Monday morning at the office, nearly ten o'clock, and the guys are settling in for the week's grind. (Well, one guy and two girls to be strictly accurate.) They're out there in the communal open-plan space where I can easily keep tabs on them from my glass-walled office. Assuming I have the blinds open, that is, which most of the time I do.

It's my company and I run a tight ship. With the boss watching all the time there's no slacking or messing around. They know I have no trouble firing people I'm not satisfied with and the climate being what it is (challenging) nobody wants to lose their job, even a crappy one. They're frightened of me, frankly, and that's how I like it. Ok, not the whole truth. They're not all frightened of me. Natasha isn't. Natasha's not remotely scared of the boss. Reason being she's special, Natasha Reeves is heart-stoppingly pretty and has a great body. These are qualities I prize in a girl, therefore I spoil her rotten. (And she spoils me back, to be fair.)

The other two resent it, of course. There they are, slaving nine to five solid with a half hour (if they're lucky) for a gobbled sandwich-at-desk lunch, and by contrast there's the delectable Natasha Reeves whose 'job' entails floating around looking gorgeous and doing exactly as she pleases. Guess what makes it seem so unfair is Natasha's just nineteen – slightly younger than Sylvia and more than twenty years younger than Simon - plus she's the newest employee, been with the company only a few months. (She replaced Colin Morgan, a rather loud and irritating character who I took great pleasure in telling to get on his bike: Natasha Reeves is a big improvement, let me tell you.)

It seems unfair, did I say? Ok so strike that, it IS unfair. Thing is, I enjoy the power I have as the boss and I get a kick from abusing it (e.g. showing blatant favouritism towards the lovely Natasha, treating her like royalty and the other two like shit). Doesn't make me a bad person, does it?

Natasha enjoys the scenario too. In fact, that's putting it mildly – she loves it. Has a whale of a time.

Like now, for example, she's decided to go and have one of her little 'chats' with Simon. She's left her desk (the biggest one, over by the window in the corner - prime position) and she's gone and perched herself up on Simon's table. I can't hear what she's saying – my door is shut – but I see she's smiling down at him, looking amused. I'm amused too because it's clear that Simon is desperately trying (and failing) to concentrate on his work rather than stare at Natasha's glorious legs. She has one of her short skirts on today. It's nothing slutty (not at all) but with how she's sitting, Simon is getting an eyeful. I chuckle as I watch what she's doing: the way she keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs in front of Simon, letting her skirt ride up those luscious thighs. It's hilarious how he drools over something so unattainable and out of his league. Has the sad sack even had a woman – any woman - in the last decade? Seriously doubt it. Poor guy has gone bright red, I can tell from here. Natasha catches my eye and I grin. She grins back and blows me a kiss.

I beckon to her. Natasha smiles and climbs down from Simon's desk. She ruffles his hair like he's a pet (which he sort of is) and saunters across in my direction. She wiggles her hips as she walks, pleasantly aware of how hot she looks in her tight skirt and heels and tantalising top, knowing perfectly well that me and Simon are lustfully admiring her every move. Only person not ogling is Sylvia Tusk, the other female in the office, whose facial expression as she watches Natasha's brazen little catwalk is one of hopeless envy.

Poor cow: as ravishing as Natasha Reeves is, that's how plain Sylvia is. Or is 'plain' even a little too complimentary? Yes, I believe it is. Short, seriously overweight, bad face, bad hair, bad skin - 'distinctly unappetising' is nearer the mark. And as I say, 'poor cow', because having a stunner like Tash around the office only serves to make Sylvia look and feel even more unattractive. It really is Beauty and the Beast – a remark I once made to Natasha, making her laugh. She realises how inferior she makes Sylvia feel and she gets off on it, treats the unfortunate girl with a lazy and patronising contempt (and often considerably worse than that).

Natasha has entered and plopped herself down on my office couch. 'Hi, Mark.' (Only Tash gets to call me by my first name. It's 'Mr Taylor' to Simon and Sylvia. Or 'Sir'.) I smile fondly at her. 'Hey, sexy, how you doing?'

Natasha stretches and shrugs. 'Oh you know ... Monday morning.' Fuck: her long, shapely legs do look fabulous in that little skirt! I treat myself to an extended, appreciative gaze and she sits there happy to let me. It's a toss-up which I like the best, this outfit she has today or last Friday's one (tight, low-slung jeans and very skimpy tee-shirt - still fresh in my memory). I really can't decide. Only thing I can conclude with utter certainty is that the girl sitting there on my couch is the tastiest piece of ass I've ever seen in my life. She's a grade A, 24 carat babe. I tell her what I'm thinking and I'm rewarded with a flirty 'thank you, kind sir!' and a seductive toss of her lustrous, dark wavy hair. 'I aim to please, ' she pouts, patting the couch next to her, looking at me invitingly. I'm busy but I forget that immediately. Yeah, little Miss Reeves has the boss wrapped around her little finger and she loves every minute of it. So does the boss. I leave my desk and we continue our conversation snuggled together on the couch. 'You weren't putting Simon off his work, Tash, were you?'

'Was I? How precisely was I doing that?' There's a glint in those beautiful brown eyes.

'Hmm, let me see. Could be wrong, of course, but I'd say you were prick-teasing the poor guy ... again.'

'He was staring at my legs instead of working, you mean?'

'Yeah. And who can blame him?' My hand falls to her silky thigh as I say this and I softly stroke it. (With Simon, it's 'look don't touch' as regards Natasha Reeves but me, I can get busy with her any time I like. Another perk of being the boss. Course, Simon knows I'm fucking Tash on a regular basis, which only makes it more exquisite.) 'Bet he'd love to be doing what I'm doing right now, ' I whisper in her ear, hand snaking under her skirt. Natasha shifts her position to make it easier for me to fondle her. She's getting wet, I can feel it. 'From the look on his face I'd say you're correct there, ' she giggles.

'What, is he watching?'

'You know he is, honey. He's green, the poor thing!'

I glance over and, yep, Simon is indeed looking our way. (We usually close the blinds if we plan to get serious, gonna fuck, for example, or if Natasha's treating me to a blowjob, but just fooling around like this it's fun to do it in full view. Stokes the jealousy no end!) 'Sad bastard, ' I snigger.

'Guess I shouldn't wear short skirts to the office. All it does is torment the poor man. It's really not fair of me, is it?'

I'm kissing her neck. 'It's not, princess, no.'

'Should I stop doing it then, Marky?' she asks in a soft 'baby doll' voice.

'Up to you, sweetie. Do you want to stop teasing his rocks off?' (It's not a genuine question: her relentless cock-teasing of the hapless Simon Woodrow, how she drives the poor guy beserk, is one of my favourite spectacles and Natasha knows this. The boss's approval only eggs her on, of course.)

'No, Mark, I don't believe I do.'

'Well there you go then.'

Natasha gives a sly smile. 'And you don't want me to either, baby, do you?'

'Sweetheart, I like you torturing the sad bastard, you know that. Fact, how about another pay rise? Say another twenty per cent? You know, to show my appreciation.' (This will be Natasha's fourth rise since she joined. She's already on treble what Simon, who's been here for years, gets. And as for Sylvia ... well I pay her the legal minimum, which is peanuts. She used to get more than that but I decided to fund Natasha's last pay rise by cutting Sylvia's. Natasha couldn't stop laughing when I told her.)

'Why thank you, Boss!' Natasha is delighted and I receive a sexy kiss on the lips.

'Can't wait to tell Sylvia, ' she giggles. Such a little monster! This is something else I get a buzz from watching, another good spectator sport: the slim and pretty Natasha Reeves being an utter bitch to the irredeemably fat and unattractive Sylvia Tusk. Like the other day (last Wednesday, was it?) when she made poor Sylvia give her a pedicure while she sat there, feet on desk, flirting with some boy on the phone. Classic! I know I shouldn't encourage Tash in this sort of thing, but I do. 'Why don't we tell her now?' I suggest.

'Can we?'

'Sure.' I pick up the phone and buzz through. 'Sylvia, can you bring me and Tash a couple of coffees? ... Yeah, like immediately.'

A few minutes later and Sylvia's at the door. She knocks but Natasha and I are wrapped up in each other on the couch so we ignore her. We keep her loitering like a lemon for a while (she's scared to knock again) before I finally deign to notice her and summon her in with a crook of my finger. She enters and sets the coffees down on the table in front of us, her expression kind of anxious and unhappy and resentful all at the same time.

I can't stop laughing at her appearance. We've recently instituted this new regime whereby Sylvia has to try and look 'hot' like Natasha. We've put her on a strict 'starvation' diet (no eating in the office, not even lunch) and I've ordered her to start wearing revealing 'Natasha-type' outfits to work. So today she's got this rather short, clingy dress on. It's the sort of thing Tash'd look terrific in but on dumpy little Sylvia it's utterly ridiculous. Which she knows, of course. That's the whole point. Natasha is laughing at her too. 'Oh my goodness, Sylvia, ' she smirks.

'Yeah, Sylv, that's a cool look," I splutter. "You've really got it going on today, girl ... Hasn't she, Tash?'

'Not really, Mark, no, ' giggles Natasha, opting for brutal honesty. 'I mean, oh my god! Talk about a moose!'

She's in her element. As I say, persecuting Sylvia Tusk is one of Natasha's hobbies. 'Darling, don't be mean, ' I chuckle.

'Can't help it, honey, can I? Jeez, if I had a body like that I'd do all the boys a favour and never leave the house. Just a total moose. Fact, Mark, how about that's her name from now on?'

'Moose?'

'Yeah, exactly, Moose ... Sylvia the Moose.'

'Sure, princess. Suits her.'

Sylvia stands in abject silence as she's abused and humiliated. Ok, not total silence, she's sniffling slightly. Natasha takes a leisurely sip of her coffee before continuing. 'So annoying! Even with the diet and stuff, she looks as lardy as ever.'

'Too right, ' I snigger. 'Hey, talking of food, how about I take you to lunch today?' (I take Natasha out for lunch quite often and I really enjoy it. The drooling waiters as they flirt and fuss around her, the wistful glances in her direction of the other male clientele, their envious expressions towards me - it's a blast.) She thinks about it but tells me she fancies a dial-in. 'You know, like Friday, ' she grins.

'Ah yes, Friday.' I'm slightly disappointed but I can't help grinning too. Because Friday's lunchtime performance was pretty funny.

I came back from mine (I almost always go out for a long lunch on Fridays) and I find Natasha having a late one at her desk. She's tucking into this Chinese assortment; sweet and sour pork and all the trimmings basically. That's not what's funny, however. What's funny is she has the 'dieting' Sylvia (who's absolutely famished since she's not allowed to eat anything all day and it's now after three o'clock) sat at the desk with her and she's tormenting the poor girl with her lunch, making her watch while she scoffs all this food, slowly and with great relish, right in front of her. And I do mean 'right in front of her'. She's actually getting bits of pork and stuff on a fork and tantalising Sylvia with it, wafting it around under her nose and taunting her: 'Smell it, Sylv. Isn't it delicious?' Poor Sylvia is visibly drooling!

When Natasha sees I'm standing there watching (and laughing) she favours me with a naughty 'ok, now watch this!' wink, and steps up the torture. 'Would you like some of this lovely juicy pork, Sylvia?' (Vigorous nod from Sylvia, the girl is starving!) 'Here you go then, ' smiles Tash, picking up a large piece with her fingers and moving it purposefully towards Sylvia's lips, making as if to feed her. Sylvia opens up eagerly to receive, but instead of feeding her the pork Natasha stops and holds it just in front of Sylvia's mouth. 'Come on, Sylv, take it, I know you're hungry, ' Natasha urges, but she doesn't move her fingers; if Sylvia wants the food she's going to have to move her head to get it. Sylvia does want it (badly!) and mouth open, eyes on the prize, she cranes for this piece of pork.

Doesn't succeed, however. Just as she starts to close her salivating chops around the food, Natasha moves it out of reach. 'Oops, missed it! Try again. C'mon, it's yummy!' she giggles.

Sylvia cranes once more to try and nail this pork but the same thing happens, Natasha pulls it away at the very last moment. She prolongs her sadistic but highly amusing game for some time: Sylvia jerking her head around, tongue out, lips straining, desperately attempting to get some food into her mouth, but forever frustrated by her giggling tormentor. Poor cow is being driven half mad. Eventually Natasha gets bored. 'Hey, you're on a diet, aren't you? Sorry, I was forgetting. Guess I'll just have to eat it all myself.' She takes the fork away and pops the meat into her own mouth. 'Mmm, this to die for, Sylv, it really is, ' she sighs, smacking her lips, eyes rolling skywards.

As she's finishing up, Tash makes Sylvia beg for scraps and the little bitch grants her a minute portion of rice. She spoons it onto the table, carefully separates the grains, and Sylvia has to lower her face and attempt to eat them one by one using only her mouth. 'That's right, Sylv, tuck in, ' Tash giggles maliciously, wetting herself at the spectacle. She makes Sylvia thank her when she's finished... 'Thank you, Natasha, ' the stupid cow says, unbelievably.

I'm creasing by now: this is brutal but it's an absolute scream. (Even Simon can't help snickering.)

Knowing she has an appreciative audience, Natasha becomes yet more fiendish. Instructing Sylvia to close her mouth and keep her head perfectly still, she dips a finger into the tray of soy sauce and then presses it against Sylvia's lips, smears them from side to side with the dark, sticky liquid. She does this half a dozen times until Sylvia's lips are thoroughly covered. Natasha reminds her sharply to keep her mouth closed tight, that she mustn't lick any of the sauce away. 'It looks nice on you, Sylv, it's like lipstick!'

Sylvia has started to weep in her anguish and humiliation. The tears are rolling freely down her plump little cheeks. 'Aw, look Mark, look Simon, the poor thing's crying, ' Natasha announces gleefully.

So, has Tash had enough now? Has she finally had her fill of tormenting the poor girl? No, it turns out she hasn't. She wants to carry on having fun: "I know! How about we do the rest of your fat face?" she giggles, cue for an absolutely side-splitting few minutes with the wretched Sylvia forced to sit there, head still and trap shut, while Natasha casually 'decorates' her face with copious amounts of the thick sauce. It goes everywhere. Around the mouth, on the end of the nose, then a large dollop for the double chin. Tash dabs Sylvia's ears with it, rubs some all over her tear-stained cheeks and then into her eyebrows. To finish off, she spoons the remainder of the sauce onto the top of the poor girl's head and massages it into her hair. She takes a few seconds to admire her handiwork. 'You look lovely, Sylvia!' A big improvement. Right, Mark?" she says, grinning at me. Sylvia is bawling her eyes out. 'Sure is, baby. Nice one, ' I tell Natasha and then I snap at Sylvia to stop crying and 'sort out this mess' and 'get back to fucking work'.

Once Sylvia's cleared everything up (including herself) and stumbled off to her desk, I stroll back over to Natasha and deliver the good news that, even though it's not yet four o'clock, she can call it a day if she wants. I also tell her she's looking so incredibly sexy right now that I simply have to whisk her off somewhere expensive for a drink. Natasha pouts prettily and says she'd love to.

All in all, a nice way to end the week.

'Except I think I'll have an Indian this time, ' Natasha muses. 'Do YOU like Indian food, Moosey?'

Sylvia mutters that she does. (But the look on her face tells me she's not looking forward to this particular Indian. I'm wondering what Natasha has in store today for the poor thing at lunchtime. Here's hoping it lives up to Friday!)

'I'm right, aren't I?' Tash says to me.

'What, princess?'

'The Moose is utterly gross.'

'Yeah, you are. Our little experiment isn't working, baby, is it? Guess she'd better go back to dressing like a sack of spuds and leave the important business of looking gorgeous to you.'

Natasha giggles. She's looking extremely smug (the little minx can't get enough of being told what a hottie she is). I gaze at Sylvia as I'm continuing: 'Speaking of female employees looking gorgeous, I have news. Want to hear it?' Sylvia, mute, manages a small nod.

'Ok, so because Natasha here is a very pretty girl, and because she's looking particularly horny today in her short skirt, I've decided to give her another pay rise.' I turn to grin at Natasha. 'What does it put you on now, Tash?' She gives the (very large) figure. We both enjoy Sylvia's sick expression.

'What's the Moose on, Mark?' There's an evil smirk on Tash's lovely face. I look at Sylvia with raised eyebrow and she mumbles the (very small) figure. Natasha squeals in mock horror. 'Oh my god, Moose, that's nothing! You poor thing! That wouldn't even keep me in shoes.' And she proceeds to regale Sylvia with chapter and verse on her latest shopping escapades. Keeps the poor girl standing there and listening to this for ages. 'Anyway, what do you think of this skirt, Moose? Does it suit me?' she asks, finally. 'Yes, Natasha, ' says Sylvia, sad and subservient. (She knows she has to submit to Natasha's cruel belittling, otherwise I'll fire her.)

'Why thank you, Moosey! Simon seems to like it too, doesn't he? Have you seen the way he's been looking at my legs all morning?'

'Yes, Natasha.'

Tash giggles. 'Wasn't drooling over your legs, Moose, was he?'

'No, Natasha.'

'Mark reckons I've been teasing poor Simon. You don't think that, do you? You don't think I'm a tease?'

Sylvia isn't sure how to answer. Senses she'd be in trouble either way. 'Er, I'm not ... I dunno, Natasha, ' she mumbles. Natasha smiles knowingly. 'Ok, confession time, I suppose I can be rather naughty sometimes. It's fun! I mean, come on, be honest, if you were a pretty girl with a sexy figure, rather than a moose, you'd like messing with men too, wouldn't you?'

'Um, guess so, Natasha, ' admits Sylvia. (Which I bet is perfectly true.)

'You would, trust me. Prick-teasing guys who fancy you rotten is one of the best things about being a hot girl ... that and nice fat pay rises, of course.' (This makes me snort out loud.) Natasha turns to me with a sly smile. 'But just because I'm pretty and I was being a bit of a tease showing off my legs like that, it doesn't mean Simon ought to be staring at them, baby, does it? He should be working, right?'

'Yeah, fucking slacker. Wanna punish him, princess?' (What I'm really asking is if she wants to carry on 'playing'.)

'Yes, let's!' giggles Natasha. Ok, so she is feeling playful. It's more than fine by me (I love these little games almost as much as Natasha does) and I buzz for Simon to come through. He shuffles in and stands next to Sylvia in front of the couch where the in-crowd are sitting.

Simon Woodrow, forty years old, chubby little dork, part of the furniture. The quintessential victim. He's been my employee and getting mercilessly bullied by me for nearly ten years. (Shit, some of the stuff I've done to the poor bastard, you wouldn't believe.) 'Hi there, Simes!' I announce jauntily, then go silent and gaze fixedly at him, let his trepidation gather. Natasha, smiling sweetly at Simon, has her hand in my lap. I have an erection which she's gently fingering through my pants. All told, it's not such a terrible situation. 'Simon, a problem. Natasha here tells me you've been staring at her legs when you're meant to be working. That's correct, Tash, isn't it?'

Natasha nods sternly. 'Yes, Mark. He was really ogling.'

'Anything to say, Woodrow?' I snap.

'Er, I'm sorry, Mr Taylor, ' he mutters. (Knows there's no point denying it.)

'It's Natasha you need to be apologising to.'

'I'm really sorry, Natasha, ' he mumbles, taking the cue. 'And what exactly are you sorry for, Simon?' Tash prods. 'I'd like to hear you say it.' Simon shuffles from foot to foot, horribly embarrassed. 'Um, for staring at your legs, ' he manages to blurt out. It's fucking hilarious. 'What, THESE legs?' grins Natasha, looking down, flaunting them. Simon just nods. 'You're a dirty bastard, Simon, aren't you?' I drawl. No reaction. He's staring at the floor. Not sure what I'm enjoying most, the abject look of Simon or the feel of Natasha's soft sexy fingers working their magic on my ever-harder dick. 'Aren't you?' I snarl, raising my voice. 'Yes, Sir, ' he stutters. (Just love that 'Sir'.)

'Drooling at Tash's legs instead of working. I mean, what the fuck?'

'Sorry, Sir.'

'I bet you are. Now you've been caught. So, Tash, what would you like to do about this? What should his punishment be?'

Natasha puts a finger to her chin. 'Oh, is it up to me then?'

'Yes, darling, totally up to you. Just say.'

Natasha ponders ostentatiously for a while, enjoying herself. 'Ok, first of all, it'd be nice if he got down and kissed my feet.'

'You heard the girl, turdface, ' I order. 'Down on your belly and kiss Tash's feet!' Poor sod has to do it. Has to grovel in front of Natasha and kiss her feet. She slips her shoes off so he can get at her toes. 'That's right, Simon, nice sloppy kiss for each of my tutsies, ' she drawls, and she keeps him slobbering down there for quite a while. I'm looking on and laughing but Sylvia is turned away, not wanting to see poor Simon humiliated yet again. Unsurprising: she has enough of her own indignities at the hands of Natasha to put up with.

'Ok, Simon, you can get up now, ' Natasha tells him. He does so and stands back next to Sylvia. Tash grins at him. 'Simon, I need a man's opinion. Sylvia's a moose, isn't she?'

He has to agree. 'Yes, Natasha.'

'Tell her, ' snaps Tash. 'Tell her she's a fucking moose.'

'Sylvia, you're a fucking moose.'

I get up and smack Simon in the chops. 'Don't fucking swear in front of Natasha!'

Tash is giggling like crazy. She's having the time of her life and so am I. Simon and Sylvia are both crying, which only makes me and Natasha laugh and want to continue bullying them. (No, not much work getting done for the rest of the morning, I can see that already. Ah well, not to worry, I'll make them stay late to make it up. Simon and Sylvia, that is - Natasha never works late.) I make as if to hit Simon again but stop just before making contact, make the silly cunt cower. God he's pathetic! Natasha rises from the couch and stands in front of him, a cruel smile playing on her lips. It looks like the girl's really in the mood for some fun today so I sit back to watch. She's fingering Simon's belt. 'Can I pull his pants down, Mark?'

'Sure, princess.'

She undoes his pants and slides them to his ankles. 'And his knickers?' she asks.

'Yes, sweetheart. Let's see his little pecker!' The grinning Natasha yanks them down and Simon's dick is revealed. It's little, right enough, but rather amusingly he has an erection. Probably because Tash is bent over in front of him in her scanty bra-less top and, ever the tease, she's flashing a more-than-ample portion of her spectacular jugs in his face. She has a fit of the giggles. 'Oooo look, Marky! He's got a teeny weeny hard-on!'

'Yeah, babe, so I almost see.'

'Don't know about you, Mark, but I'm seriously unimpressed. Course, I'm spoiled by YOUR big cock, aren't I?'

I love the way Natasha licked her lips as she said this and I throw her my best wolfish grin. 'Hey, but I bet the Moose here appreciates it, ' she snickers.

'Well, princess, I suppose any cock looks pretty damn good to a girl who never gets any.'

'So, Moose, do we have it right?' inquires Tash. 'Do you like the look of Simon's cute little dick?' Poor Sylvia can't speak, just sobs quietly. Simon has stopped sobbing but looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him. Two of them are getting utterly humiliated and there's not a damn thing they can do about it. Not if they need to keep their jobs (which I happen to know they do). Natasha claps her hands. She's had an idea. 'I know! I'll tease Simon a little, make his cock go really hard, and then the Moose can kneel down and suck it. How about that, Mark, sugar? That'll be quite funny, won't it? Seeing Moosey on her knees, sucking Simon's dick.' I agree that it will. Tash flashes me a wicked look. 'And I think she ought to take her dress off for the occasion, don't you?' she grins.

Sylvia is mortified at the prospect. Guess with a body like hers it's understandable. The hapless girl is looking beseechingly at me, hoping I'll tell Natasha she's going too far. (Which she is, really. Sadistic little bitch.) I pause for a moment, seem to ponder, give the poor cow a vestige of hope. Then I tell her straight: 'Sylvia ... I mean, Moose ... what the fuck are you waiting for? You heard the Princess. Take it off!' Sylvia, humiliated beyond words, strips clumsily out of her dress and stands there in bra and knickers. There's flab all over the place. 'Oh yuck, ' I sneer. Simon is stood next to her, pants round his ankles. The pair of them look utterly risible. I grin at Natasha. 'Tash, baby, that is one gruesome twosome.' Tash laughs and starts stripping off herself, first her top, then the skirt. Down to her knickers, and looking just good enough to eat, she goes and stands beside Sylvia, facing me. She pouts and preens and poses, cruelly playing up the grotesque contrast. 'So, baby, which do you prefer? ... Me or the Moose?'

'Well, princess, let me see. Do I like my women ravishingly beautiful or short and fat and ugly-as-sin? Gee, it's a toughie.'

A flip response to a flip question but I do, in fact, take a moment to run the 'beauty and beast' comparison through my mind and it's the difference in skin (colour and complexion) which really strikes me. Sure there's the more obvious stuff - quite tall vs far too short, beautiful hair vs thin and stringy, knockout sexy figure vs dumpy lard-bucket, flat toned belly vs flab city central, fabulous legs vs even a chair has better, devastatingly pretty face vs moose features, full pouty lips vs rather mean-shaped little mouth etc etc - there's all of that, sure, but the contrast in their skin tone is somehow what takes the biscuit. Natasha has a flawless complexion, facially and everywhere else, her skin evenly tanned and smoothly perfect all over. All you want to do when you see it, any of it, is stroke and kiss it; and if you're lucky enough, i.e. if you're me, you actually get to do that. What you want to do when you see too much of Sylvia Tusk's pale spotty flesh (and anything is too much, let's be frank) is run a million miles. Either that or, as now, you want to kind of punish her for being such a poor quality package.

The 'high quality package' (a.k.a. Miss Natasha Reeves) is cracking up. 'But you can't see her titties, Mark, can you? Maybe they're really sexy.'

'No, baby, that's true ... Moose, lose the bra!' I snap. The sobbing Sylvia takes her bra off and I'm treated to the inevitable pair of miserable, saggy breasts. (There's a certain pleasing symmetry about how we've got our victims now – a topless 'moose' and a bottomless nerd!) 'Changed your mind, honey?' enquires Natasha. She's smiling suggestively and playing with her own juicy melons. 'Fraid not, Tash. I'll stick with you if that's ok.'

'Sure, baby. But let's see what Simon thinks, ' Natasha says, standing in front of him. 'Simon?' she asks, moving in so close they're almost touching. 'Are you same as Mark? Do you prefer my body to the Moose's?' Simon nods. He's massively turned on by Natasha's near-naked proximity. Poor guy is being utterly tantalised. 'What was that, Simon?' prods Tash. 'I prefer your body, Natasha. You're gorgeous!' he blurts.

'And what about my face? Do you prefer that too? Am I much prettier?'

'Oh yes, Natasha!'

'Yes what, Simon?'

'You're much prettier than Sylvia.'

'Baby, who's this 'Sylvia' he's talking about?' I cut in. 'Damn funny name for a Moose.'

Tash slaps his face. 'Yes, Simon, least you can do is get the name right.'