Allie checked the address against the details in the online form to confirm she was at the right place, and rang the bell. The door buzzed open almost immediately. Someone was waiting. She checked her phone; it was 9 in the morning. Once it felt weird to have a morning shift at this job, but she was used to it by now.

In the elevator, she checked herself in the mirror. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts that just barely covered her ass, short low-heel boots, and a simple black t-shirt. The left and right parts of her head were freshly shaved, leaving a Mohawk that ended in a long, tight braid falling down her back. She had probably overdone the smoky eye, at least for this time of day. 

She did not care about looking good for… She checked the name in the form again, then instantly forgot it. That was not important. She just liked what she saw, and that was really the main source of pleasure in her job: she could rarely expect the beneficiaries of her services to actually please her, but really liked the concept of being used.

Today, though, Allie had woken up in a sour mood. She knew better than to hope it would turn around on its own. Hopefully she could fuck her way to a better day. Getting out on the 8th floor, she found the door and knocked. An almost non-descript man in his late forties opened it.

“I’m with the SSS,” Allie said.

“Ah, yes, welcome, please, come in.”

He checked her from top to bottom.

“Uhm, I did express preference for a redhead,” he said defensively.

She gave him a disapproving look. “Yeah, well, and I’d like a position in government. Be glad you didn’t have to wait for another two months.” The SSS, Social Sex Services, had been established to provide sexual welfare to vulnerable and disadvantaged communities, but had quickly spread to cover the entire population. The destigmatisation of sex work, of course, meant that those who could afford it preferred the private sector, which offered much more specialised services.

Allie, however, liked work stability and routine, and didn’t really need the money; both her wife and her husband made enough for all three of them. The idea that she was providing a social service, at least to some people who needed it, was more appealing.

“Yes, no, I am not complaining. By the way, I forgot to mention it in the application, but I do have a special request. I…”

“You’re supposed to fill the form, mister. It’s not that difficult.” God, why were some people so stupid? It wasn’t hard – the application form was pretty straightforward: list your vices HERE.

She sighed. “What’s your vice?”

“Humiliation. Femdom, that kind of thing.”

She was going to have to report him to the system; there was a reason for the rule – if you didn’t mention it in the form, you didn’t get it, so that people knew better than to ask for prohibited things. Some still tried, but it didn’t end well for them.

Still, it was harmless; she might as well indulge him. It also gave her a chance to vent her frustration.

“There’s a box you can tick for that, you know. You don’t even have to write it in the form yourself. I guess it’s too much to ask from a worthless piece of shit like you,” she said, then slapped him.

For a second, he seemed shocked, before realising he was getting his wish. He tentatively reached for her chest, lifting her t-shirt and cupping the small but perky breasts beneath. He brought his mouth down to suck her nipples.

“It’s cute how old fucks like you think they can get girls half their age wet. Why don’t you just fuck me with your slightly below average dick and get it over with? I have other visits, and some of them might actually be enjoyable.”

He didn’t last long. A couple more prompts like ‘harder, you pathetic shit’ later, and he was done. She left the apartment rejuvenated. Not due to the fucking, of course. That had been barely perceptible – she only realised he was finished because she wanted to make sure he didn’t take off the condom. But the venting had helped. Insulting this poor fuck had been a win-win. In truth, he was probably a decent guy. She’d still report him, though. You never knew - maybe he was testing the waters to see if he could make a habit out of asking for things he hadn’t put in the form.

Allie checked her calendar. The next visit was at the other end of town, a good forty minutes with the solar tram. The address was recognisable: she’d been there a few times before. The recipient, Cynthia, was one of the people this job was actually designed for. A very horny woman with severe agoraphobia, she would have trouble getting her needs met without SSS. She could meet people online, of course, but she didn’t trust strangers. SSS was a safe choice.

It was safe for her, too. Not too many years ago, before the Reformation (or Revolution, depending what faction you paid attention to), certain parts of the city would be dangerous for a girl like Allie. Now, aside from a few critical – and often jealous – looks in the tram, there was nothing to be worried about. She could wander, as scantily dressed as she liked, wherever she felt like. She could introduce herself as an SSS public servant without any hint of shame. Even being called by the derogatory term PAW, short for Public Access Whore, was merely a nuisance.

Cynthia’s house was surrounded by a tall fence of bushes, like a manifestation of her agoraphobia. She had seen her in the camera and buzzed her in before she rang the bell.

Allie greeted the woman in the living room. She’d come early – she liked to give Cynthia a little more than her allocated time, since she needed this. Even if she rarely expressed any appreciation, Allie felt it was there.

Cynthia offered her a drink and then gestured her to the bedroom with her left arm, which ended in a stub at the elbow. Allie wondered if there was any connection between the missing limb and the agoraphobia, but it was not her place to ask.

Getting into the room, she knew what to expect. Cynthia didn’t have much imagination. Or maybe she just knew what she liked. A tall, rather muscular, pale woman, probably around forty, she always wanted Allie on all fours, taking her with her trusted strap-on. Other girls from Allie’s department – ticking a lot of the priority service boxes, Cynthia usually got three visits a week - had told her the same: doggy style, silent, rough. Once in a while she might ask the SSS girl to fuck her the same way, and that was about the extent of her repertoire.

It was not one of those days, though Cynthia did seem to be venting something, too, pulling Allie’s braid harder than usual as she pounded her from behind. It went on for more than half an hour. Even though Allie felt her fucker’s violent but almost silent orgasm, Cynthia kept going till she had spent all her time slot. Allie had gotten wet, but she knew better than to expect the strange woman to put in the extra effort.

As she was leaving, her pussy aching a little from the unrealistically thick strap-on, Cynthia stopped her at the door.

“Hey. If I ask for anal, do you know if the wait will be longer?”

“Give anal or take it?”

Cynthia gave her a look that implied the answer was obvious.

“It might take a little longer to schedule it, but shouldn’t be more than a couple of days of extra wait,” Allie said.

“I see. Do you do anal?”

“Honestly, you’re gonna have to be a little gentler if you want to fuck my ass.”

“Ok, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” There was a rare hint of a smile at Cynthia’s lips as she closed the door. Whether she was excited at the prospect of taking Allie’s ass or happy to have made some kind of human connection was unclear.

Her last appointment of the day was at half past one. She had an hour to kill – that was one of the perks of a job in the public sector; her salary didn’t depend on the amount of work she did, although she did aim for some performance bonuses.

She got to the neighbourhood and found a cafe to sit at. She scrolled through her feed on the SSS app to make sure she hadn't been given any last-minute work, then filed the report about her first morning appointment. A yellow one - the guy would not be notified unless another complaint was filed, at worst, his next request would take a little longer to process.

Allie checked her profile page on the platform. The administrators still hadn't updated her picture; the one they had was one from when she had first started working at the agency three years prior, with a ponytail, only one piercing and an overall girl-next-door vibe that was not really her anymore.

Back then, she had just begun dating Justin, who was already a professor of ethics at the UN global university. It was another few months before they met Sylvia at a political rally and ended up in her bed. That was October - by the new year, they were married. Sometimes, Allie thought her spouses were living in a world of their own, surrounded as they were by a political and intellectual social circle that philosophised endlessly. They were absurdly proud of her job, probably because she embodied some ideal of their uber-liberal feminine archetype of the self. It was cute, though, and she did enjoy the attention. She got a lot of it.

She took a look at her next appointment's application. Thirty-nine years old, male. Special requests: pegging. Her mood was still a little sour - just one of those days - but she could enjoy this.

He ushered her in, looking around to see if there were any suspicious witnesses.

"Married, are you?" she asked.

He made a face that might have been apologetic. A decent-looking black man, she wouldn't have looked at him twice, but knew other girls who would.

"That obvious? You probably know the story - happily married, but can't really share these desires with the wife. But that's what PAWs are for, aren't you? I pay my taxes, I might as well make sure they are put to good use."

She forced a smile. He should have hired a whore privately. The SSS was a labyrinthine bureaucracy, and it was more likely than not that some of the paperwork would end up somewhere his wife could stumble upon it. She usually warned such beneficiaries that they might get in trouble, but he had called her a PAW. Good luck, buddy.

"So, have you been fucked before?" she asked as he led her upstairs to the bedroom.

"I've only used toys. That's all." He started undressing while she stood by the door. He seemed eager.

"Well. That's not quite the same,” she said in a way that implied she’d show him it’s not even close to being the same. “Also, just so you know, I got the strap-on, but the agency doesn't cover lube, so I hope you have some."

"Ah, yes, sure," he said, as she produced the instrument of his fucking from her purse. Standard equipment – normal size, nothing fancy, but she preferred it that way: no one would attribute the experience to the silicon tool, it was all her work that would make or break rookies. She usually broke them, in the good way.

He lost some of his pizzazz once she entered him; he seemed surprised at how deep she went. Probably he hadn’t been that bold on his own.

"I think that's just your first step, mister. Pretty soon, you'll be calling for the boys of the agency to come give you the real thing." She slapped his ass loudly. He had seemed condescending and unlikeable, but he had a nice ass to fuck. Not anywhere near as nice as a girl’s, but he had set up a mirror opposite the bed, so she could watch herself taking him, and that excited her. She hadn’t even taken her clothes off, instead strapping the silicon cock over her shorts, but the sight still made her wet.

She knew when to speed up and when to slow down. She knew to pull him by the hair when she was balls deep – figuratively – in him and he arched his back, and to push his head down on the mattress when she drilled him. When to tell him he's a proper little slut and when to just groan into his ear. Allie was good at her job. She never had to touch his cock for him to cum.

After getting pounded he was a bit more courteous as she packed her things to leave; Allie thought maybe she should warn him about the paper trail as she opened the door, but then he opened his mouth.

"You know, my buddy thought me cheap for going through the PAW system instead of just hiring someone, but I told him free whores have their own appeal; thanks for proving me right!"

Someone is getting a call from the recipient satisfaction survey department, at an inconvenient hour when anyone might pick up, Allie decided. It was a matter of principle - she liked feeling like a whore, but she was not; she was a social worker, and people who couldn't tell the difference vexed her. Especially privileged little shits who didn't appreciate the point of the Department.

On her way back home, she decided the day hadn't gone that bad. She'd managed to have fun even at the problematic appointments. And there had been some variety; other days, she'd just have a list of young guys who were too nervous to enjoy it themselves, let alone make any effort for her.

The elevator shot her to the 38th floor. As she entered the far too spacious and minimalistic apartment - not exactly her style, but Justin and Sylvia paid for it, and they did have taste - her wife greeted her with a kiss. Sylvia usually seemed very serious with her permanent 'frowned librarian' vibe, but stick a finger in her - or maybe an enormous dildo - and she squeaked like a horny schoolgirl.

Justin emerged from the kitchen. But for the earrings, he could have auditioned to play the part of a geeky criminal mastermind planning an audacious heist. "Sylvia, did you tell our wife of the surprise we got before you stuck your tongue in her mouth?"

"What surprise?" Allie asked. Their surprises were usually sexual, but always thought out.

"Well you work so hard to bring people pleasure, we thought it might be nice to return the favour. We know how much you like being the centre of attention, so we organised a dinner party..."

"Oh wow," said Allie, the sarcasm over-emphasised. "You know exactly what I like."

"...with you as the main dish," Sylvia finished.

"Oh?"

Her wife opened the doors to the living room. The dining table had been moved away, replaced by a somewhat lower, wide bench.

"You'll be served here. It's an all you-can-eat, or fuck, buffet. Sylvia wanted to actually lay you on a silver platter, but I vetoed it."

"Who's invited?" Allie asked, already feeling a tingling between her legs.

"Everybody - James, Lyana, Dorian, Desdemona, Gareth, the other Dorian," Justin continued, listing a few more names. All had occasionally been invited to their rather spacious and hospitable bedroom.

They'd make a line, a long one, waiting for their turn to take her. The difference to her day job was that every one of them would work hard to please her. Perhaps she'd have to call in sick the next day. She felt that management may not appreciate seeing public property vandalised. And she intended to be wrecked.