The Wilkerson Institute

The clap! Or worse. So before somebody could get his hands on the babes, he had to pass Henson first. I smiled in return. "Of course. So what is the most common question raised?"

Wilkerson smiled, "Why, 'Where do you find all these beautiful women?'. of course."

"And?"

Wilkerson brought his hands to his face. Making a steeple of his forefingers, he paused for a moment before continuing. "My typical answer is that I raise them in the basement, like mushrooms. But, of course, that's not really true, you know. Without going into the details, let me ask you if you have any idea of the number of teenage female runaways each year in the States? No? Well, more than a few thousand, escaping sometimes painfully hard and difficult lives. I have agents in most major cities, constantly on the lookout for potential recruits."

I was shocked! "Really? I had no idea!"

"Yes. It's quite unfortunate, actually. Often fleeing drunken or abusive, or worse, parents. They come to the big city thinking things can't be any worse. And of course, they almost always are, sometimes quite shockingly. Surely you realize the levels of drug use, of prostitution, of crime inflicted on these very young and often very innocent children." I nodded my understanding. "Well, my agents are always watching for the prettiest. They look for girls who have seen enough hard times to be interested in a change, but not sunk so low to be unsalvageable by our resources. They select those who would seem to be most attracted to the lifestyle we offer, and send them on to us down here."

Still,," he continued. "Often they have suffered in their previous lives. I request that under no circumstances, ask a young lady about her life before coming here. If she volunteers it, that's different. But no 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?' Okay?"

"Understood. But, I would think some would simply come for the food and money, and then try to escape or get out," I commented.

"Oh, certainly some do. But they don't have to escape. They aren't locked in or anything. And they can catch a bus after a thirty minute walk! Let me ask you a question. Have any of the young ladies you've met been anything but eager? Enthusiastic? Happy?"

To be honest, no. I admitted so.

"Consider from the child's viewpoint. They arrive here hungry, tired, cold, broke, lonely. Junkies and pimps have been after them from the time they left home. They've been robbed, beaten, perhaps raped. We offer them a full belly, a warm place to sleep, clean clothes, friends their own age, fun in the sun even. Whatever they were running from, they won't be hurt by it here. We care for them and protect them. We offer education and a potential future. Is it all that amazing that the vast majority of the girls stay here, and gladly?"

"Not when you put it that way, I suppose," I said. "The girls I've met do seem quite happy."

"Generally, they are. The organization mirrors the leader. I truly care for them. They know it. Everything done here helps the girls, as well as provides a valuable and desired service for our clientele. They arrive here not quite innocent, but ignorant and often shamefully educated. They all graduate with a GED, and often extensive hands on training in other fields. In addition, we ensure they blossom into their fullest potential. In return, we provide room and board, a modest stipend for spending money, and the opportunity to start their lives over, in the company of a wealthy and caring patron."

"You sound quite convincing," I said. "Where do I enlist?"

Wilkerson leaned back and laughed again. "I suppose I deserved that. I guess I do go on a bit."

"No problem," I said smiling. "But I'm curious. What do I do? Just pick one? That hardly seems like it would generate the guaranteed perfect mate I was promised."

Wilkerson shook his head at me. "Not hardly. We use somewhat more precise methods than that." He stood and came around the desk. "Why don't you come over here?," he asked, indicating a large leather recliner. He pushed a button on the wall, and a section of walnut paneling whirred away. A large screen was hidden beneath. Simultaneously, a projector dropped from a recess in the ceiling. This was like a James Bond flick! I put down my empty coffee cup and walked over. The coffee had a funny taste to it, but I thought that Becky just made a lousy cup of coffee. This was not a girl to fire over coffee.

"Have a seat, Mr. deFrame. I want to show you a movie about the Wilkerson Institute. This should answer any final questions, and then we can get down to business."

I shrugged my shoulders and sat. I heard Wilkerson go back and sit behind his desk. The drapes closed electrically, and the lights dimmed, and then the movie started. It was kind of odd at first. A glowing ball seemed to move around the screen, then it expanded to show two beautiful young women walking around the gardens. I figure the film lasted maybe thirty or forty minutes. A succession of young girls, always in pairs, showed the grounds and talked about their interests. In some cases these interests and desires were rather explicit, if not downright kinky. Finally the film ended.

Wilkerson moved behind me, and the lights came on again. The room returned to the way it was at first. "Now, Mr. deFrame, why don't you come back over here." He gestured at my original chair, and held out another cup of coffee.

I hopped out of the chair, only to be greeted by a wave of nausea. Staggering slightly, I grabbed the arm of the chair and swayed for a moment. The next thing I knew, Wilkerson was at my side, taking my arm. "Come along. Now sit." He guided me into an armchair. Handing me the coffee, he said, "Now drink. This will help counteract the aftereffects." Huh?! Catching my breath, I sipped the coffee. I almost spit it out it was so bitter. "No! Drink it all!," he commanded.

I finished the cup and felt my head beginning to clear. I shook my head to clear the last cobwebs, and saw Wilkerson move to his desk and touch the intercom button on his phone. "Becky? Have Tina and Louise report to my office. Thank you."

"What aftereffects?," I demanded. "What happened?" I was quite confused.

Wilkerson came back and sat in the armchair next to me. Pursing his lips, he obliquely said, "Let me explain. Have you ever heard of biometric analysis? No? Well, it's a technique pioneered in the advertising field."

"You've seen the ads where a pretty girl is holding up or using some product? Well, the gentlemen on Madison Avenue were worried that people were watching the girl, not the product. They pay to have you watch the product. So some bright fellow figured out a way to measure exactly what the watcher was really watching!" He pointed over at the chair I had watched the movie from. "Specifically, a low power infrared laser, hidden in the wall, tracks the motion of your eyeball. Your iris actually. Anyway, it can follow exactly what you are looking at on the screen. A computer program then can tell us whether it's the girl or the drain cleaner she's carrying. Follow me so far?"

Nodding slowly, I said, "Roughly. But there's no product."

"Really? Isn't there? In our case, the girls themselves are the product, so to speak. Other sensors are also used, as well."

I just stared at Wilkerson for a moment. "You'd better run this by me again. I'm still not clear on this."

Wilkerson smiled and continued. "Okay. Back to the advertising example. By measuring where your eyes are aimed, we can tell if you're looking at the drain cleaner or the blonde holding it. The computer can tell, quite accurately, in fact, whether your eyes are on the girl's legs, her face, her breasts, or instead where we want it, on the label of the bottle. Now, apply it to the problem before us. How do we determine the precise type of girl needed to meet your needs?"

"As you may have noted, the movie contained scenes, side by side comparisons of two young ladies. In our case, the computer determines which you prefer. Your eye movements are completely involuntary, they cannot lie. Even if you tell me you prefer blondes for example, if you constantly watch the redheads, I'll know that is your true preference."

"Hmmph," I said. "I could tell you all of that."

"Maybe yes, maybe no. In any case, it is extremely unlikely you will tell me all the details of your sexual preferences. These are the most private aspects of your life, and you'd never tell them to a stranger. That's why we use the other sensors, and why some of the sequences seemed more graphic then others."

"What other sensors?," I asked.

"That chair is probably the most expensive in the complex," said Wilkerson, pointing towards the viewing chair. "Buried beneath it's surface are monitors for heart rate, respiration rate, even galvanic skin response. When you see a pretty girl, you breathe faster, your pulse increases, even your skin conductivity changes. These effects are monitored, recorded, and analyzed by a master computer."

"How so?"

"Well consider. We show a picture with two women, one blonde, the other brunette, very similar except for hair color. Your eyes stay on the brunette 10% more than on the blonde. As a first approximation, you are 10% more interested in brunettes. Now, examine the next step. Again, a blonde and a brunette, but this time the blonde is considerably more buxom than the brunette. Now you watch the blonde 20% more than the brunette. We can, as a second approximation, state that you would have preferred a buxom brunette 30% more than a blonde. And so forth."

"Sounds rather complicated."

"Not really," said Wilkerson. "But the computations are rather lengthy and time consuming. Ultimately it breaks down to N linear equations in N variables."

Just then, the intercom buzzed. Becky spoke, her voice now sounding tinny, "Mr. Wilkerson? Tina and Louise are here. Should I send them in?"

"Not yet. Have them wait out there until I call."

"Yes, sir."

The interlude had reminded me of what had happened after I stood up. "So? What's with the really lousy coffee. You drug me? Or something?"

"Actually, yes," Wilkerson replied calmly. "It's necessary for the subject to be completely relaxed prior to the analysis. Your first cup of coffee was laced with a tiny amount of a mild relaxant, the second with an antidote. In most cases, you'd never even notice. A certain percentage, and I must place you in this category, will experience some dizziness, weakness, a touch of low blood pressure."

"So let me get this straight," I said, somewhat angrily. "You slipped me a Mickey Finn and strapped me into a super lie detector!?"

"Please, calm yourself," said Wilkerson, still smiling. "Trust me when I say, no harm has been done. The effects wear off almost immediately. And in no other way can we so rapidly determine the perfect woman for you." He stood and moved to a wet bar. "Something to drink? Juice? Real coffee? Water? I don't recommend any alcohol just yet, but you can indulge later, if you wish."

"Water. Just water."

"Certainly." Wilkerson fished ice cubes from a small icemaker and filled a glass from the tap. He returned and handed it to me, then went around his desk and sat down. I saw that despite the conservative look of the mahogany desk, it had a glass screen built into the top. Words from beneath glowed on what appeared to be a computer monitor.

"The results justify the means, so to speak. Yes..," he said, looking down at the screen. "Hmmm. Very interesting. We not only have a match, but a very high rated match at that."

"Oh? Just what does your gizmo tell you about me?," I was beginning to feel myself again, and my displeasure was dissipating.

Looking down at the screen, Wilkerson replied, "Hmm, well, you actually do prefer brunettes. Or perhaps auburn hair is more accurate. Short girls, very busty, nice legs, nice rear end, generally a voluptuarian, in fact. Close enough, so far?," he asked, looking up at me.

I was stunned. I looked over at the chair. "That thing told you all that?!," I sputtered.

"All that and more."

"Like what?"

"Let's see. You enjoy straight and oral sex. Anal sex to a lesser extent, probably needing the woman to initiate it. No major fetishes. Standard male fantasies. You prefer a girl to wear rather racy underwear, if she wears any, like to see a fair bit of leg and cleavage, short skirts, low cut tops, that sort of thing." My face began to heat and turn red. "You're not into S&M, no whips and chains, no golden showers or such. Somewhat interested in B&D, but within fairly conventional paths. Furthermore,..."

"That's enough," I broke in. "I'm convinced."

"Er, yes, quite," said Wilkerson, somewhat embarrassed.

"So, how do you find this dream girl?," I asked.

"Simplicity itself. Each of the young ladies has had one or more sessions much as you just finished. The computer simply links your profile up with the one that matches it most closely."

"Sort of like computer dating."

"Similar. But considerably more precise than questionnaires, as the answers are involuntary and invariably true. In addition, our investment in testing equipment and computers is considerably higher that the total investment in most computer dating services. Also, we maintain a fairly high level of, er, inventory, so to speak. You get what you pay for."

"And you found a match?," I asked excitedly.

"Oh, my, yes indeed. Quite a match, too. The computer rates these things on a scale of 1 to 100. Generally, anything less than 50 or 60 is doomed from the start. I refuse to accept anything less than 75 to 80 when placing a young lady with a client. The higher the rating, the more likely a long lasting, mutually beneficial match will be made."

"And?"

"Well, the computer has spit out a match of 95 per cent compatibility. Really quite high. At this level, even marriage is not unheard of."

"So call her in. When can I see her?"

Wilkerson smiled. "Patience, Mr. deFrame, patience. Tomorrow night, say eight, meet me in the restaurant. I'll introduce you. You must understand, I must talk to the young lady. She must consent, of course." He touched the intercom button. "Becky, please bring in Tina and Louise." The interview seemed to be winding down.

We continued talking for a few moments, then the paneled door opened, and the delectable Becky brought in two young women. I stared at them a second before rising. They were quite attractive.

"Please, Mr. deFrame, stay seated," said Wilkerson. "I asked Becky to get Tina and Louise to take you back to your room, and to stay with you until any traces of queasiness have passed."

"Who's who?," I asked, staring at them. Tina and Louise were identical twins, medium height, long dark blonde hair, very buxom. Large frames, but carried most delightfully. They wore the school uniforms, the long, sheer, opaque gowns, light green, with matching high heels.

"You know, I'm not sure. I can never tell. Which one of you is Tina?," he asked, turning to the duo. The girl on the left raised her hand and waved her fingers at me, smiling. "Then you must be Louise?," he finished. In turn Louise waved fingers at me.

"Unfortunately, neither Tina or Louise speaks. But they compensate in other ways. Any final questions before I let them take you back?"

I stood and shook his hand. "Not right now. Oh, wait. One just came to mind. What's with the school uniforms? I mean, I can understand the outfits the receptionists and all wear. But why require the girls to wear uniforms to school? And especially outfits like this?," I asked, gesturing at the gowns.

"Oh, that. Well the uniforms reinforce the identity the girls acquire as part of our family, their place as students, and so forth. The uniforms are inexpensive, simple, easily cleaned, and so forth. These outfits work well in their, shall we say, practical training. Ladies?"

Tina and Louise turned to face Wilkerson. "The tops easily drop down to put their frontal assets on display. Girls?" The twins reached to their necks and pulled the gowns off their shrugging shoulders. Massive breasts topped by small dark nipples stared at me. At a nod from Wilkerson, they pulled the gowns up a again. The slit skirts allow easy access beneath, both from the front, Tina?..." The left hand girl moved her hands below her waist. Delicately grasping the folds of cloth, she pulled it back from her legs. Assuming a model's pose, she bent one knee and exposed her trim pubic hairs. "...And from the rear. Louise?" The other girl moved her hands behind her. Turning away from me, she looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. Bending slightly at the waist, she spread the fabric across her delicious backside, and the globes of her ass jutted at me. "And of course, they can be easily removed." Louise stood erect again and turned to face me. In unison, the girls reached to their waists. Seconds later, the sound of Velcro opening reached me, and the girls were standing there, gowns open from neck to toe, exposing their lusciousness to my feasting eyes. "The heels accustom them to wearing spike heels, which of course, are the shoes preferred by almost all men."

"Anything else, Mr. deFrame?," asked Wilkerson.

I tore my gaze from the two young women and looked at Wilkerson. "Huh? Er, no, nothing. Uh, thank you."

"Certainly. Tina and Louise will take you back to your room. Rest. Relax. I'll see you tomorrow night, eight or so?"

"Sure, no problem. Thank you."

I turned back to Tina and Louise, but they had refastened their gowns. They approached me, one on each side, and laced their arms through mine. Together we walked from the room. But I noticed, just before the door closed, something rather interesting.

Becky had never left the room after I was introduced to the twins. She had witnessed the entire final tableau. Now her face was flushed, and her breathing had quickened, which did remarkable things for the oh, so tight jacket. As the door closed, I saw her move to a smiling Wilkerson, as her hands moved to undo her jacket. I guess he could handle her requirements, after all!

***

Wilkerson was right, the twins didn't speak. Medical or psychological? Still, by Wilkerson's demonstration, they could hear perfectly well. Silently they escorted me to my room. As I suspected, the girls had no intention of dropping me off. They followed me in and led me to the bedroom.

Aside from the training session the night before, I had never had sex with two women at once. I mean it's a standard male fantasy, I suppose, but when does a normal guy ever get to do something like that? Tina and Louise led me directly to the king size bed and gently pushed me down onto it. I scooted into the center and lay flat, tucking a pair of pillows under my head. This could be real interesting, and I wanted to watch.

Tina (Louise?) immediately knelt on the bed at my waist and promptly unzipped my pants. Pulling out my erection, she put her head in my crotch and began to lick the head and shaft, while one hand tenderly stroked the length of my inflamed cock and the other gently massaged my aching nuts. Meanwhile, Louise (Tina?) came around to the other side of the bed. Putting both hands at the Velcro closure to her gown, she ripped it off and threw it into the corner. Then she walked to the end of the bed, and while her sister continued to lick and suck my erection, knelt and untied my shoes. She then proceeded to remove my shoes, then my socks, and began to tug off my pants. Lifting my hips slightly, taking care not to disturb the other at her labors, I allowed my pants to be removed. Then she returned to the side opposite her twin and also buried her head in my groin.

Now it was her counterpart's turn. Leaving her sister to continue the oral attentions she had lavished on me, the first sister knelt on the bed and also removed her gown. It flew to join it's mate. First tugging my shirt and jacket away from my waist, she promptly straddled me, her dark pussy hairs tickling my navel. God, she was beautiful! Big, bouncy tits, soft cunt hairs, and a deep belly button between. Now she began to complete my disrobing, removing my tie, unbuttoning my shirt, and helping me slip my arms from the paired sleeves. Finally, when I was naked, she climbed off me and pulled my shirt and jacket from beneath me.