Most days as end-of-the-line inspector, we each had to test and examine three or four babes, see that they were ready to deliver to their fathers, hus...ands, brother, uncles or whoever paid for their transformation. We wanted no rejects or defects, and each slut came with a punch list. When I stamped a girl's pudenda just above the clitoral hood "approved" it meant she was perfect, exactly as ordered and ready for use. There was only one way to tell. So I kissed them, licked them, kneaded their. . what was it called again? The place i-”“The Brothel of Impossible Lusts?” Ceaith asked, her voice dry. “The place you oh so subtly asked me about?”I had been very subtle! I had noticed the golden, phallic tower and said: So, Ceaith, quite a, uh, bu-It’s the Brothel of Impossible Lusts, she had said as we had walked through the reveling city. You fucking dork.I flushed. “Well, it’d be rude to conquer a city and not visit the Brothel of Impossible Lusts.” I nodded, slightly, my plan. More

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