Life had been going along smoothly and then, suddenly, the roof caved in. First she lost her job as the small company she worked for was gobbled up and then the two brokers who paid for her fancy apartment and bonked her once a week together were transferred out of town and she had to move, and now her car, her lovely Beemer, was being repossessed. When she returned to her cheap motel room, she found she had been robbed and all her jewelry was gone. She sat and cried.

Her cellphone buzzed. "Miss McCornick," said a voice, "I understand you are looking for work. If you will come see me this afternoon, we may be able to do business, to offer you something interesting."

"Who is this?" she demanded.

"A friend," said the voice. He gave an address and said, "two o'clock. Don't be late. Write this down: 421 Freen Street, suite 17."

She worked on her hair and make-up, slipped into her sexiest work dress, the one with the highest hemline and deeply scooped neckline, called a cab and was five minutes early. She knocked right at two and was invited in.

Behind a huge desk across a deep carpet sat the ugliest man she had ever seen. She approached, trying not to look at his grossly disfigured face and sat in the only chair, knees together, trying not to show her disgust.

The big man's face was a patchwork of scars and bruises, misshapen and caved in on one side with a nose that was obviously plastic and had only one hole. The hair was a wig, pewter colored. The mouth, which had no lower lip and was very crooked, pulled down on one side, opened and a small tongue emerged. "I was in an accident. This will get better, but it will take some time, several years, lots of plastic surgery. They considered a face transplant, but, well, they decided against it"

She nodded and noticed that he only had one ear.

"I saw you at the convention in La Vegas. You were with those two dolts, those brokers."

She nodded.

"I decided then to have you."

She blinked.

"Here is my offer: housing, a decent apartment in a secure building; a rented American-made car, Dodge or small Ford or Chevy, that sort; clothing, let's say $300 a month. How's that sound?"

"Dodge Charger I think. $300 is very generous. I seldom spend that." She knew when she said that that it was not true. Clothes were one of her weaknesses.

"You would be on display regularly. I assume you are aware that you have a fine, healthy body that is exciting to look at, stimulating if properly displayed, arousing when bared."

"What?"

"Oh, I've seen you bare, quite often. I had that apartment of yours wired. Like to see?"

She shook her head.

"As to pay; let's say the housing, car and clothes come to, oh, perhaps a hundred a day, $3,000 a month; let's say $200 a day to start, nearly $10,000 a month total."

She nodded. "Hours? Duties? I don't know what you expect of me."

"I want you to be available fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, both here in this room and wherever I am in the world. Sometimes 24-hours."

She shook her head. "Available?"

"I want your body, you silly woman. I want to fuck you whenever I have the time and the inclination; three times a day may be enough most days."

She shook her head and shuddered.

"Let me show you something, the reason I need your cunt, your well-used pussy." He chuckled, a very odd noise that involved spittle, and stood. He pulled down his zipper and flopped out his long, discolored, tubular penis with its blunt, pink head which was turned to the side. "It's slightly excited." The forward part was a different color and size than the base which was fatter and darker. His public hair was coarse and sparse as if some had been shaved off.

She gasped. It was obviously impossible, a trick of some sort. Nothing human could look like that. A snail looked better.

He smiled and sat, his monstrous organ hanging from the edge of his leather chair, quivering. "My face and groin were damaged in a boating accident nearly a year ago. One of the pleasures I had during recovery was looking at you. You have a fine body and you are quite imaginative. We were out on the Bay when a squall line dismasted her, thick aluminum main mast, snapped it right off. The jib pole crushed my face and the rigging, including a very heavy double pulley, smashed into my groin and nearly severed my penis."

"How awful."

"Indeed. But I was fortunate, in a way. A boy was brought in, dying from a car accident, head injury, who had my blood type and a donor card."

"I don't believe it."

He nodded. "They grafted his sizeable, young organ onto what was left of mine, put in two stents, got most of the vessels and nerves spliced including the corpora spaces and penile tissue and after the plastic surgeons finished their original work on my face, they sent me home."

She shook her head.

"The first sign I had of recovery of my sexual strength came while I was watching you being double teamed by those dolts. I got an erection. Relaxed the thing's four inches or so, very wrinkled, discolored. It was quite painful the first time, but very, very impressive if far from straight. It stood right up and oozed. As you will see, it is not pretty, not even symmetrical, but it is significant, tumescent it is well over ten inches of crooked shaft and a bullet-shaped head, the boy's. Erect, well I have not measured, perhaps a foot long fully aroused, ready to squirt, measured from behind the testicles of course. The grafted member was not as thick as mine but it is being stretched, growing bigger, fatter you might say."