Claire didn’t want to work at Titcage. But work experience during the school holidays was compulsory for seniors and despite her best efforts she couldn’t convince her parents or teachers that the so-called Committee For Gender Equity was against women, not for them.

Funded by church groups, conservatives, and the world’s richest men, the organisation existed for one purpose: to change community and government attitudes to women and restore women to a role solely as sextoys, housekeepers and breeders. They famously released nude and compromising photos of prominent women to destroy their reputations, and were rumoured to have organised several unsolved rapes committed against feminist lobbyists.

But Claire’s mother didn’t follow politics and was set firmly in the belief that any organisation run by intelligent men would be a good and respectable place for a teen girl to be educated. And so Claire found herself on a Monday arriving, nervous and scared, at the fifth floor offices of the political think-tank colloquially known as Titcage.

The lobby was modern and professional. One wall showed a photo collage of smiling women. Only on a closer look did Claire notice they were all wearing dog collars.

The receptionist was a beautiful blonde. She was dressed in smart business clothes but with a plunging neckline that revealed much of her breasts and a black leather dog collar. It was definitely a dog collar, not a choker. It even had a round name tag attached to it. The tag said ‘Girl’.

Claire herself was more modestly dressed. Her blonde hair was cut in a trim but attractive style; her skirt was short but her blouse mostly hid the large tits that Claire was always embarrassed by. Looking at the pretty receptionist made Claire uncomfortably aware of her tits, and the way that they were bouncing and rubbing against the inside of her bra as she moved. Hesitantly, Claire approached the receptionist.

‘Um, hello,’ she began. ‘I’m here for the…’

‘Work experience,’ finished the receptionist. ‘Yes, you must be Claire. Michael was expecting you. Come right this way.’ She stood up from behind the desk and led Claire through a door, into a small meeting room. ‘We just need to do your ID card, and then we can take you through to see everyone.’

‘I didn’t catch your name,’ said Claire nervously.

‘Oh, it’s on my tag, just like everyone here,’ replied the receptionist. ‘It’s Girl. Which reminds me, we have one for you.’ She passed Claire a leather dog collar. A shining tag hanging from it read ‘Claire’. Claire took it awkwardly.

‘What is this for?’ she asked.

‘To wear,’ replied Girl. ‘Titcage uniform. It’s just like a name badge, really. Now take off your shirt.’

‘What?’ asked Claire. She had just finished buckling the collar around her neck. The leather felt cold and rough against her skin.

‘Take off your shirt. For your ID. I need to get your measurements.’

Claire didn’t like this at all but felt trapped. Maybe this was normal. Maybe it was just like a medical examination. Slowly, she took off her shirt, revealing her lacy pink bra and the huge soft tits it encased.

‘Good girl,’ said Girl reassuringly. She stepped forward with a measuring tape and ran it around Claire’s bust. She pulled it tightly, and Claire felt it dig into her breasts uncomfortably. Girl looked down at the result shown by the tape, then grabbed Claire’s left tit in her hand and squeezed painfully.

‘Ow!’ complained Claire. She felt weird. She couldn’t think of the last time another person had touched her boobs so directly.

‘Just checking if they’re real, baby,’ said Girl. ‘And I see they are. 34DD, natural. Now just some ID photos.’

‘Can I put my shirt on?’ asked Claire.

‘Oh, no, honey, just wait there,’ replied Girl. She stepped behind the camera, and snapped several photographs. Claire twisted uncomfortably. She didn’t like the idea of being photographed without her shirt on. When Girl was done, she told Claire to wait while she stepped out. Claire remained in the room, shirtless and miserable, for several minutes, until Girl returned.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I guess you can get dressed for now. Here’s your ID. It’s just a temporary one so it’s not complete.’

It was the strangest ID card Claire had ever seen, hanging on a lanyard obviously meant to go around her neck. At the top it showed her named – Claire Morgan – but it had not one ID photo but three. The first showed her face, as expected, but the other two were focused on her breasts and crotch. The crotch photo showed only the cloth of her skirt, but the breast photo recognisably showed her half-bare tits and her bra. Next to the photos were a series of measurements: “Tits: 34DD, real. Cunt capacity: – Milk production: – Fertility: – Fuck grade: – Rank Z”

‘What is this?’ asked Claire, outraged.

‘Your relevant statistics, silly,’ replied Girl. ‘It holds everything relevant to know about a woman. Here, look at mine.’ She held out her own ID. In it, Girl was completely naked. The photos showed her large, bare udders, and her naked shaved twat, splayed open for inspection. The text read, “Tits: 32D, real. Cunt capacity: 1.35 litres. Milk production: 1 quart, B grade. Fertility: C Fuck grade: B Rank T.”

‘Don’t worry,’ Girl added. ‘You’re only temporary, you don’t need any of that.’

‘This is demeaning,’ said Claire. She felt herself blushing bright red. The receptionist had just showed her a photo of her vagina. Claire felt embarrassed by seeing another girl’s private parts.

‘Baby, you don’t demean a pig by grading its bacon,’ replied Girl. ‘But if you don’t want to work here no one is forcing you.’

Claire wanted to leave. This place was creepy with its collars and degrading badges. But her mother would have a fit if she blew off work experience on the first day no matter how good the reason.

‘No, I’ll stay,’ said Claire uncomfortably.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Girl. ‘Then follow me.’

She led Claire down a series of sumptuous corridors and showed her into a large office where a handsome middle aged man sat behind a huge mahogany desk. He had short, fashionably cropped brown hair, his chin showed a hint of stubble, and he was wearing a suit that must be expensive judging by how good it looked. He rose as she entered.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Michael. You must be Claire.’

‘Yes,’ said Claire awkwardly. ‘Um, hi.’

Michael smiled, and gestured in a way that suggested he wanted nothing more than to be here, talking to Claire. It made Claire feel good; no matter how weird the situation, it always felt nice to be liked by a handsome man.

‘Take a seat,’ said Michael. He looked at Claire’s escort. ‘Girl, be a good twat and leave us.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Girl, exiting.

Did he just call her a twat? thought Claire as she sat down. The walls of the room were immensely distracting. Each side of the room bore giant posters of naked collared women. Most were kneeling. Some appeared to have semen dripping from theirs lips, breasts or vaginas. Claire had come across porn before on the internet but she’d never looked at it for long. Here she had trouble looking anywhere without a bare cunt or naked bust in her field of view.

‘I’m so glad you decided to do your work experience here, Claire,’ said Michael. And Claire noticed he wasn’t looking at her face – he was staring unashamedly at her tits. He didn’t make eye contact at all. It was like her face didn’t matter. What a creep! she thought, and folded her arms over her chest.

‘Let me tell you a little about Titcage,’ said Michael. ‘What we are about is fixing some of the gender inequities in modern society.’ He kept staring at Claire’s breasts. ‘Did you know, Claire, that less than five percent of rape allegations by women result in a conviction? Does it bother you that so many so called rape victims turn out to be lying sluts?’

‘Um, I guess,’ said Claire.

‘We provide public advocacy about the truth about rape allegations. You may have seen our TV campaign, “She’s Probably Lying”. We also compile information to help those charged defend themselves.’ Michael smiled charmingly, still looking only at Claire’s tits. ‘That’s where we’re going to start you.’

‘We also feel it’s unfortunate that women today are told about professions they are unsuited for, like science or the military, while more traditional female professions like stripping and prostitution are not allowed to present at career fairs. We help young women find appropriate and satisfying careers in these fields.’

‘We also lobby for laws designed to give women the structure and discipline they need and fund research that will help build a better society.’

(To be continued…)