow-up plan going on! So sorry to keep you on read, my fashion fam.

Tia: Damn, how did we overlook this? It's actually the most important thing. Remember the elegant black ink on my left leg? It's a delicate floral design with cherry blossoms and vines, running up to my knee. It was already intricate before, but I seriously leveled it up. Now, it's shaded to make it pop even more, and it goes all the way up to my hip, covering the entire side of my leg.

Holly: Like that's all! You're leaving out the best part. It's not discreet anymore. It's super striking and hella vulgar now!

Tia: Good thing you don't know shit about tatts. And that's a damn fact! It ain't vulgar, it's art! I even added some ink to my right leg - for symmetry! Same design, but this side has butterflies flying around the vine. It's the perfect fit, 'cause I'm a social butterfly and I'm fully bloomed now. But don't act like you're not part of Generation Beauty Trend, Holly. You've been busy too!

Holly: Um, yeah, but it's nothing in comparison -- not permanent and not that extra! You know how I feel about tatts. I'm way too moody, changing my mind every five seconds. That's why I'm all about the glitz and the glam. Right now, I'm rocking a vajazzle 'cause I can easily switch it up whenever. It's right on my pubic mound, made of rhinestone crystals. They form a cute heart with the two arches in flames. Sensual and spunky, that's me. A hundo p!

Tia: Hold up! You're leaving out the juicy part, too! That second glitter tag's anything but sophisticated. Admit it, girl!

Holly: That's 'cause I wasn't finished yet! To tell the truth, I've got a second boodazzle on my lower back. It's a ribbon bow right above my tailbone, and it's super cute. No cap!

Tia: Super cliché, that's what you wanted to say, right? It's on your tailbone, so it's a classic tramp stamp. Or wait! You prefer to call it ass antlers, don't you? Actually, I can't decide which is worse. So, let's ask our loyal listeners! What you think about the Bratcat's glitter tags?

Holly: You're way off, sis! That boodazzle? It's level ten classy! And I know my chic clique will agree. It's perfect for a bougie baddie! You just don't know a thing about timeless elegance, 'cause you're all about barbiecore, Miss Bimbo Blondie! So, let's hear from our fashion fam. What's looking better and what's more on-brand: ink or glitter?

---Boomer Buzzkill: Why Young'Uns Are Going Ga-Ga for Gadgetry in the Boudoir---

There it is, hot dolls and sharp dressers, the first big squabble between the bimbo and the brat. Who could've seen that one coming? I guess we can all agree on one thing: both beautifications are as trashy as a Tijuana titjob. They got 'bargain bin' written all over it, right? But hey, we all know our fashion floozies ain't turning into runway models anytime soon. Their ceiling's always gonna be promo puppet and glamour gal. Believe me, you heard it here first!

Anyway, let's get back to the hot scoop. I had several big-deal meetings throughout the day, so I didn't make it to the store till afternoon. Don't tell the dizzy dames, but I was in a real hurry to get back 'cause I didn't wanna miss out on any of that wild stuff. Shit was too hilarious!

When I arrived, the Bratcat was in the shop window, shaking that moneymaker. While she rocked that ass, she kept glancing over her shoulder to see if anybody was watching. And sure as sugar, there was a whole crowd gathered. Of course, our sassy siren claims to be embarrassed by all the laughing and finger pointing, but it was as clear as day that the shoppers' attention made her pussy pulse something fierce. All the same, the slutty sight had me in stitches. What a hoot!

My mood got even better when I spotted the bootleg bombshell totter across the sales floor. In her too-tight, too-skanky getup, she looked like a fresh-off-the-bus floozy stepping onto a cheap stag set for the first time. It gave me a good chuckle when I recalled the cancel culture crusader standing in my office, fussing over the sexism of the 'Freebie Friday' campaign. There wasn't much of the coddled crybaby left in that outfit. Damn straight!

Naturally, I had to rub it in. That's my duty as the big cheese, after all! Just as a married couple strolled into the store, the titty tramp was gearing up to take a break and powder her nose. Now, that's a real snowflake slacker, if I've ever seen one. But you know what they say: the customer comes first! So, I told our busty bopper to stay and take extra care of the hubby. When the wife was a ritzy old frump, the man looked like he should be living in a retirement home. I'd bet my bottom dollar the ditz-with-tits wanted to dodge them like the plague. You know our pouty princess and her particular preferences. Hell yeah!

But the rules are the rules, no exceptions, even if this uppity old biddy looked like she'd wandered into our shop by mistake. True to form, she was already sending judgy looks at our cosplay cutie from across the room, so they were a perfect match for a sales talk. Let's face it, no way that snooty couple would buy anything in the store, so a bit of extra motivation for the old man was the only way to make a buck. Mark my words, the bubbly blondie was so giddy in anticipation, her whole body was trembling something fierce. On her way, her legs were wobbling like a newborn calf and her big ole bazookas were bouncing like a pair of pillows drying in a gale. What a riot!

As you can see, folks, our boutique broads were busy fumbling around with their tasks. In the end, though, they failed miserably when it came to handing out those freebies. But I'm pretty sure you've already figured out why they were so 'distracted'. Our selfie addicts weren't entirely honest about those new-fangled gizmos. It's true that Matt handed them out at the start of their shift, but let's not kid ourselves -- those were no smartwatches. Tia almost told the truth when she tripped over her tongue and said she carried her gizmo in her 'fanny pack'. You know how it is! You gotta plug in these walking instareels like inflatable rubber dolls - just to get them walking and working. So, what to do as a responsible office manager? Plug the bitches! And that's exactly what my son did.

You heard that right! Tia had a love egg in her cunt, and Holly had a butt plug up her ass. But these weren't just any kinda budget store gadgets. They were high-tech toys - both vibrating and remote controlled. Just the right kinda tools to put some pep in their step. What's the saying? Always keep stepping! If you stop, it's gonna catch up to you and hit you in the face. That's management101 for you, folks: Always motivate the troops and provide them with the necessary tools for the job. Roger that!

Apparently, Matt felt like those horny, young hotshots needed some extra motivation, so he left the remote lying out in the open for everyone to grab. Good way to keep things dynamic! Today's world's unpredictable and ever-changing, so you gotta be flexible and agile. Smart move, right? There you've got it -- my son's finally growing up, proving he's got what it takes to be a leader. Atta boy!

See? When the buzz began, our bratty broad basically shimmied backwards through the store, her ass sticking out like a divining rod. What a tush tug! But it didn't stop there. Whenever she tried to convince a guy to buy one of her designs, she'd back up like a loaded wagon mid-sentence. Naturally, the fellas couldn't help but ogle the spicy stunner doing the 'booty drag', but that 'rump retreat' had them scratching their head, wondering if she was a real sales gal. That's why she couldn't make a single sale. Still, I gotta hand it to her, she showed some real initiative. That ring pin was bound to make her wiggle that ass in the display window, and she still went for it. That's the spirit!

And our bubbly blondie? Whenever the vibe hit, her crotch shot forward like someone was pulling on a chain hitched to her kitty. What a pelvis parade! A bunch of times, the ditz-with-tits did the 'crotch march' right in the middle of a sales pitch. And I guarantee you, those stuck-up Stepford wives didn't exactly appreciate the 'leash strut', even though it looked hilarious as hell. But at least, the crotch clown kept the shopping sherpas entertained while Matt took over the sales talk. What a knee-slapper!

As a result, the fancy flappers kept mixing up fashion labels, peddling the cheap stuff as if it were top-tier brands. That's the kinda fashion experts they really are! In the end, Matt had to babysit the bitches and make the sales. So, it was the right call to send the Bratcat to the stockroom for a timeout when she was about to flip her lid in front of a customer. Told you, my boy's stepping up, turning into a leader right before our eyes. You bet your boots!

Truth be told, I was flabbergasted our ditzy doll managed to hand out a freebie at all. But then again, it was that fella from the promo campaign, so it barely counts. At this point, our fashion floozies are more of a customer attraction, drawing folks into the store than actual sales gals. But hey, these days, all young whippersnappers wanna be famous, and our Tollia tarts are certainly gaining a reputation around town. Anyway, let's hear how the horny hussies reacted when time was running out.

---Chic & Freak: How to flip a nosedive into a glow-up moment---

Tia: Hey everyone, welcome back to the show! We've got some spicy feedback to unpack. So, buckle up, 'cause you guys really brought it with your thoughts.

*Anonymous: Oh holly honey! Once again, it's obvious to everyone but you, pseudo SLUT. You wanna be a real SLUT, then it's all or nothing. Get the tramp stamp and pussy patch inked. Then we can take you seriously, just like your bimbo boo(b).*

*JOeLO: LOL! You're wearing zebra print n think you're too 'sophisticated' for tatts? Does that H in Holly stand for Hypocrite or for Helium? You got it wrong, the filling belongs in your tits, not your head. ROFL!*

*TrophyDoll4U: Oh babes, you should make it a poll, like totes. Let us followers vote on the bestest name for those sparkly charms. Here are my suggestions: tailgate tat or basement badge. How's that? Sounds like so much fun, rite?*

Tia: Woah, folks, chill! No need to go for the kill. Roasting our Holy Huffy - that's my gig! But one thing's clear. Tatts are the winners here. The crowd's made the call. Deal with it, girl!

Holly: Ugh, I can't even with our followers right now! Thought they'd be more on point. They're usually so fierce and fab, but this time they're way off the mark! Wait until you see how I can switch it up every week with fresh, unique glam while Tia's stuck showing the same old tattoo. That's what happens when you ask basic peeps and art noobs. Where's my fashion fam when you need them?

Tia: Don't listen to the haters! They don't get your fashion game, but they know how to keep the engagement high. Definitely so! They're actually right, though, we should make polls a regular thing on this podcast. Promise! But for now, let's focus on the rest of our shift.

Holly: Yasss, queen! Finally, we've got some good news to talk about. Things were looking up for me when those dudes got bored of playing me like a sim in the 'Hoe It Up' mod. They called me into the men's section and I showed them my best designs. That's the proof! My fashion is fire 'cause each dude ended up buying a combo of pants and shirts. I was legit hyped to give them the extra accessory. The bald bloke got a shoe shine set and the fat fella went for a cute pair of gloves. Nice extras, right?

Tia: Shoe polish and gloves? Damn, I was expecting a whole different kinda extras. But hey, a win's a win. Period! Sadly, though, it didn't look so hot for me. The shit hit the fan when another bored-ass housewife hated on our marketing campaign and dragged her hubby outta the store. It was game over for me 'cause Matt stepped in. Guess what he had me do? He sent my ass to the changing room, telling me I needed to clean up the mess there. So yeah! While you were out there selling your stuff, I was folding clothes. So bad!

Holly: Sweet jeez, that sounds hella cringe. It just goes to show we need that permanent spot, so we never gotta do these menial tasks again. We're designers, ready to take the fashion world by storm, so let us cook, old man! We're gonna slay the next collection if you just let us do our thing. Mosdef!

Tia: Oh yeah, that day can't come soon enough. I've folded enough clothes to last two lifetimes. To be honest, though, designing stuff is hard work. I'm actually thirsting for something more exciting, like another promo tour. Gotta admit the car wash campaign was fucking awesome! That's why I turned that clean-up job into a total brand promo. Bet!

Holly: Seriously, sis? That's so you! Can't even clear up some clothes without turning it into a big show, huh? So, what exactly did you do this time?

Tia: I didn't do anything! I just stumbled into a situation. You know the changing room, right? There's a laundry cart at the end of the cubicles for tried-on items. But there were barely any clothes in there, so I had to reach in deep to get to the bottom.

Holly: Oh, no! Let me guess -- you took a nose dive. I know how clumsy you can be. My face when I think about it! I can't even with that damn laundry cart!

Tia: Come on, girl, I'm not clumsy, it wasn't even my fault! Right when I reached the bottom, that damn gadget started buzzing and my feet slipped - 'cause platform boots, duh! I'll never get used to these fucking hooker hooves! So, I took a dive headfirst into the laundry cart. My head landed in the bin and my face got buried between dirty clothes. Meanwhile, my ass was bent over the edge, sticking high up in the air. Hard to believe, but I struggled to get outta there. Bet!

Holly: Oh my god! It's like you were just a prop and the cart was a pervy pillory. So freaky!

Tia: Jesus! Don't say that. It sounds downright disgusting! But yeah, it was totally pervy! And my worst nightmare happened. Before our skeevy supervisor sent me to the changing room, I'd gotten a bit desperate. On my way, I'd walked up to every tag-along hubby in the store and told him about our marketing campaign. There were three old dudes in total. And of course, one of them walked into the changing room just when I was stuck in the laundry cart. Worst timing ever!

Holly: Oh, please, sis! That musta been a dream or something. Stuff like that ain't happening in real life!

Tia: I wish that were true. I actually pinched myself to wake up, but it was what it was. At least, the geezer was a real gentleman and helped me outta the laundry cart. When I turned around, I finally saw the guy. It was that haughty hubby who tagged along his posh-and-pompous missus. And that's when I found out he didn't just strut around like a peacock, he also talked like some pretentious ass. Picture this: the dusty riz lord told me he'd always been curious about the 'crap' people toss away. Like, what the actual fuck? As if that wasn't enough, he had the nerve to tell me to reach in and fish out an outfit -- totally random, with my eyes closed. Of course, he wanted me to model that piece for him. Of all the dresses in the store! But it was his freebie, so I couldn't dissuade him. Damnit!

Holly: Sheesh! That sounds even more like a bad horror flick than my situation! So far, I hadn't managed to sell the customers on my designs. Guys who came to Vonderbone were clearly the wrong clientele. But then my sexy show in the display window attracted the right kinda people. Only problem? They weren't coming in, staying outside to watch me eat up the beat. So, I made a power move, stepping outta the store and hitting on guys with style. Not gonna lie, my gadget was buzzing again. But this time, it was helpful! The way my hips moved, I snatched up some dudes who woulda never set foot in the store otherwise. Finally, I was slaying the challenge!

Tia: Damn, that's fab for you, girl! But for me, it was still a nightmare. That bougie baron sniffed with the haughty disdain of a duke offended by a commoner's touch when I pulled out an item. Yikes! When I first laid eyes on the piece, my jaw hit the floor. And when I actually put it on? I wanted to die! It was a minidress, so short it barely covered my ass. If the schoolgirl uniform had been too small, this one was like a second skin. As if it even covered a damn thing! The outfit was all fishnet, practically see-through, so everything was spilling out - tits, ass, nipples. The worst part, though? It was hot pink, so glaring it could be seen from the moon!

Holly: Oops, looks like I don't even have to mention your think-pink attitude anymore. Sounds like you're way more into it than you're letting on. My feels when you're acting all innocent but you're constantly pretty-in-pink.

Tia: Okay, Bratcat! If you're acting like that, then I won't tell you how it went on. Period!

Holly: Stop playing, sis! You're over here calling me Holy Huffy when you're straight-up giving Teazy Titi vibes. Who's got double standards now?

Tia: Alright, fine! It wasn't my brightest moment, I give you that. But whatever! The swaggering silverfox told me to strut up and down the changing room to show-off the pink fit. And you know I've got experience turning that place into my personal runway, so I put on a brilliant show with my awesome assets practically bursting through the fishnet holes. Facts!

Holly: And that was it? Yeah, right! Don't believe it for a sec! Ain't no way this grumpy old geezer is letting a chance like that slide. Be so for real, sis!

Tia: Okay, okay, you're right! When I got back to the laundry cart, the haughty hubby snorted in disdain. He said something like: 'Look at that! This item must have come straight from the discount rack. Dare I say so, it was likely a streetwalker who had the audacity to try that piece on. Though, I highly doubt even that sort of... woman would stoop to purchasing such a tacky and utterly vulgar item. One would have to pay someone to take it off of you.' And with that, he just left me standing there in that slutty pink stripperwear. The pretentious peacoat walked away, never to be seen again. Swear to god!

Holly: Sweet jeez! I've never heard anything more snobbish in my life. So extra! That had to feel hella degrading! But you know what? We both handed out two freebies. Only one more to go! We're gonna hit our quota in no time. Deadass!

---Boomer Buzzkill: About handjob hussies and dumpster diving dolls---

Right-o, hot dolls and sharp dressers, I bet you knew it when you heard it, but it's time to chime in again. Our fancy flappers were yapping about their dreams, not the cold, hard truth. This was the most sugar-coated way to spin what went down in the store that I've ever heard. Safe-for-Work, my ass!

So, here's the real story: First off, I dig those names Hoely Huffy and Teazy Titty -- just another ace up my sleeve, hah! Second, the fine foxes left out some crucial details. It's true, our big-tit blonde met up with Mr. Fancy Pants, but not in the changing room. Remember how she used to spend her breaks with my son in that back alley? When Matt was looking for a spot for our minor league model to strut her stuff, this was the first place that popped into his head. Talk about combining 'Throwback Thursday' with 'Freebie Friday'!

It was perfect 'cause we'd set up a security camera by the backdoor, so Matt could keep a watchful eye on any uninvited guests coming near the alley. Not that it happens much these days with nobody smoking behind the mall anymore. So, you see, nothing bad could happen. But of course, the dimestore doll didn't know that, and nobody bothered to tell her.

It's also true that the groomed gent made her pick the fishnet dress from a storage bin. But here's what's wrong: there was no laundry cart in that grimy back alley. It was a donation bin! That beggar's box had been vandalized recently, so it was in pretty rough shape, spilling over with torn-up rags. When the posh peacock made the backstreet barbie fish those cast-off clothes outta the bin, the vibrator kicked into high gear. She slipped on those towering platform heels and took a header into the clutter crate. Good grief!

What a sight to behold! Her ass stuck out, waving at the alley, while her face was buried in a scrap heap -- who knows how old, how worn, or how dirty those throwaway clothes were. It must've been godawful, so it came as little surprise that the boutique broad kicked her legs wild as fuck. But still, she stayed in the beggar's box, like she was trying to get her hands on some free handouts. Looks like she was taking the phrase 'rags to riches' a tad too literal, huh?

The ole swanky pants might've talked all hoity-toity, but he acted real determined. Standing behind our strut-and-pout specialist, the stuck-up snob grabbed her tight tushy. Believe me, that butt is so firm you could bounce a quarter off those buns, but that didn't stop the groomed gent from kneading her ass meat like he was testing if it met his filet mignon standards. Big surprise there! Our human hanger stayed still, only letting out a bunch of muffled moans into that pile of rags.

When the puffed-up peacock was satisfied with the quality of our back-alley bunny, he told her about her blunder. It would've been a hoot to see her pouty mug when she heard the news, but all you could see was her ass freezing up like a stag film stuck in the projector after the reel jammed. Oh, you wanna know what mistake she made? Take a wild guess! Nah, don't bother. You'd never peg it on your own, it's just too harebrained for that.

So, buckle up! You remember that our bubbly blondie said 'Freebie Friday' to the dirty old dandy, right? In true bimbo fashion, she messed up and whispered the words 'Freeuse Friday' instead. What a gaffe! It landed our sidewalk strutter between a rock and a hard place -- or more like between a blowhard and a junk box. But then again, it was all on her. Who could've seen that trainwreck coming?

Would you believe it? Our glorified clothes hanger had offered these crusty old coots freeuse in the grimy back alley. That's what happens when you're so horny you can't stop edging till your brain's fried. Tough luck! But you know how we roll - you're free to say whatever you want, but you've gotta live with the consequences. And those were slowly sinking in for the minor league model. So now, it was up to our backstreet barbie to make a decision and figure out her next move.

"Allow me to give you a moment to sort yourself out," the stuck-up snob declared, his tone dripping with condescension. "If your head's still buried in that disgrace of a donation bin upon my return, I'll take it you've upheld your end of the bargain. If you've made yourself scarce, I shall simply take my leave."

"It won't be a 'freebie'," he added, his voice oozing with superiority. "But rest assured, there shall be no complaints to the manager. You have my word on that."

Slap me silly, ain't that a nice gent? More than our strut slut deserved after such a monumental blunder, if you ask me. But what's done is done! He left the big-tit blonde to stew in her thoughts. And with that, she was left all by her lonesome in that grimy back alley.

So, while our ditz-with-tits was busy hunting for a thought upstairs, let's see what our dunce-with-buns was up to. She wasn't lying when she said she found two gullible gents to take her discount-rack designs off her hands. You might've smelled it, but she'd gotten creative with the freebie perks. Of course, that bald bloke didn't get a shoe-shine set. What kinda silly gift would that be? Instead, our sassy siren took him to the stockroom.

But there's something else the Bratcat forgot to mention. It wasn't just a duo deal, it was a full-on tombola. I'd written prizes on a whole bunch of tickets and stuffed those slips into her bra. Like a good boss, I was helping Miss Sassy Pants by padding her knocker locker. After all, these spring chickens are all about bra inserts these days, ain't they?

So, here's the scoop: our proud passionista led the guy to the far end of the stockroom. It was a maze of clothes, metal racks, and stock boxes, leaving them completely outta sight. Turning around, she didn't hesitate for a second. Pulling up her pink top, she let her bra pop right out.

But wait! I gotta correct myself. I almost said 'boulder holder' when there are no shoulder boulders where our future fashion icon is around. My fault! Anyway, you won't believe it, but she was sporting a leopard print titty trap like a mob wife. Without a shadow of a doubt, there was no fierce fashionista anywhere in the stockroom.

Howsoever, the bubble-bottomed babe didn't have to ask the chrome-dome twice. Grabbing a ticket, he rummaged around in that knocker locker to get as many feels of her titty flesh as he could. When he finally opened the folded slip, he looked a bit disappointed. But when he read it out loud, it was our resident primadonna's turn to look gutted. The gift? Shoe-shine slut! It might not sound like much, but I'm not made of money. This was Freebie Friday, not Christmas Day, after all!

Even if it wasn't the biggest deal, the black fella sat down on a chair in a split second. He gave our proud passionista the biggest manspread she'd ever seen. Naturally, she scoffed at the sight like you'd expect a drama diva to do. But she didn't need any more prompting. Unzipping her black, wetlook pants, she presented her puffed-up pussy. That meaty mound slipped out as fast as a bat outta hell. Damn straight!

"Yo, biatch, it's time to hit 'em shoes with a shine!" the black baldie instructed her. "We both win! I'll get my kicks lookin' fresh 'n' ya get dat hump hill some love!"

And all of a sudden, the brat's mood shifted. Expressions they are a-changin'! Her eyes said 'Excuse me? Are you for real?' while her cunt screamed 'Yes, please! Let's get this show on the road!' Of course, the booty bitch knew she was getting reduced to something worse than a fucktoy - a cleaning device. And it made her pussy throb something fierce.

How I know? Well, I'd stepped outta the office and hovered around the entrance to the stockroom. Can't leave the Bratcat unsupervised in a situation like that. Who knows what she might do to the customers when she throws another temper tantrum.

So, let me tell you, our sassy siren kept her head down real obedient while splaying her legs open mighty dutiful. Getting on her knees, she crawled between the fella's manspread. Putting her arms behind her back, she grabbed her heels and lowered her cunt until her ass was practically kissing the floor. Pushing forward, the spicy stunner pressed her plump cunt against his shoe. She kept trying to wear her pride like a badge of honor, but her features slipped into pure lust, like a cat in heat.

"Yo, c'mon, biatch!" the fella said with a grin. "Ain't like ya scrubbin' da floor with a toothbrush. Ya just shinin' kicks! Throw on a smile 'n' put in some work, ya feel me?"

Our bratty broad didn't seem to dig the encouragement, but it wasn't like her body needed any more prodding. When her silky, smooth snatch brushed the white leather, a jolt hit her and her body went wild! She started twitching like a jitterbug. Going from zero to hundred in no time, she pumped that killer caboose up and down till her cunt was rocking over the sneaker like it was the hottest thing since sliced bread.

It didn't take long before her pussy was leaking like a busted faucet. The future fashion icon practically smeared her own juices all over the leather. She was riding that foot like a cowgirl on an electric bull till she got close to cumming. Who'd have guessed? Well, anyone who's read about her sexplorations on her blog.

So, you see, this was a test. Remember the rule? No cumming till the contract was signed. You think our high-street hack managed to keep that in mind? Not a chance in hell! But she got lucky this time around.

"Let's dip, lil' thot," the black baldie gave her an assist. "Time to level up from shinin' kicks to makin' some real moves, ya dig?"

Of course, our resident primadonnna didn't dig it. The wannabe fashion queen was ready to go the whole nine yards and park that boner in one of her stuff tubes. Naturally, the sassy siren looked like she was ready to throw a fit. She wanted to sound off, but she had the good sense to zip it. By then, it must've been dawning on her that this was part of her Bratucation. Guess that lightbulb moment took a hot minute, 'cause the chrome-dome got antsy. Grabbing her wrist, he guided her hand to his pants.

"From shoeshine slut to handjob hussie. That's an upgrade, ain't it?" he encouraged her.

But our proud passionista thought differently. Giving him the icy stare, she let the guy know exactly how she felt about her new role. I guess she still felt like a minor league slut. But hey, that's a good thing - keeps her hungry and motivated!

Realizing she could only climb the ranks by doing a mighty fine job, the dunce-with-buns pulled out the dick. Contrary to clichés his black cock wasn't the biggest dick she'd ever seen. Still, she leaned right in and spat on the fuckstick until it was slick and shiny. Getting down to business, she put real effort into the handjob, switching between quick hard jerking and slow sensual stroking. Giving it her all, pride started radiating off her cheeks. She even threw in some twisting motions with her wrist.

Gotta say, it was a smoking spectacle. Miss Sassy Pants had gotten those extra-long nails with dark red polish, and it added some extra flair. Those long tips came in real handy when she gave the guy's wrinkly sack a tickle. Sure as Elvis' blue suede shoes, she was aiming to give the customer the hottest handjob in the house. No doubt about it!

A few jerks later, the chrome-dome bust his nuts, squirting his spunk right into the palm of her hand - no facial, no pearly necklace, nothing! Our wannabe fashion queen looked a little miffed when it ended without her guzzle spouts getting involved. Seemed like she would've given anything for him to shoot his seed into her young womb - just like I'd done with her bargain bin bestie. But she quickly shook it off when she found a way to own the moment. After the man had left the stockroom, she lapped up the cock chowder, looking like the cat who got the cream. I kid you not!

The spicy stunner didn't have much time to finish her meal, though. She didn't even get to leave the stockroom before the baldie's buddy walked in. Looked like he'd gotten the lowdown from his pal 'cause he headed straight to the end of the room and didn't wait for any info. While our proud passionista was still kneeling on the ground, he dug into her knocker locker and pulled out another ticket.

"Backside crackride," he read out loud. "What kinda shit is that?"

The black fella eyeballed the sassy siren quizzically, like he was grilling her for answers, but she stared right back, her gaze as clueless as his. After a hot second, she cocked her eyebrow like she was giving him a quiet dare, telling him to figure it out if he wanted a piece of prime meat. Even though he was clad in some mighty fine suit, he wasn't the type of guy you keep waiting. Stepping over to the chair, he parked his ass and spread his legs wide. On his way, he grabbed the brat's raven hair and pulled her over.

Before the booty bitch knew it, she was sitting on his lap - reverse cowgirl style. Now, it was time to ride the real thing like a bratty bronco. Turns out, there's something to the cliché after all, 'cause that fella had a real manaconda. All dutifully, our high-street hack reached back and spread her double-wide deluxe. Gyrating her hips, she presented her juice tubes, revealing that her cunt got more padding than a cheap motel mattress. Just as she eased his black boner between her sloppy slit, the fat cat stopped her with a pair of sharp swats to her bubble buns. When the ass meat stopped jiggling, two red fingerprints marked the spot. Damn straight!

Miss Sassy Pants let out a low grunt but stopped herself short of screaming -- no way she wanted to tip off any other customers to what was going down in the stockroom. Still, she caught his drift and adjusted her position, letting that big, black cock slide through her ass crack till the tip knocked on her backdoor. And yet again, the big fella put on the brakes with a pair of sharp smacks to her rump roast. Grunting in frustration, the booty bitch gave him a puzzled look over her shoulder. Without realizing it, her hips kept gyrating while she was parked in the man's lap, so her cushion caboose massaged the stiff shaft. She was on the right path, but not quite there yet. Hell to the yes!

I admit my wording wasn't entirely clear. But come on - anyone with half a brain should've been able to work out what I meant. Still, some people take longer than others to catch on, and our dunce-with-buns was definitely one of them. That's why our fabric fiddler was glad the heavy hitter showed her the way, even if his harsh excellence of execution wasn't exactly her idea of a good time.

It took another pair of savage slaps for our double-wide darling to see the light. Like a skanky stripper, she hopped off his lap and bent over. Pushing that bubble booty back, she grabbed her butt cheeks and spread them wide open, wrapping her big buns around that manaconda. Moving up and down, the black boner slid right between that sumptuous backseat. Her sweet meat practically swallowed that stick whole. You bet your boots!

Sure as a farmer's tan in July, the fat cat was a bump-and-grind regular 'cause he knew the rules. He didn't lay a finger on the spicy stunner -- not on her twat or any other part of her body. And wouldn't you know it? That fit our house rules to a tee. This wasn't the time or place to pamper the Bratcat. She was a fucktoy for a fucking task! And boy did that drive her bonkers! You know how it goes, folks: it lights a fire under her ass when a man treats her like an object and gives her the cold shoulder. And that's exactly what happened here!

"Your ass is fucking made for this, hoe. Those fine-ass cheeks ain't good for nothin' else, ever again," the black cat showed her his own brand of tough love. "I can give you the address of a good club if you need it. I'll even put in a good word with the manager, for a favor here 'n' there, of course."

That hit the jackpot! The proud passionista turned her butt crack into a full-on cock chute. She worked that ass like there was no tomorrow till she was too dazed to think straight. Gotta hand it to the bubble-bottomed babe, she lived up to her reputation, giving the big fella the best crackjob ever seen. Maybe, she should take him up on that offer. She's never gonna be as good at selling stuff as she's at giving lap dances. Bank on that!

Even without a single touch to her twat, the booty bitch started twitching and trembling like she was getting close to the promised land. What a greedy gash! Luckily, that manaconda was starting to strain as well. The black cat didn't hesitate much and pushed her right off his lap. That move was so casual, it looked like he was tossing away a fleshlight after dumping his load.

And that's exactly what he was planning on doing. When our future fashion icon turned around, she got her first close-up look at that meat magnum. It was as thick as a baby arm, making her eyes glaze over. Mouth open and drooling, she lunged forward, ready to dig in. But nope, the fat cat was having none of that! He stopped her just inches before those luscious lips touched the tip of his dick. You should've seen the look of disappointment on her face - like he stole her favorite toy. Real gut-buster!

Well, that gutted look didn't last long 'cause it got covered up right quick. That big black cock started gushing like a busted fire hydrant. Instead of water, though, it was thick, white cocksnot that splashed onto her cheeks and nose and yap. If that big fella had told me he hadn't dumped a load in a year I wouldn't have batted an eyebrow. Looked like the sassy siren had been tanning by the freeway when a milk truck crashed and tipped over right next to her, spilling a whole truckload of natural yoghurt across her resting bitchface. Good grief!

As soon as his balls were empty, the fat cat hauled ass outta the stockroom to catch up with his buddy. No wonder! They've got some prime whore stories to swap. I betcha anything, that guy's gonna be sniffing around for our dunce-with-buns at that bump-and-grind joint he mentioned. And let me tell you, if he invites Hoely Huffy for a second spin, she won't hesitate to say yes. Not after I caught the look in her eyes when she saw that manaconda. Gee whiz!

See? Now, I'm the one rambling and digressing. Guess those fancy flappers are rubbing off on me. Anyway, our fierce fashionista needed a lot longer to get ready to show her face on the sales floor again. As a matter of fact, I was kinda surprised she managed to swallow the whole truckload of nut curd. After eating all that stuff, she didn't need another bite of dinner. Ain't that something? Can't imagine how she's ever gonna taste anything but salty sack sauce again. The fact that she managed to swallow the whole mess just shows she's a bona fide semen sommelier. No two ways about it!

But let's move on. While our undiscovered design genius was enjoying her fancy dinner, our minor league model was still on her extended thinking break. And get this: she stayed in position the entire time - head in the beggar's box, ass hanging out. Her tight tushy was on display the whole damn time! Guess that 'hanging a B. A. out the car window routine' must've left a lasting impression on her.

Unbeknownst to our strut slut, Matt kept watching the alley. As she didn't know she was safe from prying eyes, she must've been on high alert, expecting someone to stumble upon her bare bottom any second. But you never know with Miss Buzzerfly. Maybe, she would've just giggled and laughed it off. Who knows, who cares?

Come hell or high water, she still had a decision to make. Our billboard barbie could backpedal and get outta this sticky situation or she could press on and follow it through. She could keep the status quo and do another boring model show, or she could enter uncharted territory and experience the thrill of a new adventure. So many options, so much to think about!

But we all know there ain't too many candles burning in her attic at once, so her body did the thinking for her. As Matt put it, those buns of steel wiggled like they had a mind on their own every time she heard a little noise! What a sight it must've been, watching her feet patter as if her lower half wanted to run away whenever footsteps came near. No matter the sound, one thing remained the same - her upper half stayed in the bin. I bet ignorance wasn't bliss -- not in this case!

So, what did she do? In the end, the glorified clothes hanger surprised us all, including me. When she heard footsteps coming down the alley, the dimestore doll reached back and grabbed her swollen snatchflaps. Sure as the sun rises in the east, she spread her beef curtain open, like a slutty signal that she was ready for the show to begin. I kid you not!

Clearly, the vibrating egg had helped her make up her mind, 'cause the strut-and-pout specialist had gotten too horny for her own good. 'Dickdumb', that's what the young'uns call it these days, right? Looked like she figured it was only fair to stand by her word. She'd offered free use, so the guy should get free use. As a result, she turned herself into a faceless fleshlight. And she did so willingly. Golly gee!

When the stuck-up snob returned, he strutted right up to the back-alley bunny and watched her present her goods. The lack of recognition must've been brutal. Our human hanger didn't know who was standing there -- the posh peacock or some random Joe. She didn't know what he was about to do -- stuff her snatch or tap something else. All she could do was wait for the guy to make a move, but it didn't happen. So, she kept waiting. Her body began to squirm while her fingers spread her fuck flaps open. A little while later, her booty began to wriggle while her French nails dug into her piss flippers. Still a little later, her feet broke into a tap dance, and she waved her fleshy freak flag to the grimy alley.

Finally, the haughty hubby released the desperate dame from her mating dance and shoved two fingers into her yearning void. After getting stretched out by the pussy plug, her twat was more than wet. And still, Mr. Fancy Pants rummaged around in her pleasure pouch like it was an open house. Good thing that head was buried in those rags 'cause the unpredictability made her moan her head off.

And then the titty tramp let out a deep, long sigh when the groomed gent slid his dick right up her cunt. What'd the ditzy doll call it? Drippy cave, right? Sounds like a good description, 'cause there was practically steam coming outta that grotto. The posh pecker barely met any resistance when he filled her soggy snatch. With his boner buried up her snug channel, the guy grabbed her hips and banged away. He pumped her cunt with deep strokes until his body tensed up. Balls deep, he buried his prick up that pussy before he let loose! With a low growl, he blasted his man jam into the boutique bopper.

After giving her a couple more strokes post-orgasm, he pulled out and was gone, leaving the blonde's womb filled with a big, fat load of baby gravy. Looks like that breedbox was filling up nicely, as the puffed-up peacock added his old swimmers to my veteran soldiers. That marching band must've been a combined age of over a century. Heck, that baby might come out with silver locks. I'll be darned!

On second thought, I should probably give that stupid slut a stern talking to. Can't have my sales gals getting pregnant. You know what it costs to pay a maternity cover? These dopey dames are costing me an arm and a leg! See? That's why they're still in the probation period. They're too careless to rely on them! But let's see what our fashion floozies did to hand out the third and final freebie.

---Chic & Freak: How to flex on furry fossils and fire sales---

*SloppyMoJoe: Look who's finally starting to get it? 10 IQ Tia is speed running thru her blow up doll phase and will be a barbie doll in no time leaving Hollow head Holly behind. Hollow head didn't even thank the guys for the dinner they treated her to. Still just at cleaner cunt status and hasn't even made it to fleshlight smh. It must kill you that your Bae has made it to fuck toy level leaving you in her dust. Maybe a pair of bolt ons and a little gratitude would get you there.*

Holly: Oh wow, Joe, you're really out there thinking you know my life better than me? How cute!

Tia: And here I thought I was the one with the blow-up doll phase. But wait! He's kinda right about gratitude. It's important, for sure. I bet you were giving those customers a taste of your famous bratitude, weren't you?

Holly: Um, you might be right about that one. I'll make sure to be more thankful next time, just not to people like that sloppy dude.

Tia: Okay, then. Let's circle back to the scene in the changing room. I was standing there completely shocked. I couldn't even process what I'd heard when that dusty riz lord left. It was so cringe I could barely keep it together! But I'm not you, Holly, so I didn't throw a fit. I barely had time to get a grip 'cause another dude came into the fitting room real quick. He looked like the opposite of the posh peacoat - big, burly, and bald. Seriously, his slick skull was the only place he didn't have any hair! Everywhere else, he was covered like a bear. So not my style. Yikes!

Holly: Oh, I feel you, sis! You like your dudes chiseled and preppy -- cocky jocks straight outta the frat house, so clean shaven they barely got a hair on their balls. I can't even with your fratbros!

Tia: Not proud of it, but we all got a type, right? Not everyone's into filthy, furry fossils like you, girl. Anyway, that Bearzilla looked at me and then at the laundry cart. His gaze shot back and forth like this: face -- cart, tits -- cart, crotch -- cart. I felt like a piece of meat! And then he told me to fish out another item - blindly again! Can you believe it? This shit pissed me off so bad!

Holly: Oh, what is that? Now, you're the one throwing a tantrum! Don't act like you're never outraged! You just hide it behind your smiles and giggles. But hey, while you were busy modeling throwaways for old farts, I was making another sale. Yasss, queen! And on top of that, the dude got a lip balm as a bonus. We all know men's lips are always hella chapped, right? Slowly but surely, things started running smoothly. You know how it goes, innovations take time. People had to catch on to my vibe first, and now 'moda feroce' is literally flying off the shelves like it's a fire sale. This was lit!

Tia: Oh great! While you were out there living your best life, I was in the changing room having the worst time. My jaw dropped when the furry fossil made me strip off the pink stripperwear. But then my eyes literally popped outta my head when I pulled the next piece outta the laundry cart. It was a black top, with big, bold letters across the front saying 'FAKE' - in neon pink, with glitter! Why the hell are we even selling this stuff? Groan!

Holly: Urgh! You're kidding, right? That's a perfect match... said no one ever! It's so not you, sis! You're all natural - the blonde hair, the big bust. You make all those wannabe bimbos jealous. And now, anyone who sees you in that top's gonna think you're fake as fuck. The irony!

Tia: Oh gawd! Don't say that loud! No one's seen it yet, alright? Let's just keep it under wraps and pretend it never happened. Honestly, it's not often I'm this happy to slip into a too-small, too-tacky, too-pink piece of crap like that damn schoolgirl uniform. I couldn't peel off that fake top fast enough when the furry fossil left. Dead honest!

Holly: But wait, hold on! You know what? We made it! We both handed out three freebies, so we hit our quota! You see, at the end of the day, we've come out on top, stronger than ever. No cap!

---Boomer Buzzkill: Of sausage slides and burst pipes---

Alright, hot dolls and sharp dressers, gotta take another timeout here. The white lies are getting outta hand now. Let me sort out the hashtag hubbub for you. To be honest, you gotta tip your hat to the gals' creativity. I mean, lip balm? That one cracked up! What kinda freebie is that? Just what every guy needs, right? But the sassy siren wasn't too far off the truth.

In reality, the fella looked as unremarkable as it gets. And yet, he turned out to be anything but ordinary. Without a peep, he followed the Bratcat into the stockroom and plopped down in the chair. Snapping his fingers, he had the booty bitch show off her slutty dance moves right in front of him. Our proud passionista pulled off a few stripper moves before bending over and shoving her tiny titties into his face. That's when he dug in and fished out a ticket.

The guy turned out to be the strong, silent type. Without a word, he handed the spicy stunner the paper and let her read it. She frowned as she had no clue what to do. And that had been my intention! Of course, there was nothing about 'lip balm' there. It said 'lip grind' instead. I bet you're a lot quicker on the uptake, folks, 'cause our glitter gal took her sweet time to figure it out.

When she didn't respond, the Steady Eddie grew impatient and snapped his fingers again. Like a well-tamed brat, our Hoely Huffy went down to her knees and leaned forward. Opening her mouth, she was about to start polishing the chrome. But Mr. No-Nonsense stopped her with a firm grip on her long, raven hair. He let her mouth hover inches away from his cock till she started to whine and whimper. Her lollypop was so close, yet so far!

With a twist of his wrist, the man-of-few-words turned her head sideways and pushed his shaft between her lips. That's when it finally dawned on her. Our wannabe fashion queen wasn't allowed to suck the man off. Nope, she had to jack him off with her lips alone. Gliding up and down the sides of his shaft, she had to turn her pout into a plain ole masturbating tool. And man did she hate it! Our bratty broad was desperate to show off her blowjob skills. She wanted to give the guy a first-rate hummer that knocked his socks off. But instead, her smacker got reduced to a sausage slide. The degradation was something fierce! And it lit her fuse. Damn straight!

Time and again, the dunce-with-buns lunged forward to gobble down the rod and smoke that stick. I guess, she figured the fella would be putty in her hand once she turned on the charm and he felt those sweet sensations. But damn, she hadn't reckoned with that staunch son of a gun. Whenever she lunged forward, he stopped her with his iron grip on her black hair. Whenever she stuck her tongue out, he turned her head and slid his shaft between her hotdog highway. What a hoot!

It was a real knee-slapper watching our spicy stunner struggle and fail. Over and over, the bubble-bottomed babe got close but never reached her dream destination. The harder she tried, the more frantic she got till she started to bitch and moan. Eventually, she threw in the towel and focused on something else. Would you believe it? The Bratcat actually snuck a hand between her legs and started playing with her kitty. So, how did Mr. No-Nonsense react? He was having none of that!

Instead, he got up and planted himself right in front of Miss Sassy Pants. One snap -- and she had to wrap her arms around his legs, keeping her hands from fiddling her clit. Another snap -- and she had to angle her smacker sideways to his stiff shaft. A final snap -- and she had to pucker up something obscene. Stabbing his hips forward, the Steady Eddie drove his hard cock through her slut slide. Let me tell you, it looked like a sausage between two fluffy buns. He'd actually turned our future fashion icon into a hotdog hustler. The fireworks were flying!

After a string of strokes, the staunch son of a gun was ready to blow his load. Pulling his sausage from the soft buns, he aimed his cock right at her fuckmug. His pecker paste oozed out slow as molasses, painting a big, white ring around her kisser. Looked like he was giving our bratty broad a glazed donut as dessert after the hotdog dinner. Hell yeah!

When Mr. No-Nonsense was gone, our sassy siren looked more frustrated than ever. She'd entertained a bald fella by turning her dynamite derriere into a stripper slide, she'd pleased a fat cat as a handjob hussy, and now she'd served a man-of-few-words as a hotdog hustler. As a result, her arousal was at an all-time high, but she hadn't gotten even a tiny drop of relief. Sure as a hippie at Woodstock, she was raring to go for whatever was waiting for her.

With one sales gal primed and prepped for the next step in her career, let's swing over and see what our minor league model was up to. Last we checked, she was stuck in the clutter crate, her babybox brimming over with future unemployment line loafers. The minute the posh peacock left, our backstreet barbie got jittery and scrambled outta that donation bin. She'd just gotten out when Matt entered the alley to keep the lazy boutique lassie from leaving.

One look at the strut slut and he made a quick decision. Gotta say, my boy's becoming more and more decisive in these dynamic situations. He's gonna be a mighty fine leader of men real soon.

Wanna take a guess what he decided? As of next Monday, the titty tramp's gonna trade her pink top for the black belly shirt. Can't wait to see her flaunting that 'FAKE' logo in front of everyone, telling the whole world what we already know: she's a fake fashion fuckdoll, even without any upgrades... yet.

Anyway, once the decision was made, Matt took off again. With our sales gals loafing around, my boy had to step up and work hard. While the trophy tarts were having fun in the stockroom and back alley, he was doing all the selling, so he had to hightail it back to the sales floor and pronto. On his way, he practically passed the buck to the next freebie fella. That emergency exit was turning into a proper revolving door, huh?

As long as it keeps the wives shopping and clearing their hubbies' credit cards, I won't complain! Happy wife, happy hubby, happy boss, happy... uh, am I missing someone here?

Remember, the sidewalk strutter called the guy a furry fossil. Meanwhile, my son pegged him as a grizzled gramps. So now, you got all the information to form your own picture of the bearded fella. Anyway, the balding bear stepped right up to the ditzy doll and checked her out - just as she'd described. But then he asked her flat-out if the freeuse offer still stood. Our big-tit blonde looked at the Bearzilla wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights but responded with a resolute nod. Turning around, she did something I didn't expect, not in a million years. Hell no!

Our minor league model hit the deck right next to the clutter crate, placing her hands and knees on a folded cardboard. Pushing her face onto the soggy brown slab, she stuck her ass high up. Once in position, she dug those long, fake nails into her beef curtain, basically opening and closing her blooming flower like a fly trap, baiting her prey, while sticky nectar seeped outta her blossom and dangled between her legs in a gooey, white ribbon. Oh, there's the poet in me again!

Not that the grizzled gramps gave a damn. He didn't waste any time on ceremony. Stepping behind the blonde's ass, he shoved his dick deep into her cunt. This was just a quick rutting fuck! The bearded fella hammered into her hole like he was worried his wife might finish shopping and catch him in the act. He didn't waste a single thought on the boutique bopper or her pleasure - no grip on her tits, no flick of her clit, no finger up her ass, nothing. Instead, he was ready to dump his load in record time. When his grip tightened, his cock spasmed. A second later, he blasted his combat divers into the blonde's baby baker. And a second later he hightailed it back into the store.

What happened next sounds far out, but my son swears that's how it went down. Our backstreet barbie was taking a quick breather when the emergency door swung open. Hearing the noise, the glorified clothes hanger leaped up like a scalded cat. She didn't even glance at the door, just bent right over the donation bin. Would you believe it? She'd reached her quota and still decided to offer her juice tubes to another customer for a free ride.

"Now that's a store to my taste. They even got a distraction for all the men bored outta their minds by their wife's endless shopping binges," a male voice exclaimed. "Other stores got chill spots 'n lounges to rest my heavy bones. Here I thought this cheapo shop got nothing of the sorts. Turns out they offer something better - a drill spot 'n' velvet lounge to rest my beef bone."

"Yes sir! It's a special offer -- Freeuse Friday!" the promo puppet responded, sealing her fate once and for all.

Gotta admit, I didn't expect our dimestore doll to be so bold and brave. But clear as day, she was in the zone, fully wrapped up in her role as an anonymous fuck appliance. Now, I get why she needs a chaperone to provide a safe space. You can bet your boots, the sidewalk strutter goes overboard when horny. Good thing, Matt was keeping a watchful eye on the action. So, here's his take on the unknown fella: a middle-aged man, short and skinny. So, we've got the dadbod dude, the pompous peacock, the furry fossil, and now the short scrapper -- what a colorful fuck crew. Hell yeah!

"Man, this must be a real discount dump when it's gotta make offers like that." Mr. Stranger Danger was less than impressed. "Does that make you the cum dump or the discount daisy?"

While I don't appreciate the way the fella judged my store, I love his reaction. No way, the busty bopper saw it coming! I reckon, she'd expected more enthusiasm, so she scoffed and huffed into the thread scraps. As if the mall mule gave a damn! Turns out, he was more concerned with keeping the place neat than paying attention to the faceless fleshlight. Stepping up to the strut slut, the skinny shrimp noticed the puddle of pearly paste that had pooled on the ground. Can't have that kinda mess, especially not in a swanky alley like this, right? Caution: irony detected!

Regardless, the strict stickler caught the human hanger off guard when he grabbed her blonde mane and pulled her outta the junk box. Pointing at the nut mustard he told her to clean up her shit. But she didn't move, looking at him like knocked for a loop. Can't say if she didn't understand or thought the task was silly. Both was entirely possible in her 'dickdumb' buzz.

Whatever the case, the skinny scrapper had to take matters into his own hand. Grabbing her long hair, he pushed her to the ground while the discount daisy looked like she'd been hit with a ton of bricks -- appalled, dumbfounded, and dismayed. But she still sank to her knees mighty obedient. When her skin hit the concrete, the pencil pusher ordered her to wipe up the nut pudding with the belly shirt.

Her response? She looked up at Mr. Stranger Danger like a puppy caught red-handed, scrunching her nose like it was all his fault. The guy patted her hair in a nicely soothing gesture, but the result remained the same: she still didn't lift a finger. So, the skinny scrapper kept pushing her buttons. Pulling on her hair, he dragged her down till her big ole bazookas closed in on the puddle of pecker paste. Our backstreet barbie gave him a look, pouting with a side of disgust. But she still didn't make a move to stop him, so the inevitable happened. The pencil pusher dipped her natural knockers into the sticky spunk. With the balls batter dry and gooey, it turned into a bona fide scrap job, and the fake top ended up a full-blown cleaning rag. If that ain't fitting!

But here's the kicker: no one's gonna wash it for her! She doesn't think of it herself? Tough luck! She's gotta wear it to work on Monday, nonetheless. I'd bet my bottom dollar, the titty tramp will be strutting around in a cum-stained fake top come Monday. I can already see the look on the faces of those Stepford wives. Full-on flabbergasted! And the looks from their horndog hubbies. Pure leers! Shit's gonna be a real hoot, especially when the fellas start egging their wives on to buy more doodads! It's gonna make Vonderbone a fortune!

When the short scrapper was satisfied with the state of the back alley, he grabbed blondie's golden mane and led her back to that folded cardboard. He pushed her on the soggy brown slap -- back first. And then he grabbed her ankles. Lifting her legs, he folded up the busty bopper like a jackknife. Placing her feet next to her head -- left and right -- her ass towered in the air like a beacon.

Stepping over her keister, Mr. Stranger Danger gave her butt cheeks a few well-placed smacks that made her ass jiggle. And then the bootleg bombshell groaned out loud when he slid his shaft through her smooth slit. Great minds think alike, and I love it! Hoely Huffy had performed as a crack chute, and now it was Teazy Titty's turn as a slippery slide.

But that's where the pencil pusher stopped. He let his rigid rod rest across her snatch, splitting her fat fuck flaps. But he didn't push inside, he just held it there. That drove our sidewalk strutter wild. She could barely keep still, her fingers shaking like leaves. A pair of swats to the ass - and the ditzy doll grabbed her fluttery folds. Another pair of slaps -- and the Arby Barbie wrapped her butterfly wings around his dick to give him a peachy massage. What a riot!

When the strut-and-pout specialist felt the cock nestled between her piss flippers, her eyes widened in disbelief. The size was monumental! Rumor has it, the tool resembled the Girthmaster1000 - my son's words, not mine. As the bubbly blonde got a feel of the size, a flicker of apprehension crossed her face. Quickening her pace, she worked her swollen snatchflaps into a feverish tempo, trying to make the customer bust his nut before he got any silly ideas.

But of course, the skinny scrapper wouldn't miss out on dipping into the honey pot. With deliberate precision, he guided his fat bat downwards to enter the pleasure pit. The girth of his gearstick dwarfed the doll's snug slit, so he had to press and prod to make his cockhead pop through her tight tinderbox. Inch by inch, he impaled her clingy channel, drawing a barrage of gasps from our ditz-with-tits.

And then the big-tit blonde went completely still. She froze when the guy got stuck up her man trap. Only half his length was buried inside her, but her cunt was already packed tighter than a sardine can. Her taut tunnel clutched the meat stick while her beef curtain stretched so tight it looked like a drumskin stretched over a bongo.

A second later, the titty tramp was back to hollering. The strict stickler had pulled out, only to slam in harder than ever. He'd told the freeuse fucktoy plain and simple he wanted to rest his whole beef bone in her velvet lounge, and that's exactly what he was gonna do. Looked like he was trying to shove a bowling pin into a finger hole with a sledgehammer. Damn straight!

The bootleg bombshell let out a howl like someone was trying to yank her soul straight outta her body. As she screeched, she grabbed onto her ass like it was a life raft. So, Mr. Stranger Danger grabbed her fake top and pulled it up, freeing her hefty howitzers and stuffing the fabric into her yapper. With her screams muffled, the skinny shrimp went back to pounding her pussy like he was trying to drive a tank through the Cu Chi tunnels. Lucky for blondie, her cocksleeve was greased up from three creampies, so the girthmaster finally started sliding through her clingy channel. But even then, she still couldn't bury more than half that beast in her stretched-out squeezebox.

Grabbing blondie's hips, the short scrapper banged her breedbox like a wrecking ball crashing through a building. Meanwhile, she was chomping down on the crop top like it was her lifeline. It must've been an overwhelming mix of pleasure and pain. But then -- bam - his cockhead bumped her cervix. And the busty bopper came on the spot - hard as hell!

While the promo puppet rode the waves of orgasm, her pussy became a personal playground for the perv. Over and over, he bottomed out, reshaping her cervix and rearranging her guts. Before long, a second orgasm exploded deep in her core. The ditzy doll quivered and twitched so hard it set the guy off. Thick globs of goo spurted outta his dick, painting the walls of her drippy cave with his white cream. And a second later, he was gone, while the billboard barbie was still trembling from aftershocks zapping through her cunt.

To sum it all up, the ditz-with-tits had one job - find three shopping sidekicks and convince them to take part in the promo action. But no, she had to go ahead and bring in a fourth fella. Talk about overachieving! Was it ambition or her ambitious cunt? Who knows, who cares? Either way, her pussy was definitely warmed up for the next steps in her career.

As you see, hot dolls and sharp dressers, both broads were ready to sign their contracts as Vondervixens. Once they were back on the sales floor, I called them into the office to make my big announcement.

"You did a bang-up job, ladies!" I told them when they looked at me, their eyes brimming with hope. "Which makes this all the harder. I'm so sorry, but I can't give you the permanent spot, not right now."

That hit home! I thought I caught some tears in their eyes. The disappointment was palpable.

"It's not up to me, my boutique boppers." I reassured them. "There's a new player in Vonderland 'n' he's got a say in the final decision."

"See, the company hit a bit of a financial snag, so we needed a cash infusion," I explained. "That's where my dear ole brother came in. He's made a fortune with his model agency. Now, that he's rich as fuck, he's looking for a new challenge, so he bought a big slice of the family business. Ever since, he's had a say in everything -- contracts, jobs, the whole shebang."

"But don't you stress, ladies, we got your back!" I reassured them. "I've got a plan to flip this script. All you need to do is meet my dear ole brother 'n' show him you're the right kind of gals for the gig. Lucky for us, he's throwing a fancy gala tomorrow."

Gotta say, the Tollia tarts didn't exactly look like they'd won the jackpot. The expressions on their faces said it all. They thought they deserved better and they weren't entirely wrong.

"Look at it like this, bitches, this is your chance to prove you're our go-to gals," Matt chimed in. "The queens of the scene, bringing the glam to the show, making the gala glow!"

"That's right, ladies, that high-class event should be a real gas for you." I tried to paint a vivid picture. "It's like the cherry on top for a pair of fierce fashionistas. Go get 'em, girls!"

And that hit home! Like true fashion floozies, they couldn't pass a chance to dazzle some dudes with their style. So, they quickly agreed. And with that, it's on. My brother's big party is coming up tomorrow, and the fine foxes are gonna be the center of attention. Let's just hope they don't fumble the ball 'cause Vonderstone needs that money and urgent.

---Chic & Freak: How to handle big changes like a boss---

Tia: Alright, everyone, big news! We survived 'Freebie Friday'. But no wonder there, we're both strong girls. Period!

Holly: Mosdef! And we didn't just survive it, we slayed the challenge. We even got a reward for our efforts. We got that contract...

Tia:... almost. There's one thing left to do before we finally have that permanent gig secured. Jesus!

Holly: No biggie! It's gonna be a walk in the park. There's this new investor who's throwing cash at Vonderstone, so he's gotta sign off on our contracts. But wait till he sees us dazzle in my designs. He's gonna fall over to give us lifetime contracts. And we've only gotta wait till tomorrow 'cause he's throwing a big, bougie gala. Guess what, my fashion fam? We're the guests of the hour. No cap!

Tia: Preach, girl! But hold on! Our time's up. Looks like we got carried away with all that chatter and gossip. So, that's all for today. Always remember, guys, make sure to be permanently staffed, not permanently stuffed. Bet!

Holly: Agreed! So, that's bye for now, my fierce fashionistas. Catch you next week!

*to be continued*